The tap-tap, ta-tap, tap of naked knuckles echoed from the front door of Lucien Mallorek's law office. The evening breeze caught the ends of Isuelt's crimson sash, tugging lightly at the colored mark of the Scathachian.

He had been sitting at his desk, looking out the window and across the road at the dim and quiet offices of the DCH, when the knock came to the door. He pushed up from his chair, the leather groaning in protest and stepped out into the foyer. The door was unlocked and the opened. A grin bloomed. "Evening, Lady DeRomiano. Please come in."

"Barrister Mallorek," her smile swept up, pushing her cheeks into a plump position. She stepped forward into the foyer and looked around. As the door shut, she let down the polite pretenses and pivoted to nod to him, "Hello, Lucien. I'm sorry for coming by unannounced. I was on my way home."

Once she was inside, he shut the door and secured it, waving off her apology. "You are always welcome here. And your company is always a boon for me." He offered her his arm. "How have you been?"

Taking his arm, he could feel her shrug lightly. "Oh, you know. Just peachy. Nothing interesting ever happens around here." Her tone was laced with an edge of suppressed panic. The sort that lately had been laying just below the surface.

"Did you get my message?" he queried, as he led her into the front hall and over to the couches and arm chairs arranged around a low table with a chess board set up for play.

Her espresso colored gaze drifted over the chess board before she looked to him. "No. When did you send it' I've....I've been out for most of the day. I was at the hospice until my shift for the Watch." The panic drifted closer to the surface. Surely if the Watch intended on arresting her, they would have already this evening. Right'

He led her to an armchair to sit. He tipped his head to the bar that was set in the corner of the room. "Drink?" Aside from the two windows that framed the fireplace on the one wall, the rest of the walls were lined with books. "I had it sent this afternoon." Sensing the tension rising in her, he sat down across from her and offered a reassuring smile.

The black leather clad legs of the tall Scathachian bent as she slowly lowered herself into the chair, her eyes pinned to Lucien. "Yes," came the quick answer to his offer of a drink. Subconsciously, she began to rub the back of her right hand once more, the scarred remnants of the tattoo of The Scales of Justice aching.

He pushed up to his feet and walked over to the bar. "What can I get you? I have it well stocked," he queried as he stepped behind the bar, reaching for a glass. He noticed her rubbing her hand, the same gesture he noticed on her visit to the shipyard. "Have you seen a healer about your hand?"

It took her a moment, but she looked over to him. "Whiskey." Simply stated, simply needed. The warrior looked down to her hand, really viewing the fullness of the injury from so long ago. "No. I....I need to see it. The scar, I mean. It keeps me on the straight and narrow." There, indeed, was a story behind the injury. But perhaps that was for another day.

He decanted a healthy measure of whiskey into two glasses and carried them back to the table, offering one to Issy. He nodded at her explanation. "Just make sure it doesn't keep you rooted in the past," he offered quietly, speaking with some familiarity.

Dark lashes lifted to look at him as he handed her the glass. Her expression colored her disbelief, she felt as if he had seen into her mind. "Rooted in the past. Dark place," she wondered if he knew that too. Cradling the glass in her hand, she helped herself to a healthy mouthful.

He set his own drink on the table, watching her take a healthy swallow of whiskey. "Issy," dropping any remnants of formality. "I heard from the courts today. No charges are going to be pressed against you," he explained, not wanting to draw out things for the woman who seemed on edge as it was.

She nearly looked past him, her gaze was so eager to hear him. "What?" her voice, usually strong, controlled and even, trembled with the single syllable. Her fingers shifted on the glass, her posture leaned forward as if she could make his words cement themselves by listening to them again.

He reached over to place a hand on her arm and he nodded. "No charges are going to be filed against you, Issy." Teeth gripped her bottom lip as she began to smile, though the expression was immediately squashed as her gaze bent down toward the floor. While an unbelievable relief had lifted the weight from her shoulders, the fact that she repeatedly pressed to her brain was that a young girl was killed by Isuelt's own sword. Her eyes closed as she leaned further forward still, her elbows on her knees, she let her head fall into her hands. He slipped the glass from her and set it on the table and moved to wrap his arms around her shoulders. "It was an accident," he offered, although he understood the weight of guilt.

She felt the glass slip from her grasp, though she heard no crash and knew Lucien had taken it. Next, she felt his touch on her shoulders. She drew a breath and exhaled, literally feeling the oppressive guilt begin to lessen. She nodded, her deep brown tresses bobbing as she did so. Her voice was little more than a whisper here in the quiet peace of his home, "She's still here, Lucien. She's still back. I....I don't know what to do."

He let out a breath and tightened his embrace around her. "Don't lose who you are. Don't let her take that from you," he offered quietly.

"I can't touch her. I can't stop her," her whisper was ragged with worry, it usually was where Renna was concerned. "She can shred me to pieces and I can't do anything about it." She had considered going to the Bloods about this, she figured now she had no choice but to beg for the help of Lady Belial.

"It's maddening, frustrating." Did he sound like he knew what it was like to have someone or something far more powerful, supernatural out for him' Gunning for him' Tormenting him' "But you don't have to stop her. Not alone."

She lifted her head from her hands and turned to look upon Lucien. Her throat twitched as she swallowed and nodded. "You're a good man, Mallorek. Really." Her hardened features softened in genuine gratitude.

He shook his head and a tempered grin crooked. "I'm just a man, Issy." He let out a breath and sat back. "Don't let her take who you are from you," he reiterated quietly.

Pushing the hair from around her face, she leaned forward and took up her glass once more. "I don't know why she has it in for me," she shook her head and looked back toward the Barrister. "I have no idea what I ever did to raise her ire." She sipped and nearly finished the drink.

He let out a breath and took up his own glass for a drink. "She doesn't have to have a reason. You're existence is reason enough."

Unbecoming of a priestess, she tipped the glass upward and let the last few droplets coat her throat. After replacing the empty glass on the table, she sat back and ran her hands through her dark hair, tilting her head to look up to the ceiling. "You're right. I think I'm going to have to avoid her as much as I can. Until she starts pulling these stunts of hers more regularly. In the meantime, the Governor thinks I should seek out the help of the Bloods."

No reaction or response to the mention of the Governor. He simply nodded. "You should seek out Belial at the Blood House Onyx."

"Yes, that's what Fionna said," she was resting the back of her head against the furniture, perhaps a gesture that she would feel was too relaxed in another's company. But she felt an ease with Lucien. He had defended her before and had always listened to her secrets, when they reared their ugly heads. "I think I will visit her tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to wait and see..." Her head turned to look at him, "To see what would happen with my freedom."

Again there was no reaction, nor response to Issy's mention of her or her suggestions. Instead he set the glass on the table and nodded. A tempered grin crooked at the corner of his mouth. "Now you know about the charges, so don't worry about that."

"Thank you, Lucien. Again, you've stood between me and a cage," her recollection of imprisonment was something that refreshed itself every once in a while during her dreams. As far as she was concerned, that was were it could stay. "And thank you for the drink."

"Anytime, Issy," he replied with a grin blooming true. "I am always at your service, M'Friend."

The unmistakable upturning of her lips produced a smile on her face, something that was in short supply lately. She pushed off of the chair, her head coming away from the soft support. The leather clad shell creaked against her form as she stood up. "At this rate I will owe you half of the Sanctuary in payment for all you do, Lucien." She turned to grin at him over her shoulder before she turned to fully face him.

He pushed to his feet when she rose to hers and his grin crooked in the corner of his mouth. He gave another light shrug of his shoulders. "No. Consider it my way of saying 'Thank you' to you and your sisters for all that you do.

"Pro bono, then is it?" She wasn't totally lost with legalese. The warrior mirrored his smirk.

"Something like that," he offered in reply along with his arm once more. "My small and meager contribution to the greater good."

"Well, I'll take it," and to match her words, she took his arm. "My thanks again, you've set a old mind at incredible ease."

He led her out of the front hall into the foyer. "I am glad I could help in that. Peace of mind is a precious commodity." When they reached the door he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. "Remember, you are Isuelt DeRomiano, Daughter of Scathach." He met her gaze and nodded. "No way the likes of Renna can even come close to matching who you are."

He was quite a bit taller than she was, as she lifted her chin to look at him, her brow was lowered in thought, rather than anger. His words shook her very core, much the way her Father's did, or the High Priestess' did. She felt them, pushing against her chest, pinning themselves there. She inhaled deeply and let her exhale loosen her shoulders. Her voice was softer than she expected it to be, "Thank you, Lucien. Really."

He reached out to give her a warm embrace. "If there is anything you need at all. Do not hesitate to ask, M'Friend," he offered quietly.

She returned his hug, and returned his sentiment. "I won't. And I know I do not need to remind you that you have the backing of the Scathachian Nation in any endeavor," she gripped his arms and pulled back from the embrace to look at him, hoping to drive home her words, "Always."

He bowed his head in acknowledgement with a smile, warm and true. "I know and I appreciate it." He reached for the door and opened it with one hand, the other reaching for her hand to lift and press a kiss to the back of it. "It is always a pleasure and an honor."

"Lucien," she chuckled, "are you ever going to stop being so formal. It's just me. Issy."

He smiled. "I shall endeavor to be less formal, M'Lady," a teasing tone in his voice. He tipped his head toward her and he grinned. "But regardless, you are never, 'just', M'friend." A playful rolling of her eyes, she grinned and nodded. Whereas she would have given him a punch on the arm or a hip check, the Scathachian did nothing. Perhaps she too would have to try and loosen up a bit. She started for the door and simply turned to lifted her fingers in a stilled wave. The scar on her hand had ceased its ache. Sleep would come better to her this night, she was thankful for that indeed. He sent a saluting wave after her and watched her disappear into the evening's embrace." Once she was gone from view, the door was closed and secured.

((My thanks to Lucien Mallorek.))