Jasmine, roses, perfume - those were another options, and usually warned of one of two possible greetings to the morning sun.  A smug grin would compromise the first, while the second... the second would hearken to the throes of bitter regret. One simple act could wreak so much havoc on the heart, after all - and though preferable to bitter isolation the results were almost always disastrous.  Especially in a situation such as this.

So why did the bed smell like leather?  No, wait... why did the bed feel like leather?

Damn.  Damndamndamndamndamn.

A dull, throbbing pain was making idle threats about bursting open her skull.  The light... the light was not good.  Not good at all.  Blinking away the last dregs of a sleep which pain had rather rudely awakened her from had most definitely been a mistake.  Peach though.. peach was good.  Peach was nice and comfy and not some goddamn ray of sunshine that she just knew would make the bloody hangover even worse.  What the hell had she been thinking, going on a bender after what had happened that last time?

Silently hoping that this really was her house and she hadn't spent the night on some drunken rampage, Madeleine made an effort not to think about the last nights events.  Unfortunately, her body did not seem intent on compliance.  A hangover tends to be one hell of a reminder.

The enveloping aroma of coffee saturating the air of ... whatever place she was currently occupying soon drowned out the leather.  Whoever lived here - hopefully non-psychotic - must really be addicted to the stuff.  Anabelle would like coffee, wouldn't she?  Of course she would - it was some kind of prerequisite for government employment.  Yup, that was it.  She would just lie here and be warm and not think about the goddamn hangover and hope to bloody hell that this was Anabelle's house.

Of course, wallowing in one's own self-pity can be overdone. She'd have to get the hell out of there at some point.. and now was as good a time as any.  Now to supress her gag reflex, pull into a sitting position that her aching head seemed to disagree with, and commence with the inevitable opening of eyes...

"Where the hell am I..." parched vocal cords struggled to mutter in the disgruntled fashion.  And the surroundings would be...

"Good morning, sunshine," two hazel irises fixed on her own.

Bloody hell.

"JESS!?!  What the fu.."

"Now is that any way to greet the one bringing you coffee?" he said jovially, handing her a sun dappled cup of fluid that threatened to drive her innards to violent revolt. Bloody, bloody, goddamn...

And he was smiling.  A freakish, cheerful smile that belied darkened eyes and the warm, overused ceramic container in his other hand.  Jess did not smile like that.  And why the hell was she in his house!?!  He couldn't have...

"Oh, SHIT," Madeleine cupped her head in her hands, half sobbing as she set her coffee aside.

At least she now knew when she was as well.  This could have no other name than the morning from hell.

"Croissant?"

Complete with devil, of course.

Jess Stanton was by no means a morning person.  He saw far too little of the slumber that should be it's predecessor for that to be the case.  This morning though - this morning was an exception.  Not because his favorite brew was once more bubbling in his coffeepot after a distressing shortage, or the fluffy clouds which lazily drifted past a sunlit window.  Nor did the lock newly soldered onto a little red volume - only morons do not learn from their mistakes - give him sufficient sense of security to be somewhat happy.  Even his newest and decidedly fortunate acquisition on the form of information was not really all that much of a buoyant factor considering his very, very long evening.

The look on her face that his own mood prompted - now that was priceless.  Served her right -  moronic slacker.

"I... don't think so," she squirmed, obviously vainly attempting not to ask him how she'd ended up in his living room.  As much as the chamberlain hated to admit it, this was... amusing.

" Are you sure?  You must be hungry, " he paused for dramatic effect, used to doing this sort of thing although adapting it to a different context.  "After last night, that is."

"Bloody hell, " she whispered, slurping back much needed coffee with a grimace.  "So what do you want?"

"Hmmm?" a nondescript mutter, designed to be interpreted as the intended target's psyche might will.  There was no sense in not mining for a bit more information - although the current subdued glee that was running through his head was certainly fueled by enough.  A good thing, that.  Usually after a night like the last he might be tempted into such idiotic tactics as staying home for the morning.  Foolishness, of course - he'd stayed awake in the throes of hard work for far longer.

"You know something.  Or have something planned. I might not be able to remember exactly what I did last night, but how bloody stupid do you think I am?" her voice was raising itself, not quite succeeding in working up a good pique.  Moron - did she not realize yet that her little tantrums were a useless waste of time when it came to him?

"You don't want me to answer that."

"Now listen here; you're going to goddamn tell me what the frigging hell you..." Rousseau began to rise from the couch.  Considering her experience with hangovers, he'd thought that she would know better.  Indeed, she was wincing and sliding back down almost immediately.  Hmph.  Stupid woman.  Jess wouldn't have done such a thing - but then Jess wouldn't be moronic enough to get drunk in the first place.  Religion... hah!  Alcohol was just as much the opiate for the masses, and he would never sink to the level of that plebeian scum.

" Now would Anabelle appreciate that sort of language?" the chamberlain smirked, munching on his regular croissant while leaning against an inhumanly clean kitchen counter.

Meeanwhile, the color was slowly draining form his assistant's face - now would be time for the coup d'etat.  If anyone could pull this off with the properly motivating flair then it was Jess.  It was a specialty of his, motivation - and so was it's partner revenge.

"You'll be at work in half an hour."

Eyes narrowed, "You rat-bastard.  What are you planning...?"

Pulling on his jacket, Jess ventured another smug look.  It was oddly cathartic, not having to hide his own self-satisfaction.  An option deserved for quite the long time, come to think of it.

"Whatever I want to.  You will be at work in half an hour, and then you are going to do me a favor."

"Goddamn it, just bloody TELL ME..."

"Oh, and couch is coming out of your paycheck."

Slamming the door on her words, Jess headed down the road with a newfound sense of victory.  Self-indulgent, vexing her to no real end... and ultimately frivolous.  he would have to call of this little charade once she got to work. But it was, Jess bothered to justify, good practice. Well, practice or revenge.  Only a fool would fail to put an insubordinate employee in her place and thus give away his won hard-won power.

Not that he was just doing this out of some sense of sadistic glee.  He never did things for fun.  This was a useful machination, and if certain errant sections of his mind might doubt that then he wasn't to be held accountable.

This was bad.  This was very, very bad.  Why the hell couldn't he just TELL her what he wanted her to do instead of dancing around the issue just to piss her off.  Sadistic bastard...

Nope.  No use thinking about that, or the omnipresent headache.  Maddy had to get to work or suffer whatever twisted consequences he might deem to inflict on her.  Where the hell did he get off holding something like this over her?  As it it hadn't caused enough problems already...

Some days, she really wished that she was normal.  This was almost immediately followed by a violent condemnation on the world for being so bloody screwed-up.

Well, first thing was first.  Getting the nauseating stench of croissant as far away from her nostrils as possible, to be precise. An open window serving this purpose quite nicely, Maddy was about to set out on her way when ... she happened to look down.

Dammit!

Somehow sensing that this morning might be made even more hideously maddening, fortune had managed to stain her tweed skirt with vomit.  Eeeew.  No wonder Jess had made so much of that sickening coffee and opened all of the windows.  Never mind that, though... it wasn't like she cared what the rat-bastard went through.  Hmph.  To think that if he wasn't about to start blackmailing her she might have had to have been grateful.  Might being the operative word.

Visions of a cadre of awful ochre pants dancing through her head, Maddy proceeded into what she assumed was the man's room. So goddamn Jesse thought that he could fabricate an excuse to publicly chastise her!?  She was far, far too clever for that.

The man underestimated her abilities.  Again.  Rat-bastard.  She'd find something to wear punctually to work - and show Jesse-boy up in the process - even if it killed her.

Sorting through a stack of new, shiny, and altogether pristine sheath of writing paper was all very well and good.  Arriving at work early was, of course, a given, and things were quiet enough for him to get down to a highly important bit of business.

That was when it hit him.  A new and highly interesting - if not particularly relevant, twist that must be added to the already divine Plan.  And he didn't have to act out one bit of it.  Now if he just.... no.  He didn't need to do that.  Not really.  Despite the incomprehensible stupidity of his people, they didn't deserve that.  Was it their fault that they were raised to be worthless sheep?

No.  But if they weren't utterly complete morons they would have figured a way out of it.  Still, Jess supposed that it would be the graceful thing to do, considering that the majority of them were more than likely to end up dead in this little debacle.

Once more attuning his perfectly sharpened quill, the chamberlain pointedly ignored what were in essence useless mental ramblings.  It was time to stop being so useless himself.

This entire situation could be considered cruel and unusual punishment.  There should be laws against this sort of thing, dammit.

Did the man own no normal clothes?  What was wrong with him?  Between that horrendous yellow and some particularly mismatched ties she might have sworn that he grew up in a circus or something.  Who wore emerald green with ochre?  And what the frigging hell was she doing attempting to wear emerald green and ochre?  And what thrice-damned shitload of bad karma had landed her here with a goddamn headache and five minutes to get to work and the unmistakable urge to empty her guts onto an expensive rug that she would probably have to pay for with the money given to her by the biggest frigging rat-bastard of them all?

Frustrated, Maddy was forced to resort to kicking the armoire in lieu of any human presence to assail.  Until.... she hit paydirt.

This was just too bizarre.  She knew that he was an eccentric, neurotic freak, but.... a yellow kilt?

At precisely eight o' clock in the morning - as approved by the Ominous Brass Clock - Madeleine Rousseau had the pleasure of storming into Jess Stanton's office.  It was quite an impressive entrance, really.  One must consider that Madeleine was running on attitude alone, after all.  Through all the ages of time no one has ever assumed an air of style or power  while wearing a bright yellow kilt knee length kilt.

Breathing rather heavily, she leant over her employer's oaken desk.

"Hah!  Reporting for duty..." she tossed her head, sparkling eyes on the verge of defiance, "Jesse."

A raised eyebrow was the highly consternating reply.  One day, she would make him pay for that.

"You'll have to give that back to after today, you know."

"Goddamn it, Jess!  Stop stalling. It's bloody obvious that you're going to use the Anabelle thing against me somehow.  I don't see why not, everyone else seems to think that..."

"Honestly, Rousseau," a languid parry; hardly worth the effort it too to utter.

"What's that supposed to mean?!?  Don't tell me that you feel threatened or something..." she rolled her eyes.

"Don't make me laugh.  Do you really think that you have any more chance than I with the good mayor?"

"That's an insult to my intelligence," Maddy spat, turning to rest herself in one of Jess' purposely tortuous chairs.

"Exactly," the chamberlain nodded in return.  " One of us will land Anabelle the day that Kobalds fly.  So why worry about it?"

"You're taking this too calmly."

"How do you know that I'm taking this calmly?"

"You're not as good as you think you are."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong.    How do you know that everything you've ever 'read' about me hasn't been planned out beforehand?  For all you know there's a letter heading out to ... Mr.Meer? ... in Rockaxe as we speak.  Or maybe a certain religious organization is wending it's way here, or I've let office gossip carry word to the ears of our common interest..."  he grinned, blinking up with an innocent expression over his collection of parchments.

"What the F@^* is this, 'headgames with Maddy' day?!?" white knuckles gripped the chair's arms, the speaker not appreciating having to call her own instincts into doubt.

"Oh, calm down.  You were right.  Now about what I need you to do..."

"Yes?" the assistant grated.

"Carry on," Jess stated in an offhand manner, hoping to throw her off once more.

Surprisingly, he was almost as successful.

"What?" she double blinked in disbelief.

"I said carry on.  Make their lives miserable and blame it on me.  That is what you've been doing in order to damage my reputation, isn't it?"

"Well..." a horribly stunted attempt to stall emerged from Madeleine's lips.

Jess nodded, " So continue.  Tell them all about Big Bad Jesse the Rat-Bastard."

"You must know that I'm going to try and find up what the hell you're going to pull?" Madeleine's eyes narrowed dangerously.  One used to storms of emotion such as herself was not easily kept under the sway of Jess' tactics for long.

"Of course you will," he shuffle the papers once more.  " Do you mind?  Some of us have work to do."

"Of course," Madeleine drawled, not even attempting to veil the inherent sarcasm.  The unmistakable staccato of high heels meeting with  marble flooring promptly followed.

On the table that night there lay a regiment of letters, and all consisted of nothing but the most perfectly penned missives.

A hundred different highly persuasive arguments,  perhaps interrupted with a smattering of demand.

"Rolan, it's been quite a while since Greenhill.  I can't believe that I haven't caught up with..."

"... You do remember a certain favor that was done for you a year ago?  I'm afraid that I must now cash in on..."

".... I realize that you are a very important man as the assistant to the secretary of defense in Gregminster, and how highly you..."

"... all debts are payable.  NOW.  Don't force me to release the documents..."

"... as a female accountant, I'm sure that you have trouble finding jobs with pay equitable to that given your male colleagues.  I can only hope that by taking me up on this offer..."

"...In any case, I have for you a deal that not only makes economic sense, but shall help put a stop to this senseless violence, and allow you to act beyond the constraints of an inherently capitalistic profession..."

"...In any case, I have for you a deal that not only makes economic sense, but shall fuel what I'm sure has been a very profitable conflict for you, and allow you to corner the market on bowstrings in..."

"...In any case, I have for you a deal that not only makes economic sense, but shall allow you to protect..."

"...In any case, there's something that you need to know.  I shan't trust it to the postal service, though.  Mother, Father, I look forward to your visit next week..."