Finni yawned.
Mr. Sebastian had woken him up early last night. Not intentionally, of course. He'd woken Bard to tell him the menu for the next three days, and inadvertently had woken the younger Gardener. It was odd, he supposed – why did Mr. Sebastian need to tell Bard the menu? Even though Bard was the chef, Mr. Sebastian usually took care of food when they had guests. Finnian couldn't blame him, he supposed – Bard's food hasn't ever been particularly edible.
The young blond clomped down the stairs, bringing his hands up to rub his eyes. Even if Mr. Sebastian hadn't woken him up, he wouldn't have slept well. Knowing that there was a Murderer in the Manor, and that he'd already gotten someone, didn't exactly equate to a good sleep. They'd been kept up late by last night's kerfuffle, trying to figure out whom might have done it.
Indignantly, Finnian remember how Lau had pointed the proverbial finger at the Young Master. He'd never have killed that man! How could he think that their beloved Young Master would kill someone in cold blood? The same Young Master who had taken himself, Mey-rin, and Bard, in out of the goodness of his heart? Whom had taken them in with little expectation of anything in return? Kept them on no matter how many messes they made, how much they surely must be costing him?
Finni swung the door open, clomping down the stairs leading down from it. There was an odd smell to the air, but he put it down as being from the fire Mr. Sebastian had stoked. Oddly, he couldn't feel any heat, although the fire should have been blazing. Maybe Mr. Sebastian hadn't tended it in a while? But that was odd – he'd never known Mr. Sebastian to make a mistake.
Well, everyone has an off-day, he supposed. And Mr. Sebastian definitely had an excuse after yesterday; not only had he had to deal with a murder, he'd been taking care of things around the Manor well passed midnight. The poor man had probably fallen asleep and been unable to tend the flames.
Perking up, Finni rushed down the stairs. Mr. Sebastian hadn't woken him up that day, so he'd hoped assumed the man was having a well-deserved lie-in and had hoped to surprise the man. He couldn't cook much, but surely he could make a simple breakfast for the servants? Maybe he could even get some chores done! Prove that he wasn't such a burden, wasn't just a walking, talking mess.
His foot hit the floor, and Finni instantly wished he were back in bed.
For a moment, all he could see was red.
Red, red, red.
And then black.
Black and red.
There were two large splashes of blood, one on the flooring, and one on the bricks of the fire-place. Inside the one on the floor, sprawled a familiar figure. But he'd never seen the man anything but perfectly composed, the perfect servant, before, so it took a moment for recognition to hit.
A fire poker, sticking handle up from a bloodied chest.
White-gloved hands, curled as though in an attempt at self-defense.
A gaping mouth, as though he'd been caught about to scream, ringed with blood.
Wide, as though taken by surprise, staring red eyes, clouded and no longer fierce like a wild animals'.
Messy black hair, splayed in an untidy fashion that didn't fit the man.
Finnian screamed.