(Untitled)

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald Craven, master of Misselthwaite Manor, is sitting by the fire, drinking a glass of burgundy while perusing a catalogue of rare books presently for sale.

[OOC: The player is going to dinner. All tags will be picked up when she returns Back! Off to nurse a headache. See you another day!]

Comments

[florallyminded]

Harry was not expecting that door to turn into Milliways. But since it did, he shrugs philosophically and proceeds into what should be his kitchen, to get a drink and find somewhere to sit. The fire looks very tempting.

[a_poor_guardian]

The tall gentleman with the crooked shoulders looks up from his catalogue page (which, although it's most probably out of Harry's line of sight, advertises a seventeenth-century Anglo-Latin translation of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde) and nods a polite greeting to the other man.

[florallyminded]

Harry nods back, with an amicable smile in return, and settles in one of the empty armchairs to enjoy the warmth and his drink. He doesn't want to disturb the other man's reading unless it's made clear that's all right.

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald turns the page, pauses to read the following page, and places a small scrap of fabric in the margin to mark the book there -- a particularly important printing of Milton's Paradise Lost -- for later. Only then does he close the book and turn his attention to Harry.

"Good afternoon," says Archibald Craven, with the Received Pronunciation of an aristocratic Englishman.

[ahogarse]

"Hola."

A whisper in the air, a sense of shy presence. And maybe just the outline of a shadow, tucked beside the fireplace.

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald has to close his book and look around him twice before he places the whisper. Even when he sees the shadow, he's not certain that he's seeing anything at all.

"Santi?" says Archibald, very quietly, in case he's imagining the voice. "Is that you?"

[ahogarse]

"Si, si."

He solidifies a little more. As much as he he sort of feels is safe to, because he's still trying to not be seen in here.

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald lets out an involuntary, relieved breath. He'd been afraid he was hallucinating.

"I could hardly see you, child. Are you well?"

As soon as Archibald asks the question, he regrets having done so. How can this pale little ghost be considered well?