Open Surely we'll sing of no little thing

They had the local brew, bitter and tan but the one that dried the skin with its intensity.
They had the barley brew in caskets with the hoble house's colors, on ten wagons.

The dusk was setting, and the most brave would have all night until dawn, because the next one might not come for them.
To know the faces and the names, the people behind the unified purpose - an invisible bulwark before the creeping dread of the inevitable.

The dreary has sparsed out after the deluge some, grey clouds uniform but thin, the damp chill more forgiving as the daylight deemed and people spilled onto the streets from houses and tents, crowding the distributors of life-emboldening spirits and then splitting off in groups. Some militiamen sat around shared fires, with snippets of stories and past encounters shared around the fire, the Huntsmen veiling their words carefully even as drinks loosened tongues. Mixed groups, all kinds, outside in improvised camps and inside buildings.

What was once a large production building of some kind, strange to see in a town like this to begin with, had been repurposed for a drink house at the end of the thoroughfare. Still, it was cramped full, with a lot of tables improvised and yet more borrowed, and people standing as often as sat, on chairs or wherever one would improvise.

Here, dice clacked, lots were pulled, a drunk chorus sang a bawdy song about a wife from the Free Cities, a lute was being tuned in another corner, and several men were trying to construct a stage in front of the collected casks and bottles and skins by hogging some surfaces that could be leveled enough - twofold, one could guess, to encourage the senses and delay the livers giving up ghosts.

If anyone had port, or any kind of wine or liquor of a finer make - it would have probably been brought along in personal possessions.

Arpa shone in a miriad of dim hopeful lights.
And the gates to the outside were barred until morning.

The night was free, the town as secure as it could be, and in the air hung the anxious heaviness of anticipation. But with that anticipation of what was to come in the following days was a dampened cheer and laughter, everyone indulging in as much booze and gambling and sex as they could before everything officially began.

Aelius had stripped off his armor, leaving the polished gold and ivory alongside his sun-emblazoned tabard and his fiery gold glaive. Even without all the armor, he still glinted in the light (including the natural light he seemed to give off) - the shining emblems decorating his hair, the many golden piercings, and the golden embroidery in his wine-red tunic. The materials of his clothes were of quite high quality, the clothes clearly tailored to his impressive physique. The man clearly came from money - or at the very least, his church enjoyed flaunting their money with their paladin's gear.

As the paladin found his way to the building filled with people trying to unwind, he found an empty table to sit at. He was a social butterfly, of course, but for the time being he wanted to spend some time peoplewatching. Everything and everyone was so different here, after all. The man leaned back in the chair until it tilted onto two legs, balancing precariously under the weight of his musculature. His eyes scanned the crowd slowly, a warm smile on his lips.

It was nice to see everyone come together like this, despite it all. So many different people from all different walks of life. Gathered in one place to help. It warmed his heart, in spite of the overall doom and gloom. The rowdiness and cheer was a delight to watch, as well. He was very curious to see what all people planned on using that stage for. He'd love to hear more music from outside of the Empire.

Aelius pulled a flask from a pouch at his hip - like everything on him, it was engraved with the sun and gilded - and took a quick swig. There were already some very interesting people from that initial meeting - the tall Orkin woman whose very presence emanated command, those sharp eyes that scanned the threat in him even as they shook hands... he wondered if she would even allow herself time to relax. He certainly hoped so. Aelius would love a spar with her - win or lose, he could never complain when a hot woman that could kill him was involved. There was the pretty foxkin man who had some kind of way with spirits; he too wore bright whites and yellows. Maybe they could stick out together amongst the dark leathers and tattered clothes most wore. And of course, there was the nobleman who took charge. Handsome man, pretty eyes, mentioned something about sight and negation... Aelius didn't entirely understand everything in Walter's assessment of everyone's abilities, but it at least sounded important.

With those thoughts... as the paladin continued to peoplewatch, he was sure to keep an eye out for those particularly interesting few.

Momo had never been a stranger to drinking, nor did he have any particular objection to the idea of spending an evening unwinding with good company. He understood the appeal well enough. After a day like this one, when tomorrow promised danger and uncertainty, there was something sensible about giving yourself permission to forget about it for a few hours.

He simply knew that alcohol was not for him.

So while the drink house overflowed with bitter barley brew, moonshine, and whatever finer spirits people had brought from home, Momo had settled for tea. A small cup rested between his hands, its warmth seeping pleasantly into his fingers as he wandered through the crowded room.

He had changed out of the clothes he'd worn during the meeting, though not entirely out of his usual colors. White and yellow still marked him against the darker clothing surrounding him, his snow-white hair catching the warm light whenever he passed beneath one of the lamps. His sword remained with him, though it sat quietly at his side rather than in his hands.

For once, there was nowhere he needed to be.

That alone felt strange.

He moved slowly through the drink house without any particular destination, letting the noise wash over him. Dice clicked against tabletops. Someone shouted triumphantly over a hand of cards. A lute was being tuned somewhere nearby, each plucked string answered by another careful adjustment. A few men were already well into their cups, their voices growing louder with every round.

Then came the singing.

Momo stopped.

He listened for several seconds, his expression gradually shifting into mild confusion as the bawdy chorus reached its particularly enthusiastic refrain.

His ears lowered slightly.

“…That is not a very nice song.”

Whether anyone heard him over the chorus was doubtful.

He continued on.

There was something pleasant about seeing all these people together. The same people who had spent the day discussing death, monsters, wards, supplies, and everything waiting beyond the walls were now crowded around tables with cups in their hands. Some were laughing loudly enough to forget where they were. Others sat quietly with friends, sharing stories that probably would never have been told under ordinary circumstances.

Relief lingered beneath it all.

For a little while, nobody had to think about the marshes waiting beyond the gates. Nobody had to wonder which of them would still be standing when the next dawn came. They could laugh, gamble, sing badly, and pretend that tomorrow was someone else's problem.

Momo found that strangely comforting.

Perhaps that was why people did this.

Maybe it was easier to face something frightening when you had something good to remember beforehand.

His attention eventually settled on one of the quieter figures in the room.

Aelius.

The paladin sat at a table by himself, though he hardly seemed lonely. He had stripped away the armor that had made him look almost impossibly imposing earlier, leaving behind a wine-red tunic embroidered with gold. Even without the armor, there was something bright about him. Not simply the gold threaded through his clothing or the many pieces of jewelry catching the light.

He was warm.

Momo could feel it.

Not physically, exactly. There was something about the man's presence that reminded him of standing near a hearth on a cold night.

Momo watched him for a moment before glancing down at his own tea.

Then back at Aelius.

He took another sip before deciding that there was no particular reason not to say hello.

With his cup in hand, Momo crossed the room.

He approached the table without hesitation, stopping a comfortable distance away.

“Hello.”

His gaze dropped briefly toward the empty chair opposite Aelius before returning to him.

“May I sit?”

Once given permission, Momo pulled the chair out and settled into it with the same quiet ease he seemed to bring to everything else. He placed his tea carefully on the table between them, folding his hands loosely around the cup.

For a moment, he simply sat there.

The room continued around them. Laughter. Music. The occasional crash of something being dropped. The warm smell of food and wet clothing mingling with the sharp scent of spilled ale. Beyond the walls, the gates remained barred, holding back the darkness for one more night.

Momo turned his cup slowly between his fingers.

“You are very bright.”

The observation came without embarrassment or hesitation.

He looked at Aelius with open curiosity.

“Not just your clothes.”

A small pause followed.

His eyes drifted briefly toward the golden piercings scattered across Aelius's appearance before returning to his face.

“I think most spirits would like you.”

He seemed to consider that for a moment.

A faint smile touched his lips.

“The angry ones might not.”

Momo took another sip of his tea, apparently satisfied with it this time.

“You said you could heal.”

The question was quieter, his attention returning fully to Aelius.

“Is that because of your god?”

There was genuine curiosity in his voice rather than skepticism. Momo had heard the paladin's title and the pride with which he carried it, but gods and the powers they gave their followers were not quite the same thing as the spirits he knew.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, letting his gaze wander toward the room again. His eyes returned to Aelius.

“Everyone here is different.”

A beat passed.

“I like that.”

He glanced toward the barred entrance, toward the faint sounds of rain still dripping from rooftops outside.

“Tomorrow, we're all going into the marsh together.”

There was no fear in the statement. Only acceptance.

Momo wrapped both hands around his warm cup again.

“Tonight, we should probably get to know each other first.”

It was easy to catch sight of the foxkin as he entered the room; though dressed down a bit, he still was bright enough with those yellows that he stood out quite a bit. That delighted Aelius. As the man approached, he offered a bright smile, the nearby lanternlight flickering a touch stronger as he did. "Please do!" He was still leaning his chair back casually, watching the other sit with... tea? Interesting choice for a last night of respite. But who was he to judge what someone found comfort in?

He turned his eyes back to the room as the pair sat in comfortable silence for a bit. Both enjoyed the cheerful atmosphere, drinking it in from the sidelines. And when Momo spoke again, he smiled over and tilted his head, then laughed softly. Just like his voice, his laugh was honey-sweet, as warm as everything else about the man. There was similarly no teasing, no harshness in his laugh. It was the gentle laugh of a man who'd been told a million times that he was bright.

Resting his chin on his hand, he peered over the table at the other and smiled. "Is that so?" He hummed for a moment. "I can't imagine angry spirits would like many people, if I were to guess. But I'm no expert."

Those fire-red eyes continued to watch Momo, flickering like a dancing bonfire. He perked up at the next question, chin tilted up ever so slightly with pride. "Why yes, of course! All of my powers are from my Father - the Heavenly Father, Ko." That was not a correction, nor was it allegory. His title of 'son of Ko' was, as far as he knew, quite literal. It was a simple statement of fact. He flicked a wrist and small sparks and embers flared from his fingers for a moment; they weren't the showy kind, but more akin to a strike of flint to gather sparks. "Fire comes easier, but I'm quite proud of my healing capabilities."

His eyes met with Momo's as the man's gaze turned towards him. The paladin's bright smile calmed, warmed, and he peered out over the crowd again. He took another swig from his flask. "Me too. Everyone out here is so different than what I'm used to. And it's incredibly heartwarming seeing so many different people come together for something like this."

Aelius nodded in agreement. He glanced down at the cup of tea, then offered his gilded flask. "A lovely idea." He smiled. Did he ever not smile? Hard to say.

"You're much quieter than I thought you would be. That isn't a bad thing, of course! I just thought that, hmm... well, everyone I know that wears such bright yellows wants to stand out for a reason. Myself included, of course." Another laugh. "You work with spirits, though? I haven't heard of many who directly work with the spirits; most of my brethren work to banish them when they cause trouble, but that's about all. Do you work with a temple?"

---

To his relief, it was not too bright inside.
A group of Huntsmen were drinking together. Cheers went up as they spotted him, the faces he knew by their names, a tiny island of familiarity. He'd start there. Walter spent a little time with them - quicker than most ways to ensure his thirty weren't stirring too much trouble. The lord then drifted onward, clad in a green shirt embroidered with silver briars at the neck, wide-sleeved and narrow-cuffed, and wearing a thinner everpresent glove on his righr hand.

In his hands were not a drink and a daring companion, but a viola and a bow, which were in his estimation slightly better because neither ran out.

He didn't warn or announce once the instrument was tuned, just hopped onto the stage, a shot of moonshine exploding in his tastebuds with something like peppermint and slightly moldy plum - cleaned the sinuses great, if nothing else - and eyed the gathering some, the eyes that would turn and the companies gathered, before putting notes on strings.

He traveled quite a lot. And in those travels, he had a peculiar memory for songs and tunes. The roads were long, a good ear for music coupled with schooling from his younger years turned into one of the ways to keep sane. He put a lot of practice in everything that made him feel saner.

It started from a melody arranged from a song of the first mermaid that every man in Bremen knew by heart, and that had once come into it along the coastline from the southern fishing villagers. The ballad was handy as a work song, the count of four, a simple repeating melody that his viola enriched with additional interludes and chords woven into the theme. He heard the voices singing along, and while his hands remained steady, fingers feeling the rub of the strings even through the callouses, something in his chest ran a little warmer besides the alcohol.

He moved to a few other songs and motifs that every Altalusian knew, putting bridges between them to not allow for pause, and moving down the origin regions southward. His people were from Bremen, but they were, in this moment, Altalusian first. And yet, another memory honored, Walter finished the sequence with one of the most popular songs in the Free Cities. They said that the bard herself was quite a beauty, too. Once the flow ended, his fingertips burned, intersecting grooves molded into callouses at the fingertips by music, and his shoulder felt the way the violin dug into the collarbone. Still, it was a relief for just a moment to hear cheers from some unknown faces, too.

Someone started a northern song about a seal king's wife, one could argue reasonably poorly due to drunken excess, and Walter let them curry the attention, slipping off into the crowd. He felt unfocused, adrift. Not a good way to be in. Faces blurred and merged a little, now and then, his attention slipped. Too much noise. Too many people, all at once. He repeated to himself again, this was needed, worse than many other things, for people who wanted to touch their humanity before having to shelve it for the work.

His eyes fell briefly at the colorful pair of solitary heroes-to-be, and Walter considered joining them later, but first... He had another social nod to make. He left his viola with Reggie, and made sure the fabric glove sat flush to the hand and ended under the sleeve.

"Captain."
He found the Shieldbearers, eyed Agatha's company, saluted with a half-full mug of water (because who would question or be able to smell, or rather not smell, what the lord was drinking?). Gods forbid he actually got drunk... Even though a part of him really craved to.

"Hope you are enjoying the time to build bonds and rest after the long journey, however much we are alotted," he offered, finding himself a seat and landing there without much prelude. "We have an unexpectedly colorful array of specialists, wouldn't you agree?"

A sidelong glance. She knew what he meant. That moment of lethal intent glimpsed at the carpenter's house.

He leaned back, making the posture comfortable. Sharp eyes, used to spotting things, especially on the Captain and the lieutenants. Rested a hand over the mug, rather than to the side of it - someone was sitting too close on the left, he didn't know the name.

The fingers of his other hand drummed idly, matching the rhythm with the song about the selkie wife. His eyes were on Agatha, however, slightly lidded, half-idle.

"I found my joy in half the hall dancing to my tune and a good third singing along," he spoke quietly, smile originating in the devilish squint, deep violet shadowing into black and catching the golden candlelight. Once upon a time, he had an excellent teacher.

The squint passed and the smile curved the mouth proper, pleased yet not showing the excess of fangs. The fingers drummed, silently, and then they stopped. Walter looked to the local curiosities of male variety, as well, and watched them perhaps a moment longer before turning his attention back. Just to rest his eyes on something he found both striking and appealing, for a brief beat.

"All kinds," he admitted, easily, the pause for observation giving him enough of a breath to think. He brought the mug over to his mouth and tilted it, averting his gaze to no one in particular while he took a sip. "I have few regrets of sacrifices made for some." The gloved hand's fingers curled, not a full fist, just grounding against the feeling of fingertips pressing into the palm. "Some were as blooms in spring." He chuckled under the breath. "And some bring a touch of nostalgia to this current circumstance." The glove gestured neutrally between them.

He didn't ask her about the crimson-clad youth, the lethal intent in the strategy room. Just tilted his head slightly.
"How strange would you reckon you'd prefer?" His chin turned to the crowd, as if to assess their quality for entertainment. His gaze lingered but half a beat, then followed.

The lord chuckled. It was a quiet, deep noise that was also somehow devoid of humor almost completely. A brief glance aside, following the angle of Agatha's eyes searching, searching, finding their stop on a woman that seemed momentarily adrift, and chose solitude to action.
"Oh, take your pick, I somehow doubt we'd fight over it," he mused, letting his eyes drift briefly to the table with the two in conversation.

An offer of a secret seemed to hook his curiosity, though trust in her not pulling some sort of a trick was dubious at best.
"Certainly," he smiled, and leaned to be offered a wisdom clearly occult for most.

Her breath brished against his ear. A moment later, his eyebrows rose slightly in that peculiar way where a tiny line on his forehead almost paralleled a momentary shape of his mouth, lips stretching into a disappointed line. He was not surprised, of course.
"Yes, and?" He shrugged lightly. "Common sense, isn't it. Enough responsibility as is, perish the thought of layering it."

And yet, he remembered the golden straw, the smell of horses after outings, and being half as young and softer in the heart and face. Thinking that he was in love with that poor boy... Maybe that was the only time he felt loved back. Maybe even that was just a trick of the nostalgic light. It's not that he avoided making that mistake. It's that he'd made many dumber ones since.

Walter could tell where she was looking without needing to follow her gaze, this time.
"Ah, you flatteress. No need, I mean it." Walter sighed, finished the contents of his mug. "Her name is Dorothea, quiet until you get her to compete in anything at all, and a much better trapper than a shot. She does have a brother though, and he is quite protective over any... complicating notions."

He could not relax, either. Maybe another thing of local swill would fix it.
"The world is full of strange and intriguing individuals, that's true, and most of them are good people in their own right. Alas, I have no taste for fleeting blooms." Eyes fell onto the crimson shirt again, such a lovely back on that one. They all seemed so strong... The lord's expression turned distant, some past regret overshadowing the entertainment of feasting one's eyes with pleasing sights. "I don't find enjoyment in most which are a subject to life happening, not a vice on life's throat to their own ends."

Momo listened without interrupting, his hands still loosely wrapped around the little cup of tea. There was something pleasantly easy about Aelius's manner. The paladin seemed incapable of making a room feel cold, even when he was speaking about things as strange as spirits and gods. His warmth was almost tangible, a curious contrast to the chill that had settled outside.

At the offer of the flask, Momo glanced down at it, then back toward Aelius with a small, apologetic smile.

“Thank you, but I think I will keep my tea.”

His ears gave a small twitch.

“I have discovered that alcohol and I are not particularly compatible. We have agreed to remain acquaintances.”

There was just enough dryness in the delivery to make it difficult to tell whether he was joking.

The question about his clothing drew a brief glance down at himself. White and yellow, bright even among the lantern-lit crowd. Momo considered the colors for a moment before giving a small shrug.

“I suppose I do stand out.”

His gaze drifted across the room, taking in the darker clothing, the mud-stained leathers, the battered armor resting against walls. Then he looked back to Aelius.

“But that was not really the reason.”

A pause.

“I like them.”

It was perhaps the simplest answer he could have given.

“As for being quiet…” Momo's smile softened. “I do not think I am particularly quiet. I simply prefer listening when there is something worth hearing.”

His ruby eyes flicked toward the room again, following the laughter and scattered conversations.

“There is a lot to hear... here.”

He took another sip of tea before returning his attention to the paladin.

At the mention of spirits, however, something in Momo's expression became a touch more thoughtful.

“I am an exorcist. My clan has been doing this work for a very long time.”

His fingers shifted slightly against the cup.

“We do not worship spirits. Some are dangerous. Some are lost. Some are simply... unfortunate.” He paused, searching for the right word. “But they are still things that exist. I have never thought that destroying something should be the first answer simply because it is frightening.”

A faint smile returned.

“That does not mean I am particularly gentle with the ones that try to eat me.”

His ears perked slightly at that, as though the clarification were important.

“And no. I do not work with a temple.”

He tilted his head.

“My family is responsible for that part of things.”

There was a quietness in the way he said it, a little more weight than the words themselves seemed to warrant, though Momo did not elaborate.

His attention eventually returned to Aelius, curiosity flickering once more in those crimson eyes.

“You said your powers all come from your Father.”

He looked toward the tiny sparks that had danced from the paladin's fingers earlier.

“Does he give every one of his followers the same gifts? Or does he give each person something different?”

With a soft sigh, Walter bit the tip of his tongue and avoided voicing the opinion that someone had dancing huntresses occupying most of the thinking space between the ears right now. With spare room for what Captain Agatha was drinking, of course. He chuckled to himself.
Well, truly, cheers to everyone holding onto hope, cheers to bringing brothers' spirits higher. He had discovered that his cup ran empty, and a soft laugh vibrated in his chest, entirely overtaken by the revelry.

"He does." They all had been, Walter thought. Maybe he had a weakness for a broad-shouldered type, a kind of figure that would look powerful in sculpture, a kind of face that would be timeless on a portrait. In other words, it's been more than a few times he'd fallen for beauty before realizing nothing looked back. His attention drifted to the yellow haori, the streaming white hair, the mythical amount of detail in a simple silhouette. "It's not the courage that I'm lacking," a short sway of the gloved hand, refusing the drink. "But thank you, anyway."

He stood, too, mug in the fingers by the top, and offered her a brief appraising look and a good-hearted smirk.
"Like a conquering tempest, ma'am. Inevitable and ready to descend." And, quieter, "I wish you luck, and excuse myself."

He'd almost headed straight for the exit, heart leading him ahead of the brain.
Seeking attention of a pretty face was not on the agenda.
He glanced in the direction of Agatha, and envied her, briefly. He didn't have that levity anymore.
...I'll just grab something that burns.

And so he did, showing up with a small cup of olive green liquid and a marginally larger square bottle in tow. He manifested through the crowd besides the exorcist and the paladin, and cast his eyes down briefly to avoid stepping on any extra limbs as he made way to stand between them, where he would not be a broad shadow looming over either.
Silver ivy was embroidered on both cuffs of the lord's impossibly blue shirt, twirling and twisting around the rare notion of stars. The broad collar that hugged his neck had silver still tree branches peeking from under the ashen doublet. But as the glove, as the low cuffs, so was the neck covered underneath by a length of silver-grey, as if a social version of a gorget. The lord was covered, armored against undesired contact of most kinds, it seemed.

"Good sirs, mind if I impose on you? I bear gifts," he tilted the bottle in the gloved fingers.
A herbal liquor with Bremen's almost exclusively grown spice, sourwisp. Despite the name, it added a definitively spicy kick once it fermented, with a hint of earthiness to a sweet body that resembled pear. Could be used medicinally, in a pinch, Walter could swear. The moment his senses adapted to the scents and sights at the table, which was about a heartbeat, he realized that Momoshiro was not partaking, and gasped a short 'ah', before adding,
"I can also send for dried herbs, if you fancy? Though surely the remedials are nothing special in comparison, I've heard good things of Aetochan medicinals."

Aelius tilted his head like a curious dog as he listened, smile ever-present. He held his flask up in a small cheers to acknowledge his preference. "Is that so? Well, the color suits you, even if you aren't vying for attention like most brightly dressed that I know!" He gestured at himself and laughed softly, then leaned back in his seat. "It's nice to wear what you like. Personally," his ruby eyes glided over the crowd, settling on a noble blue exchanging parting words with the imposing Ork woman. "...blue is my favorite color. But not much of a place for cool colors in the clergy of Ko." His eyes lingered for a few moments more, flask brought to his lips, drank it up like he drank in the sight. But he turned his eyes back to Momo with that smile, setting aside the flask.

The answer about spirits intrigued the paladin. His faith was a little... black and white, to say the least, so hearing a more compassionate take on something he'd only seen as 'a problem to solve' was interesting. Head tilted the opposite direction. "Ohh? I'd love to hear how you exorcise spirits if not by destroying them. That's the only way I know of. And... you do seem like such a gentle person." Eyes flickered up and down the man's form a moment, and those bright eyes glinted, lips tilted up. "I'm interested to see you get rough though." A wink. He did love to see pretty boys take control of a situation.

He took note of the heavier tone when the man's family was mentioned. Aelius smiled and nodded, but didn't press. He may not be particularly smart, but he could at least recognize when a topic felt like it had more weight to it than others. And, speaking of family...

"Oh! Well, you see... He grants his most dedicated worshipers power, yes! Healing, light, fire... but," He flipped some of the long coils of golden hair over his shoulder, talismans jingling, chin lifted with pride. "I am the Son of Ko, so my abilities come inherent stronger, burn brighter. I am my Father's power, whereas He is lending it to his faithful." While his words should be interpreted as boastful, the way they were spoken was more... delivered as fact. He had pride, certainly, but he wasn't being aggressive, or condescending, or... negative, really, at all. It almost sounded like words echoed from another's mouth.

It was around then that the handsome Lord wove his way through the crowd to the pair, drinks in hand. Aelius rested his chin on his hand with a cheeky little smile, taking a moment to look the man over and admire his fine clothes - and figure. Aelius was not subtle about it. He never tried to be subtle.

"By all means," he chimed, motioning to the empty seat between the brightly-clad men. "I'd be delighted to have you join us." He perked as the drinks were set on the table, and finally sat forward, letting the chair's legs all connect with the ground again. After leaning in to examine the offered drink, the paladin slid his own golden flask over. "It certainly isn't much, but you're welcome to try what I brought from home. It's my favorite." It was a spiced brandy flavored with honey - warm and soothing. There wasn't a damn thing about this man that wasn't warm.

"Your playing was fantastic, by the by. Really got everyone going." He beamed. "How long have you played?"

Momo listened with quiet interest as Aelius explained the nature of his power, his crimson eyes settling upon the paladin with the same patient attention he seemed to give most things. There was no skepticism in his expression, though his ears tilted slightly at the distinction between power granted to the faithful and power inherited by Aelius himself. It was certainly different from what he knew. Momo had grown up with his own understanding of spirits and the Shroud, of power that could be cultivated and shaped through discipline rather than simply residing within the blood. Even so, he found the idea fascinating.

“So you are carrying a piece of Ko with you,” he mused, more thoughtfully than skeptically. “That must be an interesting burden.”

The word burden was not spoken with any particular judgment. If anything, there was a faint curiosity behind it, as though Momo couldn't help but wonder what it felt like to have something so significant woven into one's very existence. His gaze lingered on the golden talismans adorning Aelius for another moment before a small smile returned.

“I suppose it would explain why you shine so much.”

There was a hint of amusement there now, especially as he glanced over the paladin's elaborate attire.

“Though I think you might be the only person here who could make that much gold look understated.”

Before the conversation could wander further, Walter made his way through the crowd, his appearance announced more by the shift of movement around him than any grand entrance. Momo's attention followed him as he approached, his ears perking slightly at the sight of the bottle in his hand. He listened as Walter offered the herbal liquor, his gaze briefly settling on the drink before drifting toward the cup of tea resting in his hands.

Momo had just finished the last of it.

He turned the empty cup once between his fingers before setting it down, a small smile touching his lips. Perhaps it was the tea that had put him in such an agreeable mood, or perhaps it was simply the atmosphere of the evening. Whatever the reason, when Walter offered the bottle, Momo found himself reconsidering his usual preference.

“I think I'll take you up on that, actually.”

His eyes lifted toward Walter, amusement flickering faintly in them.

“I've just finished my tea, after all. It seems only fair to give your drink a chance.”

There was no reluctance in him now as he accepted the offer, though he regarded the bottle with the same quiet curiosity he'd given the unfamiliar herbs earlier. Momoshiro had never been particularly opposed to drinking; he simply preferred knowing his limits and had never found much reason to indulge himself. Tonight, however, felt different. There was something about the warmth of the crowded room, the laughter and music, and the knowledge that everyone had gathered here knowing precisely what awaited them tomorrow that made a little indulgence feel deserved.

He lifted the drink slightly in a small toast before taking a cautious sip.

The spice reached him first, followed by the sweeter, earthier notes beneath it. His ears twitched once, and he considered the flavor for a moment before giving a quiet hum of approval.

“Well,” he said, glancing toward Walter with a faint smile, “Glad I didn't judge it before trying it.”

A pause.

“Though I may still ask for those herbs tomorrow.”

The sounds of the gathering swelled around them, laughter and music blending together beneath the low murmur of hundreds of conversations. Somewhere nearby, a man named Hector had apparently decided that sitting quietly was no longer an acceptable use of the evening. Momo's ears turned toward the commotion, and his eyes followed briefly as the knight dragged his companion into the dancing crowd, already moving to the rhythm himself.

A quiet laugh escaped Momo.

He finally relaxed back into his seat, his gaze wandering briefly across the crowded room. For all the differences between them—the paladin glowing like a second sun, the nobleman dressed in silver and blue, the knights dancing away their worries, and the exorcist sitting quietly among them—it was strangely comforting.

His ears perked slightly as Hector passed through the room once more, still making merry with anyone willing to join him. Momo watched the knight for a moment, a quiet, affectionate amusement settling across his features as he shook his head. There was something infectious about Hector's energy, even if Momo had no intention of joining him on the dance floor.

Instead, the sight stirred an older memory. A harvest festival. Music and laughter beneath the night sky, the warmth of celebration and the easy rhythm of dancing. For a moment, Momo could almost hear it again.

Then came the image of her.

Her eyes. Her smile.

His own smile faltered.

The memory lingered for only a heartbeat, but it was enough. A quiet sadness washed over him, drawing his gaze toward the table as his ears lowered and his tail grew still. Whatever thoughts had followed the memory remained his alone, tucked away beneath the surface before anyone might have the chance to ask.

Then—

SLAM.

A pair of dancing boots struck the floorboards nearby with enough force to pull him abruptly back into the present. Momo's ears snapped upright, his eyes darting toward the noise as the music and laughter seemed to surge closer around them.

Whatever melancholy had settled over him vanished as quickly as it had come. A warm smile returned to his face, his tail beginning to sway lazily behind him as his ears perked once more.

He glanced back toward the two men at his table, settling comfortably into the moment again as though nothing had happened.

“It seems some people have decided that tomorrows troubles can wait until tomorrow.”

He took another sip of the liquor, then settled comfortably back into his seat.

“Perhaps they have the right idea.”