The next day the boys indeed spent just getting settled down. At some point around dawn they woke up enough to muddily register some noises, then fell asleep again and returned once more to the daytime world a few hours later.
In the kitchen they found Karos, bleary-eyed and only half dressed, who informed them that the earlier noises had been made by Reonn leaving for work, oh and would they please see if there was anything edible in any of the cupboards? Loren took one look at the available items, then rolled up his sleeves and asked if anyone cared for a proper breakfast – an offer that seemed to wake both father and son up considerably.
Loren had done enough kitchen duty, both back home and along their year-long journey, to know his way around in a kitchen. When the voluptuous Eilla arrived some time later, she was offered breakfast as well while Karos, much refreshed, went to get his stuff together and prepare for the day's work. By the time the girl headed once more to the sofa and began to shed her clothes beside it, Loren decided that he'd seen enough and insisted on returning to their room.
At first it seemed that their day's activities would be seriously hampered by a simple but compelling reason: they couldn't very well leave the house naked. In order to keep their backpacks as light as possible, they had been traveling with the minimum number of things they could manage, and this meant a very limited wardrobe. As it were, all their clothes were badly crumpled and in dire need of washing. However, Arjan managed to find a trunk that contained his old clothes, and in there they found just enough clothing that fit them both tolerably well.
Thus they headed out of the apartment around noon, ignoring their protesting leg muscles, with no other imminent plans than to take their two existing sets of clothes to a little laundry just a few blocks away. There they had to undergo an intense half-hour interrogation, conducted by the friendly and extremely talkative woman who ran the small business. In between a barrage of questions she managed to thoroughly convince Loren that she knew Karos and his son very well, as they'd been her regular customers over the past ten or so years.
When they finally managed to leave the place, thanks to the arrival of some other customers, Loren rolled his eyes.
"Does she always talk as much?" he asked.
"Mostly yes," Arjan said. "She's the local information office, too. She knows everyone's goings-on. Which male customers regularly have heavy doses of a woman's perfume on his sheets. Who is even more hard up than usual because they wear clothes that've been turned around three times. And so on and so forth. You can be sure that within two days the entire Fifth Level knows about you."
"Scary," Loren said. "Hey, where are you headed? Surely those aren't stairs that I see ahead?"
"Alas, yes!" Arjan struck a dramatic pose. "But only one level, okay? You see, there are quite a few second-hand clothes shops on the Fourth, and I thought we might go and take a look there. I really could use a couple of new shirts."
"And I could try to find new trousers." Loren tried to twist around and see his own backside. "These are pretty worn."
"They show off the shape of your ass really well," Arjan grinned. "But, granted, it won't take long before they show it a bit too well... come, let's see if we can find anything."
Perusing the offerings of the numerous shops proved surprisingly interesting, and by the time the boys trudged back up the stairs, both of them were laden with several pieces of clothing to supplement their admittedly sparse wardrobe. Loren was momentarily disoriented when he realized that the place looked completely different from before, but then he remembered that they'd come up using a different flight of stairs than the one they'd taken when first going to the Fourth. It was going to be interesting, trying to learn the layout of this place.
Arjan was already walking forward, apparently with some specific goal in mind. Loren soon noticed what it had to be: an art supplies shop just a block away. His guess was that this was at least part of the reason why they had taken exactly that particular flight of stairs to return to the Fifth Level, and was proved right when they entered the shop.
The proprietors received Arjan like a long-lost relative and immediately waxed eloquent about those sketches he'd sent home – very clearly the proud father had shown some of them to his friends. While Arjan was chatting with the owners and getting pulled into a discussion about the relative merits of different grades of sketching papers, Loren amused himself by strolling around the small shop and marveling at how many hues of green there were. The passage of time was completely forgotten as he pondered the question whether it really mattered if the hairs in a particular brush had been taken from a sable's ears or a squirrel's tail, until two more artists entered the shop and immediately noticed the blond, curly-haired stranger.
In fact Loren attracted their attention to such a degree that Arjan quickly entered the scene to do some possessive growling. However, his ruffled feathers were quickly smoothed down when he was greeted by a delighted 'my goodness, Arjan, so you're back!' from both of the men.
After exchanging the latest news with the latest arrivals Arjan and Loren exited the shop, to Loren's amused relief.
"Let's go to the Honey Pot," Arjan suggested. "I wouldn't mind sitting down and I 'm getting hungry too, but there's no point going home yet. Dad's working anyway and I don't want to disturb him."
"Is that some regular haunt of yours?" Loren asked. "Wasn't that where yesterday's dinner came from as well?"
"It's a pretty popular place, yeah. Their big forte is that they sell food in those pots to take away – there's a lot of people around here who can't cook to save their lives and don't necessarily have anyone to do it for them. Meaning all of us useless artists."
"You're not useless," Loren said. "Besides, that's how business works – someone has something another one needs and is willing to pay for."
"You know all about that, don't you!" Arjan laughed as they turned around a corner, then sniffed the air. "Mmm, unless I'm badly mistaken, it's their onion soup day!"
The Honey Pot occupied a sizable chunk of the basement of a four-story house and proclaimed its identity with a large sign painted in brilliant colors. Outside the door, a thick rope supported by sturdy metal posts surrounded a section of the pavement where several small tables and chairs had been placed, nearly all of them occupied. The smell of food blended with animated talk and the clatter of utensils and glasses, and in the middle of it all two swift-footed waiters were scuttling back and forth.
Loren observed in passing that very many of the current patrons looked somehow unconventional, and interpreted this to mean – quite rightly, as he soon heard – that they were members of the large local artist population. Inside the place he found more interesting things to look at: paintings and drawings and little sculptures were on display everywhere, and two tall bookshelves lined the entrance on both sides. On these shelves he saw more pictures, magazines, and loads of books. Dog-eared books that looked like they'd been read dozens of times. He pointed those out to Arjan who smiled.
"It's a common habit here that if somebody reads a book and decides they don't want to keep it to themselves, they bring it here. You can read those here, but you're not to take them away. Some people come here daily to go on reading some novel they've started."
"Nice," Loren mused. "Really nice. But what about those pictures? Are they gifts from happy customers, or payment for food, or what?"
"Oh no," Arjan said. "They are here on display. They're all for sale. If someone sees something they like, they leave a note to the proprietors and the artist gets the message from here."
He chuckled. "Of course sometimes it actually is a payment, too... the artist might ask the Honey Pot to take the payment and keep it, as a sort of prepayment for future meals."
"You're kidding, right?" Loren raised his eyebrows, but Arjan just nodded.
"Not kidding you, no. There are some people who know that their hands get too itchy if they get hold of money, so it's safer for them to let the Honey Pot keep it. Think of a bank deposit, only this is easier because they don't have to first take the money to a bank and then go back to get cash."
Loren laughed. "I guess that's a way of doing it, then! So you mean people do get their pictures sold here?"
"They do," Arjan assured him. "Everybody knows the Honey Pot, and lots of people who visit Saygorr regularly for their holidays come up here to take a look at new art. The visitors know this is a place with lots of artists, so it's part of their holiday routine."
When they approached the counter, at least half a dozen people – including the proprietors – immediately crowded around and greeted them enthusiastically. Everybody already seemed to know of Loren, too, which at first amazed him until he remembered that this was the very same place where Reonn had bought their dinner on the night before. Of course he would've exchanged a few words with the owners wondering at the unusual amount of food purchased, and of course Reonn would've told them what was up...
They managed to pay for their lunch and were handed large bowls which they filled from the big cauldron placed on a stove in one corner of the restaurant. Finding seats proved somewhat trickier, but only for a moment: a little group sitting in the corner of the street cafe area soon noticed their problem and waved them over to join them.
The closest tables and chairs were shuffled around, apologies were offered to the people sitting nearby, and Loren was introduced to five persons whose names more or less escaped him but who proclaimed themselves to be great friends with Karos and Arjan and therefore with Loren as well. He didn't feel like disputing the claim, merely sat down in the offered chair and took his first taste of the onion soup.
It was delicious, and Loren was grateful to be mostly just listening while Arjan alternated between slurping his own portion and answering questions about his journey. He'd already noticed that this was an excellent way to find out more about the place and its goings-on, not to mention his own boyfriend. Besides, he had always enjoyed observing people and trying to guess who and what they were, using clues they would inadvertently drop when talking to each other.
So he soon found out that the blondest of the men was a native Baldániy who spoke Revnashi fluently but with a distinctive accent; that the only woman in the company was living with the bearded musician and had been together with him for a good while; and that the red-haired, shy-looking man was either attracted to him or at least wanted very much to ask him to model.
Loren smothered a grin. It seemed that Karos had been right, his purebred Belter appearance were a major eyecatch. Blondness as such was nothing extraordinary, for here in Baldón the dramatically dark Revnashi looks that for example Karos and Arjan sported were a clear minority. However, the Baldániy tended to be more muted in their colors than the pale golden-blond Loren. Yes, over here he was definitely the exotic import.
They ended up staying in the Honey Pot until late afternoon, when one of their companions pointed at something a bit further away.
"Hey, isn't that Karos' man?"
Arjan perked up and turned around. "Where... oh yes! Reonn!"
The figure stopped, then walked closer.
"Hi there," Reonn said. "So you've left the big man working, huh? Any idea how he's doing?"
"None," Arjan replied. "We've been out since the morning when we got up."
"Correction: by the time you've woken up, I bet it wasn't anything that most people would call 'morning'!" Reonn grinned. "At least if Karos is anything to go by."
"Ha ha," Arjan mocked. "Well, it was well before noon anyway! Are you going home now?"
"Sure as hell." Reonn glanced at his dirty overalls. "I'll go and get washed. Will you bring something to eat, or are you staying here much longer?"
"You don't have to worry," Loren assured him, "we'll be coming soon and we'll bring you dinner as well."
"Yeah, you go home and we'll be coming in a while," Arjan joined in. "Tell Dad to start putting his stuff away, there won't be enough light much longer."
When Reonn was out of hearing distance, the dark pianist chuckled and shook his head with a knowing expression.
"There goes old Karos' fate," he said. "Mark my words, that guy knows how to keep him – and if he wants to, he'll do just that!"
"Funny, that – I only met him last night but I totally agree with you!" Arjan toyed with his glass, gaze following the brown-haired carpenter. "I've never seen Dad so... content would be the word, I guess."
"Reonn's a good guy. So down to earth." The woman grinned. "Oh, I know what Karos himself says – that Reonn is nicely low maintenance, or some other bullshit to the same effect. The old charmer just can't admit that he's met someone who's figured out all his strings and buttons."
"Hey, do you really think he's realized it yet?" asked the Baldániy man with a wink. "I say he hasn't, and that's all for the better!"
Some time later the boys indeed decided to call it a day. They were soon walking towards the sand-colored house once more, Loren carrying their day's loot and Arjan cradling a carefully packed pot in his arms. He chuckled to himself.
"What are you laughing at?" Loren asked, then yawned. Yes, it had been a exhausting day, with an entirely new place around him. Arjan shook his head.
"I'm just amazed to notice that others seem to agree with me." He stopped to take a better hold of the pot. "About Reonn, I mean... They seem to know that he's playing for keeps, and that Dad's not aware of it."
Loren rolled his eyes. "Well, if your father really can be that oblivious, then shouldn't we and everyone else be very careful not to make him realize how things are? I mean, I like Reonn."
"Me too," Arjan said. "That's why I'll take good care not to make Dad think too much."
