“Not about town so much, no. You’ll have to make an effort to go hungry or get left in the cold. But the stamps are important, and I can guess why good ol’ King Barnabas dropped you off with me. Bastard.”

Cid pauses in front of the door to let Clive catch up and to look him in the eye, to let him know he wasn’t kidding. “No joke. Look out your window a little after sunrise, and you’ll see him take flight.”

He turns back to his door, opening it with a tap of his ring. “…Ah. You’ll have to mind the mess. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

Cid pushes the door open, revealing an absolute mess. It’s not dirty, well. Not completely. But he has a few piles of laundry, the washer is fully disassembled and laid out neatly on the floor, there’s some empty bottles strewn about, a few different packed ash trays, papers with his handwriting all over, a bong on the table crowded in with the contents of the sexy gift basket, a record player, records all over…

It’s a far cry from his Solar. And it weirdly does not smell like cigar smoke in spite of all the cigars.

“Hm. I don’t recall it looking this bad. Oh right, the washer is in the other apartment… Ah, that can wait.”

“Things have gotten a little out of hand, haven’t they. Oh well. Let’s get you fed at least, hm? When’s the last time you had a proper meal?”