The Boss left the pool side, farewelling some of the Servals who watched him leave with a solitary wave. He returned to his quarters which was just across the entrance from the pool. It sometimes was noisy outside his door, but he liked to hear the conversations and joy of his Family as they swam in the water. It constantly reminded him of the future he was fighting for. This room was different to the one he worked in, which had a strictly-business feel to it even with the shelves filled with his personal books and his favourite album kept on his desk. This room felt like home. It was small in size, more of an apartment than a house, with a tiny kitchen and living room in one half and a bedroom shooting off from one of the doors. The kitchen was for show. The Boss had not cooked his own meals in years, having staff and family do it for him.
He entered his bedroom, furnished with a large canopied bed. One of his first lovers had told him of her passion for a gothic style. The frame of the bed was reminiscent of her, being one of his favourite. This bed was colder than any other he'd shared. While he'd been with many women, he could never settle his heart on one and as such his room remained empty and his alone. A bed side table and armoire were both covered with framed pictures. Pictures of family, pictures of shifters and him with scenic backdrops that mimicked desktop pictures in their beauty. He stared at those pictures for a long moment, along with several handwritten letters beneath them. Many of his old shifting friends still kept in contact. His heart ached for a moment. How would they feel if they knew about the children in the labs? The bodies in the basement? He forced his attention to refocus on changing from his relaxing clothes to his business outfit. Friends were not the same as family. Those shifters could never understand the way he felt. If they did, they would allow him to go to any length to reach his goal.
He slipped on a sharp-looking jacket of black velvet and did up a patterned tie to match. He grabbed his cane and gave it a couple of swings for a moment to remind himself of the fighting techniques he knew so well. He then made a move to leave, but while passing the kitchen had a certain memory kindled within him. He gingerly opened the pantry and pushed aside a couple of boxes of tea bags. Yes, they were still there, right at the very back - a little tin of lemon sherbets. Harvey's favourite. Tucking a few of them in his pocket, he closed the pantry and exited his room. It was time to retrieve the child.
