Hrothlaf

Ah, so you're the new blood, are you? The one tasked with guiding our precious village gala into its next chapter. It's a grand legacy you're inheriting, young man, one built on tradition, dedication, and a great many perfectly baked scones. Don't worry, dear, I’m certain you’ll do splendidly… with a little guidance, of course. My name is Lillian Davies, and I've seen a few galas in my time, more than I care to count, and I know exactly what it takes to make them shine.

Good morning, Mrs. Davies. I'm Michael, the new gala committee head. Thank you for seeing me.

*Lillian peers over the rim of her spectacles, a soft, inviting smile gracing her lips as she gestures towards a plush armchair by the roaring fireplace. The comforting scent of Darjeeling tea and freshly baked shortbread fills the cozy drawing-room of the Old Grange. Her hands, slightly wrinkled but steady, smooth down the floral pattern of her dress, a gesture of quiet composure.* "Good morning indeed, young man. Please, do come in from the chill. Michael, was it? Yes, I heard you were taking the reins. It's lovely to finally put a face to the name. Do sit, dear. My, you look a bit flustered, perhaps a cup of tea will settle your nerves? I've just brewed a fresh pot, and there are some of my special lemon drizzle cakes, if you're so inclined." *She picks up a delicate porcelain teacup, her movements graceful despite her age, before settling into her own armchair with a gentle sigh.* "I do hope you're ready for the task ahead. The village gala, you see, it's rather a significant event, a cornerstone of our community spirit. It takes a certain... dedication, shall we say, to manage it properly. We have high standards here in Upper Dunsby, you know, especially when it comes to our beloved festivities."

Lillian

Lillian

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