It's faint. Muddled. His vinyl record player was hidden behind his office's closed doors, spinning sweet foreign arias from unknown spellsingers. It elevated Genevieve even higher in luxury than how she usually was.

Cerise, forcibly shrunken to a more palatable size indoors, laid resting inches above the floor on Henri's left, her tail swishing back and forth slow and meticulous. She's annoyed at Dmitri, very much so.

The conversation topics so far hadn't been anything of note, other than that Henri could see that he was mostly talking at Dmitri than a full blown conversation. The shark's jaws opened and shut, like she was quietly imagining what it would be like to tear into the freshly inaugurated Sybaris leader. Henri simply placed another bite of food into his mouth.

It's only been a year, with one of the sloppiest change of leaderships he'd seen in a while. Dmitri was and is a unique case--not at all like Barik, whose hands rubbed together in shrewd corruption and bribery. He was a doormat marked for death, but at least he made it hilariously easier for the Family to operate without much care.

Dmitri on the throne would shake things a little... but Henri knew that when he sponsored his ascension there. Though Dmitri's assessment of the Caïd's contrasting values with his would be correct--in the sense that when he disrespected him with a blasé "well?", Henri chuckled. He raised his glass of whiskey to his mouth for a sip before answering back.

"Is this old man boring you, Dmitri?"

He chuckled again, in a manner akin to a parent laughing at the darndest things their kids say. "You don't mince words, do you?"

He's going to have to learn sooner or later the more he has to speak with the council. There's a time to ask, and there's a time to guess. Henri had been noticing the younger ones tended to ask more. It's direct, almost rude.

But time, too, will pass this old man.

The new plate was set before them, the main course: a roast venison dish braised in red wine. A classic dish with an elevated twist. The knife cut into the meat cleanly and he took the first bite. It's delicious.

"Isn't it amazing how the senses work in relation to memory?" He cut another piece of the venison. "Separately, these ingredients don't remind me of much at all. But in this combination, the smell of this meal brings me back to my childhood. How is that possible?"

To Dmitri, he may be just an old man rattling stories, and he very well could be. He doesn't know how the Narcisse head--who wasn't even of that name at the time--how his parents had to go to the wilderness and hunt daemon infested game for their meal for the week. How the cheap, poorly corked wine was doused and cooked into the meat for hours over the fire just to get the smell out.

The ingredients that amalgamated into the dish Henri was eating today were obviously not the same as the flickers of his impoverished past. They were quality of course--the cleanest of meats and the most sublime of grapes for the wine; but it called forth the memory all the same. Fascinating.

"We're expanding business into the Vale," he said finally. "Delphi, I feel, is getting a little crowded."

Henri chuckled himself. When he said Delphi was getting crowded, he meant, "For my men." But he wouldn't blame Dmitri or anyone else to interpret his words at face value.

"They're good at making friends," the Caïd remarked, taking another sip of his alcohol. The latter half of the venison had already cooled considerably--Henri pierced his fork into a soft, braised carrot. He glanced up to Dmitri's face; the eyes of the latter peering back with sparks of amusement and mouth sheltered behind his hands.

The question, or statement rather, returned was just as innocent and casual, "You must have plenty of friends over there, Dmitri."

He saw the microexpression, the look of contempt and disgust, and it reminded the Caid how far apart in generations the two really were. He's not fully sure what in his words ticked the grimace across Dmitri's face; the roundabout way Henri spoke was not unique. Things were to be implied, ideas were inferred without need to say it outright. It's almost an unspoken rule at this point.

Again, time will pass the old man, the one already set in his ways.

'The disrespect has gone on long enough, Henri,' the shark thought as she eyed down the High Priest's smile. The boy was looking down on her Henri. She hated it immensely.

Henri glanced down at the shark by his side. "Ma Cerise, why don't you break bread with Maggie?"

The tiger shark shifted, eyeing down her witch in mild displeasure. She swiftly swam through the air towards the window where the crow perched anyway. "... Maggie, do you like desserts?"

As solid as stone, the older man smiled back, although they always never quite reach his eyes. The waitstaff cleared their table, placing down a small bowl of salad on front of the men and a platter of various cheeses in the centre. One plate of exotic fruits was set on the table nearest to the familiars, though mostly for Maggie. Cerise wasn't quite hungry.

Usually, the cheese would come later, but at least here it indicated to Dmitri that it was the penultimate step of the course meal. Or the very last, if he didn't care for dessert. Salad, at this point, was good for digestion, like how Henri was digesting the High Priest's own words, incidentally just as hidden.

"That it is. You know the Narcisse supports you, Dmitri," he said, "and I assumed we were already friends."

Henri did not need information and handouts; he would find a way in one way or another. Money connections and information come and go, but bonds were forever. So perhaps they were on the same wavelength here. He picked at the lettuce leaves with a small chuckle.

"Are we not?"

The short conversation between the two familiars amused Henri. If he turned around, he'd see an equally amusing sight: an apex predator of the sea clumsily attempt to be polite and eat with her company. Even at a shrunken state, her snout would push the fruit around and make a mess. She didn't even succeed in eating the fruit she wanted to try.

"... I don't normally eat fruit," she admitted. "Please, it's all yours."

So the scene of a corvid tossing different samples of fruit into a tiger shark's gaping maw would be very funny.

But Henri kept his sights straight ahead, picking off a grape piece from the cheese platter to cleanse is palate. He eyed Dmitri's toothy grin, and loosely regarded his attempt of mirroring back the roundabout speech.

He's young. The choice of words could use some work, being too straightforward as they were, but Henri smiled anyway. A new cigarette lit up--his personal choice: Scarlement. Pricier, but one of the few brands manufactured with recessed filters. Take in one deep, slow drag, and exhale. Smooth. He's not tense at all.

"Have a little faith," Henri replied, more amused than offended. After all, the Narcisse had been around longer than the current High Priest's birth. They've been there through many different personalities on the throne, and just as many Cullings.

"It'll be good for the both of us."

He preferred to know, rather than hope.

He had seen the reservation list some days ago. Whole floor bookings, especially the second floor, were more than enough for Henri to quirk a brow and hum at the name. So when Dmitri and Maggie reaffirmed it by saying their goodbyes and made no move to actually leave, he chuckled. Well, he had an appointment on the other side of town anyway.

Cerise slowly moved across the air to the Caid's side. "It was nice to catch up with you, Maggie," she said politely to the crow. Not a complete lie, but she lacked the sentimentality for other beings besides her life. She enjoyed the fruit all the same as a pasttime.

"See to it that they stay comfortable," Henri told the waiter passing by to pick up the plates. Henri dipped into his office for his blazer, shrugging it on before locking the door with a charm. There were still some things that were 'employee only' on this second floor, even when booked out.

"The windows don't open," came the reply to Dmitri's musing, "they're bolted shut for a reason. Enjoy yourselves, Dmitri. Maggie."

He descended down the stairs, passing by Darius in doing so. A nod in greeting, "Evening, Darius."