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Living room
Kitchen
Bathroom
Arctic's Bedroom
GuestBedroom
Arctic's study
Pool

Considering that Naomie had put herself in this drab cell with less decoration than a nun's, she really couldn't complain. The food was a mystery and a travesty that she would feel guilty feeding to rats but it was still a better idea than popping back on radar by the prince who's service she'd recently left. For her manners and uncanny ability to get the guards to listen to her while bound had put her on an elite list. Honestly, she only pointed out certain inefficiencies in the system, the stains on the uniforms, popped hands when they fought with her about how uneven their lapels were...they payed her no more mind than they would their mothers if not slightly more so. This afforded her the gift of an early purchase having spent no more than three days on the market before finding a buyer. So why was she in such a testy the day of there delivery from this sty pen? The outfit she'd been given was heinously ugly yet workable, she'd spent the morning ripping at it and barking at the wardrobe workers. Perhaps it was the clean airs, the urgency and control of someone that knew what they were doing better than they did that made them forget she was the slave not the leader, but none dared reprimand her so long as she had a needle in one hand and a ruler in the other.

She'd fashioned a tasteful appearance from thrift store garbage and "hooker paint" as she put it, no way would the available make up count as cosmetics anywhere outside of the profession but one achieved with the resources at hand or suffer an unacceptable failure, all while still supporting the scheduled time frame. Even in the dark, Naomie impressed, clean cut, efficient, prompt, and cool with her obvious class. Whoever this Client was, he had hired himself a miracle worker.

She made sure they arrived on time, taking control to optimize the fuel to mileage ratio, finding faster routes to the address by paper map that GPS couldn't even find, nit picking at her clothes, the guards clothes, bitching about the lack of polish on her handcuffs, all the while quickly and silently popping hands at opposition to stop her from doing her absolute best. Hands down, Naomie was the most annoying slave to have ever graced the halls of the warehouse. All four of the guards in the car were ready for her to go and stay gone. Like any other delivery, they did their jobs in putting her on the door step, ringing the door bell and walking way.
Naomie was actually confused by their sudden leaving her their. Not that she didn't understand this was new employer's home, that she now belonged to this person whoever he may be, but that they would show such lack luster work ethics! The job was not finished until the master answered the door and dismissed them properly!
Standing up straight and turning her back to them she cursed their laziness under her breath, needing a cigarette, "Bâtards Paresseux."
Patience was her main concern until the master inside answered the call of the door bell at entrovols of 5 minutes apart until someone collected her from this man's doorstep.

Naomie retreated a half step from the door moments too soon before it opened. The aura just on the other side felt unnatural but there was no way for that to be true. This was no different from any other house, she didn't believe in such things as ghosts, there for intuitions like that were the foolish shivers of a little girl mentality she had yet to out grow. This wouldn't last if she had anything to say about it. She was already in the process of squashing these vibes when the young yet white haired man greeted her with such velvet in his voice that it made her throat go dry. She had almost forgotten people could talk like that. It polished away any doubts she haboured about this job, about why a young man would have elder white hair - Maybe it was a strong bleaching, just fashion of a modern day - doubts about those silly discomforts of the mind. That sweet voice from the world of old wealth that she had thought to have left behind and would miss so much was in her reach again. She had to smile genuinely at the unwitting gift, a new secret for her to foster in the night, and curtsied properly, the cuffs not hindering the delicate form at all, "Monsieur Whiteclaw I presume? I am Naomie Fargo, the expected new addition to you staff. If I may Monsieur, I am eager to discuss and begin my duties."

His towering figure didn't take much with his easy 6'3" to her 5'3", even short heeled shoes didn't give her an edge. She was always smaller no matter where she went but her defenses were as flawless as her skills. Didn't matter how big he was, so long as she could charm him she wouldn't have to worry. She wouldn't waste the opportunity to gain footing with an adorable wide eyed expression of confusion to the comment of her bindings. A couple more rapid fire animations to sell a sudden realization that she was in fact bound proceeded a sugary sweet cued blush as delivered a jarring blow in the form of a giggly confession, "Opps! I'd forgotten all about these!"

She didn't except him to be stupid, just that he believed she was would be enough until she found a new foot hold in her defense. Perhaps in some way it was sad and even rude to already be putting up a fortress to keep this person at arms length, to judge him as dangerous on the first turn but what were the costs of being lax? No man with a voice like Monsieur Whiteclaw's would ever be anything less than a gentleman but the prince she served was the same way and look at how that ended. She couldn't take risks like being her real self with a stranger, no exceptions.
Her shield was her innocent smile that she brandished like a like a wolf to his fangs, never wavering, never yielding, one fluid motion of her wrist in the rings of steel indicated for him to lead, a slight bow to make it a respectful suggestion that acknowledged her station. He would see a young lady used to her station with brains enough only to operate within that station, he would have no reason to harm her unless he was the direct violent type. The gamble made her heart race.

Once inside, she took initiative to close the door behind herself. A significant move on her part, it showed one of two things: That she really was dumb enough to trap herself, or that she had no intentions of running. Of course there was always the chance that he would see it as her cutting off his escape but that was unlikly given his size, home field advantage, and her bindings. If he took it as nothing at all, that told her a little something about him: that he didn't pay much attention to his staff. That would be an incredibly valuable advantage to her. "Where shale we sit Monsieur Whiteclaw?"
What luck would it be for her to have been hired on by an idiot she wondered.