The Ivy Cottage Inn

Chapter Two: Katts and the French

Anyhow. John hurried back down the stairs, and collected his next tray for his next guest along the route, Katt Llewelyn. She was probably one of the more normal guests, and practiced none of the arcane arts. She was merely an aspiring author, trying to publish an epic or two of her heroic father, who had been an adventurer and warrior, or so she said. But John believed her, unlike most others.

Katt would want an apple, some apple juice, a small loaf of bread, and a small portion of honey. John gathered all these things, and then flew up the stairs to door number two. Katt's door looked like a deep, mahogany, and had streaks of chocolate brown running through it. Katt had been staying at the inn for about three weeks.

John knocked gently, knowing that loud noises startled Katt. Katt gently said come in, and John entered.

Inside the room, there was an oaken wardrobe in a corner, and an oaken bed against the opposite wall. In between those two, facing the window, was a desk, at which Katt was sitting, using a goose-feather quill to hurriedly get the words in her head on parchment. Katt glanced up, saw John, and then looked back at her parchment. Then Katt shook her head, and looked back at John, as if noticing him for the first time.

"Oh, sorry John, I-I-I didn't notice y-y-you were h-h-here!" Katt stuttered. John felt pity for Katt. When she was around people she stuttered, but when she was alone, her voice was smooth and fluid, and she sang beautifully. Katt had tan skin, lots of freckles, and had brown hair. she was a bit on the plump side, but still pretty. she was about the average height for her age of nineteen years.

"Katt, it's fine. I brought you your breakfast, and I gave you a little more honey than usually, if that's all right with you," John said softly.

Katt smiled faintly, and said, concentrating the entire time to prevent stumbling around her words, "Thanks, John."

John grinned, and left. Ah, Katt. why don't you seem to know that you don't need to stutter, because everyone here likes you. You've got nothing to be afraid of.

Oh, well. Nothing I can do about it, John thought. Next guest, here I come.

The next guest was Claudette Blanchett. She lived with her older brother, Chevalier, and they absolutely liked one another. They were always like best friends, despite their age difference, Claudette being fourteen, and Chevalier being seventeen.

Claudette would want a pear and two pancakes, with a glass of milk. Chevalier would want a waffle, and an apple, with a glass of cranberry juice. Perfect. John gathered the things, and headed to their room, number three. Claudett and her brother had been living at the hotel for exactly two weeks starting today. As John approached, he watched the door transform into a thin thing made of willow branches, with hints of light blue and pink on it. John knocked three times.

The handle turned, and there was Claudette. Claudette had greenish-blue eyes, and had a long length of red hair, which she usually kept tied up with a strap of leather rawhide. She was of an average build for a fourteen-year old, and was wearing a boy's tunic and trousers (she was a bit of a tomboy).

Claudette said in her French accent, being French, "Good morning, sweet boy! Thank you for the breakfast!" She swept her tray into her arms, and said, "Come on, slow Chevalier, come get your food!"

Chevalier lumbered into view, obviously having just woken up, and said, "Morning, John." Chevalier was tall, and broad-shouldered. He had brown hair, usually swept to one side, and brown-almost maroon- eyes, that sparkled slightly in light. Chevalier said his farewell, and then took the tray, and closed the door.

Next!