Atticus swallowed a mouthful of the pleasantly hot tea, and smiled, an eyebrow witching up to make the amused expression turn self-mocking. “I just have boring dreams.” He looked at Lessard for a moment, a question balanced on his tongue. What was his dreams? What did he crave the future to bear? It was too intimate a question, and Atticus wasn’t willing to share his own. He dropped his single-eyed gaze to the teapots and reached for the untainted pot, refilling his cup.<br/><br/>The guard offered a flashed smile as Lessard consented to use his alias. Atticus. For Atlas. One of his clients had chosen it, the first who had said he needed a safe word. It was from some antiquated myth of a giant who tried to hold up the sky. Use it when there is too much to bear... it had stuck with him and had been inked into his flesh at one particular House, where they did not use their given names but used safe words in their place. That had been the Pain House he’d been in just before the Briars. Owned by tawny skinned foreigners, the air had been blue with opium.<br/><br/><em>"I understand that I know little of your circumstances, but why do you not simply address the issue with Master Ryan directly? We should all feel safe in this House; it is our home as well as our workplace... And I am certain you would not be frowned upon for voicing your discomfort..."</em><br/><br/>“Perhaps,” He said slowly. “If there is a quiet moment and he is not in a bad temper. I do feel now that I’m somewhat... overwrought today.” It wasn’t the first bad day he’d had, but he’d not had terrors like that since his first month here. “I have no desire to lead the Master to think I can’t do the work.”<br/>