in the midst of everyone getting settled, the manor staff was too distracted to see her sneaking off with a bite of the hors d'oeuvres offered as an appetizer at dinner. her ears perked to the woman on the couch. "ah, i don't know. lemme check," she pulled her phone out, raising it above her head to get any bars. soon realizing that the signal was shot, which was probably a good indication of the wi-fi in their abode for the weeks to come. a defeated smile followed alongside a loud sigh. her dissertation still at the forefront of her mind. "i have books with me, y'know... if we're not source of entertainment enough," the woman quipped, nodding her head towards the other guests.

She makes her way over to her couch, and offers her good hand to shake. "Kira Drake, of the Entomological Society." She allows a pause, expecting rejection or a barrage of questioning. After all, among our guests, only so many were closely linked to a murder, allegedly. "What are you called? What do you do? What do you hope to do these next two weeks?" She can't help but dig. Anything to satiate her endless curiosity, and anything to put the subject far away from herself.

VIVIEN HAS FELT STRANGELY since the moment her train was late this morning, setting off a chain reaction of tardiness that still lingered even after she settled into the secluded seat in the fifth carriage, the first that she could find after running down the escalator to avoid missing the train. It had felt that the train had taken off the moment she'd gotten her bearings, and then she'd spent the entire ride trying to ignore the argument that seemed to be taking place at the front of the seating area, one that Vivien wasn't sure was as much in good fun as the participants were trying to make it seem. But she's never been that in-touch with others' tone or feelings, to her detriment. When the staff steps forward, calls her Dr. Fawkes in a way that suggests they're too aware of who she is, she can't help but the shiver that runs up her spine at the unknown there. How much do they know? IS this a weird preference-sheet situation, or something more sinister? You think you may be paranoid, but the thought still sticks with you. For a moment, there's silence and then she turns toward the nearest person — someone she recognizes but cannot quite put her finger onto the who, exactly, of it, and finally speaks as it seems no one else is breaking the silence in this manor's entryway, ❝ That's kind of creepy, right? The name thing. ❞

With all her attention on her colleague, she further digs. "How are you? Have you heard anything?" She asks carefully, and smaller. They were both summoned here for a reason, but why? And, why now?

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