Morningstar Manor

Stone was not in a laundry mood, but alas, he had to clean his clothes. He'd also gone a step further and gathered the dirty clothes from Poe's basket as well, figuring he might as well kill two birds...ah well you know the rest. So he lugged the over filled basket down along with necessary items like detergent and such. He also carried his acoustic down with him too. He'd been in an odd mood lately and was hoping to make good use of it.

After loading up a couple of washers, Stone pulled up a seat by the table in the room and dropped his current song notebook onto the table. He flipped it open to a blank page and stuck a pencil in to hold the place. Then he picked up the guitar and made sure it was tuned the way he wanted. After that he started playing around picking at the strings hoping some kind of rhythm or melody or combination of the two would strike him.

"Oh yes, ideal," Charlie was saying into the phone. "Can I book that then? Yes ..." He reeled off his credit card numbers, grinning. Then his eyes widened as he heard the door of the flat opening. "Oh - I have to go," he said hurriedly. "Is that all you need? Oh please send the paperwork to the gallery. Yes, 290 Fine Arts, Vine Square." He finished the address and the zip code and made a cheerful farewell just as Deacon entered the room.

"Builders," he said. "sheesh."

"That's it," Alec said as soon as he crossed the threshold, before the door was even closed behind him. "I'm blaming Emma."

He tossed the mail down on the table and there, on top, was another copy of US Weekly.

"I just can't figure out why she'd have it sent to me instead of herself."

Actually, he doubted very much that it was Emma, but he could blame anyone who wasn't present to defend themselves. Thems was the breaks.

Andras was lounging in the travel section, tall and gangly, leaning against a pillar browsing through guidebooks to all sorts of locations, waiting for Eamon to finish with whatever old lady he was selling romance novels to, and noticing him.

It had been one of those weekends, it really had. It was all very well being on call when nothing happened - but as Bethan was starting to suspect, she paid for those lovely lazy weekends with incredibly busy ones, where she got barely two hours of sleep a night. Both of the children were doing well, though, which was a relief - she would have felt so much worse if they had died.

Still, she hadn't caught up on her sleep yet, so she was sitting in the window of one of the little cafes, trying not to fall asleep into her tea. Company would be more than welcome, if only in a bid to stay awake.