Coricopat entered the offices of Bailey and Co the following morning, shaking the rainwater off of his hat before hanging it and his coat up to dry behind the door. He barely glanced at Macavity as he crossed the room to the filing cabinet and withdrew the Barton files. The ginger tabby, already seated at his desk, arched a brow at that.

"Looking a little damp there," Macavity remarked. "You lose your umbrella or something?"

"I, hm? Oh, yes I suppose so. How are you this morning?" The mottled tom retreated to his desk, settling down to work and doing his best to not think about how exactly he lost his umbrella.

Macavity's brows just inched higher and higher. "You suppose you lost your umbrella? No, I'm sensing a story here, and you know how I get when I don't hear stories."

"I gave it to somecat who needed it more than I do. I managed to catch a cab through some minor feat of God's grace this morning, they were rather in short supply yesterday," he sorted through his desk for a pen, finally locating one and still not looking at his partner.

"You grew empathy over night?" Macavity asked. "When did that happen and why was I not informed by a voice on high? Who needed it more than you?"

"I have empathy," came the almost indignant reply. "As to who it was, some cat I met on the street last night. They looked rather damp, or heading toward being rather damp."

"I am still in awe and shock and all sorts of other emotions. Though, you still haven't actually answered my question of whom the cat in question was."

"I did, though! Some cat I encountered who was looking rather damp."

Macavity looked at him for a long moment. "Do you know this cat at all?" he pressed.

Cori shrugged, "Sort of? Not really. I mean, I suppose one might say that."

"Looking for a name here, Cor, and you know what I get like if I think you're keeping important details from me,"

"I don't recall the name?" Coricopat offered, weakly.

Macavity threw his pencil at the mottled tom's head. "Seriously? You of the extra great memory? Come on, or next time I'll stab the pencil through your heart."

"Strangely enough I expected something like that. I seem to recall mentioning that should I end up dead you would have me revived simply so that you could kill me again for having died on you in the first place," Cori leaned down and picked up the pencil that had been tossed at him.

That got another slow blink at the ginger tabby. "And whom was this mentioned to?"

"I...don't know that that's your concern."

Another pencil went hurtling toward Coricopat's ear. "Cor! You are keeping things from me an—oh god who art in heaven, tell me this wasn't in a conversation with dear little Quaxo!"

Coricopat's ear flattened, just in time to avoid the pencil, "Then I won't."

"Cor!" Macavity exclaimed, more than loud enough for Bailey to hear, who pounded on his door for them to shut up and get back to work. "I swear to god," he hissed, leaning over his desk. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" the mottled tom shot a wary glance toward their employer's closed door, "I encountered him last night, he was picking up a package for his uncle and we walked a little ways together. That's all."

"Why am I having difficulty believing you at the moment? Oh right, because you mentioned me killing you for the pleasure of doing it myself, which is looking more and more likely by the moment, by the way. So, what else did you two talk about then?"

"...He may have brought up hopes and dreams," came the barely audible response.

"You then what? Rose gloriously to the occasion?" Macavity demanded.

"I suppose that depends on what you mean by that. We ended that part of the conversation with him in shock that I had yet to turn up dead in a ditch due to my bitterness..."

Macavity buried his face in his paws, slowly bringing them up to rub the heel over his eyes. "You dead in a ditch? I'm going to end up dead of a heart attack or because Jones has decided to liquidate our entire firm, I haven't figured out which yet. Is their something wrong with your brain? Do you have a brain tumor? Is that what's causing you to say all sorts of things you normally wouldn't say? I would prefer you to die of brain disease than the other option here."

"What other option? I have little fear that Jones will decide to liquidate our firm as I'm pretty much certain he and his nephew never speak, and his nephew avoids him enough that he is unlikely to complain to him. It was a chance encounter and there is no reason to fear it happening again, Mac," Cor attempted to reassure.

"Uh-huh," Macavity did not look like he believed that in the least. "The last two times you've seen this tom, you've said god knows what, probably more than enough to get you shipped to a penal colony and you're trying to reassure me it won't happen again?"

"I'm not going to be shipped to a penal colony for a couple of conversations, neither of which hold even the hint of cause. We do, however, have work to do. I shall continue to remind myself to stick to tried and true phrases as you call them, and I shall avoid him outside of actual professional dealings, alright?" Cori turned his attention to the file in front of him, "That's all I can promise."

"I'm not trusting you to promise that at this point, but I guess we shall have to wait and see," Macavity said, shaking his head.

v.v.v.v

Tumblebrutus sighed as he followed Pouncival toward the backstage area of the theatre after the play was over, "Remind me again why we're not simply getting drinks and going home?"

"Didn't you think that was a wonderful production?" Pounce replied over his shoulder.

"You're doing that answering a question with a question thing again. You know that's rude. And, yes, I did think it was a rather delightful play, but I do not see what that has to do with this."

"I thought we could congratulate the performers on a job well done."

"We'll write a letter and send flowers, then," Tumble suggested, still following the other patched tom through the theatre. "How do you even know we're going the right way?"

"Instinct. There's the stage, hence the backstage area must be in this direction. And flowers and a letter are hardly adequate to encapsulate the exquisite beauty that was that performance."

"Pouncival," Tumble's voice was weary, "I will grant that it was a lovely production, but it was hardly the best play I've seen this year. The lauds you're giving it would imply that it is on par with the great masterworks."

Pounce shrugged as he pushed open the door to the backstage, which was concealed by a thick drapery, "I still liked it. And I think we should congratulate them."

"Pounce?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me this has nothing to do with the lovely little red calico ingenue with the delicate demeanor."

"Alright, then I won't. Come on, I need you to vouch that you were with me all evening."

"Your father is going to kill you!" Tumble hissed his protest as they entered the organized chaos that was the backstage after the show.

"Only if he finds out," Pounce rejoined, sidestepping some sets.

Said little red calico ingenue with the delicate demeanor was waiting, having heard some word from Pounce that he was coming that evening. Jemima Forester approached the pair a little rapidly though she attempted to make it look at least partially natural. "Hello there good sirs," she greeted, eying Tumble since she had never seen him before. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Tumble shot Pounce a long-suffering look, but nodded very slightly, "It was charming."

Pouncival offered Jemima a smile, "Charming? It was exquisite. Tumble, allow me to present Miss Jemima Forester. Miss Forester, Tumblebrutus Carpenter."

Tumble bowed to the young queen, "A pleasure, Miss Forester."

She bobbed a quick curtsy. "It's always nice to meet someone new, especially someone who is a friend of Pounce's?" her voice tilted up toward a question as she glanced at Pounce to confirm that belief. "I am very glad you both enjoyed the show."

Pounce nodded slightly in answer to the look, "Tumble's an old school friend of mine."

Said tom glanced between the two other young cats, "I'm going to go stand over there," he nodded toward one of the walls away from the cats bustling about, "let me know when you're ready to leave, Pounce. Again, it was a pleasure, Miss Carpenter."

She bobbed down again, glancing in slight concern to Pounce but smiled at Tumble before he moved away. "It's good to meet you. I hope you have an enjoyable evening."

Just at that moment, before Tumble could actually go through with his planned retreat another two cats approached. Tugger Hollister, looking only barely put together for the evening had his arm slung low around Bombalurina Harris' waist as they weaved their way through the crowd. Bombalurina had a shawl draped around her shoulders as it was a bit chilly out that evening and her costume was all for show and not for any actual wholesome warmth.

"Jems!" Tugger greeted, knowing all the actors and actresses in the house by name, and usually a bit more than that too. "You did wonderfully tonight, as you always do." Bomba nodded her agreement, already scoping out the two toms next to the younger queen. "And who are these?" Tugger continued, tilting his head in consideration. "Is one of these that mysterious tom I hear whispers about every once and a while? Or are you a very naughty kit and have both of them?" Jemi just blushed deeply at that. She liked Tugger well enough, even enjoyed his company on most nights, but this was not one of those nights.

Pounce bristled at that, biting back a growl, but before he could respond Tumble spoke quietly, "No, we came to offer the cast our congratulations on a delightful performance. I'm simply the mode of transportation this evening so we've stopped to as I said congratulate the performers." He offered Bomba a slight bow, "Which I very much believe extends to yourself, milady. You did well this evening, it was a pleasure to watch."

Tugger's brows rose, as much from Pounce's reaction as Tumble's spiel. Bombalurina smiled at Tumble, saying in her somewhat husky voice, "Thank you kindly, good sir. It is always refreshing to hear someone has enjoyed your performance, since some don't seem inclined to offer you such a simple courtesy." She shot Tugger a sarcastic look and he just offered her back a grin.

"Alright, kitty, I'll believe you're not Jems' catch, but your quiet friend there is still in the game," Tugger told him, completely ignoring Bomba's pointed comment. He let his arm finally fall from her waist and she rolled her shoulders. "Do you two often enjoy the theatre then?" Jemi just continued to blush.

Tumble nodded slightly, speaking before Pounce could say anything again, "When the opportunity arises, yes. It is a delightful way to spend an evening. And yourself? Are you here as spectator or participant?"

"A spectator," Tugger replied smoothly.

"That's just because no one would ever preform the tripe you attempt to write," Bombalurina said with another sarcastic smile.

Tugger just about stepped on her paw, but shrugged instead. "They don't know good writing, dear," he said instead. "You don't know good writing for that matter, but you sure know how to make any drivel full of emotion."

"I'd rather be able to make someone feel what I want them to feel than write pretty words no one listens to or reads," she rejoined. "At least they remember what I infuse them with." Tugger opened his mouth again and Jemi cut in.

"Would you two mind?" she asked softly, before turning back to Tumble and Pounce. "Tugger does not work here, he just knows everyone. I'm sure he was just leaving?" she offered hopefully, turning her large eyes on him. Usually it was hard for him to resist those eyes, but for some reason the two toms interested him. Or at least the one that was talking did.

"Sorry darling," he replied. "I don't have to be back for a while tonight. I was thinking of offering select members of the cast drinks instead."

"So long as that doesn't include me," Bomba informed him and his face fell slightly. "I have plans honey," she told him, patting her cheek. "A nice older gentleman who actually understands taste. Have a good night if you can manage, and it was lovely to meet both of you. Thank you for the compliments," she told Pounce and Tumble, bobbing a quick curtsy before flouncing off, leaving Tugger seething.

Pounce just shook his head at that, asking Jemima, "Good God, do they always do that?"

Tumble watched the actress sashay away, "Well, that was rather interesting." He took a couple of subtle steps away from Pounce and Jemima, his attention returning to Tugger still moving away from the couple as he asked, "So what is it you do if you're not involved with the theatre?"

Jemi nodded to her beau, face a little miserable, but luckily Tugger's attention was on Tumble, so she answered honestly. "It's exhausting when those two are in the same space, especially if either of them are feeling, well, a little angry with anything. One time they started yelling, and everyone could hear them from the dressing rooms.

Pounce's brows rose, "Good heavens. Well, it could be worse I suppose." He offered her a smile, "You were amazing tonight."

Jemi nodded again and by the end of his sentence, a smile bloomed across her face. "You think so? I thought most of my scenes were a little flat tonight, but it's sweet of you to say that."

"Me?" Tugger asked, eyes tracking the patched tom, stepping to the side to follow the other's path. "Nothing much. I work on a newspaper."

"Really? A newspaper?" Tumble looked skeptical, "In what capacity?"

"I'm an editor," he said. "I also run the press, and on occasion write." He caught Tumble's skeptical look and frowned. "What, you think I'm some newsboy or something just because I don't buy into your class ideas of what makes proper dress?"

"The editor? Which paper did you say again?" Tumble glanced over the taller tom again, "And it's got nothing to do with your method of dress, it's more the air you have, not what I would expect of a newsman."

"You clearly haven't met many newsmen," Tugger said with a laugh. "Besides, I never claimed a paper. That you'll have to find out on your own if you care enough for it." He glanced over to where Jemi and Pounce were still talking quietly together. "So, you're what, here as cover for the two lovebirds over there?"

"I'm here as his ride home. So, you edit and run the press and write. What do you write if I might ask?"

"Articles," he replied, eyebrow arching at the avoidance of his actual question. "Sometimes I've tried my paw at other things, such as plays with actual themes, which so many of our current productions lack. Sometimes poetry but I found that dull after only a few lines and have long since given it up."

"Let me rephrase, what sort of articles?" Tumble asked finally, appearing to study one of the set pieces, while keeping an eye on Pounce and Jemima.

"They look cute together," Tugger tried again to get more information. "Well, mostly opinion pieces and the like. It's a small press, I admit that, but our readership is starting to grow finally. We certainly have a lot going for us and such. After all, most working toms jump on the bandwagon as soon as they understand what socialism could offer them once we overthrow the ruling class systems. The inequality of our society stifles countless lives after all, and everlasting cat only knows how the ruling class has managed to keep it up this long, considering their flagrant disregard for any cat besides themselves and their consistent waste of money that could be used for so many other things that would actually be useful rather than mansions that appease no one but the owners."

Tumble smiled thinly, "Yes they are lovely aren't they. And you do realize most of those mansions are inherited and not the fault of the cats currently residing in them, yes?"

"There's more being built constantly," he replied. "Or refurnished or any other number of wastes. Besides, they could just as easily sell their estates and put the money to good use. Or even take the damn places down and put those stones and foundations to good use. Or turn some of the big houses into hospitals or orphanages which are much more needed."

"Granted those are needed. But do you really think the way to get that change to take place is to excite the working class toward riot? After all the strength of the law rests in the wealthy cat's advantage."

"Then we need new laws," Tugger said, voice getting more and more animated as he went, paws finally coming into the picture as well as he started gesturing with them. "The wealthy have no right to rule, except as you pointed out by an accident of birth. If they were born anywhere else no cat would pay them much mind but since they're born through sheer chance into money, suddenly they get to decide the rest of our fates?" He'd stopped paying Jems and Pounce any mind.

"How do you propose changing those laws, when they have to pass through the paws of the wealthy as well?" Tumble shook his head, "It's a noble thought, but unrealistic."

"That's what we have revolution for," he declared and then paused, an almost suspicious look passing over his features, and tried to cut off any reference to the French Revolution with a change of topic. "What do you do again?"

Tumble offered him a charming smile, "I'm heir to Lord Anthony Carpenter's estate. I should have a seat in Parliament within the next year sometime."

Jutting his jaw out slightly, Tugger blinked at him in silence for several long moments as he processed that while pouting. "That, you... you sneak. I should have figured that out five minutes ago but what the hell were you about, letting me go on like that?"

The smaller tom shrugged, "I had nothing else to do with my time besides listen to you. And you seem rather passionate about it. Even if it is talk of deposing my class, it was interesting and you do make good points."

Tugger worked his jaw for several more minutes before finally looking away. "Yes, well, as long as I have some good points," he said a little weakly. There was another blink as he finally processed fully, just about freezing all motion. "Wait, you mean Jems' tom is a lord's son?" After all, they came together, they dressed the same—that dress should have been a hint as well, damn it. One was the other's ride, which all added up to them being close friends, which probably meant growing up in the same world and same sort of life style. The shock of that idea made the insult Tumble had just did upon him sting a little less.

"I-I never said anything of that sort. Th-there's no reason for that to follow. Is there?" The question sounded weak to Tumble's own ears.

"Oh, there are plenty of reasons," Tugger said, suddenly with a shark's smile. "You move the same, you dress the same, he dragged you here and you came, you're his ride... You're clearly good, and equal friends, and my rants aside you don't seem to have any leanings toward equality of the classes which all adds up to him being on par with you."

"H-he's a distant cousin?" Tumble offered weakly. It was technically true. Distantly his mother's family was descended from the same family as Pounce's father's, but it was several generations back.

"Which means he's all lordly somehow," Tugger said, watching the other. "Besides, your speech patterns change far too much when you're lying for me to believe you."

"I'm not lying! We are d-distant cousins. And second sons s-still are accepted by the f-family."

Tugger arched a brow. "If you're trying to imply that he's a second son, that's great, but that's still sticking him as nobility of some kind, heir or not. But your stammer there is implying lord's son and heir and all that delicious scandal."

"S-scandal?" The patched tom yelped, "Th-that...I...you..."

"Yes?" Tugger offered gleefully. "What about you and me now?"

Tumble finally pulled himself together enough to form a coherent thought into speech, "It's only a s-scandal," alright almost there without the stutter, he was going to kill Pounce and see what sort of scandal that caused, "if it gets out."

"Oh?" Tugger asked. "How would it get out then? Or, not as the case may be?" he left it open to see if the other thought he was asking for a bribe.

Tumble's brown eyes narrowed at that and his voice turned cold, "I wouldn't know, but considering what Lord Smythe will do to cover up any hint of scandal I wouldn't want to be the cat who let it slip. Besides," here his tone softened as he looked toward Pounce and Jemima, "it's not just the one who publishes the story who would suffer for it. He's got a vicious temper when defending what he perceives as his name and honor."

Tugger's own brows rose then. "Hey, I'm not planning on publishing anything here. You think I care about a lord's son dallying with an actress? All the power to them, just," he narrowed his own gold eyes at the other tom. "If he hurts her, money or not he better watch his step."

"Something tells me that if he hurts her you won't have to worry about it," Tumble replied, shaking his head as he watched his friend.

"Fair enough," Tugger said with a shrug, glancing at the pair again before turning to consider the other tom while his attention was elsewhere. "Just watch out for that, because there's a lot of rough folk down here that would take all sorts of offense. At any rate, it's getting late and I'm sure any excuses you have for those dear lords of yours are going to be wearing thin here."

"Well, mine aren't, but his will be," the smaller tom agreed, glancing up at the other cat. "It occurs to me now that I'm bidding you a good evening, I don't believe I ever got your name."

Brows going up again, Tugger grinned his shark's grin again, holding out a paw. "Tugger Hollister at your service then, oh lord's son."

"Tumblebrutus Carpenter," warily, Tumble eyed Tugger's paw before finally shaking it. "Good to meet you, Mr. Hollister."

"Lovely to meet you as well then, Tumblebrutus. That's a long mouthful, do you go by anything shorter?"

"I-I...g-go by...th-that is..." He finally gathered his thoughts, "s-some call me-"

"Tumble!" Pounce called as he approached, still with Jemima at his side, "It's getting late."

Tumble glanced at his friend and nodded, "It is." Turning back to Tugger again he inclined his head, "Good evening to you, Mr. Hollister."

"Evening to yourself, Tumble," Tugger said, dropping the familiar name like it meant nothing in the world. "A good night to you as well," he said, nodding to Pounce before turning and strolling away back through the emptying theatre.

Tumblebrutus gaped after the taller cat and Pounce's brows rose, "Did he just call you—"

"Y-yes."

"Did you tell him he coul—"

"N-no."

"Have you met him bef—"

"N-no."

"I'll be—" he stopped himself before he swore in front of Jemi. Turning, Pounce offered his sweetheart a smile and kissed the back of her paw, "I'll see you later, my dear. I really do hate to have to rush, but we'll be late home otherwise. Good evening, Jem." She smiled and nodded, well knowing when Pounce needed to be home for the night. She waved after them.

Tumble tipped his hat to Jemima before heading for the exit to let the coachman know that they were ready to leave. He drew his coat tighter around himself at the chill in the air, his ears flat beneath his hat. He would claim that was due to the wind that hit him across the face as he stepped outside and had nothing to do with a certain tall, leopard-patterned tom. He was settled in the carriage when Pounce entered it a few minutes later, but his responses to any questions were so stammered or clipped that his friend finally gave up and the ride progressed in silence, each alone with his thoughts.

v.v.v.v

Coricopat stepped out of Lord Jones' study, closing the door softly behind him. He'd been called in to advise His Lordship in regards to a few business matters and nearly an hour and a half later they had finally finished. He moved nearly silently down the hall to the door, his steps muffled by the thick runner down the center of the hall. His grey gaze skirted around the hall, though he would state that he was simply admiring the decoration. It would have been a lie, the style of décor was excessive and pretentious, he sought a glimpse of His Lordship's nephew, though whether Cori himself was aware of that was uncertain. He finally reached the entryway and paused for a moment, glancing up the stairs before starting toward the door.

Mistoffelees was in fact just coming inside, having gone out on another of Jones' errands, being drafted for them often enough he wondered what his uncle had done before he had arrived home. Pausing in the doorway in the process of taking off his gloves and hanging his hat and coat, Mistoffelees just stared at the lawyer from across the room in some surprise before smiling faintly and inclining his head. "Mr. Zimmerman. Good day."

Cori hesitated, offering the smaller cat a smile and enough of an inclination of his head to qualify as a slight bow, "Good day to you as well, Mr. Quaxo."

"Not even an attempted sir in there, you're improving," he said, teasing quietly. "How does this day find you?"

"Very well, thank you. And yourself?" the mottled tom asked quietly, carefully running everything he said through a check to see if it qualified as tried and true. So far it was working, but they'd only just barely exchanged pleasantries.

"The day is agreeable," the smaller tom replied as he thought of something. "Oh, I haven't had a chance to return your umbrella, and though the weather has been nice these last few days, I believe you shall have need of it sooner rather than later. I left it upstairs, if you would not mind taking the time to get it."

"I...have no pressing engagements, so I certainly can take that time."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said and gestured up the stairs. "I believe I left it in the library, which I assume you know by now." He led the way up anyway, tail swaying gently behind him. The solicitor hesitated for a long moment, before following the younger cat up the stairs, his gaze focused on the handrail. The curve of it absolutely riveting this time up.

Tragically for him, the library was more than one flight up, but Mistoffelees pushed the door open soon enough, holding it open for the other rather than entering first.

Coricopat offered him a faint smile that he hoped was less of a grimace than it felt like, as he entered the library. He glanced around the room, one brow arching at the sight of a particular book set by a chair, "Dickens?"

Mistoffelees blinked from where he had already been going to where he left the umbrella after a servant made sure it was dry. He'd forgotten to hide the book when he left and regretted it now. "Is something wrong with Dickens?" he asked, forcing his voice to be light as he picked A Tale of Two Cities up. This time, he intended to at least put it somewhere more out of sight.

Shrugging, the mottled tom shook his head, "It could certainly be worse. It just wasn't what I expected to see you reading I suppose."

"Dare I ask what you did?" Mistoffelees asked, a faint half smile hiding in the corner of his mouth.

"I-I'm not really sure, but Dickens certainly wasn't it. I didn't think his work would even touch the shelves here."

"Well, my uncle never touches the shelves either. I may smuggle in hack writers from time to time." He shrugged, going to put the book back in it's spot between two more respectable volumes, where many other writers were hidden in among the books if one looked hard enough. Continuing his path, he finally found the umbrella, holding it back out in front of him.

Cori had trailed over to the nearest shelf absently, but turned quickly to face the heir to the estate, offering a flickering smile as he took the umbrella, "Thank you. I should probably be heading back now..."

"If you must," Mistoffelees said with a faint shrug. "I should be thanking you for letting me use it, especially considering the walk involved."

"Which was my fault. I apparently had no control over my words at that time. I do deeply apologize for what I said offending you," came the murmured response.

The smaller tom shrugged again. "Come now. I may have come out looking at least somewhat like a hypocrite, but it was a different experience. I can't remember the last time someone talked to me like that, probably because no one ever has."

"Well, considering your position and the normal assumptions that come in regards to it can you blame cats for that?"

"No," Mistoffelees said with another small twist of his mouth. "Which probably makes you either fearless, foolish, or your mouth has gotten away from you for god only knows what sort of a reason. Offended I may be, but no not at least apologize for it, at least for such minor offenses. Life can be lonely without people willing to give at least some offense. There is no passion or joy in a world where everyone agrees with you, no matter what my uncle's thoughts on the matter."

Cori opened his mouth to respond to that, but bit back his instinctive response to the idea of passion. He closed his mouth for a moment before finally settling on a quiet, "I suppose so, Mr. Quaxo."

"Now you're just saying that to make me feel better," Mistoffelees said and shrugged to himself. "Let me guess, you have a vendetta against passion as well as dreams, don't you?" He knew very well at that point he was trying to provoke the other—his own lawyer even—but the idea was strangely tempting.

The solicitor's ears lay back at that, "I would hardly call it a vendetta."

"But that means you have a problem with it," Mistoffelees said and finally caught sight of the other's ears, his own flickering. "I'm sorry," he said, suddenly feeling it.

"Don't be." Coricopat willed his ears to return to at least nearly the position they had been in before, "I just don't believe it exists."

"You don't believe in passion?" Mistoffelees asked, and almost sounded awed, but more shocked than that. "Dreamers are fools who cause more harm than any good, and passion does not exist in the world. I just, how do you live like that?"

"I get by. It's better than believing in myths that do no good to anyone," Cori's tail thrashed behind him and his gaze darted toward the door.

"I don't believe you," Mistoffelees said, voice soft. "You're too annoyed, you're reacting too strongly. You just want to believe that, but only god knows why you would attempt to do that to yourself."

"Then let me rephrase. There is no passion that is of any lasting, reciprocated nature in this life. It doesn't exist."

"You know everything of the world then?" Mistoffelees asked. "How can you look at it and say there is no lasting passion? Have you seen all of it? It may be a myth but people have believed in stranger ones, and there's no proof against it happening somewhere in the world just because you have yet to encounter it."

Coricopat's jaw tensed, "Passion is fleeting. No, I've not seen the whole of the world, so perhaps somewhere it does exist, but I have yet to witness a lasting passion of a positive nature."

"Do you ever hope you do?" Mistoffelees found himself asking and knew he was being far too bold and forward, but curious.

Cori's ears flickered back a bit at that, "We've been over my opinion on hoping and dreaming already, Mr. Quaxo."

"I'm deeply offending you, aren't I?" the younger asked, eyes watching the other tom's ears. "I should stop."

"You're not really. I just, would much prefer not to speak on this topic, for I fear I shall end up offending you in some way should it continue," everlasting cat knew he'd managed to hurt Mac when it came up. He really needed to leave before this conversation went any further.

Mistoffelees blinked and shook his head. "You're still a mystery to me. You fear offending me until you do. However," he bit the inside of his lip. "I think I've taken more than enough of your time, and I assume you have other business you must see to. If you feel you must leave, you are of course free to." Not that he wanted the other to, but that was hardly his prerogative.

Coricopat's ears flickered at that as he tried to determine whether lying and saying that he had somewhere he had to be within the next hour or continuing to talk to the black-furred tom was the lesser of two evils. He finally opted for the coward's route and offered Mistoffelees a slight bow, "I really should be going. Good day to you, Mr. Quaxo."

"Good day," he murmured in reply, a little forlornly. "I hope it is agreeable to you."

"And you as well. Take care," the mottled tom slipped out of the library and made a hasty retreat from the townhouse. Mistoffelees watched him go before sinking down in one of the chairs and drawing his legs up to his chest. He really had no idea what he was doing or where any conversation with the lawyer was supposed to go. It seemed they left them insulted with each other and yet he hoped another would appear. Resting his head against his knees, he spend a few moments like that before unfolding and attempting to find something useful to accomplish.

This chapter introduces Jemi, Bomba, and Tumble's stammer. These will all be important as the story progresses.

One of Mistoffelees' many small rebellions against his uncle is totally reading writers like Dickens and Thomas Hardy, who are we kidding? I'm sure he reads the Sherlock Holmes stories too for that matter...

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