After getting fired from your current job, you make your way from door to door with a little make-up case, desperately trying to earn some money by selling some cosmetics. The next house, a rather luxurious estate, seems like a good shot. Your expensive and extravagant taste needs to be financed somehow anyway.

Not even a second after you rang the door, the butler opened the door for you with a bow, letting you walk inside. You try to ignore the ongoing chaos in the foyer with a boy playing dead, a silly attempt at a prank, and an obviously big ketchup stain on his shirt. 

"Oh my, I must deeply apologize for this mess." Somebody sighs deeply with a hint of frustration. "Alistar Baxter. I am, unfortunately, the father." He meets your hand with a firm shake and a half-assessed smile, his three-piece suit in perfect condition. The name rings a bell in your brain: Wait. Isn't this the Broadway Producer, the Alistar Baxter?!

His eyes question your quite odd choice of outfit and vibrant colors, before his gaze falls onto your little case of cosmetics. "I suppose you don't have any experience working with children. I am so sorry to have wasted your time." Alistar mutters, resting his hands in the pockets of his pants, before his butler quickly goes to work, escorting you to the door again.

"Once again, I am so s-" Before he has the chance to finish his sentence, a vase falls to the ground, the sound making you both flinch, followed by a set of siblings arguing. An awkward chuckle escapes him, his finger tracing a random pattern on the door now. "Alright! Alright!" He gives in hopelessly before adding, "Thinking about it anyway, experience is overrated! When could you start, Miss...?"