Callthecops

Wolf Manor

Yeah, it's pretty nuts! Technically I'm just up here for school, but I still live in New York down by the city so it's all the same state, plus bliss too.

Wolf Manor

Where in western NY? I'm in CNY, near Syracuse!

@TheMaster99

I'm in Binghamton! Whoah...

Wolf Manor

I'd be the same as@Callthecops I guess. I live in Western New York (state, not city). I'm waaay too lazyto look it up right now.

@AuntFlavia

Only we can know the secret of how redneck Western NY is.

Wolf Manor

EST EDT Represent!

Edit: Kirah, does this mean we have to fight eachother?

Edit 2: Timezones are weird and wtf even is daylight savings time and why does is change the timezone like this is gross and I'm 20, how am I just learning how time works... Also, I'm GMT-4 I guess. If that's the standard measurement.

Wolf Manor

To elaborate: at no point so far has any one of you done what I predicted (and thus more or less planned) you to do.

@Jig

You don't play us, we play you!

Until you kill us all.

Wolf Manor

@corneredbliss technically it was supposed to be Maria Wolf, so you can fight with Jig over that if you'd like.

Wolf Manor

Edit: Removed accidental repost of my old one with the new.

Graven Birch

After the group’s brief tour, Gray accepted the key to his room and made his way down the hall to unlock the door. He had been thoroughly impressed with the manor thus far, but nothing could have prepared him for what he would find inside. There was artwork from all over the world, tastefully blending African and tantric statuettes with stunning replica of Dali’s The Elephants. At first glance, the rugs appeared Tibetan, however the wonderful earthy tones matched perfectly with the finely crafted classic style furniture. It was all so stunning, he managed to lose himself, moving from piece to piece examining the room in exquisite detail. After nearly 15 minutes of marveling however, there came a knock on the door. His luggage must have arrived, he noted, turning back to the door and letting Felix in.

“This room is absolutely incredible, Monsieur Dubois. Really, you’ve outdone yourselves. I can’t imagine a more perfect place to stay.” Gray said, leading Felix into the bedroom to place his things.

“Mr. Wolf will be pleased to hear it. Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Birch?” Felix responded.

“Why, yes. Could I get a bottle of red? Oh, and would you please tell me where I could find a piano, perhaps?”

“Of course, sir. There are several pianos in the house, the most notable of which would be the Pleyel, located in the lounge. Is there a particular bottle you’d like, Mr. Birch?”

“Good Heavens, I’ve always dreamt of playing a Pleyel!” Gray said with delight, “Next you’ll just bring out an ‘89 Latour Pauillac!” He joked.

“I see you know your wines, Mr. Birch. Would you like me to bring it to the lounge for you?” Felix’s expression was entirely serious, but what he was saying seemed preposterous…

“You’re not serious, Mr. Dubois? That’s one hell of a bottle to serve a guest!”

“A case was purchased for the manor in 1992 I believe. Please accept it as a welcoming gift from the Wolf family. I will need a few minutes to finish with everyone’s luggage, and then to pull the bottle out of the cellar, but I can have it ready in about 25 minutes. If that will be all, I must hurry to fetch the remaining luggage.” Gray stood speechless as Felix turned to walk out the door. The chance to play a Pleyel was one thing, but who on earth were these people that they could throw around a bottle like that?

After taking a few minutes to freshen up after the long plane ride, Gray headed downstairs and entered the lounge Felix had spoken of. Immediately it became apparent that this room-much like his own-did not look like the others in the manor. It had a very warm feel to it, with lots attractive sofas arranged around a wood burner in the center. The outer section of the room, which was oddly raised slightly above the center, contained a variety of musical equipment, including the exquisite Pleyel grand piano, set over by the windows. On the other side of the room however, was the lounge’s most interesting feature, a wall lined with portraits of the Wolf family. You could trace most of the family line down the walls at least a hundred years back, if not more. There was something strange about the progression though, Gray noted as he started walking over to look at them closer. Upon further inspection it seemed that there had definitely been some paintings removed, which had been replaced by some from a different period. They were probably done with lower quality materials and aged poorly, if he had to place a guess.

After his cursory examination of the room, Gray was finally able to sit down by the piano, and adjusted the cuffs of his rolled up sleeves. Fully situated, he lightly ran his fingers over the keys, getting a feel for the piano as if trying to extract it essence in order to turn it into song. Slowly he began. Soft fingering built into dramatic minor chords, as Gray became lost in the process of creation, as he filled the air with his sobering, mournful progressions. Just as they appeared, so to did they fade back into the void, each note another chapter in Gray’s sorrowing tale of tragedy and loss.

Off in another world, or perhaps simply another time, Mr. Birch failed to notice the arrival of his new audience of one...

Wolf Manor

Graven Birch

April 3rd

Stepping out of the ring, Gray tossed his gloves over near a black gym bag, throwing himself down on the bench beside it with an equivalent degree of grace. “Excellent bout, old man.” Called a smiling figure, just stepping out of the ring himself, “It’s always a pleasure, sir.” The man added, youth beaming off his face.

“Well it’s damn good that one of us is enjoying this, kid!” Gray joked in return, “You’re going to have to start going easy on me, or I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep up with you.” He laughed, still out of breath from before.

“I’ll tell you what, sir, how about you let me win a few rounds every now and then, and maybe I’ll start to take pity.” The man, James was his name, replied. The two shared another tired laugh or two, and then it was off to the showers. The cool water felt good cascading over his shoulders, and running down a pair of well-muscled arms. All in all, Mr. Birch couldn’t complain; despite his grey hair he had aged very well, his still attractive sleeve tattoos worn as testament.

---

Bitter nostalgia hung heavy in Gray’s heart as he rode up to the small plantation style house, the sunset casting its warm glow reflected in the front windows. Slowly dismounting his prized Indian motorcycle, Mr. Birch wondered what it even meant anymore, having all these things. The most obvious answer would be to be able to appreciate their beauty, an easy remedy for the successful art dealer to satisfy any doubts he might have had. However, as he stepped inside the grand old house, its southern charm still failed to replace the empty silence trapped within its walls. There were several fantastic pieces of art in the large foyer, ranging from classic paintings to the delightful chandelier that hung over his head. But it was always the same picture that caught his eye, containing a proud, smiling young man in an Army Rangers uniform.

The next thing he notices was anything but typical however: the briefcase that sat at his feet. “Margaret?” He called out through the empty house, simultaneously apprehensive about her possible presence, and still somewhat hoping it was true. “Are you looking for something?” He added, picking up the briefcase and walking into the parlor on the right. There was no response, but Gray supposed it was more likely that she had left it there for him than that she actually had stuck around. Putting the case down on the antique coffee table, Mr. Birch resigned to pour himself a glass of bourbon before dealing with whatever it was she had felt the need to deliver.

Popping the top of the decanter, he poured himself a drink without much regard to the quantity. At least he could bet he had poured too much rather than too little. Then sitting down on the couch, Gray leaned forward and hit the latches with more boredom than anticipation, opening it to find much what he expected: a couple envelopes. The party popper was a bit of a surprise though, he noted, taking it out to examine it further. He put the toy aside and took a deep drink of the bourbon before moving on to the thinner of the envelopes, discovering his passport underneath it. With piqued interest he now quickly opened the letter, scanning through it once, before reading it again in disbelief. He would have dismissed it outright, except weird scams didn’t hand out five thousand dollars.

Gray pulled out his phone and tapped her contact number, putting it to his ear a listening as the dial tone played out endlessly. She probably won’t pick up, he mused… “Graven?”

“Yeah. Hey, so did you leave a briefcase at the house?”

“No. I haven’t been by your house since that thing for Henry.” The stress on the word ‘your’ did not go unnoticed. Did she really have to distance herself from it all so much? Perhaps it was the fact that he was reminded of it everyday, but Gray still remembered when it had been their house. All three of them.

“Oh, okay.”

“Is there anything else, Graven?”

“No, not really. I bought him some flowers the other day. I told him you were sorry that you couldn’t visit. And that his mother still loves him very much.”

“Oh…” Silence hung between them. “Th… Thanks, Gray.”

“He must be lonely…” Gray trailed off.

The line was already dead.

Stepping out of the passenger seat of the beat up old Jeep, Graven Birch headed around to the trunk, pulling his luggage out of the back of the car. “I’ll see you around, James.” He said, shaking the young man’s hand as he turned to leave.

“You still haven’t told me where you’re going!”

“Don’t worry.” He called back, over his shoulder, “I don’t know where I’m going either!”

---

14 hours later, Gray stepped off the plane. Drunk. Not a sloppy kind of drunk, but certainly a very fun kind of drunk. In fact, he carried it with a grace that would surprise anyone that knew how much alcohol was running through his system at the moment. Someone like the pretty young stewardess, who despite being taken with Mr. Birch’s southern charm, remained steadfast in her refusal to disclose any information about the flight whatsoever.

Wineglass still in hand, the stewardess led Gray to the waiting room, where the other guests appeared to be waiting. “Oh, it is such a pleasure to walk into a room full of such beautiful faces! I do hope I haven’t kept y’all waiting too long, now.” He smiled, casually lifting his free hand to remove his sunglasses, easily folding them with a flick of the wrist and placing them carefully in his vest pocket. Sitting down, Gray lifted his right leg to cross it over his knee, taking a sip of his wine before resting the glass on a one half of a fashionable pair of burgundy wingtips. “Graven Birch, by the way. I’m sure introductions have already passed, but that’s no excuse to be rude, of course.”

Wolf Manor

*sees that a pic of call's character has been added*

@AuntFlavia

It is indeed a good omen! A post shall be coming shortly!

My character is originally from New York, but I figured we needed some geographic diversity, so he's been living in South Carolina long enough to develop a warm, gentlemanly hint of a southern accent. Don't think Texas, think House of Cards. But less devious.

Here is the full image btw, to see what he is currently wearing, and a glimpse of his tattoos.

Gray

Edit: Post is up. I decided not to have any discussion of what went on during the plane ride because if any of you remember Henry's plane trip... Well, I don't think I could top that.

Wolf Manor

I do apologize for not being very active in the OOC, I'm rather busy getting my life back in order these days, however I have been thinking about my character when not actively creating a sheet.

Things should stabilize soon, this whole business has just caught me a bit off guard, and then progressed incredibly fast. I hope to be all caught up soon however.