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.”