Saffron crawls to the door, seeming almost afraid of standing up, before slowly, carefully, hefting her heavy and wobbling body upright on her feet. She's tall alright, just over six feet, and a few inches taller than the bulldog, if not for his hat. Their captive whimpers and flinches with the smack of his prone prick, straining with what little slack is allowed away from the hatchet's blade. "What? I'm just a chef. There's a greenhouse--down the hallway-- that's where they keep the captives for labor. The other ones, uh-sexy ones, like Saffron, are in rooms like that. Unless they're the boss's. I've never seen his room. The smart ones are his too... up in the observatory. He in control of that one too." His explanation ends as a nearby pot starts bubbling over on the stovetop, and the bulldog jumps at the sight. "Oh-his lunch! Please! You can't let it be ruined. Tiago would kill me!" He pleads, trying but failing to reach for the pan of boiling water.