ic contact

[idesof]

[ March's voicemail message will be the standard sort for a while, and expect replies from him to be slow/strange as he tries to understand this Modern Age.

TEXT | AUDIO | VIDEO | ACTION | MURDEROUS LOVE LETTERS ]

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[restingstitchface]

[He gives a nice smile; taps the bottom of the tub with his foot. Now that he has this sort of company, he's not willing to give it up so easily. When one is willing to offer themselves up for experimentation, to throw themselves into the unknown, it has to be respected.

And then he tilts his head, nodding. Nothing needs to be said.]

As you wish.

[Done. And then with that he's tapping his associate congenially on the shoulder. He's dusting off some lint; wiping away the present day's grime to show March the beauty of what lies underneath. The way the hotel had been. Bodies, blood, mattresses - all sorts of broken things. And for a man who's a respectable doctor he doesn't seem phased by anything. Curious, that.]

[idesof]

[So much that is not respectable is suddenly right there. There's an old tub, even, rusted mess with a tuft of definitely human hair visible at one end of it. Because the tub itself is filled with lye...if they can move about, if they can smell all that decay and rot, Crane will realize why it's only a tuft. The rest of the body is in the process of dissolving. Presumably the big drum in the opposing corner is being used for the same purpose, but there's nothing visible beyond a big honkin' thing that could hold liquid and a corpse or two.

March is struck silent and still. Well, sort of. He is looking the room over, openly, with the same look as a starving man getting his first whiff of the buffet. Where to begin first when everything is so promising, so wonderful? He lets out a fond, contented sigh, and the smile that follows speaks to a dark, twisted sort of pleasure.

As they stand there, another crumpled body joins the fray. A man drops from the chute's opening in the ceiling, and the fact he's still breathing when he hits the mattress only makes that smile grow.]

Quite the talent you have there, Scarecrow.

[He looks over at him finally, idly twirling his cane in place. He's got the look and body language of a fully fed predatory beast, ready to take a nap. Well done, Doc.]

[restingstitchface]

[Before March speaks, Crane moves around; looking around the room with the keeness of a scientist prompted by curiosity. A finger lightly presses against the tub, confirming that they can look, touch and feel. He inhales and cranes his head back when he hears something in the ceiling - and the fact he tilts his head once the body's come down shows he's familiar with looking at a corpse or two.

When March does speak? He doesn't say anything, doesn't move except to nod in acknowledgement. It isn't a conversation where words need speaking to be understood. They're both respectable persons.]

Walk around, if you like. Upstairs. Downstairs. It's all there, I assure you.

[And if March asks real nice he might show him his special fear-suit ooOOoo]

[idesof]

[Well then.

March stares at that. Openly, head tilted, uncertain about it all. Not whether or not Crane is being honest; he's uncertain how to go about legitimately anything. His first instinct is to run to his trophy room, just to see if Countess will be there. Just for the chance to look upon her face again. She'd spent so much time outside...but with the basement as it is, he knows she won't be there. If only!]

You needn't assure me twice. [He glances toward the door, words slower than usual. He has that air of memories returned like punches to the gut. He'll get over it soon, soon meaning now as he offers:] Would you like the grand tour?

[restingstitchface]

[Something clicks in Crane's eyes. Like the monster's waking up from where it's been sleeping in straw. Or perhaps it's just his scientist's curiosity. He speaks with a little bit of pep.]

I'd be delighted.

[Granted, it's the potential of a grand tour through March's twisted mind, much as as the hotel itself, that has his ethical mind all aflutter. But March is an intelligent fellow. He knows the phrase "buyer beware", right? Otherwise he'd never have shaken hands. Claimed an understanding. Whatever.]

[idesof]

[Crane's delight delights March in turn, going to the door so he can open it. Guests first. Or...power users first, maybe. He's not sure how this all works. Can they be seen? Are they like ghosts in this old mind? Could they possibly find the once-living March and watch him? It's exciting, the potential.]

Then allow me to welcome you to the Hotel Cortez! [The hallway near the basement, at least, but they'll get to the good stuff after that. And there is plenty of good stuff, judging by that enormous smile on March's face. A shame the demon won't be running around, but perhaps they can go down that road another time.] Established in Los Angeles on August 23rd, 1926. You won't find any free Wi-fi here.

[People can't stay glued to their phones and computers GASP imagine that world, imagine that.]

[restingstitchface]

[No. Nobody he invites to this party can be seen. Otherwise he'd have been getting highlandered by his judgmental self when he'd taken Harley for a ride down memory lane. Ghosts with tactile senses, really. It's quite fascinating.

He walks through the door held open - so generous! - and tilts his head. A silent display of manners. He could have March open the hotel door into the penthouse suite, or March's mind might connect the dots in a straight, horizontal line. It's a funny thing, the mind - powerful. People think it's connected a-to-b but it truly isn't.

He'll have to try disorienting someone with it another time. Not friends. That would be rude.]

Thank heavens for that. It's fantastic to find a place with class.

[Because March is a ghost, geddit? But yes. He loves this place. Lead on.]