Country Gentry (1/2)

Meanwhile, down the road, at the edge of a large vineyard, Buttons was drumming her heels against the cushions of a fancy couch that was far too large for her. She was alone, with a ticking clock the only sound in the silent parlor.

Well, that and the noise of muffled shouting coming from further into the house. That had been going on for quite some time.

“Awkward,” Buttons said to no one in particular. Then she hopped down and started poking around the place. She'd given them a good twenty minutes to entertain her, and they'd failed, so she figured she may as well go wandering.

The parlor was interesting and all, and framed with a lot of portraits of plump people who had big families, but there wasn't much to look at beyond that. The door that Apollyon had been dragged through was probably occupied by people who were dealing with angst, and she didn't need that kind of negativity in her life so she picked the lock of one of the smaller doors off to the side and wandered on in.

It was a dining room, she thought, with a large and bowed table, set with porcelain plates and silver platters. She hopped up to a chair then strolled on the table itself, meandering around teapots and silver services, stopping to inspect a pot of flowers or a butter dish.

Always good to nick the silver, Quartermaster Brezzo had told her. Hoity toity types are always looking for more spoons to stick in their brats' mouths. And worse comes to it, you can melt it down, sell it as bars.

It was good advice, and she helped herself to a few spoons. She didn't really have enough room in her pack to carry more.

Besides, everything was so dusty that she doubted they'd miss a few. The flowers were dried and falling to bits, red petals on a tablecloth that had once been green, but was now quite gray. All dust, she was quite sure of it. The curtains were drawn tightly over the windows, so it certainly wasn't due to the sun.

The next door she tried was unlocked, and it led to a cramped kitchen stacked with dirty dishes, some piled on countertops and others soaking in soapy water. The windows were open and letting in the Spring breeze, and when she clambered up to the counter, she could just see a woman outside hanging clothes from a line.

“So they do use this part, at least,” she said, and poked through the dishes. These were earthenware, and the eating utensils were simple tin, not worth scavenging.

The next door opened to a twisting corridor that lead deeper into the huge house. To a human it might be cramped, but to her it was a long walk, peering into smaller rooms that had doorways but no doors, and were identical, each with beds that had been made and forgotten long ago, and plain furnishings that weren't worth much in her estimation. Only two rooms seemed occupied, with clothes hanging in cramped closets, neatly-made but dust-free beds, and fresh flowers in a pot near an open window. It probably smelled quite nice to people who had to, y'know, breathe.

There were plenty of doors going out from this corridor, some locked, some not. She followed one through a couple of junk-filled inner rooms, finding nothing much of interest to pocket along the way. Everything was dusty, and Buttons thought she was starting to understand what was going on, here.

Only when she heard approaching footsteps did she realize that the shouting had stopped minutes ago. Whatever argument had been going on was over, and they were probably missing her back in the drawing room.

Thinking quickly, she fled back to the corridor, ran to the small room with the fresh flowers, and leaped out the window. If she was found outside, it'd look way less suspicious.

WIS+1

Once out, she glanced both ways, then adjusted her jacket and strolled out towards the treeline.

The coast seemed clear, until she turned around the corner of the house, and straight into the path of the washerwoman.

“Oh! Oh goodness!” The woman said, almost dropping her basket of clothing. “You're a dolly! Mabel said some of you were in town.”

Talking wasn't one of Buttons' strengths, but she figured it wouldn't hurt to socialize a bit. Might help with the alibi. “Yeah, I got bored waiting so I took a walk out here. Pretty land,” she said, walking up to the lady, and pulling out her pipe. “Care for a smoke?”

The washerwoman looked around, then carefully put the hamper down and knelt in front of the tiny tin soldier. “Do you have some of the eastern stuff?”

LUCK+1

“That was my last station, funny enough. Sure, here ya go!” Buttons pulled a match from her holster, packed and lit the pipe, and offered it up. It was a sizable pipe, compared to her small frame. She looked hilarious smoking it herself, which was fine. The more people thought she was funny, the more stuff she could get away with.

The woman took a pull or two, then blew smoke. “My, that's good. Haven't had any of this stuff since young Master Pluton passed, bless his soul.”

“I'm sorry to hear your loss,” Buttons said, patting the lady's boot.

“Oh it were years back. Early on in the wars. He was stationed out at Fort Bronze, you see.”

“I been there. It's mostly a garrison, now,” Big, empty, and falling to pieces, now that the dwarves had won the war. But Buttons well remembered the scars on the walls, the jagged ground around it where sapping tunnels had been collapsed, and the graves. The acres and acres of graves.

“He was the first,” The washerwoman said, letting smoke curl from her nose. “Jupita were the next. Best funeral I ever saw. Master gave us the day off to mourn. Everybody loved her. Ain't been the same since then. Then Mercurion, and Saturna...” she sighed. “All gave their lives bravely. All of'em heroes for the Crown.”

More of the picture formed. Buttons nodded. “You still have my condolences. One of my mates in the army said that the worst thing you could ever have happen was for a parent to outlive their children.”

The woman's eyes were far away, but she focused down on Buttons and smiled. “Bless your soul,” she said, reaching out to pat the little soldier's head.

Buttons accepted it stoicly. This was the price of being adorable.

“You understand. I wonder whose child you were? Do you know? Do you remember yer mam?”

“What?” Buttons blinked her painted eyes.

“You don't? Oh, I guess that part's true then.”