[h2][b][i][color=008000][center]In This Fine Town Of Arkham[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h2]
[h3][b][i][color=008000][center]A Night At Wilde Hall[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3]
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[center][img]https://s3.eu-central-1.wasabisys.com/devonilx7/2020/04/forest_path_dark_150398_1920x1080-1536x864.jpg[/img][/center]
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[center][b]"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown"[/b] - [i]H. P. Lovecraft[/i][/center]
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[center][@Eviledd1984][@Prosaic][/center]

The bright blue eyes watched the shock of [b][color=0054a6]Benjamin Zebrowski[/color][/b] with a look of amusement, and Benjamin couldn't help but think that there would be a smile behind the elaborate mask. 

	[b]"My mother told me not to talk to strangers, but here we are."[/b]

	Benjamin's following question seemed to be less amusing to the pale woman, but before she could reply, another shape emerged from the gloom. [b][color=7ea7d8]Simon Hart[/color][/b] had decided that there was at least some semblance of safety in numbers, and if he was set to wait in the darkness for the carriage to return, then it was better he did it in with unusual company, than with no company at all.

	The inhuman mask turned to look at Simon as he approached, and again, there was a spark of humour in them. For whatever reason, the woman standing before the two men seemed to be enjoying the situation far more than her two companions were. Her gaze darted between Simon and Benjamin as she spoke, never seeming to settle on one or the other for too long.

	[b]"No need to apologise, sir. I was just about to start making introductions. If neither of you two gentleman are in a rush to introduce himself, then allow me. You may call me Miss White, at least for the duration of the evening. What may I call you?"[/b] 

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[center][@Penny][[@Dark Cloud][/center]

Whether it was simply the respite, or the absence of the stone-faced coachman, [b][color=gray]Morgan Eisenhorn[/color][/b] seemed to have regained his composure. The last patrons of The Excelsior Hotel still milled about them, fleeing the increasing depth of the evening, and the curious glances in the direction of Morgan and [b][color=008000]Opportunity Knox[/color][/b] had reduced, although not entirely dissipated. Opportunity's commitment to the masquerade of the evening was flimsy at best, but Morgan still clung to some vestige of his identity, still obscured behind the mask he wore, at least for now. Whatever his thoughts on the masquerade, Morgan was not foolish enough to ignore a perfectly good offer, and he was quick to accept the opportunity to ride with Opportunity. 

	As if on cue, the coachman appeared again, stepping out from around the corner as he adjusted his jacket. His gaze darted to Morgan first, and then across Opportunity, now standing by the carriage, and his face creased with concern.

	[b]"Apologies, ma'am. Please. Allow me."[/b]

	He quickly crossed the gap, and pulled open the carriage door, standing by as he gestured for Opportunity to climb aboard. As he did, he seemed to remember Morgan again, and his light eyes narrowed slightly as they turned back to the other man. For a beat, he was still, as if he was wrestling with a decision, and then he seemed to make up his mind, and his face softened. 

	[b]"If you are bound for Wilde Hall, and Madam Green allows it, then I can take you along. Assuming you have your invitation?"[/b]

	A single hand extended towards Morgan, the gaze not leaving him.