2016.10.29:Attraction to the Macabre

Attraction to the Macabre
Dead Eye encounters a Medium when visiting the museum.
IC Date	October 29, 2016
IC Time	Late Evening / Night
Players	Alissa Dead Eye
Location	Museum of the Macabre
Prp/Tp	None
Spheres	Vampire Wraith

Museum of the Macabre - Main Room
xxxxxThe front door swings open to reveal a dimly lit area that’s perhaps a bit cramped and cluttered. Yellow wallpaper peels off the walls here and there to reveal the plaster beneath, but paintings have been placed over most areas like that as if trying to cover the spaces in obvious need of repair. Too bad the paintings are far from pleasant. Each painting is horrific, spine-tingling, or unusual. Gruesome scenes of torture and death are so carefully hung around the room to bring a sense of madness to the area that’s lit by an old, light-flickering chandelier above.

xxxxxThere is a small room to the right where one may go to purchase tickets, and there are two other rooms straight ahead with one being a restroom and the other dedicated to storage. A staircase straight ahead leads the way to the second floor where the library and artifact room lies, and to the immediate left is a hallway that leads back to a series of rooms where the wax figures are kept. Both the stairway and hallway may be closed off by black ropes, but are most often left open to support the flow of traffic.

Contents:
xxxxxAlissa

At some point during the evening, likely after closing hours, the museum receives a visitor... who is not amongst the living. The phantom's presence comes with several tells that bleed into the Skinlands, tells that announce its arrival before it shows itself. Shadows thick and heavy decorate the museum's main corridor within the Underworld, and amidst their stagnant coat there seems to seeps in from outside an icy aura. The air temperature noticeably drops across the Shroud, filling the hall with a chill, and accompanying it comes the briny smell of the sea, along with the silhouette of a tall, long-haired, bearded man that appears to be wearing a doublet of crimson velvet and a stark tricornered hat, each embroidered with dull, golden thread -- anachronistic fashion from the late fifteenth century. The Wraith enters through the closed and locked front door, its gangly form being momentarily translucent, penetrated by the streetlight from outside, before slowly regaining its solidity.

xxxxxThere is soft music playing in the background, and from the kitchen in the back is the sound of the kettle, its water finally reaching a boil. As it is taken from the stove Alissa pours the water into a cup, then goes about her business moving around and gathering what she needs for her tea. It's a distraction for now, but the girl isn't distracted for long. As she soon steps from the kitchen she glances up, a little hop in her surprised step. "I'm sorry, but.." she begins, but ends with laughter and a faint sigh. "I'm sorry about that. I thought you were someone else.. Good evening." Her eyes roam the form, looking over your clothing with an appreciative gaze. "I love your hat," she gasps, eyes wide.

Standing in the heavy darkness of the museum's entranceway, hands folded behind its back, the state of the otherworldly visitor till now may be somewhat difficult to discern. It's the spirit of a man, yes, trapped in the Shadowlands, dressed in what were once fine, albeit now moldy and decomposing, garments, but like with all Restless there is something inhuman about it, potentially off and discomforting. It has dangling from a grimy, sapphire sash wrapped around its waist a fairly ornately smithed saber, unsheathed, the color of its steel complementing the ashen hue of its long, thinning beard and straggly hair that suggest a ripe age on death. But, when the Wraith emerges more into the light, the personification of Death becomes immediately evident. The creature exists in an advanced state of decay, flesh barely clinging to oily, exposed muscle and bone. Its yellowed teeth and eyes look out from lipless and lidless sockets, giving its visage a skeletal grin. Jaundiced gaze moving away from one of the paintings it had been inspecting (maybe admiring), its attention falls onto the young woman who has come across it and seemingly can see it. Bony fingers are raised so that the specter can tip its hat at Alissa in greeting, and when it speaks a reply its harsh, throaty voice mirrors the profound coldness that seems to surround and emanate from it. "Evenin', miss..." Dead Eye says.

xxxxxAs horrific as the man may be, it only appears to hold Alissa's interest, for as he steps closer she does as well, eyes wide and taking it all in. She slows to a stop close by, and as her smile grows she says, "Alissa. It's very nice to meet you.. I have to say you are indeed the most interesting person I have seen here.. well, interesting in a different way. There was this woman who--Oh, I'm sorry. Please excuse me. Do come in! Is there anything I could help you with, Sir?" she checks, still watching him with such fascination. Her smile has a hard time fading as her eyes flick here and there, taking in the scary sight. A soft giggle sounds out and she sighs again. "Never met a captain before."

"Ye be generous... with yer offerin' help." Dead Eye notes, his tone sounding almost skeptical. His bony hands fold once more behind his musty, sanguine coat as he speaks, and adding, "I come to see what yer museum of the macabre has, a way to bid the time in-between." he offers a potential explanation for his visit. His words carry with them more than simply a feel that is out-of-time, they bear an accent as well, not dissimilar from those who have learned English has their second language and Spanish as their first, somewhat thick and swarthy. Nodding to the closest, dim and somber painting, he asks the living woman, "What be yer oldest piece here?"

xxxxx"Oldest piece? Hmm.." Alissa turns and begins to look around, scanning items until she decides, "Upstairs I have quite a few torture devices. Some hundreds of years old.. Was there anything in particular that you were seeking? Some come to just.. have a look, see what lies behind the doors, but others come to see this place for what we have collected. Would you care to see them?" she asks, sipping at her tea once before she turns and starts to lead the way up the stairs. "I have many artifacts as well. Paintings.. Pictures.. You are welcome to come and see," she says, pride in her voice.

The pirate's ghost turns and follows Alissa as she climbs the building's old, creaking staircase to the second floor. Trailing the phantom, one may notice, are his bootprints, which seem to inflict their presence on the living world, depositing a soggy print onto the darkly stained carpet that smells of the salty Pacific. Being so close to the death-sighted woman, Dead Eye's bubble of bone-chilling cold also seems inescapable, making the air's true temperature and humidity difficult to know as they walk from spot to spot. "Ye be a collector of such things." Dead Eye remarks, his yellowed, festering gaze wandering over each piece of art, relic or artifact that is displayed along the way.

Alissa moves to Museum of the Macabre - Library

Museum of the Macabre - Library
xxxxxAscending the creaky staircase to the second level of the museum is where one would find several doors with two left open and leading into one main area. The walls separating rooms have been knocked down, clearing space for shelves and cabinets to house both old and unique books as well as strange and unusual artifacts from around the world.

xxxxxThe windows here have been painted over so sunlight will have no chance to ruin relics or books. Thick curtains hang before them, kept closed at all times. The wooden floor is scuffed and old, yet polished to be as clean as it can be. The walls are burnt here and there, and where it is not the old peach paint has begun to flake away. Light fixtures hang from the ceiling, providing a soft glow throughout the room at all times during operating hours.
xxxxxViews Set

Contents:
xxxxxAlissa

The following views are set on that item:
tribal torture articles clothing portraits books

>+view here/portraits
xxxxxHanging around the room are dozens of antique frames that decorate the edges of Victorian death portraits. From the old widow to the sad death of the sweetest newborn, the dearly departed consists of every age. People are propped up in photos, some fixed to look as though they are asleep, and some photos are even of entire families. The sight is haunting, and it leaves an uneasy feeling to the strange room.

xxxxxStepping onto the second floor, Alissa sips quickly at her tea as her shoulders lift in shrug, chills running down her spine. She doesn't frown or seem bothered by anything, though. No, she's still smiling to her self. She leads you down a short hallway to the double doors, and as she nudges them open she says, "I am. I find them fascinating.. Such a joy to own pieces of odd history, no?" she says as she wanders to a device, looking over the Rack in the corner. "When you were among the living, did you ever get a chance to see these in action?" she wonders, turning quickly then to see you, a wider smile showing as her eyes light up.

>+view here/torture
xxxxxOne corner of the room houses various torture devices, and judging from the look of things they are actual pieces, not replicas. The largest device is a torture rack that is placed upright, but is leaning back slightly. Loops of rope are at the top and bottom corners, providing a place for hands and feet to be slipped through so as the wheel is cranked, the body is stretched apart. Though clean and in excellent condition, there are still visible bloodstains soaked deep into the wood. Another piece that stands out is an executioner’s axe from the 1700s. It’s kept in a glass case, stood up and against a chopping block that has been smoothed from the number of necks that have slid down the side and into the empty, blood-stained basket below.

"Aye..." Dead Eye remarks as he rounds the Rack and other antiquated devices of torture that Alissa has collected, "...intimately... before King Charles the second anointed me as his privateer... more than three centuries ago." The phantom seems to be at ease amidst these accoutrements of destruction, relics meant to break the soul as much as inflict pain. "There is a painting of me as well, though it resides in a museum across the Atlantic." the pirate's ghost notes as he studies the various, likely familiar, pieces from his time that decorate the room.

xxxxx"There is?" Alissa gasps, looking excited now. She smiles wider, sips more of her tea, then says, "That's wonderful.. I wish I could see it. Perhaps someday. If I ever head that way. I doubt I will for now. We just closed on this home not long ago.." She chuckles. "Still unpacking things.." she rambles a bit. She looks away to the old axe near a basket, and when she looks back to you she says, "I've never met someone famous before. I'm very lucky.. What may I call you?" she wonders, head tilting slightly as her wide eyes focus on various rotting places.

"I be known as Cap'n Dead Eye." the phantom says with rattling teeth, the sinewy muscle that decorates its rotting face glistening with an oily sheen as it contracts and relaxes with his pattern of speech, "There be a time when I was famous...infamous, even. But... such times are gone, and those who fear me now are more populous amongst the Dead than they be amongst the livin'." Pushing up the brim of his dank, flaxen-embroidered hat, which further removes the shadows that languish on his face to expose the full extent of his visage's putrefaction, his gaze once again wanders throughout the musty room. "I like this place." he notes, "It'd be...homey."

xxxxx"Captain Dead Eye.. I will have to look up more about you," Alissa says with a fond smile. "That's unfortunate.. I am sure that if more could see you now they'd be even more scared than before. That's a compliment, by the way," she notes, stepping closer so she can try to examine you. "If you wish to visit often, I would not mind. You are welcome here. Any friends of yours as well. It's nice to have visitors. Not just customers.. I enjoy those who are in your world. I have met a few others since I arrived here, but none as fascinating as you, Sir." She giggles, then a thought hits her, "Is your ship at the bottom of the ocean?"

"Prospect be not particularly friendly to the Restless, seein' how often Spectres and Maelstroms flood it, the veritable Nile of the Americas Underworld. I, myself, came here lookin' fer plunder -- souls to collect and add to me crew... or to sell as slaves or raw material to those in the Dark Kingdoms. There be Drones here, for sure, ample pickings of those types, but few amongst the Dead that still have their memories intact." Dead Eye offers, turning his pale and deathly gaze back onto the young woman before him as he speaks, "Me ship? Aye. The Angel de Muerte, her wreck lie at the bottom of the icy sea, but her spirit be with me in the afterlife."

xxxxx"Shame.. I would love to see her. I bet she was -beautiful-!" Alissa says with a sad tone to her voice. A pout follows, but she smiles again soon after, casting a curious glance your way. "You collect souls? Others like you? You.. take them somehow? How do you do that? I didn't know such a thing was possible.. Or.. Just souls. The ones who cannot be in this world the way you are." She blinks softly. "You can take them and sell them as raw material.. How strange!" She giggles.

Dead Eye offers a nod to Alissa as he says, "Aye, I'll show ye sometime, certainly, she's quite the beauty... me Angel of Death. Perhaps, someday, ye will even find yerself aboard her. But, alas, not today, as it be time fer me to take me leave." Bowing slightly, and giving a tip of his hat, the spook takes his leave of the woman in a way most befitting his kind, striding straight through the adjacent wall and out into the grim and stark world of the Shadowlands outside. The heavy curtains and paint on the windows, installed to keep the chamber dark, likely defeats any chance to see just how the Wraith manages to descend from the second floor to the street level without simply falling straight down, but one can imagine it may involve floating or flying.