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!)
no subject
He watches Aradia out of the corner of his eye. No scent and no noise makes her blind to the vampire's most keen senses. It's a strange state to be in. "So who are you then?"
no subject
There's no fear in Aradia's soundless steps tonight, even as she stops to examine the painting next to Cooper - she knows he's probably watching, but for once she's not afraid of needing to dodge an exorcism. There's probably some old law of hospitality that apply to a party like this, and even if it doesn't he looks sane enough to warrant being friendly. For now, anyway.
The fact that she technically wasn't invited and therefor wouldn't actually fall under the rules of hospitality gets cheerfully ignored. Nobody can prove anything if she doesn't open her mouth. "I'm Aradia, though I doubt that's worth anything around here. You?"
( ooc: I'm super sorry at how late my reply was! If you don't wanna continue this thread I completely understand. c: )
no subject
He gives her a polite-looking nod in lieu of being able to do anything like shake hands. "Call me Cooper. That's not worth much either 'less you're in Islington territory."
OOC: It's all good. I'm slow like the turtle anyway!
no subject
Some ghosts spend their afterlife watching over loved ones, but clearly a better pastime was trawling the depths of the Darwin Awards.
"We can team up and be a pair of awkward nobodies then," though Islington means vampire, which crosses off at least three unasked questions. Beyond an answering wave to match the nod and an oddly curious stare, the almost-confirmation of Cooper's supernatural type goes entirely unremarked - ghosts have no blood, after all. Unless someone's discovered a way to feed off souls, there's no danger here. "It's nice to meet you, Cooper. Even if it's at a stuffy party in a creepy old house."
no subject
It's rather a relief to not have to worry about anything happening while he's talking to someone. He can let his guard down and just relax. "No better place t'have a memorable meeting. Definitely better than running into each other on the street."
no subject
It helps her stay grounded, and it's not long before her attempt at a smile stops looking artificially blank. Success. "I didn't think about it like that. It'd be like running into someone at the shops, I guess. A brief meeting and then... nothing."
no subject
"Exactly, my ghostie companion." If he talks to her for much longer, she's going to end up with some sort of nickname. It's just the way he rolls. "This way, we'll remember each other. So where is your usual haunt when you're not attending spooky old house parties?"
no subject
However, she grows thoughtful when her haunt is brought up - oh, there's a moment of hesitation, but what's the harm? It's not like she's subtle about where she can be found. "I'm usually in Lewisham, near the Thames. But I'm trying to get better with the whole 'wandering around' thing."
There's a beat of silence, and- "... Unless you meant that in a general sense, not in a ghostly sense. Sorry. What about you?"
no subject
In response to her question, he waves a hand vaguely around. "Oh, here, there, 'n everywhere." He really lived in Southwark, yet was hardly going to tell that to a ghost he just met. He would really prefer not wake up in the middle of the day with a ghost sitting at the end of his bed. "Just about anywhere in Islington territory really."
sorry for vanishing again! D:
Although, the narration disagrees with the implication that mid-day ghost visits aren't fun. Someone needs to live a little, clearly. "I might have to drop by some Islington haunts sometime, then, see if I can't scare you up for another chat. Or the other way around. You probably have an easier time wandering around then I do."
Puns. Even if she's a little rusty at them, it's always a good night if puns are involved. Oh dear.
There there. Life happens. /pats on head.
How long can they keep the puns going for? Nobody knows, it's a mystery.