Abigail Widdowson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acrookedchild) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-07-01 07:21 am
acrookedchild) wrote in undergrounds2015-07-01 07:21 am
Stroke of Midnight [OPEN]
Miss Abigail Widdowson cordially invites you to Geap Manor on Wednesday, July 1st at 19:00.
Food, drinks, and music will be provided.
All are welcome, but individuals are to be aware that any hostilities during the evening's festivities will not be tolerated.
It is the first time in at least a generation that the doors of Geap Manor have been opened to the general population. Or, at least, as general as the supernatural community could be considered. Some invitiations were made personally, but most were formally sent to the higher ranking members of the various factions.
Dinner is announced precisely at 19:30. The small, intimate eating area for the family has been turned into a buffet room. The caterers Abigail hired have obviously been paid well to make sure there is something for everyone. Rich meat dishes, hearty vegetarian dishes, light fish dishes, plenty of accompaniments and finger food. There is also plenty of fairly fresh blood for vampires. For the others, there are wines, water, and tea available.
The grand dining room has had its large table removed, replaced, instead, by small tables that can comfortably hold four. They can, of course, be pushed together to allow for more room.
The ballroom is open to the guests, and the DJ has also been highly paid to make sure the music played is precisely to the hostess's tastes. There is plenty of modern music, good for dancing, as well as older classics. However, interspersed are classical pieces meant for waltzes and foxtrots and other such ballroom dances.
In the sitting room is a drink cart with wine, tea, water, and blood. Chairs and divans are available, as the room is a quiet place, a little away from the ballroom, so conversation can be had with ease. There is an unlit fireplace, and a portrait of Abigail a few years younger than she is now hangs above it.
Most of the rest of the house is locked. One can wander the hallways, but it may prove ultimately fruitless. One who simply walks up the stairways will find the walls of each lined with the Widdowson family portraits of every generation, starting with one of a ten-year-old Abby, her parents, and her six-year-old brother. As one takes in all the paintings, a pattern presents itself. Every Widdowson woman featured is pale, thin, and blonde.
The grounds are beautifully maintained and fenced in by wrought iron on top of stone. A very traditional look for such an imposing manor. On the path from the street to the house, there's little remarkable, save the knocker on the door. Behind the house, however, if one ventures away, one might get the keen sense of something from inside the house watching, waiting, and hungering. On the ground floor, the locked rooms are mostly unremarkable, save for the study at the back of the house. Linger too long near there, and one might hear a sound coming in a pattering set. It isn't a knock against the door, no. Instead, it is the sound of something hitting the wall. If someone were to force their way into the nursery on the second floor or the attic several stories up... Well. They likely won't be coming back to the party. Or to anything.
Wandering, of course, isn't a suggested enterprise. The old house doesn't like people poking around and trying to find its secrets.
(Everyone who has at least a familiarity with the supernatural is welcome, as the invitations were distributed widely. Mingle, make your own top comments, enjoy the food, etc!)
Food, drinks, and music will be provided.
All are welcome, but individuals are to be aware that any hostilities during the evening's festivities will not be tolerated.
It is the first time in at least a generation that the doors of Geap Manor have been opened to the general population. Or, at least, as general as the supernatural community could be considered. Some invitiations were made personally, but most were formally sent to the higher ranking members of the various factions.
Dinner is announced precisely at 19:30. The small, intimate eating area for the family has been turned into a buffet room. The caterers Abigail hired have obviously been paid well to make sure there is something for everyone. Rich meat dishes, hearty vegetarian dishes, light fish dishes, plenty of accompaniments and finger food. There is also plenty of fairly fresh blood for vampires. For the others, there are wines, water, and tea available.
The grand dining room has had its large table removed, replaced, instead, by small tables that can comfortably hold four. They can, of course, be pushed together to allow for more room.
The ballroom is open to the guests, and the DJ has also been highly paid to make sure the music played is precisely to the hostess's tastes. There is plenty of modern music, good for dancing, as well as older classics. However, interspersed are classical pieces meant for waltzes and foxtrots and other such ballroom dances.
In the sitting room is a drink cart with wine, tea, water, and blood. Chairs and divans are available, as the room is a quiet place, a little away from the ballroom, so conversation can be had with ease. There is an unlit fireplace, and a portrait of Abigail a few years younger than she is now hangs above it.
Most of the rest of the house is locked. One can wander the hallways, but it may prove ultimately fruitless. One who simply walks up the stairways will find the walls of each lined with the Widdowson family portraits of every generation, starting with one of a ten-year-old Abby, her parents, and her six-year-old brother. As one takes in all the paintings, a pattern presents itself. Every Widdowson woman featured is pale, thin, and blonde.
The grounds are beautifully maintained and fenced in by wrought iron on top of stone. A very traditional look for such an imposing manor. On the path from the street to the house, there's little remarkable, save the knocker on the door. Behind the house, however, if one ventures away, one might get the keen sense of something from inside the house watching, waiting, and hungering. On the ground floor, the locked rooms are mostly unremarkable, save for the study at the back of the house. Linger too long near there, and one might hear a sound coming in a pattering set. It isn't a knock against the door, no. Instead, it is the sound of something hitting the wall. If someone were to force their way into the nursery on the second floor or the attic several stories up... Well. They likely won't be coming back to the party. Or to anything.
Wandering, of course, isn't a suggested enterprise. The old house doesn't like people poking around and trying to find its secrets.
(Everyone who has at least a familiarity with the supernatural is welcome, as the invitations were distributed widely. Mingle, make your own top comments, enjoy the food, etc!)
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He's still reluctant to give his whole name. While Abigail had insisted on no hostilities, he doesn't want to ruin her party by letting it be known that a wanted man is attending it.
wow hello weird formatting taking away a letter sorry
She let her hand slide smoothly from his and glanced around the room once before looking pointedly at him. "Are you not enjoying the festivities, Mister Sirius? Or is this simply a break to recover?"
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"Oh, I am, but yes, I was looking for a small break, and curious about some of the other rooms in the house."
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Then as though she hadn't said something completely unsettling she moved to the serving tray and poured herself some of the whiskey from the decanter, picking up the glass she turned. "It can be quite overwhelming. All the egos in one place."
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"And there are quite a lot of them here, I'm sure."
Not that he can really identify them on sight, apart from a handful.
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She sipped from the cup and studied him for a moment longer. Just long enough to make things really uncomfortable. Finally she broke it, "May I ask how you know our hostess?"
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"We're acquaintances. I'm fairly new in town and this seemed a way to reconnect with the community."
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"New but reconnecting. I must confide I find myself in a similar situation. So much can change when years pass us by." Really she didn't look all that old. She had a kind of agelessness about her though so perhaps that explained it.
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"That's for certain. There are days when I can barely recognize London."
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"Maybe it's just because I haven't been here for a while, but things seem busier. More people."
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Cell phones have definitely been something he's noticed, since they weren't as prevalent before. A relatively new technology as he recalls.
"Can't say I'm much of a fan of coffee though."
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Her eyes focus back in on him at the mention of not liking coffee. "Well, it is good to know some people here have taste." She'd probably chosen the wrong coffee to start with. Something loaded with chocolate and caramel and sugar.
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"I do try. Few things are better than a good cup of tea,"
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She straightened up, setting the glass on the side table and rising. "If you find yourself venturing forth into the press of humanity again, do find me, I would enjoy a dance."
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"Of course," he replies, and his initial thought is to remain in the sitting room. But how long had it been since he had danced? Too long was probably the answer. And while keeping a low profile was a priority, wasn't he already risking a lot solely by being there? The risk was what made it fun after all.
And so he headed out after her.
"No time like the present, right?"
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As they passed back into the main room, the noise ratcheted up several notches and the music flowed around them, something not quite classical but at least danceable. The look in his eyes, more devil may care than haunted was delightful to behold. It suited him more.
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"It's certainly more fun than staring at dusty old books for the rest of the evening."
And he could always go back there later if he wanted.
"You'll have to forgive me if I'm a tad rusty. It's been a while." Not much use for dancing in prison after all.
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As they hit the floor she turned to Sirius and slipped her free hand up to his shoulder. Forgiveness isn't something she's really known for but he likely won't need it, Mab can make dancing easy enough for him if he really does have difficulty. And so she let the music sweep them into motion. "We must scrub away the rust then, Sirius."
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"Seems to be working already," he says with a grin. "Kind of like riding a bike, really."
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And somehow he doubted that dancing would be all the appreciated where he was.
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