"Clue": Into The Basement!

[Tiger]

Doctor Scarlett Cross - and she was a doctor no matter what those four investigations into her medical degree implied - swept into the room several minutes late, badgering the hassled-looking man showing her into the room with her reasons.

"Well, then he told me he was suffering nausea, and that clinched it - diabetic ketoacidosis. So obvious in retrospect, isn't it?"

"Oh. Very."

"Yes, the ketones building up - a clear sign! Then he says, 'But I don't have diabetes!', but really, nobody knows anything about their own health these days - but you see, it took an extra half hour to talk him into going to the hospital for the IVs and extra insulin, and to set up another appointment so we can talk about his diabetes..."

"Of course."

"And catching a cab from the city at that time of night..." Doctor Cross heaved a sigh. "It was for a person's health, but that's the only consolation for being late."

"Yes, yes." The man escorting Cross opened the door and waved her in urgently. "I'm sure the other guests are very eager to meet you. ...Are you sure I can't take your tablet and throw it aw...ah, put it with the coats?"

Cross pulled her tablet (with a red cover, of course) closer to her chest. "Sir, I may be attending a party, but my duties to the Hippocratic Oath do not drop away when I leave the office."

"Suit yourself," the man muttered, and shut the door behind Doctor Cross rather abruptly. Hm. Maybe he had muscle condition. Cross would need more symptoms to be sure, though. She filed it away in the back of her mind for later.

In the meantime, there was a party to attend to. Cross edged her way toward the food, her stomach growling. Curiously, she had a lot more time available to her than the other doctors - probably because she was a natural at diagnoses, never more than five minutes if she had a decent wi-fi signal - but rather than use that time for lunch, Cross worked in more patients. The unexpected diabetic had really eaten into her time - not only for a snack, but for dressing up, even. The doctor had made the mistake of leaving her fancy clothes at home, and only brought the elegant white coat she wore now in case of an emergency. She figured the red slacks would look decorative enough to pass, but hopefully nobody looked too long at her practical, rather than fancy, flats.

[Coaster]

As Obi was once again sent to the back of the line (along with Rob, who had to accompany him as punishment), a white-coated lady bypassed the queue and started pestering the doorman, who evidently wasn't interested in any more of this hassle after Obi's antics.

"Suit yourself," the man muttered, and shut the door behind Doctor Cross rather abruptly.

Rob glared through the open door for the split second it remained so, forcing each ounce of his festering rage into the presence of the card-carrying guests, trying to bring the ceiling down upon the diners from sheer willpower. Unfortunately, as a robot, he lacked the psychic powers with which to do so, and ceased before he fused a circuit.

"I can't tell if they let her in because she has a title and a last name, or because one of the buffoons has choked on their food and their servants aren't paid enough to cough it up for them," he grumbled, trailing off into a chain of nondescript curses, each of which Obi attempted to override with an obnoxious beeping noise.

"Well, let's go and find out!" Obi chipperly declared in the midst of his beeping.

Obi once again left the file and meandered to the front of the line, peering between the door and its frame at the diners, and leaned dangerously far forward with eager anticipation while the doorman scanned the guest list for the second or third surname of the guest leading the queue.

Said guest, with a nose pointed sufficiently high for Obi to escape notice, reopened the door once the relevant name was found. Obi swiftly lost his balance and careened through, being jettisoned several feet into the opulent room. Attempting to avoid the stares of these tall and wealthy strangers, let alone more trouble, he launched himself under the table as quickly as he could muster.

[Sheik]

"Do you have something else to change into, Miss? I can't help you with your dress while your in it, especially if water will damage it."

Bernadette pouted. “I brought nothing but this outfit and my good looks. Ugh. This is going to leave such a big stain, and you know what will happen? I’ll be known as Bernadette the Talking Stain from now on, Stain-y for short! My social life is ruined!”

In the midst of her hysteria, she spotted an amused smirk on the face of a girl who’d, up until now, looked as if she was lost in her own thoughts. Did she – did she find this funny? How rude! Bernadette was about to throw her stiletto heel at the woman when she heard a voice addressing her. Turning around, she saw that it was the man with the sunglasses, offering a handkerchief.

"Do you need a cloth to help wipe that up, dear?"

She put her shoe back on and gave him an award-winning smile. Taking the cloth, she said, “Thank you, sir. You’ll have to excuse my clumsiness; the champagne, er, attacked me.” Although he was very attractive, at the moment, she was too preoccupied with her dress to exchange any flirtatious words. After all, this outfit had cost her last week’s paycheck, and she wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

"Mhm." Vincent nodded continuously, his thinning hair bobbing up and down as he did so. He wasn't really listening to the woman speak. She was lovely to look at, no doubt, but her head was empty. She was going on and on about her educational background (they weren't forbidden from getting one, but it was really quite pointless when no man could understand them anyway, so Vincent thought it was best for them to humor themselves into thinking they were intelligent) and how beauty is hard wired from the age of three, where children could recognize faces that were nice to look at as opposed to one that was not so nice, and yadda yadda yadda...her mouth kept moving and her eyes were really, really wide. She must have taken several courses in speech, for it flowed, spilled out of her...like a waterfall formed by a broken dam. Actually, that wasn't a very pleasant image at all. Mr. Gladstone shuddered. He didn't want any broken dams on his hands, no siree!

Vincent held up a hand, the universal sign for "stop." Although, now that he thought about it, why weren't there hands on stop signs? Well, perhaps they didn't want to put a hand of any color in particular for fear of being racist. That was acceptable. Perhaps the signs could help children learn to read with the word STOP on it instead of a picture of a hand. And why did the stop signs in Spain read "tall" instead of "stop?" That was for someone else to figure out. He smiled gracefully, with all the grace an elderly man faking sincerity could muster. "Your thoughts are most valuable, but are wasted on an old grump like me. Do excuse me, dearie. Don't take this rejection so hard. It is only natural that your place isn't as understood. You seem very intelligent, but like the circle that has at least one flaw, there is discord in your harmonious words. Fret not. Someone else will be more willing to listen, I am sure of it."

Mr. Gladstone rose from his seat, hopeful to find someone who would either stimulate his mind or who would be receptive enough to listen to his endless jabber....

But the movement of white cloth caught his eye. The tablecloth swished with new occupants. "Hmm..." Vincent smiled. "It is said that there is nothing under the table, and yet everything underneath it, until someone lifts up the cloth. No, no, I mustn't listen to that cat murderer. I vowed in the days of my youth to document everything I discovered on my own. Here we go!"

Vincent lifted the tablecloth.

"...There are so many possibilities as to why you are all down there, perhaps as many possibilities as there are possible universes. Pray tell me, what on NTWF are you all doing?"

[Thundy]

By habit, Group Captain Sir Manuel Adventure (OBE, AFC) arrived on time. Although the days of his military career were over, leading to what he saw as a deserved retirement. He could have gone into politics to tide him over in his later years, but it didn't match the excitement of his assignments. Although holding the rank of Group Captain, he'd never commanded any troops or air forces, the rank and title coming as results of flying several manned space missions. However following an accident during training for a mission to the moon, the program, and most importantly the budget was quietly cut.

That was almost 20 years ago and now the years had brought a tinge of grey to Manuel's hair. Mr. Woo had mysteriously invited him to the party, apart from being in school together some time ago, Manuel hadn't seen him since. With plenty of time on his hands, Manuel agreed to attend and see what Mr. Woo had been up to all his life.

After walking in a passing butler whisked past with a tray of champagne glasses, he deftly plucked one from the others and began surveying the occupants of the main hall.

[Ted (the zombie Dalek)]

"I'm doing fine," she replied, taking his hand. "My name's Erika Kendall. I'm a singer from Katten."

Marvin became momentarily distracted as a screech issued from further down the table.

"What in the blazes?" he muttered absent-mindedly as he leaned out from the table to get a better viewpoint.

Some young supermodel type had managed to spill her glass of champagne down the front of a very expensive looking dress. He suppressed a chuckle as he turned back to his conversational partner.

"I think someone's about to throw a tantrum over there," he said in a tone that he hoped was friendly but not overly full of mirth.

[Pixie]

The socialite continued her shrieking. Brenda still attempted to help even with the risk of setting her off even more.

She said softly."Miss, as they say 'Those who matter won't mind, and those who mind won't matter' It won't stick out at all when it dries. She actually had much doubt it would console the socialite but Brenda was anything but apathetic. "And I must say you have great fashion sense."

The lady took off one of her shoes, which were pointer and higher than Brenda's. She looked angry, but it did not appear to be directed at her, but rather at some other unfortunate party-goer. This could be bad, very bad. Being hit by one of those heels could leave someone in the emergency room.

So she was glad that Prince Stal came and offered the hysterical woman a cloth. The lady seemed to calm down a bit when being helped by a dashing man like him. The irrational shrieking turned to semi-flirtatious stammering, which was somewhat better. The had compatibly large egos.

"So, Prince Charming. You'd like me to get your wine now?" She asked with a small grin and a tilt of her head. She's rather leave the handsome prince with the socialite than have anyone get impaled by stiletto heels.

[Draco]

Mori was getting nervous. Things were happening. He had to escape. He quickly ran along the ground on all fours and out of the room. When out of the room he stood up and ran some more until he was in the Lounge and hiding behind a couch. He took out his cell phone and began to text his "friends."

"Get me out of here! These people are CRAZY!"

He waited a moment and his cell phone jingled the theme to a old anime. He quickly checks it.

"Ha! To bad, we aren't showing up until it's all over. This is for your own good! Tough Love!"

"You guys are evil! Taking me away from my convention for this!"

He waited for a reply, but nothing came. He pulled the blanket more over his head and leaned against the back of the couch. If he was lucky, no one would ever find him.

[downrightdude]

As he sat the dinner table, Snaw Van Peacock helped himself to a glass of lemonade as the other guests talked amongst themselves. Watching everybody enjoy the party made Snaw feel content: he had faced numerous interviews after he was crowned Miss Neopia back in January. Though newspapers and magazine editors had wanted to speak with him every day, Snaw had reserved tonight to attend the dinner party of Mr. Woo, a close friend of his after he helped him win Miss Neopia.

My do these people need cosmetics, Snaw thought as he sipped his glass. He felt happy about being the only person here who knew the importance of glamour and luxurious riches. Snaw also enjoyed the opportunity to re-read the manuscript of his latest memoir: Snaw, All Beauty and Brain. While he re-read the manuscript, Fred #4 was busy stealing the paintings that hung around the main parlour. Though Snaw had his own art exhibit in his McMansion, the paintings that were hung in Woos house were rather pretty and trimmed with artificial-gold frames. He smiled when Fred #4 walked out of the mansion with an un-suspiciously looking white sack.....

Snaw raised his glass in the air and cried, "Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub! Yay Woo!"

[Avery]

"How are you this fine evening?"

"Oh, as good as you can be when you're inside an evil mansion, I suppose," Hanna muttered-- to which Grunkle jabbed her sharply in the ribs.

"I'm sorry for her rudeness," Grunkle apologized to Maize. "She's uh-- a work in progress." Then, to Hanna: "Remember, child. This mansion is just a mansion, no more, no less. it is not evil. So then, with that in mind, answer Dr. Maize's question: how are you on this fine evening?"

"I'm just um. Great," Hanna muttered, her cheeks burning. Gosh, she hated that after five years of sharing with Grunkle her deepest and darkest fears, Grunkle still didn't understand that Hanna's fear of mansions was totally justified. Why did Grunkle treat her like such a freak show? I mean, really, if Grunkle wanted a REAL freak show, the shrink oughta just glance to the man on her other side. Geoffrey. Now he was truly crazy.

And this dining room had gotten so... loud. So many people talking and shrieking and just being people. Gosh, when would this stupid dinner be over? Hanna could hardly bear it.

"Dr. Grunkle," she said. "We get to leave after the main course, right? I mean, we don't have to stick around for the stupid sculpture's unveiling, do we?"

"Of course we do!" Grunkle scolded. "It would be so rude to leave before the main event! Now, finish your food."

((Narrator Note: All Easter egg cards have now been hidden in various places around the forum. If you find one, please send me the link to it, as well as info on where you found it, as quickly as possible after you've found it. You can start looking now if you'd like, or you can wait until August 1. Of course, this component of the game is purely voluntary, so if you don't want to scavenge about, no need to!))

[Stal]

“Thank you, sir. You’ll have to excuse my clumsiness; the champagne, er, attacked me.”

"So, Prince Charming. You'd like me to get your wine now?"

"Charming is here? I didn't think he was invited to th--" Prince Stal realized that she was not referring to Prince Charming in the proper sense but himself. "Oh, miss, I'm Prince Stal. But I appreciate the compliment. And yes, if you wouldn't mind, I would love that glass of wine now. ...And another glass of champagne for my new friend here." Prince Stal turned and considered this new maiden in front of him. She seemed like she might have an ego to match his own, though the nose was undoubtedly held at a sharper angle than he was managing. "And who might you be, milady?"

[icon]

The grand piano loomed from its position in the corner at the end of the hall. Or rather, looming is the kind of action that it would have taken on if it were not, in fact, an inanimate object. After all, anyone in their right mind knew that such objects as pianos were incapable of such actions as looming.

Anyone, that is, except for Montana Jenkins, world-renowned gentleman explorer, historian, and anthropology professor.

As it turned out, Montana—or “Monty”, as he was known to most—was currently inhabiting the form of the largest piano located in Mister Woo’s mansion. It was rather embarrassing, the way his consciousness was stuck here; after he had escaped from a particularly dangerous island shipwreck, he had resumed his peaceful, non-confrontational life... up until the point that he ended up offending a mage involved in a highly-illegal piano smuggling ring off the Isle of Toves. Despite his protests that he was merely doing academic research*, Monty found himself on the business end of a curséd Steinway, and that seemed to settle it.

In a stroke of luck, though, Mister Woo happened to be a wannabe piano fancier, and Monty ended up stuck in the man’s muggy conservatory, nobody to converse with except for the half-deaf gardener, who occasionally plinked out a few tunes on rainy days, and that one unnervingly large talking plant in the garden box. There Monty resided for ages, a lonely, humid life; he found himself waiting for the day that he would be able to finally get out of this ivory tower. And so, when Woo had the piano moved into the Main Hall in preparation for his grand gala, Montana Jenkins resolved himself to use the party to undo his curse.

And so here he was, not-quite-looming in the corner. Impatiently waiting for someone—anyone—to come by and give him an opportunity.

*Monty was a bit of a rare case—unlike those who spent their time on frivolities like fleeing giant boulders and punching people whose political ideologies vehemently conflicted with their own, Professor Jenkins was one of the irritatingly few people in his field who actually practiced legitimate anthropology.

[Sheik]

"And who might you be, milady?"

“My name is Bernadette Crawford,” she replied, somewhat surprised he didn’t know her name already. What, did he live under a rock or something? Even so, she managed to keep her voice level and polite. “I understand you’re Prince Stal. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She stifled a shriek of excitement – a prince! She’d met royalty before, but rarely ever had an extensive conversation with them. They just smiled with courtesy and blocked out the rest of her babbling. This one, though…this one seemed alright. He had a good taste in clothing, at the very least.

Remembering her manners, she carefully folded his handkerchief and held it out to him. “Thank you for the napkin-thingy. I think I’ve cleaned up most of the mess.”

[Yoyti]

Yancy Tremolin Cado was happy to be able trace back his ancestry to the legendary Irish ninja, Alberto Vespasian O'Cado. A.V. O'Cado was, in turn able to trace back his ancestry to the ancient Roman nobleman Julius Caecilius Cadus. J.C. Cadus was well known among Rome for claming to be descended from the god A. Veneris Ocado. But Alberto O'Cado generally conceded his ancestor Julius to have been crazy, and therefore wrong about being descended from a god. But then, Y.T. Cado generally conceded his ancestor Alberto O'Cado to have been crazy, and therefore wrong about Julius Cadus being wrong about Veneris Ocado.

To live up to his family name, Y.T. Cado had worked hard to be, in order, very strong and very brave and very handsome and very stupid. All this for an Avocado, of course. He didn't really need to strive to achieve the last item on his list. The fact that he even put it on his list should be enough evidence for that. And while opinions vary as to whether he achieved the other three items on the list, among vegetable circles, at least, he is generally regarded to be moderately good looking. Except by Parsnip, but Parsnip is a jerk.

Or, at least, that's what Y.T. Cado told himself. And he told it to himself regularly. Y.T. Cado hated Parsnip with a passion. And so, upon seeing a plate of it upon the refreshment table, he turned it over with a flick of the wrist. It made a statement. But what part of it did so -- the turning over of the plate or the fact that it was an avocado who performed the deed -- was not clear. And frankly, Yancy Tremolin Cado did not much care. He prided himself on always being aloof and removed from the actuality of most, if not all situations. It wasn't hard when one can slip off a hat and monocle and bow tie and simply blend in with the guacamole -- provided, of course, that guacamole is present. If not, it became easier just to avoid talking with one's lack of mouth.

(ooc; I'll try to jump into the RP tomorrow (specifically, interacting). It took me embarrassingly long to find this thread. See, I never actually use or even look at the splatterboards. I guess I should since it seems that I'm missing a lot. For now, an introduction)

[Stal]

“My name is Bernadette Crawford. I understand you’re Prince Stal. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for the napkin-thingy. I think I’ve cleaned up most of the mess.”


"Bernadette Crawford the model? Oh, I loved you in that one thing you did back during that one time!" Prince Stal actually had no clue what campaigns she'd been a part of. He was never entirely sure how models got famous. They just seemed to be household names one day and then disappeared the next. But he was sure he would find out all about it and shortly.

The Prince accepted his 'napkin-thingy' back and noticed that he was still carrying his sword at his side. No wonder it was so awkward to sit. "I'm sorry, could you excuse me? It seems I forgot to drop off an item earlier. I'll be back shortly. Just tell the maid, Brenda I believe, to leave my wine here if she drops it off."

Before Bernadette could get a word in, he dashed out into the hall and away from the crowd. He wasn't even really sure if he would drop off the sword. But he would give it some thought. Maybe he could sneak a look at some of the things Woo had hidden away while he was on his own...