Quenton ducked into the empty room. It was dark inside, the windows shuttered with dusty drapes, it’s fireplace empty and furniture covered in sheets. He sunk into one of the covered sofas. He needed to collect his thoughts before he went to breakfast. He felt like he’d been bounced around like a pinball since he’d got to this world with no time to think.

I can’t use a sword or do anything considered a faux pas. He considered this a moment. How was he supposed to become a hero with such restraints?

He pulled up the interface and checked his talents again. He had Detect Faux Pas, Warded Toes, Silent Movement, and Enduring Attire.

Detect Faux Pas seemed only to work on himself, not others, though perhaps that would change when…if he leveled. It seemed less of a talent and more of a punishment to Quenton but he guessed it would be useful in learning manners, not that he had any interest in doing so.

Warded toes must’ve been for dancing, he’d seen a few movies and animes that featured ball dancing and he could guess how much it sucked to have your feet trod on. He’d be spared that much it seemed. Maybe if he leveled the skill might grant him more general durability? It was only a guess but it was something to pin his hopes to.

Then he considered Silent Movement. That one was incredibly useful right from the start, any proper rogue build would kill for a skill like that. It also meant he could probably explore the manner without too much fear of being discovered. It was nice to know he had at least one skill that was useful from the get-go.

Lastly was Enduring Attire, that one seemed a decent utility skill particularly if he ever did get to properly adventure. It’d be nice not having to worry about clothes getting torn, dirty, or sweaty from wear. Considering the dresses he now wore he guessed that the skill would soon be coming in handy.

As for stats, he’d need to find a way to grind them up. He’d need to figure out what activities or actions raised them and then start repeating them.

Either way, he had no earthly clue how to get back to his own world so he figured it was time to start making the best of this one. First things first, instead of going for a sword he probably should’ve tried to get the basic facts about his new world.

He made a mental checklist of questions he needed answers to. What country am I in? What year is it? What’s the majority religion? Who’s in charge?

Those would be a place to start, after breakfast he would head to the library and try to get the fundamentals. After all, he could hardly run off into the wildness with no clue where, when, or who he even was. His stomach rumbled softly and he pushed himself to his feet.

Okay, time for breakfast. Besides a chance to eat, it would also be a chance to find out more about his “siblings”. He’d gotten impressions of them from dinner but he still knew practically nothing about them. He walked slowly down the stairs, careful not to trip, and after a few false starts, found what he suspected was the drawing-room.

It was a small room with several plush-looking chairs and sofas surrounding a glass and wood coffee table, an unlit fireplace, and a door that opened to a grassy yard. On the table was a silver tray of rolls, a gleaming covered pot, a bowl of fruit, and a teapot and cups.

Viola was perched on one of the sofas taking dainty bites of oatmeal. “Good morning, Briony. Won’t you sit with me?” She gestured to the seat beside her.

Quenton smiled nervously and took the offered seat. She looked him up and down her eyes narrowing. “You still seem a bit peaked.” She sighed. “Eating a bit might help, have some porridge Briony.”

The elderly butler he recognized from dinner stepped forward and spooned some oatmeal into a china bowl, he set it down in front of Quenton before stepping stiffly back.

He picked up the silver spoon that had been laid on the table and tried a tentative spoonful. He grimaced at it’s flavorless, gummy taste.

Viola raised an eyebrow at him. “No sugar? Are you certain you’re my sister?” She said, laughing lightly.

Oh, of course. Sugar. Quenton added a few spoonfuls of sugar from a little porcelain bowl on the breakfast tray. The taste was much improved and he soon found himself finished.

“Are you well, Briony?” Viola asked, watching him closely. “I’m worried for you, I must admit.”

Quenton forced a smile. “I’m fine.” He said firmly. “I was just kind of tired, I’m a lot better now.” He insisted.

He reached for a piece of fruit, observing the pears, apricots, and plums until he plucked a particularly juicy pear. He raised it to his mouth before abruptly drawing back, hoping to avoid a headache he took a guess at how it was actually supposed to be eaten and began to cut it into pieces with a small silver knife.

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“Forde, pour the tea please.” She said mildly. The older man, Forde, stepped forward and with surprisingly steady hands poured each of them a cup of tea.

He grimaced inwardly. Quenton had never liked tea, his mother had only made it for him when he was sick, he’d never tried it otherwise. Still, new world, new experiences, he took a few lumps of sugar from the porcelain dish and stirred it before taking a cautious sip. To his surprise, while it wasn’t anything like the soda or energy drinks he preferred it wasn’t terrible. He sipped at it, figuring that slurping would get him a headache.

“I wish Lady Warwin’s soiree was not today,” Viola said with a sigh. “I intended to join with the Tessar group, we were going to distribute clothing to penuried widows.” She looked out the window listlessly. “I considered not attending but mother would go into hysterics.”

“That’s nice of you, giving out clothes I mean,” Quenton said, taking a sip of tea.

Viola stirred her tea, the spoon lightly clinking the cup. “It baffles me sometimes how little others care about such people, there are so many in need of help and yet we are always lacking in volunteers.” She observed. “All these balls and galas are pleasant affairs to be sure but the world is composed of more than parties.”

“Oh dear, don’t you ever speak of anything other than charity and protest Viola? It’s grown rather tedious I must say.” Camilla said, walking into the room with a sharp smile.

Oh great. She’s here. Quenton sighed inwardly, preparing for a stream of weird Victorian insults.

“Good morning to you too, Camilla,” Viola said tartly.

“I’m merely trying to help you, you know. You’ll never find a husband if all you focus on is widows and orphans.” She chastised, taking a seat across from Quenton and Viola.

“Anyways, Briony agrees with me, don’t you?” She asked, smiling sweetly at him.

Quenton blinked, surprised to be put on the spot. Thinking through his options he figured backing Viola made the most sense, she was certainly the friendliest of his “sisters” and from what he knew of the situation she was right besides.

“I think Viola is fine. There’s no reason she can’t do charity and get married.” He said. Viola gave him a small grateful smile but Camilla’s curdled like sour milk.

“Well, you would agree. You do need all the charity you can get.” Camilla opened her purse and Quenton gaped as a small reptilian imp thing crawled out. It had curved elf-like ears and slit nose, it’s head was like a peeled potato with black beads peering out. “Are you peckish, Candle?” She asked in a cooing voice.

Viola clicked her tongue. “I wish you wouldn’t bring your pet to breakfast, at least not until it’s better trained.”

Camilla sniffed dismissively, as the imp clawed impotently at her light orange dress. “Nonsense. Candle has been declawed. He’s perfectly harmless.” She said, dangling a plum in front of the creature and smiling affectionately as it used it’s needle-like teeth to devour it.

Quenton closed his mouth. Okay, I guess this word does have monsters. He thought disbelievingly.

Camilla caught her gaze and narrowed her eyes. “Why are you staring at Candle? It’s not as though you’ve not seen him before.” She said, stroking the little monster on it’s bald head.

“Uh…I was just wondering if he’d got bigger. That’s all.” He lied. She has a pet monster. Okay. Great.

Camilla to his surprise, grinned at him. “Oh yes, he’ll never be bigger than a cat but he’s grown a full two inches. He’s such a clever boy too! Why, I caught him unlatching one of the windows to try and catch a bird.” She gushed.

“That’s great,” Quenton said, trying to sound enthusiastic and still side-eye the hideous imp.

“I don’t want it to get a taste for blood,” Viola said sharply. “It might go after you next.”

Camilla opened her mouth but closed it at Rosalind’s entrance. “Viola, don’t engage in such needless worry. You’ll go gray before your time.” She said with a light laugh; Rosalind looked as beautiful as she had at dinner, her hair upswept in an elegant bun and her face perfectly doll-like.

Viola sighed. “Someone in this house ought to worry. You three give me more than enough cause for concern.”

Rosalind sat next to Camilla and gestured at the servant to fill her cup. “You ought to concern yourself with the soiree, just think sister, you could meet an eligible bachelor there. Don’t you want to be swept from your feet?” She asked breezily.

“I prefer to remain grounded,” Viola responded, unamused. “However you two,” she gestured between Rosalind and Quenton, “Ought to concern yourself with Lady Aliza’s high opinion. I heard Lady Henlock has fallen out of favor and she’ll be searching for a new girl to take her place.”

“That’s quite the bit of gossip, Viola. Wherever did you hear of it?” Rosalind asked, eyes twinkling.

Viola blushed. “Perhaps I met a servant of Lady Aliza’s at one of my causes you find so humorous.”

Camilla grinned, still stroking the imp. “They’ll be ladies from all over Molyra there, you two will hardly stand out. You’d be lucky to catch so much as a glance from Lady Aliza.”

Rosalind ignored Camilla tilting her head to Quenton. “Viola is correct, sister, our prospects could be much improved with Lady Aliza’s favor. We ought to catch her attention somehow, perhaps you can think of something Briony. You always did have an odd intuition.” She said happily.

Quenton smiled nervously. “Sure. I’ll think about it,” he murmured, busying himself with sipping tea. It looked as though he was about to be shuffled off to a party and at said party he would need to be charming. Trepidation swelled in his chest at the prospect.

Still. This sounded like a good way to grind his stats up, a party was the perfect place to develop “lady-like” virtues. Finishing his tea, he resolved to be the best lady he could be.