Haunted Hotel

Oh. Maybe he didn't know he was dead. She certainly didn't want to be the one to break the news to him, then.

Already, Abby was ushering their group towards the dining room, leaving no room for protest. Then she would find herself a seat, falling into it oh so gracefully. "Needed a vacation, we are recently married, and this... well, it was fitting." Rod was free to elaborate further.
 
Rod was still puzzling overt Larry's material makeup. Yet, he escorted his young bride on his arm as the two strolled into the dining hall like the King and Queen of Siam. His gait, his posture, his delicate handling of Abigail – hell, even his mannerisms and demeanor spoke of a time long, long past. The Iconic Southern Gentleman, or Old Hollywood Glam, or some pleasant blending of both. He even pulled the seat out for the blonde woman, and would not be seated himself until she was comfortable.

He thought about his answer – prepared it, preened it, edited for press – which lead to a moment of uncomfortable-for-most silence where all Roderick did was impose his cowing presence. “Kind sir,” said Roderick, drawling that deep, bassy baritone. “Please allow me to regale you with a measure of idle speculation – an idle train of thought comprised of mundane and fantastic components, so kindly keep an open mind.” Rod settled his hands on his lap, and leaned toward Larry. “This particular establishment has a reputation. This old structure, steeped with history, filled with sympathetic antiques, is situated upon a point where Ley lines cross; not only that, but its very design suggests a purpose far beyond comfortable lodging. I'm not quite sure what stock you personally put into the supernatural,” SNIFF, SNIFF, “But if there was ever a conduit to exist to experience something out of the ordinary, this would be the place.” A small grin formed upon his lips as he exchanged a glance with Abby. “I could think of no better a circumstance for more fascinating encounters. Who knows,” said he, mannerism becoming something tongue-in-cheek, “We might even see a ghost.”
 
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The ghost didn’t make any movements for a long moment, but finally stood. “You think that... you think coming to a crossroads of the afterlife is a vacation?” He asked quietly, incredulously. If he hadn’t been seen to be such a nonconfrontational person, you’d have sworn there was a note of scorn in there. “I understand your curiosity. Any mortal would wonder what waits for them in the beyond.” A more calm voice, but not yet a forgiving one. “But trust me. You will find out eventually. Make the most of your time before that day comes.” It wasn’t his business, Larry told himself. If they were aware of where they were, it wasn’t his duty to stop them. He just couldn’t imagine a situation where they preferred this sort of life to the mundane. Maybe he was just jealous. He turned to leave.
 
Grisham sat down at the table as well, watching the chivalrous man that was Abbie's husband. Rod, rod from hot rod?, or from... what, Rodert?, no. That was RoBBert. He didn't really care that much. Perhaps like that guy he'd seen in the TV a couple of times. It was a cartoon about a knight and some princess and... some medieval shenanigans he hadn't cared about at the moment.

He listened to the ghost boy, he hadn't really noticed that he was a ghost, but then again he hadn't been interested in whether he was or wasn't.
"So you're both the only humans in this little group?, or are you not?" He'd noticed the husband sniffing around a bit too obviously to be normal. More like some of his fellow monster colleagues that resembled a member of the canis family. Or himself whenever he'd shapeshift into one.
 
As if they didn't experience enough out-of-the-ordinary back home, Abby exchanged a look with Rod. He was being cheeky and she adored it. "I think you'll find," Abby said sweetly, "That we're a bit more... aware of what this hotel might have to offer. And this place is more than a cross roads, more than just an in-between. It's a connector, a place that has connected our world to yours, to GRISHAM's, to that big ole lug who took our luggage. As my husband has pointed out, it suggests a purpose beyond comfortable lodging."

"Oh, completely human." And then some! But they don't need to know all that. "But I see that you are not? Tell us, what are you?" She propped her chin up in her hand and smiled prettily, turning the subject back upon the stranger. "And I think you do a disservice to our human friend here..." and then she grimaced, looking toward the dead man, "I'm sorry, incredibly rude of me, we never did ask for your name?" She waited expectantly as she finished explaining to GRISHAM, "He's still technically human."
 
Grisham would simply offer the couple and their... deceased, companion a grin, as well as an apology to the last one.


"Aw well, lady, here where you see me... I" whenever they blinked they'd see he'd... dissapeared, but then a greyish cat jumped on the table, which in their next blink would become a doberman, and then said dog would jump off the table and onto the floor to become the huge deer and lioness hybrid that Larry had seen come into the hotel. A rather majestic creature, a lioness, bigger than average size, with antlers and a more slender figure. And last but not least he'd shift into a human again and bow, as if finishing a performance.
"...am a shape-shifter~- although others prefer the word monster" He sat back down on his chair, cheeky, a show off. All the shape changing had happened rather quickly.
 
Larry hesitated. “I’m Lawrence. Or Larry, I guess.” The spirit glanced over at GRISHAM’s display, carefully not paying too much attention. After his over-eager display, he doubted he had much of a place in the current conversation. More importantly, though, the humans here, Gwen included, all seemed far more comfortable with the extraordinary than he was himself. But Larry stayed, if only for the company. “Oh, and you weren’t being rude, sorry,” he appended just a few moments too slowly for it to seem natural.
 
Rod, in the interim, had gotten comfortable in his chair. He was no longer leaning toward Larry since it seemed – at least at first – that the ghost was about to make himself scarce after dispensing age-old wisdom akin to 'live every day as if it was your last'. All things considered, Rod was almost certain that the shade was some kind of manifestation, perhaps even an astral projection...! whose name happened to be Larry.

Rod slid a glance to his lady; it was brief, and the message it conveyed to her was clear: Careful. To someone unfamiliar with his particular animations, one might easily mistake it inquisitiveness as to the nature of her last statement. Thankfully, the brief bump in the conversation was quickly passing. “Why, Mister Grisham. While Abigail believes that my performance behind closed doors is certainly super-human,” said the man, cheekily, “I assure you that we are both quite human.”

Roderick observed Mr. Grisham's Danse Macabre as one might expect of a gentleman of bearing: Courteous Curiosity, undivided attention, and little else. “That is quite a display, Mister Grisham. I must know: While present company is certainly not likely to mind your condition, why are you so ready to reveal yourself to complete strangers you've just met?”
 
"Lawerence. Nice to make your acquaintance." She beamed at the human appearing entity while her husband had earned himself a gentle and playful shove for his inappropriate comment in front of strangers. "Pretty sure those were your words," She told him, sweetly. Super-human. She shook her head.

And then Grisham was changing shapes in front of them, in the blink of an eye. It was completely... well, they had claimed to have come for a supernatural experience but she, like Rod, hadn't expected such openness with complete strangers. The look that Rod had given her did not go unnoticed, but the shifter had been the one to point out that he wasn't human, he wanted people to ask what he was, clearly. Still... she leaned back into her chair -- her mother would have been proud of that perfect posture -- and smiled politely at the vastly changing shapes.

"A shapeshifter?" Color her surprised! "So there are four humans here," She indicated the three of them and Gwen, over in the corner, "And you seem to be the only non-hum... I stand corrected." Shuffling toward them was another un-dead, except this one was practically rotting away. Four menus were placed on the table and then the waiter just... shuffled back away. "Huh." Was the only observation that Abigail could manage.
 
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The very idea! Roderick was not inclined to ask such personal questions. Truthfully, he really did not care what... something... was.... SNIIIIIIIIIIIIIFFFFFFFFFFFF. “...There's something a little dank in the...” Sniff. Rod craned his head about. He gave an obvious pause as the source of the sudden stink of rot was not only revealed, but set down menus on the table, only to shuffle away after the task was done.

He glanced at Abby. “...Now, I'm not one to complain,” he prefaced, while appearing all kinds of puzzled, “But I do believe the help is in serious need of lessons in personal hygiene. Perhaps even a taxidermist.” He looked after the shambling corpse – at least, the direction from which it had come. “...I am also fair certain that, should that individual be involved in the preparation or delivery of fare and beverage, we might take care to examine the contents for traces of forensic evidence.” Because, who wants to find bits of rotten flesh and sloughed hair in their food?

The teenager approacheth. Roderick had noticed her loitering in the lobby, engaging in any number of activities to keep herself occupied. Kids these days: Without some internet enabled device in their hands...
 
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Abby gave the girl a strange look. "Who said anything about electronics?" She gave Rod a confused look but he seemed just as confused as she felt so she shrugged. "Abby," she introduced herself, returning back to the important matter at hand. The fact that they had just been handed menus by... well, she wasn't entirely sure what it had been. Zombie? That seemed the most likely, considering the rotted flesh. "I just hope whomever is preparing the food is a little more... sanitary." She lowered her voice into a whisper not wanting to offend their waiter.

What if she tossed in one of her fingers or a slice of her rotting flesh as recompense?

When the waitress shuffled back, one eyeball rolled around in it's socket, looking at them all. "Drinks?" Her voice was rough, slow, and dry. "We offer a variety of blood types, teas, and sodas." Abby would... order a water.
 
“None for me, thanks.” Larry said, rather redundantly, but it made him feel normal to refuse it himself, rather than for the staff to make the assumption, or worse, for something to arrive from someone unaware of his current state, leading to a rather awkward conversation.

But if nothing else, this was a strange turn. Maybe Gwen wasn’t quite as normal as she seemed. Larry contented himself to watching the players move about, passive as he was.
 
Gwen may have more to worry about than the apparition.

There is and has always been a certain air surrounding Roderick, some otherness that made him both alluring and frightening; the former was an animalistic kind of magnetism that barely held its own against the latter. The latter was... far more powerful, horrifying; something that made mere mortals uneasy on a subconscious, primal level. Something wild and fierce, like being in the presence of a savage, snarling predator that paced back and forth behind a thin, plate glass window of control, held in check only by an equally thin tether of will.

Only, the general feeling surrounding Rod now was that said Beast had slipped its leash, and Gwen had drawn its ire. The Large Gentleman's bearing became oppressively terrifying. Through clenched teeth and a taut, barely cordial smile, he drawled, “I don't remember anyone sayin' anything about electronics...” He placed both large hands on the edge of the table, and leaned forward, almost as if he was prepared to rip it asunder just to get to the tiny teenager. See, Rod positively hated mind readers.

The true supernatural should be less affected by this roiling rage. The girls, however...

Talk about timing. The shuffling server and her particular stink of rot broke that singular focus, and, almost as if a switch had been flipped, the savagery was once again restrained. He leaned back, adjusted his tie, and ran his tongue across his lower teeth. The smile he turned to the shambler did not quite reach his eyes, but at least he was civil. “Just a glass of water for me, ma'am.”
 
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