Mismatched eyes were fixed on the middle-aged man as he carefully dialled a number into the most state of the art telephone. On the final number, the man hesitated and looked at the excited youth. “Are you certain, m’lord?”<br/><br/>The younger man gave a shrug. “I can’t woo anyone in seven days, let alone lean how to fuck from them. Unless you’d like to, Jeric.” His elegant voice held a tone of teasing distaste.<br/><br/>The man, Jeric, grimaced. “While your offer makes me heart flutter,” he deadpanned, “I must decline. The Lord of Arram and I do not share tastes. Thank the gods.”<br/><br/>He pressed the final digit and there followed a series of clicks as his call was connected to the Teahouse.<br/>