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At this time in the morning the great hall is busy with all the guards and servants of the castle taking their first meal of the day. On the dais at the head of the room is the Lord's table with plates and cups laid out undisturbed. Duke Galeotto has been out of town since last week and Don Giovanni is notoriously reclusive when not performing his required duties. The long tables running the length of the hall are in various states of being used by the thirty odd residents that are present.

Keeping warm over the large fireplace are three heavy pots of food where people are lining up and taking bowls. The first pot contains some kind of thick oat porridge, the second is a watery carrot soup and the third is a pottage stew left over from the night before that is almost empty. At the far end of the hall are closed doors to the lord's chambers and at the side is an entrance that leads to the kitchens.

Gregor advises Giorgio to get some of the stew before it's empty, as this is the only one that tastes acceptable and satisfies the hunger at one go, then lines up in the queue himself.

After acquiring one portion, he takes seat at the end of one of the long tables. No other servants sit near the area, that the German had chosen for himself since he entered Giovanni's household. Actually, two maids who sat close, leave as soon as Gregor enters the room, lowering their voices and avoiding to look at the foreigner.

Gasparo had made it a point to retreat to his quarters before making an appearance. When he arrived he was in a fresh change of clothing and both hair and beard were groomed back to their normal precise tolerances. None of this helped the sleepless rings that lingered beneath his eyes, but he made do with what he could.

It wasn't until he arrived at the hall that he realized he had been starving. A passing servant girl offered him a smile and gained an acknowledging dip of his head in reply. Many of the servants were put off by him. That one never was. If time ever allowed, she might make for an interesting distraction.

Some line-waiting later, he acquired two bowls of the nearly-empty stew and kept an eye out for his mark. Food is the most ancient offering of peace. Now where was that mercenary?

That mercenary that Gasparro was attempting to find had seated himself next to Gregor and was currently in the process of using his finger to scrape the last of the pottage stew, which had so abruptly vanished in a cacophony of slurping that onlookers were left wondering if his bowl had in fact held anything to begin with.

Apparently satisfied that no more stew will magic itself into being Giorgio lets his bowl drop to the table and wipes the back of his hand across his moustache.
In truth, he hasn't realised how little he has eaten in the past several days, and already he feels his stomach growling for more.

Ah! There's his man — seated next to Gregor. This either meant that the two were already patching things up, in which case his job would be easier... or they were about to fight, in which case things would be significantly more complicated.

Casual strides of Gasparo's long legs brought him to the far table in which the two mercenaries sat. He took a place across from them on the table — the better to study the man's face — and sat the two bowls down. He cleared his throat.

"I feel as though we have gotten off on the wrong foot." He slid one of the two bowls in front of Giorgio.

Despite an instinctual impulse to take the fresh bowl Giorgio ignored the offering, instead opting to glare at the thin bearded man seated across from him. "Indeed we did."

He didn't trust this one. Even if Giorgio hadn't seen evidence of his crimes against nature he wouldn't. Something in the way he looked at you, like you were just a bag of meat occupying the same space as him. The arrogance, like he was in on some great secret the common unwashed masses could never begin to understand.

"I assume you already know who I am?"

He assumed a very casual demeanor, relaxing into the uncomfortable bench and taking a drink of his stew.

"Only that which is immediately apparent. You have the look of a mercenary, even if I didn't notice the style of the sword at your hip. Landsknecht, was it?" A glance to Gregor. "And that you are in the employ of your maester as I am in mine. None of which is a substitute for a proper introduction. I apologize for my lack of manners, in this regard." He dipped a head and offered a hand to shake. "Gasparo."

"Swords can be found, bought, or taken." He didn't break eye contact with Gasparo. "And what can I say, the Germans make a good weapon." He leaned forward and took hold of the bowl, but didn't retrieve it.

"Now here's what I know;" his voice a menacing whisper, "something happened last night. A dead person, a dead friend, was brought back to life. Your Don may think I'm a murderous thug and he'd be right in part. But God knows I've seen and caused enough death to know what it looks like. My Master may buy your bullshit, but he's naive."
And not particularly bright he thought to himself. "So if you really want to start rebuilding some bridges you'll give me the honest truth abiut what you and your master are doing here". With that he leaned back and took a loud slurp of his fresh stew.

"Giorgio, by the way".

Gregor says nothing and shows no signs of emotional investment, until the mentioning of yesterday night's happenings, when he fliches and stops following the two with his eyes, just staring at his near-empty stew pot.

The hand hung in the air for a long moment unshaken. When it became obvious the gesture would go unanswered, he let the hand return to his soup and take a drink, as though the topic of conversation was a matter as banal as the weather. When it concluded, he sighed slightly. More exhaustion than impatience. Almost an inverse mirror, as Giorgio picked his bowl of soup up, Gasparo put his down.

He rubbed his eyes for a moment. When he began speaking again, he did so with the sort of tone one might use on an apprentice when explaining some complex matter beyond their experience. "Have you had a look around, Giorgio? This manor has more volumes than many universities. Most of them hard-sought and dearly purchased. It is a place of learning. My master is a scholar, a natural philosopher. He's dedicated his life to knowledge, philosophy, theology..."

He put some weight on the last word and let it hang in the air for a moment, as though to stress the piety such a pursuit implied. He sat up straighter, leaning towards his skeptical companion. Cleared his throat.

"Have you ever watched a beheading, Giorgio? I've always been fascinated by medicine. Shortly after coming to work for Maester Giovanni -- as an artist, oddly enough. My Maester is quite the patron of the arts -- he encouraged me to pursue such interests. I remember early on reading a text that left disturbed for many nights after. It was the account of a court physician in France. Some poor wretch earned themselves a beheading and he was called to witness the event. There he made a discovery as remarkable as it was macabre. After the head was removed from the body, the eyes continued to blink. Thereafter, he observed this phenomenon at other beheadings. On several occasions, he even managed to count the number of blinks before the newly deceased became truly so. The highest was seven. It leaves the disturbing suggestion that the mind was still active, even with one's head separated from the shoulders. To my own dismay, I have since seen the same to confirm it. It is not with every man, but it does happen on occasion"

He shook his head, as though trying to dismiss the thought.

"Also have I read the journals of physicians who claim to have found poisons that bring the body into such a sleep that not even the breath could be felt against the skin, that no pulse could detected. Such sleep that could last seemingly for days without breath, nor food, nor water. I've read of men who have fallen ill and lapsed into an unconsciousness that lasted an entire season and yet still woke one morning as though nothing had happened. I have read of men in whom plague burnt through them body and soul, and lived to speak of it. Or who have taken a blade's point through the eye socket and clear into the brain, and yet still recovered."

"Read deeply enough of the medical arts, and you will find a case of nearly every illness or injury known to man in which someone, somewhere, has by the grace of God survived it, though His purpose may not be clear to us. Your friend was a strong man. God rewards those who endure. I can understand your suspicions, but my master is not the villain you wish to imagine. Far from it. As I understand, your own master came here for advice on a healing matter..."

Ferran is in bed trying to get some sleep. His mind however rages at all the questions and implications. Suddenly the Catalan realizes that his stomach is growling in protest. He feels famished, and the doctor is nowhere to be seen yet. He muses that it'd do him some good to get up, grab something to eat, and at the same time get out of the room.

He gets up, gets dressed, and walks out of the room. He finds himself in the courtyard, and sees servants coming and going from the dinning hall. "That must be the place". He casually strolls to the dining hall and walks up to the pots. An old servant starts to question him since he is a new face -- until he eyes the stitches running across Ferran's neck -- then the old man mumbles something incoherent and gets out of the Catalan's way. Saddly the stew is already empty. Having traveled twice across the great sea Ferran is no stranger to bad food. He fills a bowl with carrot soup all the while keeping his eyes around the hall. Then he sees Giorgo. He walks up to his friend and takes a seat next to him, while he pats him on the shoulder.

"Good to find you here my friend. It would be boring eating by myself." as he flashes one of his customary grins.

He looks Giovani's men, then extends a hand. "We haven't been properly introduced yet. My name is Ferran Costa." -- he chuckles --"But I think you already know that."

"And you gentlemen are?"

The German nods to the Catalan, but doesn't dare to take his hand. Instead, he instinctevely touches the iron of his dagger hilt. "I'm Gregor."

Giorgio had a witty retort for Gasparro's speech lined up and ready to go. It was so witty that he imagined the mans head would erupt like an overripe melon upon delivery. His words would never see the light of day however, as the recently deceased Catalans jovial greeting prompted him to jump from his seat and choke on his stew.

Gasparo quickly switched gears, taking the resurrected Catalan's offered hand. He wasn't getting anywhere with the mercenary anyway. "Gasparo, in service to Maestro Giovanni. I see you are making a quick recovery. How are you feeling?"

Ferran shakes Gasparo's hand. "It's nice meeting you both gentlemen. As to your question senor Gasparo, yes, it seems that I am having a speedy recovery." His stomach protests once more, forcing the Catalan to focus on his bowl of soup.

After a small pause he speaks again. "Alas not as quickly as I'd feel comfortable with. Which is a mixed blessing if you ask me..." -- he gives a wink to Gregor and a sly glance to Gasparo -- "It seems our masters are coming to an alliance of sorts. If I was a gambler, the odds would be in my favor if I said we four are going to spend a considerable amount of time working together in the near future. Combine that with the time required resting to be able to travel again - it seems we have ample opportunity to know each other better."

Another unceremonious dip of the spoon in the carrot soup. "It's clear that senor Gregor is a man of war, just like my burly friend Giorgio" -- he pats Giorgio on the shoulder -- "As for you senor Gasparo, I don't know what to think of. The way you handled the quill earlier shows you are a learned man. And now I couldn't help but overhear your remarks about the medical arts. At least the last part of it. As you remember, one of the reasons of travelling to your fair city was to seek apprenticeship. That seems out of the question now."

A measured pause to gauge reactions. "Still your master has a trove of knowledge in his library senor. I'd really like to take advantage of the time I'll be forced to stay here and study by myself, provided Maestro Giovanni gives me permission to do so. This compels me to ask a favor of you senor. Would you be so kind as to help me navigate through your master's library? I'm really interested in expanding my knowledge in theology." -- the Catalan breaks a sly smirk towards Gasparo -- "Oh, and some history won't be bad. Especially about a certain lady. Think her name starts with A."