Misadventures (Lili, Toni)

[Lili Walser]

How had Blume gotten out? That was her first question. The next… was where had the cat gotten to? She couldn’t lose her now… Blume was far too important, not to mention far too spoiled to survive on her own out in the districts of Granor. Immediately upon noticing that her cat wasn’t in the house, Lili had immediately slipped out, leaving a note so that Sarah didn’t fret too much and send for Cousin Luddy. That wouldn’t do her any good at all.

After a few minutes of looking, there the white cat was, stretched out on a low garden wall in the sunshine. Unfortunately, it seemed that Blume was fond of being outdoors – for every time that Lili was able to get near to her cat, the cat hopped up, stretched, and walked off ahead of her. Or sprinted. It was really rather upsetting for the blonde. If only she’d thought to borrow a fish from the kitchen – but that would have required an explanation, and then a chaperone, and then Blume would certainly never come back to her.

She’d just have to make do. And keep following Blume. She could do that… she wasn’t altogether too worried… just as long as she was home before supper, no one could fault her too badly, right? Fortunately, they were still in the Noble’s district. Nothing bad could happen to her here… not when most of the residents at least knew her name, if not Lili herself.

Ah! There… Blume was… was inside that old house. How had she gotten in there? But Lili could see the cat, sitting proudly in the window of the second story, licking one paw daintily. There was nothing for it… the young woman would have to go in as well, somehow. At least no one could accuse her of anything bad – no one had been in this house for ages. Carefully, the girl walked to the front door; upon finding it locked, she wandered around back. There had to be some way into this house, if Blume had gotten in. Eventually, she found it – the kitchen entrance was left slightly ajar.

“Blume? Here kitty kitty…” Lili’s voice was soft as she pushed the door open just enough for her to enter. The atmosphere of the house didn’t seem to want to allow loud speech. As she wandered through the various rooms, trying to find her way to the stairs, the blonde frowned lightly. So many old machines… and… and yet… some weren’t as dusty as they ought to be. How strange.

[Antonio Fernández Carriedo]

Antonio's house, for the little he used it, looked quite charming on the outside. A two-story house, charming and more stretched out than large, it fit comfortably a large hall and kitchen on the first floor, with a small wooden staircase in the middle. The hall had simply a couch, fit for three people at most, and at a corner, bookshelves with dusty books and small souvenirs, trinkets that needed a good dose of oil to work again and a small table. Further in, at the dining room, a large wooden table, expensive mahogany, with matching chairs, and a window to the garden outside. In the kitchen, there was an oven all set for any sort of cooking, as well as a chimney and a large power machine to provide steam and energy for the whole house — still, everything looked outworn, eroded, ruins of what once was a lively house.

Followings the stairs upwards, a small corridor presented itself, with lanterns hanging here and there to light up the path. To the left, the entrance to two bedrooms, one permanently locked up, and the second one had its door half-way closed, the only place with a remote sign of life at the house. The bed was comfortable, new, and the clock on the wall was well-oiled and marked the precise time, a small cuckoo making a noise here and there. Next to the double bed, a small bed-side table, with a candle a bit melted, and a large window outside, facing the side of the house — yet, the curtains were closed, only a small hint of light coming in. Whatever the other room hid, however, was a mystery, and not even the window there, which faced the street outside, could give anyone a possible clue.

Back to the corridor, but to the right, there was a bathroom at the back, with a tube, sink, and a small heater in the corner with a towel draped over it, running with a small buzz. The windows facing the street, to the right, belonged to the office, filled to the brim with paperwork and machinery, a small chimney on the corner to vent out all the steam. There was a typewriter, heavy and occupying a good corner of the desk, with a comfortable chair, and even a map of Atheros and the Isles pinned to the wall. The wooden desk was covered in papers, some stained with blotches of ink, scribbled all over in a hurried, yet elegant handwriting, mostly dates about trades, shipments and money values. Standing next to the window, finally, there was a man with a mess of chestnut hair and bright green eyes, Antonio Fernández Carriedo himself. The Pirate.

The man's ear twitched at the noise of a kitten walking in, loading his gun readily as he stepped back. He knew sometimes, stray cats walked into his house — had he forgotten to lock the place again?! Ah, bummer. He hummed in thought, then hid himself behind the office door when he heard a voice from downstairs. Ah, wonderful, someone was sneaking in... He'd better prepare himself for it.

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_{I'm not sure how clear the house description is, but I tried my best. I'm super busy now, but given time, I should post something in the Art tag regarding it so... Later on. So far, this drawing here explains well how the front of the house looks.}