Reaver's Servants

Inquire Within

The interior of the elegant manor was in complete shambles. The remains from a wild party adorned every banister, statue, and piece of furniture. The lavish halls of Lakeview Manor had been empty for some time; save for the occasional guard sent in to make sure nothing had been stolen. There were slight blood stains here and there, but nothing worse for wear. The manor was completely silent, save for the tapping sound of a walking stick.

The elegantly dressed man stepped in time with his cane, holding an odd looking statue in the other hand. It took some heavy persuasion and an unmentioned amount of gold, but the man had his prize and if the rumors were correct about this statue, all it needed was the right angle and some patience.

This man was lord of this manor. He had been away for some time on specific "errands" needed attending to. A year and a half, at most, had passed since that fateful party and now this man had one thing in mind. He made his way to the walkway and stared down at the mess that was once his most trusted servant. The man sighed, not looking forward to what must be done. But this seemed like the only logical solution in his mind.

"He is the only one who knows how I like my tea!" The man argued with himself on the way to the manor from purchasing the statue. The statue was shaped like a balverine and it had quite a story behind it; not that he was paying attention to the person who loaned it to him. He could barely keep his lunch down as he held the statue up. A beam of light charged up and emitted from the balverine shape. Before too long, it had zapped the bloody mess back to life.

The elegant man could hear groans and deep breathes of life coming from the newly regenerated manservant. "Se lever maintenant." the man whispered, as he nudged the waking servant with his foot.

"Get up, you worthless sack of flesh!" yelled the elegantly dressed man at the red haired man on the floor. Feeling as if he had just lost a bar fight with a drunken soldier, the red-haired man stood up and balanced himself properly against a nearby statue. "It's about damn time; we have a lot of cleaning to do. And by 'we' I mean you and the other servants." The man yelled again.

Barry rubbed the side of his head and regained his eye sight. Was he alive? Barry felt his body for a moment and then looked around with a confused gaze. It felt like he had just woken up from a long nap, though he didn't feel very refreshed. "That must have been some party." He murmured as he straightened his tattered uniform. Barry had a very prominent accent only made more apparent with his speech impediment. The elegantly dressed man, his boss Reaver, seemed to have calmed down a bit. Barry noticed Reaver was holding a small white statue of a balverine. "Who…what happened?" asked Barry, as he looked around the now empty room.

The "guests" were long gone and it was only the two men. "The soiree took a turn for the…shall we say, wild side. You barely survived the experience. I rented this lovely piece of…well I guess it qualifies as art, so I could revive you. If you think I'm going to let years of training get mauled to pieces, then my good man, that balverine knocked some of your brains out." commented Reaver, setting the statue down on a nearby table. Barry felt a twinge of happiness in his chest. "By the way, the cost to rent that statue is coming out of your pay."

Reaver was nice enough to tell Barry what has happened in the time he had been "indisposed". Not much had actually happened, except a few escaped rebels, a new monarch, and a now filthy home. After he had changed from his tattered uniform, Barry got started cleaning right away; though his state of temporary "near-death" kept him from going at a favorable pace.

As Barry swept the grand dining room of the mansion, he couldn't help but feel a sense of loneliness (and not the usual kind of "loneliness" either). Reaver entered the room and looked around. "I may have been gone a long while, but didn't I have more servants?" he asked, walking toward a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of sherry and two glasses. Barry looked around and leaned against his broom. Reaver sat in one of the chairs in front of the dining room table and reclined.

"I believe the balverines attacking everything that moved served as a two weeks' notice, Master Reaver." retorted Barry, with his speech impediment.

Reaver, pouring some sherry into a glass, hated the mess in his home. Of course, he hated his staff too (with the exception of Barry, for reasons that make even Reaver blush). "I guess it was time to hire new staff anyway, Hatch." Barry went back to his sweeping, but knew the effort into sweeping up the party's mess was fruitless.

"Hatch, what's the damage report?" Reaver asked, placing the glass to his lips.

"Well, after a quick examination of the rest of the manor, everything is either destroyed, toppled over, or has undergarments hanging off of it." Reaver waved his hand over the chair next to him and Barry sat down next to Reaver. Reaver poured him a glass as well and pushed it toward him. Reaver and Barry had a very friendly relationship as far as Master and servant status went. Reaver usually didn't do anything unless he asked for Barry's advice first. Whether or not the advice was followed was a different story. "I also saw evidence of a few small fires. But as far as I can tell, everyone is gone. The servant's hallway is void of any life."

Sipping his drink, Reaver looked around the dining hall. "Well, Hatch, it seems you'll be acting as maid, grounds keeper, and chef until we hire some new people. I want you to make up some want ads and post them in Bowerstone. I want this house up and running again before the week is out! I suggest you get started on the want ad immediately. That, and dinner; I'm famished." Reaver was pretty snide for a man who had one servant and a messy home.

"Cook? You want me to cook? I can't cook! I can barely boil water." remarked Barry, playing with the glass of sherry.

"Well, you don't expect me to make my own meals, do you? Why, I haven't done that in…" Reaver paused for a moment and pondered. Putting his index finger to his chin, Reaver glared at the table for a few minutes and pondered this slight challenge. "…has it really been that long?" he asked himself. Cocking an eyebrow, Barry sipped his sherry slowly. "This is truly pathetic, on both our parts." Reaver sighed, with a depressed look.

Barry sighed and stood up. "Maybe I can whip us up some sandwiches…I'm sure that mutton I saw in the kitchen earlier hasn't gone bad yet…" he said, dejected, as he walked toward the kitchen.

"No mayo on mine!" yelled Reaver.

Later in the evening, Barry sat at his small desk in his room (next to Reaver's and one of the only rooms that hadn't been ransacked after the party) and tapped the paper he placed in front of him. Barry wrote and rewrote the want ad that was to be taken to the city. Barry had many talents (most he kept secret, as Reaver was quick to point out flaws and laugh at them), but writing was not one of them. While this hardly counted as great poetry, Barry knew the right wording was key when looking for anyone foolish or desperate enough to work for Reaver. One or the other was fine with Barry.

Barry wrote down a very detailed list of requirements but stopped mid-sentence. "I don't want to be outshined, not taking that risk again." He muttered to himself, as he crumpled up another piece of paper. Barry didn't want to risk losing his job to some overachieving kiss-up again. "And I shouldn't put too much, most of the people can't read very well." He crumpled up another piece of paper. "Short, sweet, to the point! That should do it."

The next day, feeling satisfied with his writing abilities, Barry had multiple copies of his ad made. He carried his bundle of papers to the bulletin board in the marketplace and posted one. As he walked away, Barry passed by a group of people that seemed to be in a hurry. He didn't glance at them, but their presence gave him a feeling of calm dread as he walked by.

The group walked up to the bulletin board; it would seem this was not their first time visiting it. This small group had been down on their luck for a while. Though in Bowerstone it was hard to generate sympathy, especially considering how oddly they were dressed. In truth, they were once circus performers. Though by their clothing, it seemed obvious. Their clothes were made from patched together pieces of old carnival costumes made to resemble regular clothing to the best of the sewer's abilities.

"What does it say, Miss Sarah?" asked the short young woman, trying to see over the gentleman standing in front of her.

The woman leading them, Miss Sarah (the magician's assistant), walked up to the bulletin board and read aloud:

"To anyone interested,

Reaver of Reaver Industries will be holding interviews for jobs in and around his home by Bower Lake.

In need are the following positions: maids, butlers, grounds keepers, chefs.

No experience needed, but recommended.

If hired, employees will be paid generously and provided with room and board.

Please see Barry Hatch at Lakeview Manor in Millfields for more details.

Be advised: Those not hired may be shot."

Everyone in the group shifted their heads as Miss Sarah turned around. "Well, it's the only job posting at the moment, and we do need jobs." She reasoned. Her little group, however, didn't look so sure. They needed jobs badly, but no one looked eager to look into what the flyer was offering. Miss Sarah tried her best to put on a brave face. "Now, now, everyone; we've taken serving jobs before. This would be a little more personal than slinging ale or waiting tables." She reasoned to her unsure friends.

One of them, a tall, dark haired woman named Rosie (the fortune teller), was the first to object. "Miss Sarah, you've heard the rumors about that guy. He's not exactly an ideal employer from what I hear. I heard he once tried to pay his employees with rice. And not good rice, either."

"Rosie's right." said the man, whose name was Gordon (the acrobat and trapeze artist). "I heard he had a man executed for standing up for one of those kids in his factory." Gordon usually wasn't one to believe rumors, but seeing as this rumor was true, he made an exception. "I know we need jobs, but I'm sure we can wait a little longer for another posting."

The short one, Willa (the strong man's daughter; she was in training before they left), looked up at the bi-speckled woman beside her. Beryl (the contortionist), behind her thick glasses, placed her index finger on her chin and sighed. "But we've come back here every day for the last week. All the other jobs are filled up; even the factory jobs." She said, as he readjusted her glasses.

"And we're running out of money." added Willa. "Soon, we won't have enough to buy food or to keep staying at the Inn. He's providing room and board, and generous pay."

"Generous pay could mean we wake up in the morning without a bullet hole in our heads." retorted Gordon, playing with the peach fuzz accumulating on his chin. "There has to be something else!"

Rosie stepped forward and shifted through the flyers on the board. "Nothing here except product advertisements and army recruitment sign-up sheets." She said, in her half-hearted way of speaking.

Miss Sarah looked at them, hope leaving her face slowly too. She could see the defeated looks on their faces because she felt it too. Not one to give up on hope, Miss Sarah put on her sunniest smile and faced her friends. "Look, you guys. I understand things have been a little tough since we…left the circus, but this could be a new start for us. We agreed to give something else a shot, and we agreed not to let anything separate us. This could be it. If we make it working for this Reaver guy, we can make it anywhere."

Already looking defeated, the small group sighed and looked at each other. It would appear that they had no other choice. And seeing as they were the first to see the ad, they would have a better chance at landing the jobs.

Gordon sighed and looked at Miss Sarah. "Well, I have been told I have a green thumb." He said with a half-hearted smile.

"I can clean pretty fast." added Willa.

"Me too!" shouted Beryl happily.

Rosie nodded with the other two girls and looked at Miss Sarah. "Miss Sarah, you're an excellent cook. You've made delicious meals out of only travel jerky and howling cheese."

Miss Sarah blushed at the compliment. With newfound confidence, the group looked toward Miss Sarah with renewed vigor. "Well then, it's decided. We'll apply right away!" shouted Miss Sarah, happily, as she grabbed the flyer off the bulletin board. "Come on, you guys. Let's go get cleaned up."

A few days later…

The early evening rolled around, with the setting sun reflecting off the lake. The crows were sounding off as noble children ran along the path with their fancy clothes now messy with mud, carrying fishing poles and pails, containing small fish. Miss Sarah smiled warmly as the children ran past the group.

Holding the flyer in her right hand and a lukewarm casserole dish in the other, Miss Sarah led the group through Millfields, the rich part of town by the lake. I hope the positions haven't been filled yet Miss Sarah thought, clutching the flyer.

"What's in the dish?" asked Rosie, as they rounded another turn.

"Well, I figured if I'm going for that chef's job, I might as well provide a sample of my work." replied Sarah.

"What did you make?" asked Willa.

"Well, the truth…it's my ravioli specialty…" answered Sarah, feeling somewhat ashamed.

The entire group stopped and stared at her. "You made ravioli? But Miss Sarah, the ingredients are so expensive! We barely had enough to buy cheap bread!" shouted Beryl.

"I know, but we need these jobs, so I pulled out all the stops." Miss Sarah pulled back the covering on the dish, revealing the tasty little morsels. The smell was heavenly. It smelled like no expense was spared and no time was wasted.

Rosie looked sternly at Miss Sarah. "If your specialty doesn't get us the jobs, then we're completely hopeless." She half-heartedly joked.

Walking among the path, the group stared in amazement at the beautiful lake, big houses, and the history steeped in the hills. At the end of the path, a guard directed them toward Reaver's manor, which sat directly on the lake.

Standing on the steps of the manor, each one of them felt insignificant. Each one of them was also having second thoughts, including Miss Sarah. While the others admired the big statue of Reaver, Sarah knocked the door knocker. Nothing. Thinking (or at least hoping) no one was home, the group started to turn around. They stopped when they heard the door creak open.

The door opened further to reveal an orange haired man who looked a bit ragged and exhausted. "I hope you're not selling anything or preaching about the end of the world, because I'm sick of telling you people that Reaver shoots on sight." said the man, with an obvious speech impediment. This man, Barry, looked among the small crowd that gathered outside the manor. The first thing he noticed was that it was mostly women. "Ooh…girl scouts…" he muttered.

He looked down at Willa (who, despite being nineteen, was unusually short) and glared at her. "Sweetheart, I should warn you, Master Reaver has shot many girl scouts. Being adorable and having bodyguards won't stop him. We're still in litigation with the parents of the last one." He commented, as he started shutting the door.

With an angry huff, Willa grabbed the door and swung it open all the way, her strength scaring Barry. "We're not girl scouts, you dope! We're here about the jobs you advertised earlier this week!"

Miss Sarah finally stepped forward and grabbed Willa out of the way. "Please excuse her." She laughed, nervously, pushing Willa towards Rosie. "We're here about the jobs posted earlier this week. Is it too late to set up an interview?"

Barry blinked a few times looking at Miss Sarah. She was the most beautiful thing he had seen. She was of regular build, had dull brown hair, and fair skin. She wasn't a stunning beauty, but she was pretty. With a blush, Barry invited the group in. "Oh, my apologies. Of course, the positions are still open."

Looking down at Willa (who came to about his chest) Barry smiled nervously. "Sorry about the girl scout comment, Miss. Those damn girl scouts are getting more daring by the day. The other day I found one scaling the manor walls trying to get into Master Reaver's office."

Barry took out a clipboard and starting jotting things down. They stopped just outside an oak doorway. "Alright, Master Reaver asked me to take down the names of anyone applying. So, names and positions applying for, please." Barry took down their names on his clipboard, but couldn't help but look up every so often at their clothes. "Forgive me for asking, but why do your clothes look so…colorful?" he asked.

Sarah smiled, and answered for them. "Well, you see…we had to make do with what we had. We all used to work for a circus, and when it was shut down, most of our things were sold off to pay the circus leader's debts. We literally only had the clothes on our backs."

Blushing, Barry extended his hand to Miss Sarah. "Ahh, former circus performers? Well, not everyone has a clean past, ehh? It's alright, considering who I work for, I'm in no position to judge. You may have assumed already, I am Barry Hatch, Reaver's personal assistant and attendant. You said your name was…Sarah?" he said, looking at his clipboard.

Miss Sarah nodded and shook Barry's hand. It felt clammy and rough, like he had been scrubbing floors.

He motioned for the group to follow him, which they did. The massive home was spotless, thanks in part the Barry's nonstop efforts to clean up. He mostly brushed things under rugs or other furniture, which Rosie, Willa and Beryl noticed. Going up the stairs, they made their way past the dining hall and toward another hall.

"So, you all here together or did you all hear about the openings separately?" asked Barry, as he opened another door.

"We're here together." said Miss Sarah, clutching her casserole dish tightly. "We're kind of a family; we take care of each other."

Standing outside an oak doorway, Barry bowed to Miss Sarah. "Madam, if you and your associates could wait here for a moment, I will see if Master Reaver is available."

Left alone in the hallway, the group nervously wondered if this was worth it. Rosie chuckled a bit. "What's so funny?" asked Miss Sarah.

"We're here not even ten minutes and you pretty much already have the job." answered Rosie, in between chuckles.

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Miss Sarah sternly.

"You'd have to be blind to not see you and that Mr. Hatch guy were flirting with each other." retorted Rosie, covering her chuckles with her hand. Miss Sarah blushed as Rosie smiled deviously. Rosie didn't smile much. "He's not much of a looker, but considering who you used to date…"

"That's enough out of you." snapped Miss Sarah. Rosie kept her devilish smile and the rest of her dirty thoughts to herself.

Beryl, noticeably nervous, shook as the grandness of the manor dawned upon them. "This won't work, this won't work!" she kept repeating. "This was a terrible idea! I say we steal what we can and run for it!" she said as she hyperventilated. Gordon grabbed her shoulders and took deep breaths with her.

"Stay calm, Beryl!" he shouted in between breathes.

"Ceci ne travaillera pas! Nous ne travaillerons jamais ici! Nous n'appartenons pas ici!" screamed Beryl. It was happening again.

"We will get these jobs! Just stay calm!" Gordon shook Beryl, who quickly regained her composure.

"Oh my…did I start speaking another language again?" she asked, as she straightened her glasses.

Inside the room, which was Reaver's office, Barry bowed with the announcement. "Good news, Master Reaver. We have some applicants." He announced, happily.

"Well, it's about time. I was starting to get worried that I'd actually have to start doing things myself around here." smiled Reaver, from behind his desk. "Have them form a straight line and send in the prettiest ones in first." said Reaver, straightening his vest. Barry looked nervously at Reaver.

Barry cleared his throat nervously and thumped his clipboard softly. "Well, sir, there aren't that many applicants…"

Reaver cocked his eyebrow at his attendant. "Not that many…pretty applicants?" he asked.

"Well…" Barry blushed, thinking about Miss Sarah. "…not many applicants...period."

"What do you mean 'period'?" asked Reaver, who became noticeably angry.

Barry tugged at his sleeve nervously. "Well, one of them is quite pretty…" he said with a blush. "The other four are…well, I guess the tall dark haired one is cute…"

"OTHER FOUR?!" yelled Reaver, slamming his hands on his desk. "Are you telling me only five people showed up? How the hell am I going to run this home with only five servants, six if I count you? Next thing you're going to tell me is that they used to work for the circus!" Not really expecting an answer from Barry, Reaver stood up and leaned against his desk, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. "They are former circus performers, aren't they?" Still not expecting an answer, Reaver sighed as Barry nodded. "Well, might as well get this disaster out of the way." He snorted.

"I blame you for this, by the way." Reaver added, as he walked toward the doorway.

Opening the doors wide, Reaver could already tell the applicants were promising. They were arguing and panicking amongst themselves. Oh yes, this will go smoothly he thought sarcastically to himself. He looked upon the small group with disdain. One was hyperventilating, another was short, one was pale and looked bored, but at least the other two were decent looking.

They noticed Reaver and immediately turned in attention. Quick to act, that's a good start he thought, looking among the little group. "Alright, my dears; you know me, I am Reaver, and if everything goes smoothly, hopefully I will be your new employer. So, let us get interviews underway, shall we?" he smiled a devilish smile. "When I point to you, step forward and tell me your name, along with what position you are applying for."

Reaver stroked his chin and looked among the small group. "So, who wishes to go first?" he asked, as he directed his index finger among the line-up. He pointed to Gordon. "You, step forward, and tell me your name." Gordon stepped forward, but Reaver stopped him. "Slowly, if you please." Gordon nodded and stepped back. He stepped forward again, slowly putting one foot in front of the other. Reaver moaned lustfully and bit the tip of his gloved finger. "Name and what you're applying for."

"Gordon, Sir. I am applying for the grounds keeping job." said Gordon, nervously.

Reaver eyed Gordon up and down, imagining him pruning plants in the hot summer. "Oh yes...I am in dire need of a grounds keeper. The last one left such an awful mess." replied Reaver.

Willa looked at Barry, who was standing next to the group now. "The yard looked fine from what we saw. This man must have high expectations." She whispered.

Barry looked down at Willa. "Oh, he does, but he wasn't talking about the yard. It took me hours to get that blood stain out of the carpet." He commented back, nonchalantly. Willa turned back toward the group and shook nervously.

"What do you believe qualifies you for that position?" Reaver asked. Gordon swallowed hard and watched as Reaver undressed him with his eyes. As Gordon explained his qualifications (whether or not Reaver was listening, was another matter), Barry slowly stepped over to Miss Sarah, who patiently waited for her turn. She looked over at him and smiled with a blush, which Barry happily returned.

"Since I am in need of a grounds keeper, I'll start you out on a trial period. Until I see what you can do, you'll also be acting as a butler. It doesn't mean double pay, by any means. It just means you and I…get to spend a good deal of time together." With a devilish smile, Reaver winked to Gordon, who bowed graciously and stepped off to the side, somewhat confused.

"Alright, who's next?" Reaver pointed to Rosie, who stood straight as a broom. Rosie stepped forward. "So, my lovely, what do they call you?" Reaver asked.

Rosie's expression didn't change much. She always had a bored expression and dead-pan tone. One thing Reaver noticed about Rosie was that she was almost as tall as he was. At 5'8", Rosie was tall and buxom. Almost Amazonian, Reaver figured. "My name is Rosie." She said, finally.

The name certainly fits the personality well, doesn't it? Reaver thought.

Rosie's gaze seemed to pierce Reaver's very soul (if he indeed still had one). "I, along with Beryl and Willa, will be applying for the maid positions." Reaver looked over at the other two, who started stepping forward.

"Aww, how adorable." Reaver chortled, as Willa stepped forward with Beryl. "Why hello there, you cute little darling. Are you here to help your big sisters?" he cooed, patting Willa on the head. Willa fumed as he stood back up straight.

Puffing up her cheeks, Willa let out a big puff of air. "My name is Willa, I'm nineteen, and I'm here applying for one of the maid positions." Willa sounded off, trying to make herself look taller.

Looking quite embarrassed, Reaver walked over to Beryl, who was shaking. Cocking an eyebrow, Reaver turned his head and waved his hand in front of Beryl's face. "You can see out of those bottle bottoms, right?" he said, his voice a little higher.

"Je ne suis pas sourd, Monsieur." muttered Beryl, nervously. Beryl covered her mouth.

Reaver stared at her. Rosie, with a worried expression, stepped in front of Beryl. "Please excuse her, Sir. When she gets nervous, she tends to lapse into different languages." Reaver moved Rosie out of the way slowly and stared Beryl down, which made her shake more.

Reaver cleared his throat and looked Beryl in the eyes (or glasses, rather).

"Pourquoi pensez-vous que vous devriez avoir ce travail?" asked Reaver, leaning against his cane.

Beryl blinked a few times and stood up straight. "Mon nom est du Beryl, Monsieur. Je suis un travailleur très dur, Monsieur. Je suis rapide, à l'heure, et je suis des ordres très bien." replied Beryl.

Reaver clapped his gloved hands. "Impressive. I can see my years of studying languages will not go to waste should you decide to hyperventilate again." He tapped his cane against the floor and walked toward Willa. Beryl almost fainted. Reaver smiled as he knelt down to Willa. Willa looked nervous. Of course, compared to Reaver (hat included), Willa had never felt shorter. "Alright, Little Bit. Enlighten me; why I should employ you as a maid, and not as a foot stool?"

Willa puffed up and tried to make herself look taller. "I am an expert cleaner!" she announced. "I may be short, but I can clean really fast!" she took a deep breath. "I can clean a room in less than five minutes but my personal best is three."

Reaver laughed loudly, not just at Willa, but at her statement. "Ma petite femme, it takes an hour just to clean my bedroom, and that's if you clean like Barry." His chuckles came to a slow stop. "Alright, Little Bit. I like your spunk, so I'll give you three a shot." The first four stood off to the side as Reaver walked up to Miss Sarah. "Well, well, my delicious little crumpet, it appears you are the last applicant. Am I to assume you've come after the chef's job?" he asked, as he circled Miss Sarah like a hawk.

Miss Sarah swallowed hard (which Reaver, ever the dirty thinker, noticed and smirked at) and presented her dish. "Mr. Reaver, my name is Sarah, and I would be honored if you would hire me and my friends to be your servants." Miss Sarah said, modestly as she bowed. Reaver enjoyed it when people practically begged him for something, be it a job or their lives. "To show you I am qualified, I prepared my specialty."

Miss Sarah placed the casserole dish on a nearby table and reached into her pocket. Taking out a cloth napkin, she unwrapped a shiny clean fork and presented it to Reaver, half bowing to him. After inspecting the fork, Reaver watched as Miss Sarah slowly uncovered the dish. "It's a ravioli recipe that's been in my family for generations. I only make it every so often, as the ingredients are expensive and making the noodles is an all-day endeavor."

Miss Sarah and her companions, waiting in anticipation (and hunger, at the sight of such delicious food), watched in awe as Reaver stuck the fork slowly into the dish and brought one morsel to his lips. He slowly popped the sauce covered morsel in his mouth and chewed slowly.

Within a few bites, Reaver's eyes widened and he gasped. He looked as if he was in a trance. Barry looked worried and waved his hand in front of his boss's face. "Master?" he asked.

Reaver began to quiver. The look in his eyes was one of serene enlightenment. One could almost hear angels singing around Reaver. "It is…" his voice quivered with sheer joy. "…that has to be the most delicious thing I have ever tasted…" he said, as the arpeggio of flavors swirled around his taste buds like a fine wine. He couldn't comprehend the feeling he was feeling. Never had he tasted something so good.

He placed the fork down and Miss Sarah offered him the napkin as he regained composure, which he took and wiped his mouth with. "I know a multitude of recipes, and whatever I don't know, I can learn." stated Miss Sarah, as she bowed again.

Reaver swallowed what was in his mouth and looked at Miss Sarah. "Congratulations, the job is yours." He said happily as he watched her recover the casserole dish.

The group rejoined each other and stood in a straight line. Like a general addressing his soldiers, Reaver paced in from of the group. "Alright, since you are the only applicants to actually show up, the jobs are yours. However, consider the next few weeks a trial period. If you can last a month here, you are either really good at your job, or just damn lucky. Either way, I expect everything in my home to be organized, done in a timely manner, and done to my specifications."

He stopped and turned to Barry. "Show them to the servant's hallway and get them settled in." Reaver instructed, as he walked back toward his office (casserole dish in hand). "You all start first thing in the morning, so get a good night's sleep."

Barry led the group toward the main part of the house. Passing through the dining hall and to the opposite side, Barry opened the door and stopped at another door, opening it. "This is the servant's hallway. Beyond this door are some rooms for you. We usually have more than five servants, so there are plenty of rooms. Just pick the ones you like." He said, pointing among the doors.

"Which one is your room, Mr. Hatch?" asked Miss Sarah, looking around the hallway.

"My room is next to Master Reaver's, in case he needs me." Barry said, matter-of-factly. "In each of the closets, you'll find uniforms. Try not to get them too dirty." He added, as the group dispersed among the doors. Each one found picked a room, except Miss Sarah, who stood beside Barry a little while longer. Barry cleared his throat and turned to her. "I'd offer to help you get settled in, but it seems you have no bags, Miss Sarah."

Blushing bright red, Miss Sarah nodded softly. "Well, we came back from a performance in the city one day and all of our things were gone. We were still in our costumes. I was able to sew some half-way decent looking clothes out of our costumes and bits and pieces of fabric I came across."

"You're quite talented, Miss Sarah." He said, as he followed her to one of the doors. As she opened the door, Barry reached into his pocket and took out a folded up piece of paper. "Before I forget; Master Reaver wanted me to give this to you. It's a schedule. I guess he figured you were the brains behind the operation."

Miss Sarah took it slowly and looked it over. Nodding, she folded it back up and placed it in her pocket. "I will go over it with the others as soon as we get settled in."

Barry nodded and smiled, with a blush. "I'm glad to have some help around here, again. I got a good feeling about you and your friends, Miss Sarah." He said, as he started walking away.

The rooms weren't very impressive. Miss Sarah's room was small, with a bed, a small dresser, a closet, and a cabinet. She assumed (and she would be right) that the other servant's quarters were exactly the same. "Well, what can you do? It is free, after all." Miss Sarah sighed, as she opened the small closet door; hanging inside, was a maid's outfit. She decided to try it on, but stopped when a knock came at her door.

She opened it and saw Barry, again, holding a box. "I forgot to inform you, Miss Sarah; as the cook, your uniform is a bit different than the others." He said, handing her the box. "I had to dig it out of a closet, but it should fit. Most of the maid uniforms are one size fits all. Though, you might need to help your…vertically challenged friend a bit."

He was right, as not even a few seconds after his statement, Willa walked out of her room, looking like a child trying on her mother's clothes. "Miss Sarah…" she whined, as she walked toward them. Barry covered his mouth, trying not to laugh. Miss Sarah giggled softly as Barry left the servant's hallway.

After finding a sewing kit later that night, Miss Sarah sat on her bed, adjusting Willa's maid outfit. Willa, in her undergarments, sat in a nearby chair and watched. "Miss Sarah, do you think I'll ever get taller?" she asked, rocking in the chair.

"Well, your dad was tall from what I remember, so you should be in for a growth spurt eventually." Miss Sarah's concentration was stone-like, and she didn't prick herself once on the needles. "It's really hard to do this without a dummy." She mumbled. Willa and Miss Sarah turned their heads as the door to the bedroom opened, revealing the rest of their group.

"There you two are!" said Beryl, happily. "Rosie and Gordon just did a quick tour of the manor."

Rosie smiled and sat next to Miss Sarah on the bed. "Our rooms are alike, that's reassuring." She commented, dryly.

"What's the rest of the house like?" asked Willa, rocking slowly in the chair as Beryl stood next to her.

"It's a shrine to himself." said Gordon, closing the door. "Red seems to be a reoccurring theme in this house, with gold trim, apparently. Not sure why he put the dining room on the second floor, but they say when you're rich you're eccentric, and when you're poor you're crazy. The door at the far end of the dining room is locked, so it's probably just a closet or something. But what struck out to me is his taste in art. I have never seen so many portraits of one person. And we thought our old ringleader was a self-serving ass…"

"Don't speak so ill of Mr. Reaver." warned Miss Sarah, as she finished the last stitching on the outfit. "He didn't have to give us jobs. He could have turned us away…or worse! He may not be the ideal employer, and he has a very uncouth manner about him, but we should be thankful he gave us jobs instead of…well, I don't think I have to mention it." Miss Sarah gave the uniform to Willa to try on. "Besides, we should be lucky. Most folks can't find steady work, let alone free room and board along with it." Miss Sarah watched Willa fumble about with her uniform. "How does it fit, Willa?"

Slipping the uniform on, Willa smiled and played with it a bit. "It's a little tight around the bust…"

Gordon snickered a bit. "Does it really matter for you, Willa?" he laughed. Willa huffed and took her uniform back off.

"Don't tease Willa." said Miss Sarah, as she put the sewing kit away.

Gordon chuckled and reached into his coat. "She knows I'm only picking at her. Besides, she won't be mad for long once she sees what me and Rosie got." Gordon pulled a bottle of something alcoholic from his coat, smiled wide and placed some glasses on the small dresser. "I think this calls for a celebration!" he announced, opening the bottle.

"Where did you get that? You didn't steal it, did you?" asked Miss Sarah, sternly.

"No, it was in my dresser. Odd, don't you think?" he laughed, as he poured the shiny brown liquid into the glasses. "The cups I did take from the kitchen, though."

Rosie picked up her glass and smiled. "I helped him look. You're in for a treat, Miss Sarah. It's a nice kitchen; very big and clean too, with big ovens and lots of work space! And it looks like it's been stocked recently with all kinds of goodies." She commented, as she raised her glass with everyone else.

"Care to lead the toast, Miss Sarah?" asked Beryl.

"A toast to Reaver, for giving us these jobs." said Miss Sarah, picking up her glass.

"A toast to Mr. Hatch, who told me to look in the dresser." said Gordon, raising his glass.

Everyone took a sip of their drink. With a gasp, Miss Sarah placed her glass down. "Oh my…that certainly is strong." She said, between breaths.

In between laughs and toasts of good fortune, the group felt lucky.

In his office, Reaver just stared a Barry. "Well, the new servants seem to like their new quarters, Sir." Barry said, finally.

Reaver only nodded, pondering something in his head. "Circus performers…" Reaver muttered, as Barry poured some wine into a chalice for his boss. "Circus performers. I needed servants, but instead I get circus rejects. Are you sure you hung up more than one copy of the ad?" he asked, as he reached for his drink. The

Barry nodded softly and picked up the empty casserole dish at the far corner of Reaver's desk. "I posted one on the bulletin board in the market, on the walls of the pub in industrial, and handed a bunch out in the old quarter."

"I must be losing touch with the people." Reaver muttered, as he sipped his drink. "Well, they seem promising enough. If anything, the shadow court would be delighted to have one should they not work out." He chuckled between sips. Barry's right eye twitched softly. "That Miss Sarah seems to be the most promising of all and not just because of that superb dish she made. A curvaceous lady like that…" Reaver semi-growled.

"Tomorrow seems promising…"

N'cha everyone! I'm Luna Peachie and I hope you enjoyed my first Fable fan-fic! Granted, it's not as illustrious as I had hoped, but hopefully as the series goes on, it'll get better. I have faith. You won't start seeing the quirks the servants have until the next story, as I wanted to get introductions out of the way. Now, a few things:

1: I understand I may have made Reaver more passive then he actually is, but it's for the sake of the story.

2: I refuse to write Barry's speech impediment. Use your imagination.

3: Most of the "chapters" will probably be one shot short stories.

4: I am aware most of my characters might take on "Mary Sue" like qualities, but then again, whose don't?

5: My French isn't very good (public high school ha-ha), so I had a little help from a free translation site.

6. The word arpeggio means harmony. I thought it fit with the description of the food and plus it sounds fancy.

7: Reaver and Barry belong to Lionhead yada-yada you know the rest.

8: This sentence is false.