Frost 47th, Year 4621
With a harrowing yell, Latham's voice broke open the boundaries between time and space, fracturing apart Atharen's frame to build a doorway from one end to another. It was Resonance in its purest form, creating a perfect pitch of oscillations that slammed against the edges of reality. When the two men came out on the other side, landing in the Venger estate courtyard with Thomas' wagon and horses, one was in much worse wear than the other. Latham seemed fine: vibrant, healthy and even moderately warm, while the man beside him quivered even despite all of his lover's attempts to keep him heated. His own heat, a strong flame, none had quite been enough. A part of it, he was certain, was some sort of mental boundary; he was resisting his attempts to make him alright. Carrot and Horse appreciated the sun-like, molten globe that warmed them, but Thomas often stayed in the wagon away from the chilling winds that terrified him so.
The journey had been good at times, even very good; they'd shared warmth, slept in one another's frames, told stories and laughed and loved. Latham had probably told Thomas that he loved him at least a few dozen more times, and Thomas reciprocated none, but that was alright. The man felt it from him all the same. They pleased each other better than he remembered being possible, though he refrained from indulging too much for fear of harming the other man.
It was only when Thomas started to become seemingly ill that he'd managed to convinced him that they should simply take a portal, and only after a long interrogation about how it worked and what the harms could possibly be. He suspected that the dire state of their horses -- not from hunger or cold but from fatigue -- had also encouraged him to accede, but he was too grateful for Thomas' concession to bother to discover its origins. When he finally accepted, one of Latham's Hollows set down the long metal instrument that acted as a stand for his Shard Resonator, and he got to work. Minutes later, away from the biting winds, they were greeted by the back exterior of Wendell and Latham's estate, a large, darkly colored building flanked by others of its kind. It was an early industrial manor, with lamps lighting each of its windows, illuminating warmly colored satin curtains within.
Around them was a walled enclave of cobble and the occasional plant, with benches, seats and tables for outdoor reading and 'dates' with dear friends and colleagues. "Remember -- I told Wendell I'm going out to seek you, and he knows about who you are, but... just be wary that he might not be the most congenial," he warned, rubbing Thomas' shoulder and kissing his hair. The man tipped his head, muttering something beneath his breath, and a Hollow quickly thereafter reached into a satchel along its waist and gripped a key, approaching the door before twisting it open. Their eyes would immediately be met by a well-lit interior, with the distant sound of a phonograph playing piano. Latham rubbed along Thomas' upper arm nervously, before stepping up the short walkway to guide him inside. When he was certain that the man was enamored enough by all of the fine furniture and the brightly lit colors, he turned around to generate a burst of flame, lighting the logs at the center of the courtyard to produce a bonfire. He didn't want the horses to freeze, after all; Latham would be sure to provide them better standards than they would've gotten on the road, or tucked away in frigid alley-ways. They were his beasts too, now, or so he felt obligated to believe. Garret certainly was.
A cat greeted Thomas first, perching at the edge of the stairwell and arching its back upwards. The grey-colored feline hissed, causing Latham to turn back and sigh.
"That's Morrigan, Wendell's sodding cat," he said, quietly. "She doesn't like me -- or anyone, really. The hiss might be directed to either one of us, as far as I'm concerned."
Ushering the other inside, Latham closed the door behind them, leaving the Hollows out in the courtyard. Once they were within, he eyed around to see where Wendell might be, but was given no indication. The servants weren't around, either; it was mid-evening, but that was usually when they were most active.
"They're probably out with Wendell, buying things," he said to himself. "Well -- this is it: the Ashvane Estate. A historic home, here in Retzen. Wendell cherishes it more than a man should cherish his children. So -- to be blunt, do not make a mess of it, or it'll be on both of our heads."
