The manor was still in lock down but life had returned to normal, for the most part. Paris was rather thankful to be back to his average morning routine. He hummed quietly to himself as he cut up a peach into small pieces. The sunshine was just starting to rise over the hills. This early in the morning, no one else was up. 

He gently set the slices of peach on a clean white plate. Paris turned around to the stove behind him. He placed a pan on one of the burners, igniting it. As he wandered over to the fridge, he manged to not hear Ryan walk into the kitchen.

"Good morning." Their newest employee greeted him.

Paris jumped, almost dropping the clay bowl of eggs in his hand. "Good morning." He smiled happily, "You startled me."

"I'm sorry. I have a habit of doing that to people when I don't mean to." He replied. 

"I've noticed." He gently set the eggs down beside the fridge and glanced at Ryan over his shoulder, "Would you like some coffee?" 

Ryan felt relieved to hear that magical word, "I'd love some. I haven't had any in so long."

"Hm, I imagine it's hard to find where you live. Let me start a new brew, though." He pulled the pot from the maker and poured it's current contents into the kettle to keep them warm. "This batch is rather... Strong, for an American."

He raised his eyebrow, "For an American?"

"Hm, yes," He snickered lightly, "French coffee is very strong compared to American coffee." Paris finished settling up the coffee marker to create a fresh batch. He returned to making breakfast, cracking open an egg over a heated pan. 

"I wouldn't know. I've never had the pleasure of visiting France. Maybe you could teach me some more about the culture." Ryan replied, "I'd love to have an excuse to talk to you more. I'm sorry we haven't gotten to talk since the other night, but work's been keeping me busy."

"I'm the one that should be apologizing. I ran out on you. And work's been taking up my time too, but truthfully I was a little scared to talk to you." He turned around towards the counter, pan in hand, and transferred the sunny side up egg onto the plate with peaches.

"Scared?" He chuckled softly, "Don't ever be scared to talk to me, okay? I'll always be here to listen. You look really good with your hair up like that, by the way."

A blush washed over the chef's face. He turned back around to return to his job and to hide his embarressment. "I, um, I just do it for work, but thank you. What do you like for breakfast?"

"I'll eat whatever you're making. What are you making, by the way?" He asked.

The kitchen door swung open, Angela walking in. She picked up the prepared plate on the counter along with a freshly poured glass of milk. "What smells so good?" She gushed.

He snickered, "I've got something in the oven for the girls. A new recipe I'm trying; Pumpkin french toast muffins. And, to answer your question, Ryan, I have to make quite a lot of things in the mornings. We are blessed with having very diverse culture in the house, meaning I have many different pallets to cater to. As you can see, Miss Angela prefers to eat like a cat from Boston."

"I am a cat from Boston. Well, Salem." She replied.

"My point exactly." Paris grabbed the new brew of coffee and poured it into a black mug, "Would you like some blood?"

"That'd be nice, actually. Thank you." Ryan answered. "So, I'm guessing you and Micah must eat pretty light, then? Since, don't the French eat super dainty?"

He opened the fridge and pulled out what looked like a corked wine bottle. Paris set the bottle and coffee in front of Ryan to allow him to pour his own ratio. "I do, yes. Micah is actually Cajun. Which is technically French, but they're... How do I put this in English? They're païen, em... Not so dainty, I guess I could say."

"Païen means heathen in French." Micah spoke as he walked in the kitchen. 

"Hehe... You weren't supposed to hear that." He replied. 

A grin danced onto his sinister lips, "It's fine, Mon cher. You know I couldn't stay made at you. Vous êtes trop belle."

"English?" Ryan questioned.

"It... It's not important." Paris stammered, "Uh-hum, I'm sorry, I'm running behind on breakfast."

"That's my fault for distracting you." He replied.

"You know it doesn't bother us." Micah responded, "The only person who gets in a tizzy about it is Shae. Luckily, on Sundays, he sleeps in. You're on my service, today, Ryan. It'll be your last day of training but it's certainly going to be my favorite."

He sighed, "I'm scared to know because I'm afraid you might secretly have a sadistic side I don't know about."

"It wasn't a condescending comment, I assure you. Today is genuinely my favorite day of the week. As you can imagine, we have some patients that can't necessarily be trusted to bathe themselves. Some have suicidal tendencies, so we have to worry about them drowning themselves. Others, like Joy and Friday, simply just need help."

"Why do you enjoy that?" Ryan asked with concern.

"The girls, they're just so precious. It makes me happy." Micah lifted his coffee to his lips, letting out a small chuckle, "And the others, perhaps I do have a sadistic side." He took a drink from his mug, then added, "In this particular instance I also treat Shae's patients. As you know, demons don't like to get wet. Especially one from the Black Valley."

Ryan nearly choked on his coffee, "He's from the fucking Black Valley?"

"Why did you think he was so tough?" He replied. Paris handed him over a plate of grits, of which he took happily. "Thank you." 

Micah sat down at the kitchen table with Angela. She was a slow eater, as expected from a finicky cat. The smell of his hardy food grossed her out. She tried to focus on the sweet scent of her peaches instead. In the process of making grits, Paris had multi-tasked to throw together Shae's breakfast. Just in time, too, because the demon walked in the door as Paris was pouring out his coffee.

"What's so bad about the Black Valley?" Angela asked. 

"It's not a place you talk about." Ryan murmured.

"Hm," Shae snit, "What would someone like you know about the valley?"

He turned back towards the kitchen table, glaring at the demon, "What exactly do you mean someone like me?" 

Paris cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling a silver cart carrying tea out of the room, "I'll be right back." He didn't want to get caught in the middle of this. So, he escaped to go deliver the doctors and warden their morning tea and biscuits. Angela stayed quiet out of fear, whereas Micah was trying to hide his smirk. He was waiting for the moment these two lost it with each other. It was a long time coming now. 

"You don't think I know who you are?" Shae deadpanned, "You lived in a lavish castle in Crystal Heights. Men bowed down to you and women fawned over you. You spent your days socializing at parties of the rich, while people like me were down in the darkest ditch you all could find to throw us in."

"That wasn't my choice. It was Carmella's. Anything bad that ever happened to anyone, it was her fault, but demons all thought she was fucking perfect. You'd rather have your head cut off than admit she was flawed!"

"You are just as responsible for her actions! You all sat back and let her treat us the way she did. You didn't say a damn word because you were too busy trying to hide your own leader's fucking affair! I swear every goddamn person saw it except his own husband. It's sick, the way people make Chris out to be this fucking saint. He was cheating on his husband with his bodyguard and he killed his husband!"

"Are you fucking kidding me? Carmella gave her own brother a live strand of Hallow Hex! She killed him! But like I fucking said earlier, your kind would defend that cunt even if your own life depended on it."

In his anger, he hadn't heard the door open. Actually, no one did. Deacon was quiet as a feather falling against the ground. He cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. His calm voice addressed the tension, "I understand you come from very different walks of life, but you both know better than to speak about the dead that way. In the eyes of vampires, Chris was a hero. We saw his acts as that of a martyr, but you must remember that the way we saw our late friend is the way demons saw Carmella. Many of them thought her to be their salvation."

"Not my family." Shae murmured, "I wasn't defending Carmella. I was defending Vepar. He wasn't like his sister, and he was the one who could've saved us. If he hadn't been murdered. Carmella told everyone it was Chris, and now... I don't know who to believe."

"They are both right, technically. Carmella gave her brother Hallow Hex in attempts to hinder Chris. She wasn't aware that there was a treatment for it for vampires. However, a demon's system rejects that treatment. Vepar lived in agonizing pain because of that. So, Chris killed him to put him out of his misery. It was a mercy kill."

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disrespect him." Shae murmured.

"I'm sorry, too. I think... The way things are right now, we're all a little high strung." Ryan replied. He walked over to the back counter and poured a few cups of coffee. Handing one over to Deacon, he said, "I'm going to go visit Ricky and Ghost. Would you like to come with?"

"Definitely." He replied and picked up one of the extra cups.

They excused themselves from the kitchen. It was getting a little too uncomfortable in there for Ryan. Though Deacon always was covered in the essence of death, he knew he could trust him. That helped him to relax somewhat. Being out of that tense room helped a Hell of a lot more. The two vampires journeyed back upstairs to the guest rooms.

Inside one of the rooms, Ghost was still reeling from yesterday. He forced himself to sit up, sensing their friends approaching. "Sweetie, go visit your big brother." He told Annabelle, "Just for a little while, okay?"

She happily ran off to go across the hall. As you could imagine, it wasn't hard to convince her to hang out with Cecil when that meant getting to be with a fairy. For a young girl, that was like a dream come true. Annabelle peaked out the door. She waved at her uncle as he approached. He kept the door open while she skipped off.

"You look rough." Ryan commented, handing Ghost one of the coffees in his hand. Deacon reached across to the other side of the bed to hand Ricky his. 

"Gee, thanks." He muttered tiredly. Ghost groaned out of relief when the first drink of caffeine hit his lips. "I fucked Jasper yesterday to get info out of him. I don't know how Mike fucks a demon constantly. It's... Insane."

"Demon?" He asked, "So, he is a demon?"

Ghost set his coffee down on the nightstand. He sighed, laying back down on his pillow. "Kind of... It's complicated. I'm sure it's about time we all compare notes on everything."

"Funny," Deacon grinned, "We were thinking the same thing."