Thread: *Bez Soznaniya Krasa* Mistik Refuge (BurningWillows & Georgie_Leech)

Mor finished his coffee and went back into his cozy cabin, where he set about readying himself for the day. He rarely took showers while on-site, preferring to use a bit of soap, a wash cloth, and the left over heated water to towel himself down. After washing, he donned his usual summer work garb. Cargo shorts came first, followed by a loose beige t-shirt lettered with Mistik Refuge. Over that went a cargo vest, which was suitable for hiking if the need arose, though he mostly used the many pockets to hold spare pencils and any notes he happened to make away from his desk. Lastly, he tied his shoulder-length blonde hair back in a ponytail. Like always, some hair managed to fall out and cover the tips of his ears. Before leaving, Mor set about cleaning up after himself being well organised was a habit he had picked up early in life. He neatly folded the underclothes he had worn during the night, placing them atop the newly made bed. His mug and brass kettle were washed, and the counter wiped down in case he had spilt anything. Finally, he made sure his bonsai was growing properly. Mor used an odd method for taking care of the small plant rather than pruning, he tied any branches that grew too large back to their source or, in larger cases, slowly bent them back in on themselves. The result was an unusually dense but still recognizably oaken tree top. He never had any trouble tying the tiny knots nor with breaking the thin string he used Mor would probably be a decent hand with a sewing needle, if he ever took the time to learn. After one last check to make sure his appearance was in order A professional but friendly appearance is key to making a good first impression, his gray eyes in the mirror silently reminded him, he left to the mess hall to find breakfast. The smell of fresh bacon and eggs met him before he opened the door to the kitchen, where Aras was busily preparing the food. Deftly managing multiple frying pans and ovens was no trouble at all for this focused chef. His gaze on Mor was rather unnerving when he stepped into the door, especially when he never wavered with his constant adjustments. The usual, chief? he asked in his thick Baltic accent. Mor nodded, and without stopping Aras began tossing food on a plate. Not a minute passed before he could sit down with a slice of French toast covered in a cinnamon applesauce and a scoop of freshly made frozen yogurt, flavoured with pear. Mor Reflected on how fortunate he'd been to find Aras. The talented chef had recently been laid off when mismanagement had ruined the restaurant he'd worked at. He'd become disillusioned with city life, and chose to find work in the country at just the time Mor had been hiring. He'd been a paragon of kitchen efficiency ever since, even if he tended to make far more food than the small number of patrons currently needed. some went into storage for future recipes, but much of the food was boxed up by the chef himself and taken into town weekly. Mor suspected Aras had a large family he didn't talk much about. He didn't begrudge Aras' feeble attempt at edible embezzlement, since Mor's stipend from his last job had been particularly robust and had since been invested wisely, providing a small income. After eating, he continued on to the main building. The young secretary gave a start as the bell above the door tinkled. Oh! Uh, good morning sir! Miss Melissa Jones had a light, breathy voice that combined with a skittish personality to make her seem constantly startled or surprised. She kept decent records, though, and Mor trusted her to handle bookings and outreach. Or had, at any rate. After so long without many guests, he was starting to wonder if she wasn't somehow giving the wrong impression to callers, of which Mistik received several a day. One of the current guests, um, Sunflower I think it was. Yeah. Um, he finished the landscape he was working on, and wanted to donate it to the art section. I told him that you would take a look at it and, uh, make sure it was a good fit. I hung it with the others, if that's not a problem? Of course not, Miss Jones. Thank you for telling me in advance, he commented wryly. She gave a squeak and quickly buried her nose in a mathematics textbook. Miss Jones was working here over the summer while waiting for college to resume in the fall. The light workload let her spend much of the time studying. The layout of the lodge was relatively simple. Octagonal in shape with a central supporting pillar, the ground floor was divided into two rooms by windowed walls on either side of the front desk. Each wall had a door, and Mor chose the door on the left. The other room was a large open area that took up the rest of the main floor. Roughly a third of each area had its own theme though. Immediately through the left door was a lounge area, with several comfortable chairs and couches, an assortment of magazines, and a fire place that, though currently empty, could hold a merry blaze during the colder months. Continuing around the pillar led to a pseudo art gallery and studio. A piano stood near the wall on a slightly raised stage. During the day, stools and easels were set up near a large window that afforded a view of the rolling hills and forests. At night, the stool would be cleared away in case anyone felt like presenting any artwork, whether dance or music or paint. An assortment of simple landscapes, still-life's, and more abstract pieces adorned the central pillar wall Sunflower's landscape was especially simple, but in Mor's opinion the basic watercolour didn't clash enough to merit taking down before the guests eventually left. No sense antagonising him or being judgemental I'm meant to be a quasi-therapist, after all. Had Mor continued around the pillar, or chosen the other door, he would have come to a basic library, with a couple of comfy arm chairs and reading lamps. A large bookshelf stood solitarily in the middle of the area. Ideally, Mistik would eventually be able to expand its rather rudimentary selection. On either side of the paintings were staircases that led to the upper floors, where the guests stayed. There were eight rooms on the second floor, and six on the third. On the third floor was a smaller spiral staircase leading to an attic suite, where the current groundskeeper lived on-site. Mor neither took the stairs nor continued the circuit of the ground floor. Instead, he opened a small panel marked STAFF ONLY underneath the left from the art side staircase, revealing another set of stairs that led into the basement. The basement was where Mor kept his financial notes, research material, and office. The fluorescent lighting may not have been especially in keeping with the rustic aesthetic of Mistik, but it was cheap and served his needs. In his office, Mor kept a computer where, among other things, he designed new ads and tried to get the local communities more interested in the opportunities Mistik offered. Maybe today I'll make some real inroads into finding volunteers, Mor thought to himself. He nursed a pet project he kept secret from most people, related to his previous job at Belua, which he'd left because of professional disagreements. Time to get to work.