It was an absolute miracle that Tarnolin Manor was still habitable. Topiaries that we're once beautifully shaped into exotic creatures were now overgrown and twisted into contorted shapes. The hundreds upon hundreds of windows sat covered in thick black curtains, hiding the interior from view. The pavement was cracked and broken, weeds and moss creeping up between the cracks. Only the gate appeared new and well-maintained. The iron gate towered ten feet high with sharp spikes on top. It completely surrounded the estate. Perhaps it was to keep wild animals out...or to keep something in.

Kessa patted her trousers, glancing at her two younger companions nervously. Owen and Rienna, both dressed in their finest, kept their gaze to the ground. They all shared the same uneasy thought.Though Sir Geoffrey was a proud man, he rarely held parties for no reason. So why hold one now?

Clearing her throat, Kessa led her companions to the front door and opened them wide. It was raining hard outside, and it didn't seem ready to ease up. Only a madman would've gone out in weather like this, yet already she could see a few cars coming in.

It was time for the party to begin,

Kimmi's car pulled up to the entrance to the manor. She had he chauffer bring in her bags. As she steoped inside she saw the three staff members. Maybe she was the first guest there. She walked up to the male staff worker. "Where is my room?" She asked. More cars sterted to pull up. "I want first pick." She said.

The limousine pulled up to the front of the manor and out stepped a small man wearing a suit, his head a glittering reflective dome from the rain splattering against it. The small man walked from the passenger side door to open the rear door, bent at the waist so he was facing his feet.
“Very good Jenkins. Now see if you can’t find the help to get my luggage inside.” said the prodigious man who stepped out. He was wearing a three piece suit, black with a red tie, and stroking the whiskers above his lip.
“Yes Mr. Gates.” Jenkins replied, setting off to find help.
“Wait!” called Mr. Gates, “Close the damned door first Jenkins. Were you raised in a barn good man?”
Mr. Gates pulled out a Gurkha Black Dragon - a cigar that costs over a thousand dollars - and lit it using a match. It took him several matches in order to get it lit because of the rain but the match added to the flavor.

George Marrack and Maxwell Everett were trapped together in a tin box that was rolling amiably down the country road. Geoff's manor was only six or so hours away, so they decided to make a road trip out of it. The car's appearance was a bit worse for wear after all of the driving, so it seemed that they wouldn't be arriving in style. George was lazily humming along with the radio, which was slowly starting to lose its reception. Maxwell drummed his fingers on the window next to him, his tired eyes following the wilderness that passed alongside them.

“...clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am-”

“Hate this song.” Maxwell interrupted.

George attempted to change the station, but could only find some talk radio that was blanketed with static. He gave up and shut the radio off for now, his thoughts drifting to their spoils from that last gas station some miles back. “How much of that trail mix is left?”

“Y'should probably save that for after. Save your stomach for the fancy-schmancy dinner.” Maxwell mumbled tiredly into the window.

“You're going to pass out into your soup.” George pointed out manner-of-factly.

“Nope.”

George took the next right, his car's suspension crying out in weak protest over the backwoods road. There was minute or so of tense silence as both of the men knew they were nearing their destination. Just above the tree line, the silhouetted jagged peaks of the roof rose into view like fingers grasping the sky. When the manor came into full view, George couldn't help but stare at it. It loomed over everything around it and stood alone, its dark recesses both watching and concealing. They soon passed through the open and yet uninviting gates, parked, and got out of the car. Instead of stretching his legs after the journey, George looked up at the multiple floors above them, suddenly feeling very small. The windows reflected the outside view back at him.

“Well, this is certainly...gloomy.” he said out loud as Maxwell marched up to him with an umbrella like a trained dog. George whistled softly at the sight of one of the other guests puffing at a cigar while being followed by a butler. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the distaste in Maxwell's expression and clicked his tongue at him. “Max, please try to be civil. 'Fancy schmancy', remember?” He called out to one of the staff members, “Excuse me, miss? I'm sure that if you could give us directions, we can find our own way to our rooms.”

Artemio sighed and pulled up to the entrance to the manor. It seemed that most of the people the were here, had brought a butler with them. For him, he had accepted just to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and just relax and hang out. He opened the door, grabbed his stuff and locked the door. The rain had started to annoy him, and he was already soaking just from standing outside for around one minute. Should've brought my umbrella he thought to himself. He walked over to the inside of the manor. He waled over to the closest washroom, and dried himself off with it. He decided to walk around a bit before finding his room.

“Umm… sir… Are you positive you want to walk that distance on foot?” My butler asked with a mixture of fear and confusion in his voice. I turned to him with a face clear of distress, and stated, “Yeah, it’s nothing.” I strapped a one-strap backpack around my torso and picked up a duffle-bag full of my belongings. I fully zipped up my black polyester hoodie, brushed off my gray jeans, looked down at my black Michael Jordan Space Jams, and headed out the hotel room.
“Sir, you should take an umbrella with you,” my butler advised from the room. “What have I told you about trusting the news?” I said as I descended the stairs. “Trust me… it isn’t going to rain.” I continued.

I had made sure to leave 3 hours before I would have if I had taken a car. My butler had made an educated guestimate on how long it would take to arrive by car, which was a little under an hour, so I used this to find out the time I would get there by walking. If I kept a constant speed of 6.5 kilometers an hour; which is a brisk walk, I would travel the 26 miles in approximately 4 hours.

While walking, I noticed cars strolling by that were most-likely guests. They must have come from all over. I was a bit embarrassed, for I knew they would recognize me as an oddball. As I continued down the road lined by forests, I began to hear thunder. Not only was I feeling idiotic for not bringing an umbrella, I was completely terrified by the woods. The trees moved in the roaring wind as a sky as gray as smoke bellowed in agony. I became extremely apprehensive en route to the manor. If anything grabbed me, I would be sure to make it remember me!
Seeing the manor in the distance raised my courage significantly. “If any monster wants to come out now, I’m beatin’ its ass!” I shrieked proudly. I began to skip to Tarnolin Manor, both soaked and covered in mud. Once I arrived at the front door, I knocked until it opened. Once I was inside, I began to vigorously stomp my feet getting mud everywhere.
“Hey! Can one of you servants show me my room please?” I uttered nonchalantly.
Within a split-second after my statement, I saw my good friend George and immediately embraced him.

“Oh, Silas!” George exclaimed happily, though he was as quiet as ever. He returned the sudden hug with interest; he looked as if he was going to pick the young man up. “You're soaked to the skin; don't tell me you walked all the way here. Well, I'm glad to have another friend here. I was starting to feel...” George's eye wandered to the open front door behind Silas as yet another limo arrived. “...out of place.”

George had liked Silas from the moment he met him through Geoff, he was a good kid at heart, like most kids were. He remembered how Silas told him some of his story, growing up surrounded by violence and then earning his way out. George thought that it was admirable; not everyone worked for their wealth. He wondered if the same could be said for some of the other guests tonight. Suddenly, he remembered Maxwell standing just behind him.

“Silas, this is my good friend and neighbor Maxwell Everett. I don't believe you've met. Maxwell, this is Silas Russell.” George watched as Maxwell gave a boy a quick, firm handshake and then retreated to the edge of the hallway again as more people were coming their way. “Geoff introduced us some time ago.” He said to Max, who was looking rather sourly at their surroundings.

The walls was adorned with old paintings and portraits that had seen better days. The paint was peeling in places and some of the frames were starting to collapse. The wallpaper was also peeling in some spots and everything had a musty odor about it. It didn't seem like the place was habitable.

“Good lord. I don't see how dear old Geoff could stand living in a place like this.”

“Betcha there's bats 'n here. It's got that look.” Maxwell huffed.

“Oh, don't be silly. Or rude; we're guests, remember?”

“You're a guest, I'm a tag-along.”

“Oh, fine.” George mumbled into his turtleneck, trundling down the corridor as Maxwell followed closely behind. He only walked down far enough to get out of peoples' way. They seemed to be piling in all at once. Everyone was punctual these days, apparently. “I don't know what his problem is.” George joked secretly to Silas. “He's the one who told me to go in the first place. Well, what do you think? Should we meet some of our fellow guests or do a little exploring? It seems like there's a lot to see in this old house.”

Rienna and Owen seemed to shrink a guests piled into the manor. Kessa, on the other hand, seemed to stare down at the partygoers in disdain.

"The ringing of a bell will signal when dinner is ready," Kessa spoke in a clear voice. The gardener pointed a finger at Rienna. "If you wish to head to your rooms, follow the maid. And under no circumstances are you to visit the study. Sir Geoffrey doesn't like anyone in there." Her eyes narrowed and she fixed all the guests with a stern look. She knew that she was a mere servant, but like hell was she going to let strangers run amuck, no matter how rich or famous.

Rienna took hold of several bags, struggling with the weight. "F-follow me," she squeaked, struggling up the large staircase.

Kessa waited by the doorway, peering out into the rain. There were more guests to come.

Cara's car pulled up to the estate and she sighed as she got out. Late. As per usual. she thought as she noticed cars pulling out and parking. She grabbed her coat and pulled the hood up. She walked up to the large estate and took in a breath as she drank in the scene. "I would kill for a place like this," she mumbled to herself. Cara walked up to the doorframe, smiling at Kessa.

Cara patted her bag that she held on her side and brought her suitcase to a rolling stop. She looked at her, "Would you mind telling me where to take my luggage? Marvelous place, by the way. Really stunning."

Mr. Gates spoke with his chauffeur for a minute before the man drove away, coughing from the cigar smoke. He turned to see a young African-American - or whatever they call themselves these days - talking to an older gentlemen. Mr. Gates walked over and gave the older man a powerful clap on the back.
“May, aren’t I glad to see someone more dignified here. What is it with Geoff and this ramble.” he said, one hand gesturing to the thing falling out of her limo.
One hand shot out to shake the man’s hand, a firm shake the man hadn’t been prepared to return. Then the same for the younger gentlemen with him.
“I dare say, where are my manners?” he produced two cigars from an inside pocket and handed them over to his two social victims, “Here, finest cigars on Earth; each has been infused with rare cognac, a box of these costs $15,000.”

“Uh… thank you sir,” I said as I broke into a sweat eyeing the cigar. I placed my left index finger and thumb under my chin and began to reflect on the matter. “I think doing both at the same time would suffice,” I said to George. “We can st-…” My eyes immediately glimpsed the goddesses Kitty and Cara.
Kitty soon passed out so Cara was the obvious choice. I slicked my wet dreads back so that all but one was out of my face. I took off my backpack and left it by my duffle-bag. “I’ll catch up to you guys later.” Uttering that, I began to walk towards Cara. I attempted to look as cool as possible and walked in a leisurely way as I approached her. She was by the door, so I leaned up against the wall next to it. I smiled a bit and greeted her, “Wassup?”

Kimmi sat next to a young woman that was playing with her bangs. "Hello ma'am. " Kimmi said. "My name is Kimmi. What is yours?" She asked.

"I am very rich buisness woman. Now what do you do for a living?" She asked. Kimmi didn't like this Kitty girl but she might tun put njce some point in this stay.

The sudden slap on George's back startled him greatly. He had seen the man from earlier approaching but he hadn't expected the sharp physical contact. After the clearly wealthy man began to insult the dignity of the other guests, George disagreed as politely as he could. “I like to think of it as Geoff having a wide circle of friends.” He said this as the other man very nearly wrung George's hand dry in a strong handshake. As he pulled out cigars from their box and boasted about their price, George's heart jumped into his throat. It wasn't just the extravagant price of the cigars that embarrassed him, but the fact that he knew that he had to turn it down. He suddenly felt envious of Silas, who had maneuvered his way out of the awkward situation.

“I'm...so sorry, I'm afraid I don't smoke.” George said, attempting to hand the cigar back to him; it was incredibly difficult to tell the man's age, partly because of his frankly ridiculous facial hair. Just then, one of the newly arrived stars approached them, telling them his name and announcing his wealth like everyone else seemed to be doing. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Van Der Holt, I'm George Marrack.” He thought about introducing Maxwell, who he knew was standing right behind him, but then he knew Maxwell would be getting sick of the social niceties. He also knew that Max wouldn't take to these kind of people, but this Royal Van Der Holt seemed like a nice enough fellow. George wasn't sure about Mr. Moneybags, though.

Royal had just asked how they knew Geoff, and George was just grateful to get away from the cigar faux pas as quickly as possible. “We're friends; I met him during a shoot for my show.” George was feeling a bit brave at the moment. Everyone else seemed to be showing off their money, so he thought he might show off what he was proud of. “You might have seen it if you have children, it's called Without My Socks. I play Mister Wilby, the storyteller, so I kind of host and narrate the show. My character, he lives with all of his sock puppet friends and they go on adventures and learn. The kids love it.” When he was done, George's mood fell back down to sheepish as he realized how silly it sounded when he said it out loud to these people. When he was talking to kids, it sounded perfectly natural, but not here among millionaires. He could practically feel Max rolling his eyes behind him, though if George looked back he would see the exact opposite. In truth, Maxwell was quite proud. “Ah, well, what do you two do?” George continued, trying to climb out of the hole he dug for himself. “I admit I've heard your name before Mr. Van Der Holt, but I'm afraid I can't say where. I'm not good at keeping up with the news.”

"Show for Children?" Warren Gates asked, surprised at the mans lack of scope. Why, if he aimed for children however could he get money from them. No, best to market for adults with disposable income and large gas tanks. "I don't believe I've seen it. But then again, I'm usually busy. I run Warren & Co. We started out as a simple oil company but after the war with the Viet Cong it became dreadfully clear that we had to branch out. Now our biggest contractor is the US and, surprisingly, Armenian military. Business keeps you busy, you know how it is, right champ?"

Mr. Gates glanced over at the new comer to the conversation. Another African-American, younger than he or George but older than the one he had shook hands with already. The younger one was off flirting with one of the girls. Terribly young all of them, stinking of unearned money and cheap thrills. Use to be a time when Warren would lust after such despicable tastes but his father made sure to beat it out of him young. His dad use to say, why chase after something that you could just pay for?

"Why, I've known Geoff for years, his father and my own served overseas pushing the Heinies back. When he passed - twenty-six? No, twenty-seven years now - I was reacquainted with Geoff and he's been a client of Warren & Co. ever since." Warren spoke, not stopping between sentences; showing surprising lung power for a life long smoker. He extended the cigar he offered George to the young Van Der Holt. " Strong family name you have there son, cigar?"

"I don't listen to music much." Kimmi said. "May I ask what does the X stand for?" Kimmi asked.