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Description
"Nothing like a bit of torture to start off the night," Thistle smirked, her hands in her pocket and her two butlers flanking her sides with one of the girls arms in each hand. She had ceased struggling, only because her breathing had become shallow and she had passed out.
The younger of the butlers, the one who was to the left of his master, was what could be called the hesitant one. His judgement was not alined with Thistle's yet, which in his line of work was dangerous. When he had accepted this job, Thistle had given him a new name. It wasn't a bad one, it was more tough than his last name. Roland. It was a bland, blank statement that he threw into people's face that was easily over looked by Thistle's name.
He obviously didn't understand how to be a butler yet, to be blunt.
His "older brother" was Vincent. Vincent was brainwashed so said Roland, and hardly ever even acted like a brother. Thistle had given him that name too, which is what he suspected. Valentine was like Thistle's shadow. He would take a bullet to the head for her, then get back up and kick the shit out of whomever held the gun. Valentine was older than Thistle, but not by many years.
Collectivly, the two were called "the twins." And only to Thistle were they "Valentine." Before they had been exiled into the house, Thistle had been queen. And who else to do dirty deeds than Valentine, bringer of love and joy?

"Roland," Thistle stopped at the bottom of the two spiral staircases. They branched away from each other and led up to a balcony that over looked the whole open parlor on the first floor. From there one could reach the third floor where everything from the kitchen, bathroom, and bedrooms were.
Everything but the laundry room and torture room.
Which were, ironically, in the same room.
"Roland, go upstairs and grab your coat. You are going to delievery a message for me." Thistle adjusted her dark sun glasses, watching him dash upstairs.
"And for you Vincent," She smirked. "Put the girl away and start a dinner. For two."
"What type?" Vincent smiled, sensing her humor.
"I'm not sure.." Thistle put her hand to her chin, pretending to think, but then shrugged it off. "Surprise me. I doubt my guest will eat anything anyway."
They both grinned at one another, and Vincent dissapeared behind the door that lay between the staircases into the torture room.
Roland flew down the stairs, taking them three at a time as he hopped down and tried to pull his jacket on over his blazer.
"Took you long enough." Thistle's grin had faded as her face was bland again. She was holding a post-it note, with it some scribbles. "I need you to go to this address. Tell them that we have your sister. They are to return with you. If they do not come with you, you are authorized to use force." She put her hand to her forehead in frustration of jobs past. "That means do not shoot them. I want my guest alive this time, Roland. Do you understand me?" She tried to make her sentances as short and to the point as possible.
With Vincent, she thought to her self, she could tell him that she needed was a dinner guest and he would go and grab the person she wanted. But Roland's cooking was disgusting, and this boy needed to be whipped into shape.
"Alive. Got it." Roland nodded. He turned on his heels and started to walk towards the door.
"You have fifteen minutes, Roland." She called after him. And who could help but smile as he started to run faster down the parlor, nearly running into the door, but squeeze through it as he tried to beat the clock.
"Oh Roland, you pathetic moron." She put her hands into her slack pockets, beginning to make her way up the stairway.

Roland ran like hell down the streets, passing through hockey games and being pelted by stones by some of the older kids who didn't like strangers in their part of town. He glanced at the street signs and addresses, starting to slow down into a jog as he noticed the he was closer to the house.
"Stupid Vincent, I could have cooked just fine.." He slumped his head between his shoulders, looking closer for the numbers on the houses. The sun was fading behind the treetops, and Roland was eager to get back to the base. Though he could defend himself in a pinch, he really was defenseless without Vincent. He worked off of Vincent's moves, covering for him and taking the blows while Vincent swooped in caught the others off guard.
Vincent wasn't here though. It was time for Roland to step up his game! He adjusted his blazer and coat, brushed the dirty off his slacks, and ran a hand through his hair. Shaved on the sides, leaving a strip of hair falling forward into his face, Thistle had insisted that he and Vincent dress the same as well, which irked him. Again, not much of a team player.

Katrina, inside the house was just fixing up her on dinner as well. Some mac'n'cheese, to make it up to Phiona for having to work late again. Since both of her parents were off for buisness, she had to work and take care of her little sister. Which both were pretty time consuming.
It would be all bad if she wasn't dating the boy from down the road, Urhobo. He was one of the whitest kids she knew, and had moved here a few years back. Bo, as he was called around town, was over at her house near every moment she wasn't at work.
He was a nice guy, always wore a turtle neck though, even in the summer time. He was always a bit antsy, but a very sweet guy.
She had expected him to be over by now, and when the doorbell rang she vaulted over the low counter, couch, and flung the door open. She nearly fell onto the poor man too if she hadn't realized it wasn't Bo.
A man, maybe 20 or so, younger than herself, stood at her door. He had some weird mohawk going on, and was dressed like a valet at a fancy restraunt.
"M-ma'am of the home I'm guessing?" He asked, trying to catch his breath. (He had just sprinted there after all.)
"Yeah, why?" Katrina asked, leaning against the door.
"W-we have your sister, a-and y-you are.." He coughed, breathing in short raspy breaths. "You n-need to come with me right this moment.."
"Yeah, whatever. You want some water or something? I got plans for the evening already. I'm not leaving with some stranger-" She stopped short of her sentence, her eyes noticing the gun that the bloke was pulling from his overcoat pocket.
"N-now I said, won't you please join me for dinner?" He growled, still breathing heavily.

"You seriously need to clean this place up."
Thistle called from her room, walking through her closet, looking for a suitable attire. Something evil, deadly, but not too overdone.
"I would, but I am busy at the moment." Vincent called from the kitchen, in the process of grilling some salmon and frying some sweet potatoes.
"I mean, before Roland arrived it was spotless! I couldn't even have a dirty dream because you would come and clean it up!" She huffed, arriving out of her room to show off her outfit of the moment. It was a deep red and black dress, loaded with ruffles at the bottom and embedded with jemstones at the bust.
Vincent didn't even have to look up. "A bit extravagent for your first date, isn't it?"
Thistle frowned. "Shut-up, Vincent! It is not a date!" She threw her fists down to her sides and stormed back into her room, frantically looking back into her closet.
"Vincent, you are the worst butler ever!" She complained from across the hall after a moment.
"I made you grilled salmon and fries, with a side of caramelized pears." Again, he didn't look up from plating the said dinner.
"I still hate you," She scoffed, returning back into the kitchen, pulling a vest over a black dress shirt. It showed off the scar across her neck wonderfully, a great conversation starter.

The way back to the house was very, awkward. Roland, he had introduced himself to Katrina, was escorting her only down the street. The longest journey she had ever taken down the three block street.
"How old is your sister?" Roland said after passing a few houses. Katrina did not answer him though. He rolled his eyes, playing it off and trying to break the ice.
Though he was trying to break a block of ice with a rubber chicken, it's gotta break sometime, he thought happily. Sometime.

"Vincent!" Thistle called, her arms folded and her temper rising. "Where in the hell is Roland and that man?!" She was starting to pace back and forth infront of the bar where Vincent was cooking.
"I'm sure they're on their way here," Vincent tried to reassure her.
"If Roland kills this man again-"
"I doubt-"
"We are going to be set back again atleast another two months!"
"Thistle.."
"We might even have to relocate--
"Thistle."
"--this house was really expensive, I mean, have you seen that stained glass--"
"Tish!"
"--imported I tell you!" She spun around to find Vincent right at her back, holding onto her shoulders. "What is it, Vincent?!"
"Roland's back," He paused, looking back towards the door, leaving forward slightly towards her and whispering something into her ear. "And he's with a girl."

Description
"Nothing like a bit of torture to start off the night," Thistle smirked, her hands in her pocket and her two butlers flanking her sides with one of the girls arms in each hand. She had ceased struggling, only because her breathing had become shallow and she had passed out.
The younger of the butlers, the one who was to the left of his master, was what could be called the hesitant one. His judgement was not alined with Thistle's yet, which in his line of work was dangerous. When he had accepted this job, Thistle had given him a new name. It wasn't a bad one, it was more tough than his last name. Roland. It was a bland, blank statement that he threw into people's face that was easily over looked by Thistle's name.
He obviously didn't understand how to be a butler yet, to be blunt.
His "older brother" was Vincent. Vincent was brainwashed so said Roland, and hardly ever even acted like a brother. Thistle had given him that name too, which is what he suspected. Valentine was like Thistle's shadow. He would take a bullet to the head for her, then get back up and kick the shit out of whomever held the gun. Valentine was older than Thistle, but not by many years.
Collectivly, the two were called "the twins." And only to Thistle were they "Valentine." Before they had been exiled into the house, Thistle had been queen. And who else to do dirty deeds than Valentine, bringer of love and joy?

"Roland," Thistle stopped at the bottom of the two spiral staircases. They branched away from each other and led up to a balcony that over looked the whole open parlor on the first floor. From there one could reach the third floor where everything from the kitchen, bathroom, and bedrooms were.
Everything but the laundry room and torture room.
Which were, ironically, in the same room.
"Roland, go upstairs and grab your coat. You are going to delievery a message for me." Thistle adjusted her dark sun glasses, watching him dash upstairs.
"And for you Vincent," She smirked. "Put the girl away and start a dinner. For two."
"What type?" Vincent smiled, sensing her humor.
"I'm not sure.." Thistle put her hand to her chin, pretending to think, but then shrugged it off. "Surprise me. I doubt my guest will eat anything anyway."
They both grinned at one another, and Vincent dissapeared behind the door that lay between the staircases into the torture room.
Roland flew down the stairs, taking them three at a time as he hopped down and tried to pull his jacket on over his blazer.
"Took you long enough." Thistle's grin had faded as her face was bland again. She was holding a post-it note, with it some scribbles. "I need you to go to this address. Tell them that we have your sister. They are to return with you. If they do not come with you, you are authorized to use force." She put her hand to her forehead in frustration of jobs past. "That means do not shoot them. I want my guest alive this time, Roland. Do you understand me?" She tried to make her sentances as short and to the point as possible.
With Vincent, she thought to her self, she could tell him that she needed was a dinner guest and he would go and grab the person she wanted. But Roland's cooking was disgusting, and this boy needed to be whipped into shape.
"Alive. Got it." Roland nodded. He turned on his heels and started to walk towards the door.
"You have fifteen minutes, Roland." She called after him. And who could help but smile as he started to run faster down the parlor, nearly running into the door, but squeeze through it as he tried to beat the clock.
"Oh Roland, you pathetic moron." She put her hands into her slack pockets, beginning to make her way up the stairway.

Roland ran like hell down the streets, passing through hockey games and being pelted by stones by some of the older kids who didn't like strangers in their part of town. He glanced at the street signs and addresses, starting to slow down into a jog as he noticed the he was closer to the house.
"Stupid Vincent, I could have cooked just fine.." He slumped his head between his shoulders, looking closer for the numbers on the houses. The sun was fading behind the treetops, and Roland was eager to get back to the base. Though he could defend himself in a pinch, he really was defenseless without Vincent. He worked off of Vincent's moves, covering for him and taking the blows while Vincent swooped in caught the others off guard.
Vincent wasn't here though. It was time for Roland to step up his game! He adjusted his blazer and coat, brushed the dirty off his slacks, and ran a hand through his hair. Shaved on the sides, leaving a strip of hair falling forward into his face, Thistle had insisted that he and Vincent dress the same as well, which irked him. Again, not much of a team player.

Katrina, inside the house was just fixing up her on dinner as well. Some mac'n'cheese, to make it up to Phiona for having to work late again. Since both of her parents were off for buisness, she had to work and take care of her little sister. Which both were pretty time consuming.
It would be all bad if she wasn't dating the boy from down the road, Urhobo. He was one of the whitest kids she knew, and had moved here a few years back. Bo, as he was called around town, was over at her house near every moment she wasn't at work.
He was a nice guy, always wore a turtle neck though, even in the summer time. He was always a bit antsy, but a very sweet guy.
She had expected him to be over by now, and when the doorbell rang she vaulted over the low counter, couch, and flung the door open. She nearly fell onto the poor man too if she hadn't realized it wasn't Bo.
A man, maybe 20 or so, younger than herself, stood at her door. He had some weird mohawk going on, and was dressed like a valet at a fancy restraunt.
"M-ma'am of the home I'm guessing?" He asked, trying to catch his breath. (He had just sprinted there after all.)
"Yeah, why?" Katrina asked, leaning against the door.
"W-we have your sister, a-and y-you are.." He coughed, breathing in short raspy breaths. "You n-need to come with me right this moment.."
"Yeah, whatever. You want some water or something? I got plans for the evening already. I'm not leaving with some stranger-" She stopped short of her sentence, her eyes noticing the gun that the bloke was pulling from his overcoat pocket.
"N-now I said, won't you please join me for dinner?" He growled, still breathing heavily.

"You seriously need to clean this place up."
Thistle called from her room, walking through her closet, looking for a suitable attire. Something evil, deadly, but not too overdone.
"I would, but I am busy at the moment." Vincent called from the kitchen, in the process of grilling some salmon and frying some sweet potatoes.
"I mean, before Roland arrived it was spotless! I couldn't even have a dirty dream because you would come and clean it up!" She huffed, arriving out of her room to show off her outfit of the moment. It was a deep red and black dress, loaded with ruffles at the bottom and embedded with jemstones at the bust.
Vincent didn't even have to look up. "A bit extravagent for your first date, isn't it?"
Thistle frowned. "Shut-up, Vincent! It is not a date!" She threw her fists down to her sides and stormed back into her room, frantically looking back into her closet.
"Vincent, you are the worst butler ever!" She complained from across the hall after a moment.
"I made you grilled salmon and fries, with a side of caramelized pears." Again, he didn't look up from plating the said dinner.
"I still hate you," She scoffed, returning back into the kitchen, pulling a vest over a black dress shirt. It showed off the scar across her neck wonderfully, a great conversation starter.

The way back to the house was very, awkward. Roland, he had introduced himself to Katrina, was escorting her only down the street. The longest journey she had ever taken down the three block street.
"How old is your sister?" Roland said after passing a few houses. Katrina did not answer him though. He rolled his eyes, playing it off and trying to break the ice.
Though he was trying to break a block of ice with a rubber chicken, it's gotta break sometime, he thought happily. Sometime.

"Vincent!" Thistle called, her arms folded and her temper rising. "Where in the hell is Roland and that man?!" She was starting to pace back and forth infront of the bar where Vincent was cooking.
"I'm sure they're on their way here," Vincent tried to reassure her.
"If Roland kills this man again-"
"I doubt-"
"We are going to be set back again atleast another two months!"
"Thistle.."
"We might even have to relocate--
"Thistle."
"--this house was really expensive, I mean, have you seen that stained glass--"
"Tish!"
"--imported I tell you!" She spun around to find Vincent right at her back, holding onto her shoulders. "What is it, Vincent?!"
"Roland's back," He paused, looking back towards the door, leaving forward slightly towards her and whispering something into her ear. "And he's with a girl."