Midnight Manor Boarding House, Saturday Daytime

[hasaknightjob]

Look, Marc didn't need an excuse to avoid the Welcome Picnic. He could just not go. Especially since Steven certainly would cheerfully head over and try to make new friends in a heartbeat.

However, Illyana was moving in today and at least one of them should be around for that. Plus there was the vague odds that other new people on the island might at least be interested in the place. As far as that went, Marc pretty much only trusted himself to handle it.

(Okay, sure, Steven was serious about making sure the people who lived in the Midnight Manor were a good match, but still. Marc trusted himself to be a hardass about it a tiny bit more than Steven.)

On the upside they now had one extra room ready in addition to Illyana's. And Dwight had handwavily with permission dropped off the last of the dining chairs he'd been working on yesterday, so they were good to go there. (And hey: Credit where due, Dwight did great work even with the rush order. Even Marc could appreciate that.)

They also had contracts and floor plans written up. Because Marc wasn't going to let anybody remotely try to claim they'd pulled a fast one on any of their residents regardless of when, if ever, more residents appeared.

And now Marc was in his office, a thing he was still wrapping his brain around. But on the plus side the office was now sporting a small freezer which held some of the vodka Illyana had dropped off the other day. If anybody did come by, he was available.

Meanwhile on the front door of the building was a handwritten sign which read:

New Residents and Others Welcome! Door is open, come on in! Office is to your right --->

And, smaller but still the same handwriting:

(Don't mind Marc, that's just his normal expression. He's perfectly nice under there we promise.)

No prize for guessing who'd written it.

[Midnight Manor Boarding House is open! Figuratively and literally.]

Comments

[callmebymyname]

Not at visitor, but a phone call.

Ring ring!

Ugh. Calling. Like a monster.

[hasaknightjob]

In general Marc didn't answer phones unless he had to. But this was the boarding house's line so maybe it was Illyana or something.

"Yeah?"

Customer service was not Marc's strong suit.

[callmebymyname]

"Mr...Spector, I presume." The man's voice that came down the line was rich and deep, flavored slightly by amusement. "One of the owners of the--what was it again, Grimm?"

"Midnight Manor," came a woman's voice. "I think. I can't be certain, I couldn't get on the stupid little island where it's located."

"Now, now, Grimm, you're too old to pout." A moment later and the voice was back in the phone properly. "Forgive me. One of the owners of Midnight Manor, which is a boarding house with rooms for let, am I correct?"

[hasaknightjob]

Look, Marc hadn't worked years as a mercenary without at least some experience with mysterious phone calls from people he didn't know but who knew him by reputation.

Didn't mean he trusted them but he could at least roll with it. Especially since if this particular call meant trouble he knew he was in the perfect location to handle it.

"That's right, the Midnight Manor is mine," he said, because he had no problem putting that fact out into the universe. "Who am I talking to?"

[callmebymyname]

"You can call me Duke," the man replied smoothly. "I'm looking to rent one of your rooms on behalf of a...hmm. Let's say friend of mine. Yes. I do believe that will serve. A friend of mine. Though I do have several questions, of course. Mostly about safety. Are you from the other side of town, perhaps?"

[hasaknightjob]

Riiiiiiight. That didn't sound at all suspicious. But that wasn't enough for Marc to start drawing any conclusions besides that he wanted more information.

"Depends on which town," Marc asked in a way that was clear he was being deliberately breezy and obtuse about it. "I mean I did just move from the other side of the island."

[callmebymyname]

"See? I told you."

"It never hurts to check. Besides, you said it was weird. And that you couldn't get onto it."

"I couldn't! And it is!"

Duke gave a disgruntled huff as he returned his focus to the line. "No, no, your answer was sufficient," he said. "What are your security features?"

[hasaknightjob]

The nice thing was whether this guy was asking because he needed to protect somebody or he was somebody Marc needed to protect people from it didn't matter. The answer was the same.

"Well," Marc said, matter of factly, "the place is alive, nobody can get in or out if it goes into lockdown, and if you piss it off or try to hurt anybody who lives here you're gonna have a real bad time living out your worst nightmares."

Whether this guy considered that an attractive feature for a rental or a threat was up to him.

[callmebymyname]

"I'm sorry, did you say alive?" There came a deep booming laugh over the phone, the kind that made you want to laugh with it - well, probably not Marc - and once again the phone was moved as a rapid-fire conversation took place, this time in a language that Marc didn't recognize.

It seemed to have elements of Farsi and possibly Arabic to it? But was quite firmly neither.

"Yes," Duke said a moment later, voice still remarkably cheerful. "That sounds wonderful. I'll take a room." And then more chuckling. "A living house? May wonders never cease."

[professionalweirdo]

“Underneath what?” Gonzo asked as he walked into the office.

[hasaknightjob]

Marc? Taking a minute to stare. Don't mind him.

[professionalweirdo]

That was fine. Gonzo was just going to gaze back unblinkingly.

"What are you nice underneath?" he asked again after a moment.

[hasaknightjob]

Marc, who had neither written nor seen the sign, was now wondering if this... let's go with newcomer was trying to hit on him.

(If Gonzo was particularly observant, he might notice a blink and you'll miss it moment of one of the reflections in the room looking as though it was about to start laughing. But it was quickly hidden and replaced by a perfectly normal reflection of Marc as he was.)

There were a lot of questions that sprang to mind, really, but Marc's life being what it was he went with, "Are you a god? Because I'm taken if that's the deal."

[professionalweirdo]

“I’m Gonzo,” said Gonzo. Leaving aside the whole ‘god’ question. He offered Marc a blue, fuzzy hand. “Are you Marc? You didn’t answer my question.”

[hasaknightjob]

Marc took the hand to shake because sure, why the fuck not? "Marc Spector, yeah. And I don't know what you're talking about."

Steven was going to get such a glare later.

[professionalweirdo]

Gonzo’s hand felt like a small, empty glove.

“There’s a sign on the door that says you ‘nice under there’,” he said. “Also that you have rooms to rent. Which is great because I’ve spent way too long living out of my suitcase!”

He meant that literally. Like one might live out of their car.

[hasaknightjob]

"Sign on the - " Marc started to ask, then he realized the obvious answer.

What? Steven asked, this in the back of his head so no one but Marc could hear him. It's true!

"You're freaking hilarious," Marc muttered as he facepalmed. He then firmly decided to ignore Steven and focus on Gonzo. Luckily this was the kind of thing that Marc was actually kind of okay with because crazy he could cope with. "Right. Yeah. We've got rooms. It's a boarding house deal. Private room, shared common area kind of a thing."

[gospel_of_oblivion]

//Hi children, I'm home,// Illyana hollered in Russian as she breezed in the door after the Welcome Picnic, her overnight duffle on her shoulder. "Hey House. Miss me?"

[hasaknightjob]

Look, it wasn't that Midnight was nervous about having a Sorcerer Supreme living inside of it. More it had a vested interest in wanting to make a good impression on her and so it was worried about that. If ancient eldritch beings could be said to be worried about anything.

Thus when Illyana walked in Midnight did the ancient eldritch being version of quickly trying to make itself presentable by creating an illusion for her. Specifically an illusion of something familiar to her.

It hoped she liked it.

[gospel_of_oblivion]

Oh. It had been years, and only one weekend, but Illyana sometimes still missed having Nestor by her side.

"Nice job pulling out a positive memory without being too intrusive," she said, patting the wall. "Just be careful poking around in there, lots of it is very nasty, and probably detrimental to your emotional development."

[hasaknightjob]

Was there a sense that Midnight was relieved to have gotten it right? Because it was.

At that point Marc came out of his office. "Hey. Need help carrying your shit?"

What? For him that was friendly.

[gospel_of_oblivion]

"I travel light," she said, nodding towards her single bag. "I don't like being bogged down in transit."

For lots of reasons.

"I did ship two steamer trunks here, and they should arrive on Tuesday. Jumping universes is hard, and the teleportation battery needs a rest unless I want to end up having an involuntary layover in the world without shrimp next time I 'port."

She could grab anything else she needed from her room in the Sanctum later; but Illyana always tried to safeguard her teleportation reserves in case of emergency.

[hasaknightjob]

Not that Marc would ever fault anybody for traveling light. "Okay, we'll keep an eye out. Things are good here. Finished getting the dining room set up yesterday."

Our home is doing nicely as well, Steven said, appearing in one of the many nearby reflections. He waved cheerfully at Illyana. Hello! Happy move in day, yeah? Anything we can do to help at all?

"I offered," Marc said.

You offered to carry. Perhaps she needs something else, Steven pointed out. Food or the like.

[gospel_of_oblivion]

"Steven, I have not had a mother since I was seven. I promise I know how to feed myself when I am hungry," she replied, the smallest hint of a smile trying to tug at her lips. "--But thank you. I am good."

[hasaknightjob]

If you're certain, Steven said. The reflection faded back into Marc again.

"He fusses," Marc told her, as though it was a warning. But his expression suggested he didn't mind as much as he might pretend.