2020-10-15 - The OTHER 1884

It's been a long while since the town's had a Wraith parked anywhere but Rosencrantz's repair shop, but there's a shiny one parked in a convenient space for V.I.P. guests just outside of the museum. This tour aside, Byron Thorne had other reasons to be at the Addington House and had shown up an hour prior to the 9pm start time with Lilith. His interest more lies in particular exhibits, having some renewed interest in heirlooms and photographs from the time where his family bloodline joined with the Addingtons. Now, he doesn't expect the docent to have the answers to all of his questions, but since he's here, he's more than happy to schedule a private tour if they can accommodate him.

Early or not, he's dressed to impress because this was a V.I.P. event. Thus, he dons a slate hued tuxedo complete with a black bow tie, his hair is neatly slicked back. With one arm around Lilith's waist, his other hand holds a glass of champagne for the time being. As it was nearing the witching hour (well, the start of the tour), he escorts his fiancee (wife??) to meet up with the guide and their other guests, murmuring to the lovely brunette at his arm, "We're in no rush to decide on this, you know that." He flashes a familiar passerby a winning smile, still murmuring, "Anyway, let's not worry about that now." Those dark eyes of his just casually scan the expansive room, "If history's taught me anything about this town, it's that we never let our guard down."

Alexander doesn't really do VIP very well; luckily, he's got a suit from previous adventures such as a certain funeral, so he looks...acceptable in a black suit with a deep blue shirt beneath, and a long, concealing coat. Sure, his furtive air makes him more look like 'assassin' than 'successful businessman' or 'playboy', but he's trying, and that's the important part. Right? He's been haunting the party restlessly, as if looking for someone or something. He hasn't found whatever it is, yet, but upon noticing Byron and Lilith, he drifts in that direction, with a faint smile. "Hello. Nice night. Are you two well?"

Not everybody got the memo that this is a V.I.P. affair; or if he did, Ravn Abildgaard has a serious attitude problem. No fancy car for him -- he enjoys a nice and quiet evening walk through town, and when he does wander up a bit early, he's dressed quite casually in jeans, t-shirt, and a windbreaker -- all of it black. Maybe that is the tall copper blond's contribution to the Halloween theme?

He's honestly not quite certain what to expect. Addington House, of course. Ravn has been telling himself to go on one of the guided tours there for a while only he's been sort of skimming the Gazette for tour dates that maybe will not be overrun by bored children and camera toting tourists. The celebrity rumour is finally done with but it will probably be a while before he starts looking at a camera without a certain air of hostility. And then, suddenly, an invitation sent to him directly.

Must be the work of Hyacinth Addington. Or maybe Atli Addington. Either way, both of those know Ravn Abildgaard as a travelling folklorist. Surely neither of them would expect him to dress up like the businessman he's not. So he didn't, and as he realises that he's probably the only one who didn't, he can't help that little thought: Awkward.

"I know. When it comes to 'making decisions' about our lives here, honestly ninety percent of the time, it feels like... navigating a field of holes at a top speed run while trying not break an ankle or fall in a spike pit. So..." Lilith comments quietly aside to Byron while moving with him, holding her own champagne glass and subtly leaning into the arm around her waist and against Byron in his tux, "Anything we might run into here that makes our decision a bit of an informed one... that'd be great. I'm still mostly foisting the decision off on you, though, fair warning. I'm just in it for the catfight with the Pink Thing."

The brunette woman is wearing a fitted strapless black dress that flares out from the hips with tiered skirting drape, clearly designer swagger to suit the tuxedo'd man at her side. Her cosmetics are presentation red carpet, along with her hair's updo that's been twisted and pinned with elegance. She certainly does not look like a 'catfighter' right at this moment, but then, most people that know anything tend to know better when it comes to how scrappy Lilith is. Abruptly, she tacks on with a bit of a sidelong grin for Byron, "I do not think it will be a very sexy catfight. But you might secretly be into blobfish, who knows."

While looking around earlier, Lilith didn't see much more of interest than the typical Addington House display, at least nothing sticking yet. But there's still the tour to come! Which...

"Hey lover, who's our guide?" She extends that sudden question of Byron to Alexander as he happens to drift nearby in the middle of her asking it, the woman's lips turning up with smile, "And my, doesn't Alexander look nice. I am impressed."

Alexander looks startled by Lilith's words, then actually turns a little pink and ducks his head. "Seemed like the thing to do," he mutters. "Nice to see you both." And he notices Ravn, too, and looks openly relieved that someone is in casualwear. He waves cheerfully in that direction. "Have you been to the tour before? It's very interesting." He seems genuinely enthusiastic about it, even. But Alexander does like history. However, when the woman descends, he first looks enthusiastic - and then very worried. He shuffles from one foot to the next, and mutters very quietly. "She's wrong."

Ravn watched The Sixth Sense at age eight when it came out, and he thought it was a documentary. That's the problem with growing up in an old, haunted house: You get used to the abnormal. The Dane glances briefly at the others and, as they seem to see the lady in the victorian dress too, he concludes that she's real and then forgets about it. Because to him, this is indeed perfectly normal. On some level, he's more preoccupied with asking himself which part of the invitation he forgot to read -- the part that said 'V.I.P.' obviously -- and just trails after the others, gloved hands in the pockets of his windbreaker and tossing a slightly sheepish little smile at anyone who looks him up and down.

Oh well. Bet they didn't invite me to ask me who my tailor is.

Ravn turns to Alexander and returns the other man's smile somewhat more enthusiastically. "It's my first chance -- several people kept telling me to go, but I kind of wanted to avoid the tourist incursion." He quirks an eyebrow at that last observation, though, and nods. "I know. The camellia brooch is too modern."

"I just don't want to make the same mistake that we did when giving up Gohl's bones." Byron keeps up the conversation even as he watches the room and those within it with mild interest. There's no comments made the first time Lilith brings the Archivist up, but when she does it a second time, calling it a blobfish, he just has to slowly shake his head. "Yeah, that's the fight that I want to see."

After taking a sip from his glass, his dark eyes light up somewhat when Alexander comes to pay us a visit. "I didn't expect to see you here." This was a V.I.P. event! Then again, Crazy Clayton probably visits the place often enough for morbid photographs. "After the chaos of high school life? We're doing fine and dandy." Shooting a glance towards Ravn, who is difficult to miss in his casual wear. "Isn't that the guy with the lobster fight club?" Okay, that's a weird thing to say once said aloud, he realizes.

Oh look, their tour guide is waiting for them at the top of the stairs. Sipping once more from his glass, he starts to escort Lilith up there to greet her, though it's only then that he hears Alexander in passing. "Oh?" Not that he looks towards Alexander when he asks this, eyes on the guide, "What do you mean?"

Ah, there's the guide, what a fitting outfit for an old house tour! At least... Lilith thinks so, and her general paranoia about life in general just doesn't go off while faced with a 'perfectly normal' woman dressed in shades of the past. Granted, it doesn't really occur to her that a ghost would just have to repeat life over and over as a tour guide, that'd be a bum gig for a ghost. Therefore, she's just an oblivious woman when everything kicks off with start, her tall, dark, and stunningly handsome (also oblivious) man at her side. She drains her champagne so she doesn't have to carry the glass on the tour.

Lilith seems a touch amused with Alexander's general embarrassment about her compliment and that vague humor flits to Ravn when his street clothes are eyed. After tipping a pleasant nod to the Euro-man with familiarity, she extends greeting to the guide, "We favor playing dress up and there's no better place to be uppity than the Addington House." If that's supposed to be a veiled jab at the Addingtons, it's pretty good natured, "I am pretty interested to see what's tucked away from the main floor, aren't you all?"

Maybe it's the champagne buzz from arriving early, but the woman seems fairly excited to get the show on the road and almost seems chipper about starting. When Alexander says 'wrong' though, she looks a little confused, but if she has questions on that, she refrains.

"I like the House, usually," Alexander says in answer to Byron's surprise. "I come sometimes in the day. Not...usually for events like these? But it seems nice." He slouches in his suit, giving Ravn a sidelong, baffled look. "I. Um. It probably is. But she's dead, too." At least he's trying to keep that on the downlow. He looks up, startled, at the sound of the thunder. "Mm." A glance back at the group, then over to the tour guide. "I'm particularly interested in the founding of Gray Harbor," he says, because just because she's dead doesn't mean she doesn't know her stuff. And she hasn't tried to eat them, yet, which is usually a good sign.

"Goodness, I hope not," the Dane murmurs and nods politely at Lilith whom he at least is able to place socially; pawn shop lady, right. Then Alexander speaks and he looks back at the tour guide with a bit more interest. "Oh, really? I didn't notice. Guess that means we might get a first hand account, then. There's no particular field I am looking into at the moment, no. I am still getting my bearings in modern americana as it were." He's European. To him, anything after 1500 A.D. is modern.

Following obediently along, Byron only takes short pause at the lightning crash that lights up the skies outside of the window. It's quite a sight to see, the man letting his gaze linger on the window before passing it completely. Unlike Lilith, he still has some champagne left in his glass, something that he's sociably nursing. Obviously, it's not odd to hear talks of ghosts around this time of year, but no... Byron doesn't really care to speak to anyone in particular. Though, of course, there are ones that he (and everyone else probably) would like to avoid. (Gohl).

Offering a polite smile, he jokes, "I'm sure that we all can thinking of one's we'd like to avoid." And it's just around that time when Alexander decides to mention that the guide was dead. The faint smile still lingers, but it's starting to fade. "I swear... Gray Harbor." Lilith might feel the grip around her tighten when the man tenses.

Lilith thinks for a moment about a ghost she's maybe hoping to see, or the ones she isn't... but like the others, she doesn't much mention the dead or wicked she doesn't care to see again, in any regard. Speaking their name during a ghost tour would clearly give them power to rise or something, according to her brain. After a tiny shake of her head once she's had a moment of thought, she glances between Alexander and Byron dubiously, then looks at the tour guide more closely, breathing out a little 'huh' to herself.

But mostly, she decides not to think about that too much and she looks back forward with the general equivalent of a visible mental shrug to the idea their tour guide is maybe dead. Her amiable tone from prior pipes back up after that time of consideration.

"I think you probably know the good bits better than anyone. You seem to have done this a few times."

"Couple of people I'm dying not to talk to," Ravn murmurs very, very quietly under his breath. Then he falls into stride because if someone who actually lived here in 1884 is going to talk about it, he's not going to miss out. Hell, almost feels like home. He glances at her back all the same and says very softly to no one in particular, "It was a dark and stormy night, etcetera. Probably going to get messy?"

"Grey Harbor is a unique and interesting experience," Alexander deadpans to Byron. "Just think how boring anywhere else to live might be." He twitches as another flash of lightning throws everything into stark relief for at heartbeat, and then the shadows darken. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath. He nods, ruefully, to Ravn. "Probably." Then clears his throat, before the tour guide's joke (hopefully it was a joke) startles a laugh out of him. "Dying gets you bad Yelp reviews," he points out, practically. "But 1884 was interesting. Why did things get messy?"

There's no pause for this second lightning strike. It really did lend a bit of tension to the already creepy atmosphere. However, this time around, it's as if Thorne can sense a strangeness in this room. His narrowed eyes catch sight of the odd and shifting shadows, though they aren't entirely uncommon in a town such as this. Slowly taking in all the strange, yet subtle, happenings going on all around them in this room, the businessman continues to feel this sense of unease.

The guide then brings up, once again, whether they had anyone they'd like to speak to from the other side. Perhaps, it's at that moment that someone actually does come to mind. He had her wedding dress, but this was neither the time nor place for that story was it? He also wasn't going to interrupt story time. "Is this the story about the Baxters then?" Once that particular name is uttered, he takes yet another drink from his glass. He's not going to come out and ask whether the Baxters founded the city, but he knows they played a part.

Lilith was in a good mood but after the next bout of thunder and lightning, she blinks a few times fast and Byron can feel her posture finally tensing in his tightened hold. Her facial features start to fall out of pretty and generally jovial state of interest and excitement, turning into something far more wary and watchful with her eyes catching on places here and there. She really has to take a moment to self-chastise, did she really expect a run of the mill history tour? Hell no, but denial is a hell of a drug sometimes.

Blowing a long puff of air over her lips with gradual, steadying winding or preparation in general, Lilith finally gets a little of her public-affair smile back and turns it up and aside at Byron in brief-- it's a silent version of 'this is fine' and he knows she's caught onto the strange too, despite the smile, at that point. After eyeing the ballroom ahead with a hint of speculation, she wonders, "Mixed up?"

"I did have the pleasure of hearing some of Gray Harbor's early history from Hyacinth Addington," Ravn notes good-naturedly and returns the ghost's smile. The guy either is quite accustomed to scenarios like this -- or, more likely, too stupid to recognise the peril the group is in. He listens with a smile --

-- which freezes somewhat when the lights go out. Then he leans over to Alexander and murmurs softly, "You are certain she's a ghost? Because if she is not, this is a pretty classic Halloween setup and I'll bet you five bucks the murder is happening as we speak."

"What is your name, ma'am?" Alexander asks, politely. It always pays to be polite to ghosts. If you aren't, then sometimes they slit your throat. He gives Byron the nod as he correctly guesses where the story is going. As the sounds rise up, he returns Ravn's hushed words, "She's either dead or immortal. And my bets are on the former. But. Could be wrong." He glances to the tour guide again. "People have no respect for history. Um. Should we go and see what's wrong, or would you like to continue your story?" He tries to smile like either option is okay, and one isn't more likely to get them horribly murdered than the other.

"Benn?" Byron asks, looking thoughtful as if considering whether he'd learned this from school at some point. Just the woman mentioning that this Samuel Benn was her brother and that she's discussing an event that happened in eighteen-eighty-four has his gaze drifting to Alexander, before flickering over at Ravn when he questions whether this woman was a ghost or not.

The Addingtons, of course, are then mentioned and yes. The Baxters.

The next thing that they all knew, they were left in utter darkness and not only that, there was something seriously going on upstairs. Chin lifted, he tries to play casual by bringing his glass to his lips once more. "Who are they exactly? Addingtons?" He more wants to say dead Addingtons, but he leaves the dead part out. At least he had some champagne to help calm his nerves some. He's even passing his nearly empty glass to Lilith if she wants to finish it off, despite her own buzz.

"... not going to lie, that kind of sounds like me mid-tantrum after the world pisses on me too much." Lilith blurts with a look up toward the ceiling in the dark, relieved that Byron has kept his tight loop of hold on her to ensure they're not lost or separated in any degree when the lights go. After a delicate clear of her throat, she wonders of the guide after a bit of placating encouragement, "I can see where having the proper story upstaged and not getting to tell your run... would be incessantly irritating after so long, yes. Two different time eras, though? How does that even..."

The noise above continues, it's dark and hard to keep a conversation with someone she can't really see, but she does sense that glass nudged her way, so she blindly downs what's left and prepares herself to shank someone with broken glass if needbe. Ghost, not-ghost, doesn't matter, it's DARK okay.

"At least it's going to be interesting," Ravn murmurs. He's quite aware that of the people present, his familiarity with Gray Harbor's history is likely the least; what he does know, on the other hand, is archetypes. The setup is familiar. So's the props and the sound effects. He finds himself glancing in the direction of Lilith's voice because there are tropes in ghost stories, and guess who's usually the first candidate for disappearing through a trap door in the floor or otherwise getting mauled in order to motivate the leads. Yep. The attractive woman in the impractical heels.

And then, suddenly, Grandma escaped from the era of Disco Inferno. Whatever's going on here just threw the rules out the window -- Gray Harbor, why do you always do this? Ravn falls silent, not entirely convinced that he qualifies for 'the usual fucking suspects'.

Alexander raises his hand as the Exorcist appears. "I noticed." He clears his throat. "But she was nice and helpful." He watches her go with mournful eyes. "What doesn't she have? Who wants what she doesn't have? Why?" The questions are painfully abrupt and curious. But something she says catches his attention outside of that, and he shakes his head. "Not all." Then he gestures to Ravn. "This is Ravn. He's not usual. Say hi to the Exorcist, Ravn."

The odor of cigarette smoke catches Byron's attention, drawing his attention back the way they came. It was still dark though, but his eyes were adjusting just in time to watch as a somewhat familiar figure materializes before them all. Several of them in this room had encountered this -ist at one point (altogether too). "The Exorcist. Long time no see." Though in truth, he had/has some use for an exorcist, but that's a personal matter that isn't bothering him at this very moment.

When everyone seems to be focusing on the tantrum upstairs, the man's own gaze lifts once more, but hearing the Exorcist ask whether they'd noticed this guide of theirs was a non-entity or not, well, the man has to murmur, "We suspected something was up." Despite the tour guide being a non-thing, it still feels rude to ask, but he does anyway, "Then what is she? I still get confused by Veil denizens and Dream constructs. Or ghosts." Which is what he'd assumed the other woman was.

"Real people don't often say anything of interest, we're branching out to non-things these days and widening conversational circles. Sometimes it's more riveting." Lilith tells the Exorcist with her eyes finally adjusting to the dark some, tone a bit helplessly dry with general self-deprecation and humor about the 'things' they end up talking to sometimes while living where they do. She turns to trace the smell of smoke first before realizing who it actually is speaking, though, giving pause before speaking her own greeting to the Exorcist, "Hello again. Do people still call you Dolores? Ms. Cunningham or Nurse Cunningham, perhaps? Or do you prefer your new title?"

Her eyes flit to the ceiling again with more stomping, "And who wants what to be going on like that? Don't get me wrong, I love a good fit sometimes, it helps me get all the festering bullshit out, here and there, but..."

Ravn manages to stop himself from making the worst dad joke ever just to buy himself time to think (which is probably for the better, since replying, 'hi to the Exorcist, Ravn' probably would cause Alexander to give up on him for good). Instead, he inclines his head politely at the older woman. "Good evening. Ravn Abildgaard -- I do believe I am actually new on Team The Usual Suspects, yes. I am a historian, though -- although admittedly, Americana is not my field."

"My name is Alexander," Alexander says, sternly. There's a scowl, too. "It's not a hard name to remember. Yours is, or was, Dolores, wasn't it? We saw your badge." He glances back up at the tantrum, then sidelong at Lilith, as if weighing her potential for destruction (high, his expression says), then over to Byron, weighing his ability to handle said destruction. Worried is the conclusion. He edges closer to Ravn, as if needing to get out of any blast radius.

It's funny, once the Exorcist calls Alexander by a shortened nickname, Byron was already delighting in Clayton's reaction to it. Or he would be delighted, if not for the -ist waving her cigarette and wafting its smoke in his direction. Now, that has him suspicious. The chandelier lights then suddenly come on and the first thing that the man in the expensive tux does is to look around the room in case something was amiss between the time of the black out and now. No other creepy character suddenly lurking about? Good.

Then the woman addresses him again, mentioning the dress this time. "Who? Margaret Addington?" Yes, that's the first name that comes to mind automatically. Ever since some kind soul spirited the wedding dress from Addington House and handed it to him, Byron always wondered if the Addington matriarch would take notice. Then it dawns on him. "You mean Claire Addington?" Eyes lifted to the ceiling once more, he then lowers his gaze, letting it settle on Lilith, "Well, I believe we know what we need to do with that dress."

Ravn glances ceiling-wards. Not so much at the chandelier though surely it is gorgeous and worthy of admiration some other time. At the moment, what draws his attention is the noise as if somebody is indeed having an emotional breakdown up there, worthy of a teenage girl who just found out that the boy she's got a crush on not only is gay, he's been sleeping with her brother for a month.

He also sneaks a glance at this so-called Exorcist. Last time he saw somebody dressed like that they were were in fact thirty years dead. Never can be too sure. Yours is, or was, Dolores somewhat settles that matter in his mind.

"This is... a little more of a live history lesson than I'm used to," the Dane murmurs and glances at Alexander. "I'm going to venture a guess that I'm the one man present who has no idea what they're talking about?"

"... no, but I should. I'd have a lot of ammo to work with and turn into words, but it seems like a lot of effort to make all the story arcs work out. I was curious how you got from that life to this one you have now after seeing something in the Collection that was yours at one time, especially in lieu of hearing there were two eighteen-eighty-fours from our guide, but.."

The chandelier light comes on, the raging continues above and Lilith takes a moment to look around herself in the adjusted light, making sure there's nothing behind them out of reflex habit. Her hand holds fast to the emptied champagne glass lowered at her side and she has a sudden realization of her own when Byron says 'Claire Addington' aloud. First there's an exhaled breath of understanding, because what else would be carrying on like that if not a Bridezilla? Then she suddenly looks up at her fiancé/husband(?) with a hint of concern, "Uh. Maybe she shouldn't see... you. Didn't you say the man she was marrying looked just like you?"

Byron quickly corrects, "Her brother.... David, I believe." The Archivist just brought this up the other day too. "Holds some resemblance, I think." Look, he got this all from a read. He then adds, "I'm afraid that I don't have it with me at this moment."

"Stealing from ghosts is generally a one-way ticket to becoming one in folklore. I suggest that we perhaps try to remedy that situation before somebody gets hurt." Ravn glances upwards again -- and then sideways to Thorne. A man who doesn't exactly look like he needs to steal a wedding dress if he wants one. There's got to be more to that.

"Byron's family married into the Addingtons, once upon a time," Alexander tells Ravn in an undertone. "And apparently there was a dress that ancestor got married in. And she's salty about not getting it back. Which I guess makes sense; it was her wedding dress." But he clears his throat. "I wonder if that's why the Addingtons keep all their old stuff. Ghosts." But as it's called stealing, he frowns, and stands up for Byron. "Byron didn't steal it. Someone gave it to him. That's not stealing. At most, it's receiving stolen property." Firm nod. "But...we probably should return it, just to keep her from doing whatever it is ghost do when they're freaked out." A sidelong look to the Exorcist. "I don't know what that is," he says. "I'm not sure how, or why, people like you get the jobs that you do."

This banter between the smoking lady and Alexander only gets a brief little brow raise from Byron, especially on hearing that random people, supposedly, end up with these crappy jobs that they perform at City Hall. That holds his brief interest anyway.

Woah. Woah. Byron's being accused of something and he doesn't not like. He's not a criminal, damnit! Ahem. Before he can say anything to defend himself, Alexander speaks up for him, letting the Exorcist and the room as a whole know the real story. This conveniently came with a bit of a history lesson too for the new arrival in town.

"Look, I was planning on handing it back, but it slipped my mind. And the right opportunity never came up." Sneaking it past security and Margaret Addington, perhaps. Hearing the crack that Exorcist makes, he can't help but purse his lips into an unamused line. "The dress is still in its original box back at my apartment." A pause, "Original as in what it was stored in when it came into my possession." The old hat box. "So she's been this way ever since it went missing? I didn't think that she'd have many attachments to it." From what he'd read...

Lilith has her moment to look offended about the very idea of Byron being a thief, he's the one that used to get onto her for shoplifting when they were tykes. She suddenly snap points at Alexander's explanation on the man's behalf to all and sundry, though, then nods a couple of times and drops her hand. Then her face goes even more screwed when Billy's box is mentioned, she knows exactly what she sacrificed and put into it and is still convinced she spawned some tortured Hank Winslow ghost somewhere as consequence, but maybe not. She certainly hasn't seen such a ghost, maybe things really are just things sometimes.

"The Archivist wants it in trade for our maybe-legit/maybe-not marriage license, I think." Lilith bylines to Alexander, then Ravn by extension, features suddenly turning pensive for a few passing moments, "Pretty sure the plan is to wear it around and slow-motion chant Byron's name like a cultist, but who knows." After a glance at the commotion taking a slow down above, she adds, "... but even if it doesn't help her fits, she probably should have it back. I'd be mad too. And we can always get a license in Seattle or something. Or make the Archivist a pretty dress that fits."

"Old families end up keeping old stuff like debris but god help you if a piece of silverware no one's used in a century goes missing." Ravn acknowledges Alexander's quick info dump with a small smile. Then he glances at Thorne and his admission of -- well, not quite theft. "I don't suppose that simply returning the wedding dress to its more or less rightful owner upstairs is an option? Or indeed trade for something -- if that's on the table. With all due respect, neither of you look like you cannot afford to have a wedding dress made for your own use."

"I would prefer to be the Analyst, if it comes down to it," Alexander mutters. "Maybe then something might make sense in all of this." He sighs as the floor is assaulted with Veil-person cigarette butts. "They are important, though, aren't they? A lot of things in this town seem to center on them. They're not Hiltons, or anything like that. But in our context, they're important." He returns Ravn's smile with one of his own. Although he's less adamant about the dress than the Exorcist, he tells Lilith, "Just get a marriage license the regular way. It'll be more fun, and I don't know that we know what the Collector does with the shit we give him. It. Whatever. Maybe don't give it anything we might want to see again." His eyes flick back to the Exorcist and he frowns. "I...never thought about it. I've never seen an Addington ghost. What happens to them when they die? I know what happens to Baxters."

The question posed to the group has Byron going back through all the weirdness that he'd experienced in, not only this place, but in all of Gray Harbor. "To be honest, we don't run into many ghosts." Even someone like Byron who has been dragged through all sorts of crazy, especially in this past year, has only really met a small handful. of 'em. Alexander echoes his question, however. "Yes, why is that? Why are there no Addington spirits around?" Though when the guy brings up Baxters and their deaths, this piques Thorne's interest some. "Are you going to leave us all hanging?"

He doesn't stop Lilith from telling the group about their most recent visit to City Hall, even though the deal for the dress is also brought up. "It's not so that we can get a marriage license." He says with a hint of annoyance, "I merely went there to see whether we had one or not, as the town already celebrated our wedding with us. I just wanted to know if our marriage was legal in /our/ world." Here! Not in the Veil. "Then the Archivist promised us that we could null the marriage and hold our own ceremony, if we are, indeed, married. Or give us the wedding of our dreams." He then quickly adds, "Now, I was hesitant to just hand the dress over," Narrowed eyes shoot over at the Exorcist when she reminds them, "Because of what happened the last time. That's why I'm here. Looking around to see if we'd fuck anything up by handing the dress over. Looks like we might have done just that."

Taking in a thoughtful breath, then letting in exhale, he nods, "We'll bring the dress over. Better that it go to its rightful owner anyway. My... apologies for the inconvenience."

The Dane nods his quiet approval to Thorne though he does not try to catch the other man's attention in doing so. Right choices were made at far as he is concerned. Don't argue with the dead. They bloody well cheat.

Ravn has to half wince, half smile at the epiteth concerning the Addingtons, though -- and other old houses just like them. Rich fucking snobs who think they're important. Accurate. Ouch. "In a small town community like this, I'd argue that the Addingtons and the Baxters respectively play the roles of feudal leadership, and a feuding one at that. They are important -- even if they're not Hiltons. You've got a hundred and fifty years of history hinging on those two names. A hundred and fifty years does carry a lot of weight, particularly in a place like this where separating one reality from another is nigh impossible."

He glances at Alexander at that observation. "Tell me about the ghosts sometime we're not in an argument with one. I didn't realise this place was quite this haunted, I'd have come here earlier if I knew."

Alexander's preference on what he'd want to be called if he died horribly on the wrong side of the Veil actually makes Lilith open her mouth and start to pedantically correct, "... all of them are -ists and that isn't spelled the... oh. Same." Somewhere in that sentence, the woman seems to have some kind of realization. She looks at The Exorcist more closely with her blue eyes thick and shifting with constant ticking thought while she tries to mentally work through one thing or another or make some kinds of connections about the world they happen to live in while residing in GH.

Then after a few clearing blinks, she realizes a little late that the Exorcist is very against the Archivist having that dress and after standing silent a moment (she can't argue with the logic) the woman just says, "... okay, yeah, fair." Then she looks up and aside at Byron (who speaks Archivist-lingo with better understanding than she does) with a quiet sigh, "We kind of knew there'd be a complication, didn't we? Glad we came on the tour."

Lilith then tacks on because it needs to be known, apparently, looking at Ravn, "Hiltons are trash money, though, not seasoned and complex fantastic history."

Okay, maybe someone has a little town pride, despite cursing the place and big names involved on a regular basis.