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From Grim’s diary:
We had been shown much around the great mansion. From the well stocked pantry to the separate bedrooms where we were to sleep. It struck me that this was the kind of old house, where the architecture had not yet learned of open floor interiors, but designed everything to seperate rooms connected by winding halways and side doors.
From how the kitchen was separated from the dining hall, to how even the bathroom and toilet were treated as distinguished entities for different purposes.
The bathroom truly lived up to its name. For it housed the great tub, where we had all been welcome to clean ourselves from the dust of the road.
However. More pressing matters eventually rose to my attention, as the lively dinner eventually made its way through my own winding corridors. Less one aimed to relieve onesself in the bathtubb, I had yet to see any side doors or tapestry to be pulled to reveal any lavoratory.
Im shure Mivera took no small amount of joy about the awkwardness that arose from asking the lady of the house for the bathroom, in the middle of all this extravagance.
The toilet, unlike the bathroom, seeming lay almost out of the way, down the end of the winding halls. Perhaps a victim of old design and ethique. To keep one’s private business away from all others. Though, what struck out to me was, despite being as nice as the resto of the mannsion, it seemed far less frequented then other parts of the building.
A fine layer of dust covered what I only learned later was a checkered pattern marble floor.
I knew that Mivera must have been away from this house for a long time. Some dust is always to be expected in any abode left alone for too long. Yet the bathroom struck me as more so then the rest of the building.
Almost as if it had not seen use in years.
Needs must - i still committed myself to the toilet, and returned to your show of the manor without any embarrassing questions.
Call me a utilitarian. But when you are used to only having one room for all your lavatory needs. You tent to return there, even when alternative options are available.
Perhaps thats what, when the need to brush ones teeth before bedtime arose, caught me to ignore the readily available sinks of the bathing house, in favor of the simpler one by the toilet.
That’s what caught me to notice the tracks on the floor. Call me stuck im my ways, but when you are versed in the art of tracking, your eyes tend to notice the smaller things. Particulary the singular sets of hoofprints that disturbed fine dust-scape. One set of mine. And a set of slightly smaller prints I unmistakably recognized as belonging to my beloved Glyph. Bouth going in and out in a singular tripp. But no sets of out third resident. Suggesting the bathroom to have gone unused by our lovely hostess since our arrival.
I was not made aware of any other toilets in the building. Though given the size of the estate, it was possible that the master chambers possessed more private privies. I had yet to see all of the building, Sticking by Minervas proximity for the duration of your stay so far. And since I was but a guest – I had yet to poke my head where I had not been told. The rooms we had been shown providing more than enough distractions for even a wandering mind.
I really ought to have thought no more of it. We were guests in this house. And this must be the guest bathroom. But something stuck out to me at the absence of lavatory presence.
I could not remember a single time that I had ever heard mivera excuse herself to ask for the nearest bathroom, or buch when we were out in the wild. Much less se her move to occupy one.
Be it me to never ask a Mare about her private business. Im shure every grown creature of sound mind are made manage their own business whenever the need arises. And I could not say that I have always had my eyes on Mivera all the time.
Still, the thought stuck with me. For all that she could eat and drink, she never seemed to lose her form.
No more than temporarily at most. Even her most gluttonous days found her return to her pristime herself by the next day. I have heard of ponies that possess an absurd metabolism. Shurely mivera was an example of this, if experience was anything to go by?
As the old saying goes: Just where did she put it all?
We had been shown much around the great mansion. From the well stocked pantry to the separate bedrooms where we were to sleep. It struck me that this was the kind of old house, where the architecture had not yet learned of open floor interiors, but designed everything to seperate rooms connected by winding halways and side doors.
From how the kitchen was separated from the dining hall, to how even the bathroom and toilet were treated as distinguished entities for different purposes.
The bathroom truly lived up to its name. For it housed the great tub, where we had all been welcome to clean ourselves from the dust of the road.
However. More pressing matters eventually rose to my attention, as the lively dinner eventually made its way through my own winding corridors. Less one aimed to relieve onesself in the bathtubb, I had yet to see any side doors or tapestry to be pulled to reveal any lavoratory.
Im shure Mivera took no small amount of joy about the awkwardness that arose from asking the lady of the house for the bathroom, in the middle of all this extravagance.
The toilet, unlike the bathroom, seeming lay almost out of the way, down the end of the winding halls. Perhaps a victim of old design and ethique. To keep one’s private business away from all others. Though, what struck out to me was, despite being as nice as the resto of the mannsion, it seemed far less frequented then other parts of the building.
A fine layer of dust covered what I only learned later was a checkered pattern marble floor.
I knew that Mivera must have been away from this house for a long time. Some dust is always to be expected in any abode left alone for too long. Yet the bathroom struck me as more so then the rest of the building.
Almost as if it had not seen use in years.
Needs must - i still committed myself to the toilet, and returned to your show of the manor without any embarrassing questions.
Call me a utilitarian. But when you are used to only having one room for all your lavatory needs. You tent to return there, even when alternative options are available.
Perhaps thats what, when the need to brush ones teeth before bedtime arose, caught me to ignore the readily available sinks of the bathing house, in favor of the simpler one by the toilet.
That’s what caught me to notice the tracks on the floor. Call me stuck im my ways, but when you are versed in the art of tracking, your eyes tend to notice the smaller things. Particulary the singular sets of hoofprints that disturbed fine dust-scape. One set of mine. And a set of slightly smaller prints I unmistakably recognized as belonging to my beloved Glyph. Bouth going in and out in a singular tripp. But no sets of out third resident. Suggesting the bathroom to have gone unused by our lovely hostess since our arrival.
I was not made aware of any other toilets in the building. Though given the size of the estate, it was possible that the master chambers possessed more private privies. I had yet to see all of the building, Sticking by Minervas proximity for the duration of your stay so far. And since I was but a guest – I had yet to poke my head where I had not been told. The rooms we had been shown providing more than enough distractions for even a wandering mind.
I really ought to have thought no more of it. We were guests in this house. And this must be the guest bathroom. But something stuck out to me at the absence of lavatory presence.
I could not remember a single time that I had ever heard mivera excuse herself to ask for the nearest bathroom, or buch when we were out in the wild. Much less se her move to occupy one.
Be it me to never ask a Mare about her private business. Im shure every grown creature of sound mind are made manage their own business whenever the need arises. And I could not say that I have always had my eyes on Mivera all the time.
Still, the thought stuck with me. For all that she could eat and drink, she never seemed to lose her form.
No more than temporarily at most. Even her most gluttonous days found her return to her pristime herself by the next day. I have heard of ponies that possess an absurd metabolism. Shurely mivera was an example of this, if experience was anything to go by?
As the old saying goes: Just where did she put it all?
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