That evening, after seeing Victoria back to the house and sitting in the library for a couple hours, Mistoffelees approached his uncle's study. No formal announcement of the engagement, and no contact with the lawyers meant that it was at best an agreement between his uncle and Plato. It meant he might have a hope of changing his uncle's mind.

Knocking on that door, he entered when called, not paying quite as much attention to the half empty bourbon bottle on the desk as he should have. "Uncle," he greeted, mouth going a little dry.

Jones gave him a long look and nodded. "Mistoffelees. What do you want?"

Swallowing again, Mistoffelees approached the large oak desk slowly. "I wished to discuss a matter with you. Victoria told me today you were considering engaging her to Plato Philipson-"

"There is no consideration," Jones replied hotly. "The matter has already been arranged, and we are only waiting to contact a lawyer to being the process."

"Sir," Mistoffelees said, trying to keep his voice even. "If I may, I know Plato well. We have been school mates together for years. I do not think this is a good match."

He missed how cold Jones' eyes suddenly went, and was too far to smell the amount of alcohol on his breath. "Excuse me?" Jones demanded.

"Plato will not make her a good husband," Mistoffelees pressed. "There are many other toms of good repute and as much wealth that would make her a much better-"

"What makes you think I could even begin to care for your opinion on this matter?" Jones asked and Mistoffelees drew back slightly, becoming somewhat more aware of the other. "You think I care for any of your thoughts? You think you matter at all?"

"Sir, I," Mistoffelees started again.

"This match is not your concern. Someday, you may well rule this house. Until that day you will know your place or I'll make sure you have none at all, you bastard brat of a low class."

Mistoffelees' ears went flat. "Sir-"

"You will only speak to me when given permission!" Jones thundered, rising. Mistoffelees, who was only two inches shorter than his uncle but a good deal more slender, shrank back at that, taking a half step toward the door. "The only reason you have any hope to a title is the fact that my wife had the misfortune to die before giving me a son. Your cousin's affairs are mine, and mine alone, and you shall never bring this matter up again."

"But," Mistoffelees tried weakly and realized he should have just left. He took another step toward the door.

"You will only leave with my premission!" Jones yelled again and Mistoffelees froze in confusion. "You are a disgrace to the name of Jones," the fatter tom continued. "I would like nothing better to have left you on the street and have you beg for scraps, as you deserve."

"As I-" Mistoffelees snarled in anger. "I'm the disgrace? Me? Have you looked at yourself? You swagger around as if you own everything and you're a Baron! You're not a king, or a duke, you're not even a count! You're the lowest lord the realm knows and you expect me to bow and scrape to you? You? A disgusting old man who couldn't even produce a son? That's something my father will have always done better than you and that just stings doesn't it?" His eyes widened as he realized what he said. He opened his mouth and closed it, trying to form and apology.

Jones had gone completely still when his nephew had started speaking.

"Sir, I-I, I'm sorr-" Mistoffelees attempted.

Jones suddenly reached across the desk and hurled the half empty bottle of burbon at Mistoffelees' head. Taking that as permission to leave, Mistoffelees turn and ran, not trusting his uncle not to follow him. Leaving the house, he'd gotten half way down the street before he formed any sort of a plan.

v.v.v.v.

Victoria knocked softly on the door to her aunt's boudoir, waiting until she heard the familiar voice call for her to enter. Stepping inside, the younger queen made her way over to settle in the chair Serafine motioned her to. Of all the rooms in the house, including her own, the white queen had always felt most comfortable in the boudoir. Sera had made it her private retreat and her touch was visible everywhere, from the lace curtains held back by dark green ties to the floral pattern in the upholstery. Sera offered her niece a slight smile, "How are you this evening, my dear?"

"I…am doing well enough, Aunt. I hope you're feeling better than you were this morning?"

"Much. Thank you. I am sorry I wasn't able to go out with you today."

The younger cat smiled faintly, "That's quite alright, Mistoffelees acted as my escort."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, what brings you here, Victoria?"

"I, well, I need your advice on fabrics," the white queen answered, smoothing a paw over her skirts.

Sera smiled softly, "You know nearly as much about appropriate fabrics as I do. Is there something else?"

"I know about a lot of fabrics, yes, but not what would be appropriate for a wedding gown," came the murmured response.

The tuxedo queen paled at that, though her fur concealed most of it, "A wedding gown? You're to be married?"

Her niece nodded, "Father told me last night."

"Who is the fortunate young tom?"

"His name's Plato Philipson. He's an old schoolmate of Mistoffelees'. I think I've only met him a pawful of times."

"Oh, my dear." Sera sighed, "If there is anything I can do to help you name it."

"I…can't think of anything. I just don't know anything about him, and very little of his family."

"I can't say I do either, but I can see what I can find out. As to the fabric you wear, we shall have to look into that, and the color. We want every possible bit of luck granted to you in this."

Victoria offered her aunt a soft smile, "Thank you, Aunt."

"Of course, my dear." She startled as she heard the front door slam. Glancing at her niece, she rose, "Wait here. I'll return shortly." Before Victoria could form a response, Sera had swept from the room.

The butler met her at the bottom of the stairs. "Do not concern yourself, my lady."

She arched an eyebrow at that, "What has occurred?"

"I believe Mr. Quaxo has left for the night," the butler replied with a straight face, having also been forced to call the black tom by Mr. Quaxo rather than Sir.

"That did not answer my question," she responded almost icily.

He shrugged. "I am not sure why he left, but he did not appear like he would be back tonight. I would save your questions for the morning."

"Where did he come from before leaving the house?" Sera asked, firmly.

The Butler paused. "I believe it was your brother's study," he admitted finally.

She pursed her lips, nodding slightly, "Thank you. Should Mr. Quaxo return tonight do let me know."

The Butler nodded. "I shall be sure to."

The lady of the house inclined her head and then made her way, quietly to her brother's study, knocking softly on the door.

A faint roar could be heard, and a demand to be left alone.

She frowned at the door and knocked again, "Bustopher?"

The demand was repeated a bit louder.

Her ears went back and she shook her head, weighing the pros and cons of retreating. She knocked a third time, if instructed to leave again she would, "Is everything alright, brother?"

"Beside your mutt bastard of an offspring?" Jones demanded from the other side of the door.

"What happened, Bustopher?" Her voice was just loud enough to be heard through the door.

"He's an insult to the name!"

Her ears laced at that, "I see."

"Now would all of my family leave me in peace?" Jones demanded.

"Of course. Good evening, brother."

Something was muttered but it was hard to hear from the other side of the door.

Sera shook her head, but retreated to her boudoir, startling slightly at the sight of her niece there. She'd forgotten she'd told the younger queen to wait for her. Settling down in her preferred chair she answered the white queen's inquiring look, "Your cousin has apparently left for the night."

Victoria frowned very slightly at that, "The door slamming was Mistoffelees? That doesn't seem much like him."

"It's entirely possible that he didn't realize the door would close with such force. The butler said that he'd come from your father's study."

Glancing at the clock and considering her father's nearly nightly pattern, the white queen sighed, "Doesn't he know not to approach Father at this hour?"

"He hasn't been home for that long, Victoria. He's still learning the patterns around here."

"I suppose so. Aunt Sera, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You certainly may, but I may choose not to answer it."

Victoria inclined her head in acknowledgement of that, "Why are you avoiding him?"

Serafine looked taken aback at that, "Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean," her niece began carefully, "that you spent less time in your boudoir with headaches before Mistoffelees arrived. I just don't understand it."

"I-I, that is, we, I just," Sera sighed, "I don't know what to say to him. How to act around him. He's my son but he's a complete stranger."

"But, I beg your pardon, isn't the best way to change that to spend time with someone, rather than avoid them? That is how best to get to know someone, right?"

Serafine sighed again, "It also means that both parties wish to get to know one another."

"You never know until you try though."

"I'll consider it," the older queen finally granted before turning the conversation to other things.

v.v.v.v.

Having considered his options once slowing down, Mistoffelees finally reached a decision that did not involve going home that night. Knocking on the door in front of him before he could think better of it, he settled back on his heels to wait.

Coricopat startled at a knock on his door, setting his book aside and getting to his feet. He really wasn't dressed for visitors, wearing his housecoat over his shirtsleeves and slacks. He hesitated for a moment before finally answering the door, "Yes, what is-Mr. Quaxo?"

Mistoffelees froze, ears going back slightly. He'd completely missed grabbing a hat on his way out. "This seemed like a good idea until you opened the door," he murmured.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" the mottled tom managed to stammer out.

"I may have gotten kicked out for the night," he said, voice strained. "And you're the only one I know who doesn't move in the same circle of my uncle and inform him I showed up there-I mean, I think you wouldn't tell him, and you don't have a ton of servants as far as I know that would have the gossip all over the town in mere hours."

Cori tried to get his brain to actually function again. He swallowed and then nodded, stepping aside to let the other in, "No, I wouldn't mention it and no, I don't have any servants. Come in, if you like."

"I," Mistoffelees flailed. "I'm imposing, this was a bad idea, and you really don't need to deal with this. I can, I can go."

"It's no imposition," alright that was a lie. "I have a spare room you can stay in tonight, if you need it."

Mistoffelees' ears flickered, and he finally entered the house, shoulders hunched. "Thank you."

The solicitor nodded slightly, "Of course."

Mistoffelees wrapped his arms around his chest, considering the other. "I, just, I really don't know what I'm doing here."

"You needed a place to stay and this was a logical choice. Can I get you anything? Tea perhaps?"

"Tea would be nice," Mistoffelees answered, arching his brow slightly. "That's quite the extravagance you have there."

Cori offered a faint smile, "I haven't much of it. But there should be enough for a pot."

"Thank you," he said again.

Coricopat inclined his head before retreating to the kitchen to brew the tea.

Arms still holding around his chest, Mistoffelees wondered into the drawing room like area of the flat, looking around and feeling like he was snooping. He looked over the book Coricopat had been reading.

The mottled tom emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray with the tea set a few minutes later. Mistoffelees offered him a faint smile, settling in the chair nearest to the fireplace. Cori returned the expression, pouring the tea, "Cream or sugar?"

"You are going all out," Mistoffelees murmured. "Cream, if you don't mind."

"I suppose so..." He prepared the cup of tea and handed it to the younger tom.

Accepting it, Mistoffelees' smile became a bit firmer, though it still shook slightly, like his paws did. Anytime the thought of his uncle crossed his mind it got worse again.

"May I ask what happened?" Cori ventured as he prepared his own cup of tea.

Eyes snapping up, Mistoffelees bit his lip, more obviously than usual. "I, well, it," he floundered and hunched his shoulders. "My uncle appears to have kicked me out. Hopefully just for the night."

"What? Why?" He paused, shaking his head, "Nevermind, that's hardly my business."

"I protested his choice for Victoria's marriage," he murmured in reply, pulling his legs up onto the chair with him. For once he ignored the fact someone else was in the room, too distressed to do otherwise. "He threw a bottle of bourbon at my head in reply."

"A bottle of...Good heavens," Coricopat managed narrowly to avoid outright gaping at the other at that revelation.

Mistoffelees was paying more attention to the cup of tea in his paws, turning it around. "Mhm," he hummed.

"Did you say it was in regards to your cousin's marriage? She's to be engaged?"

Mistoffelees nodded. "To Plato Philipson," he murmured. "It's why I asked if you had heard from my uncle. It's not official yet."

"A-ah. I see. I have a meeting with your uncle in a few days, it's entirely possible that it will come up then," came the quiet response. Mistoffelees swallowed and nodded, still looking down. "Are you going to be alright?"

"I do not know," he murmured. "I really do not know. God," he exclaimed, nearly slamming the tea cup down. "Plato Philipson? Does my uncle have no sympathetic bone in that large body of his?"

"I don't believe I know much of the cat in question. Beyond what one hears about his family in general I mean." Cori's eyes flickered to the china tea cup.

"He," Mistoffelees bit his lip again. "He's arrogant, he's untrustworthy. That's the least of his problems." His head thudded against the back of the chair. "God, my uncle wants me to go into politics, but how am I supposed to help run a country when I can't stop someone I care about from marrying a monster? And god you don't need to be hearing this. You're my lawyer, not my confident."

The lawyer's ears flickered at that, "I'm hardly going to go telling everycat what you've said. Confide away."

Blinking, Mistoffelees finally raised his head, eyes on the other's face. "You like honesty in private don't you?"

"Wh-what?" Coricopat considered the question, "I suppose so."

"I'm sorry," Mistoffelees looked back down at the teacup. "It's my issue, I should hardly be bringing it up."

"There's no need to apologize."

"Then what should I do?" Mistoffelees asked.

Coricopat shrugged, "I don't know, but if you feel that strongly about it you obviously need to talk to someone."

The smaller looked away for a moment. "I knew Plato for years in school. Victoria asked me today what he was like and I couldn't come up with anything."

"Nothing reassuring at least?"

Shaking his head, he sighed. "No, nothing I was willing to tell her."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Surely he must have some redeeming qualities?"

"I think I managed to come up with the fact he was intelligent? What I didn't mention was that he uses that to manipulate people."

Cori ran a paw through his hair, "You said he's an old schoolmate?"

Mistoffelees nodded. "Yes."

"He sounds like he was quite the delight. I...wish there was something to be done beyond wishing your cousin luck."

Mistoffelees considered him for a long moment. "Thank you," he managed. The mottled tom nodded very slightly, his gaze focused on the fire in the grate that was starting to burn itself out. "I really don't understand you," Mistoffelees said quietly. "But thank you."

"I...what do you mean? Surely I'm not that much of an enigma?"

"No, you are. An honest lawyer. Someone who's only honest around certain people, and it seems when no one else can hear. How many lord's heirs do you lecture?"

Cori managed not to react visibly to that, "Not many..."

"Many?" Mistoffelees asked.

"One," he finally answered honestly.

Mistoffelees smiled at him sardonically. "Ah, I thought as much."

Coricopat's gaze focused on the crackling logs, "I do apologize for that."

"The lecturing or it just being me?"

"Both?"

"There are worse things I'm sure," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head slightly.

"Still. It is hardly my place to lecture you."

Mistoffelees shrugged. "Perhaps not. But you let me into your house when you did not have to, which counts for something."

"I could hardly leave you out at night to fall victim to the rife gossip that this city excells at," Coricopat replied softly.

"You have no obligation to that though," Mistoffelees said. "It just, I'm sorry, I should really not question my own good fortune."

"I...I suppose there wasn't an obligation, but it's no trouble. Really."

He glanced down at the teacup, finally drinking it before it went completely cold and he wasted it. "I'm not sure I believe it to be no trouble, but thank you for going through some trouble, even if you do not consider it much."

"I don't mind, but you're welcome if it comes to that," Coricopat sipped at his tea, still keeping his gaze focused on the fireplace.

Mistoffelees nodded and looked to the fireplace himself. "You just keep bringing your work home with you, don't you?"

"I don't know that I would call this bringing my work home. I do on occasion, but-" he broke off rather than let his mouth run away with him.

"But?" Mistoffelees asked, turning to glance at him.

"But I would hardly consider this such," he managed to word his thoughts so they weren't as improper as they had been in his mind. Amazing what a simple substitution of "this" for "you" could do to a sentence.

The black tom considered him, and nodded, before falling silent again. Cori finished his tea and glanced at the clock, "It's growing late."

"It is," the baron's heir agreed. "I should let you get to sleep."

"As I said, the spare room is available for you." The lawyer rose, "Good night, Mr. Quaxo."

"Good night," he said quietly.

Cori hesitated and then retreated to his bedroom for the night.

Mistoffelees watched him leave, curling up more in the chair for several moments before rising and finding his way to the spare room by logic more than anything. The only problem was his lack of other clothing, so he just curled up in the middle of the bed after pulling off his outer layers, hoping he wouldn't be too wrinkled in the morning.

Oh what tangled webs these characters weave...

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