When hinges creak in doorless chambers...

[hatchethanging]

 
 

 

 
 







Welcome, foolish mortals,
to the Haunted Mansion.



Watch your step on the way in, please.

 

Comments

[hatchethanging]

Both the Host and Leslie are practiced enough to keep from laughing. It's a near thing. Most likely she'll spend her first stretch of time near the front of the Mansion, with its current little ghostly involvement.

"That's correct. In charge of what goes on in these walls as much as myself. No small feat," he says, drifting along behind the pair of them.

The room they head into isn't the official Séance Circle, held along the path the guests travel through. It was once a scullery, though any errant dishes have been cleared away, and the sinks have been dry for decades. An assortment of mortal butlers and maids are seated around various tables. Most look up when the door opens, politely nodding the trio's way.

In a dimly-lit corner furthest from the door, a butler with a five-o'clock shadow is playing a card game with a phantom while a few others look on. Over his shoulder, a maid's shaking her head, saying something about you know he cheats when you can't see him, give it up.

"Please, take a seat," the Ghost Host says, pulling a pair of chairs out. Leslie settles down promptly. "Nearly everyone is here, and then the séance can begin."

[cessation_rites]

It’s probably for the best they don’t laugh, even if the most Rute could and probably would do is glower about it.

She nods absently along with the Host’s explanation. Senior staff, equal rank with the Host apparently, which Rute surmises means Madame Leota is Boss Número Dois, She Who Is Also To Be Obeyed. (Within reason, of course.)

The séance room is a bit of a surprise once they enter, not because of the fact it’s clearly a scullery or kitchen of some sort, but because of how lively it is compared to how most of the Mansion has been. Although “lively” may not be the best choice of words she realizes, as the half-invisible card game catches her attention. She almost misses the chair the Host pulls out for her.

“...Thank you?” Rute says, the hesitation due to surprise more than anything else. But she sits down, if a little gingerly, and smooths out her skirt. She glances around the room, mentally counting the people she can see. (And can’t see, but can observe in other ways.) “How many are we missing?”

[hatchethanging]

"Just one or two. And the Madame herself, of course. She's often the last to arrive, so long as anyone else isn't running late." She's sometimes a little tetchy having to interact face-to-face with mortals so very often.

Even moreso now that the Host's theory that such contact in specific doses is good for them seems to be so true--it can take years for a ghost to get over petty grudges, and Leota isn't above it. It doesn't cause many disruptions, and so the Host doesn't try to fix things between them as easily as he could. In fact, the trouble can be enjoyable.

With excellent timing, as the Host quietly chuckles to himself, those last couple mortals filter in. And down the hall behind them, an eerie green glow begins crawling along the edges of the walls.

"Now," the Host tells Rute sotto voce as her fellow mortals start shifting around, some standing, some merely scooting their chairs, "is the circle of the séance circle. There's no need to hold hands, but do try to keep the shape intact."

Leota arrives, in all her floating disembodied glory. She notices Rute right off, though she does nothing but give her a long look before calling the rest to attention. (Unnecessarily, all eyes are already on her.) "We shall begin."

[cessation_rites]

“She prefers to make a fashionable entrance?” Rute murmurs.

However, any further sardonicism is quickly shut out by the sight of the green glow. Following the Host’s explanation, Rute glances around at the other staff members, making sure she’s positioned in the same rough circle as everyone else.

And then Rute sees Madame Leota come in- and Madame Leota looks at her. It’s her first time actually seeing a corporeal spirit, and Rute isn’t sure if she finds the whole disembodied head thing disturbing or merely strange, but she’s leaning towards “definitely disturbing.” (How does that even happen?)

Rute does her best to look back, meeting Madame Leota’s gaze in a level way. It might be more impressive if her hands weren’t clinging nervously to the sides of her chair. But she has nothing, Rute reminds herself, to be ashamed or guilty about here.

Still, she breathes a bit easier once Madame Leota’s attention is off of her. Of course, she still isn’t sure what this séance thing requires of her, so she’ll be on alert for any cues she needs to follow.

[hatchethanging]

The majority of the cast members shut their eyes, though not all, with the few still keeping their eyes fixed on Leota's glowing head.

"Focus, now, mortals, there is much to hear; past edges of awareness, it will all become clear." The air becomes heavier against everyone's skin. "Haunts of the Mansion, it's time to respond; send us a message from somewhere beyond." At the card table, three knocks are heard.

Her call is really a truncated version of the spiel the guests hear, and delivered with much less mysticism. Spooking is always a source of enjoyment, but this is simply work. It may even sound amusing. The Host certainly thinks so, though he's heard it enough he can keep it hidden well as she continues, asking for mortals to pay attention and ghosts to reach out.

And it works.

The ghoul at the table is the one that catches most attention, in the center of it all, wearing a tophat. He grins at his mortal opponent in the game, who mock-scowls back. When he notices Rute's eyes on him, the grin grows, and he tips his hat her way.

A few wisps--closer to bedsheet-type ghosts than skeletons or living people--have decided to make the sinks their home, quietly chattering to each other in their respective tubs.

The Host, of course, is no more visible than before. "A rather simple task," he says to Rute, halfway to inquiring. He really does hope she's not panicking.