<em> “Maybe you should have, so he wouldn’t…” </em><br/><br/>A smile and then those words, the hint of pain, of fear in his eye. Fiona wanted to beg him not to do this to himself but she couldn't, not here and not without understanding more and here was not the place to probe for more details. At least she had made him smile, made him think of the rainy afternoon and that silly archaic word. Another smile he gave her, this one she sensed to sooth her though he might as well have spared himself the effort. She knew the masks they both used and hers would stay as firmly in place as his did. Oh the quiet aches.<br/><br/>The request for his name earned a nod and she leaned closer, not wanting to draw too much attention to their discussion. "Nicholas, Sir Nicholas Bureck; his is a northern family, he's a younger son actually, third son I think. I don't remember much more outside of that other then ravings about his work."<br/><br/>It almost amused her, the frustration that lingered in his face, in his voice at her refusal to take money from him for the use of her room; he could be stubborn but so could she about a few things. She crinkled her nose at him playfully, meaning to give a tart reply that would hopefully ease his mind when Anel lashed out again and any thought of laughter faded. Her blue green eyes were worried as they watched Zara try to pull the other whore away.<br/><br/><em>“What happened to him? He’s usually so happy when Lord Aldrich visits.”</em><br/><br/>"I don't know, he came downstairs like that largely, though a bit less drunk. He insulted near all the other whores and got into it with Rubee...but I haven't seen Lord Aldrich yet; perhaps they had a row?" Her eyes moved back to his sole cornflower blue one and she attempted a smile, wondering if today was meant to seem to be falling apart at the seams. Ryan would hold them all together, he always managed to somehow. "I'm sure once the new clients are settled the Master will be able to deal with it. As for a cut, I'll take 3%, not a cent more. If he wants to pose you why not use the couch to start with, use the memories there to ground you some? He is an artist, so perhaps...have a little faith."<br/><br/>Her words then were chosen to sooth and offer a touch stone, the couch where they had lingered so often to discuss books and words, where she had sounded out the odd words that stumbled his elegant voice. Perhaps it being somewhere with so many good memories would mean that his fears wouldn't take too much of his mind; the money she assented to only to put him at ease, she'd simply find a way to gift it back to him. Perhaps in a new waistcoat.