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Your Local Mailman
February 24, 1890 — Djura Crossbridge's Residence
@Djura Crossridge
Most of the time Josiah hardly saw the people he delivered mail to beyond the occasional greeting. Most of the people in Irvingly knew that Josiah was a shy man and did not press him too much to be social with them. When it came to wealthier people, he hardly ever saw them at all, usually dealing with their staff instead if he absolutely had to talk to them about something. He usually only did this when it came to large packages that would not fit into a mailbox.

As was the case today. Though there was the added warnings of 'Fragile' and 'Danger' on the package which was more than a little alarming. Knocking on the door of the home of Djura Crossridge, Josiah fully expected a staff member of some sort to come handle the piece of mail that Josiah very much wanted to be rid of.

set by lady!
Seated in his favourite armchair in the drawing room and nearing the final chapter of the book he was reading, Baron Crossridge glared daggers towards the tradesman's entrance as a knock went unanswered. Djura did not abide by tardiness, and he would be having words with his staff. But for now he'd have to sort it out himself, and with the air of a large lion disrupted from sleep, Djura got to his feet and went to answer the tradesman's door himself, silver cane clunking alongside him.

The willowy lad on the other side of the door was evidently a postal worker, though the Baron had never before set eyes on him. In any other circumstance Djura would have been glad to know his existence, for he understood the wizarding community used magical owls to deliver their post, and that was something Djura resented. But he was disrupted from his peace, and the postman was bearing a package clearly marked danger, and so he regarded the lad with ill will.

"What is this?"
Josiah was oblivious to the other mans ill will and so he smiled - kindly but shyly - as he waited for the man to take the package. He did not socialize very often and so did not often read the cues. Plus, he was rather focused on doing his job which consisted of delivering said package to the person it was addressed to. "I would not know sir, it is mail sent to a Baron Djura Crossridge. I do not snoop in the people's mail, I just deliver it." His words were honestly given with no malice or bent out of shape pride within them. "Is the master of this house truly a Baron? I have never met one." He had no idea the man he was speaking to was the baron in question.

set by lady!
Despite the tall fellow's sweet countenance and courtesies, Djura gave him a long, hard look at the words about "a Baron", not altogether trusting of his naiveté. Was he surely looking at Djura, well-dressed and dominant, and assuming him a servant? The Baron, still in a dark mood from being interrupted from his peace, did not dignify such impudence with an answer.

But they had to get to the bottom of the mysterious parcel, and so Djura opted to remain in the working man's presence for now. "Evidently, a parcel so marked is not going to be blindly opened. Who is it from?" Either someone had handed it directly to the postman, or he'd been given a return address in case of calamity. Either way, Djura would have answers.

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