How Palis despised the cold weather that crawled its way under the window panes and into every room. He perched now on the stiff and unfriendly red bench that sat beside the roaring fireplace of the parlor, and beside him, the great, long-haired, grey cat curled into a ball the way it had always done in Palis' childhood, the way it had before Palis' father, Kilapu, had had it stuffed. Subconsciously he had reached down and pet it, and consciously he had retracted his hand as he felt the hard, hollow interior beneath the dusty fur. Had he simply glanced into the room bathed in various shades of red, gold, and brown like autumn leaves, Palis would have thought he had stumbled back into childhood. Yet, the hour or so he had been childishly ordered to sit in the parlor out of the way to wait for dinner, Palis had become painfully aware of the minute differences his father had made since he had left. The great grandfather clock that stared at him from across the room had had its once copper hands replaced with thin gold ones, and they moved without the stepping stone rigidness of their predecessors. The carpet of that rolled itself out under the feet of the furniture had been replaced by one of the same pattern, but this new imposter forgot to match his muse's stains and fade. Here the pillows had been replaced, there the broken bricks of the fireplace had been mended, and there, beside Palis, even Polo, the old cat, had been modified. The room felt like it was pretending to be childhood, the way a nightmare is often just enough different from reality to make you even more scared for what may greet you.
All day the two servants, Edwin, the passive butler, and Zephyr, the mute human groundskeeper buzzed around the house, tending every small detail as Kilapu beetled after them with an endless library of orders spewing from his mouth.
"Any minute!" Kilapu's shout rang excitedly from the upper level of the house as the clock's hands edged towards the evening hour. "Any minute!"
In the vast boredom of it all, Palis unfolded himself and stood, glancing out the window to the snowy street once more before leaving Polo to his eternal slumber beside the fire. He moved to the kitchen and through the great swinging door into the sudden warmth that swelled there. Lydia, the human cook who had only recently been hired as Edwin's age made it hard for him to read the metal measuring cups, was busy among the steam and smells that danced around her as she prepared a four-course meal for the galdori that would soon dine, as well as for herself, Edwin, and Zephyr. The memory of eating the extra food Edwin had purposefully overcompensated for in the back of the kitchen while his father had guests was a pleasant memory in Palis' mind. He had been parented by Edwin, befriended by Zephyr, and their work had been judged by Kilapu.
Palis stood back as Lydia cooked, wrapped up in the warmth and home of the smell of meat and rosemary. She was dressing the partridges with one hand, sprinkling dried herbs over them, and , with her other hand, she stirred her purple, fingerling potatoes to a soft boil.
"Hallo, Master Palis," she greeted in her robust voice. She was a large, motherly woman somewhere in her early 40s.
"Good evening, Lydia. The food smells delicious," he smiled, and he swept through the kitchen and into the dining room beyond. It had always been one of his favorite rooms of the house. It was full of a bright life from the large, amiable lamps that, despite the phosphor that lit the rest of the house, burned with a warm, dancing flame. The room was narrow, and every inch of it, table, chairs, floor, ceiling, and walls, was a rich, cocoa-coloured wood. The center of the table, typically a long table that spanned the room and sat sixteen people, had been removed temporarily to allow a comfortable conversation space for three people, and three place settings awaited them.
"Master Ainu, your guest arrives," Edwin's low vibrato rumbled from the foyer and into the dining room. Before Palis could act, Kilapu was already shouting his excitable orders like a better yelling for his speeding horse to win on the track.
"Palis! Come, boy. He's here!" Palis took long strides into the foyer, brushing his hair back with his hand to ensure it was in place as he remembered exactly what his father had made him rehearse a hundred times that morning alone. He stood just off the shoulder of Kilapu, a ginger-salt-and-peppered man merely a wink taller than him, the complimentary suits they wore (Palis' a dusty blush colour and Kilapu's a deep rosewood) picked and pressed by Palis' own hand. Everything was in place. Edwin opened the door, and Kilapu sprung into action.
"Anatole. My old friend!"