Most of that evening was dull and casual, no business or meetings. After MacClery tidied up the wine downstairs and made himself look presentable in the case of a sudden visit, he sat back in the foyer to do some writing by lamplight. Nothing gravely important, but a great deal of organizing and keeping a log of his past and current work. The Camarilla didn't even require paperwork in most cases, but the Malkavian felt a seemingly supernatural compulsion to date and order. Without the comfort of the record, left upstairs after having reached the end of it's track, his mind started to wander on him, he could almost feel the fleeting thoughts as they passed him by. The warmth of a linen gown draped over a rounded belly, the sudden chill as if he passed by an open window in the late of winter, both jarring in their own right, and he eventually leaned back, logbook neglected in his lap as he rubbed at his eyes<br/><br/>Before dawn broke and the terrors began, MacClery had tidied up the foyer, leaving a clean stack out for the youngest ghoul to take away and burn, bundles of useless and outdated documents. The small form of a woman cowered in the mout of the hallway, as if waiting, having woken up not long ago and ready to preform her duties. Her schedule called for little sleep, Loretta woke up in the morning to hush her domitor into bed repeatedly, which usually only succeeded at noon, before running errands and returning by dusk to watch over the house as he worked away from home. The cycle tended to repeat itself, but this night in particular she was allowed some reprieve, as odd as the small change in schedule was. Was that what seemed to tax her regnant? MacClery soon walked by her on his way to bed, setting a sure, appreciative hand on her shoulder despite the troubled look on his face. As always, she promptly followed.<br/><br/>Out of robe and nightwear, he settled in for the day, hands fidgetting as objects ghosted across his nerves. He found it tolerable enough to stifle them under his pillow, giving them another surface to distract themselves with. Loretta quickly dusted off the record and set it back to play its broken melody of static.<br/><br/>The few times he rose, scaring her out of dozing off as she watched over him from a nearby chair, she scrambled to try and pull him back to the bed, his body stiff and strong in it's subconscious writhing. Loretta felt relieved enough when he did seem to fall back into that otherworldly slumber, as if yanked back into sleep by the devil itself. MacClery's words were always strange, sometimes regarding Loretta with guilt and regret, sometimes scorn, as if she were not herself. Loretta never asked questions, even when the man gripped her arm with enough strength to bruise any man for a week and drunkedly stared at her from his peripheral, calling her "Abigail." A wife? A child? The man died so many years ago that whoever it was had long passed, but their ghosts still seemed to haunt him, and the room down the hall nailed shut without a handle that kept even the sleepwalking monster that was MacClery away from whatever it was hiding.<br/><br/>When Bailey broke in as softly as he could in such haste, she had slumped down over the side of the bed, kneeling on the floor as her domitor managed to still in the later hours. Quickly pulling herself up, she hesitated. The man? From before? Was he allowed back? Andy had seemed so welcoming... Pushing Bailey over to the door and hushing their voices, she whispered "Go get him if you can, should he not stay here like the rest of us?" Leaving the boy to rush out, she flipped the record and scaled down the hall to set the room for company.<br/><br/>Bailey, despite his quiet, passive demeanor, obediently tore out of the house once at the front door, hoping to stop the man before he hit the streets, crowded by those with more or less exciting lives than theirs. Visually pinning the man down by his attire, he grabbed his arm and moved to catch his face, having trouble bringing that voice up enough to register. "Loretta... Loretta said you could come back... If you want? Or you need too." He wasn't sure if it was an offer of hospitality or a necessity, just the slightest out of breath due to their similar gifts. The glimmer in his eyes was odd, he seemed to blink too much or two little, and as if he breached some sort of barrier he quickly pulled his hand to himself and off the ghouled stranger. Their guest from before, his guest, was of higher standing than even himself wasn't he? "Sorry-- I'm Bailey, like you of course. Loretta said you should have stayed." He was hoping he wouldn't have to go back so empty handed, the world seemed like a scary place during day hours, even back at the MacClery house, things had him wary.<br/><br/>Back home, Loretta had set aside the stack at the door for Bailey to pick up, out of the way of the chairs and tables. The place seemed dusted down recently, so luckily if the new ghoul did return it was sightly enough despite the walls and the floors being years ahead of their prime. Like the previous night she set out glasses and a bottle, noticing the one from before had barely been emptied. Loretta opted for a different year, a different flavor, hoping to better suit his tastes. She was not just a slave to MacClery's whims, having lived under his hands long enough to act as a host in his stead, however not as charismatic. The wispy little thing was so adamant that her continued favoritism was due to just how tolerant she was. Many ghouls came and went, eager to bicker with her, to bicker with Bailey, the path to Andy's cold, dead heart was one of convenience and productivity. She only wished that the man was as different as he seemed, even a new ghoul could be sent to different tasks than her own. Perhaps, she felt, that if she were replaced and sent to do busy work like Bailey, it'd drive her mad with sadness in a beat.