The Manor was not done. The scaffoldings were done, the rocks were laid, and the next floor was an array of joists and ceilings. It was progress that, if measured in pies, might give you diabetes.
They weren't living in the unfinished manor any more. It was a construction zone. So, as a last act for the day, Scott built them a temporary house.
This was the reason the Manor was not done yet. Scott had gotten distracted.
It was all well and good intentioned.. It very well may be the best strategy moving forward, as the best distractions are. But it was… a lot.
As soon as it came Scott's turn to truly build, he was awash with options. Petra had given him only three restrictions. Make it practical. Make it defendable. Make it look like something she wouldn't be ashamed to show other nobles.
Before he had come, Scott had been too busy sabotaging Clout's forces to draft more than four or five drafts. The weather coming to Stalt had permitted a mere two more. So, this obvious lack of blueprints had kept him up last night to create six more. But, of course, now that he actually saw the location, he was stunned.
The lakeside manor, the forested gardens, the layout of the foundations. And OH! The mountains towering above. The way they curved inward, as if to fall upon the manor itself. Petra had only described the manor as situated between two mountains, but this! It simply had to be incorporated into the final design.
So he'd made the scaffolding for Petra and set himself up a workstation. Then he'd moved his work station. Then he'd built a tower for a better view. Then he'd moved the whole thing further away.
It was too much. Scott's sleep deprived artist started vibrating within. He needed more. This was important. It required all the preparation in the world.
Petra trusted the process too much, and it was only as night approached and Clara and Jasson returned from killing monsters that she realized that nothing was getting done.
So, the guest house was created rather than a single room. It stood to the side, a bare flick of Scott's attention. Five rooms, the necessary living amenities, and a welcoming parlor where they could hold meetings. It was in an eastern style because, with his nose buried in ideas, Scott didn't have the headspace for anything more than reflexes. It took a good amount of the first shipment of cured lumber, but it would likely be their home for months.
After all, art is never finished.
****
Harriett knew that Scott wasn't doing it for her, but it was so…charming. Failing to build the manor. Leaving them in a guest house with theoretical walls. All to be consumed with his passion. To make something amazing.
And, somehow, she had gotten roped into taking care of him.
Food, three times a day, had kept him happy. Clean clothes and occasional ambush showers were necessary. But beyond everything else, an endless supply of tea was an absolute must.
But it wasn't the right tea. At first, he'd been fine with the stuff common in the kingdom. But then, as the project increased, every little thing started to become a burr in his thoughts. He needed eastern tea. Specific variants.
Harriett had made connections to find it, but then her preparations had fallen flat. It wasn't right. She was missing everything, including 'tea pets'. Whatever the heck those were. He wasn't mean when she got it wrong, but he was enthusiastically distracted from his work in explaining how to do it 'better'.
He was being so demanding. Harriett's father was a few miles away, her mother was probably spying on them at the moment, and he was enthusiastically telling her all the ways she'd gone wrong. All the ways she could improve.
The day she got the tea 'ceremony' right, he'd beamed like a summer day. The first snow was thawing from the ground. Birds sang in the trees. The cold damp air fought the dry warmth of the brazier on top of his working tower. He was so enthusiastic.
He recognized Harriett's efforts, and delighted in her success.
Harriett spiraled into love.
****
Clara couldn't stand being around Petra when she was frustrated. So she'd gone to the adventurer's guild. They'd announced themselves and now Jane was there. Waiting.
The air was stale, the place as crowded as she'd ever seen. It stunk like training halls and morgues. Good hygiene was a must after bathing in your enemy's blood.
"Good to see you again, Jane." Clara said, "I hope that you ending up all the way out here wasn't entirely our fault."
Jane sighed and said, "It was, but I should have known better than to take two nobles like you out adventuring. But at least Grog was still willing to hire me after that."
"That's good," Clara shifted and said, "Is this the same Grog that-"
"Saved me from pirates?" Jane said, "Trained me to be an adventurer. Yeah. He's like a father to me."
"Or the crazy Uncle," Grog said from across the guild. He was in a good mood about something.
"Don't mind him, he's going on a trip soon." Jane said, holding out a driftwood token, "And sorry about you starting over again. Other guilds may let you jump, but ours does it only after you win duels. Not just fighting duels, by the way."
"Cool," Clara took it and said, "Can I muscle my way to the front of a crowd?"
Jane smiled and said, "If you can stand the smell. Grog says that if you can't stand the press, then stick with picking flowers."
Clara chuckled and said, "I don't think that that will be a problem."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Jane said, motioning to the packed throng awaiting the cart, "You're head is at armpit level. You have been warned."
And so had all the other adventurers. At least, after the first few flew away.