Hotel Cali... Sinclair Mansion is the place everyone wishes to go!
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- Twhirtley 11 yrs ago
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Green Names are the Superior Race
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You're an interesting species. An interesting mix. You're capable of such beautiful dreams, and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you're not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we've found that makes the emptiness bearable, is each other.
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Logan awoke after one of the most fitful nights of sleep he'd had in a long time. The bed was not the source of his discomfort, if anything it surely was the closest thing to sleeping on a cloud in Olympus. Nor was it the slight stiffness in his muscles after last night's frustrations that disrupted his slumber. It was the first time, in a long time, that he'd slept alone.
Last night, he was down at the tavern after putting the horses to bed, as usual for a bachelor like him. It had seemed the woman that would be accompanying him would be Laura, a very buxom brunette with whom he'd spent many a night. But it was not to be, for Isabella's brother came rushing in, saying that his sister's horse, a chestnut mare named Star, had fled when they were trying to put her away for the night.
Logan already knew the reason why, the horse was thunder-shy. She had been ever since she was a foal. Logan had raised her, and always made sure to bring her in if there was even a hint of a storm to come, and would stay all night keeping her as calm as possible. Then Isabella's father bought her, and he knew it wouldn't be a good fit. Isabella was a sweet girl, very lively and always ready for a roll in the hay, but there wasn't much going on between her ears. He'd told her time and time again how to properly care for Star, and did she listen? Evidently not.
So that led the two of them on his horse, Leo, trying to find Star in the wilderness before the storm struck. Just as he'd found her tracks, the rain came in buckets, so he sent Leo back home, Isabella stop him, knowing his horse was more than smart enough for such a simple task.
He eventually found poor Star, she'd fallen down a steep drop off, and lay there among the stones, unable to lift herself with her broken legs. Logan had climbed down the precipitous slope, calming the scared horse with his soothing voice and touch. And when she was finally relaxed, he put her down with a large rock to the skull.
He'd hated that it had come to that, but he wasn't about to let her agonize for hours. He even hated Isabella for causing this, and knew she'd seek him out later for consoling. He'd rebuke her, hurt her feelings, let her see one of the other girls being chosen before her. She deserved it.
However, the damnable storm got him all turned around, and her ended up lost. Eventually he'd found a path, that led to a road, that led him to the well known Sinclair Mansion. The door was opened by a gentleman that begged him entry from the storm, and to stay and ride out the weather. Logan wearily nodded, listened to the house rules and was escorted to bed.
Awake now, he was rather surprised to see his clothes folded and laundered, stacked neatly in the day chair. He sighed a bit, disappointed that he'd missed a chance to see if that servant was a lovely lass or not. After getting dressed, Logan's mind immediately went to his daily habits. Feed the animals, then yourself. He began winding his way through the home, trying to remember the path to the front door, for he was sure he'd seen a barn the night before. All the while, he stomach growled as the smell of food neared.
Last night, he was down at the tavern after putting the horses to bed, as usual for a bachelor like him. It had seemed the woman that would be accompanying him would be Laura, a very buxom brunette with whom he'd spent many a night. But it was not to be, for Isabella's brother came rushing in, saying that his sister's horse, a chestnut mare named Star, had fled when they were trying to put her away for the night.
Logan already knew the reason why, the horse was thunder-shy. She had been ever since she was a foal. Logan had raised her, and always made sure to bring her in if there was even a hint of a storm to come, and would stay all night keeping her as calm as possible. Then Isabella's father bought her, and he knew it wouldn't be a good fit. Isabella was a sweet girl, very lively and always ready for a roll in the hay, but there wasn't much going on between her ears. He'd told her time and time again how to properly care for Star, and did she listen? Evidently not.
So that led the two of them on his horse, Leo, trying to find Star in the wilderness before the storm struck. Just as he'd found her tracks, the rain came in buckets, so he sent Leo back home, Isabella stop him, knowing his horse was more than smart enough for such a simple task.
He eventually found poor Star, she'd fallen down a steep drop off, and lay there among the stones, unable to lift herself with her broken legs. Logan had climbed down the precipitous slope, calming the scared horse with his soothing voice and touch. And when she was finally relaxed, he put her down with a large rock to the skull.
He'd hated that it had come to that, but he wasn't about to let her agonize for hours. He even hated Isabella for causing this, and knew she'd seek him out later for consoling. He'd rebuke her, hurt her feelings, let her see one of the other girls being chosen before her. She deserved it.
However, the damnable storm got him all turned around, and her ended up lost. Eventually he'd found a path, that led to a road, that led him to the well known Sinclair Mansion. The door was opened by a gentleman that begged him entry from the storm, and to stay and ride out the weather. Logan wearily nodded, listened to the house rules and was escorted to bed.
Awake now, he was rather surprised to see his clothes folded and laundered, stacked neatly in the day chair. He sighed a bit, disappointed that he'd missed a chance to see if that servant was a lovely lass or not. After getting dressed, Logan's mind immediately went to his daily habits. Feed the animals, then yourself. He began winding his way through the home, trying to remember the path to the front door, for he was sure he'd seen a barn the night before. All the while, he stomach growled as the smell of food neared.
I'm going to go ahead and exit this rp, have lost interest, sorry.
I'm going to exit this rp now, just moving far too slowly
Yeah Shinnston would definitely not allow them anywhere near Mr Acheson as is.
Hmm post your CSs in here and I'll review them. But no promises, this is meant to be a mystery for fairly ordinary people without training.
Sounds like you're trying to make someone who would be designed to better solve the mystery rather than someone suited to be invited. Shin nation probabl wouldn't allow such individuals to come after running his extensive background checks
Trish poked and prodded at her food, before finally taking a bite of the "meat". It wasn't great, but it wasn't bad either, certainly better than expected. And she was starving. So she began eating a bit more rapidly than one might assume, not rudely so, just a bit quicker. Pausing for a moment as the conversation moved along, "It's better than prison slop or the DA's protein rations."
Trish didn't know if the ship had a proper name, though she assumed it did. All ships had names. She hadn't taken the time to look at the hull nor the digital manifest at the door. As for giving anything they found to the mechanic, well, after Trish scoured for parts for her own work.
A small spike of pain dashed through her injured hand, and she dropped her fork, uttering a bit of a curse in a language she didn't know the name of, a habit from the days with her father. She flexed her hand painfully, inspecting to make sure it was still holding together. Satisfied enough, she resumed eating and listening to the conversation at hand, not really feeling the need to chime in more.
Trish didn't know if the ship had a proper name, though she assumed it did. All ships had names. She hadn't taken the time to look at the hull nor the digital manifest at the door. As for giving anything they found to the mechanic, well, after Trish scoured for parts for her own work.
A small spike of pain dashed through her injured hand, and she dropped her fork, uttering a bit of a curse in a language she didn't know the name of, a habit from the days with her father. She flexed her hand painfully, inspecting to make sure it was still holding together. Satisfied enough, she resumed eating and listening to the conversation at hand, not really feeling the need to chime in more.
@Soufflegirl123, @HylianRose, @Shurikai, @Orynae, @Henwen, @Zendrelax, @Heat, @Gowia
The IC Post is now up. Everyone needs to get at least 1 post in by Wednesday August 5th. There is no post order. If everyone gets 1 post in prior to the date, I will probably post again to move the story along. Anyone not posting in this time will be assumed to no longer be in the story.
@Zendrelax - You have this time to post your CSs and have them approved AND post. Should you fail to do this, you will not be in the story.
PS The band/singer I mentioned is not real, and is made up for the sake of this story.
If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to ask here or in PM.
The IC Post is now up. Everyone needs to get at least 1 post in by Wednesday August 5th. There is no post order. If everyone gets 1 post in prior to the date, I will probably post again to move the story along. Anyone not posting in this time will be assumed to no longer be in the story.
@Zendrelax - You have this time to post your CSs and have them approved AND post. Should you fail to do this, you will not be in the story.
PS The band/singer I mentioned is not real, and is made up for the sake of this story.
If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to ask here or in PM.
The small, quaint village of Riverside had always appealed to Shinnston's sensibilities. It had that lovely Dutch-German architecture that made it feel warm and inviting, just enough amenities to get whatever you'd need, and was simply clean and well kept. The cobblestone streets were a nice touch as well. However, Daston Shinnston was on duty tonight, as with every night. He was standing just before the local docks, right in the center of town, on Main Street. His hair was cropped short and neat, atop his dark eyes and surprisingly charming smile, finished off by his Italian dinner suit, navy pinstripe, designed to minimize his musculature and bulk.
He'd been here all day, over-viewing the decorators that turned the marina from a bland public gathering place into a rather lovely homage of a Moroccan market. The lamps and torches even helped to dull the bite of the crisp winter air. Shinnston had to give it to his employer, not only did he have fine taste, but his accuracy was spot on. The marina reminded him so much of Marrakesh, he found himself remembering the women he'd met there. The guests had been told to arrive at 8:00 pm, but as with all gatherings, there would be early birds. So he and Charlotte stood down at the entrance, her with a tray of fine champagne in hand. As the guests arrived, he greeted each of them with his handsome, disarming smile, calling them by name with the appropriate title. He'd worked for enough politicians and royalty to find this particular responsibility rather second nature. "Welcome Mrs. Harborough, looking lovely as ever. And I assume this love miss is your daughter Tanya?"
During this time, he gave incredibly discrete once overs checking for the usual dangers, guns, bombs, lumps in clothing. The guests never even knew he was looking. After all, he wasn't simply Mr. Acheson's Personal Assistant, but also his Head of Security. He knew every guest and every single one of their plus-ones, even those that had changed last second. It was his job to know. He'd delivered the invitations in the mysterious fashion at the request of his employer, and finding out about fairly normal people was a lot easier than his previous lines of work.
After the guests entered the marina, they'd be greeted by light music from a string quartet placed in the center of the space, warm lighting from the Moroccan lamps, and a few servants, all dressed in fine black tuxes or dinner gowns, with trays of drinks and hors'doeuvres, warm smiles, and the occasional seductive glance. As the twentieth hour came closer, the guests could first hear the arrival of their ferry, signaled by music playing, that accompanied the quartet. A male was singing, and it was a song that many of the younger adults would know, but with a more orchestral feel in the instrumentals. The tune was warm, romantic, and slow, and as the large ferry neared, it soon became evident who was singing. It was Jennings Taylor, the latest music sensation. A young, classically good looking man, whose soft rock ballads and fast dance music put his group, For You, at the top of pop and rock charts. The true fans would be incredibly surprised, as Jennings was supposed to be on tour in Europe.
As the ship docked, the song came to a close, and Jennings could be seen on the upper deck, smiling down at the guests. With microphone in hand, "My good friend Mister Acheson welcomes you all to his ball, and hopes you all will have the best night of your lives. So come aboard, allow me to serenade you, and enjoy the ride to Isle Potestas."
The marina's Moroccan theme transitioned pleasantly into the ship's more modern, Southern European feel, lots of Greek and Italian adornment. It was kept warm, plenty of seating and standing room, drinks, food, and a special seating section designated for the younger men and women just in front of Jennings and his band. Once all the guests were aboard, the ship would be ready to depart.
He'd been here all day, over-viewing the decorators that turned the marina from a bland public gathering place into a rather lovely homage of a Moroccan market. The lamps and torches even helped to dull the bite of the crisp winter air. Shinnston had to give it to his employer, not only did he have fine taste, but his accuracy was spot on. The marina reminded him so much of Marrakesh, he found himself remembering the women he'd met there. The guests had been told to arrive at 8:00 pm, but as with all gatherings, there would be early birds. So he and Charlotte stood down at the entrance, her with a tray of fine champagne in hand. As the guests arrived, he greeted each of them with his handsome, disarming smile, calling them by name with the appropriate title. He'd worked for enough politicians and royalty to find this particular responsibility rather second nature. "Welcome Mrs. Harborough, looking lovely as ever. And I assume this love miss is your daughter Tanya?"
During this time, he gave incredibly discrete once overs checking for the usual dangers, guns, bombs, lumps in clothing. The guests never even knew he was looking. After all, he wasn't simply Mr. Acheson's Personal Assistant, but also his Head of Security. He knew every guest and every single one of their plus-ones, even those that had changed last second. It was his job to know. He'd delivered the invitations in the mysterious fashion at the request of his employer, and finding out about fairly normal people was a lot easier than his previous lines of work.
After the guests entered the marina, they'd be greeted by light music from a string quartet placed in the center of the space, warm lighting from the Moroccan lamps, and a few servants, all dressed in fine black tuxes or dinner gowns, with trays of drinks and hors'doeuvres, warm smiles, and the occasional seductive glance. As the twentieth hour came closer, the guests could first hear the arrival of their ferry, signaled by music playing, that accompanied the quartet. A male was singing, and it was a song that many of the younger adults would know, but with a more orchestral feel in the instrumentals. The tune was warm, romantic, and slow, and as the large ferry neared, it soon became evident who was singing. It was Jennings Taylor, the latest music sensation. A young, classically good looking man, whose soft rock ballads and fast dance music put his group, For You, at the top of pop and rock charts. The true fans would be incredibly surprised, as Jennings was supposed to be on tour in Europe.
As the ship docked, the song came to a close, and Jennings could be seen on the upper deck, smiling down at the guests. With microphone in hand, "My good friend Mister Acheson welcomes you all to his ball, and hopes you all will have the best night of your lives. So come aboard, allow me to serenade you, and enjoy the ride to Isle Potestas."
The marina's Moroccan theme transitioned pleasantly into the ship's more modern, Southern European feel, lots of Greek and Italian adornment. It was kept warm, plenty of seating and standing room, drinks, food, and a special seating section designated for the younger men and women just in front of Jennings and his band. Once all the guests were aboard, the ship would be ready to depart.
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