[i]A Selfless Stag - 1.1[/i] Speaker: Quentin Weiss Alarm clock. 5:30, just as I set it every day. I hit the device once. Snooze. No, I meant stop, hit it again. A click, then silence: I hit the right button, I think. A small breathe in, a hefty huff outward, and again in through the nose. My eyes opened to the vaulted ceilings on that last inhale. Mornings were always troublesome, but to address my routine as difficult or irritating would be inaccurate. Not everyone is as privileged to have such a unique occupation. I was grateful, to say the least: five and a half hours was only one of the cons that accompanied my life, and those cons only tallied to a single digit number, unlike the vast amount of pros that clearly outweigh them. Another huff, and I was sitting up, shirtless in bed. A cold sweat lingered on my chest and arms. If I had a nightmare, which was the most likely case, I couldn’t remember it. Maybe I learned to block them out after the first few months of taking out the trash, maybe my body just disregards them instead of saving them for me to distract myself later. The alarm clock stared at me as I turned to the digital lights. 5:32, forty-three minutes until sunrise. The sheets rustled like leaves in a summer breeze as I exited my cot. My quarters were small: cozy and quaint more than anything. It pans out much like that of a hotel room, save for the walk-in closet in place of the second bed. I turned to the left first, towards the bathroom to ready myself. A brief shower, a brush up of hygiene, and my contact lenses prepare me for work. 5:47; the digital lights pierced the shaded quarters. I hated turning the overhead lights on needlessly for two reasons. First and foremost, the lord of the house wasn't fond of high electricity bills. The other reason, however, was simply because it irritates me. I knew the room well enough not to stub a toe or accidentally knock something expensive off of a nightstand. The only source of visibility came from the neon clock: it served only to keep me on schedule, and thus it was a welcome light. In the closet, my formal attire greeted me, dry cleaned the day before. It was the same get up as always: white collar shirt underneath a gray vest and a deep black tailcoat. The cuff links in my sleeves were always buttoned fully, my tie tucked with a flawless symmetry under the articles of clothing. As I donned my suit, the most formal of uniforms, a one-track beep whispered a hint of what time it was. Six o' Clock, on the dot. I tied the black laces of my Oxfords gently upon dressing, the dark rubber polished with the expected attention to detail. I pocketed my gloves and other miscellaneous belongings in my coat and tidied up my quarters, leaving only a fresh scent of lavender as I exited at 6:03. I was wide awake now, and I still had plenty of time to spare before breakfast was to be prepared. I was still a bit drowsy, but twelve minutes gives me ample time to wake up. "Good morning, Mr. Weiss. It's a lovely day today, August twenty-ninth, 6:05 AM. The weather is mainly sunny, a high of 77° with a high chance of rain in the afternoon around two. Traffic conditions vary along the coast, but nothing is too severe to impede a reasonable arrival time to the office..." I spoke to myself softly, as not to disturb the house. It was still rather dark out, but the soft light of the rising sun guided my way to the kitchen. "...for breakfast, I can prepare German crêpes and honeydew in a maple agave glaze, or if you're looking to deliver on the go, a pair of peach scones, dashed with cinnamon and-" A clink of fine china. Probably from a tea or coffee cup. It startled me enough to halt my speech. "Oh, don't mind me, Quentin, I was up early and wasn't interested in going back to bed. My husband was called in, he's already left for work." "Miss Barcello, I didn't realize you were awake. Had I known, I would've prepared you tea." She had made herself a cup, sipping sheepishly with lazy eyes. We were both half asleep. "Is it up to standard?" "Oh, heavens no, it's bloody awful." the cup and plate clinked again as she set them down rather loudly, "Could you pour me a fresh one? You always seem to have the magic touch." She smiled when she asked, as if she needed my permission for me to do my job. Sure, politeness was a bonus to my morning, but it wasn't necessary to jump out of character. It irked at me as well, how such spotty formalities from both adults in the household in their eyes could equalize the arrogant and selfish cores their children and themselves disguise. Money was my only gratuity. "Certainly, milady. Is the rest of the house up and about as well?" "Fast asleep. They don't believe in alarm clocks. It must be nice to be young..."