Carovo left him for a moment, retrieving a small metal tub from the bath and bringing it in to where Max was. Filling it slightly with cold water from the jug he kept full, he dipped the now-empty jug into the pot of consistently-hot water that hung over the fire, always prepared for mealtimes, and heated the water in the tub before sliding it under Max's cold feet and gently lowering them in. "You've put yourself in a right dangerous position." He muttered, looking up to the young man. "Running around in the rain down here with no shoes and hardly any warm clothes. I don't think Edgar would appreciate you making yourself sick at his cause, would he?"

He stood up straight, going into his room and pulling an empty tea box from a shelf, the shelf that also tended to hold his honey jar. It had the light scent of black tea leaves, and was the right size. The front of it was embossed with a gold eye. He took it back into the living room and sat on the other side of the couch, and set the box down with its lid up. "When you're ready, I think it's best we put Edgar to rest." Caravo said easily. "And we'll do with him as you want."

Max eyed the box, liking how shiny it looked. Edgar would be buried like a King. "I... I can't remember coming here..." He didn't want to say it, but the words tumbled out. The way Carovo spoke to him and looked at him... Maybe Max had lost his mind. He suddenly felt warm and glanced down, seeing his bruised feet swimming in warm water. He smiled and pet the bird some more. "Watches... He has to be buried with some watches..." He glanced back up at Carovo, laughing slightly for no reason. He realised that he was rocking and stopped, his heart beating strangely.

"Carovo... I think I have lost my mind..." he said simply. He could feel it leaking out of his ears.

Genuinely concerned, Carovo put his hand against Max's head and felt a heat there that shouldn't be. A fever had bloomed. "Oh, now... Max..." he shook his head. "You'll be okay. Just let me have... him..." He gently lifted the bird out of Max's hands, and laid him into the soft velvet box interior. "He'll be okay too. I promise." He closed the box, setting it aside and running to fetch a rag, dampening it in water and soap and rubbing Max's hands clean. A bird's dead body could do well to spread disease, and Max just didn't need that, especially now. Scar sat on the couch's back.

"Call the constables."

"No."

"He's insane! He needs to be taken to---"

"Shut up! He'll be okay." Carovo made Max look at him. "Hey. You know me, don't you? You know yourself?" He could find some of his medicine. Sometimes he felt he was nearing insanity, floating above the world and everyone was speaking a strange, different language. He'd bought a bottle of strange, dark liquid from the Bazaar when that happened and over time it had helped. But if he lost it...

He heard another voice. It wasn't the shop keeper's... He looked about and stared hard at the cat. He had heard that cats talked and told interesting Secrets to anyone that could catch them. He blinked slowly, staring into the cat's eyes, falling deep inside of them. His body was shuddering as he felt hot and then cold. A small golden lizard ran across his fingers and sat on his knee, watching him with large blue eyes. He giggled slightly at it as it morphed into a thousand spiders that ran like shadows down his legs and out the door.

He heard Carovo speaking again and returned his attention to the man. His hair flickered like flames and his face was that of a devil's. Max felt repulsed but also intrigued. "You can have my soul," he said, reaching out and stroking the man's rough face. "You can have me..." He started slightly and turned his head, staring hard at the strange gentleman that crouched by the door. He was wearing a strange hat and grinned merrily, stretching his 16 fingers towards Max. He smiled back at the Merry Gentleman and greeted him happily.

Carovo shook his head, turning Max back to him. "I'm not a devil, and there's no one there!" He glared to Scar. "Make yourself useful and get me the dark bottle from my room!"

"I've no idea where it is!"

"Check the top shelf, the one above my bed." The cat hesitated, staring at Max. "Go!"

The animal thudded off, heavy paws hitting the ground hard, not like a cat at all. The thing was also clumsy, and when it chased rats it tended to topple high stacks of boxes or crates. Carovo put a cooler rag against Max's face, staving off the fever as Scar bumped about in the bedroom and finally galloped out with a small corked bottle of very dark, slightly thick liquid clasped in his mouth.

"Good, good..." Carovo grabbed it and moved to fill a discarded cup with water from what was left in the pot, and reach under the lid of a tea box. This one was plain black tea---it would be strong and overpower the rather bitter scent and taste of the medicine. If Carovo could coax the young man to drink it all.

"Max." He said, turning with the finished cup in hand. "Would you drink this? It won't hurt you. It'll help you feel better." He held he cup tightly in case he decided to try to knock it away---waste was Carovo's great fear now.

"I want you to want me," Max replied, taking the cup and staring into the dark liquid. "I am rather fond of you Carovo... I've never been so fond of a man before. How old are you anyway? Not that it matters. The attraction is there." His lips were moving but he had no control of what was spilling out from them. Many Secrets, many scandals... He couldn't stop babbling long enough to sip at the hot tea. "Make sure he is buried with watches."

He sighed heavily, who was he talking about? He couldn't remember. He took a sip of the bitter liquid and made a face. "Wine... I want wine, not this shit." He was swearing now, no that wasn't like him at all. He continued to drink anyway, watching as many shapes and symbols popped into being around his head. Finally he finished all the drink and closed his eyes, his head spinning and burning slightly. Soon, his senses returned.

"Carovo, I..." His voice broke again. His heart felt like it had been squeezed and his head ached. His body felt hot and cold, he shivered regardless. He blinked and looked up at the older man, feeling slightly confused.

Carovo bit his tongue as he coaxed Max to drink the medicine. He wasn't in his right mind most of the time, but it seemed there were slight flashes of sanity and memory sometimes. Bury him with the watches. He'd promised he would, even if he had to shake down all the urchins in the Flit to find what they stole of them. When the cup was empty, he set it aside with a sigh. It would, at least, calm him and reduce the visions for now, before fully taking hold. "Easy." He muttered, pressing a cool hand to Max's forehead. "Don't worry about talking right now. I think it'd be a good idea for you to sleep. Get rid of the chill."

It was hard to ignore what he'd said before. The way he sounded---half dreaming, half competent. But Carovo had to keep in mind that the young man was speaking from a place of insanity. He probably didn't mean more than half the things he'd been saying. He fished Max's hand out from where it was. "Come on with me, okay? You can have my bed. I think it'd be a good idea while you recover." He didn't want to force Max, but pulled lightly, insistently. He'd have to step over the wall of the tub around his feet, though Carovo was sure he could carry him effortlessly if needed.

Max took Carovo's hand, his head pounding and making him feel as though his ears were moving. He stumbled over the tub and let the man lead him to the large and comfortable bed. His teeth chattered as he shed all his clothing and climbed under the sheets, pulling the heavy blanket over himself and snuggling into the fluffy pillows that smelt like honey and Carovo. "Can I have some wine...?" He felt like a child asking permission from his parents to try alcohol for the first time. "Just a bit... Warm me up..."

He made sure his head wasn't covered by the blankets, so he could look at Carovo and the golden box that held his late friend Edgar. "Can I have the box...?"

Carovo had gone back to dump the cooled water out of the window, into the alley no one walked down. Then he'd brought back the tub and settled it beside the bed for cautionary reasons, and caught what Max said. With a light, regretful sigh, he sat on the side of the bed. "I don't think it's a good idea to drink with that medicine in you." He said quietly. "And it might be bad for your health to keep him too close around you, as much as you might not like to hear that." Carefully, Carovo brushed back Max's hair. "But I'll go find all his watches and I'll make sure they're safe with him. I'll go to where no one will follow and bury him deep, and take you there when you're feeling better."

He didn't move. He wanted to wait for a confirmation. Scar sat on the edge of the bed, regarding Max placidly.

Max screwed his nose up in hate. What was he supposed to do if he wasn't allowed to drink his sorrows away? Parts of his life flashed before his eyes, causing tears to start falling again. "Carovo... I... Please..." He was shaking violently now as his fever set in. "Don't leave me... I'll come find them with you... Please..."

His eyes were growing heavy now, but he couldn't sleep in fear of whatever nightmares may be waiting for him. He could already see the blood and tentacles reaching out for him. "I know Flit and Spite... I know... Who..." He trailed off, falling into a deep, dark sleep.

Scar settled on the edge of the bed, cleaning himself unfazed. He looked up at Carovo and purred slightly. "Too bad for him... I could eat that bird and he wouldn't even know. Why bother finding the criminal?"

Carovo grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck. "Because it's my decision." He growled. "I will do what I like with the bird and I decide he should have a proper burial. What about you, hm? How about I toss you in the fireplace when you're dead, like I don't even care about you?"

The cat struggled. "No." It mewed. "I---"

"Very good." He tossed Scar to the floor, where he landed on his feet. "Now I want you to sit on the bed with him. If I come back and there's even a shadow of a doubt you said something stupid or implicating or insensitive, I'll skin you alive." Scar nodded, turning with a tail held high to jump up on the bed beside Max. Before he left, Carovo draped a cool rag on Max's forehead and bound up the box Edgar was in. From the store room downstairs he fetched a shovel, and went outside with a mission in mind. No matter how crazy he might look, he would ask anyone he could about the direction a hauntingly beautiful blonde man in bare feet came walking along with a dead bird in his hands. Surely at least one person would know.

Max continued to slip in and out of conciousness. He leapt through good dreams and sludged through bad, every now and then starting awake and staring at the cat that now sat on the pillow next to him. One of these times he was awake, he spoke to it, unsure whether or not the creature could really talk.

"Where is Carovo?" he questioned it. The cat opened its eyes and gave him a critical look.

"Out," the cat replied, closing them again and readjusting his legs to get more comfortable. Max closed his eyes as well and moaned slightly, still shivering from the fever he now had.

"What's your name? I've never met a cat before." The cat purred slightly and then yawned before replying;

"Carovo calls me Scar."

"Oh," Max said, falling back into blood soaked nightmares.

-

He wasn't there. The devil growled lightly and kicked at the shack's door. He left the scene to the gang that had helped him, knowing they would want to rob the place. He looked over to the oldest kid, who now held a bagful of watches.

"Sell those. Get rid of them. If anyone asks... Someone gave them to you. But if you say who..." He stalked away into the darkness of Spite, disappearing into the Neath.

It took a bit of persuading and a few harsh threats to get some direct answers from those loitering about the streets, but Carovo had eventually found a lead---a shack of a home, there wasn't much to it, but he was sure the strangely upturned area was where the collection of watches were. It had to be---protected from Neath rain, and blocked from any thieves that might look up that way. He set the box down just outside the door, and the shovel he leaned against the wall. But before he could begin even considering a climb, he saw something beside the house.

An urchin... No, the urchin that had alerted the black cat of its capture. The one Carovo had threatened. He was walking with a bag that clinked and jangled oddly, along the back of the shack. Sliding down to the alley behind the urchin, Carovo crouched down low and stepped lightly, as he had taught himself to do. Children weren't as keen-eared as most cats, he didn't have to hesitate before snatching the boy up by the scruff of the dirty jacket and spinning him around, making him drop the bag in astonishment. "'Eh man!?"

"What are these!?" Carovo snatched up the bag and glanced inside---watches. Stolen watches. "Are you the one that stole these? Did you kill that bird!?"

"N-no! 'Ey, mate, you can have 'em! Fer free! G on, take 'em!" He struggled free, allowed to do so, and Carovo glared after him. He grabbed the bag again and looked inside more pointedly---the watches. A lot of them. Apparently Edgar had been a very busy bird. With a sigh, Carovo went back to the house and grabbed the shovel and box, placing the box into the bag and looking out for a nearby hansom. He'd have to come back here for clean, dry clothes for Max when he woke...

Max sat in the comfortable bed, watching the rain lighten outside one of the windows. Carovo's place was comfortable and beautiful, just like the man himself, it seemed. He crawled out of the warm sheets, ignoring the cat called Scar, who warned him to stay inside. His feet were still slightly sore, but his head was clearer and the fever wasn't as bad. Max was known to slip into insanity or sickness, only to get better again after a few hours sleep.

He walked lightly throughout the modest apartment, running his fingers over Carovo's things as Scar followed him, as if making sure he wasn't going to rob the place. He found many different wines, spices, teas, and that jar of honey... He smelt them all, avoiding tasting the honey in the fear of becoming addicted. He thought the grape-based wines, from the Surface of course, smelt amazing and poured himself a small glass, hoping Carovo wouldn't mind too much.

As he sipped the fruity drink, he came across some old writings of his friend's. He picked up the ones that looked more recent and sat down in the armchair near the fireplace. He became lost in the words, finding himself laughing and crying at the emotions. Was this a story about Carovo's life in the Surface? He continued to read, waiting for the man to come back home. Scar settled on Max's lap, purring loudly and offering some of his comfort.

He was unaware of how his home had been stripped, all his possessions taken. He never knew of the writing scrawled across his front door, saying "I will find you." How was he to know right then that he was in danger? That a shadowy assassin searched the streets for his whereabouts.

It had been hard enough trying to find a hansom driver willing to take him to the Forgotten Quarter, and harder still sitting in the back armed with a shovel and mysterious bag. Carovo was sure the man felt his mortality, despite his continuous mentions that he was only off to dig something up and bury something else. Perhaps it was the lack of mentioning what he was burying that had the driver so on edge. Still, the prospect of being paid far more than the initial fee had him push on, but he wouldn't get too close. The horse looked a bit on edge as well as Carovo dug out a few dozen Echoes and handed them over, along with a small cloth purse of rotsygold and even a bottled soul he'd taken from a spirifer---a soul trader.

The Forgotten Quarter was, indeed, forgotten. Ruins and odd, sharp trees, paths muddled with crumbled buildings and piles that once were running fountains. He found the one that had been spared most devastation, and levered a paving stone up. Underneath was packed dirt that he worked to loosen, and after a while, Carovo sat panting on the side of the fountain before pushing the box into the hole, then lying all the watches on top and returning most of the dirt and the paver stone on top. He was about to turn and go back to Max's house, then a thought struck and he knelt, etching a few words into the stone: "Edgar the Raven lies here. Lover of watches".

When he returned to Max's house, Carovo gasped and tried to get in, but something was blocking the way. A fallen shelf he had to lever out of the way first. There was nothing---ransacked rooms and trampled food, no clothes. The message on the front door was concerning, as well, but as he returned on foot to his apartment, he didn't dare tell Max yet. Perhaps not for a while...

Max sniffed loudly, rubbing the tears from his eyes. These words had so much emotion behind them, he had never read such beautiful lines in his life. Carovo was indeed extremely talented in more things than entertaining men. He set the paper down and picked up a new story, one he had found shoved in one of the man's drawers. He knew that it was probably private, but it had caught his attention as soon as he read the name "Maximillion."

He blushed and grew hot at these words, making him put them down and unable to read them. This man was a lot more perverted than he let off. He had written this story shortly after meeting Max in the Mandrake, he could tell. Then he lived his fantasies just a few nights ago. He started when he heard someone walking up the stairs. When Carovo joined him, the man looked bedraggled and definitely concerned about something.

"Carovo!" He stood, sending Scar flaying. The cat cursed and left the apartment, streaking out the still open door. "I..." He looked from the empty glass he held in his hand to the papers littering the nearby table. "I got bored..."

He had tried to dust off most of the Forgotten Quarter's dirt and grime off his clothes, but they were rather stained a pale grayish, like death. He hadn't expected Max to be awake and walking around so soon, and especially not with some things Carovo had been sure he'd stored away nice and tight. Normally he wasn't one to blush, but this time he felt his face grow hot at the papers scattered. "Bored?" He asked weakly. "Um, well... I hadn't expected you to be able to move around so soon. The way you looked..." He crouched down, gathering up the papers that looked as if they'd been thrown away from Max in surprise. "... I figured you would have been out for a good long time." With the papers in his arms, he went to the cupboard across the room and stuffed them into the bottom of it without concern as to which page went where.

Then he stood and turned back to Max. "Ah... You are okay, aren't you? The way you stand, it looks like you're fine..." Anything to change the subject, take the awkwardness out of the room. He had no idea how long Max had been awake and if he'd gotten to the rest of his more private works... God, he would die.

"I'm fine... A bit... Sad, but I should be fine," he replied, scratching his chin. Argh, hairs were growing. Max was relatively hairless, only having to visit a Barber's every week or so. He had never really wondered why this was, or why he could spring back so easily after a traumatic experience. "I... Liked your writings. You are a real poet... Do you sell any of your... More... Um... Decent stories?" He giggled nervously and moved over to the red-head, pecking him lightly on the lips.

"I'm sorry I dug through your things. I didn't take anything, I swear," he turned out his pockets to prove what he said, showing that all he had on him was the pocket watch Carovo had given him yesterday (or last night? Max wasn't even sure how long he had slept for).

Carovo finally smiled, feeling a little clearer in mind. "I believe you." He said easily. "Somehow..." He shook his head, going around to the couch and sitting heavily. "I do sell my... ahem, decent work. It's a good way to get some legitimate money as it's needed. Some of the others I either keep for myself or... use as an outlet, to get certain thoughts and concepts out of my mind." He chuckled. "But, ah, there are certain more racy circles that do appreciate a good bit of filthy work." Certain salons that wanted a good poet and writer, some hole-in-the-wall pubs in Veilgarden or small gatherings in Spite. He did tend to improvise names if he used someone's real one, to avoid confusion or outrage as needed.

He studied the fire then. The vision of Max's burglarized house ran through his mind again. God, should he tell him? Right after the death of Edgar, right after the mild dose of insanity and illness that had overcome him and yet miraculously faded after some hours? Carovo had never been so indecisive. "Max." He said. "I... I went to your house after going to the Forgotten Quarter..." He sighed, gathering his wits. "And... something happened. It was... ravaged. Everything was taken and what wasn't taken was trampled to death. And something was written on the door..." What was it again? he'd only seen it for a moment and that moment was rather blurred. "It said 'I'll find you'. Or something similar." Who would be looking for Max? What kind of thing would write their message in blood, as it most certainly was? It put a shard of cold fear in his heart, not unlike something he'd felt before.

Max leant against a wall, steadying himself. Of course his house would have been robbed, though who would write such a message? His thoughts flew to the night he came home from hanging out with some friends. The house had been ravaged then too, blood all over the floor, his parents... Lying cold in each other's arms. There had been a message then too, a strange glowing... He blinked, realising he was shaking. He clenched his fists and stared hard at the same fire Carovo was watching.

"Ah... Well... I'll just need to find another," he said as simply as he could, sighing as if it didn't bother him. "I used to be in a few gangs when I was a boy... Perhaps one of my past "lovers" are trying to find me for some reason..." He fell into a nearby empty chair and found his head sinking into his hands.

Carovo looked around, blinking the imprint of firelight from his vision. "Is that right?" He asked, hardly expecting an answer. At this point Max didn't have to say anything. Some people were crazy. And with someone like Max, who looked like a real angel, one wouldn't put it past some to become obsessed with him, and grow angry and dejected if he refused them. Some could easily resort to violence or threats if pushed hard enough, or ignored too completely. And for some reason Carovo felt a little responsible. Maybe he was fully responsible---it didn't matter to him. It felt wrong to send him off without a home and more or less with nothing besides the clothes on his back---clothes that smelled of the cavern's rain, stained a little down the front with bird blood. And no shoes. He looked like a bum...

He bit his lip for a moment, then stood and stepped over to Max. "Hey." He said, nudging the young man's knee. "I... wouldn't mind you staying around here. That is, as long as you think you need." Maybe it was stupid of him to offer such a thing. He didn't know Max that well, after all, but the fact that he'd come to Carovo after the death of Edgar said a lot more than the blonde would. Maybe he trusted Carovo enough to feel safe here.

Max smiled and blushed slightly, avoiding the red-head's gaze. "I was... I mean, only until I can get another place. I might try and look for something in Veilgarden, near the Mandrake..." He laughed slightly and looked over at Carovo. "I can come across Secrets easily enough. But it will take a few days and I would prefer to stay out of New Newgate if I could." The Constables arrested homeless people whenever they could, even though it was the street gangs that were the real criminals.

"I can sleep on the couch if need be," he offered, eyeing an old sofa stuffed in the corner. He would prefer to sleep with Carovo, but he couldn't ask that of the man. He was being kind enough as it was.

Carovo shook his head, sending his hair flaring a bit. "No, I certainly don't mind giving up my bed for a while." He laughed a bit. "It wouldn't be so bad to have a place you can rest easily, would it?" At least with Carovo's sharp ears around, it'd be hard to get to Max. Though the young man probably wouldn't like to be fretted or worried over him. Maybe he wasn't used to it anymore... Still, Carovo leaned down and kissed Max quickly. "I just have a few things to get, is all." Stepping around the chair, Carovo went back into the bedroom and looked about.

He would need a pillow, an extra blanket. He got those from the dresser, and pulled the usually-unused second pillow from the bed and set them on the trunk at the foot of it. Then he went to the bedside table, where the jar of honey had been set earlier. He picked it up and studied its warmly colored contents for a moment, then folded it up in the blanket.

Max followed and watched the man. "Ah... Um... What are you doing? There's enough room on your bed for two..." He blinked and blushed slightly, unsure why speaking of such things was embarrassing him. "I wouldn't want you to give up your bed for me. We can share..." He awkwardly stood, glancing around the room. He had seen a clock on the wall in the living area and could see that it was pretty late, though he wasn't really ready to sleep again. Carovo would be exhausted after today, so Max couldn't expect him to stay up with him.

"I might go to the Mandrake and listen to some poets..." He glanced down at himself, shivering slightly at how dirty his clothes were. "Could I... Borrow some clothes?"

Carovo laughed, and sighed, shaking his head. "Well, Max, if you think it's not pushing the limit." He said after a moment, and pointed to the wardrobe. "My clothes are in there, choose what you like. I just hope they fit well enough..." By careful investigation Carovo had found Max to be more petite than he was, thus why he seemed to be mistaken for a woman more often than not. He sat on the bed, pulling the jar back out of the blanket and staring at it. He would be alone for a while again, soon, and he never trusted himself when he was so tired. His hands burned from digging up that hard, packed, dry Forgotten Quarter soil, and he felt dusty---dusty with that of dried bone. But he didn't feel like taking a bath yet. Maybe after sleep.

"I hope you'll be okay." He said after a time. "If someone's looking for you... I don't know, I'm worried, I guess." He studied the jar in his hand. "Maybe I should..." Just a drop. It'd take him away for a little more than a couple hours, perhaps Max would be back, and okay, after he woke up. Just a drop... Unless he talked himself into more.