The Higgsbury Memorial Museum

[MWBailey]

Usually, Mordavo was able to subsume hangovers and alcoholic euphoria by changing forms and back again, but this morning  he still had a bit of an ache, which he put down to the publican's late-hour offer of free cups of cider (of which the publican himself partook as part of the wager) as long as he and Ford could remain standing. They'd beaten the publican, who'd forfeited in order to be able to clean up and close the common room. The fellow had been good enough to have his wife sign them in for the night; Klimt had also put coin down for himself for two days, thinking that he might be able to get the Miss to allow him to stay on the grounds of the estate in exchange for keeping an eye on things for part of the night, as he usually slept very sparsely (when sober, at any rate) - if she decided to let him stay after the previous night.

He dressed, looked in the mirror to make sure he was completely human-looking, and then went down the hall to Ford's room. He knocked several times, and finally called out, "Vhat! Ho! Tis Morning, Herr Ford! Shall I have Herr publican play a reveille for you? 'Tis time to sign zhe contracts at zhe Museum!" After hearing what sounded like a groan and the sounds of someone stirring behind the door, he called out, "I shall see you at the Museum, yes? Not to vorry, it is still two hours time. I just need to take a stroll to clear my head of cider-cobwebs."

He went downstairs, then, and asked the publican and his wife, who were going over accounts at the bar, to check on Quincy in a half-hour's time, laying a crown as a gratuity to that end on the bar. "a good fellow he is, I vould hate to see him miss out."

"You will be returning here tonight, then?" the landlady asked him

"Da." he stated, adding, "I may soon be able to stay on ze grounds or in ze house as chances might be, but we shall have to see, yes?"

He strode out of teh Public house, and set off down the high road toward the museum, his thoughts on the events of the previous night.

I wonder why the manservant did not show up for the commotion? he wondered to himself. I hope he is not of an uncaring kind, like my captain Stubein was.

His thoughts turned then to the young woman. She does not seem the sort to dabble in recondine matters unwisely, he thought. I wonder what happened to cause all of that? Will I be needing to rescue her as I did so many of those so-called "scholars" who guested with the Count?.

He'd had to rescue several people each year, who'd visited his old master the Count, and poked about in his rather notorious  library. Mordavo was familiar with all of the texts in that collection, having had to organize it several times a month, as volumes kept disappearing from their assigned stacks of their own volition and gravitating all over the place. People would come in, sit down, and start reading some mundane novel or reference book, and an arcanum, or grimoire, or book of correspondent cantrips would just appear at their elbow, and they'd get all intrigued, one thing would lead to another, and then in the end Mordavo would have to step in and narrowly avert catastrophe. The Count was adamant about not locking anything away or even restraining them with chains or ropes. Several times a day, in some cases, he'd have to rescue some callow fop or self-proclaimed genius form his own stupidity. He himself became somewhat famous in magickal circles for his exploits in that capacity, and the howdah pistol had gotten regular use on various entities, as had the silver-inlaid blade of his stiletto. He'd also gone through several sticks of chalk per month when the Count took it into his head to take on student researchers for one of his madcap Recondine History projects.

While ruminating on such memories, he found himself at the gap in the masonry of the estate's grounds where he'd entered the first time; he marveled at how high he must have had to have jumped to clear the lower edge. "Lycanthropy doss haff it's uses," he muttered to himself, and walked along the wall until he came to the front gate of the estate. He went in, and walked up the drive to the front door and pulled the knob to ring the doorbell; since he had not yet signed, and because of the previous night's events, he was hesitant to simply barge straight in...

[Lord Badgersworth]

Quincy stumbled out of bed and fell roughly to the floor. It seemed he had roles himself up in his sheets and rolled right off. As he extricated himself from the mess of blankets, a rapping sounded at the door.
"Mr Ford, are you awake? Your friend went up to the manor and told me to check on you." Sounded the voice of the landlady through the oaken door. As he stepped in to his trousers and tugged on his old dress uniform boots he replied with a curt," Yes ma'm, I'll be heading up to there in a minute." He buckled up his pistol belt bs tugged on his vest before heading out the door. "Not staying another night?" the landlady enquired. "Probably not, but thank you for your hospitality." He went out the front door and onto the Main Street of the town. Having asked a local where to find the machine shop, he strolled down the road toward a small building with one side open to the air. He approached a burly man with a ginger beard and bushy eyebrows and greeted him. The man responded in a thick Scottish accent;"What do ye want? If yer lookin' fer good solid metalwork ye've come to tha right place."
 "I've got a ol' aero-sloop over in the dry dock. Moderator class. Beautiful little thing. Could go on for hours. The point is, I'm running low on prometheum," Quincy responded to his query. "Och, tha pumps buggered. Ye'll have to come back later. Dredfully sorry." The scot informed him apologetically. The town click struck eleven and Quincy looked up at it, th realisation that he was running out of time dawning on him.
"I'll be back later but I gotta go." And without another word the intrepid airman dashed off, running full tilt down the Main Street, his coat flowing behind him, toward the manor house.
 

[MWBailey]

Mordavo checked his watch; still ten minutes early. The rather ancient silver turnip repeater chimed the hours if it was open, or clicked almost inaudibly if closed; the vibration thus engendered in his vest pocket was just enough to remind the former sergeant that the watch was there and what hour it was. The face cover held an old and rather faded and timeworn handpainted miniature of a long-dead sweetheart who had died in a plague outbreak many years before, when Mordavo was still a Wallachian regular, before he had joined the Carpathian mercenaries.

"Vell, nothing for it, either go in und face the Miss, or turnaround und go." Going was not really an option that he liked; Sure, he could live quite well just ranging about the world and changing in order to hunt whatever he could find; it was how he had crossed half of Europe, the English Channel and much of England to arrive at this door,after all. It was not a life that sat well with his conscience, however, as it put a drain on his pocket (he always insisted on leaving a gratuity for the landowner, when he made a kill on private property), made him feel he might actually be stealing and breaking trespass laws, and the question of what to do with his clothing and effects while fully changed was always a concern. Too, there always seemed to be some self-proclaimed "werewolf hunter" who thought he knew how to bring 'Davo to ground and kill him and that such was necessary just because Mordavo was what he was. Funny (and luckily, as it turned out) how so far the necessity of silver bullets had only occurred to well-heeled fops, and trigger-happy would-be adventurer pistoliers, who couldn't hit what they aimed at.

"ACH! Just go in! Nu Cracni*, Mordavo!" He snarled under his breath at himself. he composed himself, made the snarl into a pleasant face, and turned the knob and walked in, just as he heard steps pounding up the walk behind him. "'Allo?" he called. He made his way to the prescribed room and presented himself.

"Mordavo Klimt, Milady und Sir. If you vill still haff me after last night's events, I am yours." he bowed and straightened (resisting the maddening urge to salute), waiting as respectfully as he knew how, falling out of habit into a butler's version of parade rest: ramrod-straight spine, resolute mien, hands crossed but not grasped behind his back, like the time he'd been ordered into the commandant's office, and was up on charges for insubordination after preventing a young lordling cadet lieutenant from skewering the Crown Prince.


---------------------------------
*Nu Cracni: roughly, "Face the Music," in Romanian.

[Stormcat]

Emily perked up instantly, she had started to deflate from hearing her solicitor ramble on about propriety for the past two hours. "Ah! Mister Klimt!"

Wickerbottom looked over the mercenary, his disdainful glower growing more pronounced for every nick or tear he could find on Mordavo's person. "At least he had the decency to announce himself."

Because of the incident last night, Emily was unwilling to let anyone except herself or Lowe back into the study. They would draw up the contracts in the dining room, there was plenty of space to conduct such a meeting, and Lord Higgsbury kept most of the more disturbing artifacts out of that room. "The contracts themselves have been drawn up, I believe we discussed the terms yesterday and you found them to be agreeable?" Emily had a nervous habit of tapping her fingers on a nearby surface when she was waiting for someone or something. Here, the arm of the divan muffled the tapping, though no one seemed to hear it. "Is Mister Ford due to arrive soon?"

[MWBailey]

"Da, Milady, I am hoping zhat he will." He crossed the index and middle fingers of his left hand behind his back. "He vas wery keen on working here, as he said last night. I left a crown with the landlady at the inn to wake him within an hour's time before the appointment, as he did not appear to be awake when I knocked on his door." he added, "I took a short stroll to clear my head of the Landlord's, er, "hospitality" of last night, begging Milady's pardon, before arriving here this morning."

"I can usually shake off the previous night's effects vis a certain method that I referred to in the interview, but that cider of his is wery potent, yes?" he said by way of explanation. He cocked an ear as steps sounded from the front hall's threshold. "Ah! perhaps zhat iss our man now..."

[Lord Badgersworth]

Having vaulted over a crumbling section of wall, Quincy sprinted toward the manor. It was easier for him to run now that he was on the lawns of the manor rather than the brambles and thornbushes of the forrest. He slowed down and took a few breaths before continuing on, up the stairway and through the portico.
And straight into a pile of crates and boxes just inside the open door. He tumbled to the floor with an ungodlyand lay there panting for a while, before getting back up and gingerly attempting to rebuild the pile. He made his way, more carefully now, through the maze of clutter and knocked politely on the door of the appointed meeting room. The door opened from inside and Wuincy snapped to attention, habitually saluting the occupants of the room.
"Lieutenant Commander Quincy Ford, formerly of the Independent Air Corps reporting for duty ma'm!
If you'll still have me, that is."

[Stormcat]

"Excellent!" Said Emily "Let's start signing the contracts right now!" Her tone may have come off as a bit forceful, but she really wanted to get Wickerbottom out of the house as soon as possible.

The group made their way to the dining room, where the table was at least clear enough to sign the contracts. The two new curators signed the contracts without much reading of the document. Upon completion, Wickerbottom snatched up his copies and skulked out. Emily seemed to brighten up immediately at his departure.

"Well, the contracts did include provisions for lodgings here in the hall until enough wages have accumulated for the rent or purchase of lodgings elsewhere. Shall we see what is available? There are a great number of bedrooms, most of them have not been completely taken over by boxes and crates."

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe appeared soundlessly at the door.
"You rang, Ma'am."
There wasn't a question mark at the end of the sentence.
Similarly, he didn't have to ask what was wanted.
"I shall show the .. gentlemen .. to available rooms on the second floor."
The pauses were barely perceptible, but barely was sufficient.
Without waiting for them to follow, he turned and made his way up the main staircase past the still unopened crates from the Mesopotamian expedition and the taxidermied giant tortoise leaning in the corner of the landing.

The young Miss' room was in the East Wing, but she spent most nights in her study... but, even so, with two disreputable coves like these... definitely the far end of the West Wing.

"The two rooms at the far end of the corridor will be the most suitable. This one with the stuffed mongooses  - mongeese? - for yourself .. Sir. And, across the hall, the seashell collection room for yourself .. Sir. I'll leave you both to settle in. Cook will have lunch prepared in the Dining Room at noon."

[Stella Gaslight]

Gwendolyn Suthers was running late and Lancelot was not helping things with his slow meandering pace. It would also
Be a good deal better if she did not have to ride both side saddle and backwards but today was too important to risk the curse getting her lost in this wretched forest for a week.  So insted she read the notice that called her to this little village and hoped there were not too many branches in her hair. 

Finaly managing to tie Lancelot to the crumbling stone wall Gwin patted his head and told him to stay as she pulled out a mirror and used it to look over her shoulder to find her footing up the path to the door of the big house. Bracing herself for the disorientation of the curse Qwin turned around and knocked on the door.

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe had just re-weaved his way back down the staircase as the door knocker reverberated in the crowded space.
He opened the door, his full height filling the space previously occupied by the oaken door and equally barring entrance.

A woman. There was an old expression 'looked like she was dragged backwards through a hedge' and this one looked like it was actually true, but wandering gypsies and itinerants would know better and would knock at the kitchen door. So... ohgawd, it looks like those fliers the young Miss put up have brought out a right nutter this time...

"Yes....?"

[Stella Gaslight]

"Good morning I am Gwendolyn Suthers and I believe my grandmother Lady Irene sent a letter of introduction but I may have arrived before it." Or it was as lost in the mail as granny Irene often was in the grand family home.   Luckly she had a spare sewn in to a pocket in her over coat that was covered in runes and sigals to protect it from being adulterated by the curse.  Fumbling with the magical and physical barriers Lowe could see every inch of the lineing of her coat was covered with protective signs mainly pertaining to safe journeys and finding the lost.  "Here we go " Gwin said handing over the paper with a smile.

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe tòk the proffered envelope warily.
While physically inert, it somehow seemed to squirm in his gloved hand.
Odd. While the visitor seemed personable enough, and her attire while roughened from her journey, she seemed to be intelligent and refined beneath the grime.
"Yes .. Miss.. Lady Emily will be in the Study. If you would care to follow me."
He turned and traversed the corridors through the main halls and through the clutter of exhibits and crates towards the Study, pushing aside some of the straw packing that spilled from the half-emptied crates with the oak cane he had picked up from the  hallstand.
Passing the main Bathing-Room, he halted.
"Perhaps Miss would care to freshen up from her journey. Excuse me, I shall check the temperature."
He stepped within the marble tiled hall.
He stirred the marble plunge-pool with the tip of his cane and felt the warm water as it dripped from its tip onto his wrist.
As expected, the boilers were still the most reliable part of the troublesome plumbing.
Hmm, presumably whatever 'it' was in the pipes, perhaps it didn't appreciate hot water...
With that thought, he poked the cane down the floor drains - still nothing - and peered carefully down the basins and the new-fangled watercloset toilet, tapping the brass tip against the outside of the pipes and the cistern - no reaction.
Well, it seemed safe enough, presumably it hadn't spread this far into the central wing... and if anything happened, at least it wouldn't be the young Miss...
He returned to the door.
"All is in order .. Miss.. I shall convey your introduction to Miss Emily while you freshen up."

He waved the visitor into the room and continued down the cluttered corridor.
Outside the Study, he knocked lightly and entered to deliver the envelope.
He placed it on the pile of books on the side of the desk. It still seemed to quiver like a small animal while simultaneously actually not moving just like any normal envelope.
"A Miss Gwendoline Suthers. She brought this introduction. You may wish to read it while she freshens herself in the bathing-room. Or you may wish to keep it in a glass specimen jar until she has introduced herself in person. It does seem an unusual letter..."
He turned and went back to wait outside the bathing-room for Miss Gwendoline to reappear.

[Stella Gaslight]

This was the most wonderfully confusing places she had ever been Gwin desided as she plucked a leaf from her hair before dunking her head.  It was almost like the curse couldn't figure out a way to baffle her more than the current situation and had given up it's glamour.  It was a truly lovey experience to bathe without needing an anchor point to make sure one didn't go to rince the soap out of ones eyes and end up in the back garden fountan in all kinds of weather before one had a chance to find a robe.  Even if this turned out to be a loss for her research for now it was worth the days on horseback.  Oh dear she had better see about Lancelot before he ate most of the surounding foliage but first she scrubbed and polished what she could and stepped out to meet Lowe with a smile and her second best dress.  "Please do lead the wayI get frightfuly lost in new places."

[Stormcat]

At first, Emily did not notice the envelope on the stack of books. The envelope seemed to become irritated at being ignored, and with all the muster a piece of paper can, flung itself into the middle of Emily's notes. Only then did she realize it was there at all. The front was addressed to her in a strange, willowy hand, but once she flipped it over and saw the family crest engraved upon the wax seal did she realize who it was from.

"Lady Suthers... I'm surprised she didn't send something sooner." Emily said aloud to no one in particular. She daintily broke the seal, and a sort of golden dust fell from it, only to vanish upon reaching the desk. The letter proceeded to open itself right there on the desk. It read as follows:


Dearest Lady Higgsbury,

The passing of your grandfather fills me with the deepest sorrow. He and I shared many an adventure together, and I will forever remember his enthusiasm for discovery.

Upon learning of what was stated in your grandfather's will, I humbly offer my services in cataloging and displaying the less interesting artifacts in my home, so as not to overwhelm your ladyship with their upkeep. In addition to this, I also offer the services of my granddaughter, Gwendolyn. Though she appears a bit daft and has great troubles finding her way around, she is an intelligent girl with extensive training in historical research.

If you have opened this letter, and not the one sent in the post, this means that Gwin should be meeting you soon. If she is not already at your door. Please ensure that your staff takes care in keeping her from getting lost.

Yours sincerely,
Lady Irene Suthers.

[MWBailey]

Mordavo thanked Lowe for his pains, and set about choosing a room from those indicated. He finally settled for the one with a small bookcase with a few small tomes, none of which carried a "magickal" smell about them; he muttered to himself that his own presence would presently make the room plenty magic-ridden.

The room held a four-posted brass single bedstead, with a straw mattress, sheets plain and patched but still a serviceable white cotton, with a thick wool blanket folded at the foot. A small desk adjacent to the bookcase, along with a typical student's ladderback chair resided atop a thick rag rug that Mordavo wasted no time in testing in coyote form. It fit him well, and was among the softest rugs he'd ever lain upon. He changed back upon hearing what he surmised was the door knocker form downstairs, and put his clothes back on (having wiggled out of them after changing). A candle in a brass stand with finger ring and chimney stood on a chest of drawers in the corner, somewhat lost beside and beneath a plethora of various wooden boxes of what appeared to be toys such as one might acquire at a circus or menagerie show. There being no further indication of people at the front door, he assumed Lowe had taken care of it, and set about setting the room to rights as per his tastes. A box of matches sat beside the candlestick. He took the candle to the bedside table and placed it there along with the matches.

HE sat upon the bed for a moment, but then his sixth sense perked up again. A trace of magick in the house, something that stood out from the general recondine air of teh place. That, and what felt (or tasted?) like a spell of ill omen, A curse?  Hmnh!? he started, thinking to himself. Such a sophisticated cantrip, for a message delivery?

He pulled out the howdah pistol, checked the twin frizzens and half-cocked the hammers just in case, repocketed the massively-calibered weapon, and walked out of the room, locking the door and pocketing the key as he did so (it having been in the inside keyhole) and strode down the hall and downstairs to see if his assistance might be needed; one could never tell when silver or a petty-wolf's touch were called for...

[Stella Gaslight]

Gwendolyn was building what her grandmother would have called a memory palace.  What you did was try and build a web of landmarks as a story instead of a set of directions that was easier to call to mind.  It was working well until they walked by the stairs and everything went a bit wobbly and the had to blink rapidly to understand just what she was seeing.  It was a man she supposed it could be the man of the house but his edges were fuzzy like she was looking through a rather poor set of spectacles.  That was something that had never happened before and was slighty alarming Gwin did try not to stare because odd or not she should still be on her best behavior,she was representing her family at the moment after all.  But Lowe kept them moveing and she had to keep up or risk the house swallowing her.  He guided her thorough the door with all the ease and care that was very much like the servants at home.  There was a lady at a large desk and much to Gwin's surprise was in perfect focus.  She would have to resurch the ocular effect later.  "Lady Higgsbury, I am Gwendolyn Suthers.  My grandmother often spoke of Lord Higgsbury. She sends her condolences and hopes I can be of help."

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe had escorted the much neater young woman down the corridor to the Study, knocked discreetly, and waved the visitor to enter.
"Miss Gwendoline Suthers, Ma'am. I shall fetch the tea."

He withdrew and disappeared down the servants' staircase, heading towards the Kitchen.
Cook was busy in the Chill Pantry and emerged into the room carrying a large joint of mutton.
"Did I hear the pipes up in the washing-room, Mister Lowe? The young Miss bathing herself in the middle of the morning? Well, it might be safer in the daylight, but I still prefer a proper jug'n'basin wash meself, you never really know what goes on in this fancy new pipe-stuff..."

Lowe shook his head, "No, not the young Miss. Another visitor, an applicant presumably. Anyway, she washed up safely. As far as I know, there's nothing dangerous about the plumbing. A bit temperamental perhaps, but nothing that's going to harm anyone..."

The Cook shivered, " Well, it aint how things used to be done. A plain and simple jug'n'basin and a Gezunda were good enough for generations before all these changes. And none of the serving girls have stayed on since his Lordship - gawdblessim, but he had all these odd ideas, didn't he? - added it all in and set it all hissin' and creakin' and making strange noises... No wonder they all left."

Lowe pretended to ignore her worries, gathering together the tea things, warming and filling the pot from the spigot beside the oven, and helped himself to one of the little sugar biscuits that was obviously surplus to the neatly arranged plate.

"Anyway, there will probably be one more for luncheon, and presumably dinner as well. I'll let you know if she doesn't stay."

[Lord Badgersworth]

Quincy walked along the west wing hallway, peering into this room or that, looking for something that suited him. He glanced into a room filled with taxidermied flamingos which stank heavily of formaldehyde and kept walking quickly, so as to escape the smell. He saw Mordavo walk into a small room complete with bookshelf and crates and thought that that would be just the ticket for the lycanthropic researcher. A few rooms further, Quincy discovered a ladder in the corner of a small room that was less store-room and more cupboard. he ascended the ladder and arrived in a spacious attic.  Sunlight beamed in through the windows and onto the exposed wooden timberwork and steeply slanted ceiling. Crates lined the room, more orderly than the rest of the house, so that there was ample space to move between them without damaging anything. A small spiral staircase in one corner lead yet higher than the attic, to a rusted metal hatch in the side of the roof, and a wooden door on either end lead to what seemed to be yet more attic. This'll do nicely, remarked Quincy to himself. Secluded, plenty of light, close to the sky aand easy access to the mooring tower.
Quincy walked over to one of the window nooks and hung up his hammock, leaned his winchester rifle against the wall and pinned up the photo of his crew over his hammock.there, feels just like home. He left his new abode and clambered back down the ladder, before making his way  along the corridor and back to the downstairs. He stopped at a four way intersection of corridors and tried to gain his bearings, when someone walked into Quincy from behind, knocking him over. He righted himself and turned to help the short woman with the curly locks up. "Quite a jolt you gave me there," he remarked. " are you all right?" She nodded to affirm his question and took Quincy's hand to get up. " I'm Lt Major Quincy Ford, by the way, but just call me Ford. And who might you be?"                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

[Stella Gaslight]

Blast it the curse had snuck up on her again when Lady Emily had asked her to gather a few books that where just on the otherside of the room.  But all it took was her eyes leaving the landmarks and now who knew where she was.  This was quite the way to start a new position.  "I am Gwendoline Suthers Mr. Ford and things seem to have gone a bit pear shaped.  I was supposed to get this list of volumes but I got turned around." That was quite the understatement but saying pleased to meet you I am laboring under a curse did not often work out either.

[MWBailey]

"Vhat in zhe bleedink fires off Perdition -!" Mordavo kept finding himself wandering off on a tangent of his intended course. It was as if he were constantly being attracted, or dis-tracted, by some glimmer or odd shadow off to one side, or was just plain walking with a head full of pretty daydreams. At one point he finally gave up and asked a statue of what appeared to be a beefeater guardsman, "Scuse, please? Vhich vay to vhere zhe ozzers are?" he followed the line of the bronze beefeater's solidly stiff right arm, which held his halberd, and set off in that direction down the corridor.

ACH! vhat zhe heck, 'Davo, go ahead und use the coyote's nose, it's not as if no vone knows about it!" His bones and muscles changed, cracked, and popped, and he groaned a bit in spite of himself, but soon he stood at his normal six feet, a hybrid of lupine and human characteristics. Yellow-eyed and gray-white blonde maned and furred, still dressed in his greatcoat, vest, trousers and shirt, his feet felt at least mostly normal in his boots, and his hands, while furred and wickedly clawed, were still more or less human in shape. He sniffed the musty air of the manor house, and caught the stink of the curse. "insidious thing, stinks like that cacodemon's portal young Schneider opened two years ago," he muttered distastefully (referring to a magickal, rather than an actual, human-detectable mundane-world, stench)." Unfortunately, Quincy's scent and that of the Miss, as well as to some extent the Cook and Lowe's peculiar aromas, all seemed to be congregated in that same direction.

"Himmel! vhat kindt off magickal melee have you gotten yourself into zhis time, 'Davo?" he set off in the direction of the congregated scents, and soon came upon a scenen that made him stop in his tracks, making a surprised noise. A young woman was walking backwards, holding a mirror, and seemed to be using said mirror to navigate and locate the things she was picking up and perusing, while Quincy stood bemused yet smelling interested off to one side.

"Harrumpf." he cleared his throat, and said, "Excuse, please, do not be alarmed, I am quite friendly und not at all dangerous to my fellow curators," for such he believed the oddly-behaved young woman to be (not that he had any room to call anyone else odd, of course). Too late, he realized his reassurance of harmlessness might actually be frightening in and of itself. He tried to rectify the situation as the young woman's eyes grew wide and she looked as if she might cry out, "I am Mordavo Klimt, late of teh service of Recondine researcher Count Von Prastenhammer of the Estates of Prastenhammer in Wallachia, und before  zhat, Kolour Sergeant in zhe Carpathian Mercenary Company. Er, please to not be screamingk, yes?"

[Stella Gaslight]

Gwin froze and took a breath to calm herself.  It was no good being flustered when the curse was prowling like this.  If Gwin wasn't careful this was going to end up like the time she was out in the woods for a week because that big dog had scared her in to running blind. "Hello Mr. Klimt." She craned her head up to look at him.  He was fearsome to be sure but not advancing. Gwin put her hand on the wall to help keep her anchored and turned to face the newcomer.  My goodness he is large he even puts Uncle Reginald to shame and he once wrestled a bull.  She thought puting the mirror back in her pocket for the moment.  "I am Gwendoline Suthers pleased to meet you. I believe we will be working together."

[MWBailey]

"Da. So it seems," Mordavo said. "Just call me "Mordavo, or just 'Davo if you prefer. I am no longer in zhe military, and I have no actual title, common as the common clay, yes?" eh thought a moment. Probably best to let her see what you really look like, 'Davo, he mused. HE still thought of Human being his normal form. He hoped it would stay that way.

"A moment, please. feel free to look away if it bothers you." he inhaled, sharply, and then with a rush of popping and crackling bone and muscle contracting back to human form, he changed and became a normal-looking, if rather tall, brown-haired caucasian male with gray at the temples, his clothing apparently no worse for wear.

Yes, zhis will be less frightening, I think," he said, with only the slightest trace of irony.

[Stella Gaslight]

Gwin blinked rapidly but the blur from before was back.  At least she understood it now.  The blur was his other form and if she had to hazard a guess it was there when he was that dog like thing too but he was larger and covered it up. She had never experienced anything quite like this but there had been some aunts and cousins that spoke of a kind of second sight but they had never figured out if it was linked to the curse or not. Either way she would most likey have write to cousin Edwin at some point to tell him he had won the bet and Lord knows he would have a long crow about that.  " Mr Davo I have an odd question to ask but do you know what direction the study is in?  I seem to have lost it."

[MWBailey]

"I think I can find it, yes, Miss Gwin," Mordavo answered. "But I shall have to change back, slightly." He did so, groaning slightly as the snout and eyes reappeared. "there seems to be something thaumically "off" causing misdirection this morning; my coyote senses can smell magic und zuch things, though, so we should have no trouble getting there. " He sniffed the air and ambient energies. "Da, zhis way, I believe," he said, offering his arm. "Shall you join us, Quincy?"

[Stella Gaslight]

"Well that is a useful skill." Gwin said focusing entirely on Mr Davo.  The hall swum around his form but with a landmark she felt on an even keel.  She wondered if he would sniff her out as the source of the problem and what could be done about it.  Grandmother must have had some sort of plan for that to send her here.