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	[u]Weather[/u]: The snow maintains its constant fall upon the ground, though now it seems to streak across the countryside with a little less fury. The worst is probably over, but by no means does this mean that everything is soft and calm outside.   

   	[u]Time[/u]: We are smack dab in the middle of the night. Maybe not midnight, proper, but it may as well be. It is quite late.   

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The sounds of wind from the outside slow - not stop - in the progressing night. Not a touch of moonlight nor the twinkling of stars are visible through the cloud cover, giving an almost full darkness which may require more than simple darkvision to puncture, thanks to the precipitating snow. Luckily, the taproom of the Coach House has grown much warmer in the interim, if no better illuminated than earlier. It is comfortable within the walls, at the very least. The warm food in your stomachs is a tremendous help with this. Those partaking in the potables which exist in this place with abundance will find themselves awash in a sea of potential inebriation, though this may or may not be very useful considering that one must still ascend the icy stairs to reach the personal chambers on the next floor. 

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]	
	The actions of the young girl, Lizbeth, were one of practiced service. She had obviously committed to household labors before, and might make a fine tavern worker (or owner) should the whole "vineyard heiress" thing fall through. There was just a little stumbling block every now and again, as she insisted on buckling on her newly acquired weaponry and slinging her shield across her back as she went along with her more domestic chores, but she seemed to take great patience with completing these tasks around the bulkier gear. It looked like she was attempting to familiarize herself with every aspect of the weight and fit of her new profession's tool set, and she was taking it seriously. 

	Firstly, she went into storage and retrieved a few warming pans; enclosed metal dishes within wooden holders designed to bring a mattress or other sleeping area up in temperature, and walked to the hearth fire. She carefully scraped out at least half of the red coals from the fireplace and distributed them among the pans, then added another log to the fire to replace the heat-giving fuel. 

	Before leaving to tend to the beds upstairs, Lizbeth addressed the various words of encouragement she had received within the last couple of minutes, past the monosyllabic returns and generalities of body language. [color=darkgray]"Thank you so much for not objecting to my presence here. I know this is technically your home for the winter and I'm just so glad that I'm being given such a nice welcome. I want to learn as much as I can and I'm very happy to make your stay here as easy as I might in payment. It's no bother."[/color] She put a smile on her face that looked more tired than anything else, and retreated to the front door. The gust of wind which came from the only temporarily open portal to the courtyard was enough to douse the room with a solid, frigid blast. The comparison was substantial. Lizbeth closed the door as quickly as she was able and awkwardly made her way up the frozen exterior stairs. 

	Once inside, the girl set to her tasks with trembling hands, first to get fires lit and then to make sure that fresh water was available in the rooms. Warming pans went between mattresses and bedframes, notably the ones that the party had used the last time that she visited, plus one more for herself. She likewise chose the one she utilized the last time she was there overnight, owing to habit. Now that things were beginning to warm up to almost tolerable levels upstairs, Lizbeth located a stiff-bristled housekeeping broom and went back outside. It was cold; very cold for the young lady, especially having worked up a little perspiration with her efforts. As she took to the stairs to clear away the worst of the snow, thankfully not impacted with repeated footfalls, she began to shiver uncontrollably. The broom barely began to part the white covering in the dark, dark night, and more than once she felt like she might slip and involuntarily descend to the ground below. Though the evening had not been ideal in any sense, this was surely not the high point of it. 

	Then suddenly, Lizbeth ceased shivering. She began to move with directed intent, apparently able to function in the darkness and cold without perceivable difficulty. The wind obviously touched her form, blowing her hair about in a manner that might have annoyed or distracted but the girl remained on task. Her eyes seemed sunken and surrounded by darker skin, though her face seemed pallid, to an unhealthy margin. A breath left her lungs, condensing in the colder air around her, which was not followed by an inhalation. 

	She continued to work on the stairs until they were clear, unbothered by the storm around her. It was a fast but thorough job. She had a dessert she wished to return to and a book or two to read.