Sheriff's manor - Culture Tour After-Party

[alanwrotethis]

North of the city, an ivy-wreathed manor house detached from the main thoroughfares. The east wing, dilapidated and weather-worn over many decades, shows simple signs of repair and refurbishment.
The main door opens with a creak. Dukes, muttering profanities in half a dozen languages under his breath, lets himself in.
"Master Dukes?" a voice calls in a thick, Scottish burr. His manservant McKinnon greets him, snatching away his coat and satchel.
"Guests due in the next two hours, please ready the library for soiree, not a seance.... just move some tables and chairs around, I don't know. Do we still have a cask of the-?" Dukes taps a vein on his wrist, indicating blood.
"Of course sir, Lord Durham left some here, in case your clients were busy this month. Sir?"
"Mmm?"
"Durham is here sir."
The Sheriff's eyes drift towards the west wing.
"He's having one of his quiet nights sir."
"Well... glad someone is. Please ask Miss Herridge to ready the guest rooms, might need them. The heavy curtains."
" ... understood sir. Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Are you well sir? You've been absent from the house most of this week, and we saw the rips in your clothes-"
"And get me a case of assorted candles and a whittling knife. Thick candles."
" ... sir."
McKinnon nods and departs. Dukes shakes his head. Taking the stairs in the main hall down, Dukes follows a corridor, rounding a corner to a locked double door. Sighing, he flourishes a key and unlocks it.
Inside is a long,windowless room. A gallery of sorts, lined with tables holding pottery, simple wooden carvings of spheres and cubes, lumps of iron. In one corner, an unlit brazier, in another an empty garden fountain, in another a raised bed of soil.
To one side, two of the tables are toppled, broken exhibits of ceramic and clay litter the floor.
"Pull yourself together," he says, pointedly, to the room. As he returns upstairs the tables slowly right themselves, broken pottery rolls across the floor and back onto the counters.
Entering the library, Dukes finds the furniture scattered in a series of informal groupings. On the table nearest the lectern, a box of candles.
Grumbling, he sits, pressing the blade of the whittling knife to a chunk of black wax. He carves a simple shape.
A flutter of wings, Sophia drifts in, settling on the head of a nearby chair.
"Yes... I know I'm home early. Didn't quite go as planned."
Sophia hoots.
"Because I was nervous, and I don't like being nervous... not for real anyway."
An angry flap of wings.
"A good shag she said. Damned thing, how am I supposed to..."
He pauses.
"A shag is a type of bird isn't it? Hmm... alright, that's actually funny."
Silence. A few seconds later, a choking sound, a chuckle, laughter. He laughs deep, from the gut. Sophia, confused, leaves the library.
"It was a dark and stormy night... no... a night dark and gleaming, the moon baleful and awake..." he mutters, forming the words of a story for the after-party. Every few minutes he pauses, listening for early visitors. After ten minutes he swears, calling himself a shit-smeared whoreson in Greek before setting a crude wax carving down and starting work on a blue candle.

[L .]

Aurelia arrives first*. She has already situated herself in one of the parlours, having brought with her - perhaps unwisely - a strong, foreign measure of opium. She had encouraged the night after all, she might as well be generous.

She's shucked the surcoat, and is in simple travelling clothes, but they are well-fitted and tailored for her body. She's lounging quite happily, swigging from a flask; the elder's decanted a lot of her own "Aurelia-needs-to-relax-tonight" stash (as her companion calls it) into a very strong poppy tea that is currently sat innocently on the table, in a very big teapot.**

((*lol, Done.))
((**if dukes has one. Otherwise it's probably in a gardening can. Or a bucket.))

[alanwrotethis]

Dukes wanders into the parlour, blinking. He is holding a red candle in his hands shaping it with a knife and a press of the fingers into an apple with a stem-wick.
"Hmmm..." he clears his throat. "When did you... how did you?.. Guests were to be escorted to the library, there's a space there for public speaking and drinking. I don't fully agree with this county's need to separate those activities. Heathens."
He sees the teapot, his eyes flare wide.
"Oh shi- that's Durham's opium pot. Whatever you've put in there is likely tainted now, my apologies. I should ask him when he last used it, just a-"
He backs out of the room, calling down the corridor.
"DURHAM! Durham, are you dece- no, never, are you feigning decency!?. We have company!"
He turns back to Aurelia, more energetic than he had been on the walk.
"How are you with animals? Sophia has free run of the manor most days, I might need to confine you to a single room if you anger her."
He shrugs. It is possible that he is making a joke.
After another moment.
"Oh shit, where are my glasses?"
He pats his pockets, confused.

[Posh-Tim]

After the walk from the Theatre Keane arrives (hopefully arm in arm with Valentina) at the Manor House he walks up and raps on the door whilst still mulling over the play he has just seen every now and then pointing out something that has confused him in order for Valentina to explain it for him.

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina is indeed on Keane's arm, doing her best to explain the intricacies of a play she's only just seen and it must be admitted paid more attention to the costumes than the acting.

For all that, she's enjoyed the walk and the chance to talk on a shared experience and so her aura is cheerfully bright.

[alanwrotethis]

Mckinnon, the manservant, opens the door. He takes a careful glance at the visitors.
"Visitors for Mister Dukes? This way, if you kindly."

(Ooc Assume McKinnon greets and escorts all guests as standard. He escorts them to a large library on the ground floor. A third of the room is given over to a drinks counter, as well as a lectern and an assortment of tables and long chairs. This area doubles as a debating space, seance area and communal drinking/reading space, combining several functions into one larger room.)

[Jean-Jacques]

<screen wipe for transit>

Jean-Jacques approached the secluded manor, his aura betraying a sense of nervous foreboding, he still recalls the seance with the Sheriff the first night in Sulis.

Maintaining an exterior of composure, however, he approaches the main door way and knocks on the door and stand patiently

Upon an answer,

“Jean-Jacques Marchaux, I ess expected I sink.”

[Lady Grace]

"Thank you," Grace says as the servant leaves her.
She takes a moment to stand and look around such a interesting space.

[Valentina Audley]

Once they enter the room Valentina will look around admiringly. She'll eye the decor and books with interest.

Now her coat and hat are off, her dress is a stark white, a black sash around her waist for contrast, the only colour on her in the form of her familiar red choker.

She smiles at Grace and Jean-Jacques. "Hallo again! How did you enjoy the play?"

[Jean-Jacques]

Jean-Jacques, who had been admiring the large room and its contents himself, returns Valentines smile and bows,

“I found eet most pleasurable Ancilla Valentina, i ‘ad read of ze poet from ozzers, so zis vas my first experience of zis production.”

“I do not sink i have laughed at such as zat for zome years.”