52nd Frost, 4621
It was disconcerting to spend so much time in a high-end place simply as himself. Thomas found himself reflexively adopting the gait and mannerisms of Lord Ashley Ryan without meaning to, simply because being here felt wrong. He knew he didn't belong here. The comforts, the servants, the steady supply of food and soft bed, and the burning flame of Latham's love -- it felt okay to borrow these things, to waylay them and delay their terminus in the worthy hands of someone more deserving, while he held them close to himself and marveled at them. It would also have been okay to trick Latham into this -- or not Latham, as the guilt would be unbearable, but the average noble had done nothing of consequence to deserve their income or their status, and Thomas felt little compunction about defrauding them of their money while making the most of their hospitality.
Were it just Wendall, for instance, his main concern would be fear of getting caught. His favorite combination of traits in a Lorien Celebrant were handsome, selfish, and stupid, and Wendall was only two of those. In any case, it wouldn't be personal, if it were happening with Wendall or with another Lorien Lord or Lordling simply because everyone had to make a living.
It wasn't just Wendall, though, it was Latham, and Latham seemed determined to prove to Thomas that his love was genuine and unending. As if the problem was the quantity of it or its authenticity, and not its intended recipient. He was trying, though, to fit in here, to see a nice future for himself, but it just would not come into focus. So he'd been trying to aim lower, to envision a future at all. One that didn't end in being murdered or jailed. Sometimes, if he squinted, he could see it. The idea of Latham being with him in the long-term, though, seemed preposterous.
As if to illustrate his point, he met Latham in the study at the appointed time. He'd been expecting a quick fuck up against the built-in shelves and had prepared himself appropriately, but instead the man sat at a table far too small for him, laden with what looked like a Grisithian high tea. The one incongruous element was a thick, leatherbound book. Thomas' best guess is he wanted to discuss something serious, likely having to do with his status as a Draeden or similar, and had thought to bribe him into listening with snacks. Sometimes, he hated how much his heart ached for such a smart man; stupid men were much easier to stay ahead of.
"Good afternoon, Latham. You've been most mysterious about what we're to be doing here today." As Thomas had a seat at the table, he noted the tea had already been brewed and steeped to avoid a bitter aftertaste. Someone in this house knew what they were doing. Claudia, he suspected. "So, may I presume that the large tome you have brought with you will serve as our main point of discussion today?"
