Though the previous day had improved itself vastly-- with Akija making his favorite dinner, Sentio and Chario being sympathetic but not annoyingly sympathetic over Lanithro, the former finally and excitedly reading over the translated story that Akija had read two days before, the shadows subsiding to something more friendly and less irritable, and Cacopheny convincing Akija to finish what she'd inadvertently started by pouncing him first thing in the morning-- the current day was already shaping up to counter it.

First, he'd woken up far earlier than he'd wanted to and, despite the presence of a cuddly daemon in his blankets with him-- he'd brought her down someplace more comfortable than her own floor to sleep, since neither one really wanted to just leave her behind-- he couldn't get back to sleep. Perhaps having a cuddly daemon in his blankets with him was part of the problem.... But he hadn't really wanted to get up and disturb her, either, so he wound up just laying there, idly stroking her fur while she crept towards wakefulness herself, and in the end had a cramp in his shoulder by the time he got up the initiative to move.

Then, in one of his rare attempts at making breakfast himself, he'd managed to burned the toast and his fingers, to the laughter of a variety of shadows. Akija, after coming out to join him once her shower was over, had laughed a little herself until she noticed how put out he was, then kissed him and made him go shower while she fixed the mess he'd made.

Then, in the hopes of getting to the Cathedral before Lanithro this time, he'd stupidly walked in on the middle of a service and had to hastily retreat under the glares of at least a hundred dragons. Watching them all file out while he stood in the foyer, trying to hide in what little darkness the Light Cathedral could boast while they either pointedly ignored him, cast him suspicious glances, or hurried by nervously, did little to improve his mood. He was already half-dreading seeing Lanithro and having the suspicion and fear compounded in the forms of him and his little bond.

And now, he was staring at a note that one of the priests had given him precisely at noon-- despite that he'd been there an hour already, and they could have given it to him earlier. Probably revenge for interrupting their service.

"Mr. Cacopheny," it read. "Our apologies for making you go out to the Cathedral again, but Lanithro cannot continue these lessons with you. Despite your apparently well-meaning intentions, exposing Lanithro to the feel of demon-magic again is doing him no favors. He collapsed last night from magical exhaustion after filling his room with mage-lights, and at the time I write this, still has yet to rouse. At this time, he is neither stable nor self-confident enough to cope with your Caetran nature, though we appreciate your effort in trying to aid him regardless. We are sorry for the inconvenience."

It was signed, "Fautor Immuto," who was probably one of Lanithro's other relatives. One of the ones who had panicked when confronted with the idea of a half-demon teaching their precious nephew their language. Cacopheny wondered sourly if he was the one who had fainted-- he'd heard that loud and clear from the grandfather's shadow.

It seemed like he had been given a reprieve, a way out of what was already a difficult and unpleasant situation. He could go home, commiserate with Akija or Sentio, and forget about irritatingly meek little slaves who whined and cringed whenever he said something.

Except that thought gave him no relief and no pleasure. All he felt was defeated-- and angry.

So the family had talked him out of it, after all. Or, if the note was to be believed-- which Cacopheny wasn't sure it should-- was still asleep from wearing himself out with light magic. It would have made a convenient excuse, and one that would probably deter him in most situations. He didn't like frightening Lanithro-- he didn't like frightening most people, unless for some reason they deserved it, which occasionally they did-- and he knew perfectly well what it was like to want to hide from what frightened you so badly that you exhausted yourself. The mental image was a familiar one, and a pitiful one, and surely anyone who believed it would leave the poor half-dragon alone.

Except he wasn't sure he believed it. Because equally easy to imagine was a protective, suspicious, and even well-meaning family convincing a timid nephew that the dark half-demon was up to no good and he had no good reason to have to see him again. Especially when Lanithro was already shaky about him, already feared him, already didn't like him.

Not like it's easy to like you.

So he could either go home, pretend to believe the note, and give up trying to teach Lanithro anything-- not like he was likely to make much progress with the fear, anyway, not unless he actively combated that, as well. He'd not learn anything about other demon-damaged, himself, and Lanithro would take years to learn how to communicate-- but it would be so much easier, so much less stressful. He could get back to his translation, go back to caring about no one except his little family, go back to following the others around at work or wandering the mountains in his free time.

Or he could see for himself what Lanithro's problem was, perhaps argue his case to Lanithro's family, or try to convince Lanithro that he really didn't mean any harm. It would be harder, yes, and probably an impossible task, but... it was what he wanted to do. Even if just to try and get Lanithro to talk, if he couldn't teach him. Tell him there was hope to getting-- better. More normal.

I say go find the little liar and see for yourself, Almadir hissed, apparently as disdainful of lies as she was of cowardice.

"I don't know where he lives," he told her reasonably, and unhappily. Which was true, because all he knew about him was he lived with his family-- Fautor Immuto and a former-Guard with a bad leg-- and he liked the bonding complex.

So ask somebody! Almadir snorted.

He snorted, back. As if anyone would tell him how to find anyone-- much less a demon-haunted half-dragon-- in this giant city. Even if anyone knew, he was still mistrusted enough that wanting to know where a stranger lived wasn't something the Guard stationed here would want to tell him.

Except... maybe one would.

Cacopheny crumbled up the note and shoved it into the bag he'd brought with him, this time, with the paper, ink, chalk, and the magicked slate he still had from when he was learning to read, himself, and left the Cathedral. He knew where Ketvia worked, attempting to train some spirit and skill into the Guard recruits, and he knew that she, at least, would have to know of the former-Guard with a shadow like hers, a crippled leg, and a blind eye, even if she didn't know Lanithro.

And she trusted him enough to tell him.