Re: Flailing Helps! Really! (Flayer and Guan)
Grisham nodded his understanding and pulled an oilskin around himself to wait, tutting at the horses who seemed to be enjoying the rain as it gave them an impromptu washing, though it would take a full brushing to get them full clean again.
The Manor, to Penny at least, was entirely too fucking large to be real. Having not 3, but 8 Wings as far as she could tell, if the massive hedgemaze that belonged to Isabelle's Mistress was to be considered one, and that was only because there was an engraved Map of the grounds in bronze at the front door. The building itself was 3 stories high, and contained 3 floors, Bedrooms on the second floor all around save for the servants quarter on the third, which housed everything isabelle needed to ensure the proper keeping of this house, including washrooms, a kitchen with a servicable dumbwaiter and her own, very spacious living quarters, which were 5 rooms including her own bath, master bedroom suite, and sitting and dining rooms if she should have to entertain guests, such as her Master and Mistress if they wished to dine on her floor.
The first floor was for entertaining guests of the Master, the Mistress entertaining her own in the Garden, as was her way. Rain, Snow, Sleet, it didn't matter to them. And indeed she'd been given explicit instructions not to let the weather dictate her decisions regarding such guests. The Master was more practical and preferred to have his meetings in the library or the stateroom. As they entered the primary door, they walked into a large polished marble foyer and commons that branched to the left and right sharply away from a raised platform and spiral staircase that would lead upwards. There were many such staircases throughout the Manse that would allow easy travel from floor to floor, though even Isabelle didn't know them all. This Manse had belonged to her Master Spencer Inagrious' family for far longer then she'd been alive, and he'd inherited it as the eldest as was family tradition. it had survived two wars without ever having it's secrets fully broken or stolen, and it was designed as such. She knew under the polished facade, this home was built for anything, containing as many secret passages, rooms, and tunnels as a castle, and commanding twice the square footage of one holding only 3 floors instead of upwards of 10. It took half a day to walk it's grounds from start to finish, and was what had turned Isabelle into the most capable Maid in all of Ystrin.
The only floor even she was forbidden from entering was the third Basement. And primarily because, as a mage household, it was where the most dangerous of Master Spencer's experiments were housed, as well as those of his forebears. Even he did not enter it lightly. Basements 1 and 2 were also rarely entered, but otherwise not forbidden, and despite all protest by the Mistress, Spencer Maintained the fully functional Dungeon on the Second Sublevel. Though thanks to Isabelle's need to clean, even the shackles shone, though it had been a grim task. It was, as Master Spencer repeatedly said afterwards. "A Very Shiny Dungeon."
The Chaos that the Manse was dealing with however belonged to the Master and the Mistress, and much as Isabelle had feared, it was Spencer running from his dear Wife, Mistress Cerin, who seemed to be out for blood this time.
HIRE A SOLDIER WILL YOU!? BRING A KILLER INTO MY HOME!? DRINK MY HESHAR 316 INTO A STUPOR!? YOU'RE A DEAD MAN SPENCER INAGRIOUS! I MEAN TO END YOU! I'LL TURN YOU INTO A FUCKING FOUNTAIN IN MY GARDEN! she screeched, and she was despite her rage, a stunning woman, dressed in shimmering white and silver, barefoot, and possessing a platinum curtain of hair that trailed behind her, Cerin was an Elf herself, and had married Spencer out of love as well as politics. But they frequently fought, because while Spencer was skilled, he was unorganized and carefree, Cerin was his opposite, meticulous, careful, and... as shown now, chasing her husband around with a fire Poker, prone to becoming very, very angry. Though it was strange to Isabelle that this rage only came when Spencer was involved. She'd never once treated Isabelle poorly, never so much as raising her voice. But Spencer was another matter, and he was fleeing her rage for everything he was worth, his hair half singed likely from Cedrin and still smoking while his black robe billowed out around him, his unruly brown mop of hair trailing that smoke behind him as he tore passed the pair on the ground floor with a passing HelloIsabelleLovelytoseeyouPleaseseetomylovingwife. His loving wife in this case charging their way, though Isabelle knew she'd only need step in her path to bring her to a halt. Cedrin would always, ALWAYS, see to hospitality before anything else.
