Alright! Sorry I'm late; it took the whole day (plus yesterday) to get this chapter into a state I was satisfied with, so it wasn't posted as earlier as the past few weeks have been. But! It's here now! I hope you like this one; see you at the bottom of the page!

A sudden noise startled Reginald awake, and he groaned as the previous night's events made themselves known in the aches and soreness ravaging his body. His ankle was still hot with pain, and it would no doubt burst forth the moment he put any sort of weight on it. His chest and face ached as well; he could only imagine the awful bruises blotched across his skin. And that wasn't even considering all the dirt and leaves that were no doubt stuck to his clothes and hair- he must look a right mess!

The noise happened again, and Reginald snapped his head toward the door of the bedroom. Someone was knocking on the door, though they did it in slow, single thumps, as if tossing something at the wood repeatedly from a short distance. They knocked again, and he could see the door shake in its frame from the impact. "Ursäkta mig! Vänligen öppna dörren!"

"...What?" Reginald said after a second. That certainly wasn't the beast talking. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that he recognized the intonation in that deep, quiet voice outside the door, he'd almost think they were speaking nonsense instead of another language. If only there were more language books in the public library, he might have been able to identify it.

"Wrong language, Sven," a bored voice spoke up, and the first voice- Sven, apparently- made a frustrated noise that sounded almost painful.

"...Excuse me," Sven repeated, seeming to be readjusting himself to the English tongue, "please open the door."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Reginald called, gingerly pushing himself up from his position on the bed. It was a miracle he hadn't fallen off in the middle of the night.

"Who are you?" Sven snapped angrily. "Barging into the Master's home in the middle of the night, getting your grubby little hands all over the roses, throwing people across the room like toys-!"

"Easy, Sven," The bored voice said, followed by an unusual set of tinkling music notes, as if someone were playing a song on a tiny instrument. "It's not like he could have known; we don't exactly invite people inside that often."

"All the more reason he should have announced himself, like a true gentleman!"

"Take a deep breath, kid," a new, older man's voice piped up. "No need to insult the guy."

"He started it!"

The voices continued to quibble outside, arguing about things Reginald simply could not comprehend at the moment. Who were these people? Where were they the previous night? Was he not the only one who'd been locked up by that beast? They'd mentioned a master… was that the beast? No, it must have been the wizard! The beast was likely either a magical disguise or a pet-

Realizing only a second too late that gravity held him in its grasp, Reginald fell off the bed and onto the floor with a yelp. Pain exploded in his ankle and he moaned pitifully; it took him a moment to realize the voices outside the door had quieted.

"Are you alright, my good man?" A different voice called, sounding just a touch younger than the other older gentleman. "Carol, do you have any medicines with you?"

"I deal in clothes, not supplies," a woman's voice replied sharply. "I can't just summon any old thing out of thin air."

"It's fine," Reginald groaned, crawling on his hands and knees toward the door; it was the least painful way to move. "I'm fine, just… took a bad fall, that's all."

"Oh, yeah," the oldest gentleman said. "Yeah, I'd heard about that. Fell right on your face; it looked awful."

"Geoffrey!" Sven scolded. "You can't tell a guest they look awful! It's rude!"

"He does, though," Geoffrey replied, "and that was when it was dark out! Probably looks even worse in the daylight."

Reginald finally managed to reach the door and pulled himself to his knees. "Remind me why I should let you all inside, again?" He asked with a grumble.

"Because you're a guest!" Sven snapped. "How are we meant to serve you if we can't get to you?"

"Serve-? What do you mean, 'guest'? I'm being held here against my will!"

"Well, you did break in," the bored voice droned. "All things considered, though, you've got it pretty good. The Master isn't usually so merciful; you're lucky he took pity on you."

Reginald laughed bitterly. "Is that what this all is, then? Pity for the poor, stupid thief who got left to die? Well, tell your master he can keep his pity; you lot should just throw me in the dungeon right now." Reginald lowered his head, throat going tight. "It's all I deserve, anyhow…"

There was no response from the other side of the door for a long moment. Reginald was beginning to wonder if they'd run off to prepare a cell for him when the other older man spoke up, voice kind and gentle. "At least let us tend to your wounds, sir," he said. "It wouldn't do to have you grow ill in that dreadful old place."

Reginald glanced down at himself. He didn't see any open wounds on his person; in fact, aside from the cut on his face from traversing the Dark Forest, he didn't think he had anything that could be tended to at all. A twisted ankle would only heal with time and rest, and he'd get plenty of that while cooped up in the frigid dungeon. Still… the thought of people making sure he was okay, even if they were complete strangers who were only doing this out of obligation, made his heart ache with yearning. If he was going to spend the remainder of his life in a wizard's dungeon, he might as well take this one last indulgence while he could get it.

"...Alright," he said at last. "I'll open it, just give me a moment." He rose to his knees and carefully backed away from the door. He knew it would look rather pitiful to stare up at these curious servants from the ground like a child, but he couldn't bear to force himself to his feet.

…Maybe his ankle was in worse shape than he realized.

Shaking the thought from his head, he turned the lock and slowly pulled the door open, peering out through the crack to see whoever was waiting for him… only to open the door much more quickly in bewilderment. There were no servants out here, of any size or shape. There was instead an odd collection of furniture sitting in the center of the hallway, as if having appeared there overnight. That must have been the case; he couldn't imagine anyone strong enough to place an entire wardrobe down on the floor without waking him. Still, it was such an odd collection of items: a coiled up tape measurer, a small grandfather clock, a little box with no obvious purpose, the aforementioned wardrobe, another one of those short candlesticks with a candle that was far too large set in it-

Movement in the corner of his vision brought his attention to the candle, and he watched as the wax seemed to melt and mold until a small, wrinkled face was squinting back at him. The candle grinned. "Hey there."

Reginald screamed and slammed the door shut.

"Aw, come on," Geoffrey's voice said, "I ain't that ugly, am I?"

Reginald turned the lock again and fell back against the door, covering his face with his hands as he struggled to breathe. "I'm going insane!" He shrieked.

"Yep," said the bored voice. "You're insane, we're insane, everyone's insane. Welcome to the loooOOOoooony bin-"

"Stop that at once, Burt!" Sven shouted. "I'll not have you torment our guest in such a manner!"

"Come stop me, then."

"Wh- oh, why, you-!"

"Boys," Carol snapped. "You're both acting like children."

"Yeah, Sven," Burt replied, "I thought you were the mature one; what happened to you?"

"Shut your mouth at once!"

"Why don't you shut it for me?"

"B-BURT!"

"Ah, young love," Geoffrey sighed. "Never gets old, eh, Thomas?"

"I suppose not," the gentle voice replied uncertainly, "though I do wish they'd be more civil with it."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Reginald was rocking back and forth now, hands clasped over his mouth as he muttered "I'm dreaming, I must be dreaming" to himself over and over again. What on Earth was happening right now? Was this actually a dream, or had the beast killed him and he was now in hell? Was he truly insane, as Burt had claimed? What sort of madness was this, where objects spoke and rambled in the same manner as man? His eyes widened. Those plates and bits of scrap outside the mansion gates… were those like dead bodies? Had he essentially stepped all over a field of corpses-?!

An abrupt bark kicked Reginald out of his thoughts, and he scrambled away from the door as something began to scratch and paw at it, followed by even more cheerful barking. "Gremlin!" Thomas scolded. "Now's not the time for that! Get down, stop that now!"

"Gremlin" didn't stop, continuing to paw at the door and bark cheerfully like a happy hound dog. Reginald blinked, watching the door shake slightly in its frame from Gremlin's ministrations. Now there was a dog in the mix? Or… did the beast have a pup? One that didn't yet know how to speak as its parent did? Just how many beasts were there in this madhouse?!

Gingerly, he leaned against the door again, bracing lightly so that it didn't shake as much. It was difficult to tell, but the pup didn't seem to be much bigger than an average dog. Did it look like one, too, or was it more like a furry toddler? …The smartest thing to do would be to keep himself locked up until he could think of a means of running away, but Reginald seemed to be stuck in a habit of making foolish choices ever since yesterday. Curse him and his curiosity!

During a particularly long and loud bark, Reginald deftly turned the lock again, then began to turn the knob in very tiny increments. He could at least open it enough to peek outside for a brief moment; if he were subtle enough, he might even be able to get a good few seconds to look before someone- something?- noticed. The objects were still arguing in the hall, occasionally telling Gremlin to get down between lines of conversation. Gremlin continued to ignore them all.

Reginald finally managed to turn the knob as far as it would go, and took a slow, deep breath. Dog or beast, the pup likely wouldn't have the strength to force the door open any further than he wanted it to be open. He'd just have to brace the door as he slowly began to open it-

The door had hardly moved a centimeter before it was shoved open, smacking Reginald in the face and knocking him flat on his back. He had no time to even moan in pain as something leapt on top of him and began smacking his head repeatedly with something heavy and made of wood. "Ow, ow, ow!" He grunted as he tried to shove the blasted thing away. Whatever it was, it was relentless… and oddly shaped.

He opened his eyes when he was finally given a break and stared in complete bafflement at what appeared to be a piano bench standing over him, its legs bending and warping smoothly as if it were a real dog; it even shook itself from side to side as if wagging an invisible tail. The bench looked like a very expensive piece, with glossy dark wood and a beautiful emerald green cushion fringed with short lengths of gold. That was all he was able to admire before it went on the offensive again, knocking itself against his face… as if it were trying to lick him. Like a dog.

"Enough, Gremlin!" Sven's voice ordered, followed by a loud cacophony of wood and metal clacking against the floor into the room. Gremlin paused for a moment, and Reginald lifted his head to see the objects approaching them. The grandfather clock teetered from side to side, lifting its left two feet up and forward before doing the same with its right two feet. It was a very elegant clock made of light wood and brassy yellow metal, with a set of elegant metal decals that formed handles on the sides, giving it a similar look to a person with their hands on their hips. "That's no way to treat a guest!" Sven's voice sounded from the clock, despite not having an obvious mouth, and the metal decals made shooing motions at the piano bench as it toddled. Gremlin responded by bonking her "head" against Sven, knocking him flat on his back with a shriek.

"Worry not, Sven, I'll get you up," Thomas' voice followed after the tape measure, which moved like an inchworm towards the clock. It had two little metal circles sticking up on one end, almost like eyes, and once it was close enough, it used its back end to carefully pull Sven to his feet. Gremlin whined curiously, and Thomas lifted himself high enough to stroke the emerald green cushion, like how one would pet a dog. Gremlin's legs folded, also like a dog, and Thomas drew himself on top of her to pet her more easily. "Easy now, my dear," he said. "We mustn't get too excited, or we'll tire ourselves out before lunchtime. It'd be a shame to nap when there's so much happening, hm?" Gremlin barked softly.

The little box bounced along the floor from one foot to the next, making tuneless sounds with each hop. It was a music box, Reginald realized after a moment, and once it reached Sven, its lid flipped open and played a little song. "You okay, Sven?" Burt's voice asked. Sven's metal decals crossed in front of him in a huff, not responding for a moment. Burt gently nudged him and closed his lid, and Sven let out a weary sigh.

The wardrobe, tall and made of a dark wood that somehow bordered between black and green, moved in a similar manner to Sven, though it was so large that each "step" it took resulted in a series of loud thumps. It inched around Reginald carefully, since he was still practically lying in the dead center of the doorway; thankfully the room was large enough to accommodate. "Such a mess," Carol's voice tutted. Then her doors opened, a number of clothes on hangers swishing back and forth inside her, as if hunting for something in particular. "I should have asked Katie and the other feather dusters to come along; why should I have to turn these perfectly good clothes into dust rags?"

"Relax, Carol," Geoffrey's voice called. "I can fetch 'em real quick, just give me a few minutes. Oh, but first things first…" The candlestick hopped over and gave Reginald a stern look. Reginald flinched at its approach, though he couldn't help but be reminded of when he was a boy, playing with his mother's old dollhouse and moving the toys around in a similar fashion. "I don't rightly appreciate getting thrown around like last night. You'd better not do that again, got me?"

Wait, so those candlesticks he'd seen last night… were they all the same one? That would explain the way it seemed to appear and disappear last night. Oh, dear; he'd essentially gone and tossed an old man at his master like a mindless weapon, hadn't he? "I'm- so, sorry," Reginald managed, struggling to remember his manners in the midst of this insanity he was now privy to.

Geoffry leaned to the side for a brief second, and Reginald wondered if that was meant to be a shrug. "Eh, don't worry too much about it; it'll take a lot more than getting tossed across a room to kick my bucket. 'Sides, you were just trying to save your buddy; can't fault you for that."

Reginald cringed as the memory of Terrence running into the Dark Forest, candlestick in hand, came back to him in a flash. The way he'd looked back with a grin, as if merely inconveniencing Reginald instead of leaving him to die, filled him with a brief moment of anger that quickly gave way to an overwhelming grief. If Geoffrey noticed this shift in Reginald, he didn't show it, instead hopping back out of the room and down the hall, likely in search of those feather dusters.

Gremlin came back and nudged his face again, more gently this time, and Reginald sighed tiredly. Thomas peered down at him, twisting his "face" to the side in a surprisingly human manner. "Now now, sir; there's no sense in fretting over what's already been done. That was a very brave and kind thing you did last night. We all think so."

Reginald slowly lay back down on the ground, staring through the ceiling grimly. "For what little good it does me, I suppose…" Sven teetered into his line of vision, staring down at him for a moment before grabbing his face with his metal decals. "Ow, hey!" Reginald hissed as his bruised cheek was prodded relentlessly.

"It's unseemly for a gentleman to wallow in misery," Sven scolded, the hands on his clock face shifting to look a bit like angry eyebrows. "A true gentleman makes the most of his situation and strides forward with his head held high! Speaking of which…" Sven tilted Reginald's face to the left and right, up and down; feeling awkward, Reginald did his best to avoid eye contact. Er, eye to clock face contact? "Undernourished, but an otherwise good facial structure… your hair could use a trim, your mustache a proper styling, and a good washing all around… and of course, we'll get you something better than those rags…"

"R-rags?!" Reginald squeaked indignantly. "I wear only the finest clothes I can afford!"

"Then I'd hate to see what the rest of your wardrobe looks like." Sven let go of his face and turned to the others, clapping his metal decals together. "Burt, search through the bathroom cabinets and put a healing balm or two in the water. Thomas, measure the gentleman's clothes while he bathes, then help Carol find some appropriate attire for breakfast." He turned back to Reginald. "I presume you at least know how to bathe yourself?"

"Wha- of course I do, I-!"

"I'll be the judge of that. Hurry up, now!"

With much goading and nagging from Sven, Reginald managed to get to his feet and limped towards the bathroom. When he opened the door, he was stunned to see that the room was brightly lit with many candles, and the tub was full and hot. "W-wait," he said, hesitating outside the room. "The tub isn't alive, is it? Or the candles? I'd rather not be watched while I bathe-"

"Nothing in that bathroom is alive," Carol stated as she began to shuffle through her clothes with more interest. "Anyone who is alive will make it quite clear to you, so stop your fussing."

"In," Sven commanded, bumping into Reginald from behind to make him stumble into the bathroom.

"I'm going, I'm going!"

LINE BREAK

"Are you sure your master won't mind?" Reginald asked hesitantly, standing on his toes in an attempt to see as far down the hallway as he could.

"There's no need to worry, sir," Thomas said, gesturing for him to keep going. "The Master may look rather beastly, but he's a kind soul, at heart. If he didn't want us to serve you breakfast, then he would have made that clear."

"Well, if you're sure… I don't wish to impose…"

Sven huffed. "You're a bit late for that. Now don't dawdle; your food will get cold."

"Yes, yes…" Reginald continued following the objects back towards the grand staircase, fidgeting with his new clothes as he went. He had to admit, they were of very good quality: a well-fitting set of slacks, neat shoes, and a bright white shirt with a matching cravat. He'd insisted on keeping his gloves, of course; the ones he'd been offered were lovely, but he was far more comfortable with this set, even if the black leather stood out amidst the finer threads he wore now.

They reached the stairs, then moved in the opposite direction of the dungeon, quickly ending up in a dining room with a long, thin table in the very center. There were only two chairs, one on each end, and a number of plates had been placed in front of each chair. Reginald was led to the chair furthest from the entrance. He took a moment to admire the food; it'd been a long time since he'd eaten more than a hot bread roll for breakfast, but a steaming bowl of porridge, a cup of tea, and a small plate of fruit had been set out for him.

"It looks wonderful," he exclaimed as he sat down. "How on Earth do you have fresh fruit all the way out here? Fruit vendors hardly ever approach Lil' Town…"

Burt bumped into his chair, scooting it closer to the table bit by bit. "Eh, it's just an old spell that was cast a long time ago. Restocks our food and supplies every day at midnight; pretty handy."

"It's the only 'handy' thing that old coot ever did for himself," Carol muttered, the handles on her doors crossing as if she were folding her arms.

"Spell…?" Reginald repeated faintly. "So there is a wizard here, after all?"

Carol snorted. "Not anymore, there isn't."

"Good riddance," Geoffrey huffed before bouncing onto the table next to the food. "We haven't seen that miser in years; good riddance, I say."

"Really? Why, what happened to-"

The hands on Sven's face began ticking loudly. "There's no need to waste time with unimportant questions! If the food looks as good as you claim, then show some respect and start eating it at once!"

"Right, yes, sorry," Reginald muttered, reaching for the spoon and scooping the first bite into his mouth carefully. He hummed in delight; despite the steam rising from the surface, the porridge was just the right temperature, warm and filling with a surprising hint of cinnamon mixed in. It was then that he realized how hungry he was; as filling as the previous night's feast had been, running for his life in the middle of the night had emptied him completely. He took in another spoonful, thinking back on the terror of seeing his friends be swept away in the arms of the beast, followed quickly by the despair of those same friends leaving him in the dust…

Maybe he wasn't actually all that hungry. Still, it would be impolite to turn down a meal after two bites; he should at least finish the porridge-

His head shot up as the sound of galloping thumps grew louder and louder, signalling the swift arrival of the beast; it sounded angry and aggressive, ready to tear into him! The beast burst into the dining room and promptly dove for the food on the opposite end of the table, wolfing down the porridge and fruit in a series of messy bites and sloppy slobbering. Reginald nearly fell out of his chair in fright.

"Master!" Sven cried out, marching himself down the table towards the beast, uncaring of the fact that it could easily smash him to pieces with one hand. "Where on Earth are your manners? You can't eat that way in front of a guest!"

The beast paused to give Sven a disgruntled look. "What guest?"

Sven spluttered for a bit before pointing emphatically at Reginald. "That guest! The one you brought inside last night, remember?"

The beast turned to look where Sven was pointing, its human-like eyes widening as soon as Reginald came into sight. The beast leapt away from the table, its fur raising and making it look bigger. For a brief moment, Reginald was reminded of a startled cat, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to hide the incredulous smile that image brought to his face.

Sven only grew more irritated at the beast's reaction. "How in the world could you have forgotten about your guest? That's extremely impolite! And look at you, hardly dressed for the occasion- you're not even wearing a shirt! Have you no sense of decency?"

Reginald watched the scene before him in bewilderment. Seeing such a tiny little clock scold a giant beast like a teacher slapping the wrist of a misbehaving child… Well, it was funny, to put it simply. His shoulders started to shake with the effort to keep his amusement to himself, but unfortunately, the beast had caught on quickly.

"The hell're you laughing at?!" The beast barked. Whether it was in anger or embarrassment, the sound still sent a bolt of fear through Reginald's body.

"Precisely!" Sven exclaimed, stalking towards Reginald and wagging one of his metal decals like how one would wag their finger. "How dare you laugh at the master of the house? The Master has granted you a great boon, and this is the thanks he gets? Do not think for a moment that you're without fault or flaws! First of all, you didn't even think to use your napkin to keep food off the clothes that Caroll so graciously picked out for you; second of all…"

Sven continued to berate him for a number of things, jabbing his metal decal at him accusingly as he went. Reginald had to admit, the scolding was a lot less funny when he was the one being scolded. He squirmed in his seat and avoided eye contact with Sven, which led to him glancing towards the beast… only to see it covering its mouth and holding back snickers of its own. Honestly, he probably deserved it, but Reginald still couldn't help but frown at him. Sven saw where he was looking.

"Don't you start!" Sven exclaimed, beginning the long march to the other side of the table… only to stop and think for a few seconds. Then he gestured at the beast. "Come over here; I don't wish to prattle back and forth all morning!" The beast sheepishly crawled over to sit next to Reginald, who tried to suppress his instinct to run away at its approach. "Much better," Sven said, leaning back and forth as if nodding emphatically. "Now where was I?"

"I think it was the Master's turn to get scolded," Burt said, not seeming to be too surprised by Sven's bossiness.

"Thank you, Burt. As I was saying…"

Reginald snuck a glance towards the beast as Sven alternated between who he was scolding and for what. The beast glanced back at him after a moment. "Are you sure he's not the master of the house?" he whispered.

"I ask myself that now and then, too," the beast whispered back. Reginald glanced at his poor bowl of porridge, no longer steaming in the gray daylight coming in through the window. So much for breakfast, then.

...I can't help but feel like I could have ended the chapter after the bath scene, but I also wanted to get the breakfast scene over and done with as well. Hopefully the next chapter will be easier for me to write.

Introducing the servants! Some of them, anyway. Those of you who read chapter two of my CopperRight Week 2023 probably remember Sven, Burt, Geoffrey, Thomas, and Carol quite well. I added a new face too: Gremlin the piano bench! Technically, there's also Cool Katie the feather duster, but unfortunately she's not going to get much of a role. Sorry, Cool Katie fans.

Sven probably seems a little bossier and willing to put his master in his place than most people would depict him, but there's a good reason for that, which I'll get to in a later chapter. Everyone's got problems in this estate; be prepared for ~TRAUMA~!

I'm not sure how the Beast legitimately forgot that Reginald was in his house; my best guess is that Sven lectured him well into the night and he was so tired that he forgot what happened the previous day. The decision to let Reginald be a guest instead of a prisoner was kind of impromptu, after all. Did he spare Reginald out of pity, or is there more to it than that? Who knows? Not me, haha.

Some of you might be wondering why I made certain characters into certain objects. Gremlin's fairly obvious, since she's a call back to the little footstool dog in the Disney movie, but what about the others? Well, Sven is a clock due to his insistence on keeping to protocol. Burt is a music box because that was the closest thing I could think of that had to do with sound (since he's a communication liaison and deals with audio stuff a lot). Geoffrey's a candlestick- specifically one with a very large candle in a very short candlestick- as a reference to his unusually large head in game. Thomas is a tape measurer because his bio in his first appearance mentions how his double monocles are for double the class, so a classy gentleman like him would likely be very on top of keeping his clothes perfectly measured and fitted. Carol is a wardrobe mostly because I felt like I needed a wardrobe character, but she's also very strong and fairly classy (at least I imagine her to be so, anyway), so she gets to have a big, intimidating presence that a walking wardrobe would have. Cool Katie is a feather duster primarily because I needed a a name drop to prove that the main servants in this fic aren't the only servants around.

Alright, I think that's enough for now. See you next Monday for more of this nonsense! Until then!