Morningstar Manor

On weekends, the Mocha was always packed with people having a late breakfast all through the morning. The crowd today included:

• Andras, who was talking via Skype with his brother in London, for whom it was already between lunch- and teatime.
• Sibyl and Urquhart, who were sharing a table and a plate of cookies, and discussing a shared problem: - what you could possibly give Ruth for Christmas that she'd really enjoy.
• Chandika and Rahul, with Hanu the hound in tow, who were spoiling themselves with a sweet breakfast made by somebody else, as Bethan was working an early shift at the clinic.
• Cindy, who sat a few tables further on, reading a magazine in Greek and keeping an eye on Axminster and Hanu. At the moment, they were just laying in a heap under her table, but she knew those guys, and they could get boisterous.
• Ricky, usually quite as boisterous, was at the moment curled up in the corner of a sofa being morose into his phone. "No, mom, you really can't do that to me," he complained. "We are having this big concert on the -- what you mean, they can play without me just as well? Do you know what the industry is like? Mom??"

• Urquhart was doing the laundry, but one of the washing machines had gone weird on him. He could try and fix it on his own, but it would be much more interesting to find himself some handyman or maid and that way meet more of the staff. So he went up to the first floor to stick his head into the staff corridor and mildly bleat for help.
• Cindy was in the lobby, waiting for Andras to return with the dog. She was reading a cooking magazine, occasionally looking up from it to still not see the two loping shapes come in through the front door.
• Ricky was in the conservatory, wondering whether some seedlings of his mum's illicit crop might be grown here, hidden beneath and behind the regular plants.
• Chandika was sitting in the Mocha, having a Mocha mocha with whipped cream, syrup and sprinkles. She was texting on her phone, and giggling as she was doing so.
• Andras was outside, just around the corner, taking pictures of Axminster who was busy meeting a small pink female poodle.
• Sibyl was in the garden, walking around and looking up at the sky, while obviously deep in thought.

On a Saturday night, the Lamb usually did brisk business, with many of the usual staff on duty at once, and perhaps a few extra hands here and there. Drink was flowing, food flying from the kitchen, and the noise level of talk and laughter and music was like a warm wall when you came walking in through the front door, out of the crisp early autumn evening air.

Among the many patrons, there were:

• Andras Toth, at the bar with a pint of cider and a basket of fries, watching people and chatting briefly to anybody he knew.
• Cindy Papadopoulos, in a booth in an out-of-the-way corner, drinking a nice red wine and reading a book that she was glaring at quite angrily. She didn't have her wheelchair, just crutches. This had been a good day, and she'd decided to dare going down the pub without wheels.
• Ricky Sands, with a pint of Guiness, monopolising the jukebox even though hardly anybody paid much attention to the music.
• Chandika Malhortra, at a little table in the middle of the bustle, drinking malibu lemonades with a friend, resting high-heeled feet after an afternoon's and early evening's shopping.
• Urquhart, with a half-empty glass of really good single malt (and there had, of course, only ever been the customary finger's breadth), throwing darts at the dartboard near the door. He wasn't playing against anybody, but kept score in his head.
• Sibyl Gray, with a pint of shandy, leaning against a pillar and wondering what her room-mate's 'boyfriend' (if you could apply that word to a well-weathered man in his mid-fifties) was up to, now in particularly, and ultimately as well.

It was a sunny Saturday morning in the City, and around eleven, you found several of the Manor population in the garden, with beverages from the Mocha, enjoying one of the last sunny mornings this summer might afford them. Among them were:

• Maude Temminck, who was sitting on a bench with a small latte, watching her two-year-old granddaughter Morgan carefully stack pebbles nearby. Occasionally, she made a note in a little Moleskine notebook she took from her purse every time a thought struck her.
• Chandika Malhotra, who was talking on the phone to a friend in an excited mix of Hindi and English while walking up and down with a large mocha with all the extras, cream and sprinkles. It was her day off, Rahul was with his dad, Bethan was working, and Chandika felt like being all young and irresponsible again for one day, so she'd called Anjali, and they were planning and afternoon and evening of spending money and causing very mild outrage. Hanu had lost himself somewhere in the undergrowth, but would of course come when whistled for, so she wasn't worried.
• Cindy Papadopoulos was sitting and drinking straight coffee in her wheelchair by the entrance to the conservatory because WLAN signal strength tended to be especially good around there; she was going through her email on her laptop and throwing a ball for Axminster every time he came bouncing up with it, which however hadn't happened for a few minutes now. Cindy had seen Hanu and his missus earlier, so guessed that the dogs were probably chasing mucklas or wrackspurts in the undergrowth together.
• Sibyl Grey was in the maze, with a chai latte, and carefully explored the rather awe-inspiring passages. This wasn't her first time in here, but it was different each time, somehow. She'd just met two stray greyhounds, one smaller and brindled, one larger and a lovely silvery grey, who were very friendly, so she'd put her cup on a bench and was bending down to pat them both as the looked up at her and lashed their whip-like tails.

Morning, earlyish, and Leo was in the Mocha drinking tea while he opened his mail. There was rather a lot of it - tea and mail both.

#

Mid morning and Allan dragged himself down to the lobby and stood blinking at the sunlight outside. "I shouldn't have gone to that shebeen las' night," he said. "I got a headache - an' my ass hurts."

"Too much information," Vincenzo said.

"Aww shit I don't mean like that," Allan protested. He scowled and rubbed his back just below his jeans waistband, hitching up his tee-shirt.

Vincenzo stared then looked hurriedly away. "I - er - wouldn't rub that if I were you," he said. "It's a scratch. Looks nasty."

"Ah, right. I'll get Leena to put something on it," Allan said and took a deep breath before plunging out into the goddammed sunshine.

#

Lunchtime and Vincenzo was in the conservatory eating a roll and snickering into his phone as he talked to Enzo. "No honest," he said, "he had no idea at all."

#

Gil crossed the Square, heading for the Flamingo Lounge. He was pale and had dark shadows under his eyes and was looking forward to being able to sleep again without dreaming of that bloody chunk of human flesh dripping in his kitchen.

He shuddered. wishing that he didn't have to be the capable, reassuring one. Sometimes being grown up sucked.

#

Charlie left the gallery in the early evening and paused to look up at the angel statue. The past two days he had worked hard and had caught up with about half the paperwork from the past week. Another two days and he could start on this weeks. There was a kind of satisfaction in that, if he studied it objectively.

Not much, but a little.

It was a wonderful sunny afternoon, and the Square was full of people. Among them:

• Urquhart, who was sitting by his red door with a bottle of beer, watching football on a little portable TV set.
• Cindy, who was wheeling herself across the entire Square, followed by Axminster, who was slouching along lazily.
• Ricky, who was sitting on the steps of the angel statue and smoking a cigarette. Or something.
• Chandika, who was standing at the window of the new vintage clothes shop, looking eagerly at everything.
• Andras, who was sitting in the Auberge, drinking an iced coffee and watching football on his iPad.
• Sibyl, who was taking a wheelbarrow full of what looked like old horse-blankets from the disreputable antiques shop towards the Manor.

On Saturday afternoon, Vine Square was busy as usual. Many people were about, among them:

• Sibyl, who was browsing the basket of bits, scraps and ends in front of the Indian shop; they always had interesting little bits that would come in useful at some stage
• Andras, who was talking to somebody on the phone, throwing around all sort of technical terms while lounging on the steps of the angel statue
• Chandika, who was trying to keep Hanu under control on his leash while at the same time trying to cheer up little Rahul by promising him ice cream; she couldn't see any, though, and started looking decidedly harried
• Ricky, who was cheerfully bopping along while making a meandering diagonal across the entire square; he was wearing big earphones labelled 'Bose' that held back his fluffy blond curls
• Cindy, who was sitting in front of the building that was up for renovation next, just looking at it
• Urquhart, who was sitting outside the Auberge watching people being busy while sipping a triple espresso.

[[OOC: Say in your tag whom you want! Open all weekend.]]

"Oh send her in, please," Leo said to his secretary, "and a pot of Darjeeling, if you'd be so good. Please BOIL the water this time."

His regular secretary was on away visiting a daughter who had just produced another grandson, and the new one needed things spelling out still.

He got up and went to the door to greet his client.

It was like every year since Cindy had come to the Manor. She came back from the Easter service at the Greek Orthodox church, humming quietly and feeling deeply at peace, despite all the upsets connected, in one way or another, to delaminating girders and the Temmincks.

But now it was Easter, and Cindy was coming home, a little lantern with a night-light lit from the Easter candles dangling from the handle of her wheelchair. How many times had she done this already, now?

It felt like a tradition already.

There were several people around Vine Square going about their business this fine Saturday morning. Nobody would have thought there had been a blizzard only a week ago!

	Andras was wheeling his bike over the Square, talking into his phone as he went. "No, she won't want any fucking promotional items, you fucking moron," he growled. "She's a fucking pro and wants to use stuff she fucking knows. Where the fuck did you get my fucking phone number anyway, you fucking dick, and on a fucking Saturday morning!" He glared at his phone as he disconnected the annoying call. He'd need some coffee now!
	Charlotte was leaving the Auberge just at that moment, having paid up, carrying three dainty shopping bags that screamed of luxury, and looking airily around her. Had the air just turned a shade bluer?
	Cindy was visiting her building site, where the plasterers were putting in an extra shift so everybody could get on with things on Monday. Of course, they were being paid for it, but she still thought it great that they'd give up their Saturday instead of keeping everybody back another day. So she was bringing them several large bags full of Chinese food from those little folding boxes, fresh from a restaurant three blocks down, as a surprise lunch.
	Maude was hesitating in front of the gallery windows. She had had a call from a friend in California, who knew a friend who had a question. Pity Andy wasn't working here any more. So, Maude was pretending to look at the things in the windows while trying to determine who was there.
	Chandika was rather exhausted and made a beeline for the Auberge as well. She'd done lots and lots of Easter shopping. With a Catholic flat-mate, there was an excuse to get a good breakfast for when Bethan came from church, nice dinner, and lots of seasonal candy. You were never too old for hot chocolate with tiny yellow peeps in! But you had to find all the stuff somewhere.
	Ricky was sitting on the base of the bronze angel, smoking a roll-up. It was not discernible as anything but an ordinary roll up, but you could never tell what might be in one of Ricky's roll-ups. He wasn't quite completely happy. Something had gone wrong lately, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
	Sibyl had been browsing the disreputable antiques shop that was still sprawling through several old garages, workshops and commercial storage space in an alley off Vine Square. She was proudly carrying three late 19th century dining chair with their upholstery in an unspeakably vile state. But re-upholstering a chair was one of Sibyl's most familiar tasks; she'd find some nice fabric, pamper the wood a little, and then make them all pretty again. The substance of the chairs was completely sound, so she proudly lugged the apparent ruins across the Square.
	Urquhart was lounging on what was, temporarily, his own doorstep, sipped a coffee he'd fetched from the Auberge, and watched people. By now, he knew where he was going with this contract. Some rumours about the Manors were rather weird, though. Some were quite silly. A few were laugh-out-loud preposterous. One or two were actually worrisome.

[[OOC: Open all weekend and Monday! Say in your tag whom you want!]]

The dog was dripping all over the lobby.

Cindy was trying to smuggle him through without causing too much upset. She'd taken Axminster to the park this afternoon, had thrown toys for him to fetch, and chatted with other dog owners while the dogs were playing together.

With all this snow thawing into slush, they all got monumentally wet and enjoyed it tremendously. Cindy really pitied the woman with the sodden malamute. Thank goodness for a short-coated dog!

Axminster was wet enough as it is.

By now the Flamingo had quite a few regular lunchtime customers, some temporary, some permanent. The staff were pleased to see them all - even if they were more pleased to see some than others.

Katie grinned as she offered Cindy a menu. "What can we get for you today?"

Ruprecht had heard - somehow - and the moment Jack had returned to work had kept him busy. So busy he'd had little time to breath much less check on Declan. He'd sent a text message but gotten no response so figured Dec probably had his phone turned off. And with the number of messages Jack was getting at the front desk he had a good idea why.

Now he'd managed to sneak off for a break and wanted a coffee.

Joy - wanted an autograph. She put Stunning on the counter and smiled at Jack and Jack sighed inwardly and signed it then got his coffee and went to hide in a corner for a bit.

****

Zack was curled up by the fireplace - looking a bit shadowed around the eyes. He was looking through his files for his next project and sipping Karma tea. He'd been out of the smoking leaves of the tea for about a week and it was showing. In both his appearance and his pain level. So far he'd hidden it pretty well he thought.

****

Deacon was at a table drinking coffee and working on his laptop. Nia was with him, little feet kicking as she sat in her chair and colored in her coloring book. She had a nice chocolate chip muffin that was crumbled over a good portion of her picture and her top but she was singing softly to herself and apparently quite happy.

Deacon smiled and continued typing.

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.

"When Miss Papadapoulos arrive show her straight in please," Leo instructed his secretary then went back to his desk to put his papers in order.

They had returned to work as instructed on a site mercifully free from human remains. Some of them had gleefully stolen bits of the crime scene tape to pass on to their teenaged kids or to decorate their own apartments, but then they had buckled down and had got a lot done in the time.

After lunch the foreman did an inspection and poked around the remaining superstructure. moving with care and caution. What he found caused him to suck his teeth worriedly and move back with even more care and caution.

Back on safe ground he looked at what was left of the building with a groan and reached for the phone. Ms Papadapoulos was NOT going to be happy.

Charlie couldn't afford any more time off work so dragged himself to the gallery, with a bag full of tissues and a flask with lemon tea.

The black and yellow crime scene tapes caught his eye immediately and he frowned and wandered across to see what had happened.

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.

The first two buildings were empty.

The shops, offices, the little hole-in-the-wall bar and the depot of assorted strangeness in the basement had all moved to new places near or around the Square.

Now, the demolition crew was inside, and Cindy was sitting outside, computer on her lap, entering detailed measurements that the static engineer was bringing out, wading through the rubble.

There was no end of disused water pipes.

Today was the day they had to clear the Square ready for the staging and marquees to be put up tomorrow. Now the Square was safe there were fewer volunteers to do the work but but those who did come were very effective.

Currently they were litter picking - a much easier job than at one time when rolls of carpet and old sofas and mattresses had needed to be moved - and one that allowed a bit of dreaming. Charlie's thoughts were fairly evenly divided between delight in Deacon and Nia, anxiety about organising the 'knotting' in October and sadness at the news of the death of Barry Flanagan, whose work he had always loved.

Finishing his sweep, he looked at his own hare in his own window and smiled, tied up the bag and began another section.