Morningstar Manor

Dinner had been good, very good, even if the conversation had, at times been a little awkward. Fin knew it was his fault. He could talk all night about work but now he knew what to look for he could see when Andras was expecting some thing more - something more intimate and personal - and it was then that Fin's fund of conversation dried up.

Actually, it was fucking annoying - how someone for whom words were toys to be manipulated as he chose could be at a total loss for the right thing to say in this situation. So Fin carried on walking, hands in pockets and said, "Of course the fifties was a state of flux everywhere, not just here. Sometimes much worse. Maybe we could talk to someone else who lived through it? What about that woman with all the cats?"

Jackson and Evans had booked leave at the same time. This happened in even the best regulated offices. When one man said his vacation was end of February and the other said his was first week of March it sometimes took a while to catch on that those dates included a common weekend. So they had drawn straws who would cover the Saturday night and Vincenzo, fuming, had picked the wrong one. It didn't help that he also had the Saturday afternoon shift as well.

But coffee would keep him going. Lots of coffee.

He stood in the queue and waited his turn, thinking about what he had planned for Emily tomorrow.

###

Fin had a book and some coffee and no commitments at all - which meant he was on edge and unhappy. He was a man who dearly loved a dead line. Also he had just had a very disturbing encounter with Andy Andrassy. He didn't dislike women in general but some were scary and she was just plain terrifying.

Lots of coffee was what he needed too.

###

Another man with a book was Leo Beck, reading through that years edition of the writer's handbook with a slightly bemused expression on his face. Occasionally he reached out and stirred his tea - which was getting cold.

###

Allan was garnering evil looks from the barista because he had been struck with a brilliant idea for a sculpture and to help the thought process was constructing a maquette out of pipecleaners and damp napkins. He always thought better if he had something to do with his hands.

###

Gil had nothing at all to do for the moment - not even a paper to read - and was enjoying the comparative silence before he had to go to work. Not that he disliked his job - he loved it - but a few moments calm before the madness was to be relished.

###

Del was less happy. He had worked last night, had a thick head, and suspected that Eris was making her mind up to move on. He'd go, of course - if she asked him to.

If.

He sipped his latte and wondered what he'd do if she didn't.

###

Charlie glowed happily as he sat in the corner and drew. Deacon was watching the sport, Nia was having tea with Aunty Andy and Unka Ekka - he snickered every time she called Erik that, and Charlie could feel the gentle pressure of his little collar under the fold of the scarf swathing his neck.

He smiled across the Mocha, his pencil moving with confident strokes, and drew anyone who crossed his line of sight.

Sometimes it was hard to know what to do when harbouring the type of news that might make another variety of woman squeal a lot. So far Andy had told the people that absolutely needed to know - parents, siblings, Uncle Ernil in the barber shop - but hadn't yet decided how to break the news to her friends, or her employer.

In the end she decided to let chance play it's part and if she saw someone she knew and liked she might just drop it casually into conversation. Yes, that would work.

So she snugged down in the Mocha with her laptop and if she occasionally spared a glance for her ring who could blame her? It really was very lovely.

Andras had got into a kind of routine by now, undisturbed by the bustle around him, taking pictures, archiving, pampering models, working with Juanita for the details, with Pammie for what Lewis really wanted, and with Lewis, for what he really, really wants now.

His hard disks were filling up, and people were alternating between hectic activity and utter lassitude.

Somebody handed him a styrofoam cup from the Mocha, and he went on working.


[ooc: Party post so tag in and let the pups chat amongst themselves, or if they want input from one of the staff, please give us a poke.]

All the boxes had been emptied, and the ball room was full of clothes and clothes and clothes, on racks and on chairs and in stacks and in bags.

There were a few makeshift curtains between the pillars, and Lewis was hopping between them like a goblin, bringing new suggestions for outfits, or parading his makeshift models in front of a big mirror.

He was being followed by a calm woman in her fifties who was wordlessly scribbling on a large pad, Andras who was snapping the 'winning' outfits with a compact camera, and a little girl of about five who just gaped at everything and tried to stay out of the way.

When Andras almost fell over her, he just turned, grabbed her, put them on his shoulders before she could even squeal, and just carried on working as if she wasn't there.

Into the Mocha they went and Kris looked around, seeing a few of the gorgeous faces and bodies he had hoped to see, and he cleared his throat and tapped on a table to attract their attention.

"Um - ladies, gentlemen," he said, "we are in - frankly - awful trouble and are hoping some of you might be kind enough to help us out. The fact is - we have a designer and a complete collection of clothing but the photographer and all the models are stuck in Switzerland. So - would you be prepared to wear Lewis's clothes and have photos taken? What do you say?"

He looked round hopefully. "Anyone?"

Andras had said 'Thursday', and here he was, hopping around the gallery, looking for people to tell him what to do, or customers to sell something to.

He had called Schnozzle, though, and Schnozzle, though grumpy, had agreed to come for a coffee in the evening.

How about we book this red hot swing combo for the next Manor ball?

Which is Feb 14th btw!! See you there?

<:3 ~ Charlie

Fin glanced at his watch as the elevator opened and strolled across towards the Mocha. he was a little early, but if punctuality is the politeness of princes it was also pretty good when dealing with professional colleagues.

Okay.

He could do this.

He wasn't a silly little teenager any more.

Andras was sitting at a table in the Mocha, and decided that there was no time like now, got out his phone, and called Fin's number.

And sipped his latte while he listened to Fin's phone ring.

And wibbled only a little.

Andy typed busily until Sadie told her a visitor had arrived. Then she stood up, poured him a coffee and set it ready beside the guest's chair.

"Hello," she said, as she saw his shadow cross the door. "cold enough for you?"

Andras was in the Mocha, with a very large latte and his Macbook, editing photographs of dogs playing in the snow and sunshine.

He seemed perfectly content that way.

Charlie had a good load of laundry to get done and had stuffed it into a big canvas laundry bag slung from a strap across his shoulder. He also had his MP3 player but had forgotten a book.

No matter - there were plenty in the Mousehole.

He strolled along, humming to himself, and had just reached the little concealed door when he noticed a blemish that hadn't been there before. At eye level was a perfectly round mark where the paint had blistered and crusted at the edges. A perfectly round, perfectly familiar mark - Charlie had bourne enough of them in his time to recognise a cigarette burn when he saw one.

Suppressing a shudder he shook his head. It could be anything - a knock of a scrape. But then he took a breath and there in the air was the taint of harsh Russian tobacco. Charlie fled, stumbling in his haste to get away and burst into the laundry hoping to find Rosa - or anyone else. anyone who would be able to tell him he was being stupid and imagining things. Unfortunately he had the room to himself and sank into a chair, watching the door nervously and flinching at every sound beyond it.

"Man up, Shaw," he told himself. "There was nothing there and you know it." But he just couldn't stop shaking.

A heavy engine stuttered outside as a truck pulled up on the road beyond the Manor's drive. It idled there for a moment, getting a furious blast of the horn from a cab that wanted to pull out into the road,and the driver and the man who had just jumped down from the passenger door of the cab grinned at each other and slapped hands.

The truck pulled away, the cab following it and Allan looked up at the Manor.

"Jeez," he said and went across to the entrance, his duffle bag bumping on his hip.

Having returned from work, Charlie had picked Nia up from day care and was watching her draw while they both had drinks and cookies.

Of course he could have taken her home, but Charlie missed seeing people casually in the Mocha and the cookies there were almost as good as the ones at home.

So Nia drew, singing to herself, while he, texted Deacon to try and find out where he was and looked around for people to talk to.

Lunch in the Auberge was something of a routine now. The Brit lawyer Fin sometimes saw around the Manor let fin bag his table as he left and Fin left his coat and his bag on it while he went to order. As Paula assembled his meal he studied the yellow poster taped to the front of the counter and nodded. That seemed like something worth doing.

Andras was sitting in the Mocha, with his little MacBook, drinking coffee.-

Andras is lurking in the lobby, close to the windows, perched with a big camera on the back of a large sofa. The camera is resting its long lens in the branches of a venerable potted ficus tree, and from time to time, when something interesting passes outside the window, Andras presses the button.

Sometimes, he chuckles. Sometimes, he sips from a Mocha paper cup dangling from his other hand. He seems quite happy that way.

Christmas food shopping was always a bit hit and miss for Charlie. He had a habit of either under or over estimating what he would need and last night had gone through his cupboards, fridge and freezer and had noted a number of really crucial omissions.

And once in the store he also had a tendency to put stuff in the trolley that might 'come in handy'.

Consequently, when he parked the Scion and got out he was faced with more bags than he could comfortably carry. Should he call Deacon? Or leave one behind and come back for it later?

Decisions!

It was almost time to knock off for the day when the tough little Russian who'd evolved into some sort of foreman as work went on burst from the basement and dove right at his coat hanging in the temporary office, where Cindy was ordering materials at the moment. He grabbed an icon -- some Holy Virgin, most likely the one from Kazan -- from the pocket and clutched it, taking a few deep breaths.

But before he could say anything, the rest of the workmen welled up the stairs and started babbling at once, sounding so scared and confused that Cindy took a crutch (it was a good day) and went down into the basement herself, where she hadn't been since work began on this part; she trusted Sergei to keep things under control

Only slightly less than half the builders followed her down, and when she arrived to where they said it was, she rather wanted an icon with her, as well.

Yes, she had understood correctly. Yes, hand. It were the bones of a human hand that were emerging from the shattered concrete of the basement floor, as if grasping for salvation.