2019-11-16 - Return to Blackwood Manor

Coming back to the manor is exciting, and Alexander has a faint smile as he nods to Gregory. "Back again. Just a few other things to look into, Mister Humboldt. Thank you for your patience." He's carrying his bag again - although this is no overnight stay, it's got some equipment and an extensive first aid kit. Just in case. He follows behind the man, although he waits for Clarissa to be greeted. When the niceties are out of the way, he adds, "I apologize, Mister Humboldt, but would it be all right if I scheduled a meeting with your father? If it won't disturb him. I just have a couple of questions about some things that might have happened during his tenure." He's not a charming man, so there's not the encouraging smile that might normally accompany that sort of request; it's just toneless and blunt, although he's clearly trying for polite.

A groundskeeper! Clarissa is all smiles as they arrive, giving a nod to Gregory, "I am quite well and excited to see the mansion up close, I've read so much about it," she's dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but they're both designer and she's still wearing a pair of heels that make the idea of climbing into a dumb waiter ridiculous. She seems quite cheerful despite that fact, "Isn't that on Spruce Street?" She asks rather helpfully, although she's more interested in studying the building, "This place must have been amazing back in the day. It's lovely now, but imagine the carriages?" she gives a romantic sigh.

Alexander is dressed...like Alexander. Bright side? Clarissa looks fantastically fashionable next to him. He nods to Gregory, and his smile widens. "It would be helpful. I'll try not to disturb him very much. Thank you." A nod at the name, and at Clarissa's addition. "I think I've passed it." He hasn't told poor Gregory about today's plan, of course, so he thanks the man, and gives Clarissa a thoughtful look. "Did you want to take a look around? I think I remember most of the tour Mister Humboldt was kind enough to give, last time." A glance to Gregory. "Mrs. Robbins is the chair of the Historical Society."

"Sounds like Mrs. Cathy and I would get along swimmingly," Clarissa's expression seems caught between wonder and envy. Living in a house like--why it's something every little rich girl dreams about. "I'd love a tour, if we have time." She looks to Alexander, although it is less a look that asks if they have time and more one that insists they definitely do. "The historical society has a number of the Blackwood family's old documents and photographs, but while I felt like I might know the place already being here makes that sentiment seem trivial. You've done such a wonderful job with the upkeep."

"It's okay, Mister Humboldt. I've been considered many things in my time. 'Boring enough to sleep to' would be a compliment, really." Alexander's joke is almost perfectly deadpan. Only the amusement glittering in his eyes gives it away. For his part, he seems not to object to taking time out for another tour. He does bring out a small, phone shaped object - it's actually a digital air thermometer, and he'll be quietly checking it as the tour commences. "It's a marvel to have a building from that close to the founding still in such good shape," he agrees with Clarissa's praise.

Clarissa seems absolutely charmed and delighted by the tour, chattering a bit here and there about how wonderful it must have been to grow up in a house like this, oblivious to any disconnect there might be between a little rich girl like she was and the son of the groundskeeper. She does take note of the mystery room or where it should be anyway and otherwise asks questions about some of the family photographs or particularly interesting architectural details. She utterly ignores Alexander and his weird phone, "How many Blackwoods still live here?"

Alexander has been quietly following along, content to be ignored - he even looks pleased, because Clarissa can handle all the social interaction that he finds stressful. When Gregory offers that last, though, he says, "What about her uncle? Um, Edward, I think it was? Were they close? Or did he have any children of his own?" He's put away his weird phone, now, at least.

"I can see why she'd have such a fondness for this place," Clarissa sounds almost wistful, looking up and around at the little details that are just everywhere, "Did Mister Charles grow up here too? Or was he a California transplant?" She takes out her phone, "Do you mind if I take a couple of pictures? It'd be great to do a 'then and now' display at the historical society."

Alexander nods, solemnly. "Thank you, Mister Humboldt. I think that's all we need for right now," he says, with a curious look towards Clarissa to see if there's anything else. For his part, his fingers are starting to drum on his bag, his gaze darting here and there, as if hungry for new things to calculate and categorize.

"Thank you for the wonderful tour," Clarissa snaps a few pictures here and there, giving Gregory a big smile, "I'll let you know when we put the display together. I guess that means it's your turn, Mister Clayton. What did you want to show me?"

Alexander just watches Clarissa for a moment, then laughs softly to himself as they part with Gregory. Once the groundskeeper is gone, he leads Clarissa to the dumbwaiter shaft that he and Easton used before. "As far as we can tell, this goes right up into the room. I'm...hoping that it'll hold you, but at least it's only a single story if it breaks." Very reassuring. There's a pause, though, and he considers Clarissa. "Are you certain you want to do this, Miss Robbins? It would be entirely understandable if you decided against it." Even as he's saying that, though, he's pulling out a small camera with a low-light lens. "Take this. I don't think the room gets any light, but with your phone and this, you should be able to see around. And here," he goes ahead and hits record on it, "for documentation."

Clarissa gives Alexander then the dumbwaiter a skeptical look, "You think there's a chance it might break?" She seems suddenly a lot more dubious than she was before, but all that gets shaken off when Alexander hands her the camera, "It's a room that hasn't been touched in how many years? Of course I want to be the first person to get a look at it! Miss Reede would understand, she's an archaeologist. There will be so many little details that will eventually get ruined once they open up the wall, so best to document it now." There is a noticeable lack of ghost mentions there.

"It hasn't been used since the nineteen forties, and you're probably a hundred pounds or more than it was ever meant to try and transport." So, yes. Alexander relays this all calmly, at least, and doesn't look like he's enjoying the idea or anything. He does smile when she talks about being the first person to get a look at it. "Well, that's a point. If I thought it'd hold me, I'd certainly go up there." He nods at her decision. "All right. I'd like you to stay in contact with me the whole time, and don't go far from the dumbwaiter. Okay?"

Clarissa narrows her eyes a little at Alexander. Is he calling her fat? "Fine," she hesitates only a moment more before trying to clamber into the dumbwaiter and fold herself up in such a way that getting out won't be a problem, "You want me to yell or should I call you now and you can keep the line open? I'm going to want to film with my camera as well." She braces a hand against the wall and tries not to look nervous. It's fine. This is fine. It's definitely not going to drop her to a horrible death.

"Call," Alexander says. "But yell as appropriate, as well." He waits for her to arrange herself, before grabbing the crank. Instead of immediately lifting, he sends a small tendril of power, his rarely used healing abilities, into as much of the mechanism as he can see, trying to repair any small bits of damage that might become LARGE bits of damage under the strain. When he's done what he can, he props his phone up somewhere convenient, and then starts to crank.

As the dumbwaiter moves out of sight, Clarissa's voice quips mildly from Alexander's phone, "Think of it this way, Mister Clayton, if something goes terribly wrong rather than arresting you the police department will probably throw you a parade." When she gets to the room she's quick to unfold herself and get out and then even quicker to turn the two lights on when she bumps into something, making sure it's not, say a ghost child before silently chastising herself because first, they don't exist and second, you wouldn't be able to feel them because they're ghosts. She makes sure she hits record, holding both cameras and lights up to wander very carefully around the room, "It's definitely the bedroom of a little girl," she narrates as she moves around, "Lots of dolls, books. There's some kind of crutch in here that she must have used. Poor thing," She frowns a little as she looks at the bed, "She must've been lonely in here. There's a bed, but it doesn't have any sheets on it, so it seems like this was shut up after she was no longer here," she pauses to lock her phone and put it in her back pocket a moment, very carefully moving to lift the cover of one of the books that might be close to the bed to see if there's any sort of inscription or name scrawled there, "This is all amazing! Do you think they'll leave it untouched when they open the original doorway? Besides clearing away the dust I mean."

"I think you might be mistaken. The police put up with me, and I've been irritating them far longer than you, Mrs. Robbins." He seems relieved to hear from her, though, and resists the urge to stick his head in the shaft; it's not like he could see anything. He locks the dumbwaiter in place, and reaches for the phone. "A crutch? Interesting. Anything that might have her name on it, that you can see? And where is the door? It might help the engineers to know, if they can just cut out that piece of...wherever this is. And I suppose the ultimate disposition of the room depends on Catherine. And likely, what the story of the room ends up being."

"No name, but there's a book here that's from Edward to his niece on her tenth birthday. Nancy Drew. I had a few of these when I was younger. The Secret in the Old Lace is the only one I remember," Clarissa talks just to fill the silence in the room as she dutifully shines the light around to find the door, which allows her to locate it and also see the glint under the bed, "The doorway is kind of across from the dumbwaiter. Not exactly, since there's mostly shelves with dolls there, but beside those," she grimaces briefly after shining the light on the floor, "Hold on, there's something under the bed." She pulls her phone out again and sets it face down on top of the book so that the flashlight might bounce off the ceiling and light the place up a bit more. She gets down on her knees and sees exactly how gross the floor is and honestly thinks twice about trying to get whatever that is. But! She's the first person in this room in decades and she will be damned if someone other than the chairwoman of the historical society claims finding cool things, so she does flatten herself up, possibly ruining her t-shirt which nearly cost as much as her i-Phone. She shines the light under the bed and reaches for whatever that is, "And I don't think I'm mistaken, unless your complaints to the department have reached into the triple digits."

"His niece?" Alexander blinks. "Catherine never said anything about having a sister. And there's no...hmm." He falls into silence for a moment, leaning against the wall by the dumbwaiter, looking up at the ceiling, even though he can't possibly see through to where Clarissa is looking around. "Be careful," he murmurs when she mentions something under the bed, but adds, "Why have your complaints reached into the triple digits, exactly? That seems less like you're being targeted unfairly by the police, and more like you're making a deliberate and malicious nuisance of yourself. Why bother?"

"I haven't reached triple digits," Clarissa huffs, though there is definitely an unspoken 'yet' there. "And someone has to hold them accountable for--" she doesn't finish that thought, pausing to inspect the cameo, "...I think I might've found a picture of--" and once more the thought doesn't get finished, or at least doesn't get finished in a satisfying way because of the scream that comes from deep in her throat and then she's trying to scramble back away from the--the--it's not a ghost! Is it a ghost!? She blindly closes her fist around the cameo, panic clouding both judgement and thought, "THIS IS PRIVATE PROPETY!" She shrieks.

To his credit, Alexander shows no enjoyment when he hears Clarissa scream. Instead, he stands bolt upright and says, "Clarissa? Head for the exit. Don't provoke her any further. I'll bring you down." He's reaching for the crank, preparing to lower her as soon as he feels her weight settle. And with his mind, he's reaching up into the room for the ghost girl's mind - reading a ghost has NEVER gone well for him. So, this time, if he can find that mind, he's going to try to impose calm on it, instead.

Clarissa scrambled back so quickly she ends up slamming into the wall and knocking that crutch onto her again, which causes even more panic. She is being attacked! "GIVE WHAT BACK?!" She demands, utterly terrified and unable to explain this weirdness away. A least, right now. She clutches the camera and the crutch to her chest, not bothering to go retrieve her poor phone over there by the bed, and just about hurls herself into the dumbwaiter, "CLAYTON!" She screams, eyes so wide she feels like they might pop out of her head, "ALEX!" Does anyone even call him that? Who cares, she pounds on the side of the dumbwaiter like he's supposed to know that means down, please.

Alexander should probably extend his aura of calm to Clarissa, but he's got his mental hands full with raging ghost girl. "Shh, shhh," he murmuring to himself, eyes turned up as if he might see her up there, projecting with all his strength. It's taking up enough effort that he actually needs that bang on the side of the car to realize that she's gotten in, and he hastily starts the clank and lowers her down with all the speed he can safely manage. "I've got you," he shouts back, "It'll be all right."

And, after a moment. "Alexander."

Clarissa tumbles out of the dumbwaiter as soon as there's room to do so safely, or at least relatively safely. She lands so hard she breaks a heel on her way down and just sits on the ground, shaking like a leaf and pale as a...well. She opens her mouth a couple of times to speak, covered in dust, hair mussed, clutching his camera and what looks like a child-sized crutch to her chest, "...how could you let me GO IN THERE?!" Her voice starts in a whisper but then it's a furious shout at him by the end.

Alexander is expecting the hasty exit, under the circumstances, and he steps out of the way, but also offers an arm to try and support her and keep her from going all the way down. "Easy," he starts, his tone pitched to soothe. And then she's yelling at him, and he flinches back, eyes wide. For a moment, there's a flash of anger, like his temper might rise to match her own, but instead he snuffs it out and backs away, shoulders hunched and head down. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I did try to warn you," he mutters.

Clarissa gathers herself together in a huff, snubbing his offered arm, which is kind of hilarious because with one broken heel she's a bit tilted to one side and off balance. She takes solace in the one thing she always does when she gets in over her head: anger at other people for these unfortunate circumstances that certainly aren't supernatural. "Here," she thrusts the camera and the crutch at Alexander, "Was all of this a setup? Is she up there laughing right now that you got me shrieking on camera? Hey, HEY!" She shouts at the dumbwaiter, glaring at the ceiling, "Now we both want something back! GIVE ME BACK MY PHONE!" She shakes her fist at the wall then points at him, "I hope you paid her well."

Alexander just cringes in place, like if he tries hard enough, he might be able to roll himself up into a little ball of unhappiness and disappear. His eyes are wide and a bit panicked at the shouting. "I...no...it wasn't a setup. I didn't...why would I even do that?" He takes what she shoves at him, but then immediately puts them aside, trying to keep his hands empty and free. There's a stumbling step back when she points. "I didn't pay anyone for anything! What you saw up there, I had nothing to do with it!"

For as much as Clarissa is outwardly exuding dismissal and anger, her clenched hands are still shaking and she stalks away from Alexander only to pace back a moment later, hopping a bit to kick off her shoes and try to slow her own breathing, "Well, someone got up there and thought it would be fun to hide under the bed and scare me," she tells him, giving him a look that very clearly suggests she still might think he had something to do with that, "And it worked and I left my phone up there. Is your phone still on? Tell her I want my phone back."

"That's not what happened," Alexander says, quietly. "She's dead, Clarissa. You saw a ghost." Despite the submissive posturing, his dark eyes are fixed on her, and he sounds certain. Of this, at least. But when she makes that demand, he reaches out for his phone, and checks to see if the connection's still active. If it is, he says into it, "Hello, up there? We're trying to understand what happened to you, and what was taken from you. But it would help if you gave Mrs. Robbins her phone back." He sliiiiides carefully by Clarissa, like she might bite, and turns the crank to send the dumbwaiter back up. You never know, right?

Clarissa narrows her eyes at that whole exchange and when the dumbwaiter comes back down and her phone is there with dust on it she makes no move to go get it. If only she could set things on fire, that phone would be ashes instead of dust. Her breathing picks up again and she lifts her hands to her head as if to ward away a headache, which is when she remembers she actually has something in her hand and opens it to stare at the dead girl's face again. "This is her." Her voice sounds a little hollow as she holds it out to show Alexander, "If you give her what she wants, will she go away?"

Alexander jumps when there's that thump on the dumbwaiter. He brings it down with an expression of hungry curiosity, blooming to sheer surprise when he sees the phone in cell. A smile forms as he cuts his phone off. "Thank you," he says, clearly not to Clarissa. "We'll find out what happened to you, and make sure you aren't forgotten." He reaches for Clarissa's phone, using his shirt to wipe off the dust, before offering it to her. Eyebrows to up as she shows him the cameo. "I...hope that she will be able to rest, yes. May I?" He waggles the phone, as if proposing an exchange.

Clarissa seems more than willing to let Alexander have that ghost-cameo in exchange for her ghost-phone, blearily moving to turn off the flashlight and the recording and anything else that might be open. While a yelling Clarissa is pretty horrible, a quiet Clarissa is somehow worse. A black hole of misery and sullen anger that seems to suck in the rest of the room. After a long silence she finally lets out a breath through her nose and asks, "Did you know that Nancy Drew stories were ghostwritten?"

Alexander is careful not to let their hands touch during the exchange, and holds the cameo cupped in his hands, looking down at it. Normally, he'd totally be reading this right away, but one glance at Clarissa is enough to make clear that she's probably not in a place to have Alexander have a screaming fit at her, so that's a Later Activity. He just watches her, and shifts his weight from foot to foot in quiet anxiety. Waiting for an explosion of some sort, judging by his wariness. The question visibly takes him by surprise. "I...no. I don't think I did. I suppose it makes sense. There are quite a lot of them, aren't there?"

"Ghostwriters or ghosts?" Clarissa asks him bitterly, casting a somewhat acidic look in his direction. She doesn't wait for an answer to that since it was rather clear what he actually meant, "Carolyn Keene is name they put by the author, but that's just a name taken on by anyone that happens to pick up a pen for the publisher. They probably have a script they go by. A chapter breakdown. Makes it easy enough for anyone to write a best selling book that fits in with the rest of the series. Is it cold in here? I think I might be going into shock. I haven't thought about those books in years. My aunt had a bookcase full of the hard covers. They were yellow, probably from the sixties," she starts walking down the hallway back towards the entrance, leaving her poor shoes behind, "If you did hire her, tell my assistant her name and I'll use her for entertainment at the New Years Eve party. I'm going to go now. Back to where things like this don't happen. Like a Starbucks." That's probably why this town doesn't have a Starbucks.

Alexander picks up her shoes, including the broken heel, and tucks them into his bag before saying, softly, "Good bye," into the air, and then scrambling to follow Clarissa. "I meant books in the series," he says, pedantically, as he follows. "I didn't hire anyone. Um. Let me drive you where you're going to go, Mrs. Robbins? You may actually be experiencing shock, so it's probably better if you don't...drive. With the rain. I can take you to the coffee shop, if you like." A pause. "I'm sorry."

"No--no," Clarissa turns around to hold up a hand but doesn't stop walking. She's not in heels so walking backwards is fine, "You don't get to be sorry. And you don't get to be near me until I figure out a way to explain this away. She touched me--she touched me! So clearly, that was a person because I've seen Casper and he can't touch anything because he's a ghost and ghosts can't touch people!" There might be a little hysteria there to her voice at the end, which she swallows as she turns on her bare heel again to stalk away from him, "So no, I can see to myself, Alex. Thank you for your concern."

"I don't...think Casper the Friendly Ghost should be taken as a reliable text for the understanding of spiritual phenomenon," Alexander mumbles. And flinches at the hysteria in her voice. "I." A pause. "Okay. Be careful." And then, more quietly, "It's Alexander." And then? Well, he'll just mope for a while until he's sure she's gone, then start the long ride back to down. And he'll leave the BooBuddy in the dumbwaiter, sending it back up to the room. Maybe she'll want to play with a bear. He doesn't know.