griefstreet | A PARTY TO DIE FOR

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A PARTY TO DIE FOR

The invite instructed you to come to the manor to celebrate Mr. Edgar Lionheart's 75th birthday party at precisely 7 PM. An ominous peel of thunder rumbled in the distance as the guests began to arrive at the manor. Passing through the estate's grand gates was like passing some invisible threshold from one mundane realm to one more fantastical and heightened in reality.

As the front door opened and you walked into the vestibule, you were greeted by Mr. Lionheart himself--a large, bearded man with graying hair wearing an expensive royal blue tuxedo. He smiled, holding out his hand for a handshake.

"Welcome to the Lionheart Estate, my good fellow. May I take your coat? Ah--dinner will be at 8 PM, following a speech. I have a few important announcements to make...but that can wait until later. For now, help yourself to a few drinks--we're here to celebrate, after all."

And with that, he departed to tend to the other guests. The sound of a grandfather clock somewhere in the house echoed throughout the hallway, counting down the minutes until dinner. The entrance hall loomed before you, beckoning you to...well, enter, if you dare.

One thing was sure--this would be an unforgettable evening.

Welcome to the murder mystery! Make sure that you carefully read over your dossiers to understand the scenario. Each character has been given a pre-murder task, which can be completed at any point during the week. The murder investigation will go up on Saturday, June 4th. In the meantime, just enjoy the party and mingle with the guests while you can. Perhaps you'll discover some interesting information for later....

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[Oh...how nostalgic.]

Ah...memories.

[Deadly heaves a great, fond sigh as he looks around the entrance hall. Upon his immediate arrival, Deadly gravitates towards the drinks, where he gladly helps himself to some wine.]

One should always be careful when looking through rosé coloured glasses, a-ha ha.

[He hangs around the foyer for a while before shuffling around the rest of the mansion. He regards it all not with curiosity, but a warm familiarity. First -- to the kitchen, to pilfer some snacks.

Some while later, Deadly emerges from the kitchen with popcorn in hand and spends some more time mingling in the foyer and living room before making a small announcement to his fellow guests.]

If anyone happens to hunger for entertainment in addition to the delectable feast our dear Edgar is cooking up for us, I invite you to follow me to watch a film or two in the projector room. I promise you won't be disappointed - I'm in most of them.

[It doesn't take long for Michael to temporarily reach his limit on forced socialization and need to retreat, at which point he makes his way to the kitchen, far from the other guests. He needs to prepare Lionheart's medication for the night anyway- might as well get that out of the way sooner rather than later.

He opens the door to the kitchen and freezes at the sight of another in the room, his teeth gritting. It seems he's not allowed even a moment of peace this evening. Then again- his eyes narrow slightly, as he tries to place Deadly's face. It takes a moment, but the irritation fades as quickly as it came, replaced with recognition and faint curiosity.

Michael gives him a little nod of acknowledgement.]

[Uncle Deadly would be terrified by Michael’s silent and sudden appearance were he any other man - but instead, he turns with a welcoming smile.

Well, as welcoming as he can do.]

Ah, Michael, my dear fellow - I’m just pinching a bit of popcorn. Hors d'oeuvres don’t really suit a cinema, you see.

[He abandons his search for the ‘corn briefly to turn to Michael proper.]

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Been keeping well, I hope?

[Another little nod. It's hard to get a good read on how Michael feels about- well, anything, really- but he seems to relax ever so slightly, losing some small amount of the tension built up from being around other guests.

He steps further into the room and approaches one of the cabinets, opening it to reveal a collection of drinking glasses. He selects one, then pauses, seemingly lost in thought.

After a moment Michael glances down at Deadly, then inclines his head in the direction of the pantry- if he recalls correctly, the popcorn should be on one of the lower shelves.]

Glad to ‘hear’ it.

[Deadly chuckles a little at his own joke, and watches as Michael goes first for the cabinet, then gestures to the pantry.]

Excellent. Thank you, Michael.

[He nods in appreciation.]

I don’t suppose you’ll be too busy helping the old boy out to join us down in the screening room?

[In lieu of an immediate response, Michael brings his empty glass to the fridge and fills it with ice and water, turning Deadly's question over in his head. He's not yet sure if Lionheart will have more work for him tonight. He wouldn't necessarily mind spending most of the evening watching a film instead of dealing with guests directly... but then, that might depend on which guests attend Deadly's screening. He did say "us", after all.

He turns back around to face Deadly and shrugs, a gesture which looks vaguely comical when performed by him. He nods to the glass in his hand, then towards the door; while it's a bit hard to decipher, he's trying to say he won't know how busy he'll be until after he brings this to Lionheart.

Michael fidgets slightly, then sets the glass down, trying to think of how to phrase the question that keeps bubbling up in the back of his mind. Normally he wouldn't bother asking at all and would just wait to see if Deadly offered the information on his own, but given the circumstances... He nods at Deadly, and then vaguely gestures around them with one hand, indicating the estate as a whole.

He's surprised to see Deadly here after all this time, and is curious about his return. He doesn't seem to be judgemental about it- just interested to know the answer.]

A shame - but I understand. Do pop by if you have the time.

[Though Deadly mostly offered it as a courtesy, he is a little disappointed that Michael may have to sit the viewing out. The value of someone who keeps their trap shut during a film cannot be overstated.

When he makes the next gesture to him, Deadly’s face darkens ever so slightly.]

You wonder why I’m here, don’t you? [He sighs.] I know - everyone’s thinking it. Wondering how I could bear my face after such scandal.

[He says the word with very clear contempt.]

The truth is, I was invited. Edgar has been a dear friend of mine - more than just a business partner - for many years. And if he deems it fit for me to make an appearance, to cast off my shackles of shame, then - [He straightens himself up with pride.] - that I will.

[Michael turns back to his original task and begins rifling through a drawer as he listens to Deadly's woes, only registering the important details and discarding everything else. He had assumed, of course, that Deadly came by invitation like every other guest- he simply wanted to confirm as much.

Privately, he wonders if Lionheart is certain he knows what he's doing- but then, he supposes it's not his place to judge such a thing. Besides, murderer or not, Deadly was always one of the more tolerable guests at the estate. Michael certainly won't say no to seeing more of him in the next few years- and hopefully less of some of the others as a result. He gives Deadly an approving nod.

After a bit more digging, he fishes out a small, half-empty pill bottle from the back of the drawer, and slips it into his pocket.]

[Deadly watches Michael, wondering what goes on inside that head of his.

Well - he’ll take that nod, and finds himself more at ease by it than everyone else’s pleasantries.

After Michael secures the pill bottle, Deadly goes back to rifling through the pantry.]

A-ha! There you are, you elusive devil.

[He takes the popcorn out with an air of triumph.]

I can see why the old boy keeps you around. [He nods in appreciation to Michael.] You do lend a very good ear.

[Frankly, there's not much going on in there but static and barely-restrained impulses. Now that he's got his answer, he's set aside that information in a nice and secluded corner of his mind and will promptly stop thinking about it unless it becomes relevant again.

He is a good listener in the same way that a brick wall is a good listener- he doesn't interrupt and often doesn't bother expressing any sort of opinion about what he hears, let alone retaining it long-term. A useful sounding board, if nothing else- and sometimes that is all someone needs. It also makes Michael rather invaluable as an employee.

Though, speaking of a good ear- Michael grabs the water glass and moves to leave the kitchen, having decided the conversation is over and done with for now, but pauses mid-step, his head tipping to one side. He hears... something. It's muffled, but it sounds like voices. Or one voice, steadily growing louder.]

[Deadly stills, and tilts his head to the direction of the sound. He might not be able to quite make out what’s being said - but he can at least make out the voices. Barely.]

My, I thought they’d wait until after dinner.

[He whispers, careful not to ruin their moment of eavesdropping.]

I might reccommend you let them finish before going up there.

Yeah, and in case you weren't completely sold yet, he's the one doing most of the talking in them!

[ Jimmy, as a lawyer, is legally allowed to rib Uncle Deadly.

Despite the sarcastic intent of his words, he delivers them in a completely sincere tone, complete with a finger point for emphasis. Still, Jimmy is two Rusty Nails in and craving food that's not dustier and stuffier than Old Man Lionheart. Why not slip away for a while? He saunters over to Deadly with a drink in hand. ]

So, uh - you've got more popcorn in there, right?

[Deadly suffers Jimmy’s wisecracks; it’s his price to pay for freedom, after all. And he’d rather take it than 25-life, thank you very much.]

Yes - and in the kitchen, where it came from.

[He casts a look over to Jimmy’s glass.]

I can trust you to carry in the drinks, then?

[ There's a pause here as Jimmy looks down and seemingly realizes he's already pregaming. He lights up at the sight. ]

Look at that! Got one already.

[ Point him to the rest! ]

So, what are we watching?

[Deadly refrains from any comment, but can't help his eyes from rolling a bit. Sure, he owes Mr. McGill his life, and that counts for something - but even that can only go so far.]

Oh, it could be any one of the many masterpieces in Edgar's collection - perhaps the Phantom of the Pandemonium or The Masque of the Green Death?

[Coincidentally, he starred in all of these.]

Ah, Deadly old boy! A film sounds absolutely delightful right about now — after all, I'm not really in the condition to be meandering around such a large house.

[Moriarty rises to his feet from where he was sitting, aided by his cane, and gives Deadly a warm smile and a hearty chuckle. Anything would be a welcome distraction from his extreme boredom.]

Edited 2022-05-30 22:01 (UTC)

[Deadly grins, rather glad for Moriarty to take him up on his offer. That’s one person who’s company he’s quite happy to keep here.]

The old back giving you trouble again, eh? [He can’t tease him too much for it, being of a certain age himself.] I should give you the number of my chiropractor. She mainly deals with horses, but in your case, I feel you could do with a firm hand.

Well, in the math field, we like to say that the function of the human body decreases with time. [Moriarty chuckles at his own lame math joke.] Still, this old thing keeps up and about. [He holds up his cane.]

[He pretends to give the chiropractor offer some thought, but he's made it up in his mind to decline already. The whole business is a scam, after all.]

Ah, but thank you for the offer, old chap. I actually have my own chiropractor whom I frequent. He keeps telling me to refrain from heavy lifting, but how am I to stop carrying the entire math department on my shoulders?

[Moriarty lets out another hearty laugh, making his way over to stand by Deadly's side.]

[Deadly chuckles, and begins to make his way down to the cinema.]

Tell me about it! Years of carrying the show has left me with a hump! And with this new age of special effects, you can’t get roles with that anymore!

[He laughs again, then turns to his old friend.]

But surely you should be enjoying your retirement by now, Jim? Or does your ghost insist on haunting the classroom?

[Michael has never liked these parties.

It's not that there's too many people- it feels as though the guest lists grow shorter and shorter with every passing year, trimming the excess off like fat. And they're not ridiculously common, either- Lionheart restricts his celebrations to a handful of times a year, with long stretches of peace in between.

But Michael prefers when the estate is quiet and the only ones present are those who are supposed to be here. Anyone else feels like an intruder in his territory, a threat encroaching in on his space that he wants nothing more than to remove. Even one stranger- a stranger to Michael, at least- is an offense. A crowd, however small, is an outrage.

... "His" territory- of course, it's not really his. For that reason and that reason alone, he tolerates these disturbances as they come, bristling uncomfortably the entire time. Not that most could tell. It's difficult for the average person to spot the differences between Michael at ease and Michael in the throes of neuroticism.

Lionheart is not the average person, and more importantly, is one of the rare few people Michael feels in any way comfortable around. Before the party truly begins, when the first guests have only just begun to trickle in, Michael trails his employer like a looming shadow. He's reluctant to part until outright ordered to do so, preferring to stick close- half to quell his own irritation, and half out of a feeling of obligation.

Eventually, he does go his own way, and awkwardly lingers around the vestibule for a while. He makes no efforts to reach out to converse with others, preferring to linger on the sidelines and eavesdrop on snippets of the conversations happening around him. Still, he doesn't outright reject any efforts to reach out to him. Just don't expect him to have too much to say. Or anything to say. He doesn't speak, and while he can write and has a basic grasp of ASL, he prefers to be difficult and avoid either whenever possible.

For most of the evening, he can be found in the entrance hall, lurking at the base of the stairs and intently scrutinizing any and all loiterers and passersby. If anything, he appears even more agitated than earlier. Engage at your own risk- particularly if you're intent on heading upstairs.]

[Lionheart is an expert of charm. Appeal to the public, the stockholders, the investors, and they will be happy to part with their money. The same could probably be applied to the party. Treat the guests cordially, fill their bellies with wine, and hopefully, they won't make too much of a fuss.

Lionheart stands near the bottom of the stairs near the entrance hall, waiting for more guests to arrive. When he turns to address Michael looming behind him, his pleasant expression has dropped to a more neutral one, scowl and frown lines etched deeply into his face.]

You're allowed to enjoy the party, too, you know. I know you're not one for conversation, my boy, but there's no harm in introducing yourself to the guests.

[He gives Michael a firm pat on the back.]

After all, they're all going to come back for the next birthday party.

[Michael keeps himself carefully still when Lionheart's hand touches his back- he dislikes the momentary physical contact, but knows better than to object to it.

He huffs quietly. Yes, he knows. He simply sees no point in engaging any of them. They've all at least seen him around the estate before, even if they've never asked him his name. They don't need to know anything about him beyond that. No one does.

His hand comes up to adjust the neckline of his mask, trying to keep it snug against his skin.

Besides, he's already being more "social" than he used to at these functions. In the early years of his employment, the moment Michael knew Lionheart no longer needed his assistance, he would slink off to one of the empty rooms upstairs and stand around in the darkness for hours. He'd only come back downstairs once the majority of the guests were gone. He doesn't even really remember the parties he did remain present at back then- he was operating entirely on autopilot, mentally checked out and waiting for the night to end.]

[Lionheart lets out a snort. He's well acquainted with interpreting what Michael means from his minute gestures and otherwise subdued mannerisms.]

I know, I know. You've already been employed under me for so long and gotten away with not having to truly meet anyone I've been acquainted with.

[Any sign of his earlier, kindly facade disappears as he continues to speak.]

Perhaps that's one reason why I've felt you to be more trustworthy than the others. What you see is what you get....

[And just as suddenly, his smile returns--as quickly and naturally as switching on a light.]

I trust you'll behave yourself, as you always have.

[Michael blinks placidly at him, unaffected by the slip. In his entire tenure under Lionheart, Michael has never once felt even the slightest bit intimidated by him, and he doubts he ever will. He does as he's told because he has no objections to his orders, and because Lionheart treats him with more respect than most. More importantly, he allows Michael to do as he pleases, raising no real objections with his odder mannerisms beyond the occasional gentle ribbing.

With that said, he does take mild offense to the request to "behave". He tips his chin up, his expression vaguely indignant- haughty, even. Of course he'll behave. If anything, Lionheart should be making that request of some of the "guests" he's allowed to intrude upon his home. He huffs again, shaking his head slightly.]

[He lets out a chuckle, inclining his head slightly. Lionheart folds his arms in front of him, seemingly satisfied with what little he was able to get out of Michael.]

I shall take the opportunity tonight to enjoy myself to the fullest. You only ever turn seventy-five once in your life, after all.

[A small smirk appears upon his face.]

And don't worry too much about the guests, will you? You've been around for larger events, I'm sure you can survive a little shindig like this.

[Michael’s irritation is quelled somewhat by the reminder of just what the celebration is for, and he nods, temporarily mollified. Yes, fine. So long as Lionheart is content with the way things are set up tonight, he can set his misgivings aside and endure.

But he will still worry about the guests. He won’t nag Lionheart further about his choice in company, but he’s not letting his guard down. The estate may not belong to him in any official capacity, but he's stalked these halls nearly every day for seven years. As far as Michael is concerned, it may as well be his, and he's more than a little possessive of it. And he doesn't trust guests to not sneak into places they don't belong, or steal Lionheart's belongings while he's not looking, or cause damage throughout the estate...

With that in mind, though, it would be smarter to stick close to the guests, wouldn't it? To make sure nothing happens? Michael grits his teeth, pained by the realization.]

[ Jimmy is in a rush to be somewhere, and he's most definitely at the point of the night where he's starting to feel his drinks. The sleazeball lawyer is powerwalking, practically sprinting, through the entrance hall and towards the stairs. Jimmy slows just shy of the base the second he spots a familiar shape.

Just perfect. Tall, Dark and Gruesome is here. Jimmy is well aware of Michael's... Michaelness. The guy could make a killing at the NBA and yet he chooses to spend his days gazing at Mr. Lionheart's esteemed clientele with droopy murderer eyes. It's really starting to feel like this guy's been watching him all night.

Jimmy clears his throat as he tries to walk up the stairs and past Michael, wary of Michael but still trying to play it cool. He's not the weird one, you are! ]

Hey, there's a whole party out there. You might want to consider joining it instead of pretending you're... you know, one of his sculptures.

[Ah. The lawyer. And he wants to go upstairs, no doubt to bother Lionheart. Of course he does. Michael's eyes close for a moment as he resigns himself to spending the next several minutes feeling his blood pressure rise in real time.

When Jimmy stops in front of him, Michael inclines his head very slightly- just enough to peer down through the eyeholes of his mask. His expression is hard to read, but unnervingly intense.

He gives no indication that he even registers Jimmy's words, and remains as stiff and un-moving as the cheap plastic Halloween decorations he resembles. He is also completely blocking the stairs. The only way Jimmy could possibly squeeze past would require him to literally squeeze between Michael and the banister- and frankly, it's probably not a smart idea to intentionally get into such a position with Michael Myers.]

[ Jimmy doesn't want to bother the Lionheart Michael is thinking of, and if Jimmy mentioned that, this would probably be less of an issue. But Slippin' Jimmy lives up to his name in nearly all of his words and actions, and as such, he doesn't really see any need to mention it to Bill Shatner's Living Corpse.

One thing Slippin' Jimmy can not slip past, however, is Bill Shatner's Living Corpse's blocking the stairs. At least not physically. ]

Hey, uh -- [ He points up the stairs. You know, the place he is trying to go. ]

I gotta take a leak.

[ He's obviously lying but also where the hell are the bathrooms on the first floor. ]

[There’s a chance that knowing which Lionheart that Jimmy is after would make Michael more inclined to relent, but really, he’d probably insist on being difficult anyway. He’s had to compromise too many times this evening- he’ll take any opportunity to relish in someone else’s suffering right now. No matter how insignificant.

Predictably, he’s unimpressed by Jimmy’s excuse. And if Jimmy pays close attention to what little he can see through the mask’s eyeholes, he’ll notice Michael briefly glance in the direction of the terrace- and thus, the back gardens.

Absolutely no sympathy here.]

[ Woah. Seriously? Jimmy can think of seventeen laws Michael is (probably) breaking right now. Despite the obvious grounds for civil suit right now, Jimmy is more incensed at the notion that he's not even good enough to use his employer's pisspot than anything else.

As a former scam artist, he's adept at reading people. The glance doesn't escape his purview, and causes him to audibly scoff before his voice raises just a smidge. ]

C'mon. You know that Edgar wouldn't want that. I'm over here practically ten times a month, guy pays me a very generous and might I add, well deserved amount every year, and now I can't even use one of his many many bathrooms?

[ He is so making sure you don't even get a lick of the will, Michael. ]

I mean, what is this, Alice in Pissland? I gotta go through a hedge maze to take a piss? What kind of world do you live in?! Oh, but I suppose when Michael Myers wants to go to the bathroom, he's allowed to just waltz right up and go right in! But not the rest of us! The rest of us aren't good enough to piss where the great Michael Myers marks his territory!

[ Ohhhhh no. Jimmy is content to point right in his face. ]

You know what I smell? I smell discrimination.

[It is ridiculously easy for Michael to tune people out the moment they start to get too irritating, and this is no exception. He tips his head up, just enough to make it difficult for Jimmy to lock eyes with him again through the mask, and proceeds to just... completely check out. His eyes glaze over as he stares right at Jimmy, not seeing him, looking past him into nothing. No part of his body language gives away the fact that he's no longer paying full attention, but there is truly nothing going on in there but elevator music right now. Whether or not Jimmy can tell that immediately may depend on just how often he makes Michael do this mid-conversation.

He's prepared to do this for as long as it takes- until Jimmy's voice gives out, if necessary- but the word "discrimination" does startle him back to reality, if only for a moment. Michael blinks, refocusing on Jimmy after a few seconds, and huffs, sounding vaguely insulted. Discrimination? On what grounds?]

Edited 2022-06-03 23:52 (UTC)

[Damien is over an hour late to the party, to the surprise of no one who knows him. What maybe is a little surprising is that he actually seems properly dressed for this; in an actual suit and not some shitty designer clothes.

When he opens his mouth, however, it's clear that he's not planning on treating this like a proper formal event.]

Congratulations, everyone, the party has officially arrived!

[He wastes absolutely no time as he grabs a drink and immediately takes a huge swig of it. He spends a bit of the start of the party in the foyer, trying to make idle chitchat.

Soon, he grows bored and moves to the projector room, and flips through the movies his father has in hopes to find anything somewhat watchable.]

God, does pops own any movie that people older than 60 enjoy. Who the fuck even likes Citizen Kane?

[Eventually, however, you can find Damien sneaking off towards his room. There's nothing particularly suspicious about this, but if you're feeling nosy you can always bug him.]

[Michael has done a fairly decent job at avoiding Damien for most of the evening. He hasn't hidden from him or anything, of course- just ignored him whenever possible. Unfortunately, it seems he won't have that luxury much longer.

He steps in front of the stairs before Damien can begin to go up, preventing him from leaving the first floor. He shakes his head slightly, his eyes glittering with faint disdain.]

[Oh great, this guy. A part of him wants to just turn around so he didn't have to interact with this creep, but he wasn't about to let this weirdo push him around in his own house.]

What? Am I not allowed to go to my own room anymore? I just need to get some shit from my bedroom.

[Technically, Damien is right. While Michael could easily keep him trapped down here if he feels like it- it’s not like Damien is strong enough to fight his way past him- he can’t really prevent him from going where he pleases. As loathe as Michael is to admit it, Damien’s authority as Lionheart’s son just barely trumps his as Lionheart’s employee.

Barely.

Still, that doesn't mean he has to make it easy. Especially since Michael has no way of knowing if Damien will only go to his room and nowhere else. He glances up, towards where Lionheart's bedroom is located on the second floor, before returning his attention to Damien.]

Damien. [Urgh.] It’s good to see you.

[Damien eyes Uncle Deadly, deliberately taking a sip of his drink before he speaks.][Ugh.] Enjoying pop's refreshments? I can't have too much because I'm dipping early to go to this huge party across town. I'm really just here to pregame.

[Deadly takes a careful - but much needed - sip of his own wine before answering.]

In showbusiness, one must be a good judge of character above all else. In your father’s case this extends to drink as well.

[So, yes. Yes was the answer here.]

Pray tell, who is hosting this huge party?

[Not that he’s interested - in fact, he’ll be glad to be rid of Damien - but he has to play it nice.]

[Damien barely suppresses a scoff at that. God how pretentious.]

It doesn't matter who's hosting it; it's just an old friend of mine hosting it. Doubt you'd know who they are.

[God he hates this little-]

Try me.

I told you it doesn't matter. It's not like you'd be accepted at the party anyway.

[Constantine strolls quickly and confidently across the foyer. Despite his shabby clothing and threadbare coat, his posture and stride makes him seem like he owns the place. When he spots Damien across the hall, he grins and begins making a straight beeline for him.]

Oi, Damien!

[He gives a little wave, sticking out his other hand for a firm handshake. As per usual, there's a slightly crooked grin on his face.]

How're you doin', ol' chum? Been a while since we last chatted, innit?

[All this time preparing, and the hour's finally arrived...Frankly, he can't wait for this party to be over. His work doesn't stop for something so trivial as a birthday, and he's itching to get back to business.]

Oh, my old pipe! At times I yearn for ye...

[He pats the empty pockets of his coat, shakes his shaggy head and sighs. Instead of his pipe, he'll settle for a drink.]

Spared no expense, did ye? Ha!

[After pouring himself a nice scotch, Ahab stalks back to the entrance hall, posting himself there to keep an eye on things. Or, ostensibly, to greet the guests, but...well. With a surly glare like that, it might seem like more of a demand for guests to scram than a greeting. It takes a concentrated effort to lift the corners of his mouth in a slightly more sociable expression.

He quickly finds that he's too restless to stay in one place, so he spends some time stamping between the hall and the vestibule, offering bits of small talk where he can.]

Aye, do ye hear that thunder? 'tis a sign, I know that much. A sign for old Ahab to find a seat, afore these bones begin their damnable howling and fix to drag me to that gleaming floor!

[Chuckling to himself, he gradually makes his way through the hall and settles himself in the living room for some respite from the marble floors. Now that he's comfortable, there's no real reason to move for a while.]

[Constantine has helped himself to one or two...or three drinks by the time he finds his way towards Ahab in the living room. He blinks, squinting at the man through whiskey-tinted glasses and leans against one of the nearby walls.]

Ahab, my dear fellow. Sneakin' off to avoid socializin', are ya?

[His mouth twists into a slightly lopsided smile. His eyes gleam with a sort of mischievous look--or, perhaps it's just a trick of the light.]

Must've taken a bit to set all this up. I mean, s'not every day a man celebrates his seventy-fifth birthday. How's he doin', by the way? Still leading you along like a little loyal hound at his side?

[It's always questions with this guy. Poking, prodding, trying to find answers. Waiting for someone to slip up so he can devour the information like a starving wolf.]

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A PARTY TO DIE FOR

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