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Fresh off of murdering his old political rival, Cosma Laslow, Weep is now making executive

house calls. He is a busy triotentiary, and he still has

more things he has to do today. No rest for the valorous. One of the many things he needs to do

is drop by the home of the tripotentiary's arc auditor, the new job that he just spontaneously

made up the other day. He's been keeping the Arc Auditor very busy, talking about potential reforms and surplus

actions, you know, economy stuff. Until Lark can be found and retrieved for reclamation,

people still need to go about their lives. He's actually never been to Emelda's house before.

Not surprising, perhaps, since he's been involved in non-stop action, excitement, and

sociopolitical intrigue ever since he relocated to the highest light.

But now he and Emelda are running the whole trust, more or less kind of together.

They are colleagues, you might say.

They have become the proud parents of a freaky cult. Here in the entry of Amelda's residence,

his tri-potentiary guard patiently stationed outside, Weep is jauntily hanging up his raiments,

trying to thread his arm and his hoses out of a coat sleeve.

His portable IV pump contraption wheels beside him, quietly wheezing and gurgling, dark vials bubbling with black squirming blood.

Please let me help you with that, Amelda says, taking his coat for him and hanging it up in the

hall closet. She offers to take the little white paper bag he's carrying too, but he shakes his head.

...