She completes her washing duty.

Fi lets out a sigh of relief as the last article of clothing in her pile is cleaned. She wipes her forehead, and herself up to begin washing and then drying her hands. It's still incredibly early in the morning as well. The sun is just beginning to rise--light cracking through the windows across from her. There's still much to be done, however. Work is never finished for one meant to take care of a mansion filled with nobles. Though at least she's given a safe, comfortable place to live as well as food, and that's on top of her pay.

The door opens, and in steps a rotund gentleman with a thin pencil moustache and short black hair. She recognizes him immediately as her lord and the patron of the house, Oliver Brimsley.

"Pardon me," he says. "But I require a message sent to each of my children."

He withdraws a thin rolled-up bundle of papers, and then a second one. He approaches a nearby woman, and he hands it out towards her.

"Deliver this to my daughters' rooms," he instructs.

"Yes, m'lord," she replies with a bow.

Next, he turns to Fi. He walks right up to her and holds the second roll out for her to grab. "And you, to my sons."

"Y-Yes. Of course," Fi fumbles her words, but she takes the paper in both her hands. "Right away, m'lord."

"Wonderful. Carry on then," the lord says before turning around and promptly departing once more.

She gazes down at the papers. The curious cat can't help but take a peek at what the messages might be. Though as she does, the other woman grabs her gently by the arm and gives her a tug towards the door.

"We shouldn't keep them waiting. Surely they're all just waking up, so if we deliver the messages now, they might receive them right away," speaks the woman.

"Right. That makes sense," Fi replies.

The two of them hurry out through the door as well. Right away, however, they split from one another. The rooms belonging to the sons reside in a different part of the mansion. Though she is new, she's mostly figured her way around. If there's anything she's good at, it's directions, which is a great relief considering the size of the Brimsley estate.

This should be no problem for me. I remember exactly where their bedrooms are. Not that I specifically tried to remember that of course. I would never do that.

She makes her way down the halls.

Finally, she reaches the first door in question. Fi takes a deep breath, raises up her empty hand, and then drums her knuckles against the wood. She can't help but still feel nervous. The Brimsley family is politically powerful, and all the nobles seem to ooze confidence--something she struggles to do.

"Come in," a man's voice responds. It's deep and nearly monotone.