<strong>Sebastian Archambault</strong>Outside the Carriages [Everyone, ???]<br/><br/>Sebastian merely nods to each of the other ladies as they exit the carriages and retire inside. His demeanor changes breaking into a bright smile for Ivy when she appears unfazed by her earlier ordeal. He rolls his eyes after his sister’s theatrics are over. Reminding himself to chide her for being so rude to her poor injured brother later.<br/><br/>Gathering up the two boys can wait till the morning. This day had been one of frights and hysterics and they needed whatever rest the women in the house will grant them. He was eager to be done with the day too.<em>After the work is through</em>, he grins ruefully. The work was never truly done in the life of a servant. At least back at the Montague mansion he could retire to his room behind Master Cauthon’s forge. The soft down bed regretfully so far away now.<br/><br/>He experimentally tries to flex his injured shoulder. Only to intake a breath sharply through clenched teeth, granted another sharp pain for his effort.<em>Gods it will be sore tomorrow</em>, he laments.<br/><br/>Picking his way around the carriages ensuring everything was unloaded by the other servants, Bastian whistled appreciatively.  Avonleigh is a grand sight even in the flickering light of the torches. His trained eyes however notice the faults of tattered roof, chipped plaster and general disrepair of the main house.<em>Lots of work here</em>, he shakes his head sadly at the thought. A craftsman at heart he is distraught that such a fine work of art as the manor was left to crumble from neglect. Climbing carefully up onto the first carriage coachman’s perch, he clicks his tongue and flicks the reins to start the pair of horses into the carriage house at a slow trot. The horse’s hoofs crunching on the gravel road and the jingling of the harness sounding a racket in the still night air. As he passes the overgrown hedges he shivers. It will be a chilly night.<br/><br/>Once inside he locks the brakes on the carriage and unharnesses the horses. The smith rubs each beast down before leading them into the stalls for the night. The smell of old moldy hay tickles the big man’s nose.<em>Yes. Lots of work.</em><br/><br/>