A/N: Welcome to part three of "Do It Again". So we've made it this far now, and you should be expecting a lot of relationship progression in this part, but also a lot of brewing character development for Eris.

I received a comment on this story on AO3 about Eris' apparent nonchalance and general carelessness toward all that's happening around her, and I suppose that's very true. Eris is either very damaged, very childish, or hasn't done enough growing up - perhaps a combination of all three? Either way, things are about to get very real, very soon. We can't expect our poor choices to have no future implications or actions on us, so why should Eris?

Anyhow, I hope you're enjoying this journey, where I am both improving my writing and enjoying a nice character study of a very interesting character (Mr. House), and Eris, the latter of which I think is deceptively complex.

I have decided apart from you as company,

Everything I have is borrowed

And you can give it all to me,

I started thinking about those voices in the crowd

Words that started with a whisper,

It seems they've gotten all too loud

-"Plain As Your Eyes Can See", Jim Sullivan

It was said that a man's worth was in his accomplishments, but what about his failures?

Eris had never failed so spectacularly at anything in her recalled life, but she was sure she would, eventually. Perhaps she already had, and she just lacked the introspection to see it. Ironically enough, she was aware that she had low awareness of self. Only, unlike most problems, it was impossible to fix this problem simply by first acknowledging it.

Furthermore, she was seriously in need of better connections to medical professionals. There was that researcher she'd met in Freeside, whose name had been Arcade, but she'd yet to take him up on his offer to meet him for drinks. There was loads to do in Vegas, and far too many distractions here when compared to Freeside. While not particularly materialistic, she did like air conditioning.

So she'd done the only thing she knew to do, and that was to clean it with vodka, which her friend had in copious amounts in the lobby. It wasn't properly bandaged, but that could be fixed by wearing sleeved shirts for a short while. While she'd much rather be out doing something fun, or talking to some interesting folk, she's starting to feel the effects of fatigue and adrenaline on her body, which, while young, could only take so many hits before it went down for the count. Tragically, her first real hit had been in the head. Logically, it made sense that everything else could fall apart much easier now. That was assuming that the common conception of the brain being the center of human existence was correct. Frankly, she didn't believe it could all be traced back to the brain.

Consciousness, vitality, thought – to her it was all somehow connected but it had no real, tangible root in any part of the physical body.

Sighing at the stinging cut on her shoulder, made worse by the hard liquor, she decided she'd turn in early, and speak to her accomplice in the morning. Besides, in this kind of mood, she was more likely to start conflict than make for good company – not that those two didn't often coexist in her world. But the two of them had just gotten a good thing going, and she'd made it about a week now without upsetting him to the point that he kicked her out.

Her lashes blinked rapidly while on the elevator to her suite, trying to resist the urge to fall down right then and there and become a little blonde elevator fixture. A well-earned break sounded negotiable, and if she wasn't continuously learning something, then she stopped sounding clever.

"So I assume the job is done, and the thorn in my side has been plucked, as it were?" A voice boomed through the speakers in the elevator, and up until now, she wasn't even aware that they existed.

Seriously? He couldn't wait until the morning?

"Yes, yes, Mr. House, it's all been taken care of. Cachino's running things, Nero and Sal are pimping out women in the depths of hell now." She gestured with her hands to prove a point, and only just realized she'd called him 'mister'. "Happy?" She added.

"Indeed. This will make way for an altogether more productive city, since there is one less family endangering its productivity." For a beat, he fell silent. "In addition to that, there is the moral service you've done for Vegas today. For centuries, it's persevered as a city of vice and luxury, though there are always some vices that I, and many others should be, fiercely opposed to."

Wow. Rarely did he ever mention his own values, except in passing, but she was always eager to know more. She suspected he was secretly a moral police, unlike her. It wasn't as though she condoned immoral things, it was more so that she wanted to process the whole story before she jumped to conclusions and called others out on them.

Well, maybe she could stay awake for another hour or so, if only to learn more about her mysterious friend. Moonlight shone through the curtained windows, which she was sure were built of sturdy material, or else they wouldn't have survived the veritable apocalypse. Her Pip-Boy told that it was thirty minutes past 10 PM, and despite the fatigue deep in her flimsy bones, her curiosity got the better of her. As always.

"What sort of vices are you talking about? You can't have been much opposed to human trafficking if you let the Omertas keep their business, or… maybe you are?" She'd learned not to make assumptions about House. His speech was archaic and possessed an extensive vocabulary, but ideologically he was most definitely not stuck in the past, like the NCR. She wasn't afraid to admit that most of her presumptions regarding the man were wrong, though some were still, as of yet, unconfirmed.

"You misunderstand, unsurprisingly." His biting remarks no longer bothered her. She doubted he had anyone to release his pent-up rage on, and she could take it. "It was never part of my plan to allow the Omertas to continue their dealings."

"I won't judge you if you did." She said half-jokingly.

"That is immaterial." He replied as she strolled into her suite. "Your judgment isn't necessary to perceive what is clearly an issue not only of economic importance, but of state. The two are often inseparable, I'm sure you'll agree."

She did agree, though it was interesting to hear him differentiate between state and economy. Politics was innately philosophical, while economics weren't. One was human and maintained a place for human empathy, while the other was just high civilization's manifestation of primitive survivalism – an echo of needing to collect the most bananas and animal pelts.

"Say I did agree, and maybe I do, what if I disagreed that human trafficking isn't a bad choice economically?" She questioned, genuinely interested in what his response would be. He knew a great deal more about economics than she did, and probably of state too.

Her dress was stripped off of her, and her shoes too, replaced by a short, wispy nightgown that she'd been wearing so much that it was beginning to fray. Socks, though not matching with the rest of her attire, were slid onto her feet, because the floors of the 38 were ice-cold, though that reference was problematic, because she's certain she's never seen the true cold.

Landing on her bed and removing the Pip-Boy from her arm, she found a comfortable position on her side and waited for him to respond. Perhaps he'd been busy with surveillance of the Strip? Silence had been her only companion for about three minutes now. But she was patient, so she lit a cigarette, probably her last cigarette of the night, and waited for him to come back.

"Then I would call you terribly ignorant of how a successful economy operates, assuming you hold that opinion, which I'm certain you don't." Bold assumption, though he was mostly correct. "From a layman's lens, or a simple utilitarian's like Caesar, human trafficking for the purpose of cheap labor appears to be profitable, though only the upper echelons of society benefit financially. Because 93.7% of the Legion's menial labor force is comprised of slaves, and by menial, I mean cooking, cleaning, construction, and farming, there is less available labor to 'freed men', a funny word when applied to the Legion.

From there, you can imagine that their economy is not booming, because the enslaved have not the means to spend capital. They are the products. And, to frame it rather simplistically, humans don't mature very quickly, unlike corn. Of course, when Caesar created such a system, he wasn't envisioning a prosperous economy, he was envisioning a functional society founded on dominance and every individual's utility to the state. I doubt he's given it much thought, or maybe he has, and has decided it isn't a worthwhile endeavor to take care of his diminishing society. And yes, it is diminishing already, financially." She inhaled her cigarette once, and scratched at her chin with a long fingernail, searching for a response.

"I don't know if it's fair to say Caesar hasn't thought of it. I've met the man, he's pretty bright, if not outwardly lacking in moral depth and… human value beyond utility, as you said." She'd almost said he was lacking in imagination, but that was most certainly untrue. "My hot take on Caesar was that he was a genius surrounded, mostly, by ignorance. Within him, I saw the potential to be as imaginative and studious as you, but he doesn't have the same means as you have. I guess you could say he's too over reliant on his own people, who don't amount to much in the thinking department, in order to achieve anything? It's his fault though, what did he expect from working with tribals?"

"Also," She continued, "Are you saying the Omertas' operation wasn't dissimilar from the Legion's? Because I was asking about the Omertas specifically, and you brought up the Legion."

"That's exactly what I'm saying. The regression of mankind has enforced very little vision when it comes to mutually beneficial human labor."

Eris was confused for a moment, but then it dawned on her that he was admitting that the Omertas were indeed slavers, just 'domesticated', and furthermore, stating his distaste of it. If that was true, why did he allow it to continue its existence? She abandoned her idea of that being her last cigarette, and moved to light a new one, their discussion only just becoming riveting.

"Why do you let them do it, if you're so opposed to it?" She asked, at once realizing how odd it was to be in her bed, apparently speaking to herself.

"Why, you ask? Because it is sometimes necessary to make brief compromises for a grander scheme, especially when the fate of humankind is involved." Was his short reply. And to him, a lengthier explanation might be deemed unnecessary, but to her, it was necessary.

"But, couldn't that reflect poorly on you as someone who values the individual?" She was full of questions, and fortunately, he was usually eager to answer them, if not a bit short at times because he was generally a testy person.

Inside, she was ecstatic, and this warred with how tired she felt. It had been weeks since they'd sparred like this in a friendly way, and none of those times had been as peaceable as this. She supposed he might've been properly buttered up after she took care of his enemies. His outward derision for the ways of the wasteland didn't fool her.

There was about thirty seconds of silence, before she felt his presence again, she wasn't sure how. He had a big presence. Idly, she wondered if there were cameras in the suite's rooms, since there were speakers everywhere in the building, save for the bathrooms. It was unbelievably unfair that he could track her movements and facial expressions, though she was disallowed the same privilege. Luckily, though, she was adaptable.

"It matters very little how my intentions are viewed by the general public. All that matters, is that my actions suit their needs, and invariably, they will, because I lack the human needs of Kimball or Caesar. Human needs, such as cruelty and populism for the sake of self-indulgence." He replied, fitted with the cool confidence she always associated with him.

"I disagree. We all have egos, and I think saying we don't have an ego is just another projection of our ego." While not presented particularly artfully, which she blamed on being tired, she hoped he might agree or be willing to discuss instead of shoot her down as he occasionally did. Despite being effectively 'immortal' and well-structured, he was an unpredictable person.

"Hmm, very true, though I never said I didn't possess one." Ugh. That's true. Another loss for her, then. "A good leader should never be moved by trivial acts of cruelty or groveling for the sake of reinforcing their claim to power. I, for one, have no need for either to remind me that my deeds are good and necessary."

"So if I got off of this bed and bent my knee and started kissing your proverbial boots, you wouldn't get even a teeny hint of triumph?" She coyly asked, absolutely certain that he would feel some triumph, since he so enjoyed being right, at all times. "Not even a morsel?"

She couldn't see, but she could feel him rolling his eyes, wherever he was right now. It wasn't her intention to ruin a good discussion, she just couldn't help but lighten the mood somewhat.

"No. There's so many other, more productive things you could be doing rather than grovelling at my feet, an act which would eliminate you from the top of my most unmanageable employees. An uncontested title, which you hold." There was growing irritation now, on his end.

"Fair enough, it isn't like I would relinquish my prestigious title for anything, and certainly not groveling at your… monitor." She exhaled, a plume of smoke concealing her luxurious surroundings. "But maybe you could call me your 'assigne', rather than your employee? You don't really pay me, anyways."

"That's because you've knowingly arranged payment alternative to money. If money is what you want, that can also be arranged." She could tell his patience was thinning, but surprisingly, he hadn't magnificently blown up yet or shut her out. Again, she blamed him being pleased with the completion of the job. "Both are payment, so choose one."

Eris laughed loudly at that, amazed at the sheer will it took to keep up this seriousness. She was half-sure he knew she was joking, and wanted to show her the extent to which her joking could backfire. Truly, she appreciated the lesson, appreciated any opportunity to learn.

"Ugh, what a financier you are. You'd make me choose one or the other?" She said with a teasing huff, "I still choose the books. What's inside of them is worth more than all the bottlecaps in the Mojave."

"That, we can agree on." Finally. Testing how far she could get him to go without starting a serious disagreement was an enjoyable challenge. "It's late. While I don't require rest, you do. There will be important matters for us to discuss come the morning, and I need you to have a clear head."

"Mhm…" She agreed, having nothing to say back to him that would imply otherwise. "I think you're right, for once. Taking down empires is very… tiresome."

He never replied. Always, he was concise and forward, except when he wasn't. Those times, those inconsistencies, grabbed her attention the most. Of course, there were layers to the cold businessman. Like anyone else, he was human – flawed and complex. And that was her last cigarette for the night, or so she thought.

His absence only left her time to think, and once she started on that, there was no telling where it would go. She had very little control over it. Now that the Omertas' puppethood status was cemented, what came next? Eris admitted to feeling very little during the present at any given time, and though it would sound foreign to some, she couldn't process any situation until much, much later.

The events of the past few weeks were now cycling through her mind, and as loathe as she was to admit it, there were things she should've done better. One, would've been to protect Layla and not let the hooker out of his depth. The other, would've been handling Clanden better, as well as Sal and Nero. That was a massive waste of lives lost, really. Though by no means a police of virtue, it was always a shame to see potential flicker out of existence, like a dying flame. She didn't need to be a strategic mastermind to see the tragedy of it.

So, for the rest of an hour, she remained awake, staring at the ceiling while she mulled over the things she could do better next time – if there was a next time.

"So, that's it? We're just 'waiting' for now?" Eris asked, finding herself oddly disappointed that she had almost no aim now. It could be exciting, though, to be given leave to explore on her own time and sate her thirst for knowledge.

"Correct. For now, we have a city to manage, and it would be unwise to proceed forward without ascertaining the competence of my newest casino manager." He answered, and she wanted to tell him that she personally doubted the abilities of Cachino, so she did.

"You know, I could always have the wrong idea – wouldn't be the first time – but I don't think Cachino will impress you as you'd like." She spoke up, with a little chuckle at the end.

The cigarette she's been nursing for a few minutes now was nearly spent, and she dabbed it into the ashtray that was next to her in the penthouse. Rarely did she ever go exploring on this level, as she does have some boundaries. Invading the personal space of another was one of those oddly blasphemous things she wasn't in the habit of doing, case in point being Benny's suite, which she never properly looted. Looting was for more desperate wastelanders than she.

An array of prewar liquors and wine was tended to behind the penthouse's bar by a securitron, and if it weren't so otherwise silent, she might believe she was in an upscale, prewar bar. Though the altogether eeriness of the place was enough to remind her that the scene was not as prestigious as it once could have been. She debated whether or not she should have a drink poured for her, but she'd just woken up a couple hours ago, and she wasn't yet wayward, or depressed enough, to start day drinking.

"There are very few who can. To manage this endeavor as I have, you need to have expectations relative to the general populace's abilities, and they never seem to have much – but they have enough to prove useful." She choked back a laugh at that, but it slipped through the impulsive cough she'd used to cover it.

Funny how when he wasn't trying to make a move for humor, he ended up selling a winning line. And that was most of the time, really, because he was so serious, all of the time. Even Eris had a difficult time making him crack, and she knew she could be smooth when the moment called for it. Though, to say he had no sense of humor was a lie, because he'd entertained her last night, if only for a small part of their discussion.

"What are you laughing at?" He said crossly, "I've yet to see you give any reasons why he could possibly be unqualified, much to my growing shock."

Ouch. He almost seemed personable, right now. Again, he was probably just nice and buttered up now that the big plans of the Omertas blowing up his city-state had gone bust. She planned to give her opinion, whether he asked for it or not, and now that he was asking for it, she'd give it to him – with a nice, red ribbon tied around it.

"I'll tell ya why, let me finish preparing my speech." She raised a hand dramatically toward one of the cameras that he could see her out of, "You do know how I got Cachino, right? I mean, you heard the whole sob story, from his lips to your ear- speaker?" She teasingly corrected.

It wasn't that he was unqualified, per se. Admittedly, Eris knew him very little, but as his lead co-conspirator, she knew enough to pin down what sort of clique he'd be in, and it certainly wasn't in the managing field, or any field that required social cunning.

"That should say enough on the content of his character. Degenerate enough to stick it to unwilling women, but enough self-doubt to regret it afterwards. Just quick enough to suspect his kin were up to even more unsavory business than the usual, but just dim enough to not suspect that they weren't co-conspiring with the Legion boys against you." Her thumb and index finger pinched close together for emphasis, "And that was after he clearly saw Fox-boy meeting with Nero. He's a real piece of work alright, just not the right kind."

"It's safe to say that no one suspected the magnitude of their foolish plan, concocted out of spite for me. You'll need to try harder to convince me that Cachino isn't a worthwhile pick, and some would say, the only pick, for the time being." He grumbled.

A dramatic huff left her lips at that, entirely disingenuous but she was really trying to understand how he operated the city. Yes, it was interesting to her, and the only way she could learn more about it was through riling him up and forcing him to explain things to her. How hard was that for him to understand?

"There's no need to jump immediately to the defense. I'm not attacking you, my lord, I'm only trying to suggest that there are always options besides the ones that are clearly available. It's entirely reasonable, yeah? There's a lot of people indebted to you, who would probably murder, or worse, for a position that prestigious, and most importantly, aren't Cachino's." That 'my lord' bit was particularly crafty in her opinion, and she only hoped it would force him to see how stringent he was being with ideas that weren't his. "For instance, I can think of several groups or individuals who could set up in the void that Cachino and his family would leave behind. The Kings, for one, who seem to possess a decent enough ideology to be considered useful for running a casino previously occupied by whoremongers and chem dealers.

And our favorite, I think – the Chairmen. Sure, I've had my ups and downs with them, but the people love them, not their vices, in contrast to their love for the Omertas' fleshy goods. Meanwhile, all the Omertas would be ex-cons and felons if they came from your world. Generous of you to hire them, I've heard corporate executives were very rigid about that. Likable mascots are in high demand in today's society, that's why people in Freeside flock to the King, and people here in the Strip flock to the Tops for a good time that doesn't involve base things like fucking limp hookers on Med-X."

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly after she was done telling him the gist of keeping one's options open. She wasn't even sure why she argued sometimes – most of the time, she didn't even have a tangible, emotionally-driven issue with whatever she was arguing against. But this time, she wanted to try and get him to see areas that could be improved, and she was certain he knew they existed, but vainly she hoped that she could point out the most prominent areas that he was ignoring in favor of the master plan, an outline which she knew only vaguely. And that still bugged her, somewhat. She's worked with a lot less. At least, she's sure she has. She has no memory of these things, of course, but she knows.

"I'll consider it. But make no mistake, you are not qualified to advise me on how to run my city." Her brow quirked at that, at how offended he was that she was giving him harmless advice.

"Never said I was! Come on, House-man, you really need to lighten up a bit. I'm only trying to give you suggestions, and ultimately, you have the power here, not me. As much as I would like, or, actually, no that would be bad – never mind – me pointing out things you could potentially do to make your life easier and your people's life better, doesn't directly influence you unless you let it." She was grasping at straw here. After all, he'd pretty much mastered the art of dismissal.

Actually, she did believe that words could directly influence people. It was why she tended toward social harassment over physical means. But, he didn't need to know that.

"I fully agree with this assessment, and I will allow your advice to be taken into account when it is valuable. Not before or after."

Yikes! What verbal claws he had, when he put them to good use. Doubtlessly, he could put her to shame with how readily he dismissed others, and he could do it in so many less words than she could. It was almost impressive, and she was finding herself more intrigued in it rather than overly critical of it, with each passing day.

Only, what could she say in response after being verbally drawn and quartered? Normally, she was quick about these things. Rolling her eyes and lighting another cigarette, she readied herself for a verbal lashing of her own, albeit subtler than his.

"Then I'll be sitting here for a lifetime. It takes a genius to see another genius, or so they say." She smiled at the camera for good measure, and chuckled at her own snipe. "Seriously, do you want it to be like gemstone valuable, or like your rule valuable?" She pressed.

This was their game, but she believed he didn't see it as a game like she did. But surely, he had to take some kind of enjoyment out of it, or else he wouldn't entertain it at all. He might be the most enigmatic figure in all of the Mojave, maybe even the wide wasteland, but she liked to think she knew him well enough to know that he made it well known when he was pissed. Usually, he would coldly dismiss her and say nothing else unless it pertained to business matters.

"This is getting nowhere, let's move on, shall we?" Was his segue onto another subject. For now, she's given him enough of a headache, so she lets him do as he wishes. "I promised you access to my library, and it still stands. As you've fulfilled your end of the bargain, it is time to fulfill mine. Head to the elevator, if you would."

"You didn't 'promise' it to me, you offered it." She corrected. Once she was in this mood, it was hard to shake herself out of it. She wanted the last word, though. "So, what gives?"

"No one, if you don't 'get your act together', as it were, and get on my elevator." He was pulling his best impression of a harsh and assertive businessman now, and she dragged herself from the stool she'd been resting on, her arms falling to her sides and away from her chin.

She laughed to herself but nonetheless, did as she was told. A thought crossed her mind that she should continue harassing him, but even she knew that such behavior was intensely juvenile. Into the elevator she went, that feeling of being watched floating around her conscious. For long enough she's been here to not have those unconscious reactions to being stared at, like goosebumps and the tiny hairs of her neck raising. That could certainly spell trouble for the future, when she needs those reactions but has been too desensitized because she spends most of her free time talking with a [mostly?] disembodied voice.

What if she called out his name in the middle of the night? Would he hear her, if so, and talk to her? Maybe that should creep her out, but so far, she's seen very little that has actually disturbed her out here. Something which, she knew, was definitely not normal. Maybe she could start calling on him every time her sink needed to be cleaned, because she was sure they cleaned it every time she wasn't there. And when she was there for extended periods, the grime started to build up.

"Where are you taking me? Not back down to the basement, right?" She whined, "It was cold down there, that's why I'm asking. I'll need a coat if so."

Really, she was just giving him a hard time. There weren't that many people out here who could spar with her, or wanted to, to begin with.

"No, not the basement." His voice was the only sound in the tight space, and she watched the dial on the elevator as she plunged from the highest floor to a couple of floors beneath it – exactly two floors above her own suite. "I trust I don't need to tell you the gravity of the privilege you are being given right now. This library has seen no inhabitant in over two-hundred years, and it isn't a privilege I bestow on you lightly."

The elevator's doors slid open, all dramatic like, and she was met with a scene of a prewar library, different from the ruinous impersonators out in the wide expanse of the world below. On one side of the floor, there were tall, wide windows that spanned from the ceiling to the floor, and were hidden by dark, blue curtains made of some kind of velveteen fabric. Looking at the rest of the library, it was clear what his favorite color scheme was. Abundantly clear.

Expensive carpets, worn by the passing of time, but cared for all the same, were positioned beneath equally expensive furniture. On the far side of the wall, directly straight from the elevator, was a fireplace that looked as though it hadn't been lit in centuries, and in front of it was a plush, dark leather chair paired with a settee of the same color scheme. All in all, it looked to her like the sanctuary of a lonely, bourgeois gentleman from the prewar era.

Aside from what was meant to be an upscale parlor, the prestige of which the casinos below couldn't compete with, the entire left side of the floor was lined with polished, wooden bookshelves, the number of books it held was… insurmountable. It would probably take her years to burn through such a collection, or a year, if she was willing to pop some Mentats.

"Holy…" For once, she was speechless. If there was anything in this world that was sacred, and removed from the temptation to prod and poke at, it was learning. "I wonder how long it took you to collect all of these." Even she knew her speech was bland, but she was stunned by the amount of knowledge in this room alone.

The walls were painted a midnight blue, a shade darker than the velvet curtains hanging over the tall windows. It felt surreal to actually have this much information at her hand, and a small part of her, that she fiercely ignored, loathed herself for having this privilege over others. Either way, though, she wasn't known for being quiet about the things she knew – and would probably inadvertently spread anything interesting anyway.

"I imagine it's difficult to understand just how long it takes to amass such a collection. Naturally, I've read most of them, but not all." He said, with a sniff at the end, that if he were anyone else, she would've called pretentious. "When my calculations deduced that total annihilation of the civilized world I was familiar with was imminent, that left little time for light reading."

Oh, so that meant she could know things that he didn't? Immediately, she was fascinated, and her feet quickly took her over to the left side of the room, and she noticed that all of it was organized, even. Most of the books she picked up out in the wasteland were either moderately or majorly damaged, and she couldn't afford to be picky out there. Though she was now used to exchanging books with Jane (much to her displeasure), it was still shocking to see a room full of books with intact bindings.

"Which ones haven't you read? I think I'd like to start there…" She trailed off as she searched through the philosophy and psychology section, awed at the amount of books and authors she's never even heard of. "Also, I never pegged you for someone who's interested in psychology. You're supposed to be a soulless businessman with an interest solely in economics and robotics." She let a laugh escape her so that he would know she wasn't deliberately trying to rile him up again, for the umpteenth time this morning.

Lovingly, she traced the binding of Civilization and its Discontents, a book that she's certain she's never read before. Again, one could never be too picky out in the wastes with this kind of knowledge. She could probably read the whole book by the time noon came stirring around, that's how ravenous she was for actual learning and not casino games. Not that playing with the people in the casinos wasn't fun, but this was novel, the kind of novel she's always searching for.

He decided not to take her bait, and answered her question with the concision he so touted, "I've read that entire shelf you're busy salivating over. Treat them carefully, Eris. If you so much as damage one of them, I will take away your privilege."

"Okay, dad." She joked, brow worrying as she did indeed salivate over the book she held and the shelf it had come from.

Eris plucked another book, this one's cover was bare and held no title, and thus interested her, and brought it over with her to the lounge area, which felt like it once would've been warm and cozy, but was instead cold, and weirdly, she felt lonely in the room now. Ah, he must have left her to her own devices then. Lately, he's been doing that a lot more – and she suspects that he's managing all of his secret affairs on the Strip, the ones he doesn't feel she needs to be wise to, which bothers her ego to admit she's bothered by.

It was inevitable that leaders withhold information from the general public, but she feels a bit entitled to be privy to at least some of his affairs, now that she's poking her nose in them by his orders.

Deciding to grill him on it later and give him a couple of hours of reprieve from her incessant questioning, she switched the lamp on the coffee table next to the settee, which she spread herself out on – it wasn't like she'd have anyone to compete with the space over. And, she'd at least taken her shoes off before climbing onto it.

There was an intricately carved ashtray on the coffee table next to the lamp, which must've belonged to House – who else? Though he probably hadn't smoked cigarettes, but cigars, probably didn't even inhale either. Or, maybe he did – he was the kind of person who would've needed nicotine, and she would know.