Sanjome— or as people know him more universally by his title, Count Saint Germain (a mouthful), tossed and turned on the soft sheets of the bed. Waking up to see a ceiling that was not his, nor did the texture of the blankets and pillows were familiar either. Usually, a rational minded individual like him wouldn’t usually attend occasions like parties and such, although one of his coworkers were being quite persistent and he had to come with for the sake of his identity here on earth.

Glancing to the side, the Orchestrator’s gaze meets an unfamiliar face. By his understanding, he drunkenly passed out on someone else’s bed, no recollection of the activities they may have done the past night. Nor do his coworkers know of this affair, let alone her identity and name.

He could only stare at them blankly, quietly deciding what to do with this person and in t he is situation.