Morningstar Manor

All Saints Day, sunset.

That's when they had agreed to leave. They weren't going to be dragged kicking and screaming into the next world, Manny and Marek had agreed.

So they lingered near the maze near dusk, to say goodbye to a last few good friends before going to whatever awaited them.

Last night they had cleared up the glass and had taped a sheet of polythene over the frame to stop any other bits dropping out. In order to take the frame down they'd need to close off the corridor completely and hey couldn't do that while the party was in progress.

But now it was quiet and Nick and Charlie worked well together, each with partners about the size of the other so used to playing on each others strengths.

Charlie said, "Okay, that's got it, Just hold it there a moment," and Nick supported the weight of the mirror while Charlie got down from the step ladder.

Together they lowered the beautiful frame to the dustsheet, wincing as more pieces of glass fell.

"Can you restore it?" Nick asked and Charlie shrugged.

"I can make it look as good as new," he said, "but it won't be the same. There are some things one can't replace."

"No," Nick said with a sigh. "I guess not. Any idea what might have happened to them?"

"Well I did wonder ..." Charlie said and took a little scrap of carved wood with an even smaller chip of mirror set into it from his pocket. He tilted it to show Nick. "I used to use it to give Marek a lift. I guess it's too small for two though. Ah well, let's get the mirror down to the Mousehole and I'll see what I can manage."

With a big party on Sunday night, and nobody wanting to work that day, obviously, Nick was taking no chances. Although the maids cleaned the ballrooms he had gone into them to change the lightbulbs and top up toilet paper, hand towel and soap dispensers.

Then he gave the top third of the big mirror a polish. One of the shorter girls must have done it and had missed some bits.

It was almost dark outside, and one of the long windows in the ballroom was open, so the curtains were fluttering softly in the evening breeze.

In the chandeliers, the crystals were moving with a quiet tinkle, then quietened, leaving the ear waiting for the next sound.

Was there a guitar playing a classical tune in the silence? Was there a pale shape, dancing in the gathering evening gloom?

Or perhaps they were hiding behind the pillars, chuckling?

At the end of October would be the usual Hallowe'en Ball and Nick had takent eh decision that this year he wouldn't be caught out at the last minute for checking the chandeliers for dust and blown bulbs. So he was up a ladder with a bright yellow duster tucked into his left back pocket and was replacing a light bulb.

It was an annoying task. He had to turn on the light, make a note of which bulbs were blown, replace them, get down, turn on the light as see if he had remembered right. Problem was that the angle he was looking at the chandelier when he was by the light switch was very deceptive. He was having to do them one at a time and fix his eyes on the duff ones as he climbed the ladder. It was taking ages.

Thomas, wearing a grey suit with a dark blue tie, sat in the Mocha with a coffee cup and the newest issue of the Forbes magazine.

Emily parked the bright red Vespa in the garage, in its own spot. She took a few steps back while she took off her helmet, and admired the sparkling clean paint finish, straight from a thorough wash.

Susan was plotting murder. She didn't know who she had to blame for getting the task of polishing every single brass decoration in the ball room and the staircases, but while she was hard at work, she entertained herself with the vivid, imaginative pictures in her head.

Emma had put the phone down after a long chat with Ang, and yes, Alec too, even Gavin had gurgled at her, and finished her cup of tea, then fetched up both dogs, and headed for the gardens. They needed a longer walk tomorrow and she was thinking of taking them out for a long hike, but for now the gardens and a dozen or so laps, along with assorted fetch and tug of war games would have to do. So for a while she was settled on the lawns, throwing tennis balls in various directions and laughing as Faith and Lily raced each other to bring them back.

Spencer was hiding out in the Gazebo, he was fairly sure his mother was likely to call, so had left his cell upstairs, and instead bought some paperwork with him to read while he sipped on his coffee. A whole batch of papers had just slipped from his grasp though, and were now drifting about in the breeze as he tried to catch them without spilling his drink - if only he'd thought to put it down.

Icene was basking in a secluded corner that had sunshine, not working on her tan as much as trying not to burn, but then, she had plenty of sun cream, at least on the bits she could reach. An ice cold, and staying that way, bottle of white wine sat next to her, along with the one glass she'd poured and was currently sipping. She had a veritable picnic in the bag by her feet, but, so far, no-one to share it with.

Jane was not too far from her apartment windows, in a more shaded spot, wearing a large floppy brimmed hat, and a long-sleeved but very cool loose cotton kaftan type thing. She'd bought it on a whim because the pale blue fabric was covered in little white daisies with yellow centres, but she really wasn't sure even now that it was a good choice. Bare feet peeked out from under it as she struggled to keep her attention on the book she was trying to read. Any distraction from a childcare textbook would probably be more than welcome!

Gregori was just outside the Mocha doors, on the phone to his builder, and slugging down a bottle of water fresh from the Mocha's fridge. He was not in the best of moods, but the sunshine was helping, along with abject apologies and promises of cost reductions... after a few more exchanges he hung up and sighed, then rolled his head on his shoulders before leaning back against the sun warmed wall and almost, but not quite, wishing he smoked or something.

Cleo was in the tenant gardens, admiring the plants, and occasionally pulling a random weed out of a plot here or there... and if she pocketed a few leaves of bay, or a sprig of rosemary, well, nobody would notice right? She did draw the line at pinching strawberries though, leaving those well alone in the plots where they were, just, oooh, garlic chives! Those would be good. She wondered how difficult it would be to get a plot, then she could maybe grow her own herbs outside, they usually tasted better than indoor grown...

Too much to drink - waaayy too much to drink.

Jazz squeezed through the Manor's front doors - why couldn't she get the door open any further? - and tottered over to one of the arm chairs by the fireplace. Bracing herself on one by holding onto the overstuffed arm with a death grip she reached down with her free hand and pushed her spindly heeled pumps off. For a second she considered melting into the chair and just sleeping there, but no! No...she resisted it's siren call, fumbled with but managed to pick up her pumps, and weaved her way over to the elevator.

She hesitated, studying the button intently, then stabbed at the up button with her thumb. Then she waited, patiently, watching the glowing numbers above the doors come down slowly while her toes curled on the cold floor.

Saturday at 11 am, and the Mocha was really busy. Among them were:

• Andras, who had visitors. One of them was his brother Lajos, in the City again for lawyerly business, even though he no longer kept a flat here; the other was a bloke he brought along to sleep on the sofa, some researcher from Cambridge whose cousin apparently was Ilona's best and most high-strung graphics designer, here to briefly consult something arcane that was kept at Rutherford. Andras had no hope of even understanding what it was, except that it was Historical; so the bloke was most likely a historian, right? Funnily, though, he was from the same area of Old Blighty originally where Charlie had that farm Andras visited once; so there was something to talk about, at least.
• Charlotte James, who had just been to an early morning visit to the new spa, and was discussing the relative merits of that versus the Michael's Brothers spa with Maude Temminck (whose character had much improved, Charlotte thought, since she was widowed, dried out, and had a grandkid) while her son Manny was sitting peacefully by, as if the chatter of women was no more meaningful than the waves of the ocean, and just as calming. On his lap, little Morgan Temminck was fast asleep. Theoretically, he was waiting for his wife, but Charlotte got the impression that he was content to just sit there.
• Cindy was sitting a few tables on (having said hello to Charlotte and her lot, but still uneasy about the Temmincks, so she hadn't joined them), talking to the Indian woman, Chandika, and her adorable kid whose dog Hanu was most likely the illegitimate son of Axminster, but nobody minded any more, not even the owner of the mother, because Hanu was such a great dog, and while not pedigree, still an indubitable lurcher. They were talking about spas as well -- in particular, the one where Chandika worked. Cindy was very cautiously trying to work out whether it would be all right for her to go there, and Chandika was doing her best to gently reassure her that of course it was. The dogs were both under the table in classic Axminster pose, fast asleep.
  
• Ricky had his earbuds in, surfing MySpace on his netbook; he was sharing his table with some tall stranger with lanky hair and a large nose who was also working away at his notebook -- a rather larger and posher one. They were both drinking chai latte, and any attentive observer might have realised that they were each drinking distractedly from both cups and totally not noticing. Unless one of them had the swine flu, it probably didn't matter.
• By the door to the conservatory, two ghosts were lurking, mostly unseen by the rest of the Mocha. "Just listen to them!" Marek was saying. "They're totally superficial! All they ever talk about are spas." Manny shrugged. "I've spent my life talking about business; spas are a nice break. And I don't like women for their conversation, you know. More for their curves." Marek laughed.

[[OOC: Brief visit of Lajos Toth and Edgar Cobham to justify the icon and make sure that all twelve are really there!]]

Sasha was sitting in the Mocha, drinking an idea coffee and also trying to protect it from a very interested baby. Morgan was trying to get into everything at the moment! Every time she made a grab for the cup, Sasha would catch her hands, and pretend to eat the chubby little fists, making the little girl giggle and squirm delightedly. In between coffee rescue missions, Sasdha was trying to read the latest copy of Psychology Today, but she really wasn't getting very far.

The ghosts had spent a longish not!time happily dead in the mirror, and when they came out this time, it was really summer. However, there was something else they noticed more.

"Emmanuel," Marek said, looking and listening about the lobby, "I think there are many new people here we haven't met yet!"

"Women, too, I guess?" Manny said, grinning invisibly around the Mocha.

"Yes, women, too. We really ought to try and scare them a bit," Marek said, ghosting through the library.

"Once they know us, they'll not longer be scared," Manny said, wafting by the maze. "Not that I mind! Once I know them, I'm glad if the women are happy to see me."

Marek laughed, and pushed the short, stout ghost affectionately on the shoulder, and then they went off to prowl in earnest, ground floor and basement, Mocha, conservators, library, bookshop; games room, laundry, gym and garage; gardens and the dank reaches of the lower basements, where many old forgotten things were stored, and a lightless underground river was buried out of human reach.

And in all these places, they could find easily scared newcomers and old acquaintances, natural and preter, to scare, stalk, or simply speak to.-


[[OOC: Get one, or get both -- say so in your tag! Also, it is as always entirely up to you in how far your pup can see and hear them, feel their icy touch, sense a presence, etc. The ghost are friendly, but quite impish!]]

She was leaning on the desk and wheedling at the person behind it. There was a little transport cage made of plastic beside her on the floor.

"Really, I need to pick him up, asleep or alive!" she said. "I've come all the way from Boulder to hand-deliver these little stinkers to that lady in Pikestaff, and he's to drive me there. And he's really not answering his phone, I have to pester him in person!"

She tapped her boot against the little cage. "Cute as buttons, but they're going to get impatient soon."

The door of the cage sprang open, and three little bundles of fur jumped out and ran, yipping, into the open Mocha door.

It was traditional now [ie they'd done it once] so Charlie went round and put up a few notices and spread the word as far as possible:
SUPERBOWL SUNDAY

BALLROOM, BEER
BRING YOUR OWN BEAN BAG
6 til whenever
HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE


Charlie checked that everything was ready, counted the chairs and nodded approvingly.

Then he went off to the gallery because he still had an exhibition launch to see to.

This Saturday evening, there were two ghosts in the ballroom, sitting on the counter and playing chess. Manny was winning, and Marek was trying very hard not to be a sore loser.-

The mirror opposite the restrooms was haunted.

It was always haunted, but today, more than ever, as the ghosts were enjoying a friendly bicker.

In the evening, there was a ghost in the conservatory, in a corner behind tall ferns, playing with a deck of tarot cards.

"We totally don't need any more tall dark strangers here!" he murmured, turning around the next card.

He had got much better at manipulating physical matter since last year. If your mind ran that way, you might even not notice that he was a ghost.-


[[OOC: New Year Tarot Post, open to all and sundry -- see last year's post that I linked above! Open until it scrolls off your flist!]]

Near dusk, two ghosts were drifting around the basement, looking or unsuspecting folk that they might chat up, scare, or both; in the laundry room, garage, games room, or gym.

Or maybe even in the dank back passages?

Emma was trying something out, she had an idea for something to give Ang and Alec for when the baby was born, but knowing how bad she was with paint, well, she knew she needed practice. So, here she was, working in the gazebo, on a small watercolour of a single flower. Something simple. Except, it wasn't.

With a sigh that was more like a grumpy growl, she wadded the damp paper into a ball and hurled it into the bag she was using as a bin along with the others she'd already tried. She could draw a straight line, she could do whole panoramic views with pencils, chalks, pastels, even wax bloody crayons. She just couldn't do a thing with paint. Carefully, each movement controlled, she cleaned the brush, the treasonous non-painting what she wanted paint brush, and set it down as she cleaned the little dips in the paint tray. At least it was only water colour, not something more important, but, this was definitely not her strong point. Maybe she needed college sooner rather than later. A lot sooner. With the painting things closed up, set back in her duffel bag, she opened a clean pad, and pulled a pencil from where it was tucked in her hair. Sketching was easy, the flower seemed to grow on the page, and in a short space of time she was humming happily and highlighting the simple sketch with hints of green and yellow. She looked up though as someone came into the gazebo, blushing as she realised some of her attempts had fallen out of the bag and were drifting across the floor, "Hello, er, sorry about the mess."

The darkhaired woman had been sitting in the garden area of the Mocha for well over an hour already. In that time she had aten half of a donught (the other half was sitting on its plate, forgotten), had drank two thirds of a cappuccino (the rest was now cold, obviously), and had almost finished writing her column for the July issue of the Gourmet magazine. Emily was now proof reading what she had written with a concentrated pout.

In a mirror by the back door to the ball room, there were two ghosts.

They were there often. It was their mirror. They roamed, but never strayed far.

They were haunting the mirror together now, curled up inside it as only ghosts can, and, to mortal human eyes, doing nothing at all -- not even visible on the outside. But happy as clams.