The baron stepped around the mess of metal to the front door (which Luc was already holding open, of course). "I'm sure we have something for it. Let's take it inside before we all catch our death out here, hm?"


***

It was a peaceful enough night. The strange little creature seemed to come and go at will, slipping off whenever it lost interest in the party sitting around the fire in the main hall.

Dureau sat in his favorite, dramatic-looking, velvety, high-backed chair, as always. Rather than a teacup and saucer, he held a mug; the order of the night was cocoa, apparently. Extra marshmallows were set out for the chao to enjoy, along with a small potpourri of other things that clearly illustrated no one in the house knew what on earth to feed a chao. (See: Grapes, nuts, salted crackers...)

"I've never seen a chao like that before, but..." he said, trailing off with a long sip. He paused abruptly and mentally shifted gears. "Wait. If it is—well, even if it isn't—what was it doing inside that engine? I sincerely doubt it was... piloting it..."

That hesitation came from when the odd little ghosty-glob came and hovered right up in Dureau's face, making him look at it crosseyed.

"Power," echoed Dureau lowly over his steaming mug, brows furrowed. It was unclear to him how the little chao could have been used to power a machine like that.

Luc suddenly came plodding back in, adjusting his spectacles, and looking stately (but short) as always in his little crimson coat. "M'lord," he greeted more fancifully than usual, "please don't spoil your dinner with that cocoa."

"It's only a little cocoa," he contested playfully.

"Correction," said Luc, index finger erect, "it is a mug of marshmallows with a little cocoa in it. I know how you drink your cocoa, sir."

"... aren't that many..."

"We'll be serving dinner shortly," said the groundhog, turning to the others with a polite bow. "We're slightly shorthanded tonight, so it may be a moment yet."

Dureau slurped back a mouthful of marshmallows in an entirely dignified and silent statement of I'm-lord-of-the-house-and-I'll-have-marshmallows-if-I-want. After a somewhat labored swallow, he set his mug down.

"Ahem, right. Good. Now, as for Ms. Clarke and myself, we were hoping to have a little talk..."

"Yes, of course," Luc interrupted speedily, "I wouldn't forget about your date, heavens!"

The baron promptly hid his face by taking another deep drink from his mug. It was actually mostly empty.

"I have a lovely table prepared for you up in the keep's study," added the butler.

"Very good, Luc," he murmured sheepishly into his cup without lowering it from his face. Luc departed.

"Yes, yes, let's just go eat," said Dureau mercifully quickly as he set his cup aside, stood briskly, flicked his cape out crisply, and gestured with an extended hand.

He addressed Tank with a quick "Thank you, Señor—enjoy dinner," then set out, presumably along with the sheriff, vacating the main hall.


***

It was a reasonable walk to where they were going. The old home was large, and the "keep" was actually a separate structure within the castle's curtain-walls. If only briefly, they still had to take a quick, frigid jaunt outside, though the cobblestone walkway was thankfully covered by a canopy, ice-free, and well-lit.

The keep was the most castle-y looking part of the place, put simply. All stone, squarish, fortified, and tall, it looked older and much more rugged than the main portion of the home. Oil lamps and even some torches gave the inside a warm glow, but humidity hung thick in the cold air, and the stone steps leading up through its interior glistened with water.

"Mind your step," advised the baron as they went up."The corridors and stairs are always dank in this old place. Stone, you know."

The top floor was much different, though. It was nearly grandma's-house warm, and looked... comfortably lived-in. Large, ornate rugs covered the floors, and some nice tapestries were hung for decoration and insulation. A fireplace crackled and flickered, giving the room a cozy glow, and adding to the light of a lamp or two. Two of the walls were loaded with bookshelves; the ceilings weren't extremely high, so the shelves easily went all the way to the top. Some more ornate shelves held some interesting relics and trinkets, a few swords hung from the walls, and a very large portrait of a well-dressed family of four ermines—a man, a woman, and two boys—was mounted in a very obvious place on the wall, between two windows. Not much to see out the windows except frost build-up and one's own reflection; the night was inky-black, and it was brighter inside than out. Aside from that, there was a large sofa, a desk with a reading light, and, of course, their table with two chairs, pulled into the center of the room. Obviously, there was no TV or anything remotely entertaining in a modern sense, but plenty of knick-knacks to peruse. (There was a phonograph, though! It was something.)

"So. This is my... 'leave-the-baron-right-alone' room, you could say," he explained with a broad gesture. "Take your coat?" he offered.

She giggled at the charming ermine as he put something on the phonograph. "Unfortunately, My reputation is terribly misleadin'." She replied humbly as she shrugged the coat off.

"And I ain't solved this mystery, yet." she amended though still smiling. She didn't feel quiet so awkward with the spectators gone. Dating wasn't entirely alien to Jack, it'd just been a long time, and the rusty sheriff didn't need an audience.