An unexpected cold snap hit the next morning. Well, it was Gotham so it was not that uncommon to go to sleep in balmy weather and wake up freezing. The cold required Galina and Carissa to get up early, running to the kitchen to help get the heater going. Ms. Hunt, thrusting a covered iron pot and yesterday's Gotham Gazette at Galina, quickly ordered her to take some coals and get a fire going in Sir's sitting room. So she stalked up the servant's stairs, coming out from a hidden panel behind a painting. Sir's sitting room was papered with a crimson pattern and decorated like the rest of the house, the only glimpse of modernity in it was the massive flat screen television above the fireplace.

Galina quickly shredded a few pages of the newspaper, piling some kindling and logs on it from the basket nearby. In went a coal, and all she had to do was watch it catch. When she looked up though, the door to Sir's bedroom was open a crack. She could see a glimpse of a nose, an eye back in the shadows. She bobbed her head from her spot on the floor. "Sorry Sir, I didn't mean to wake you."

The door shut.

Apparently super villains were moody this early. She put the fire screen back up so the carpet didn't burn and quickly left. So far, working for the Penguin hadn't actually been that bad. Oh, the work was hard but it wasn't awful. She actually enjoyed the cleaning, the house was looking much less gloomy since they'd taken off most of the grime. Leaving the pot in the hall she quickly set out Sir's wardrobe for the day, figuring that getting her work done early might get her a little down time. The pot was taken back, the coals dumped back into the heater, and Mr. Bryant was just leaving with Sir's tea.

Carissa was helping Ms. Hunt dish up some oatmeal, which Galina fell on gladly. Breakfast was usually a quick affair, their assignments would come shortly after when Mr. Bryant returned from helping Sir get ready. The china on the tray clattered as he made his way down the stairs, handing it off to Carissa to get washed. He sat down to his own bowl, grabbing an apple from a tray in the center of the table. Once he was finished he turned to them. "Ms. Kirilovna, the Persian rugs in the library need to have the dust beaten out of them. Ms. Ramos will help."

It would have been simpler to vacuum them, but it had become apparent that this house ran on an older set of rules. So Carissa grabbed a couple of carpet beaters that had been hung on the wall and they quickly made their way up. The library occupied a massive room that took up two stories. Floor to ceiling bookcases, first editions in glass covered displays, and an incongruous desktop computer completed the look. Galina had fallen in love with it at first sight, even if she had spent five hours dusting and polishing those shelves. So they let themselves in, bending to pick up one of the rugs. She straightened up, glimpsing a rather aquiline nose. Carissa almost flinched back, managing to hold it.

Galina dropped her eyes. "Pardon us, these rugs are to be cleaned."

Sir gave a huff, but walked through when they stepped back. The rug, followed by several of its cousins, was hung on a fence outside the manor and vigorously swatted with the braided bronze beaters. Carissa started up a conversation while they swung. "Having him in the same house, it doesn't freak you out?"

Galina paused, "He hasn't really shown any signs of taking us hostage, so I'm just content to go with the flow."

"Well, if he starts going all crazy, I'm gone. I mean, you've seen the news right?"

The news was no fan of Sir. They ridiculed him after every heist, asking how a villain could do so much even though he's so fat. Just your usual slow news day garbage. Galina swung the beater like a tennis star, grunting when it hit. "At least I have a bed here, that futon had that big bar going down the middle."

"Don't get mad at me just because I'm the only one who actually bought a mattress."

Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, now there was a name. His mother, a fan of Dickens, was quite pleased with herself when she had thought it up. The bearer of that name looked toward the case that held a first edition of Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. A gift for his late mother, bought on her birthday a few years ago. He glanced back to the diagram of a falcon in flight, spread out in a book before him.

For some reason, it wouldn't hold his interest. Instead he stalked up the stairs and over to a window, looking out over the rest of his property. The massive curved top of his aviary dominated farther out, placed in its own artfully designed forest. But closer up his eye was drawn to the two maids beating rugs. The blonde one swung with a skill that spoke of some years playing softball, the other going for more of an overhand blow.

Finding new servants had been hard, Bryant had more than informed him of that. Ah, for the days when the Gotham Household Institute was still up and running. Hundreds of maids and footmen, all trained and ready for hire. Now though, nobody wanted to go into service and the staff that he once had had been reduced considerably. Most of them left when the fortune ran out, a few came back when he improved it but then they took a moral stand and left when it was known he was in crime. So now he had Bryant, who had worked for the family that had bought the mansion when it was seized. He was of the older stock, and approved of Oswald's efforts to restore the mansion to its former glory. Ms. Hunt was the former cook at the Iceberg Lounge who had threatened to quit when one of his boys decided to get a little handsy.

He'd presented her with his hands and the offer to come be his private cook.

Travis was actually one of his boys, as good with a car as he was with a Kalashnikov. But the two new maids were something else. According to Bryant, they'd been the only two applicants. And Travis said that they had no idea who they'd be working for until they pulled up to the gate. But the house was cleaner than it had been before he'd left for his brief tenure in Blackgate. His clothes were out each morning, and cleared away at night.

He figured he'd keep them around until something scared them off. It'd be hell to find replacements though, from what Bryant had said they didn't complain a whole lot and actually seemed rather grateful to be out of the little hovel Travis had found them in. He stayed quiet as the door below him opened, both of them managing a rug under each arm. The clean rugs were quickly spread out, but the blonde one paused at the desk he'd been at.

Kirilovna, that was her name.

She seemed entranced by the diagram, which showed the air currents that would swirl around a falcon in flight. Her head cocked to the side, fingers tracing the current lines in the air above the book. As quickly as it had drawn her attention, she stepped back and walked out. The door closed behind her, leaving Oswald Cobblepot to consider his new maids and new schemes.