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[b][u]Aliquam: Cervantes Mansion[/b][/u]

Rest was for the clean.

Maybe Lute was being paranoid, but he [i]swore[/i] he had developed an allergic reaction to the chemicals in that stink bomb. Delilah insisted that the sensation he had of a thin sheen of grime coating his entire body was nothing but his imagination at work, but the virtuoso knew it wouldn’t hurt to be sure. The past couple of days his skin felt itchy and because of this he tried to avoid skin contact with the other members of the Pride, and instead spent what felt like [i]hours[/i] in the bath. On the third day, Delilah decided that enough was enough and told Lute he better pick his act up or she would, Gods help her, destroy the eardrums of any and every living creature within fifteen miles.

That was pretty much a lie, but he believed it anyways.

The cook shooed the virtuoso away from the kitchen and he had no choice but to wander aimlessly through the halls. He preferred doing something, but the household staff, albeit happy to have a bit of their workload shaved off, probably felt bad having a guest dig in on the chores…

“Ah wait, wait! Where are you bringing that?” Lute waylaid a maid who was carrying a platter of fruit and learned that she was headed for Rose’s room. Oh, yeah, that’s right! “I’ll do it!” Without actually listening to the servant’s protests, the virtuoso nabbed the plate away from her and marched off. During that night, he saw her being carried towards… This way? Or maybe that way…?

Fast forward a few minutes when Lute was finally pointed to the right direction. He balanced the tray on one hand and knocked, then poked his head in. “Good morning, miss Rose. I, uh, brought fruit,” As he said this, Lute tried to push the tray through the door to show what he was talking about, but the small gap couldn’t accommodate the size of the tray and he just ended up rapping his knuckles against the woodwork. Ugh. “Do you mind if I come in?”