"Currently, we're a trio shy of four hundred," comes the prompt answer. The Host keeps very careful track. The desire for more members has yet to be sated, though he isn't overly concerned; there isn't exactly a deadline. "We have space for more than double that number, however, and more frightful dead flock to room here every month." It's only a trickle, which is far from surprising. Most life-dwelling dead have attachments to a single place or person, and wandering alone seems to leave them more insubstantial than normal. A handful of haunts even dissipated after arrival at the Mansion, unable to stay shackled even in such a happy place. A pity.
"And there are plenty left who we haven't had a chance to encounter properly. Madame Leota has--"
A pun involving disembodied summons is cut off, same as every other sound, all at once.
A shuddering wind hisses from their destination, the end of the hallway with a door half-open into darkness.
As much as neither of them would come remotely enjoying it, a chill claps down on Noah's shoulder, roughly in the shape of a hand. "Stop." The Host's ever-present (and, more importantly, ever-audible) smile has dropped. Something has gone horribly wrong. Truly horribly, in a way that must affect even the ghosts within, which is more than uncommon. He withdraws his hand as quickly as Noah stops. "...It seems we have a delay. Wait here." A few long steps from the doorway, in front of another door that had suddenly stopped its rattling.
The door creaks open at the Host's will, showing the barest flashes of more musical instruments hanging in the air. "Madame," he asks quietly from the frame, "I apologize for the intrusion, and I've found anoth--"
"I know what you have found!"
An older woman's voice rings out, sending the instruments into a spin. They're orbiting a séance table, and more specifically, a green crystal ball also floating above the séance table. Of course she knows, and the Host had no doubt of that for a moment; he was merely trying to give her a chance to recover cue. That it was rejected so soundly only reconfirms the gravity of the situation.
"Enter, the both of you," demands the crystal ball. The head in the crystal ball. It seems the clouded mist inside is, instead, a woman's wild white hair. "Host, you fool. You've made an error worse than grave, and you are part of it, little mortal," she says, deeply disgusted.
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syntheid
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Date: 2018-12-22 12:36 pm (UTC)"And there are plenty left who we haven't had a chance to encounter properly. Madame Leota has--"
A pun involving disembodied summons is cut off, same as every other sound, all at once.
A shuddering wind hisses from their destination, the end of the hallway with a door half-open into darkness.
As much as neither of them would come remotely enjoying it, a chill claps down on Noah's shoulder, roughly in the shape of a hand. "Stop." The Host's ever-present (and, more importantly, ever-audible) smile has dropped. Something has gone horribly wrong. Truly horribly, in a way that must affect even the ghosts within, which is more than uncommon. He withdraws his hand as quickly as Noah stops. "...It seems we have a delay. Wait here." A few long steps from the doorway, in front of another door that had suddenly stopped its rattling.
The door creaks open at the Host's will, showing the barest flashes of more musical instruments hanging in the air. "Madame," he asks quietly from the frame, "I apologize for the intrusion, and I've found anoth--"
"I know what you have found!"
An older woman's voice rings out, sending the instruments into a spin. They're orbiting a séance table, and more specifically, a green crystal ball also floating above the séance table. Of course she knows, and the Host had no doubt of that for a moment; he was merely trying to give her a chance to recover cue. That it was rejected so soundly only reconfirms the gravity of the situation.
"Enter, the both of you," demands the crystal ball. The head in the crystal ball. It seems the clouded mist inside is, instead, a woman's wild white hair. "Host, you fool. You've made an error worse than grave, and you are part of it, little mortal," she says, deeply disgusted.