You know what's weird about someone else's house?

Not knowing where their bathroom is.

You know what's worse?

Spending 45 minutes wandering around looking for it, then finding it only two doors down from where you started.

And then to top it off, being unable to figure out the water system and facing the humiliation of asking the people making the bed to show you how to work the surprisingly simply shower.

The good part: the shower has warm water.

Quinn scrubbed her body clean and relaxed under warm water.

The bad part: you are clean, but your clothes are not.

Quinn eyed the clothes that she'd worn for a week, then her eyes darted to the towel she had dried off with.

She had to wear clothes to breakfast.

She was supposed to make a good first impression on her host who was the equivalent of a Lady.

And her options were borrowed disgusting man clothes, or her birthday suit.

Unless, of course, she could find clothes somewhere else.

Quinn was rummaging through her room, pulling out drawers and opening doors in search of clothing.

She had wrapped the towel around and tied it as a temporary solution.

"You look like a looter."

Quinn screamed and flipped around, her own wet hair following seconds later and hitting her in the face.

"Miro! Don't you people knock!" She shouted.

His grumpy expression was positioned in a smirk.

"And I wasn't looting. I need clothes." Quinn explained.

He tilted his head.

"Why didn't you ask the houseworkers?"

"Oh, what, you mean the strangers who were making my bed? That's weird. They aren't here to cater to my every whim. They work here for the house right?"

Miroslav blinked like he hadn't considered that.

Wait a minute....

Miroslav was leaning in the doorway, in a set of black pants and a dark blue tunic that he definitely had not had on the day before. The pants were crisp, and the shirt looked like it might be some sort of shiny silk material with embroidered edges.

All paired with the worn brown fur lined boots that he had been wearing the day before.

Leave it to a man to ruin fashion.

"Where did you get those?" Quinn pointed.

His smirk widened.

"I had the good sense to ask the houseworkers."

Quinn debated kicking him, but swallowed her pride.

"Fine. Do you know where I can get some of those?" She bit out.

Miroslav turned around and walked away.

Is that a yes? Or a no?

Quinn sighed.

A serious looking woman walked briskly into the room.

"I was informed you lack clothes. What's your preference?" She spoke the way Quinn imagined an 18th century nanny from England would.

"Preference?" Quinn repeated.

"Material, color, style, pants or skirt-"

"Definitely pants."

The woman's lips pursed slightly, but she pulled out a measuring tape and a notepad.

She made a scribbled note, then waited.

"Um, like, pants that are good for movement? And maybe a warm shirt. And a coat that fits?" The woman nodded, writing quickly.

"Can I get boots, too?" Quinn asked.

The woman nodded, then waited.

"Oh. Right. Um, I guess, I don't really care about colors or materials or whatever. I kind of just need something that's, well, you know, clean and fits." Quinn finished.

The woman gave her a disapproving look up and down.

She took measurements with her tape, needing help with length because Quinn was a few inches taller than her.

Quinn swore that on some of the measurements she made "hmmm" noises, like something was odd or interesting, but she didn't say anything else.

Then Quinn had a thought.

She focused on the woman behind her, reaching out.

A burst of concern and focus came from the woman.

Quinn lifted her arms for arm and bust measurements.

If Quinn relaxed, the large feelings started to split and twist into more complex ideas and impressions.

The woman was concerned, but not upset. Focused in the same way that one is when they read a book or want to distract themselves.

"If you wait an hour, the clothes will be delivered to your room. Mistress Maude and the gentlemen are already down at breakfast. I'll inform them that you will be dining alone until your clothes arrive." And with that information, she marched out.

Quinn blinked a few times as the feeling of someone else's presence faded.

"Okaaay."

I can feel people.

That's new.

Does this mean that I can control it?

Does it only work on certain people?

I've never "felt" Miro, and we've been around each other for days.

Is this the Gift?

How am I supposed to do anything with people feelings?

A knock on the door interrupted that train of thought.

Miro held out a plate some sort of pastry looking things.

"Scone?" He offered.

"Everyone else forgot I needed to eat?" She laughed and accepted the food.

He shrugged.

"The houseworkers didn't want you to be embarassed by your indecency, and they assumed we are together, so I was directed to bring you breakfast."

"We are NOT together." She clarified. "I wouldn't date you in a hundred years."

"If "date" is what I think it is, then I assure you that we would not engage in vulgar-"

Quinn cut him off before he could finish.

"Date? You know, like spend time together? Learning about each other? Like a....I don't know. A promise between two people to only be with each other for that amount of time." Quinn fumbled with a way to explain.

"Ah. Courting. I wouldn't court you either." Miroslav said factually.

Quinn stuck her tongue out at him.

Miro blinked.

Then he swiped one of her tart-thingies.

"Hey," Quinn exclaimed as he ate it in one bite. "You already had some!"

He made prolonged eye contact.

"I'm bigger than you." He stated, like that was enough reason.

Quinn narrowed her eyes at him and moved the plate farther away.

"Hey. Do you.....have...a Gift?" She asked.

Miroslav went still.

"Yes." He answered.

"Oh. Good. Actually, that's great. I could use some help figuring out how to make my people-reading stuff work..." Quinn started.

"I don't have your Gift."

"Oh." Quinn deflated a little.

"Wait. Then what do you have?"

He didn't say anything for a while.

For a moment, Quinn saw his eyes darken.

His jaw tightened, like something haunted him.

"Ice."

"That's neat. Can you do a lot? Like, do you have a big....Gift?"

"Big....Gift?" He quirked an eyebrow, putting an innuendo there that she hadn't even noticed.

She wacked him.

"The answer is yes."

She rolled her eyes.

"Is it considered offensive if I say, 'prove it'?" She said, hopeful.

He closed his hands together, lifted then to his mouth and blew through them, snow coming out in a puff.

He lowered his hands and opened them.

A little butterfly made of delicate frost was on his palm.

"Awww, that's so-" Quinn stopped as the butterfly began to move.

Its delicate wings fluttered.

Then it lifted into the air, wings beating gently as it glided.

"That. Is. So. Cool." Quinn breathed.

Quinn stared at it, following it with her eyes as it circled around her.

"Hey, Quinn! Guess what? You shoulda been there! Maude says Miro's a prince!" Nol exploded into the room.

The butterfly dropped and shattered.

Quinn felt a burst of excited energy.

A little late, you useless gift.

"Oh woah. Sorry, didn't know you were in here. You didn't get your clothes yet, Quinn?" Nol said, moving right past Miro.

"Oh, well, the nice lady said it would be an hour or two...."

Quinn felt something and so she stopped talking.

Said lady walked in with a pile of clothes, her eyes widening at the apparent taboo of two guys in her room.

"Your...clothes."

The lady turned around and left the way she came, looking scandalized.

Miro actually cringed.

"Dude. I have a towel on. It's not like I'm naked or something. And the door is open. I'm not some ho." Quinn muttered.

"Oh wow. You didn't tell her you were here?" Nol asked.

Miro shook his head.

Quinn glanced between the two, and then dots started to connect.

"Wait a second. Did Nol say you were a prince?" Quinn asked.

Nol and Miro both just stared at her.

"We really need to work on your communication skills." Quinn said.

"Talk. Now."