Where only she can see, the Host gives a sardonic bow.
"Come along, then. The Ballroom is a reasonable starting point, and he hasn't left the premises." He doesn't check too hard--working out precisely where someone is, living or dead, is among his abilities; however, it involves plunging his being into the darkness of the Mansion. It isn't all that unpleasant for a ghost, but it's far too easy to lose track of time there.
At least it'll be easier for Noah to follow along--the Ghost Host is an icy vortex, leeching heat from several feet around himself.
The next room is the floor above the Ballroom, with a staircase descending in the center.
The ghosts on the floor below seem to have no idea of a potential predicament. A massive organ is being played on the left of the room, with formless ghosts swirling around the pipes. Half a dozen couples, far more human in appearance, are waltzing across the floor, ignoring the fact some of their routine leaves them stepping straight through a table. A few are sitting in front of decaying-food plates, chattering cheerfully among themselves, though there's an obvious empty seat (and dish) near the center.
The Host pauses at the top of the stairs, looking, listening. Though, naturally, one of the loudest sounds (despite himself) are the footsteps of his living companion.
Hmm.
"I never caught your name," he says. Despite the lingering chill in the air, his voice is calm, once again approaching conversational.
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syntheid
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Date: 2018-12-26 01:18 pm (UTC)"Very well. Work quickly. Neither of you will enjoy it if my involvement must go beyond mere instructions." Madame Leota's crystal ball hovers back towards the center of her séance table.
Where only she can see, the Host gives a sardonic bow.
"Come along, then. The Ballroom is a reasonable starting point, and he hasn't left the premises." He doesn't check too hard--working out precisely where someone is, living or dead, is among his abilities; however, it involves plunging his being into the darkness of the Mansion. It isn't all that unpleasant for a ghost, but it's far too easy to lose track of time there.
At least it'll be easier for Noah to follow along--the Ghost Host is an icy vortex, leeching heat from several feet around himself.
The next room is the floor above the Ballroom, with a staircase descending in the center.
The ghosts on the floor below seem to have no idea of a potential predicament. A massive organ is being played on the left of the room, with formless ghosts swirling around the pipes. Half a dozen couples, far more human in appearance, are waltzing across the floor, ignoring the fact some of their routine leaves them stepping straight through a table. A few are sitting in front of decaying-food plates, chattering cheerfully among themselves, though there's an obvious empty seat (and dish) near the center.
The Host pauses at the top of the stairs, looking, listening. Though, naturally, one of the loudest sounds (despite himself) are the footsteps of his living companion.
Hmm.
"I never caught your name," he says. Despite the lingering chill in the air, his voice is calm, once again approaching conversational.