Morningstar Manor

Violet had realized that time was not a friend lately. She had been hoping to see Emma, but her father had kept her busy as well with packing things up. Now, with a little bit of assistance, she could leave Emma the present she'd wanted to. On the second present, a table which was placed in the middle of her living room, sat a card.

Inside it read

Emma,

I'm sorry I didn't get to see you before I left.
I will send pictures from Florence.
When you get bored or frustrated, take it to the drawing board.

Arrivederla,
Violet

James Holiday was a quietly misplaced watcher. He hadn't entirely fit in anywhere after Violet had been born. It was true that he had changed his life substantially, but nobody ever looked at him seriously. As he sat back in the lobby he watched men in mover uniforms take stacks of folded boxes up and bring full boxes back. One day, his daughter would not procrastinate he kept telling himself as he stroked the soft fur of the kitten who was nearly a cat next to him.

Violet followed down one stack of boxes being moved. She carried Miss Kitty down, unable to find Marshall Dillon. It would figure he would wander off, since the door had been wide open for a majority of the afternoon. She hated the idea of leaving them behind. Of leaving anything behind actually. Tired, she plopped down on the couch next to her dad, resting her head on his shoulder. "You're sure you want me to go to art school all the way in Italy?"

He may have been as contradictory as tattoos and a business suit, or even the tee shirt he chose to wear under a suit jacket, but this he was sure about. "I want you to take every opportunity that comes your way."

Violet was curled up on a couch in the Mocha, sketching, with a content and no longer sneaky Marshall tucked in next to her. This was nothing out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary, was the man sitting with her. He looked like he could fit in, but still stuck out of place. Cautiously he watched the room from over his coffee cup.

Violet was pouting in the lobby. She'd waited long enough to confirm with the Florence Academy of Art that it would be another month before she could get in to classes. She really should stop procrastinating. Tomorrow maybe, she thought as she flipped her sketch book open and the charcoal in her hand moved swiftly over the page.

~*~

Erin was in the Mocha, on the couch by the window. She had a good view of the gardens, and a good view of the table by her where her next door neighbor sat, discussing something closely with a guy that Erin concluded was off limits. Her mind drifted back and she was lost in a memory as she gazed out the window at the falling snow.

~*~

Travis was down in the basement, playing darts. He hadn't shirked the laundry responsibility, he just had wandered away from it temporarily.

~*~

Logan, on the other hand, was dutifully sitting in the laundry, flipping through an abandoned issue of US Weekly. There wasn't anything better to read (or write apparently) than gossip, was there?