The early morning brought to light the dull grey clouds that hung over the world in all directions. Kest had already been awake for an hour, preparing breakfast for himself and the others of the staff. They would be joining him soon. He knew there would be discomfort among some, and he couldn't blame them. Guests had arrived last night while the storm was at its worst. With any luck, the storm will pass quickly and they would be on their way.

With practiced hands, Kest quickly scrambled the eggs, cooked the bacon and sausage, and toasted the bread. It was like this every morning; he wanted to give them something to try and ease the pain. After all, he was probably going to spend the day shouting orders. Kest growled quietly, why did this always happen? How difficult was it to stay away from the creepy rundown mansion down the road?

In his absent mindedness, Kest didn't realize the bacon and sausage grease had popped onto his shirt. He finished cooking as quickly as possible and set the table then went upstairs to change. It was a good thing he hadn't been wearing his coat. The Mistress would have been furious if it had gotten ruined.

After he had dressed himself, Kest walked out of the servants quarters and into the main building. It was still raining, albeit lightly. Still heavy enough to way lay the travellers. Such poor luck for them, getting mixed up in this. Perhaps some of them deserved to be here. He recalled their arrival with disdain, it was very late and he had been tired, but was glad he at least remembered to remind them of the rules. No personal weapons outside your room and no disturbing the Mistress.

He wasn't sure if any of the guests would be awake yet, but he figured he should start cleaning the dining room in preparation for their breakfast.

Anton Bonheur - Chef

Anton wearily wiped at his eyes as he walked into kitchen in the servants quarters. He had been awake when the unfortunate travelers were forced to come knocking on the manor's large doors. The raging storm had woken Anton hours before, and unable to fall back asleep, he had been watching the winds whip the surrounding trees when one by one people started straggling towards the manor. Alarmed, Anton had hurried to wake Kest to notify him of the poor lost souls. The night had turned into a wet mess, and the foyer would need a good scrubbing.

As Anton walked into the kitchen, he was greeted by the smell of breakfast. He smiled to himself. Grabbing a piece of toast and some bacon, he headed towards the main hall and then the dining room. "You're up to it again, Kest? Trying to steal my job," Anton said as he entered the dining room. He smiled to the butler and clapped him on the back. "Do you know when the storm will lighten up enough for travel to town? We'll be needing to get a grocery delivery after the crowd that showed up last night. How many would you say there were? I think I'm going to make scones for them, before the peaches go bad." Anton was careful not to drop any crumbs from his breakfast, and once he had finished, he began to help Kest tidy up the room.

Logan awoke after one of the most fitful nights of sleep he'd had in a long time. The bed was not the source of his discomfort, if anything it surely was the closest thing to sleeping on a cloud in Olympus. Nor was it the slight stiffness in his muscles after last night's frustrations that disrupted his slumber. It was the first time, in a long time, that he'd slept alone.

Last night, he was down at the tavern after putting the horses to bed, as usual for a bachelor like him. It had seemed the woman that would be accompanying him would be Laura, a very buxom brunette with whom he'd spent many a night. But it was not to be, for Isabella's brother came rushing in, saying that his sister's horse, a chestnut mare named Star, had fled when they were trying to put her away for the night.

Logan already knew the reason why, the horse was thunder-shy. She had been ever since she was a foal. Logan had raised her, and always made sure to bring her in if there was even a hint of a storm to come, and would stay all night keeping her as calm as possible. Then Isabella's father bought her, and he knew it wouldn't be a good fit. Isabella was a sweet girl, very lively and always ready for a roll in the hay, but there wasn't much going on between her ears. He'd told her time and time again how to properly care for Star, and did she listen? Evidently not.

So that led the two of them on his horse, Leo, trying to find Star in the wilderness before the storm struck. Just as he'd found her tracks, the rain came in buckets, so he sent Leo back home, Isabella stop him, knowing his horse was more than smart enough for such a simple task.

He eventually found poor Star, she'd fallen down a steep drop off, and lay there among the stones, unable to lift herself with her broken legs. Logan had climbed down the precipitous slope, calming the scared horse with his soothing voice and touch. And when she was finally relaxed, he put her down with a large rock to the skull.

He'd hated that it had come to that, but he wasn't about to let her agonize for hours. He even hated Isabella for causing this, and knew she'd seek him out later for consoling. He'd rebuke her, hurt her feelings, let her see one of the other girls being chosen before her. She deserved it.

However, the damnable storm got him all turned around, and her ended up lost. Eventually he'd found a path, that led to a road, that led him to the well known Sinclair Mansion. The door was opened by a gentleman that begged him entry from the storm, and to stay and ride out the weather. Logan wearily nodded, listened to the house rules and was escorted to bed.

Awake now, he was rather surprised to see his clothes folded and laundered, stacked neatly in the day chair. He sighed a bit, disappointed that he'd missed a chance to see if that servant was a lovely lass or not. After getting dressed, Logan's mind immediately went to his daily habits. Feed the animals, then yourself. He began winding his way through the home, trying to remember the path to the front door, for he was sure he'd seen a barn the night before. All the while, he stomach growled as the smell of food neared.

Caron awoke peacefully, eyes fluttering open slowly. The peace did not last when she realized her body ached more than it ever had, and her surroundings were different. She wasn't in the small bedroom, but a slightly larger and much fancier bedroom.

The frail girl moved her head and wiggled out of the covers and examined her arms and legs, which were covered in cuts and bruises. Serves you right, she thought suddenly, remembering the events of the previous day. She had fled from her sister and his friends, ended up in a forest, was welcomed into a mansion and had her minor wounds taken care of, and after that went right into an empty bedroom and collapsed, falling into a blissful sleep. None of the bliss from before remained.

"Nghh..." Caron whimpered, trying to move herself into a sitting position. This was going to take a while. She tried a few more times then flopped back down, stomach growling softly. How was she going to get food if she couldn't even get out of bed? Did they even have food ready?

After even more attempts to drag herself out of the quite comfortable bed, Caron had lay down on top of the sheets, rubbing her aching arms and blinking tears out of her eyes. The same conversation she had ran through her head, scolding herself about how much stronger she could be if she just stopped being so scared several times before her eyes closed and she, again, drifted off.

Many in the Guild had ridiculed James when he'd volunteered to take the job investigating a 'curse' on the mansion of some corrupt lady's home. "This is ridiculous, brother, there are other requests that make a more meaningful impact on the world." James had simply regarded them and shook his head before leaving and setting out for the road to the mansion. As he'd traveled, he listened to the whispers of others as he passed, saying that he looked like trouble. Of course he did, but somehow guards still missed him when he mixed himself in with the crowds in cities, towns and villages. Perhaps it was simply the number of people that threw them off.

Still, the storm unexpected. Or at least the switfness with witch it struck had been. James had seen it on the horizon just an hour before it struck, but had calculated he'd have at least enough time to reach the village before then. And that was to be a two hour walk. Instead, it had reached him in half the time and in the rain, he'd somehow managed to loose his way, reaching his final destination and resting there for the night. One of the rules had been no personal weapons, but not all his weapons were obvious and as he dressed the next, he placed the bracers that bore his hidden blades in their traditional place, giving a test flex to ensure a smooth draw.

Content, he stood and exited his room, heading towards the dining area. It was time to ask the servants of the home some questions.

Emma Knowles
It was a rare event that Emma awoke in a comfortable bed. Usually, it was the cheapest inn she could afford, or the guest room of a charitable stranger. When the early morning sun broke through her window, she rolled over, revelling in the soft pillow and comfortable blankets.

She had arrived cussing and swearing the previous night, drenched from the rain. Only her bag, clutched tightly to her chest, remained relatively dry. Her camera, her most prized possession, was in there. It couldn't get wet. Much to her surprise, she had been welcomed into this home in the middle of the woods. A guest room, a warm bed, and the promise of breakfast the next day. Emma wasn't about to argue.

She sat up, groggily, and stretched. Emma's short hair had dried over the night, and was now a messy mop atop her hair. She ran her fingers through it, brushing her bangs out of her eyes, and stood. Her camera rested on the nightstand, mercifully undamaged. She hadd emptied the contents of her bag the night before, allowing them to dry. A few changes of clothes, a little bit of cash, and a few packs of cigarettes. Slowly waking up, the young woman pulled on a pair of loose trousers and tucked in her shirt. It was still early, she undoubtedly had time to sneak outside for a quick smoke before breakfast.

She slipped on her shoes, tucked a cigarette behind her ear, and slipped a box of matches into her pocket. Without any further attention to her appearance, she left her room and made her way down the hall, walking with an easy confidence down the stairs. To others, she would undoubtedly look somewhat disheveled. But that was Emma.

Turning the corner at the end of the hall, she made her way towards where she remembered the exit being. The scent of food was beginning to fill the house, and Emma realized that she was actually hungry. She had barely made it partway to the front door before she caught sight of someone else. Turning another corner, she found herself standing behind a tall, dark-haired man, who looked slightly lost. A quirky grin appeared on her face. "Hullo there," she greeted him before he had even turned around.

She pulled the cigarette from behind her ear and held it up. "You smoke?" she asked. No introductions. No asking whether he lived here or was simply a guest, like her. Emma jumped straight to the point. "Smells like breakfast is soon. I was just going to step out quick first. Care to tag along?"

Grace Sparling

The rain made her job impossible. Usually, Grace would spend the night in the garden, tending to the plants under the dim light of the moon. But the storm was too heavy to allow that. Sleep evaded her, as ever. It was a long night.

But just because the night was long did not mean it had been uneventful. There had been new arrivals, several of them. Grace had watched, peeking out from behind door frames and hiding at the top of the stairway, as Kest let someone into the mansion every few hours. If any of the guests had caught sight of the fair-haired girl, they hadn't said anything the night before.

Things had quieted down a few hours before dawn. At one point, Grace walked the hall outside the guest rooms, counting how many were now occupied. There were no less than seven newcomers. A few hours remained before the other servants woke up, so Grace had tucked herself away into a corner of the home with a book to kill the time.

Before too long, noises filled the home once more. The servants and the guests were stirring. The scent of cooking food drifted down the hall, and Grace inhaled. With a small smile, she closed her book and tucked it up against the wall. She would return later.

She acquired a slice of toast and topped it with some eggs, before following the sound of Anton's voice to the dining room. Silent as a ghost, Grace crept in, sticking close to the wall. With her uncanny habit of going unnoticed, chances were neither Anton not Kest would pay attention to her as she stood there, nibbling her toast and listening. "Do you know when the storm will lighten up enough for travel to town? We'll be needing to get a grocery delivery after the crowd that showed up last night. How many would you say there were? I think I'm going to make scones for them, before the peaches go bad."

Swallowing her food, Grace's small voice sounded from the corner of the room. "Seven," she answered in response to Anton's question. "I saw seven."

Adeline shifted under the covers, her back cracking as she arched it in the early morning light, which softly shone through a large, stately window. The sheets were softer than what she was usually accustomed to, though luck and circumstance had afforded her positions in estates just as extravagant. She smiled, still burrowed under the covers. There was that one family, she remembered, who had severely misunderstood the role of a governess and had only offered her a spare foaling room off the stables. She had fixed that quickly with a few stern words and a harshly worded letter to her agency, and the abashed family had moved her up to the private bedroom next to their library.

A bird shrieked outside and Adeline grimaced, pushing herself to a sitting position. The storm, at least, seemed to have abated, she decided as she stretched. "Don't you worry, little Miss," the coachman had said warmly, "Port's not far off, and I'll take care of you well enough on your travels." He had smiled encouragingly, but Adeline had only offered a stiff hand to shake and a curt, "Many thanks." Of course, when things went wrong, they went spectacularly wrong, Adeline thought. The thunder had spooked the horses, and by the time the coachman had regained control over them, with lots of shhh-ing and soft words, the road had been lost to them. He– and Adeline was sure that he had told her his name at some point, though she didn't remember it– went to flag down help, and Adeline stayed behind with the carriage.

Well, she would have stayed. She had enough of her wits about her to know standing around in the dark and rain would help her no more quickly towards safety, so she gave the nickering horses a reassuring pat and set off in the opposite direction.

And now here she was, Adeline thought, finally getting to her feet. She was dressed only in her thick nightgown, and for a brief moment she wondered if she'd have to greet her hosts in that unseemly state– but no, her skirts from the previous night were in the large wardrobe, freshly laundered and folded. She breathed a sigh of relief. If she'd been wearing the furs she'd brought in her trunk for Russia–

Russia.

Adeline's eyes opened wide with alarm. She was going to miss her boat. Where were her things? Her trunks? The bloody carriage? She began pacing up and down the room, still dressed in her nightie. "Damn!" It hadn't meant to come out; she never swore (at least out loud), and she reflexively covered her mouth, then steeled herself. Grabbing a loose robe from the wardrobe, she opened the door to her room and turned quickly down the long hallway. "I need to write a letter," she called to whomever could hear her. "And I must go find my trunks, please, I need–"

Pouring rain... Down in droves. Crashing, crashing into me. Drowning me. The sky laughing, the sky crying. And I was so close...

Suzy woke with a start from the nightmare she had been having just moments before. She stifled the sob that was about to slip past her lips. After calming down, she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was lovely and reminded her parent's home, though this place was a little less flashy (her mother had made sure no room was without some shimmer or sparkle or glitter). As Suzy swung her legs out from under the blanket, she noticed the bandage that covered a large gash across her thigh. 'That's right... I made it to the manor last night, but I was swept up in the storm.'

Suzy had been heading to Sinclair Manor on business. The law firm she worked for had recently received a crypitc letter from the estate, and because no one else had been willing to deliver a formal inquiry to the manor, Suzy had volunteered to go. Any experience in the field, even as a messenger, was beyond valuable for the young woman. The rains had started as Suzy was winding her way up the drive. The taxi she had taken refused to make the trip all the way to the manor, and so Suzy had been forced to walk the rest of the way. The gravel had began to wash away rather quickly, and it had taken the poor girl with it. A rather large rock had given her the nasty gash on her thigh, ripping her dress in the process. Suzy was able to pick herself back up, and after a quick search for her luggage, she was struggling up the drive once more. When she had finally reached the door, she had been told the manor's rules, which she quickly forgot because of exhaustion, and was escorted to a room.

Limping to the water basin in the corner of the room, Suzy began to clean herself up. She wanted to look presentable when she headed down the stairs and into the dining room. Luckily, her luggage had survived the storm with barely a drop seeping into the inside. The young woman donned one of her simpler dresses, brushed out and styled her hair, grabbed the letter the law firm had received, and then headed out of the room and down the stairs. Once in the main hall, Suzy could see a man and a woman. They didn't appear to be a part of the household staff, but she approached the pair anyway. "Were you also caught in the storm? I thought no one ever ventured to this place without reason."

Logan turned as heard a woman greet him, momentarily putting his morning habit out of his mind. After all, they weren't his animals, so women came first. And as for his actual animals, he knew his little brother would be at the stable before the sun fully rose, as usual. Looking down at her with an aloof, comfortable smile, in his slight drawl, "Hello Miss."

When offered the cigarette, his smile widened a bit, but he shook his head. The horses hated the smell of smoke, so he kept his habits to a pipe, at night, when work was over. "Maybe later tonight, but thanks." He'd intentionally phrased it as an excuse to seek her out later, or perhaps for her to seek him out, as he preferred.

His hand scratched the back of his head, feigning sheepishness now, "Ah'm actually tryin' to find the door outta here, so yes, I think I will tag along. Thank you Miss." As he was about to turn, for them to leave, he heard the light footsteps of either a woman or child approach. Looking over his new found companion's shoulder, he saw a rather tall woman, nearly as tall as him. He was about to greet her, when she quickly launched into her own line of questioning, without much concern for manners.

Logan's grin dropped just a bit, not terribly noticeable unless someone was paying close attention, "Good mornin' Miss. I can't speak for my friend here, but yes, I was caught in the storm." He didn't bother to respond to her other statement. Everyone there had a reason, his was shelter, some lived here, others worked. This woman had already put him off a bit, and to make it worse, she wasn't ugly. A pretty woman with no manners, saying silly things like that, held little interest for Logan.

"We were just nippin' out for a bit. I imagine we shall meet again at breakfast. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss..." He'd wait for her to give her name, then look down at his cigarette adorned friend, "Shall we?"

Kest had been busy wiping down the table when Anton had made his way to the dining room. Kest smiled slightly at the accusation and was about to respond when he heard someone else speak. Grace had snuck in while they had been busy. Even with his heightened sense of hearing, he couldn't hear her enter any room. It always frustrated him, since she never failed to get the jump on him.

He smiled her way then looked back at Anton as the man walked into the kitchen.
"I expect the storm will get worse before it goes. It always does." Kest then considered peach scones. That sounded so tasty! "Save me one!" he called, unsure if Anton would hear.

With a pat, the chair cushions kicked up an enormous amount of dust which sent Kest to the windows coughing. He only opened them enough to air out the room, as it was still raining. The scent of it wafted in and he took a deep breath. A part of him just wanted to run out there and dance, but he knew if he trailed mud or water in, the Mistress would be angry. So he stood there. Then he remembered Grace was in the room. He was acting like a child. With a sigh, he pulled himself away from the window and back to the chairs.

While he pushed them in, he glanced at the girl. She had only arrived two years ago. He remembered that day very well. She had been like him when he first came here. Too young. Putting on a smile, he asked, "How are you doing? Have you finally settled in?"

Emma's crooked smile never failed as the man she'd run into first declined, then postponed, and then accepted her offer. She was quite certain she remembered where the door was. She had been bitter, tired, and angry when she had arrived last night, but fully alert. She'd just opened her mouth to speak once more when a voice sounded from behind her. "Were you also caught in the storm? I thought no one ever ventured to this place without reason," the woman asked them.

She turned to face Suzanne, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. As Logan answered, (Good morning, and yes, they had been caught in the storm), Emma looked the other woman over. Suzy stood tall, at least a half a foot taller than herself. In contrast to Emma's disheveled hair and shirt tucked into trousers, Suzy seemed completely put together. Her long hair was brushed and pinned back, and she wore a simple, but attractive dress. Was she pretty? Yes, undoubtedly. Not as pretty as other women Emma had known. A vision of Kate, soft curls and fair skin, flitted unbidden through her mind. But she was attractive. A woman Emma should like to photograph, if given the chance. "Helluva storm it was, too," she added after Logan had said his piece.

"We were just nippin' out for a bit. I imagine we shall meet again at breakfast. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss..." While Emma was intrigued by Suzanne's to-the-point demeanor, Logan seemed to find it off-putting, and was ready to leave. "Shall we?"

Emma nodded, reaching up to adjust the cigarette she'd tucked behind her ear. A single cig could be conveniently shared by two, but three was pushing it, or else she would have invited Suzy along with them. "Be seeing you at breakfast," she said, giving the other woman a nod and a smile. "Name's Emma, by the way."

"Door's over this way, if I remember," she said to Logan, and continued along down the hall.

Only after she spoke up did Kest or Anton seem to notice her presence. Rarely did she make a conscious effort to be so stealthy. It just sort of...happened. Grace retreated back into silence, eating her toast as Anton talked about preparing peach scones and Kest opened the window. The head butler appeared transfixed by the rain. For a few seconds, he stared wistfully out of the window, inhaling the scent of the air.

Then he seemed to remember that he was not the only one in the room, and turned to face Grace. "How are you doing? Have you finally settled in?" he asked her.

She gave a shrug, popping the last bite of toast into her mouth. Grace had been in the mansion two years now. And despite virtually no memory of a time before Lady Sinclair's house, she'd had an impossibly difficult time adjusting to life here. She avoided the question, , answering with a vague, "Well enough," and moving to help Kest push in the last few chairs around the table. "The rain is soaking the garden. I didn't get anything done last night," she said. It was difficult to tell whether she was apologizing or simply telling him.

She stepped back, looking at the table. Seven was a lot of new people. Regardless of whether or not she could get anything done outside today, there would be work in the house to do. "What do you need help with in here?" she asked. Despite being awake all night, it would still be a few hours before exhaustion hit Grace.

Anton Bonheur - Chef

Anton smiled at the sound of Grace's voice. "Seven, well that doesn't seem too bad." They had both arrived at the manor around the same time, and Anton had immediately taken a brotherly attitude with Grace, not only because she was small and cute, but also because they both struggled with their pasts. She had one that she could not remember, and he had one he would rather forget.

Kest's response about the storm made Anton's smile falter for a moment, but his request for a scone quickly returned the grin. "For you, Kest, anything. I'll save one for you too, little bird."

With a mission now at hand, Anton hurried out of the dining room and towards the kitchen. The scones would be quick work with his nimble hands, and within half an hour, Anton would be able to put milk, fresh peaches, and the still warm scones on the table for the guests, making sure to save a few for his fellow workers.

Suzy could tell that she had annoyed this man, and though he was quite handsome, it didn't phase her in the least. A wild night was as good enough excuse as any to be right to the point. The young woman, Emma, had a curious twinkle in her eyes that made Suzy smile inwardly. She knew that was a dangerous look to have, but no quality was better than natural curiosity. "It's Suzy. Nice to meet you both, hopefully breakfast will be soon." As the pair she had intruded on walked towards the door, the tall young woman's mind returned to the task at hand. She would need to find a servant to question about the letter. Suzy did recognize that tact would be needed in that situation, so she planned to wait until after breakfast to seek anyone out to inquire with. She absentmindedly wondered if the mistress of the manor would be joining everyone for breakfast.

Not wanting to linger in the main hall, Suzy walked towards the sound of voices. Through a crack in a nearby set of doors, she could see a long table surrounding by beautiful chairs. The room looked like it had gone unused for some time. She quietly pushed the door open to a dining room and saw a man and young girl cleaning out the room. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm afraid this house is so big and beautiful, I'm not quite sure where any door will lead."

Anita Morgan - Scullery Maid

While it had been late night for the guests when they had arrived, it had been early morning for Anita, albeit, a much earlier morning than usual but not by more than a few hours. She was normally up before the dawn to begin work for the day, and with the guests arrival the first work was that of tending to their soggy clothes and the dripping puddles that they scattered about as they wearily tried to navigate the manor's twisting halls.

She'd mopped up what she could as soon as they had arrived while Kest saw to their needs and got them settled into rooms, but still the foyer would need to be cleaned.. an impossible an unending task in this weather. But she'd had to put that aside as the guests laundry was deposited into her care.

She'd spent most of that night (early morning) in the laundry room, next to the root cellar in the basement. The boiler was old, but it worked well enough to produce scalding hot water for the tub, and the hot press steam dryer would be the only way the close would get dry in this weather, requiring many repetitions to rid it of all the damp. Anita was well worn out by the end of it all, her hands chapped and her face flushed and sweaty from all the steam... she barely felt the heat though, she was always unbearably warm these days.

It was hard physical work, but she had come to not mind it so much. Physical labor gave her an outlet for her frustrations and aggressions in a manner that would not gain her the attention of the Mistress. And she was able to indulge her curiosity... by getting to go through the guests pockets. All of the things found would be returned of course, while theft itself may not earn her the Mistress's ire upsetting the guests surely would, and all the found things would be placed on the dresser bureau where they could be easily be returned to the pockets from which they'd been removed.

Crisply folded and freshly pressed, Anita returned the clothes and items to their respective owners rooms while they slept. Nimbly navigating the rooms, deftly over haphazardly discarded shoes and stepping as silently as possible. Not that it would have mattered for the most part, the guests would sleep deeply this night- however restfully it would be.

Finished with the laundry she made her way through the halls right as the guests were beginning to wake and the smell of food wafting through the air. Anita frowned, she had hoped to tend to the grimy foyer before Anton cooked breakfast for the guests... it appeared that the laundry had taken longer than she'd hoped. She had been up for hours with no respite and no breakfast of her own, the foyer would have to wait a bit.

As she descended the hall she could hear the sound of new voices, the guests up and about being lured from their beds by Anton's cooking. Shamelessly eavesdropping she listened to their conversation as she approached them unseen and she heard a voice, that of a young woman speaking.

"Be seeing you at breakfast. Name's Emma, by the way. Door's over this way, if I remember."

Turning the corner, Anita got a full view of the speakers, that of a scruffy unkempt ruffian of a young woman and a man, as well as a view of the door they were approaching with the intent of entering.... It was a rather large and ornate door, better fitting as an entryway... only this door did not lead to the common areas, or anywhere near the dining room or the kitchens. This door was the entrance to a wing of the manor they had been warned against entering without express permission. The wing with the Mistress's suite.

"Stop," She hissed as the guest's hand barely grazed the doors handle. Anita clutched her empty hamper before her with a white knuckled grip, "What do you think you are doing, wandering about here? This is the Mistress's wing."

Biting her tongue, she tried to reign in her temper as it shortened, her plush lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure. The guests wouldn't know their way around the manor, and vague directions half remembered after a trying night was just cause for innocent mistakes.

"Breakfast will be served in the dining hall soon," Antia said in a much more cordial tone that had at the very least lost a bit the irritated bite that had been in it before, "I would be happy to lead you there. The Manor is a bit difficult to navigate if you don't know your way about."

Father Marco - Priest

Father Marco was roused from a troubled sleep to the sound of birdsong outside his window with the early dawn. He'd dreamt of the storm, the washed out roads and overflowing gullies making the journey he would be taking on foot that much more treacherous. It had been luck that he'd come across the young girl, twig-whipped and bruised, crying and lost in the forest. In his dream these things were exaggerated, with a dull and removed sense of purpose and fear as everything moved sluggish and safety remained far out of reach.

That had not been the case however, and it was with a sense of relief that he began his morning prayers, shaking off the lingering disquiet left by the dream. His clothes, cut in the traditional style for priests and tailored for travel, he found clean and dry on a chair- his rosary and pocket watch sitting on the bureau on top of his little travel scriptures.

Dressed and hungry for breakfast, Father Marco exited his room- mildly contemplating knocking on the girls door before thinking better of it, she could need her rest, and instead followed his nose down to breakfast.

Kest's smile widened at the thought of eating a peach scone. Anton worked wonders in the kitchen, a master for sure. He looked at Grace when she asked if there was anything to be done.
"Aside from cleaning the floor, I don't think so. Everything else can wait until after breakfast... I'm sure it can wait as well."

Watching Grace, Kest couldn't help but feel she was still having trouble, but he didn't pursue it. Instead, he focused on something she would rather talk about. Gardening.
"I was actually just thinking that, later tonight, we could go out and fix it up. A little mud is good for the spirit." Plus he just really wanted to get out of the stuffy building.

At that moment, one of the guests entered the room, she seemed sort of flustered and a sad look flickered across Kest's face. "Not at all ma'am. Breakfast will be ready shortly, if you would like to wait. Is there anything I can help you with in the meantime?" he had immediately gone into butler mode, that meant the guests came first. He silently cursed the timing, he had wanted to make sure Grace had something to look forward to tonight, though he betrayed nothing behind his polite grin.

Grace Sparling

Anton's promise of a peach scone, and his pet name of 'little bird', was enough to put a slight smile on Grace's timid face. She could usually count on the Sinclair mansion's talented chef to provide her with an extra bit of food here and there. And his work never failed to impress. Of all the servants working at the manor, she was most comfortable with Anton, and second-most with Kest. They were, most of the time, the most relaxed and easy to be around.

In response to her news about the garden, and its sorry state thanks to the rain, Kest suggested that they could head out that night to work on it. Even if the rain did let up, the yard would be soaked and muddy. Their clothes would get filthy, and a load of laundry would be added to the work list. But after even one night stuck inside, Grace was yearning to be out in the gardens she took so much pride in. The thought was appealing, to say the least. She had just opened her mouth to say so, when the two were interrupted.

The door opened, revealing one of their new guests. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm afraid this house is so big and beautiful, I'm not quite sure where any door will lead."

Grace's automatic reaction was to close her mouth and shrink slowly out of sight, half-tucking herself behind one of the tall-backed chairs they had just pushed in. The woman's focus would likely be on Kest as he took control of the situation, letting her know that breakfast was on the way, asking if there was anything he could do. While Kest went into butler-mode, Grace went into wallflower mode. Silently, her pale blue eyes looked the woman over. Yes, she was fairly sure she had seen her arrive last night. The tall woman with the cut on her leg. It wasn't an infrequent occurrence that the guests who showed up at the Sinclair home were injured. Refugees from storms, travellers caught in accidents. Grace herself was an example. Though she barely remembered the train derailment that had brought her here, her chest and arm still bore the shrapnel scars. Only the very edge of the scar peeked out from beneath the sleeve of her dress. Thankfully, this woman's injury had been limited to a single gash across her thigh.

In an uncharacteristically social act (rarely did Grace engage guests in conversation until they had been there a few days), Grace spoke up. "Is your leg all right?" she asked Suzy, the question genuine and sincere.

Logan followed after the woman, Emma now that he knew her name, a slight nod to the other. He found himself wondering just how many people had sought shelter here from the storm. After all, roaming around that forest near or after sunset was dangerous and stupid, even for him, and everyone knew that. He had assumed his was just the rarity of a foolish man helping an even more foolish woman. But life always had a funny way of beating the odds.

As Emma moved to open a door, hopefully to access the outdoors, yet another woman's voice interrupted their crusade. It seemed to be turning into an embarrassment of riches for Logan. His charming smile having never faded, he found himself, once more, turning and looking at the newcomer. The way she spoke, initially at least, as well as her garb, suggested some sort of employee within the house. The moment she said that the door led to the Mistress' Wing, he realized her need for insistence over politeness. Still, was a simple greeting and howdya do, too much to ask? Emma probably looked the least lady-like of the bunch and yet had shown more character and politeness than the two others combined. Perhaps this house was just full of scatterbrained, heavily focused women, with no concern for the finer, slower things in life.

"Apologies miss, and good mornin'. We had no intentions of purposefully breakin' the rules of the house, merely got turned round lookin' for some..." he paused and widened his grin, "Fresh air. Could you perhaps show us to the front door? We'll be along to breakfast shortly after, you have mah word. And the word of Logan Shropshire always holds true. Especially for the women ah give it to."

He hoped they could be done with this business, and get on with it without further interruption. Chores needed done, a cigarette needed smoked, and a pretty woman needed chatted up. Food sounded more and more alluring, but he had his word to Emma to keep, among other reasons.

As the sun rose above the horizon, its beams fell through the clouds and across Damien's back. Surprised, he blinked and turned to look outside the storeroom window. Through squinted eyes, it dawned on him just how much time he had spent cleaning. Just as it was for the other employees, it was his daily routine to wake up early and straighten various rooms in the mansion before the guests were awake. This time, he had decided to prioritize the store room, but he hadn't realize just how long he had been working. The light of the morning sun shone down on the recently tidied storeroom. The boxes were sorted through, the tools were organized, and Damien was just finishing with the sweeping. Relieved to have finished his work, he wiped the sweat from his brow, relieved to have finished. Since he had finished there, he thought that he might as well check on the rest of the mansion. It was his primary duty as butler, after all.

After finishing in the storeroom, Damien cleaned himself off and headed for the dining hall, to check on the kitchen staff. Already he could hear the sounds of the new arrivals leaving their rooms, most likely wondering when breakfast would be served. If that was the case, then he had better see if the kitchen staff needed help. What he didn't expect was to find the place already filled with guests and servants alike. Maybe he should have been watching the time a little more closely.