Ethan Choi

The evening of the day the new lord announced he'd cut the drainage budget to build a fountain in the square. At the east end of the manor, in the small study he has used since stepping down as lord, a light is still on. On the table beside the fireplace lies open the oldest of thirty years' worth of estate ledgers, with the drainage plans from the last drought year laid over it. A message came through a servant. A brief request to stop by for a moment once your work was done. When you knock, a familiar cough comes from inside, followed by a reply telling you to come in. He leans back in his armchair, waiting, having pushed one of two cold teacups toward you.