Morningstar Manor

Ang waddled (literally these days) into the Mocha, grabbing a paper from the rack as she did so, in search of a cup of tea and some light snack-age. Preferably of the muffin or cookie variety, nothing too healthy! She felt in the need of a bit of company, but no way was she going outside, too cold and besides, there were usually more people in here!

She got a pot of tea, and a plate of muffins, and settled down at a table where she could be comfy and still accommodate 'the bump', and started idly browsing through the City News. The japanese earthquake and tsunamis featured heavily of course, and she sighed a little, the world seemed to be in complete flux right now. A thought that made her exclaim out loud as she read the next article, "The north pole is moving to where?"

Why don't I do this more often, was the question that circled through Jazz's head as she flashed a ten at the bartender and waited for him to produce another bottle for her.

An irritable day had turned into a frustrating night - pissy customers, complicated homework, another round of "thanks, but no thanks" text messages from Tom....

Alcohol made it all seem so much less important.

Grinning, she traded with the bartender (booze for cash) and nodded at the patron next to her as she brought her third Guinness in just over an hour to her mouth.

"And I don't even like Guinness," she laughed.

There was a fat chick in the queue before him, and Andras rolled his eyes. She was chatting to the barista -- not Joy --  and ordering her coffee piecemeal -- 'Oh yes, I can just as well have some sprinkles! But who was that old man this morning?'

Andras groaned, and she turned around, grinning all the way up at at him. She had a very impressive pair of boobs, but Andras didn't care.

"You going to keel over next?" she asked, sweetly.

"No, but you are!" Andras said, caffeine crave making him grumpy. "You really shouldn't have sprinkles, you know. Or whipped cream. Or brownies, at that." She already had an ass like a dray horse, for fuck's sake! Why was she making it worse?

"And who are you, the food and body police?" she asked, shaking her head. "Mind your own damn business."

"Who he is," said a somewhat Scottish voice behind Andras, very drily, "is some fluffy hipster between me and my coffee, and that's not a naturally tenable position for anyone."

She giggled, and Andras turned around, and almost felt like keeling over after all.

The man behind him was about fifty, but an inch taller even than Andras, and at least twice as broad. He smiled down at him, his amber eyes, oddly enough for such a warm colour, icy-cold as he did so.

"Cream, sprinkles, brownie, and caramel cookies," the fat girl declared, and when she got it, she turned, flounced past Andras, offered the big Scotsman a cookie (which he accepted, taking a bite right away with very strong and white teeth that looked positively threatening), and took herself off to some table in the corner.

"What are you waiting for, Mr. Hipster?" the Scotsman asked, sweetly.

They were doing a roaring trade in horror - Ben had bought in a mass of low priced paperbacks and was selling them 3 for 2. Although no particular fan of Hallowe'en himself, not since his age arrived in double figures, he was right behind getting fans in and had decorated the shop accordingly.

The door opened, and instead of the usual bell there rang out the manic cackle of a witch.

Ben winced. "Hello - mind the plastic spiders."

Charlie was convinced he was going crazy.

Not only had there been that silly business with the drinks, but he had ruined a painting with a careless stroke of lamp black when he KNEW he had dipped into flake white, he had sent a wildly affectionate and somewhat explicit email that was supposed to have gone to Deacon to his MOTHER and, to put a tin hat on his week, last night Brian had been nowhere to be found and Nia had been most upset.

So upset, in fact that Nia had only slept in snatches and so Charlie hadn't slept at all. however, she had demanded to go to her day care that morning and Charlie had been glad to take her and leave Deacon to get a little sleep.

Clutching a cup of tea, Charlie rested his head on his other hand and tried not to doze off

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.

The pool house would soon be open - or so rumour had it - and Ruth had come up to have a look around the roof garden and see if she could see what improvements had been made.

Sadly the huge arching windows were obscured by sheets of protective paper but the evening was pleasant so she found a place to sit and looked out over the city.

Somewhere out there was Mr Urquhart. She still wasn't too sure what she felt about that.

Thomas was enjoying his summer holiday - or rather suffering. He had started the month-long holiday with a wine tasting with some of his colleagues, friends and contacts, and had only come back home on Friday morning. Having slept for a while, he was now looking very pale in the Mocha, nursing a cup of coffee.

*

Emily was definitely enjoying her summer holiday. She had decided to do absolutely nothing, except perhaps eat well, drink well, read something, sun bathe and, if she had the chance, flirt shamelessly with Vincenzo. Now she was in the gardens, sitting near the Angel statue and eating strawberries. She had a novel with her, but she wasn't reading it but actually just lazily people watching.

*

Susan was in the laundry room, longing to have a holiday or at least some time off. It was Rosa's day off, so she was in the laundry shift, and bored out of her mind.

Antique Apparel was up and running beautifully, and Celeste was beginning to trust her staff enough that she'd decided to take the morning away from the shop to catch up on a little paperwork, work out her staff schedule for the next week.

And so, 10 o'clock found her ensconced in a corner of the Mocha, wearing a pretty floral tea dress and peeptoe sandals, a frappuchino at her elbow as she sat with schedules spread out across her table, her diary splayed open to the page with her staff's availability.

She was very easily distractable, and happy for company.

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.]]

The class was in full swing when Allan looked up and notice Ms Grey from the Manor. "Hi," he said, "come on in - bleah!"

That last as the toddler on his knee turned round and shoved a hand coated in blue paint into his mouth. Allan laughed and reached for the tissues.

To say that Andy was NOT a fan of having to work on her own doorstep was an understatement, but she was hoping all this could be sorted out quickly and this young woman was the closest thing they had to a witness. Possibly she'd be more likely to open up to a sympathetic neighbour?

Yeah, right.

Andy knocked on Sybil's door and leaned against the jamb, badge in hand.

He had called as requested, Nick wasn't a big customer but paid up front and moved in the right circles to refer like minded people, and now was waiting to meet his new customer.

Eight pm, near the statue and he had been told she was drop dead gorgeous.

How many could there be like that?

iPad resting against his knee, Nick flicked a finger across the screen to turn the page of this weeks NME. He nodded with satisfaction as he found the album review and again as he read it. The kids in the band probably wouldn't be pleased at the laconic tone of it, feeling that the NME was old hat and UK based to boot, but those in the know would read and make a mental note. It was a good review and he had made them all work hard to get it.

He sipped his coffee and turned another page, this time looking for gossip.

"Slick?" Sibyl said, poking her head into his apartment. "You there?"

It wasn't like him to leave the door open!

Nor was it like him to leave his apartment looking like it had been burgled. CDs and DVDs strew the floor, cushions were off chairs and the large TV was a shattered ruin. If Sibyl had been sensible she might have left but from the bedroom came the faint sound of breathing, harsh and shallow.

"Oh God, Slick, what happened!" she exclaimed, stalking through the wreckage on her high heels. Normally, she'd kick off her shoes on these deep carpets, but not with all the broken pieces of glass and plastic. She pushed open the bedroom door.

( Blood and gore! )

The Lamb was never exactly quiet but Wednesday was one of its slightly less busy nights and there were a few free tables and the dartboard was free.

Charlie came in and looked around, waved to Molly and headed for the bar. "Hello sweetheart," he said. "Happy thhhhhhinko da mayo. Guiness please. Ah - and one for my friend here. What're you having?"