Quentin's two guests of the evening were long standing business partners attending a small, private dinner party. It was a convenient way to ease the girl into her roles in his social schedule; they'd enjoyed his slaves before, and besides the two were solid enough in their dealings that it was unlikely the evening would do much to change their station. Such meals were simply expected of a man in his position... It served as a convenient replacement for business meetings, and a way to keep in touch with one another. Of course, Zoey wouldn't know that, and even if she had then it wouldn't mean he was going to ease up if she failed in her yet-to-be-explained duties.<br/><br/>The outfit laid out for her was some indication as to what she might be doing; as though she hadn't already had a pretty good clue. Both items were black, and both looked atrociously small. The first was a little bit of a fabric short of being a pair of panties, in that they were slung low and the waist band was treacherously narrow. They at least would serve to cover both her entrances, but not much else. The top was slightly larger, in that it hung from her chest down to her midriff. Even so the straps the chest line was a rather swooping V that served to expose most of her cleavage, and everything about it was just a little too tight. Even before she'd wriggled into it she could picture her bra-less nipples poking through the fabric.<br/><br/>No sooner had she started dressing than a maid - female, and mostly uninterested in her - passed along. "The Lord's heading into the dining hall, best you make haste." She smiled with something approaching warmth, and even managed to state the directions; "Take the stairs down, it's the last door on your right, alright?" It better be alright; the maid was setting to her duties before Zoey had much of a chance to answer. It occured to her that now even the maids outranked her... But at least this one didn't seem to take any interest.<br/><br/>The dining hall was one of the larger rooms in the house. Upon entering there were a pair of cabinets, glass fronted and containing various clockwork miscellania with sentimental or literal value; displays pieces almost all made by, or for, Quentin or his late father. Between the two hung a large portrait of said father, and a pair of smaller ones showing both Quentin and Quentin's (also-late) mother. He really needed to fix that... But it was certainly an imposing, gaunt face that watched the centrepiece of the room. A large, broad table of polished oak that could comfortably seat twenty, and as such seemed enormous - and very bare - when laid for three. Beyond that there was a fine, intricate clock on the wall - all cogs and open mechanisms, as was the style - as well as a window opening onto a view of one of the rather more impressive city streets. There were a pair of butlers, too, who looked enough like part of the furnishing to fit in.<br/><br/>Quentin was already standing behind his chair at the head of the table, his guests both milling to one side while the whole trio chatted and laughed, each clutching a tumbler of brandy between their fingers. One of the men Zoey didn't recognize - a slightly older man, with almost no fat on him and a few wrinkles ruining his otherwise drawn, too-tight skin that made sure the skeleton beneath was just a little too prominent. And then, as though to be his double act, was Lord Stayan; a fellow Zoey vaguely recognized. He was both younger - more in keeping with her Master - and porkier, with a definite gut to him and slightly piggy eyes and face. Neither were very handsome, though she doubted that was going to matter. All three wore what might as well have been matching black-and-white dinner jackets, sporting almost identical pocket-watches. The unknown fellow wore a low slung pair of half rim spectacles, too, though he didn't much use them.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>