Mornings usually found Atticus awake at an early hour, long before the Master of the house needed him. It was when Atticus trained, keeping the skills Master Ryan required of him sharp. For two hours, he was at the dubious mercy of one of the city’s finest (and more expensive) swordmasters, Felix Bradoon, moving slowly through patterns with a lead-weighted sword until his muscles burned and sweat beads slid down his bare torso.<br/><br/>Only then would the swordmaster let him have a live sword, and they would spar at full speed, the sound of their fight ringing out through the lush garden. Atticus wondered if any of the patrons complained about the noise disturbing them, but Master Ryan never mentioned it.<br/><br/>After several long fights that he always seemed to lose, Swordmaster Bradoon would sit in the gazebo, enjoying the breakfast the Teahouse servants had laid out for him and read aloud the broadsheet while Atticus strained and struggled through the required number of push-ups, sit-ups and whatever other tortures his trainer thought up.  When he ran out of interesting articles and the church bells rang out the eighth hour, the white-haired man would stand and Atticus would drag himself upright, walking the man to the stables as if he was showing a client to the door after a long night. Once he was gone, Atticus would dunk his head in the rain barrel, then drag his sore body back to the main building.<br/><br/>So it was this morning. Atticus struggled to tug on a shirt, knowing that some patron or client might be coming to or fro, but it was all the energy he could find to slide his arms into the correct sleeves. It hung open, a long, broad bar of his chest and midriff bared, the tails tailing down his thighs. His sword belt also was too much, and he simply carried it and the sheathed sword attached to it in his left hand.<br/><br/>Tired and sore though he was, he was smiling, the exertion of the labour a satisfying sensation. In its own way, it felt better than sex, though nothing could replace that sweetest of releases. He missed it, craved it, after abstaining for close to half a year now. His whole time at the Teahouse.<br/><br/>It was surreal to think he had the freedom to actually choose his bed partners now. He wondered how someone would go about it, then put it from his mind. He didn’t know Master Ryan’s opinions of interhouse liaisons,  and wouldn’t risk his position until he did. Seeing how little free time he had, perusing someone outside the Teahouse would be difficult if not impossible, so he knew he was dependant on Master Ryan’s decision. He still belonged to the brothel, though his use was changed.<br/><br/>His hand want to his eyepatch, making sure it was secure before walking into the main building through the servant’s door, picking up a croissant from the breakfast tray.<br/><br/>“Take that to the Common Room, would you Atti?” Cook said, sounding flustered. “Mavis is pulling your bath and I don’t know where the others have scampered to!”<br/><br/>“Of course,” Atticus said after swallowing the pastry. “Master Bradoon sent his compliments, by the way. He wants to seduce you and keep you all to himself.”<br/><br/>She tutted and flapped a cloth at him to shoo him away, and he left the kitchens still smiling, carrying the tray one-handed through the narrow corridors to the larger hallway, then into the Common Room.<br/><br/>His eyes flicked around the room, going to Zara first for she attracted the most attention, playing the baby grand beautifully. Then his gaze snapped to Master Ryan, lingering for several of Zara’s notes then finally going to Anel. “Good morning,” he said to the room at large, offering the young whore the first pick of the pastries as he was closest.<br/>