Who knew what Hiram wanted when he came prowling? Likely not even himself. He was not a man of extensive thought, but one of sudden action. The only consistency about him was that he lived from one moment to the next, trusting his strength to get him through. One day he would stumble, and the world would take the opportunity to crawl upon his strong back and sink a weapon into his spine. Today was not that day. Probably.

Per usual, if the door was unlocked then he’d barge in, casting the rectangle of privacy open with aggression that would send it crashing against the wall. If it was locked then he’d lift a boot and destroy the thing. Either way, he was coming in, and there wasn’t any hair on her chinny-chin-chin that could stop him.

The door wasn’t locked. Hiram would easily crash through, and once he did Honora would whirl around to face him. After standing there, wide-eyed for a moment, Honora did not rush to cover her nakedness. Her time locked in the cabin had made her indifferent to her own body and who saw it. It was not a gift to be wrapped as a precious secret, it was just a vessel to hold her unraveling mind.

“You could knock,” Honora said with hollow humor, reaching calmly for the nightgown to slip over her head.

Hiram directed excess blood within Honora’s body towards her genitals, almost instinctively. His eyes raked her figure, his take unexpressed, and then to her comment he returned,

“Knocking implies respect.” He raised a brow as he crossed her room, still the room that had formerly been Bryce’s, eying it for anything interesting as he made his way over to flop onto her bed.

“What next?”

Honora huffed, amused in a mirthless kind of way. “Fair enough,” She felt the stirring of desire in her body, enough that a shuddering breath left her as the nightgown slipped over her skin and fell around her. Honora heard the weight of Hiram’s body drop on the bed. With a curious expression, she turned to face him with her head tilted to the side.

“You still owe me Quinton Featherton,” Honora said flatly, “If he can’t be found, I’d rather search for him myself then stay cooped up in here.” She gestured vaguely to the room before pushing herself off the wall and going to the mirror again. She picked up a brush and started to run it through her hair in long sweeping movements.

“As for the rest, I suppose that’s up to you.” After a few tugs she set the brush down and looked at Hiram where he was reflected in the mirror. The heat in her cheeks as she did was evidence of Hiram’s stirring of her blood.

Hiram snorted at what he perceived to be an accusatory response.

“Go look. I’m not keeping you here. Unless you forgot, my gift doesn’t let me dig into people’s minds to find information, so I don’t know what you think waiting for me will get you.” He was entirely dismissive, even a little irritable, whether because he sincerely felt it wasn’t his job or because he was actually wrestling with the guilt of his failure was yet undetermined.

“I did catch wind of something that might give you the perfect opportunity to find your bastard.”

There was a time where Honora would have flinched at even the slightest irritation from Hiram. But brushing shoulders with death does funny things to you. Any retort she might have had was swallowed with genuine interest when Hiram offered her something. Honora drew closer, arm wrapping around the post at the end of the bed, eyes wide and…hopeful? Excited?

“What is it?”

“A ball.” He said simply, the corners of his mouth turned slightly down as his eyebrows raised. Balls had never been his cup of tea; he much preferred taverns. If he had been paying attention he might have recognized the name of the man who was hosting it, but as it was, he simply figured attending it would give her some minds to search.

You can almost taste it.

See how sweet it is?

It wasn’t the prospect of a ball in and of itself that made the wicked twinkle of Zahaela’s malice appear. It was the promise that came with it; the lantern in the distant window that would provide refuge from her pain and fear. Closure that would smother the feeling of wanting to crawl out of her own skin and vacate the body she felt was no longer hers.

“A ball,” Honora repeated, turning the words over, “Well isn’t that perfect?”

Hiram shrugged a shoulder, smirking as his eyes lingered on the most private parts of her body. Did he even see a woman, or did he simply see a tool?

“I can be, can’t I?” He said with a grin, though the smile didn’t necessarily convey that he didn’t believe his own words.

You want him dead, but when that’s done...

How will live?

Will you?

Honora raised an eyebrow at Hiram’s grin, her mind curiously tugging on whatever it was at the surface that had his eyes linger. It’d be a pull he could swat away—Honora would not persist—but if he didn’t his self-satisfaction would swell like a musical crescendo.

Either way, Honora would go to the wardrobe and fling it open to sift through the dresses hanging there. “Anything you’re hoping to find, or are balls not to your liking?"

Honora would find a very base lust when she tugged at his lingering, the desire to lick her and touch her and bend her over the edge of the bed and such. Simple stuff, no sentiment or strings attached. It was there, but clearly not powerful enough to make him stand.

“I’m going to go to send a message.” He said simply.

Honora thrust the feeling away from her as if it were infectious (for that was precisely what she feared it would be). She pushed through the dresses, her back to Hiram, assessing them - considering some, frowning at others. Hiram's answer had her glance over her shoulder and raise an eyebrow. She thought to inquire further, but...she decided she'd rather not know what that would entail. Knowing would require her to grapple with her culpability in Hiram’s methods. Ignorance was easier.

“To the ball it is, then,” Honora replied. She went for a moment back to her exercise but had tired of it. She dragged a dress from the wardrobe, hardly looking at it before she draped it over a chair.

"You never said what you want of me,” Honora said, turning back to Hiram, “For sav—healing me, you never specified what you want in return.”