Once they continue on, most of the dancers fall back into step, albeit not quite as in sync as before. A few keep watching the Host and Noah until the banister hides them from view before they disperse. A wandering mortal is a concern, and finding him and telling him off for messing up the party is time well-spent.
Why a few extra spirits rattled Noah so is beyond the Host's understanding. Something to think on for the future. If nothing else, this disaster of a tour is certainly a learning experience.
"Constance Hatchaway is the lady of the house, and for whom it was built. She is often reasonable...for who and what she is: a black widow. Or a serial killer, as I've been lead to believe is the modern term."
The Attic is deeply cluttered. Dozens of spaces between ancient wardrobes, rotting chests, hatboxes, dusty tables, wedding portraits, wedding banners hanging from the ceiling, piles of flowers strewn about, are all perfect for a mortal to duck into if so inclined. The Host hesitates a few steps in, asking the silent question of whether or not the other mortal is here. Sometimes, the Mansion can give an answer. The entire room, though unmoving, thrums with the sound of a heartbeat.
The nearest portrait is of a young bride and groom, with the fresh-faced young man wearing a bowler hat and seemingly uncomfortable with his suit. Before long, the head in its entirety disappears, leaving a gaping space in the suit's collar where his neck had been.
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syntheid
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Date: 2019-01-07 01:40 pm (UTC)Why a few extra spirits rattled Noah so is beyond the Host's understanding. Something to think on for the future. If nothing else, this disaster of a tour is certainly a learning experience.
"Constance Hatchaway is the lady of the house, and for whom it was built. She is often reasonable...for who and what she is: a black widow. Or a serial killer, as I've been lead to believe is the modern term."
The Attic is deeply cluttered. Dozens of spaces between ancient wardrobes, rotting chests, hatboxes, dusty tables, wedding portraits, wedding banners hanging from the ceiling, piles of flowers strewn about, are all perfect for a mortal to duck into if so inclined. The Host hesitates a few steps in, asking the silent question of whether or not the other mortal is here. Sometimes, the Mansion can give an answer. The entire room, though unmoving, thrums with the sound of a heartbeat.
The nearest portrait is of a young bride and groom, with the fresh-faced young man wearing a bowler hat and seemingly uncomfortable with his suit. Before long, the head in its entirety disappears, leaving a gaping space in the suit's collar where his neck had been.
"Her husbands are still around, of course."