Sheriff's manor - Culture Tour After-Party

[Madam Zaragoza]

“Thank you,” says between bursts of giggles Hermina as she tries to straighten her hair. She losing her balance slightly she leans on Jean - Jaques for support. “Now perhaps you and I should go to the chaise longe this time unless you are exceptionally eager to go to my chamber now? Oh someone mentioned tea! Get me some tea too!”

[Posh-Tim]

Keane finally stifles his laughter down to the occasional cough, wiping slight tears of blood from his eyes. He looks around to continue the conversation but Price has left. He pouts a little bit but instead carries on at Laurence;
"So, did you have anything to add to the Keepers criticism of prescience?"
He coughs a couple more times and seems to be emanating a sense of mild embarrassment.

[L .]

“I suppose it is very strong, but I warned people about that,” she mutters to Aldrich. “I can’t give it to Anatole because he enters this strange gibberish mania for about three nights. But addicts love it. I didn’t spoke it, if that’s what you mean. Just honest poppy tea. Strong, honest, poppy tea. Perhaps they are more sensitive to it. I’m feeling a floating giddy calm and it will probably only grow, but for now...” she smiles languidly at him, more conversational than normal, swaying the tinsiest bit toward him in opium gravitational law.

[Manacledairman]

[Laurence]

Laurence turns to address Keane, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then the second wave hits, his eyes widen and he staggers, bringing himself haphazardly down on one knee for a good thirty seconds. Then very carefully, rises and leans back against the bookshelf.

“With all due respect to Keeper Price, I would say he is wrong. I’ve seen information in the fire that nobody should have had any way of knowing. My mind has brushed the strands of fate that connect every being in this world.”

Laurence pauses, taking out his hipflask and taking a swig, his face looking as if he had drunk something foul.

“Agh, Lady Raven I fear you have given me a taste of true delight and my own supply suddenly seems...poor in comparison.”

Shaking his head as if you try to clear it, Laurence places his teacup down on the shelf with great care and then lowers himself down into a chair.

“I learned some of the Navajo Shamans craft in looking into the past and future. And expanding ones understanding of what is known by examining the topic through the lenses of different cultures...that is learning.”

Laurence pauses, seeming to realise he’s been talking to an Elder with very little in the way of formality. His eyes are slightly glazed as the opium takes effect.

[Posh-Tim]

Keane conversely stands and shakes his head. The main high seeming to have passed with his fit of laughter he was now feeling cosily Embraced in a bubble of soft poppy pillows. He sways for a moment but walks about the table to stand nearer Laurence, more interested in the conversation than in titles.
"That kind of learning is fine in the abstract, but it teaches nothing in the way of understanding. It may describe means and methods but each is so unique that you might as well try spinning in circles. You would learn faster."
He begins humming to himself and looks at Aurelia.
" You have my thanks, Elder. This tea has been really quite something." He smiles languidly.

[Laurence]

“The fundamentals of brushing ones mind against the world to...see what has happened and what is likely to happen..are learnt. But it is the specific methods I desire to know of and then compare how they interact with what one sees.”

Laurence sits up, eyes focusing a little to one side of Keane’s head.

“Each ‘Seer’ for want if a better word I’ve met has had unique ways of casting their mind out. For instance...the Shamans of the Navajo will stare into a blazing fire, trying to perceive what they desire to know. But then there are those who use tarot cards and crystal balls and runes.”

Laurence hauls himself time his feet, starting to pace in front of the bookshelf.

“For instance..what if by casting runes one is better able to see events above the northern hemisphere than below? Or the use of the crystal ball is best used when looking into events that have taken place or indeed may take place in Europe.”

Laurence shrugs, stopping his pacing.

“I just think it’s fascinating, and of all the libraries I know of in the city, I thought the Sheriff’s would be a good place to see if there were any tome’s related to the subject.”

Blinking slowly, Laurence looks around a little and gives a little smile.

[alanwrotethis]

Dukes walks back to the east wing of the house, sidestepping a broken piece of wall, still smoke damaged and exposed to the elements.
"Come along," he says to the pale figure following him, leading her back to the gutted room at the end of the wing. He knows by now that she doesn't understand his words, but she follows regardless.
She's starved for attention, poor thing, he thinks to himself, flinching briefly as he hears Keane's intense staccato laughter ring out across the house. The ghost, likewise, pauses.
Dukes turns back to her, kneeling to meet her eye level. He holds out one of the candles, whistling slightly.
The candle flickers, lighting itself. The ghost smiles.
"Every year we do this... you're early this time... did the party wake you?"
She mutters, voice wispy and unclear. Whatever words she is saying, he cannot understand them.
He tilts his head towards the corridor ahead, urging the child to follow, guiding her with the candle. They enter the charred room and Dukes sets the candle down by a heap of discarded rugs, worn and discoloured by rain and soot.
The spirit sits on the rugs, unfazed by their sorry state.
When Jerome enters the room, Dukes turns towards him.
"Hello dear boy, just tucking one of the house's pets away."
He points at the girl, her eyes blinking slowly from fatigue.
"Immigrant child at my best guess, can't quite piece together her voice, she's not speaking Angle-ish, something blended with French, possibly a port-city or colonial patois. She shows up sometimes in the colder months, looking for a light to sleep with."
He stands up, walking closer to Jerome to speak quietly, and when he does he takes a deep breath to marshal his thoughts.
"I think she broke in to hide from the cold. This side of the building was gutted by fire seven years ago, the owners never found out what started it."
He gestures to the girl, an unusual flicker of tenderness in his voice.
"She... she falls asleep by the fire... every winter, here in the scorched room. I think she stole some candles from the house for light, laid them out poorly... she either slept through the flames or froze to death before they claimed her."
Sadness, Dukes is rarely expressive emotionally, but tonight his aura is a little more bare than normal.
"A death from burning that doesn't create a wrathful spirit... rare, don't you think?"
He turns to look at the girl, giving her a cheery wave.
"She reaches sleep quickly if you speak to her, sing to her... anything gentle to keep her company. You know ghosts... simple emotionally, easier than people to connect with. She's just... cold and lonely. But I don't know what she's saying."
Nearby fooststeps. Dukes turns towards the sound.
"I think someone else from the party may have followed us."

[L .]

[L .]