George Marrack and Maxwell Everett were trapped together in a tin box that was rolling amiably down the country road. Geoff's manor was only six or so hours away, so they decided to make a road trip out of it. The car's appearance was a bit worse for wear after all of the driving, so it seemed that they wouldn't be arriving in style. George was lazily humming along with the radio, which was slowly starting to lose its reception. Maxwell drummed his fingers on the window next to him, his tired eyes following the wilderness that passed alongside them. 

“...clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am-”

“Hate this song.” Maxwell interrupted. 

George attempted to change the station, but could only find some talk radio that was blanketed with static. He gave up and shut the radio off for now, his thoughts drifting to their spoils from that last gas station some miles back. “How much of that trail mix is left?” 

“Y'should probably save that for after. Save your stomach for the fancy-schmancy dinner.” Maxwell mumbled tiredly into the window. 

“You're going to pass out into your soup.” George pointed out manner-of-factly.

“Nope.” 

George took the next right, his car's suspension crying out in weak protest over the backwoods road. There was minute or so of tense silence as both of the men knew they were nearing their destination. Just above the tree line, the silhouetted jagged peaks of the roof rose into view like fingers grasping the sky. When the manor came into full view, George couldn't help but stare at it. It loomed over everything around it and stood alone, its dark recesses both watching and concealing. They soon passed through the open and yet uninviting gates, parked, and got out of the car. Instead of stretching his legs after the journey, George looked up at the multiple floors above them, suddenly feeling very small. The windows reflected the outside view back at him. 

“Well, this is certainly...gloomy.” he said out loud as Maxwell marched up to him with an umbrella like a trained dog. George whistled softly at the sight of one of the other guests puffing at a cigar while being followed by a butler. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the distaste in Maxwell's expression and clicked his tongue at him. “Max, please try to be civil. 'Fancy schmancy', remember?” He called out to one of the staff members, “Excuse me, miss? I'm sure that if you could give us directions, we can find our own way to our rooms.”