Blame

"Join *you?*" The Archbishop asked, "in... in bed? That bed?"

Tycondrius raised an eyebrow, "Yes? That is... my offer?"

"Pah!" Natalya scoffed. "Not funny, Snake."

Tycon pursed his lips in thought. Natalya had taken his words as a joke. 

"--and how about you fix your shirt?" She scolded. 

"Hm? I refuse."

The cool air was comfortable on his bare chest. 

...and anyroad, he didn't feel the need for propriety around Natalya. 

"You are in the presence of an Arch. bishop. of the Church. of the Eternal. Flame." 

Whatever the woman was trying to argue, she had little grounds to stand on.

"Natalya," Tycon sighed. "My various titles are in no way inferior to yours."

"You, Sir, are in the presence of a woman," She insisted. "You're being *inappropriate.*"

...Natalya did *not* like being disadvantaged in an argument.