Asa studied the reports, skimming over them with practiced ease. His eyes automatically tracked to the relevant rows and columns as he sifted through the clubs' monthly activities. It wasn't something he had to do; there were others, as the soft scritch scratch of a pen across the desk attested to. Still, it was something he liked to do every now and then.

Of course, making sure certain vendors weren't on the supplier list had nothing to do with this month's interest.

"Cozette," he said conversationally, looking up to focus on the pen's wielder.

The soft sound of the pen stopped, and the ghoul laid it down and straightened, giving her Regnant her full attention.

"Yes, Mr. Clarke?"

She had won that battle. No matter how many times he'd told her "Asa" was fine in private, she wouldn't relent. One of these days, he was going to architect a war of propriety between her and Martha.

"What was Lioni waiting for? To Embrace you?"

He kept his tone deliberately casual, concealing his intense curiosity. He knew the ghoul was older than he was, and by no small amount.

"She was not, Mr. Clarke."

Spend enough time with a ghoul, and you learned that you couldn't fool them. Whatever the nature of the relationship, the Blood devotion ensured they came to learn every nuance. Spend enough time with a ghoul, and you learned they had their own senses of humor -- whatever the nature of the relationship. She was forcing him to ask her to elaborate, letting him know that she knew it wasn't the wholly casual question he'd presented it as.

Asa looked up, studying her, letting her know with his eyes that he knew what she'd done. It wasn't a look of reproach, more a silent acknowledgment of a joke.

"Oh? Do tell."

"Every Severn needs a Keats, Mr. Clarke."

Morbid bitch.