Samuel Willoughby // Mr. Tumnus (scarvesandsnow) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2010-12-12 14:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | samuel willoughby |
Who: Samuel Willoughby (and NPCs)
What: Something arrives at the museum that really shouldn't be there.
When: Backlogged to December 11, 2010
Where: The Baker House Museum
Warnings: Light swearing and a violent threat from a very angry woman.
When Samuel went into work that Saturday morning, he had been expecting it to be a little crazy. People rushing about with boxes, trying to figure out what was where and who it needed to go to or what room it needed to be stored in. It was to be expected- they were getting a shipment of objects to display in February from a private collector. One who wasn’t really specific on what would be arriving this week and what would be arriving next week. But an organized sort of crazy- the well practiced kind of running about that people fall into when they’re used to things being unorganized and out of hand. So he certainly hadn’t expected to be accosted the second he walked in the door.
“Samuel Willoughby! What the hell is this?!”
He jumped backwards in surprise, nearly hitting the door behind him and spilling a little bit of coffee on his hand. He hissed in pain as he glanced at their conservation technician, Myrtle- a short Scottish woman with an even shorter temper. “Sorry?” He ventured, feeling somewhat puzzled and rather frightened. “I’m not sure what-“
“I come in here,” she interrupted, her face already starting to grow red with the fury she had undoubtedly been repressing just so she could dump it all on the person she blamed. “Thinkin’ I’d have a lot of work to do with the books we were meant to arrive this mornin’. Cleanin’ them up, fixin’ the bindin’s and the like. You know what I find instead?” Samuel shook his head violently, shrinking away from Myrtle. Good gracious, she was in a very foul temper today. “I find a whole bloody wardrobe waitin’ for us on the front step! When the hell were you goin’ tell me that Mr. Coor had sent us wood. Furniture. You know damn well I’m not qualified to work with wood! I work with paper, Mr. Willoughby. Paper and paint and not some stupid bit of tree that’s meant to be housin’ clothes!” Her neck had gone completely scarlet at this point, and her hands had been waving around in the air so sporadically that Samuel had been forced to dodge them on occasion to avoid being hit. She sniffed with contempt. “Lucky for you I at least can check for damage, and the thing seems to be in fine shape.”
Samuel stared at her for a long moment, his heart pounding a bit faster then it should have. Few people could put the fear in him like Myrtle could. His best hope was to appease her. That, or run and hide in his office. “But I don’t understand… There wasn’t supposed to be any furniture. I talked with Mr. Coor myself! We’re only supposed to be getting part of his collection of books and some of the paintings he owns.” He let out a squeak of fright when Myrtle swung at him, barely ducking in time to avoid the blow to his arm.
“Pah! A likely story!” She sneered, jabbing one of her fingers into his chest. “Next time you pull a stunt like this, I’ll gut you like a pig.” And with one final nod, she spun on her heel and stomped off, grumbling obscenities under her breath. Samuel still stood at the door, clutching his coffee and his brief case close to him, watching her leave with wary eyes.
His talk five minutes later with the Director, Keith, thankfully went notably better. Keith was one of the few people that didn’t poke fun of Samuel for muttering to himself under his breath, and they got on rather well in general. He had called Mr. Coor and confirmed that no, Mr. Coor hadn’t told them about the bothersome wardrobe, but that yes, it was sent on purpose. The problem was that there was simply no room in the museum’s storage for the wardrobe at this point- not that it would have fit into the elevator anyways. The thing was massive. Which meant that it was going to have to go on display immediately, much to everyone’s annoyance. There weren’t meant to be any changes to the displays until after New Years, and yet here they were, being forced to change it anyways.
By that afternoon, the wardrobe had been set in the small backroom with a few other pieces of furniture. A rope around it to remind people that no, they were not allowed to touch it and a plexiglass barrier placed inside the wardrobe to prevent people from climbing inside, just in case. Samuel made short work of wiping off the fingerprints, scowling in annoyance. This really wasn’t his job, but Myrtle had strong-armed him into doing it anyways.
“You better not give me anymore trouble,” Samuel told the wardrobe as he stepped back to survey his work. “I mean it.” He gave it one last long look and shook his finger at it meaningfully, like that would keep it from doing so. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead and walked out of the room, probably faster then necessary. He couldn’t help but feel that the wardrobe was going to give him trouble anyways. Lots of it.