Stroke of Midnight [OPEN]

[acrookedchild]

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!)

Comments

1 (ish)

[viduation]

Although most of the figures in the ballroom were dancing, Derek kept - of course - to the outskirts. Dancing had never been his thing, and he had zero intention or hope of changing that. He, too, used the time to observe, to map out the floor and the people in it. Naturally, his gaze eventually fell upon Mab. When he saw her, it was difficult for him to tell whether or not it was chance, or that strange, unsettling allure she held.

He was not surprised to see her here. In their first meeting he had come away with the impression that she was, at the very least, new to London - but even then he had doubted that would keep her out of business. She already seemed to have an interest in what was going on, after all. Derek considered saying nothing to her, but quickly dismissed the idea. He wasn't some shy wallflower, and they would be in an alliance together. That made them more than acquaintances, at least. And besides, Derek couldn't quite shake the idea that she would take it as a grave offense.

He definitely did not want to offend her.

This party is different from Redbright's, similar in many ways as it may be. In the time since, Derek's position as alpha has become more widely known, he's become recognizable. People part now not only for his dour expression, but for who he is.

Derek is finding it pretty damn useful. He heads around the dancers to the lady, offering her a nod - curt, but genuinely respectful.

"Not a dancer?"

[rules_winter]

He was about halfway around the floor when she turned her head to watch him approach like she had felt his regard instead of his movement. She watches the crowds give way for him either from the natural dominance of his position, or the knowledge of her who he is. Personally she thinks it's a little of both. Her own head inclines, her motion more graceful.

She smiles a little, "I am unfamiliar with the current dances but there are few of the high Sidhe who do not dance." And when they danced in large groups it could render a human breathless. The Rip Van Winkle story was not uncommon back in the day, time was nothing to the Sidhe and they could enthrall a human until they withered to nothing. And then because she was curious about how he'd handle the request she added on. "Would you like to instruct me in the newer dance styles Mister Hale?"

[viduation]

He found himself returning her smile, not doubting her reply for a second. She was too elegant, too poised, for it to be any kind of lie; even the delicate inclination of her head was something lovely. Besides, he'd heard enough stories about the fae - not all of them were true, by a long way, but everyone knew of their love for dancing. Her request had his eyebrows shooting up, however, genuine surprise written fleetingly across his face. Derek didn't dance, mainly because he was Derek, but at least partially because he was never asked.

With just about anyone else, Derek's response would have been a flat no. As it is, he feels he must be more careful with Mab. He chuckled, looking just a little bit rueful. "I might be a little more familiar with them, but I don't think I'm the one to teach you. Dancing isn't my thing."

[rules_winter]

His reaction was priceless. Surely he'd expected it, approaching her in the middle of the ballroom with dancers moving around them. Apparently not. She tilted her head a little, her amusement evident. He words it carefully, so polite. "Not your thing?" She repeats, all curiosity. "And what exactly is ... your thing Derek?"

He hadn't wiggled out of it just yet, but she wanted to pursue this and see where it lead.

[viduation]

Honestly, Derek belatedly considered, he absolutely should have expected it, or at least acknowledged the threat. Unused as he is to it, however, he simply hadn't thought. And - yeah, alright. He walked right into that one. Contrite as it is, his amusement seems more genuine this time, more natural on a usually sullen face.

"I don't think I have that much going for me these days. Free time tends to be in short supply."

[rules_winter]

His face lights up a little when he smiles like that. He could move a room with that expression. She doesn't think he has the cunning to employ it though. Derek seems a little too straight forward for such subterfuge.

"Mmm," the tone is disbelieving, "A man of your ability must have something he excels at and enjoys." She tries to imagine him baking a cake. It ends up just looking like him holding a pan, covered in flour splotches from head to toe and looking confused. Perhaps not baking.

"Surely there isn't so much trouble with your pack that you cannot take some time to enjoy life?"

[viduation]

Enjoy life. He almost laughs - instead lets out a soft huff of breath that betrays much but explains little. At some point, and even he isn't sure when, he stopped thinking about enjoyment. Between carefree boyhood and burnt out adult, it became an abstract sort of concept. Something other. The thought makes his hair stand on end.

But, maybe he should be glad that she's taking some kind of interest. It's not exactly reassuring, but Derek finds it hard to really mind. He yields, sighing.

"I'm trying to avoid boring you," he says, only half in jest. She may put him on edge, but it's easy enough to slip into this kind of banter. "The basketball isn't as good out here, but my bookcase is pretty full. London keeps me busy."

[rules_winter]

She narrows her eyes at the puff of air. He'd said enough to make it clear that he might not have enjoyment in his life, he probably desperately needed enjoyment in his life. It was something she was inclined to use to her own advantage. Not that it would necessarily be bad for him, he might even benefit from her knowledge of what she suspected could tie him to her on a deeper level. Even in the darkest most still nights of winter there was warmth and beauty to be found.

His self depreciating comment doesn't sound like an alpha at all. "I am beginning to believe you will never truly bore me, Derek Hale." She doesn't press just now, a party is not the place for such discussions. "Ahh yes, books. I have an extensive library myself." She sought knowledge out with a certain single mindedness. "And what in London has been keeping you so busy?"