Effie knocked gently on the master of the house's door with the back of her hand. In the other, she held a beautifully crafted pewter cup full of warmed human blood - the master's customary breakfast. The rest of the staff avoided Valentine this early in the evening, since he was often grumpy upon waking, but Effie had known him too long to be afraid. She considered him not only her keeper, but her friend. She still referred to him with a reverence and politeness which suggested servitude, but it was only because she was a Laer, and that was what she was made for. It was how she was built, the purpose for which she was carved out of the same stones used in the foundations of the house itself. The fact that Valentine understood this, and never mistook her deference for unfamiliarity or a rejection of his friendship, was part of what endeared him to her and forged a strong bond of platonic affection. She heard his sleepy voice from inside and smiled. Despite his age, which was almost as startling as her own, he still struck her as youthful at times, and this was certainly one of them.<br/><br/>"It's Euphemia, with your breakfast, sir," she called in her sweet, unobtrusive voice. She nudged the door open gently and stepped inside. Her hair was pinned back and her uniform was neatly arranged, recovered from her accidental stone sleep in the parlor, which had rendered her slightly rumpled. She closed the door behind her and bowed before crossing the room and bringing him the warmed blood, the mail, and the day's newspaper. Since she didn't have ordinary human eyes, she was unbothered by the opaque darkness inside Valentine's personal rooms. She needed very little light to see, and even if she had needed more, she knew his rooms well enough by now to navigate them without seeing.<br/><br/>"Here you are, Master Valentine. Can I get you anything else?"<br/><br/>Meanwhile, Remiel got dressed upstairs, in his own dark rooms. He put on a dark plum colored tie-front shirt, black trousers and braces, and a pair of high-polish black boots he could see his face in. He braided his thick, unruly hair back from his face, and rubbed a bit of cocoa butter into his horns to make them shine. With teardrops of amethyst dripping from each ear, he made his way back downstairs and into the kitchen, looking for caffeine and sustenance, which he trusted Euphemia and their capable head of staff, Calcifer, to attend to as skillfully as they always did. He sauntered, serpentine, into the kitchen, his bootheels clicking on the tiles, and leaned in the doorway looking perfectly suited to the role of debauched, entitled princeling.<br/><br/>"Calcif<i>eeeeerr</i>," he whined when he didn't see the dragon present at first glance, "what's for breakfast?"