It was clear to Atticus that Fiona was unhappy, but not distraught.  Even so, Atticus relaxed – only courtesans could choose who their patrons were, truly, and they were not numerous. Fiona had a long way to go before she would have such a freedom, if that was what she sought. It was a possible step to take from such a high class establishment as the Teahouse... though much more common to be taken in as a mistress by an infatuated patron.<br/><br/>Atticus’ chest hitched as his breath caught, the memory of a blade brief and vivid. He twitched and looked away from Fiona and her client, knowing that such a fate would never come to her, or any at the establishment. Screams were plentiful but they didn’t go ignored, and if they continued for more than half a minute, it was investigated.<br/><br/>He lightly touched his eyepatch, reassuring himself he felt no pain, the wounds were long healed, then pushed back his hair to mask the brief daze. The music that spilled out of the nearby room helped, and he made his shoulders relax. He noticed Master Ryan's gaze and the corner of his mouth lifted in a self-mocking smirk. "Master," he murmured quietly, not quite a question and not quite an apology for letting his mind wander, either.<br/>