There was, Isaaru thought, a great deal of satisfaction to be found in a well-slammed door. The trouble with St. Bevelle Palace was the considerable amount of machina at its heart, and the doors that would whoosh open and closed with the most demure of whispers. So he had to wait, grudgingly, until reaching his own apartments in the east wing before he could fling a door shut with the proper gratifying bang. It felt so good that he opened it up just to do it again, with relish.

"So, how are negotiations going?" Maroda, after a week, was used to this, and too busy poring over a map of Spira to look up.

Isaaru flung his arm in the general direction of the conference room. "That woman," he declared, "Is a fiend."

"Mmm." Maroda carefully inked in a line, and checked the smaller map he was working from. "That's an improvement over yesterday."

Pacce, who had been content to sit and watch Maroda work, was much more interested in seeing his eldest sibling lose his temper. "Yesterday you said she was a slavering zealot bitch." He paused, considered. "What's a slavering zealot bitch?"

"I think we're a bad influence," Maroda murmured thoughtfully.

"Ah, hells." Isaaru loosened the collar of his robe. "We've gotten rid of Yevon, now if we could just do something about his followers."

"Of which you used to be one," Maroda reminded him.

Isaaru scowled. "Even a bull can be led peacefully to slaughter, brother." He flung his sash across the settee. "But once he finds out what's going on, he doesn't take too kindly to having his throat slit."

"Hmph." Maroda leaned back in his chair. "But she was never on the altar, was she?"

"No." Isaaru fingered his robe for a moment before sending it after his sash. "She wasn't. And she expects me to submit to keeping his name in the temples." He shook his head. "You wouldn't believe what she said today."

"Probably not," Maroda agreed, moving his ink bottle before Pacce could upset it. "But I'd say it had something to do with ‘the people really don't need to know Yevon was a power-hungry monster bent on destruction, so let's leave that out'?"

Isaaru unwound the cord holding his topknot, and shook out his hair. "No need to rename the temples, she said. Best to just leave the teachings alone, she said. The people are used to it, she said. Does it really matter, she wants to know." He snorted. "I'll be damned if I let Yevon keep so much as a shred of his illusion. He steeped himself in the blood of ten thousand summoners, and nearly mine, as well. I'll not stand for covering up the truth of him just to keep the masses comfortable."

"Most of them know already, anyway," Maroda sighed. "Just certain people are-- er, reluctant to give up their faith."

"I'll give her reluctant," Isaaru grumbled. He'd been in council all day, and missing his midday meal had not helped his temper. "She can take her reluctant and shove it right up her--"

Someone coughed. "Is now a bad time?"

Isaaru started, and Maroda scrambled to his feet to bow. Pacce, too delighted with company, bounced up in his chair happily.

"Lady Yuna!"

Isaaru hastily scooped his clothing up off the settee. "No, no not at all, my lady."

Maroda shooed Pacce off the seat and offered the high summoner his chair. "Please excuse my brother, Lady Yuna. He's been negotiating temple reform."

Yuna glanced shrewdly at the state of Isaaru's hair. "Shelinda?"

Isaaru's jaw tensed. "We have some... ethical differences."

"Yeah," Pacce sang out. "She's a slavering zealot bitch!"

Maroda made a pained noise in his throat, and Isaaru looked acutely uncomfortable. "Pacce, we need to discuss your habit of repeating everything your brothers say."

Yuna shook her head, coughing a bit to cover her laugh. "Really, no, it's all right." She sighed. "I will speak to her. It must be hard, you know, she was so very devout."

Isaaru bowed. "You are more gracious than I am, Lady. I fear I have little patience for self-inflicted ignorance."

"I'm sure she'll give in," Yuna said. "She just needs more time."

"I shall go mad," Isaaru breathed, and blinked at Yuna's bemused expression, his face flushing. "Forgive me, lady. I should not complain about my duties."

"You can say what you like, Summoner Isaaru." Yuna smiled. "Spira is a free country." She waved a hand at Maroda. "Your pardon, I haven't got time for a drink. I'm reduced to running my own messages; everyone is out on errands. How is your cartography is coming?"

"Well enough, Lady." Maroda gestured to the map. "There is much that we didn't know, and my Al Bhed is limited. I had no idea half these places existed on Spira."

"Neither Sin nor the Maesters encouraged exploration, Lady Yuna." Isaaru lifted the small chalk drawing Maroda had been working from, an island off Bevelle's shore. "And certainly not of ruins."

"Gatta has some charts you might find of interest, I'll tell him to bring them when he comes in from Besaid. There was all sorts of information stored in hidden chambers in the temple." Yuna turned to go. "And Isaaru, don't worry about Shelinda. I should have spoken to her before now."

Isaaru looked apologetic. "I am sorry, lady. I would not cause you more work."

Yuna smiled, lifting her face. "It's the not working I have trouble with, Isaaru. It gives me too much time to think." She waved once, just for Pacce, and let herself out the door before Maroda could open it for her.

"Way to make a good impression, Niisan." Maroda grinned. "Maybe next time you could answer the door in your drawers."

Isaaru jerked himself out of his daze; he'd been staring after his High Summoner. "I don't know what you're talking about," he growled, and stomped towards his chamber in search of a hot bath.

Maroda arched an eyebrow. "He's one to talk about self-inflicted ignorance."

Pacce, who had no idea what was going on, nodded solemnly. "Yup."