Chapter 15: Paperwork

Imagine waking up in a different bed, in a different building, without the slightest bit of recollection as how exactly he ended up here.

Waylen didn't understand how most people would have reacted to the situation but had a vague idea from attending school all those years on top of the many books he read. Panic stricken. Fear oozing from their not so innocent gazes. Painstakingly checking whether or not clothes still hugged their figures. Wondering if forced repercussions of the event will be bestowed upon them. Resulting in a series of endless struggles eventually pulling the person into a down word spiral.

Instead, he opens his almond-colored eyes calmly assessing the atmosphere around him. This bed isn't as comfortable as his bed in blue and smelt as if it hadn't been used in ages. Like a crusty old guestroom that's never utilized otherwise left to rot alone in a back corner of the house. Are these sheets even clean? 

Locating the sleeping Xavier on the couch he wondered why there was a couch in the first place. Instinctually reaching inside his pockets, he notices something odd. He had no clue as to the location of the pair of scissors though evidently, he had used them. A huge, bloodied gash rests on Xavier's neck revealing a dried, almost blue-ish scab. Though his handsome face steals almost all the attention away from the gruesome injury. In the absence of the scissors, a small bomb had replaced them accompanied by a match in his other pocket.

Theoretically he could blow Xavier to bits here, which seems to be somewhere in red. But if a gash that deep into his neck didn't kill him, he probably won't die. At least with his corpse somewhat intact he can have some sort of entertainment in the estate. What is the fun if he gets rid of his only source of emotions right at the start? Living in a creepy place completely isolated from human society. 

He reaches to the side to a hopefully clean coffee table, picking up another schedule similar to what he had back in the west wing. Except the font on the paper differed, as well as the difficulties of each activity listed. Yesterday he only had to do some math, write, and exercise similar to a normal school day. 

For Waylen Noel 

10:00 Meet with Johnthan Riggs Red Meeting Hall

11:00 Meet with String family Blue Meeting Hall

12:00 Welcome new residents Blue Meeting Hall

13:00 Supervise Preparations Courtyard

14:00 Harvest Substance Courtyard 

15:00 Exercise Courtyard

16:00 Schoolwork with Riggs West Wing

17:00 Journal West Wing

18:00 Birthday Start Courtyard

This on the other hand seemed a little excessive for a person who has now only been at the estate three days, most of which passed out in bed. If it weren't for his name in bold, Waylen would have just given the piece of paper to Xavier, thinking nothing more of it. 

His long silver hand hanging off the couch, with his beautifully crafted hands holding his sleeping head. The man showed no signs of waking, despite it already being nine. So, he let him let him sleep, much more things can be accomplished that way. 

"I need new clothes." Waylen says aloud, listening to the sound of his voice bounce off the red walls. 

The closet doors swing open revealing several sets of clothes, neither in red nor blue but a black. Though it's worth noting that all the sets of black clothes are the exact same thing leaving no variation between them. Not bothering to fight a house over clothing, Waylen put on the black three-piece suit. Admiring the expensive looking silver buttons, curious to how these things came to be.

By the time he finished getting ready, the time had already made it to 9:30. Wanting something to fill his hungry stomach, Waylen leaves Xavier by the guidance of the estate. Almost certain with its micromanaging skills he will end up where he needs to be. 

The red halls seem dungeon like compared to the artistic halls of blue, with weapons hanging from the wall. He must have been exploring here yesterday, for this is the place he most likely got the bomb. 

Lost in thought about the bomb with the corresponding match, Waylen wonders around the halls of red. Yet, as predicted he came to a large pair of open doors entering into what looks to be a meeting hall.

The meeting hall of red is rather boring compared to the rest of the building's ascetic. Only containing a large table with leather chairs on both sides and some lit torches on the wall for light. There is no windows nor outlets for artificial light, only the perfectly symmetrical torches on the walls. 

A warm plate rests on the opposite end of the dinner table, with the smell of freshly cut meat seeping through the room making its way into his nostrils. Across from the plate is the caretaker who for the first time didn't look entirely together. 

Dark circles vividly shine beneath his white wrinkles, next to his crooked, golden monocle. He wore the same black clothes as Waylen, except his buttons are gold instead of silver and not of the same quality. The man's white hair refused to sit firmly on his head freed from the usual gel holding it in place, adding to the messy image of the man. 

"Where were you last night?" He inquires with slight emotional fluctuation in his otherwise monotone voice.

"I awoke in red." Waylen tells him honestly, sitting down in front of the plate of food fighting the temptation to eat it.

Taking note of the action, the caretaker smiles waiting for the eternal clocks to strike ten before speaking further. 

 "As I'm sure someone has informed you, you will be placed in charge of greeting the new residents of this place. In order to continue forth with preparations, an even number in each of the colors is a necessity. So far there are six in yellow, six in green, 2 in red, 1 in blue. Soon there will be zero in the west wing. These new residents are all rather young in age and originate largely in Lore. One of the members of blue won't be arriving till next Wednesday at the earliest, though you won't be in charge of greeting that one. It is important to remind them to stick to the schedule provided by the estate as well as to refrain from wandering late in the evening. If you want to avoid these tasks, I recommend sticking to sleeping in the west wing."

"You said there will soon be zero in the west wing." 

"Temporarily speaking."

...

"Why can't we wander late in the evening if the rest sleep all day?" Waylen directly asks the man, strongly desiring the information behind this rule. In the past few days he's been here never once has he been able to resist sleeping past a certain point. 

"That ability will come with time." He responds, deliberately avoiding the spillage of more information.

"Why was I given this itienery?" 

The caretaker didn't answer. His eyes made contact, keeping it for only a few seconds. There is a smile hidden in it. A sad smile, but a smile, nonetheless. 

This meeting in the end proved to be helpful. The estate wasn't giving tasks without reason. Each color had to retain some sort of equality. That the west wing is special, only technically belonging to blue. Meaning, he could very well be thrown out of the "safe haven."

Recalling the next meeting, Waylen opens his pretty pink lips a final time. "Who are the String family?"

"You're greatest nightmare."