Life has not been that great for the occupants of a small town. The air not so clean in their line of business, mining to make a living. Simple ores of gold or iron were well sought after but it came with a price, lung diseases, injuries and scars that will remain eternal. Even death stole what little Norton had during an explosion that went horribly wrong to where his friends paid the price for what he sees to be his own fault. Interrogations soon follow given how he was the only one to survive. It’s hard to tell how he really managed to escape from death’s grasp. In the wake of the upcoming weeks, survivor syndrome took a firm hold on Norton. This results in visions of those who passed on, their hands reaching out to surround him. Claws, sinking ever so deeply into his skin that leaves him to stir from his sleep so abruptly and violently to a point he believes he’s in the mine again. Even coming to the manor offered little solace aside from money and his own personal reason to be there. Until now, he prefers to be alone but a pesky journalist seems intent on questioning him either out of concern or her own interests. He won’t give out information freely over a topic he wishes to never speak on. At least he has some sense of peace at the dining table where he currently sat. His hat placed on the table, idly staring at his food yet merely sparing a quick glance at it. The creak of a door captures his attention immediately, coal colored eyes dare to stare at this intruder who attempts to interrupt his meal time. “For a rich person, you sure lack manners or do you always come in every room without warning? Always snooping.” The raven haired huffed out, aware of that person’s tendencies to go places that are not exactly a pleasant scene. “I don’t want to talk.”