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The days seemed to melt together, entirely seamed and melded into one another by the grueling task of work that Chauhn rather enjoyed. He whistled to himself while he worked, hummed when he didn't want to be loud, and moved with an energy unbecoming to one so young who should have been staring out the windows and dreaming of courting other young girls or battling with swords against the evil. It was the end of the day then, and he was sweeping up, moving about the shiny floors with his thin socks so that he wouldn't leave scuffs on the tiles. Granted, the floor was cold and his socks didn't provide much to warn off the cold (they had a few holes in them as well) but Chauhn didn't so much mind as long as he got the floor clean. He wanted to do a job well if he were to do a job at all, and honestly, he could use with the distraction.

It wasn't that long ago that the carnaval massacre had taken place and he knew that he was still shaken up by it even though he didn't want to admit it. he hoped that if he ignored it enough, it would eventually go away on it's own, fade into the haze of memories where he would start mixing up and dimming out certain facts that he refused to remember, like the look on the Bell boy's face when the blade ran through his screaming mouth. Chauhn paused for a moment, gasping as he ran his hand along his smoothed back hair, pulled into a tight stubby ponytail atop his head. He wished that there was someone else to pat his head, hold him, and let him breathe face down into their torso's as he held onto their waists as if the world were about to spin away and out of his control. But, his family was gone now, and there was no one who would do that for him without it being a bother to their status, themselves, and perhaps, even to Chauhn. He patted his head again, trying to simulate the effect, but when he was convinced that it didn't feel the same, he slouched down over his push broom and began again at the floor.

It was, of course, by irony's law, that Clurie would come bounding from his dedicated spot on the desk, spreading ash wherever he slipped and skittered and sprawled across the marble.

"Brother, brother," the little Ash Plague squeaked, trying to wrap his arms about his shoulders and yet stable himself from his clumsy passage across the slippery clean tile at the same time, "It's cold and I'm TIRED and I want to go back to see how the little bells are doing!"

Chauhn, giving a quiet glare up at the ceiling above him for the few seconds that it would take for Clurie to complete his journey, heaved a threadbare sigh. Leaning down onto his knees, he gave a displeased frown to Clurie and commented wryly, "Now, ah 'ave to clean up the mess tha' you made all over m'clean floor. You were never so demandin' before the time tha' you died, littl'un. Wha' 'appened to m'little quiet 'n' patient Clurie?" He leaned down, offering his hand to pick up Clurie while the other held onto the broom, a makeshift support while he crouched on the ground in his dusty page's outfit.

"Maybe," offered up Clurie as he clambered into his palm, lying himself flat to capture the most warmth that he could, "Maybe, I'm not like that Clurie anymore." The little ash plague, the moment those words left his mouth, instantaneously regretted that he ever suggested such a thing, He looked up, almost fearful of Chauhn's reaction and rightly so, because his brother's reaction was not a pleasant one.

Chauhn's face clicked into a pallid hue, instantaneously grief stricken and yet terrifyingly angry at the same time, and if it weren't for the click of boots atop the marble hallway, Chauhn might have punished the little being with more than a harsh reprimanding.

Chauhn was in the process of giving a tight squeeze to Clurie's little fragile body when the footsteps finally broke down through the barrier of numb misplaced rage. He startled, releasing his tiny ward to stumble and gasp as he fell back onto Chauhn's palm, and turned about from where he knelt on the ground. Standing just beyond the dim light of the sconces was his quiet and kind lord, a look of worry creased upon his smooth brow. Patching his look of abrupt anger at Clurie to a pleasant peasant smile, Chauhn bowed humbly and deeply, cupping Clurie to his beating chest in a usual fashion when he showed respect for his elders. He had been very receptive to the idea of displaying proper greetings and other such manners, and he felt like, almost, if he could display them properly enough, he might ebb away from his dirty and dusty tatterdemalion upbringing. From that deep bow, Chauhn waited until his lord had stopped speaking before he dared to straighten up his spine again, and the face that had once been terrified worry for the chance that Yizhaq might have seen his short belligerent burst had transformed into a worry smudged with surprise. While he had been quietly clued in on the fact that Yizhaq would have to make the trip, he had been under the impression that he would stapled to his side to tend to whatever his needs were no matter the given place. That was the role of a page, or so, Chauhn thought, so when he forcefully gulped down the facts, he had to do it with a little more self-convincing than necessary. He had also wanted to return to his family's hometown, seek the ditch where some of his family had been burned in and give his prayers. Had it been his place to argue, he might have begged or complained, but he was a page. He would do what he was told. That was the Clemmings' way and Chauhn upheld that secret law more than anything.

"You are too kind, m'lord," Chauhn said, giving another polite dip of his head even though his green eyes and furrow of his brows said different. He tried to pull the edges of his mouth into a smile, but he couldn't hide the surprise and worry plated into it, "Bu' you are leavin' quite abruptly, is there anythin' else you'd like me to do for you before your departure?" He secretly felt a little proud for the bigger words that he was using. Jin-Ho had been teaching him such phrases and he quietly thanked the patient scholar for his tutelage. In fact, Chauhn was overwhelmed by the fact that he would be studying completely under his tutelage for the duration of Yizhaq's leave, and to assure that it was true, he asked warily, "Who am ah to take orders from, sir? Who is it that ah'll serve?"

Then it was that the falcon Excito, who had never given Chauhn anything warmer than a cold glare, turned her attention to Clurie and somberly asked for his company. Chauhn knew that Clurie looked up to Hayat immensely, bragged and spouted and shouted about her wisdom and the promise that maybe she'd let him fly with her someday. He held out his hand, with little Clurie sprawled in the cradle of his palm, with the visible hesitation he had whenever he had to relinquish his plague for social endeavors not including him, and tried to smile as he encouraged their friendship.

"It's alrigh' wit' me," Chauhn said, trying to make himself genial despite the possessive pangs he felt stirring in his breast. He helped Clurie into Yizhaq's palm and to Hayat.

Clurie, in the meanwhile, had lost his luster while he tried to get himself to breathe again. The painful squeeze hadn't lasted long, thanks to Yizhaq's intrusion, but it had acted upon him like a sneeze in a fireplace, throwing up all sorts of ash and whirling winds in his chest that was hard to force back into place. he had to wait for it all to settle before he could breathe again, and when he could finally stop coughing, which was, in itself, an ordinary occurrence for the plague, he smiled grandly at Hayat, scrambling clumsily from hand to hand to press himself up against her in a big hug, a teeth-rotting display of affection. He had yet to digest formalities.

"Hayat!" he barked happily, "It's been ages!" Though, in truth, it had been a matter of hours.

Though, when he refused to let go from his tight grip around her waist, since he was the shorter of the two by nearly half, Hayat could feel, just barely through the fabric between them, the frightened rabbit rush of his tiny beating heart.

Relief eased its way onto his shoulders when he mentally marked down the task that he would have to get up for in the morning coming. Nodding his head, Chauhn let an honest smile slip onto his cheeks, grateful for another task to accomplish. Though when Yizhaq answered his series of questions, Chauhn couldn't help but let a few butterflies of nervousness flower in his stomach, fluttering nervously at the thought that he wouldn't be cleaning or carrying out messages or any of the other tasks that were usually his stable routine. Change had always been a hard thing for Chauhn to encompass, and even the break from his busy routine that should have been a welcome relief was a source of nervousness. The fact that he would be studying with Jin-Ho, a familiar face and welcome friend, was enough to placate him for the time being without shifting his weight from leg to leg in visible panic. He nodded after Yizhaq finished every sentence.

"Yes'm, m'lord," Chauhn said in response to the orders that he would listen to the Lady Estratus and her sword Plague Sloane. Finally, a set of orders that he had no problem in following. Sage was an intimidating presence whom Chauhn refused with every possible fiber of his being to displease and Sloane was not only his friend but his savior, and he owed him only the best loyalty that he could offer. "Ah'll be obedient to Jin-Ho 'n' trust the word o' Sloane 'n' the Lady Estratus. Ah'll do m'best to learn each lesson 'n' when you get back, ah can show you!" Hearing himself make the promises made them more tangible for Chauhn to keep, like a delicate piece of glossy foreign pottery.

He smiled at Clurie and Hayat, too, although, it was easy to see that the smile was masking over something else. Perhaps it was bitter jealousy, but it was too faint for a real note of concern to be made. Chauhn turned his gaze again up into Yizhaq's solemn face.

Wrapped tightly around her waist, Clurie gave a bout of laughter, though, for the other Excito holding him she could feel that it was nothing but well practiced and fake. "That's why I'm hugging you now! For all the time that you'll be gone. Can you bring me back a token? Imisus is my birthplace, you know! That's where the Clemmings' family began and I'm a Clemmings." The word 'Clemmings' sounded bitter on his touch, so false and fake that Clurie had to push his face into Hayat's clothes, hoping that the embarrassed burn of his cheeks or the open mouthed show of disgust wasn't seen by either Chauhn or Yizhaq. He had not yet come to terms with the doubts germinating in his head, but it was clear that he was taking serious consideration of them and the more he thought about it, the more it turned his stomach to claim his identity. But he hoped, at least, that Chauhn would hear and be appeased. Perhaps he would glow with pride.

Chauhn did glow with pride. The corners of both his lips and his brows turned up into an expression of brotherly love as he glanced down again at his little brother, but before he could voice his approval or backing of the well known fact that they were Imisese, Yizhaq said something odd. Of course, it wasn't the thing he had said that was odd, but it was the way that he said it, the movements in his face that suddenly snagged Chauhn's attention. Chauhn's shoulders tensed to his neck, sensing the clear threat in his eyes, but understanding it with nothing but innocent confusion. In his eyes, he was an innocent and he didn't like how Yizhaq said it as if Chauhn was already guilty of forgetting.

"Of course, m'lord Yizhaq, ah wouldn't forget it even if'n it was branded 'n me skin wit' fire," Chauhn said, hoping that the extravagant metaphor would communicate his devotion, "A Clemmings is loyal 'n' 'ard workin', sir. Ah won't forget all the kindnesses your house 'as done for me. Ain't tha' right', little brother?" Chauhn glanced down at Clurie, searching for a family bond to strengthen his defense.

Clurie, from the muffled folds of Hayat's clothes and chest, shouted something that sounded either like "Of course!" or "A curse!".

Chauhn watched with a nervous twitch of his brows as his Lord Yizhaq ended their brief meeting with an acceptance as thick as molasses. Slow, thinking, wary, as if there was something that the Lord knew that Chauhn did not, some clue to something that the boy was blind to. He opened up his hands for Clurie, who was pressed back in his direction, much to his relief and comfort.

Clurie, on the other hand, wedged himself tighter to Hayat, practically clawing at her robes to try and keep attached to her form. He laughed awkwardly throughout the entire process of being pried off her, trying to make a joke of it when, clearly only to Hayat, he was desperate for her stability and control. With Chauhn there was no knowing, with Chauhn there was only fear, and Clurie knew that, the moment he was left alone with the boy he would be reprimanded for his earlier comment. Chauhn didn't forget things like that. Making a childish show of his detachment from Hayat's robes, whining in between his nervous laughter and trying, at every opportunity to lurch back to her waist, Clurie was eventually separated from her, despite his great distress. For the brief moment where she caressed his cheek with a gentle swirl of air, sparking it to glow a hotter hue than the other with the press of fresh air, Clurie locked his eyeless gaze with hers, gulping past a dry throat.

"Please," he said, so softly that only Hayat could hear, "Hurry back."

A moment later and he was swept into Chauhn's careful hands, obscured from view by the lace of his Grimm's fingers, who took him a bit more quickly than he meant from Hayat, forcing the little Phasmas into a clumsy tumble. Clurie gave a little yelp, performing a somersault and losing his hat, caught up in a tangle of his own tiny limbs. Chauhn chuckled a bit at his brother's accidental show of comedic tumbling, before he looked up, and gave a deep bow of his head and backward kneel of his leg to his Lord.

"My Lord, ah wish you well on your journey. You don't 'ave to worry abou' Clurie 'n' ah, we'll keep each other in our place," he said for them both, standing still bowed as Yizhaq departed from their lonely half-cleaned corridor. He waited a few moments more before, with the irate twitch of his brow, Chauhn frowned at the little body in his hands as he struggled to right himself and fix up his clothing.

"What was tha' abou'?" Chauhn asked the Phasmas with a hiss of his breath. Lowering himself down to his knees, he kept his hands cupped about Clurie, as if in a cage, a pen in which to keep him until he received his judgment.

"What about what?" Clurie asked, dreading to give Chauhn a shamed silence more than giving him an innocuous echo of his question.

Chauhn felt a heat rise into his cheeks, a troubled sensation fluttering about in his chest. "You don't act like a spoiled brat child around 'is Lordship, Clurie, 'ave you no sense at all? You don't learn your manners! You 'ave to be honorable 'n' polite 'n fron' o' 'is Lordship." There was a long pause, during which Clurie tried to hide his face underneath the rim of his hat, which he, for some unknown reason couldn't get affixed right onto his head. "...Clurie, you're a Clemmings. You ought to star' actin' like one." Silence.

Clurie flipped head over heels again when he found himself tumbled into the front of Chauhn's chest pocket, abruptly dropped out of his dreaded conversation. He struggled for the few moments that it took to right himself up into the cradle of tightly stitched fabric, looking up at the bottom of Chauhn's chin from the slit at the top of the pocket, before he relaxed into a defeated slump. His shoulders were shaking about his neck, his lips pressed tight as he gulped over and over again to quell the nervous feeling underneath his ribcage. Hayat was gone, as was her lord, and there was nothing so empty feeling as the space in Chauhn's breast pocket before the furious tabor of his heart's frantic angry beating.