Characters: Various Erikson household NPCs
Location: The North--Erikson Mansion

The half melted snow of summer slowly began to glitter in the twilight on the grounds of the Erikson Mansion. The twilight was too bright for the nocturnal critters to scurry about and the daytime life had still not crawled from their various homes. Only the soft bubbling of the property's stream gave the cool morning any sign of life. Inside those dark stone walls, however, the flow of life hardly ever ceased. Below the main floors in a massive kitchen, a never ending flock of men and women fluttered about day and night. The High Lord and his family, like most of the council Lords, had never known hunger... especially those in which owned Ice Diamond mines.

"-well I don' know how they do et in tha capital, but givin' the poor cook less than a days notice-" Grumbled a rather large, round woman began, her red face glistening in the candle light with the efforts of rolling out the dough. She gave the dough a rather aggressive punch before continuing. "-it just don't seem right..."

A tired looking man with a well trimmed beard and a tunic of leather stood next to the baker's table, a sigh escaping his lips that were pressed into a thin line. "I understand, Tilda... but this is her royal highness, not some common lady calling upon Lord Erikson and his family. This could very well set up the Lord for success...... or failure."

"No need to get dramatic, Valcore." She grunted, flashing a half smile at the Steward. "I will get breakfast going an' then sit down withcha to plan out a few meal options for Lady Erikson to choose...." Tilda's smoky voice trailed off along with her grass green eyes towards where a rather buxom girl covered in flour stood, peering down the main hall expectantly. "POPPY!" The cook barked.

The poor girl spun around. "Ma'am?!"

"If my tarts end up flat because yer daydreaming after that Erikson bastard again, I am going to beat you until your ears bleed!" Tilda roared, holding up the rolling pin, a cloud of flour filling the room from the sudden upward movement.

"Yes, ma'am." Poppy muttered softly, jumping back to her place.

"Come now, Tilda..." Valcore chided, picking up the opened missive from the capital from the table. "What else are bastards good for anyway, if not sending all the scullery maids into girlish fits and lustful daydreams, hmm?" And with that, the man headed to go prepare for his master to awake to the news that the future Queen and her entourage would arrive at the Erikson Mansion in less than a day.

@viktorseier

Viktor was always fond of waking up in the early hours of morning. There was a small sense of superiority in it, something small and meaningless to boost his ego, just the simple knowledge that his lazy brothers and useless sisters couldn't even manage to do that. Anyhow, the feeling didn't last long- he caught a glimpse of his window, and the twilight that struggled to be seen. His room was halfway underground, a compromise reached by his father and the Lady of the House. Viktor sleeping anywhere near her children's chambers would be a grave insult that would not be tolerated, and Viktor sleeping below the manor with the staff was an insult to Lord Erikson's blood. An easy answer was found: a tiny, damp, freezing room between two sets of stairs: halfway below ground, halfway up. He hated it, and smiled at the horrible little window like it was the most beautiful sight in the whole North.

Feet on the cold, stone ground, he got up and dressed himself, in blue and silver. He looked back at the sight on the old mirror that decorated his walls. Appearance would be the only luxury a bastard like him held onto. Thin, and long, and with his limbs too slender and lanky, he would never look like a proper Northern brute, but he could do something even better, he could look expensive, regal. Who would look at someone like him and think him a product of unholiness? He smiled at his own reflection, a smile that everybody hated.

Long legs carrying him down the stairs, Viktor adjusted his gloves as his feet stepped onto the main hall, his long, dark mane of hair slicked back. He liked to start the day by seeing how much he could aggravate the staff. This wasn't entirely malicious, as he preferred them eons better than the brats he shared part of his blood with, but being a nuisance always put him in the right mood. Besides, he was the only member of the family who would step into the kitchen out of his own free will, he must take advantage of that as much as he can.

"Quite the commotion, at an hour like this." Viktor walked in, smile big and white and irreverent across his face "You mustn't tell me you let the hounds eat Ola's special sweets again." This had, in fact, happened once, and had been entirely his doing.

Characters: Various Erikson household NPCs
Location: The North--Erikson Mansion

Tilda huffed, her face never lifting from the baker's bench as The Bastard joined the mix. "If ya came ta get beat with tha broom, dearie, then keep on talkin'. Ta-day just may put ol' Tilda in the grave..." She muttered, not her usually jolly self. Normally she would happy swap smart ass remarks with the boy, but this morning she was a woman on a mission. "Go ask yer da 'bout our special-"

"-it's the Princess Sifora!" Poppy blurted from the stove, having nearly wet herself with excitement when Viktor had entered the room.

The fat cook stopped a moment to send a sharp look at the girl. Oh if only looks could kill! Pressing her lips into a thin line, Tilda's face fell back to the bench. "Hand me that sack, boy. If yer gunna be a distraction to the girls in here, yer gunna be of some help." She barked pointing to the cloth sack full of flour that was on the far end of the bench near where Viktor stood. Then, slowly, a grin crossed her face. "An' if ya go an' feed these sweets ta the 'ounds... I will walk ya up by the ear to yer father meself and let ya explain why it is the High Council no longer has a seat for any Erikson...." Her words were playful, but there was a tone of seriousness to them today.

The short, freckled faced Poppy let out a fearful gasp. "OH, please, don' hurt 'im, Tilda... I will take 'is lashes fer 'im!" She began to babble, dropping the wooden spoon into the pot she had been stirring.

"STUPID GIRL!" Tilda roared. "Get back ta yer work or else ya will be gettin' some lashin's of yer own."

@viktorseier

Viktor leaned against the counter, making no move to be useful and, in fact, actively standing in the way of the people trying to work. That's what she gets for ordering him around, now he was dead-set on making things even more difficult, whatever these things may be.

"Oh, don't you worry, you must know by now that old Tilda is all bark. What's a fat cook to do? Sit on me until I'm squished to death?" The young bastard smiled between Poppy and Tilda. His mean words were as sure to come as the sun was sure to rise, other's aggravation seemed to be Viktor's fuel for waking up in the morning. Still, despite all he says to her, it was obvious the insults didn't translate in how he actually felt about the cook- if he truly had any distaste for old Tilda, all he had to do was put in a word with his father and have her thrown out. He hadn't done anything like that after all these years, hence why he stood in the kitchen exchanging barbed words with her.

"Poppy, my dear," He turned his gaze to the freckled lass, using the words he knew would distract her most from the task at hand "What is it you said about the Princess?"

Poppy appeared to be the only girl in the whole North stupid enough to prefer a boney thing like him than the likes of his brothers. Of course, he never did anything about, she'd be much luckier throwing herself at Marius or Lucio, they'd have her in no time. But he had his uses for her, seeing as the best source of information is the one that is eager to give it all up.