[b]Tom Porter

8:09[/b]

Tom took one final look in the mirror, nodding to his reflection. [i]Good enough,[/i] he thought. The Advil had helped with his headache quite significantly, fortunately enough. A party would’ve been a nightmare with such a hangover. Speaking of which, he should probably get going. Wouldn’t be any good to be late to the very first event of their “vacation,” after all.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Tom was surprised by just how many people were crammed into the entrance hall. Where the hell did the Wolfs come up with so many people? Family, friends?

No, they certainly didn’t act like they knew each other like that. Adding it to his mental list of mysteries on this vacation, Tom came down the stairs, unsure what to do, precisely. Within moments, a waiter came over to him.

“Bitte entschuldigen Sie meine Unterbrechung, mein Herr. Darf ich dein Handy nehmen?“

Umm… what? [i]Right,[/i] Tom remembered, [i]Klara said they were hiring extra help. No English.[/i]

Noticing his confusion, the waiter held out a large bowl pointedly. It was filled with cell phones. Why in the world would they be collecting cell phones? It’s not like they worked in the manor anyway – Tom had noted earlier that they were too remote in the countryside to have cell service.

The waiter seemed to be getting impatient, but fortunately Klara noticed them and rushed over.

“Excuse me,” Klara apologized to Tom before turning to the waiter, “Er ist Ehrengast, wie Sie hätten wissen sollen,” she scolded hushedly. “Ich dachte, ich habe Ihnen bitten, am Zugang zu bleiben. Los!“

Presumably having been told off, the waiter nodded his apology and scurried away. Klara sighed wearily, before turning again to Tom.

“Sorry about that,” she apologizes again, reining in her agitation. “I’ve got rid of him, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” Tom replied. “What did he want, anyway? What was that bowl about?”

“When the Wolfs throw a party, there is always a,” Klara grasped at the air, as if to pluck the word she was looking for directly out of the air, “Eine Handyschüssel… a phonebowl?” Klara looked to Tom questioningly. When he nodded that the translation made sense, she continued, “They don’t like the guests to just play with their phones all evening instead of dancing. You’ve probably noticed that there’s no reception out here, but there are still inbuilt apps. I’m quite addicted to Trivia Crack myself.”

Tom smirked. For some reason, he just found it odd for any of the staff to be so.. [i]human.[/i] But what did he expect them to be? Lemurs?

“Yeah, I did notice the lack of reception, and I guess the phone bowl thing makes sense. It isn’t used in America though, so I had no idea what he expected. I guess it’s kind of obvious now that I think about it, but it’s still… foreign, I guess,” Tom said, trying not to seem overly ignorant to other cultures. Then again, that’s sort of just the American way.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Klara responded with a small smile, “But the kids,” Klara gestured vaguely over her shoulder, towards the stairs, where Tom deduced the Wolfs must be, preparing for a grand entrance, “are eccentric, even among Bavarians. The other guests do know about the phonebowl, though - there’s no reason for it to be anywhere apart from by the door.”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed, “You could say that again. [i]Very[/i] eccent–”

Trailing off, it was clear that Klara wasn’t paying attention. She was looking over her shoulder, visibly frustrated. Following her gaze, Tom found the problem: a waiter had an empty tray. [i]Blasphemy.[/i]

“Sorry Mr. Porter, apparently men require constant supervision. I expect I’ll see you later.”

Tom nods, and without a second glance, Klara stormed towards the waiter. As she left, Tom could hear the distinct sound of German muttering, although he couldn’t tell what she was saying. Not that he would be able to translate too much of it anyway, even if he [i]could[/i] hear it.

After standing in place for a moment, Tom decided he might as well have something to drink, and approached the nearest waiter.

“May I have a drink, please?” he asked the waiter. The waiter responded with a confused stare – he couldn’t understand English, of course.

“Wie kann ich Ihnen dienen, mein Herr?” the waiter asked.

Sighing, Tom decided that playing charades would be the best solution, and mimed drinking from a glass. With sudden understanding, the waiter nodded and handed him a glass of champagne.

“Danke,” Tom said, knowing [i]that[/i] much in German, at least.

“Bitte,” the waiter replied, before continuing through the crowd where he was needed. Thank God – ironic coming from Tom, being a devout atheist – the main staff can speak English, because two weeks of [i]that[/i] would be a nightmare. Taking a sip from his glass, he examined the crowd, wondering what to do for the next hour or so before the ballroom opens.