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There were a few teahouses outside the Pantheon, that Eudocia suggested might be a good place to start stretching his legs after such a long time cooped up in his room. It was a pretty short walk, she said. Should be something he could manage without too much trouble.

Bullshit. His legs were killing him, and the darkening liquid in the cup before him threatened to jump out of the glass as his hands trembled around it. It would take a while of sitting here and admiring the scenery before he felt ready to get up and head back. The sunlight of the renewed sky was glaring off of his hands and bizarre, stiff, incomplete wings, which made him feel sort of ridiculous.

Glaucon knew he had to stake his claim, renew his influence, and gather followers if he were to be reborn in earnest. But he hardly felt as if he had the power to even start.

And on top of that... what was a God of Justice to do in a place that was so... idyllic?

The clickety-clack of claws against a hard floor was enough to get anyone's attention, especially indoors. As such, the noise inspired a perk in the young god's ears, and he slowly turned his head to get a look at what sort of creature was causing the noise. There was any variety of creature he imagined it could have been, most of them of the small-prey-animal variety -- he certainly wasn't expecting a dog.

It was a largish, sturdy-looking one, too. A 'real dog,' as David would have called it, and Glaucon would have been inclined to agree. In spite of himself a little smirk caught on the corner of his mouth as he regarded the happy animal. Dogs were loyal, just if trained well. He couldn't help but be a little jealous of whoever owned it. Maybe it would turn out to be a stray, if he were lucky?

There was a small plate of cookies accompanying his tea that were a little too sweet for his taste, but maybe the unexpected guest would like them? He pulled the plate closer to him, and tossed one of the treats to the ground next to the table.

Glaucon had forgotten just how much he admired canines, in no small part due to how long it had been since the last time he had seen one. He was halfway to giving the dog a pat on the head, and praising him for being so well-behaved; perhaps he would see if he knew any commands -- but then a voice, eerily familiar, both gave the dog's name and addressed him personally.

His eyes shot up.

The blindfold. The black hair. A fuzzy, vague part of a very important memory. The memory of what was simultaneously the most glorious, and most humiliating, day of his existence.

"You..." he repeated back.

A pause, as he took a struggling sip of his tea.

"You have a good memory," he finished.

"Fair enough," he replied. "I extend an apology if I gave you a fright that day." Glaucon's tone was stiff, formal, official. The sincerity of the apology was hard to gauge, but it was clear he thought one was warranted nontheless. "I am Glaucon, Word of Justice, and--"

Something was different about her. This was no mere mortal. Or, well, essentially it was, but it was not the only presence contained in her form. There was also a second, divine one. And that presence was even more familiar than the first.

He hoped she wasn't angry.

"My sister... The Sword of Conscience... has been with you... for how long?"

He really hoped she wasn't angry.

So quite a while, then. Almost a year or so? Glaucon still wasn't quite sure exactly what measure of time had passed between his transformation and now. "I see," he said. His gaze flickered back to the dog momentarily. Still begging for a treat with his hopeful eyes. Hector was an interesting name, hopefully not inspired by any wonton hubris in the animal.

"How does she fare?" His eyes narrowed, in contemplation. Memories, as they always seemed to be of the past, were vague to the point of being almost nonexistent. But he remembered enough of her temperament, a hand always ready for the sword. And debates... endless heedless, impassioned. "It is... a blessing, to know of her arrival, however late. And you have my blessing, and my thanks, for the role you are to undertake.

It was hard to conceal the deep breath he took in, to prepare himself for what he was going to say next.

"Does she... does she wish to speak?"

Probably? Probably?

That was not a straight answer at all. And Kyrjadis... Kyrjadis was always the very embodiment of straight answers, to the degree that she would often skip the words and go straight to the action.

Now the fiery-gold-on-gold eyes were narrowed in suspicion. It looked as if difficult hosts were par for the course with Justice deities.

"'Probably' is not a word in my sister's vocabulary," Glaucon challenged. This was probably not going to end well.

You have got to be ******** kidding.

Glaucon was taking his previous thoughts back. This host was not as difficult as David was. She was worse. His fingers drummed against the table, he took another sip of tea, and all the while he unabashedly glared at the obstacle standing in the way of a proper conversation with his other half. Sure, it was a conversation he terribly wanted to avoid. But he understood necessity. Even if they never spoke again afterwards, they still needed to speak now.

"Is this out of distrust... Alice?" came the question, tone laced with frustration. "Or pride?"

"Well, then."

Glaucon reached a discreet hand over to reward Hector's patience with a quick scratch on the head. Somewhat to compose himself, though that was something he would be hard-pressed to admit in retrospect.

"If you are not willing to let Kyrjadis speak. And if she has no words for me, whether spoken on her own terms or relayed by you..."

He couldn't perceive any emotion or other amusement from his sibling, and as such he was drawing the worst possible conclusions.

"Then perhaps it is pointless for me to carry on this line of conversation with you. If it suits you, you can apply aforementioned possessiveness, and leave."