[/img]"http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag76/danixiewrites/Alaric_Reynolds-1_zpssrztspdl.png" style="Alrec Reynolds" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]Doctor Alrec Reynolds, less "ghosthunter" than "ghost abusee" was vexed. Vexed, vexed, vexed. He tugged on his bow tie for an interminable moment while the dull thud of the front doors echoed through the vestibule. The resonance gone, he then turned on one heel to stalk into the great hall. "What the devil was that?" he demanded of a lamp affixed to one wall, then whirled and pointed to the third step from the bottom of the staircase. "All day, nothing but nattering on in my ears about how you're going to spook the spook-viewers and when the paying gig finally shows up, you clam up like a bunch of what, inert shadows?"
Honestly. How was he supposed to run a legitimate ghost tour business when the ghosts didn't even bother to show up? Was it too much to ask for even mild theatrics? Rattling chandeliers, obnoxious moaning, floating books in the library? He crossed his arms over his tweed jacket and frowned mightily at the banister, where he could feel, but not presently see, someone was perched. "Well? Are you but shadows?" A challenge issued, and one he knew they hated. Usually, it got a rise out of the host of amiable--mostly--spirits that made their home in Lavenza Manor. Not today. No one answered.
Alrec's arms dropped to his sides and his forehead creased. "They're going to leave reviews on Yeller citing boredom instead of excitement. Bad reviews mean less business. Less business means no one new to visit you. I thought you said you wanted company?" Sighing, he tugged on the edges of blond hair spiked more from this frequent expression of agitation than any application of beauty products. "Is it stage fright? Is that it?"
"I for one," said a ghostly figure who finally surfaced by the wall sconce, "am a trained actress, not a trick pony. And having strangers trounce through the halls? After the caretaker does such a fine job? What if you drag in someone with mud amok in their boots? Filth and rubbish in our fine Manor! And why give the living somewhat to criticize, anyway? The last reviewer said your name was 'Wreck for a reason'. I certainly wouldn't want them to claim we're a sad parlor trick. Do you know how insulting that is?"
"My name is not Wreck." He grimaced. His name had been 'Wreck' around Lavenza since the opening tour a few weeks ago, when he'd been stranded once more without the promised ghostly entourage and had had to merely shell out historical facts about the house's former inhabitants. The wealth of disappearances, a haunting mystery that culminated in a mysterious haunting, was enough to keep the gullible paying, but there'd been--somehow--a cynic along for the ride.
It was damned hard to find a cynic in or around Valesport--even if a lot of the mundane crowd had never been exposed to the city's supernatural underbelly, most still bought rhetoric about things that went bump in the night. Alrec was just that unlucky.
The translucent woman grinned even as she smoothed those voluminous, incorporeal skirts. "But it was on the Internet. So it must be true."
"Listen up, apparition. I have a doctorate in parapsychology and--"
"Oh, that's right. It's Dr. Wreck."
"Good day to you, ghost-kin. Good day." With that, he stomped into the library to retrieve his appointment book. Reaching a desk in the far corner, he pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he wasn't as vexed as he was tired. Tired of lamenting his financial straits, his own paranormal gifts, the failing venture of the only thing he was remotely good at, a distressing lack of sleep, the harbingers of madness which had drawn him to the Manor's mysteries to begin with. Wreck, indeed. "I'm just trying to help. Why does nobody get that?"
Honestly. How was he supposed to run a legitimate ghost tour business when the ghosts didn't even bother to show up? Was it too much to ask for even mild theatrics? Rattling chandeliers, obnoxious moaning, floating books in the library? He crossed his arms over his tweed jacket and frowned mightily at the banister, where he could feel, but not presently see, someone was perched. "Well? Are you but shadows?" A challenge issued, and one he knew they hated. Usually, it got a rise out of the host of amiable--mostly--spirits that made their home in Lavenza Manor. Not today. No one answered.
Alrec's arms dropped to his sides and his forehead creased. "They're going to leave reviews on Yeller citing boredom instead of excitement. Bad reviews mean less business. Less business means no one new to visit you. I thought you said you wanted company?" Sighing, he tugged on the edges of blond hair spiked more from this frequent expression of agitation than any application of beauty products. "Is it stage fright? Is that it?"
"I for one," said a ghostly figure who finally surfaced by the wall sconce, "am a trained actress, not a trick pony. And having strangers trounce through the halls? After the caretaker does such a fine job? What if you drag in someone with mud amok in their boots? Filth and rubbish in our fine Manor! And why give the living somewhat to criticize, anyway? The last reviewer said your name was 'Wreck for a reason'. I certainly wouldn't want them to claim we're a sad parlor trick. Do you know how insulting that is?"
"My name is not Wreck." He grimaced. His name had been 'Wreck' around Lavenza since the opening tour a few weeks ago, when he'd been stranded once more without the promised ghostly entourage and had had to merely shell out historical facts about the house's former inhabitants. The wealth of disappearances, a haunting mystery that culminated in a mysterious haunting, was enough to keep the gullible paying, but there'd been--somehow--a cynic along for the ride.
It was damned hard to find a cynic in or around Valesport--even if a lot of the mundane crowd had never been exposed to the city's supernatural underbelly, most still bought rhetoric about things that went bump in the night. Alrec was just that unlucky.
The translucent woman grinned even as she smoothed those voluminous, incorporeal skirts. "But it was on the Internet. So it must be true."
"Listen up, apparition. I have a doctorate in parapsychology and--"
"Oh, that's right. It's Dr. Wreck."
"Good day to you, ghost-kin. Good day." With that, he stomped into the library to retrieve his appointment book. Reaching a desk in the far corner, he pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he wasn't as vexed as he was tired. Tired of lamenting his financial straits, his own paranormal gifts, the failing venture of the only thing he was remotely good at, a distressing lack of sleep, the harbingers of madness which had drawn him to the Manor's mysteries to begin with. Wreck, indeed. "I'm just trying to help. Why does nobody get that?"
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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RE: Lavenza Manor [Walk-In] - by Blade - 01-16-2016, 03:00 PM
RE: Lavenza Manor [Walk-In] - by Blade - 01-16-2016, 03:09 PM
RE: Lavenza Manor [Walk-In] - by Hobo_Bob - 02-25-2016, 11:11 PM
RE: Lavenza Manor [Walk-In] - by Hobo_Bob - 02-25-2016, 11:33 PM
RE: Lavenza Manor [Walk-In] - by danixiewrites - 04-12-2016, 05:21 PM
RE: Lavenza Manor [Walk-In] - by Blade - 07-12-2016, 02:47 AM
RE: Lavenza Manor [Walk-In] - by Blade - 07-12-2016, 03:02 AM
RE: Lavenza Manor [Walk-In] - by danixiewrites - 07-23-2016, 12:09 PM