Samuel’s ire only managed to grow as he made his way home. The dragon had dropped him off almost exactly where they’d first met, in a building near to the observation platform. This fact only seemed to add to Samuel’s resentment. The stranger from beyond The Edge knew enough about the city plan and infrastructure that even leading them a merry-dance through multiple levels and buildings, he’d still managed to remember exactly where they’d started from, and knew enough to get them back there. Others might have thought it a considerate gesture, but not Samuel, to him it felt as though the observation platform was now permanently tainted. This was something that not even Vince had managed to instil. Samuel didn’t know if he could ever go back there.

Frustrated beyond belief he didn’t bother hopping on another travelator. Instead he climbed home the old-fashioned way, building-by-building, airbridge-by-airbridge, only using single structure elevators. A journey of a few minutes became an hour-long trek, but Samuel didn’t care. He didn’t even care about the strange looks he was getting from so many people who passed him by. His face was thunder, and his hands kept balling into fists that he kept banging on his thigh. This was the only outlet for his rising anger it seemed.

Storming into his house he made a beeline for his bedroom, knocking the door open with more force than needed. Uncertain what to do next he stood there for a moment, turning in place, just looking at a space that he knew so well but for some reason now felt so different.

His father sauntered past and came to stand just outside the doorway. He must have been in the middle of getting dressed before hearing his son come in the door; his councillor’s formal evening-wear hung about him, fitting him like a glove but still mostly unbuttoned, as if he’d only just started to put it on and arrange everything.

“You’re late.”

Samuel wasn’t in the mood for his father’s criticisms tonight, and didn’t know why it would matter anyway. He stared back at the man without answering. Whatever was going on in Samuel's face though must have communicated something to his father, who took a step towards him, into the room. Samuel couldn’t remember the last time his father had been in his room.

“Are you alright? What’s happened?”

The concern was genuine enough, that just made Samuel more frustrated. He couldn’t put into words what had happened, and he knew his father would never understand him having followed the edge-lander, he would have considered it rude and unnecessary. His father didn’t believe in doing unnecessary things.

The man took two more strides towards his son, his hand gently rested on his chin and he turned his head ever so slightly to the light.

“What happened to your lip?”

Oh right! The split-lip. Samuel had almost forgotten it in everything that had happened since. Pulling his chin out of his father’s hand he shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he muttered, his mind now clearing. 

His father looked like he wanted to ask something further, to not let the matter rest, but the shuttered look on his son’s face and the chiming of the hall clock put a stop to that.

“Have you forgotten? We have the city-ball tonight for members of the Principality of Aerska en Cantaer. You promised you would go and now you’re home late, and bleeding. Please Sam, you need to get ready. I know, for whatever reason, you don’t like people who live beyond the city, but I need you to do this. All of the council families will be there. Without your mother, I need you to step up, I need this…” 

Samuel wished he could say something, normally he would have. His father so casually talking about pauper-quasi-states beyond the edge; his seeming oblivious ignorance of the contempt of the other councillors who might be bringing their families but would judge any friendly overture to the guests as a betrayal. He wanted to say so much, but his father had silenced him. He had invoked his mother, long since dead, but a permanent ghost in their house and in their relationship. That his father had loved his mother went without question. An appeal to his mother’s memory was the closest thing to a demand his father would ever make. In truth, an appeal to his mother was an order that would broach no demur. 

Setting his lips into a thin line, Samuel just barely acknowledged the information, a cursory tilt of the head, the eyelids doing more than the neck itself. It was good enough for his father though, the councillor turned away and headed out, presumably to finish getting dressed. Samuel stared at himself in the mirror. It hung on the wall to his left. After a moment of deep examination he sighed, turned, and began to strip off the layers of clothing he was wearing. Looking with contempt at the shirt and tails that had already been hung over his wardrobe door. His straightjacket for the evening.