IC [Chuubo/Horizon] The Unbearable Legacies of Forsyth

FrivYeti

Yeti On The Lam!
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#11
Samuel Titov, the Butler
Shiver of Terror XP | 8/8 Will, 5/5 MP, 3/3 Miraculous Will

Samuel gives a solemn nod to the Admiral, and another for the young mistress. He does not, at this time, acknowledge Taldin's presence. The ability of family pets to turn into family members is giving him some trouble in terms of hierarchy. Does he command Taldin? Does the bat now qualify as a peer, or is his former status as a possession of the household mean that he is, technically speaking, an employee? It is a troublesome question, and one that Samuel has not yet had time to unpack.

Instead, he turns his attention to Edony. "Your kind words are appreciated, Miss Margueritte," he says evenly. "I daresay that everyone who has chosen to attend today is thinking of Master Dougal, and what his absence means for us all." As he speaks, Samuel's eyes flicker over the rest of the assembly. His tone does not sound mournful, so much as it bears a very faint undercurrent of scorn.

OOC: Claiming 1 XP for my Withering Politeness.

I am assuming that since Samuel and Taldin both live in the house, Samuel has already found out that Taldin can do this, but recently enough that he hasn't come to grips with it.
 

Brontes

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#12
Jordan Kanda
A few people turn their heads quizically at the arrival of a shop fox. The creation and the familiar were strange things, but expected guests and inheritors. It did not seem out of the ordinary that Dougal might gift them a pittance for their time under him. Here was a person who did not belong at all, and only one other belonged less than him. What was his connection to the Forsyth estate?

Perhaps fortunately, the first person who greets him is also one of the few who least cared to answer that question. She's a tall, wiry woman in her fifties, black hair that's starting to grey. She has taken to a night black dress for the occasion, and is currently drinking from a coffee cup, curling her lip after every other sip.

"You could not look more lost," she says, "Are you sure you're at the right residence?"

Grendel
There is a clearing of the throat, and a man somewhere between portly and stocky in a brown suit and bowler hat sidles up to the masked person. He seems around the age of Dougal Forsyth, and what wrinkles he has suggests a man who smiles a lot. His smile here is a little wan, somber but friendly.

Grendel has spied on the manor before, and should recognize the man as Walsh Porter, old friend and associate of Dougal's. A man who was not far from a beer in his hand while he was in the manor, with a penchant for winding up in strange places in the manor and many a raucous incident. Yet, for all of his drunken boorishness, Walsh seemed to have a preternatural sense for people spying on him. There has been more than one close encounter between the two.

"Unless, I'm mistaken, you would be the rumored Grendel. If so, you might know who I am, having lived in the manor under our noses. I am curious about how you are enjoying it now that you are a proper guest?"

Helena, Fingal, Taldin, Samuel
There is some murmuring among the support staff and especially from Prom Forsyth, at the presence of the runaway, moreso than with Jordan. The temerity of her, who rejected Dougal's hospitality (never mind their own relationship to the man), to show back up only now that he is dead.

Of course, any murmuring would stay as murmurs as Roman, all seven fiery-haired feet of him, made his way to the group. He extends a hand out to the Admiral and smiles a big, flashy grin.

"It's been too long, Fingal," he says, "I'm sorry we could not reunite the family under better circumstances."

He places his hand on the top of Helena's head in exaggerated fashion, "And much the same to you, Helena. When did you get so big?"
 

JohnStargazer

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#13
Grendel Forsyth, the Creature
Awww! XP
WP 8/8 MP 7/7


Grendel
There is a clearing of the throat, and a man somewhere between portly and stocky in a brown suit and bowler hat sidles up to the masked person. He seems around the age of Dougal Forsyth, and what wrinkles he has suggests a man who smiles a lot. His smile here is a little wan, somber but friendly.

Grendel has spied on the manor before, and should recognize the man as Walsh Porter, old friend and associate of Dougal's. A man who was not far from a beer in his hand while he was in the manor, with a penchant for winding up in strange places in the manor and many a raucous incident. Yet, for all of his drunken boorishness, Walsh seemed to have a preternatural sense for people spying on him. There has been more than one close encounter between the two.

"Unless, I'm mistaken, you would be the rumored Grendel. If so, you might know who I am, having lived in the manor under our noses. I am curious about how you are enjoying it now that you are a proper guest?"
The masked creature narrows his eyes at the older man, then flickers his gaze over the rest of the gathered guests and back to Walsh before answering, with a voice like a great lion's purr, "I am discomfited, Walsh Porter, as I have not often been. Part of me still wonders if this is some trick, if Forsyth... if Dougal has not prepared some elaborate hoax to draw me from hiding, for some unknowable reason of his own. I can scarcely ponder that he is truly passed, as he seemed such an unmovable figure for all my brief life."

He pauses, staring thoughtfully at a point slightly above and behind the portly man's head, and takes that cup of coffee he'd pondered briefly before. "And to think that he has left me some inheritance? Some gift, as he has given me nothing but my life and my curse previously? It is too much, good sir. A violation of sense."

He drinks then, messily and not well by any means, thanks to his mask. "And what of yourself, sir? Yourself and your partner, who I am surprised to see you parted from, as you have always been akin to the salt and pepper shakers from the well stocked sideboard that accompanied the many meals you've enjoyed as guests of the manor. How has this strange turn of affairs taken you?"
 

Jive Professor

Trying to fly
Validated User
#14
Taldin could sense their unease. It gave the air a certain taste - lavender and unease - that he found perplexing. He was no more accustomed to it than they were; new events that were new for all even if they were the least new for him. He had to know why... and he had hoped they would know. That appeared to be false.

He watched Roman approach and speak and shake and greet. His ears rotated in quiet little circles. He knew the shape of these others more than the face. The smell more than the smell-maker. Being an un-bat was a curious experience. Taldin placed his hands behind his back, bit his lip softly, and tack tack tacked his heels together and listened.

Taldin was good at listening.
 

Fluorite

Sparkly and salty
Validated User
#15
Fingal Forsyth, the Admiral
Speechlessness XP
8/8 Will, 3/3 Miraculous Will, 5/5 MP


"Edony Margueritte," the pointy-eared young woman says, smiling a somewhat crooked and many-toothed smile, extending her hand to each nearby, "Helena has told me so much about...," she glances at Taldin, "... each of you. I'm so sorry for your loss."
“Pleasure to meet you, miss Marguerite, and thank you kindly. Don’t worry about what some of those chattering scalawags say: you and Helena are both welcome here.” The Admiral clasps his weathered hand around Edony’s. Her being such a small thing, he does his best to shake gently, and while his grip is still overly tight, he doesn’t do any damage.

There is some murmuring among the support staff and especially from Prom Forsyth, at the presence of the runaway, moreso than with Jordan. The temerity of her, who rejected Dougal's hospitality (never mind their own relationship to the man), to show back up only now that he is dead.

Of course, any murmuring would stay as murmurs as Roman, all seven fiery-haired feet of him, made his way to the group. He extends a hand out to the Admiral and smiles a big, flashy grin.

"It's been too long, Fingal," he says, "I'm sorry we could not reunite the family under better circumstances."
Fingal doesn’t show the same restraint with his cousin, grinning right back and pumping his arm with a force that would dislocate the shoulder of a lesser man. “Roman, you old galleon, it’s always good to see you!” He lets out a hearty laugh, but there's something bittersweet underneath. ”My fault for being gone so long, it is. At any rate, we’re all here now!”
 

Roger

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#16
--Emily, I've been in a most extraordinary conversation, which I shall now attempt to record to the best of my recollection.

A woman, striking, in black, perhaps older than mother but likely not -- I am no good as such evaluations, as you know -- came up to me quite suddenly and said: "You're lost."

My first instinct was a blaze of indignation, which to my shame I fear let show in my face, if perhaps for only a moment. To think of it -- that I, who have only been delivering coffee on every avenue and down every alley under the shadow of the School since I could barely hold a cup -- that I might be lost, like some mere islander tourist, unsure of where to turn next or how to get there -- well. Stepping on my tail would not have been more of an affront.

But before this firestorm of emotion could truly take hold, it was extinguished with a breath, the merest whisper, yet of such crystal clarity as to be unmistakeable: "She's right, you know." Mayhaps it was even your voice, there in my head, saving me from such foolishness.

Of course, of course I was lost; as lost as I have ever been in my whole life. It was nothing but arrogance to look around myself, at the twisting corridors and halls, the unblinking faces and unknowable accents, and to think that yes, yes I still in fact know my place and where I fit. Here within this great monument to arrogance there was no room for more, and it left me humbled.

All of those thoughts must have been written plain across my face also, because just as I was about to speak them, the woman in black spoke again. "Are you quite sure you're in the right place?" she asked me.

I've no doubt that in the years to come I shall look back at this very moment as the turning point. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to shuffle off, then; flee all this, leave the Forsyth House and everything it contains far behind, and never once looking back. Perhaps in the fullness of time I shall regret not taking that path.

But, alas, like so many decisions of life-altering gravity, my heart was made up on the matter in an instant. At length I finally made answer to my hostess.

"You are most kind, madam," I said, "and most perceptive. I am, as you say, lost -- but if there is any place at all for those who are lost, then surely it must be here; I do not think I would have found you at all, had I not been lost."

"As to the question of whether I am in the right place -- as you have already guessed, I am unsure -- but I am sure of at least this much. I am Jordan Kanda, as named in this legal instrument of the Forsyth estate, and I am sure I have no idea whatsoever as to why I should be so named." At this she seemed rather nonplussed, such that I was compelled to continue.

"You must forgive me, madam, if I ramble on at length. I have no doubt these are trying times for you -- to suffer both close kin and strangers entrance to your home. I cannot comprehend your loss, but if I can do anything at all to ease your pain, I am at your service."

Just then a more-animated conversation arose in another corner--
 

MrPrim

Bleak Academic
Validated User
#17
Helena good-naturedly pushes away Roman's hand, "Watch the hair."

"Yes, we're all here. I'd half-hoped this place burned down while I was gone but, I suppose, I've never been the lucky sort." Helena glances around, "He never did like redecorating. Feels like nothing has changed in here. Well...," she glances over at Taldin again, "Almost nothing."

"You know, I told him I'd never come back here. That last day. It was raining and I'd kicked the door out. He was standing over there, at the top of the stairs.

"He didn't try to stop me. He just stood there, silently. Disapprovingly. Like he didn't believe me."

She sighs and stretches.

"Guess that was his last little cruelty... turning me into a liar."

OOC: Reminiscing about our dead family member feels like a Shared Reaction.
 

FrivYeti

Yeti On The Lam!
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#18
Samuel Titov, the Butler
Shiver of Terror XP | 8/8 Will, 5/5 MP, 3/3 Miraculous Will

Samuel gives a small bow to Roman as he joins the group, although it seems uncouth to interrupt Helena at this time. He nods thoughtfully at her speech. She has grown up, in the years since he saw her last. "I had wondered. I was, of course, otherwise occupied when the confrontation took place, and Master Dougal refused to discuss it." He looks up the stairs. "Your room remains as you left it, Mistress Helena, if you plan to stay the night. Master Dougal would not countenance refurbishing it, despite my best efforts to convince him otherwise. At first, I believe that it was because he didn't believe you would stay away. Later, it was his trademark bloody-mindedness. He had decreed that the room was to be untouched, and he would not let a simple thing like the state of affairs sway him. He wouldn't discuss it, of course, and it was hardly my place to converse with my employer about his emotions. But I think it gave him comfort, to imagine that he might yet win that fight."

Samuel chuckles slightly at the memory. "Master Dougal's most irritating behaviors were also his most admirable. If he had known it would take his death to bring you all back to see him, I sometimes wonder if he would have engineered it sooner."

OOC: Claiming 1 XP to share a story about Dougal Forsyth, and joining Helena in a Shared Reaction.
 

Fluorite

Sparkly and salty
Validated User
#19
Fingal Forsyth, the Admiral
Speechlessness XP
8/8 Will, 3/3 Miraculous Will, 5/5 MP


The Admiral guffaws. “Aye, he would, the mulish old shabbaroon! Always had to have the last word in everything.” The corner of his mouth twitches upward and fondness creeps into his voice. ”The two of us had that much in common. I think we got it from our father.”

There’s a pause, and he glances around the room again. “Ah, that reminds me of one time when Dougal got in a tiff with Benita over there,” Fingal jerks a thumb in her direction. ”I don’t even know what they were arguing about, and I’m well surprised that they did, because they were drunker than skunks. Whatever the case, that night he kicked her right out of the house!”

“Dougal had a hurricane of a hangover the next morning and didn’t remember a word of what either of them said, but when he found out what he’d done, he stuck to his decision. Said he must have meant it, and he wouldn’t have her back until she gave him a proper apology. It took her a while to give in, and he kept sending messengers her way to nag her about it. I guess his pushing like that was a sign that under all his bluster, he missed her.”

Fingal rolls the tip of his mustache between his fingers and looks wistfully into the middle distance. “He was always too stubborn to say it, but Dougal really cared sometimes. It was just tough to figure out when. Drove me crazy, that did.”

He laughs. “I can tell you one thing for sure, though. If there’s such thing as the Grim Reaper, my brother’s still giving ‘em an earful even now!”

OOC: I’ll join the Shared Reaction and toss in a Forsyth story of my own—this gets me an XP for my main Quest.
 

Brontes

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#20
Grendel

"I disappoint myself, I must admit, that I am not more sentimental than I am. I grew up with Dougal and Benita my only friends, lived here since Dougal became family head, and handled a number of important business matters," he seems to emphasize the important business matters, "But in the past few years I fear our relationship has grown quite distant. We just aren't the people we were, I'm afraid."

"Ah, to have those days back: young, energetic, daring. The two of us would sneak out of St. Orlock's, shop at all of the apothecaries and groceries, and then we would brew and drink all the strange concoctions Dougal could think of, while I sold the best of them off, and Dougal, well, Dougal..."

Whatever thought he was having here is briefly interrupted as he breaks out into the deepest chuckle, "During the resulting crackdown, he had slipped one of our experiments in the headmaster's coffee, nothing serious mind you, but the aftertaste had been so persistent and unpleasant that for weeks one could hear the headmaster smack his lips from a corridor away. He had proverbially put a bell on the cat."

His chuckle breaks out into full blown laughter, deep and hearty.

"Ah, but nowadays all that's left is the businesses, I'm afraid, and right now that's all in the air. But you'll find that out for yourself soon enough."

Jordan Kanda

The woman blinks for a few moments.

She laughs, loud and unapologetic.

"You are either very astute or very fortunate, Mr. Kanda. The street the manor sits on intersects everywhere else in Horizon, especially when it shouldn't, and so, as you say, many lost people find their way here."

Rather habitually, she swirls the drink in her hand and swigs it like one might for a wine, and only then does she remember that she had been drinking coffee instead.

"But I mean no intent other than to confirm that you were at the right place. Indeed, this is the Forsyth manor, and indeed his actions are a mystery to many. But I'd be a poor childhood friend if I could offer no insight."

At the prospect of someone new to talk to and something new to talk about, she decides to be done with her cup and chugs the rest of it down like one might their medicine.

"So on what matters can Benita Stain elucidate?"
 
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