Funerary Happiness [Cassidy]

[Oscar Leonhardt]

It was early in the morning when Oscar got up, put on a black suit and completely didn’t have time to eat before he jumped in the car and headed for the address on the note Cassidy had given him. Of all the days for his alarm clock to malfunction, it was today, when he had around three dozens of strangers and a not entirely familiar colleague who anticipated his arrival and, afterwards, orchestration of a funeral that was burying someone he had nothing in common with aside from various aspects of his DNA. The general, whose tie was lying on the passenger seat because he hadn’t had time to fix it to his collar, rushed his navy blue jeep into a flock of traffic and sped (as much as the flux permitted) to pick up his new Handler.

In his rush, and out of force of habit, he forgot about the coded gateway and parked on the curve. It was halfway (or so he thought) into the hedge maze that a certain path he was taking looked awfully familiar. After that, it wasn’t long until he realized he was lost but late or not, he continued trying to find his way, in no way ready to accept defeat and call for help and thoroughly embarrass himself. As such, he managed to be half an hour tardy when he finally rang the doorbell. Hopefully it was the right doorbell. The place was HUGE, more so than he had expected. Oscar partially expected some form of celebrities to spring from the nearest bushes or at least appear around the closest corner.

As he waited for the door to open and give him a glimpse of what wonders laid within, his breath started quieting. Hopefully no one had seen him sprinting through the live maze like an idiot so unfit for his standing from some spyglass like in the movies.


((Apologies for shortness!))

[Cassidy Morgan]

As the sound of the doorbell faded, a relative silence took over. It was as if the sounding of the bell had reset the ambiance, save for the heat of the summer sun. The silence only lasted for a few beats, however. All at once, bird songs and the aggravating noise of cicadas returned to the maze behind Oscar and a monarch butterfly fluttered close, flying in such a way as to suggest that it did not see the General and was on a definite collision course with his forehead. The bug made an abrupt left turn at the last possible moment, avoiding the man and providing a distraction that hid the appearance of a young woman in the breezeway that connected the central building of the place to its western wing.

"P-please, sir!" she stammered, looking quite worried. Her uniform gave away her position in the place, for it was a purple, pink, and white version of a conservative (i.e. non-fantasy/fetish) maid outfit. She also seemed astonishingly young, as if she were in her mid-teens. If asked to produce her ID, though, the surprise would be that she was, in fact, twenty-five. She waved a hand at the General. "W-wait for me just a moment longer! I'll be right there!"

The girl took off running again, disappearing out of view due to the angle provided by the main entrance and the fact that she would be entering from the side. A moment after she disappeared, a loud crash accompanied by a disappointed sounding "Ow!" was heard, but this was followed by the fast approaching sounds of buckled shoes on hard wood floors. Suddenly, the front door pulled back with great velocity, only to stop abruptly thanks to the security chain that the maid had failed to unlatch. Naturally, she had not been expecting the door to be so disagreeable, and the emphatic nature of her attempt propelled her backwards. This, of course, provided a second crash. This one was accompanied by an alarmed "Ah!" and the sound of a mini-avalanche of books, for the maid had rolled backwards into a bookcase and had upset it greatly. She did manage to avoid the books, and she quickly scrambled to the door, unlatched the chain, and opened it wide.

"S-s-s-sorry!" she exclaimed, hastily trying to reattach her little maid hat. Her chin-length chocolate brown hair was an absolute mess, she was completely out of breath, and her blue eyes were the size of saucers. "M-miss Cass-er, I, um, what am I..." She managed to get the hat in place, then nervously tried to smooth out her crumpled uniform. "I-I-I-I mean! I mean, Welcome to the Morgan Estate, sir! W-we... we don't have visitors oft-er! I mean, my name is Angela! P-please come in! A-and don't hesitate to ask me for anything you might need! Er... wait, that's not..." For a moment, she went cross-eyed, then she closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, which she held for the count of three. Her eyes reopened with her exhale. "S-sorry for being such a mess. What I really meant to say was, Miss Cassidy is expecting you. I-if you'll just follow me, I'll take you right to her. Th-that is, unless... unless you have questions or require, um, refreshments or something, first. Uh..."

Was she out of sorts? No doubt about it. Perhaps the only "good" part about it all was that she did not appear injured, despite her clumsy misadventures in allowing Oscar access to the mansion. Though she might have calmed down enough to provide him with a... semi-proper introduction, she still looked downright terrified. That, of course, was... because she was! As it turned out, part of the reason Angela was employed as the maid of the Morgan Estate was because she was always terrified, except when it came directly to her employer-Mistress (she was even scared of the other two employees of the estate, despite having lived with them for years.) Cassidy often wondered if the little maid's heart would explode if she were ever forced to step foot outside of the estate.

[Oscar Leonhardt]

“What the-“ Oscar drew back from the apparently drunk butterfly at the same time it changed course, his hands raising in a wave motion and dropping back down when a voice altered him of someone’s attention to his presence. He looked to the pink, purple and white dressed maid. “Okay. I’ll be right-“ She had disappeared from sight very quickly. “…here.” Oscar dusted himself and tugged at his sleeve a little, fingering his tie-less collar and frowning for having left the finishing accessory in the car. One look to the planned jungle of green behind him was enough to discourage him about ever wanting to go through it again without a guide or ample time to figure out the paths. The tie could wait.

A noisy crash startled Oscar to twist around and face the door once more. There was a quiet whimper, a violent jerk of a still-latched doorway and a new crash, followed by an entire symphony of dropping books. Oscar had tried to peek through the space between door and wall, eyebrow raised, but the young-looking maid was surprisingly quick and the door was flung open wide, making him draw back a little. “Are you-“ She stammered an apology. “…alright?” What ensued made Oscar’s eyebrows arch and lips arrange into an amused half-smile that was all too eager to shift to friendly.

“Hello. I don’t need anything, thanks. I’ll follow you to Cassidy. Does she kill people for being late?” He was clearly joking as he stepped into the mansion with her permission. “Also, feel free to be as much of a mess as you like or… are naturally.” He shrugged, gaze lifting to the side and up to take a look at the ceiling. With his hands in his pockets and a lazy long legged stride, he could have seemed quite laid-back for someone of the military, someone in command in the military. For a set of moments all he really did was take exploratory looks around. What would it be like to live in such a place? He wondered. The thought nearly made him feel like the opposite of claustrophobic. Oscar preferred living in tighter spaces. His bed would be a coffin with a space for breathing. But it had to be a wide coffin inside because he liked to sleep diagonally.

“Hey, Angela? May I call you Angela? Not that I would know what else to call you… Anyway. How many rooms does this place have? Are rooms themed? One’s the “music room” and the other is the “tea room” and such?” Oscar was clearly brimming with organization related curiosity. Quite suddenly, however, he changed topic. “Have you been working for Cassidy long? How old are you anyway? You don’t have to answer that. It’s quite pleasant in here. Do I smell roses?”

It seemed the General was determined to be a chatterbox all the way to where Cassidy was. One thing that struck him as odd and made him shut up for a bit was how he didn’t feel immediately intimidated or annoyed by the wealth that had clearly gone into building the place. As someone with a near phobia of unneeded extravagance and over-the-top luxury, Oscar more or less shied away from anything of the sort. In here, however, the need to flee and discomfort didn’t immediately manifest. Maybe he was finally getting used to such things? Oscar sighed faintly. He didn’t want to forget what it felt like to have nothing and he wouldn’t fall into the trap of taking things or people for granted. Of that he would make sure.

[Cassidy Morgan]

His response to her response continued the trend of turning Angela inside-out. Although she'd completely missed his inquiry into her health, she latched on to every word that followed, because she felt that she must. Her tasks for that day were well-defined: 1) Awaken at 3:30am to ensure that her Mistress was, indeed, at home and in bed (an "everyday" task that, usually, was automatically a failure, although this morning she was presently surprised to find Cassidy exactly where she was supposed to be), 2) Re-awaken at 7:00am to attend to the needs of Cassidy's four cats, 3) Obtain all supplies needed to facilitate Cassidy's "make over" for her "funeral date", 4) Commence with aforementioned make-over and finish the task at least thirty minutes prior to Oscar's arrival, and 5) "Meet and greet" General Leonhardt at the door and escort him to wherever Cassidy happened to be at the time. She was to be given the rest of the day "off" from any of her other usual tasks... not that she would take advantage of that offer. So far, she had successfully managed her way through all of the tasks - until this one. The expected thirty minute wait had been torturous for the maid because "meeting someone new" was, in her opinion, one of the most terrifying experiences a person could go through. She'd been so nervous that she'd even written out her introductory speech which, as she had just demonstrated, she had utterly failed to reproduce under the pressure of "live" performance. But when the thirty minutes were up and the doorbell hadn't yet been rung, Angela began to truly worry. She'd actually spent the additional thirty minutes of waiting pacing, hiding just behind the door leading into the western wing. Even though she was on the threshold when the door rang, her nervous hesitation had forced the lengthy pause between door bell and her appearance, and all of it combined had lead to her overall ridiculous performance when actually allowing Oscar entry.

Cassidy would have remarked that this was "business as usual."

When Oscar said "hello", Angela's first impulse was to blush. So she did. He continued before she could return the greeting, but she was momentarily pleased to learn that he didn't need anything extra, because she was quite sure that, had he answered in the affirmative, she would not have been able to locate anything remotely resembling whatever it was he required. But the next quip turned her white as a ghost.

"K-k-kill?!" Her voice was a harsh, but faint, whisper. "Oh, p-please, sir, d-don't suggest that Miss Cassidy might kill someone! That'll make her very sad, and she doesn't need any more reasons to be sad like that!"

Then he said that she could be as "much of a mess as she liked" or "was naturally." This brought the blush back, and she went to trying to smooth out her uniform again. Sure, Oscar seemed laid-back, and although Angela was aware that he was a "general", she was not truly aware of what that meant. Thus, his casualness seemed neither proper or alien to her - she had no expectations by which to base his demeanor on. Since he'd paused in his vocalizations, Angela determined she should lead on, so lead on she did, but she stopped as soon as he addressed her again, swirling around to face him and, once again, looking as though she expected to be run through, run over, or otherwise disposed of in some horrible, terrible way.

Rapid-fire came the questions and cross-eyed went the maid. She couldn't keep up at all, and by the time Oscar paused in his litany, she looked on the verge of tears. Despite this, as soon as she detected enough space to interject, she did. She had to. Failing to answer the questions would mean she was being a terrible hostess, and she couldn't bear the thought of that sort of failure. So, she took a deep breath, and returned answers to him in as rapid-fire a manner as she could... since she basically assumed that was what he was expecting anyway.

"Y-yes, Angela, b-but you can call me whatever you wish. Twenty-five. My age, I mean. Um, I've known Miss Cassidy since I was little; our families were acquainted. I started working here as a maid while I was still in middle school. There's a rose garden, and other flowers, in the back. There are approximately 34 rooms, not counting bathrooms, closets, or the garages. Most are in the east wing - Miss Cassidy almost never goes over there. Some rooms in the eastern wing are themed, per Miss Cassidy's mother's instructions. They've been kept as they were ever since her passing. I hope I have been helpful!"

It was all said in one breath, and when she finished, she was pale again. The nervousness, which was less apparent in her answers, combined with the lack of breathing to leave her nearly hypoxic, and for a moment, she seemed poised to faint. But she'd managed to stay within her limits (thankfully), and recovered a few moments (and deep breaths) later. Still, the trek between the front entrance and the side door leading to the breezeway was a short one, so she skipped ahead and opened the door for Oscar. As he walked forward, if he looked to his right, he would catch a glimpse of the actual interior of the central building - it was, literally, a small chapel, complete with polished oak pews with red velvet cushions and multiple copies of the Bible and various hymnals. There was a rainbow of colors streaming in from above, a side-effect of the stained glass windows. Angela seemed to be purposefully not looking in the direction of the chapel. Frankly, she found it to be exceptionally creepy.

[Oscar Leonhardt]

Oscar’s eyebrows arched at the sound of her scolding and he waved his hands to explain. “No, I was just… joking.” Though now he was intrigued and his expression mellowed into thoughtful. His tone was borrowing some of the quietness in hers when he spoke. “Is Cassidy… sad?” He only realized how stupid it sounded after saying it. Or how silly it seemed to him. He followed Angela, stopping when she did and resuming pace once she was advancing again.

It was rapidly dawning on him just how bothersome his conversation attempts were to Angela. When she finished replying to everything he had inquired in one breathless scoop he offered a smile. “Yes, thank you for the information.” And that was to be the end of it. Stepping into the breezeway and catching a glimpse of the inbuilt chapel-like space after making sure he didn’t have to catch Angela from crumbling to the floor from the effort of interacting with him, Oscar found the interior quite odd. Puzzlement was splayed over his face and he was dying to ask several more questions but he swallowed them down. He’d bother Cassidy with them later.

Determined not to cause Angela any more discomfort, he continued after her in silence, busying himself with the sights and smells around. The image of the chapel stayed with him well after it disappeared from view. It reminded him of the old church on his street, the one his mother sometimes went to but never entered, each time deciding to bow on her knees right before the steps and stay there like that for a long quiet while. He had been a child at the time and he didn’t understand that the reason she never went in was because she considered herself unworthy and too dirty to go past the threshold.

Passing the little chapel now, Oscar could almost relate. When he looked to his hands he could see the blood there, all the things he had done for orders but for which, ultimately, he could blame no one but himself. The General sighed, remembered where he was and returned his attention to the present. Life spared no one.

[Cassidy Morgan]

Pale to red, crimson to bleach - the quickness by and manner in which the little maid shifted between her two (apparently) standard skin color schemes might have, had they not been such normal human colors, caused the General to wonder if, perhaps, Angela was not some sort of failed-chameleon mutant. She wasn't, but for "those in the know", her rapid color changing might have been a touch suspicious. Wasted suspicion, mind you. Cassidy thought it was cute.

It was the back and forth mentioned above that followed along with Oscar's questions, like a queer little symphony following the wand of a half-masked conductor. His explanation that it was just a "joke" was, naturally, met by cherry cheeks. His question about Cassidy's emotional disposition blanched her out and caused her to cover her mouth with both hands, as if she'd told some horrible secret that she had been instructed (on threat of death! LoL </sarcasm>) not to reveal. All the while, her eyes remained quite large. The double shock of "failure to recognize" the joking delivery and indicating that, perhaps, there was something wrong with her Mistress contributed to the silence on the breezeway, and the deal seemed sealed by Oscar's stated appreciation of the information she provided and his own... suspicious silence.

Why was it suspicious? The concept dawned on the maid as she lead the General down the breezeway.

The color scheme was classic roman white-framing-dark gray-swirled marble, with the green of the hedge maze to their immediate left, and the "natural" rainbow (as opposed to the man-made one in the chapel) of the aforementioned flower garden to their immediate right. The garden itself seemed designed as a maze as well, however, it was not the confusing mess of the hedge maze. After all, the marble benches spread out amongst the flowering landscape forced the suggestion that it was meant for a lounging sort of enjoyment, instead of the wandering, meandering solitude provided by the true maze. This was, unfortunately, merely speculation, for neither Cassidy nor her maid frequented either location very much.

Ah, but the suspicion of silence was born from the sense of internal failure. By the time she reached the door to the west wing (as was her panicky way, Angela turned her last few strides into a wind sprint, to ensure she'd arrive first and be able to hold the door for her "esteemed guest"), the maid was certain that she had performed poorly or, at least, done something terribly wrong enough to turn the formerly talkative General into an aloof guest the likes of which she had not entertained since Cassidy's parents were still alive. She couldn't help but watch Oscar the rest of his way to, and then through, the door, her eyes of the worried variety and her mouth caught in a cute little frown. Uncertain though she was, Angela did not say anything else during the short trek, for fear of an unhappy reprisal, the likes of which she could not actually imagine.

Entrance into the "grand" west wing - an expansive two-story building that acted, for Cassidy, as the actual "home" portion of the entire complex - did not immediately allow Oscar the chance to "look it over." Two steps in, Angela slipped in behind him and shut the door. As soon as she did, a rather hateful growl and hiss were heard, the maid offered up a surprised "AH!" and then, in another feat displaying speed her demeanor could not suggest that she had, she became Oscar's instant body guard. Angela quite literally dove around Oscar, intercepting a flying furball blur just before it made contact with Oscar's chest.

"Chloe, no!" she managed to squeak in the process. She landed with a thud, clutching a black and orange calico cat. Maid and cat both paused a moment to stare up from the floor at Oscar... and then, abruptly, the cat dashed off, leaving the maid in a rather compromising position, which once again brought crimson to her cheeks.

In terms of the actual layout of the first floor of the west wing, it was, by construction, one gigantic room. Careful partitions, of the Japanese rice paper style, snaked throughout the room to separate certain portions of it. Hidden somewhere in this maze-that-let-you-see-the-shadows, were the usual "entertaining" type sections for guests... not that they enjoyed much use. To Oscar's immediate right lay a somewhat cozy "reading" area, complete with cushy furniture that seemed a European clashing contrast to the Japanese partitions, and large, ornate bookcases that dwarfed the one Angela had previously upset. The attacking cat - identified by Angela as "Chloe" - had escaped beneath one of the couches in this area. One glowing pair of yellow-green eyes glared out from under it at the General and was soon accompanied by two more staring pairs. They did not seem poised to make a second assault.

To the General's left, there was - somewhat strangely - an elaborate bedroom suite. A dark, cherry wood canopy bed, covered in deep purple bedclothes and curtains, dominated this partition. There was also a gold-trimmed standing mirror and a large, matching wood closet-style dresser. Tucked in the corner was a small end table adorned with a "mini" grand-father clock. There were six sets of shoes aligned just under the foot of the bed, different only by their color schemes. Their style was precisely the same as the pair Angela was currently wearing and this clue granted knowledge that the partition in question was actually the little maid's chosen quarters. Whatever facilities or accessories adorned the area and wall closest to the door were hidden by the partitions and, in truth, it seemed as if this area was usually meant to be as closed-off as the rice paper shields could manage. In her worry prior to Oscar's arrival, Angela had forgotten to close them and, as such, the threat of "allowing a boy (hardly the right term for Oscar, but...) into her room" would, once she realized it, weigh quite heavily on the maid-on-the-floor.

Directly ahead was another contrast. The central area was much less elegant and truly appeared much more in line with Cassidy's usual reputation. There was not a great deal of detail to it, but it was, without a doubt, the largest partitioned section of the first floor. There was a circular center "card table", surrounded by an eclectic, purposefully non-matching set of eight chairs. Flanking this, in a triangular setting, was a trio of billiard's tables - one with classic green felt, one with a red that was precisely the same shade as Cassidy's Handler uniform, and one that maintained a lovely shade of midnight blue. In all three cases, the billiard balls had been racked and set, but they had not been released from their pyramidal prisons on the felt. Cassidy didn't play, after all - except in very rare moments when she was truly stumbling drunk - but the "games" were there for the guests... that she never entertained. Dotting the landscape around the bar-like configuration were liquor cabinets containing a great collection of various spirits. And, naturally, each cabinet was flanked by a brass stand containing a menagerie of crystal glasses.

Beyond the "gaming" area, in the central distance, lay the stairs leading up to the second floor. This was, of course, their destination. Whatever was hiding behind the other partitions would require movement to observe.

[Oscar Leonhardt]

Oscar wasn’t unfamiliar with emotionally swishy people so he gave Angela’s dramatic color scheme change no real mind. He was trying to give her space and provide as little distraction for her to fuss about as possible but it was dawning on him that even silence had some effect and it wasn’t on the side of pleasant. By the time they reached the spacious west wing he sighed and was about to rekindle his talkative initiative when a feral feline growl arrested his attention and made him turn around just in time to watch Angela wrestle a black and orange furball to the ground.

The cat escaped from her grasp, leaving her toppled on the ground and Oscar moved forward on reflex, reaching down to help her up. “I don’t think I’ve ever been defended from a cat attack before,” he shared with amusement. “Thanks for saving me from getting clawed.” If she didn’t look like it would kill her, he would have drawn her up by a hand while supporting her opposite shoulder with his other, releasing her immediately afterwards. “Those were some quick reflexes you know, ever considered competitive running or ping-pong? I think you have potential.” Then he thought about how that came out and waved his hands. “Not that I’m suggesting you quit your job and take up something else. Just… as a hobby I mean.” He smiled a little awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head. “You probably have other hobbies you enjoy already. I’ll shut up now.”

The tour continued after the minor incident and Oscar did chance a look to his left and noticed the little maid’s personal space without knowing of his intrusion. His gaze didn’t linger and if he made the connection from room to maid he didn’t show it. The central area had Cassidy written all over it and it prompted a half-smile from Oscar, although truthfully Angela’s quarters were far closer to his style. Oscar strode forward and stopped by the card table with its strange collection of mismatched chairs and then studied the three pool tables in rapid succession, a hand to his chin. Whatever thoughts he had he kept to himself, but there was some confusion in there.

He seemed to appreciate the liquor cabinets a lot more, if the sparkle in his eyes was any indication. Oscar’s attention returned to Angela quite abruptly. “Wow, there’s even a fifty year old Brunbaron here (a famous wine brand), it’s probably not even good to drink anymore!” Clearly this was a curiosity for Oscar and he spent a few moments to note various other spirit bottles before ripping his attention from grown-up candyland. Soon enough he would be following Angela’s lead again.

The tall man kept a keen eye on the cat infested couches they inevitably passed, this time anticipating a new attack. “Are they always this… territorial?” He hadn’t meant to ask another question but he just couldn’t keep it in. Hopefully they would come across Cassidy soon and be on their way even sooner or else there would be a lot of angry, mourning strangers to deal with when they did finally make it to the graveyard. In any case… it would be an experience he wouldn’t likely forget.

[Cassidy Morgan]

"Th-thanks!" That was her quick quip for the assistance Oscar provided in helping her scrape herself off of the floor. But Angela had gone out of sequence, effectively saying "thanks" to a "thanks" and, along with the actual physical contact, this caused her to once again crimson. "I-I mean you're welcome! Er, I mean, I mean both! You're, uh, welcome and, um, thanks! Er, for picking me up."

Ridiculous.

Still, Oscar went on to talk about hobbies. Her nose wrinkled at the idea of running - ironic, considering how much of the "sport" she engaged in on a regular basis, flitting to and from her duties like a peregrine falcon on crack and meth - and they crossed at the thought of table tennis. She seemed to miss the idea that he was suggesting she quit her job, instead becoming somewhat dynamic and demonstrative. One hand went to her hip and the other came forward in a somewhat accusatory pointing.

"I always beat Miss Cassidy in video games!" she announced, with much more emphasis than was required. Then, she seemed to realize how ridiculous she looked, flashed red again, and quickly turned on her heels, hurrying to the central area.

She simply acted worried while Oscar investigated the liquor cabinets, halfway seeming to urge him forward and halfway seeming to try and keep him in place and properly amused, since she suspected she was mostly a bother. His quip about the particular bottle of wine "not being good to drink anymore" gave her quite the start, and she rushed over to his side to investigate herself. Angela would not tolerate anything "out of date" or "not fit for consumption" for her Mistress without good damn reason, but when she arrived at the "scene of the potential crime!" she found a measure of relief. She even managed a nervous little giggle.

"O-oh, oh! That? That's, um, that's a souvenir Miss Cassidy picked up a long time ago. She, um..." And she hesitated, wondering how much information about Cassidy she should divulge. In the end, she figured that her Mistress had invited Oscar over, so what she wanted to say would be within the green zone of conversation. "Um, that is, she... said she tried it, didn't like it, but thought it was wrong to not have some around, just, uh, in case. Er, you see, ah... Mr. General, sir... she... isn't really a fan of the, um, expensive spirits? Ha....haha... see?"

To emphasize the point, or perhaps to demonstrate that she was telling the truth, Angela rushed over to the cabinet on the far side of the central partition and deftly opened it. She crouched down, reaching into the bottom of the cabinet. When she stood back up, she seemed to be struggling with a very large box. In a teeter-tottering manner, she waddled over to the closest billards table and carefully placed the box down. It was an "Economy Size!" box of cheap white wine that had not yet been opened (or refrigerated.) Once she had relieved herself of the weight, she quickly dashed back over to the cabinet and closed it, then returned to stand by the box like a game show girl showing off a "grand prize."

"This would be the, um, masterpiece... as it were," she managed, with a tinge of embarrassment. "I'll... just leave this out, so I can go chill it later. Er... anyway, shall we continue?"

And forward they went. Some of the partitions closer to the stairs were unable to be seen, based on the placement of the rice paper shields, but the one directly to the left of the ascending stairs was wide open for view. It was, effectively, a quintessential view of a modern day college dorm - big screen plasma tv mounted on the wall flanked by every possible current console gaming system, cheap, black, metal frame futon, a handful of bean bag chairs, and walls covered in posters related either to professional sports teams, martial arts, or rock music groups.

Despite her previous boasting, Angela did not linger at this room. She did, however, reply to Oscar about the state of the cats as they ascended the stairs.

"Um, the others are rather well-behaved, actually. Only Chloe is bad... She's always bad. I thought only dogs chewed up shoes, but... she's destroyed fourteen different pairs of mine. Uh... she's the oldest, and was the first, so... I kinda think, maybe, it's how she shows her jealousy."

When they reached the apex of the stairs, the entirety of the second floor was displayed for Oscar to take in. Due to the space of the west wing, and the fact that it existed as effectively only two single gigantic rooms stacked on top of one another, one word that was appropriate to describe Cassidy's actual living quarters was: barren. The large room was mostly made up of empty space. In the center, there was a circular red, trimmed with gold, rug and upon this rug sat the simplistic, standard bed that Cassidy called her own. It was made (by Angela, naturally), featuring plain white sheets and pillow, covered with a maroon comforter that had probably seen better days. There was an enormously fat cat lounging on the bed, seemingly happy as a pig in mud. He was gray and white, with a smattering of bronze, and did not bother to take notice of the maid or the General when they entered the room. A simple wooden nightstand sat on its right side, sporting a half-empty glass of water, and a $10 digital clock, likely procured at the local supermarket. The far left corner was partitioned off, in mimicry of the first floor. The half-ajar "doorway" indicated that this was effectively Cassidy's closet, as rows upon rows of clothing hung in darkness beyond. (Coincidentally, the bathroom area was also hidden here, though one could not see it.) On the far wall, sitting right next to the partition, was a very small desk adorned with a large oval mirror. It was covered with various cosmetics and perfumes, a brush, a few combs, and four picture frames. Two of the picture frames were placed face down, so the pictures could not be seen. One of the others featured the picture of a severe looking man (the picture was doctored by a large black X) and the other was of Cassidy, in her younger days, at a sumo event. She seemed incredibly happy in the picture, enormous sake bottle in one hand, her ticket and an elaborate fan in the other. Her cheeks were blazingly crimson and she was dressed in an ornate kimono. The purple and white color scheme of the robe accentuated her hair perfectly. The only other structure in the room was a small square table-and-chairs dining set, decorated only by a silver candelabra.

Aside from the decorations (or lack thereof), the only other thing to note was that the left side of the room was made mostly of reinforced glasses. Plain bamboo blinds covered most of the wall of glass, but a few were disrupted, allowing the view of the expansive balcony/deck that framed that side of the west wing's second story. The far left corner was a door, and it was here that Angela led Oscar. As before, she opened the door for him.

Outside was the lady-in-waiting herself. Seated at one of the balcony tables, Cassidy had her back towards the door. She was dressed as she had promised. Black was the color scheme and, since "sexy and sultry" had mostly been taken from the table, she had gone Southern Belle conservative. The dress was multi-layered and long-hemmed, she'd chosen especially dark hose, and properly matching high heels to finish. Her hands were covered in fingerless gloves made of lace, and her hair had been wrapped up in a careful bun. She'd even had Angela equip her with a black mourning veil, to finish the ensemble. On the table to her right was a somewhat surprising sight: a pack of cigarettes lay open, revealing that only a single smoke had been removed from it. This cigarette balanced, alone, on the edge of an ashtray. It was not lit. A small matchbook also lay open, to the side of the ashtray. Only a single match was missing from it. It had been struck, but it had been deposited in the ash tray without being used. She did not immediately turn when the door was opened.

[Oscar Leonhardt]

A friendly smile was all Oscar could offer the flustered Angela. The sudden burst of pride from her made Oscar’s eyebrows arch, eyes lowering to her pointing finger. The confusion lasted for but a moment before his lips split into a grin and he gave her an appraising look. “I see. Good going! Keep it up.” He winked. “And don’t let Cassidy know I’m rooting for you.” He raised a finger to his lips to indicate the necessity for secrecy, but his eyes were shining with amusement and his tone was too light to be serious. Oscar seemed to either not have learned his lesson when it came to how gravely Angela took anything or was working on making her take things less seriously. Either way, he was having too much fun.

It wasn’t a crime to have collectables, not in Oscar’s book anyway. Angela went on to explain how expensive beverages weren’t Cassidy’s favorites and he listened without interruption although he felt like he knew this already somehow. The little maid zipped past him and busied herself heaving up a box of white wine. Although Oscar found the display unnecessary he was starting to question Cassidy’s drinking habits. So far, despite the rumors circulating about her, and the display of liquor right here in front of him, Oscar hadn’t quite classified her as a drunk yet, but in face of such abundant proof he was starting to reconsider. He stared into space for a short moment then nodded to Angela before starting to move again. “Let’s not keep Cassidy waiting any longer, hmm?”

They were climbing up the stairs and Angela was informing him about the misbehaving cat. Oscar reminded himself to never have pets unless they were forced upon him like the puppy his sister had sent. They were getting closer and closer to the goal and Oscar took a sweeping look of the surprisingly empty space that was the part of the mansion Cassidy seemed to reside in most. He gave the fat cat a look, and quietly wondered about the simplicity all around but his attention lingered most on the desk and its mirror, and particularly, the picture of Cassidy where she looked so full of life. He walked through the room in such a way that he passed right by it and, realizing he had been staring, adjusted his path and followed Angela to where she led him, trying to adjust his tie as they went but grappling at nothing for he had forgotten he’d forgotten it.

The General walked through the door and spotted Cassidy. As she didn’t react instantly to their entrance, he took a moment to note the sight available from the balcony and, without meaning to, also noticed the queerly abandoned cigarette on the nearby table to her, all this in the span of a few seconds. Walking towards her with a broad smile he exclaimed in a rather enthusiastic fashion. “Honey, I’m home!” His hands were expanded to his sides, then lowered back and he paused a palm on her shoulder in passing to take the seat opposite her at the table. Oscar seemed amused. “Always wanted to say that.” He chuckled, bringing his elbows to the table and crossing his arms there.

Then, he put on some mock aggravation. “What are you doing here, woman? Is this punishment for being late? You were supposed to be waiting for me in front of the door, or something.” He gestured vaguely then huffed in amusement again. His gaze trailed to the view available from the balcony again and then lowered to the pack of cigarettes. “I didn’t know you smoked?”

[Cassidy Morgan]

If Angela had noticed Oscar's preoccupation with Cassidy's desk and picture, she had kept the observation to herself. In fact, she seemed to have gone completely silent once they had reached Cassidy's room and, although her outfit did not make it easy, it seemed as though her own, personal tension had greatly increased once they had mounted the final step. All of this was a result of her overly-protective disposition towards Cassidy, and her own, heavy preoccupation with her soon-to-be-revealed handiwork. After all, it was Angela that had put together Cassidy's outfit and had crafted her hair and makeup. While Cassidy had been quite thrilled with the end result, Angela maintained her worry; Cassidy always encouraged her, so she discounted the praise she had received, even as she embarrassingly enjoyed it. The real test would come from the appraisal by the "guest", but Angela had no intention of sticking around to hear it first-hand. As soon as Oscar stepped out onto the balcony, Angela retreated back into the house, disappearing as abruptly as she had appeared in the breezeway before.

Oscar's casual sitcom-style greeting seemed to break the purple-haired woman from some unknown reverie, though with the veil in place it was not so easy to tell that she had been daydreaming. As he sat down, she busied herself with pushing the veil up, revealing what appeared to be a professional make-up job that was so high class and so far away from her usual, casual appearance at work that one might be forced to question if she was truly the same woman typically found in Handler red. Make-up or not, her initial expression was of the "cut-eyed" variety - a form of physical sarcasm in regards to his "liberty" of expression. ("Honey, huh?" said her eyes.) Her nose wrinkled at his statement of having "always wanted to say that", but she turned a humored smirk on him at his mock annoyance.

"What am I doing here? Hm, I wonder... it's, sorta, my house isn't it? And I don't remember promising anything involving a front door. In fact, I'm pretty sure I told you to come around the back way... didn't I?" When he mentioned the cigarettes, she blinked, as if she'd forgotten that they were there. She gave a little shake of her head. "Nah, I don't smoke. Not anymore, anyway. Once upon a time when I was a "bad girl", ya know? But it's been years. However, you are a bad influence, and since you were coming by, I'd thought maybe I should try to get into your sort of mindset, right? Or, uh, atmosphere, maybe is the better word - whatever the perfume, I was thinking no one's really going to believe I'm your "date" for this thing, if I smell all pristine, right? Add a little smokiness to the ensemble, and then the "mirage" works so much better, right? Haha... but I guess I'm a little too weak. Couldn't actually pull the trigger... Orrrrrrrrrr... maybe this is just a "symbolic" slap, since I said I wouldn't actually slap you?"

[Oscar Leonhardt]

He sensed annoyance and the humor deflated in his chest, shoulders slumping a little. Cassidy looked like a new person in her funeral garb and fine makeup job. Add that to her reaction and you had an Oscar reassessing his attitude around her. Since the follow up reply was more like what he was accustomed to from their previous interaction, he allowed some mirth to return to his eyes.

With a touch of embarrassment, he rubbed his neck a little. “I swear I wanted to, but have you seen this place? It’s HUGE, and… confusing. I didn’t know which one was the back way, or the first front way, even. So I just… knocked on a door.” Like, the first door he came across in his haste. “Surely there’s some way I can make it up to you later.” Oscar didn’t want to step on her toes, but sometimes his humor went rampant. Somehow it was hard to remember they hadn't known each other for very long and he craved to have at least one person he could act normally around, someone who might not look at him queerly for his love of banter. Cassidy seemed like the obvious choice from the very first day she took a paper ball to the head from him.

His brows were furrowed and he brought his crossed his arms to his chest while considering her words about smoking. The expression he wore was a mixture of amusement and confusion. “So… I tell you to slap me when you find me smoking so it can help me quit easier and you get influenced to start back smoking with me?” He shook his head slowly. “I understand it might be romantic to die together of lung cancer, but seriously Cass, I’m not actually into morbid scenarios. The funeral just happened.”

“I’ll accept the symbolic slap version, although it’s more like teasing the hungry with a succulent chicken leg.” He leant a little into his seat, eyes still shiny with amusement. It was hard to pull off a scolding tone. Oscar slapped his hands onto his legs. “So. Are we ready to go? I have around forty people waiting around a grave. It’ll take about half an hour to reach the cemetery.” He looked eager to jump from his seat, but his restlessness paused for just a moment and he gave Cassidy a genuine smile and made a comment devoid of any jokes or pretend for once. “You look lovely, by the way.” There was a pause, and the moment shattered and he was pointing at the veil with a raised eyebrow. “Not sure about that though, veils always creep me out because of these horror movies I’ve seen…”

((Edit: sleep deprived mistakes.))

[Cassidy Morgan]

Cassidy had intended to continue with her "annoyed" charade when it came to Oscar's "inability to follow directions" (something that got on every Handler's nerves in some amount, large or small; it was just part of the job), but his explanation produced the opposite effect. She choked back a laugh at his question - had she seen the place, indeed - managing to hold it in, only with the help of one of her lace-covered hands. Still, she tried to make a show of it, composing herself and offering a small frown.

"Actually, Oscar, I've never seen my house before. Seriously. Not one time. I've always been in the habit of coming home blind-folded, ever since I was a little girl. Surely you knew that, right? And... I guess you can't worry too much, given the neighborhood, but is it really a good idea to just knock on any random door?" With a smirk, she settled her hands into her lap and put on her best "Yep, you're totally gonna haveta make it up to me" smile. "I'm sure there's a way to make it up, though, since you ask. What that is, though, well... I guess we'll just have to figure it out some time other than... being late for the funeral party you planned."

When the subject of cigarettes returned, her hands moved to bunch up small portions of the skirt layers of her dress, and she turned her "half-mask", one eye closed expression on him. He'd given her a few things to start a reply with, but she seemed to take a longer moment than usual to consider them. Then:

"A... a succulent... chicken leg?" Her expression broke, with her gaze alarmingly turning towards the open pack of cigarettes on the table. She blinked twice, then frowned. "I promise I'm trying, but... Oscar, I don't think those would ever be mistaken for a chicken leg, hungry or not. And, of course. It's like those anti-drug commercials from back in the day, ya know? All they ever did was make kids wanna go out and try the things themselves, just to "stick it in the eye" of "the man." Er... or maybe you weren't one of those kids? God, haha, I sure was. And, whatever, Mr. Phantom. It's not like I actually did it. I was just... considering it. As, ah... as part of the show. And I'll believe you about the "not into morbid scenarios" thing when you prove it to me, honey."

Cassidy added the last piece on as a direct "returning the favor" of his opening greeting. Then, at the "are we ready to go" prompting, she stood up. At his compliment, she blushed, and to hide it - and to give him a bit of a spite for his final words - she promptly pulled the veil back into place. She offered a bit of a sigh and carefully walked over to the edge of the balcony - as it turned out, there was a gate in one corner that revealed a staircase that transitioned into a slightly meandering sidewalk that lead to her garage. She pointed down at the garage.

"Pretty as the picture of death, right," she said, mocking her own appearance and the cause of their "date", despite his compliment. "If I look good, though, it's Angela's fault, and I'd say you should sweet talk her, but... I imagine you tried that and it didn't quite work, hm? Anyhow, if it's thirty minutes to the place, trying to go back through my 'little' Wonderland of a house and then back through the maze would probably make it an hour, don'tcha think? So, I say we catch a ride with my chauffeur, at least back around to the front. We might manage to make it quicker than I make it to work in the morning that way."

((Feel free to do a response-then-transition to the funeral place, if you like! No sense in doubling up on my NPCs here, lol. ))

[Oscar Leonhardt]

Oscar graced Cassidy’s response to his choice of words with a dry, slightly pouty look, his arms tightening across his chest and head angling down. By the time she was done, however, there was something slightly evil in his eyes too. He raised a brow and his chin some and gestured one hand into the air. “Poor thing, I didn’t know you were mistreated so. I’ll take your amusement about the matter as a sign of trauma – from all those times you must’ve run into the doorframe trying to walk into your home.” Gods he couldn’t help teasing this one. He abandoned his defensive position, letting his arms free from the tangle when he addressed her next thought, the one about his choice of metaphor.

“Then you must’ve never experienced hunger-induced hallucinations before. They’re very believable, let me tell you.” He had had plenty, especially during his childhood and adolescence, when the money ran out before they made it to a new salary for the month. Then there was that mission that ended up in the desert. “And nah, I started smoking after my first real job.” And by real job he meant something that paid enough to allow them to live in relative comfort. A little nostalgia and a touch of gloom colored his eyes when he looked to the side, his tone rather low. “When I decided I didn’t want to live very long.” That sounded better than saying he had contemplated suicide but ended up just symbolically catering to the thought. By the time the depression was gone he was already addicted. As to offering proof to his lack of fascination on the morbid side of things, Oscar could do nothing but raise his hands with a smile, “think what you will.”

Cassidy dropped her veil and informed him of the garage, but not before belittling her appearance. Following her to the balcony ledge, he felt the pinprick of offense at how she referred to Angela’s work and the following comment and for the second time that day the amusement drained from him slowly and he felt he was a bother to her presently.

They were supposed to be turning and heading for the garage when he whipped around and called for her. “Cassidy.” It was meant to stop her in her tracks if she started walking or arrest her attention if she was still by his side. The tone he was using now was serious. “Would you rather not go or is there some other reason you seem passive-aggressive?” And there was some confusion in his eyes, for he couldn’t quite make out what he was noticing but it stuck out like a toy Elmo in a field of building blocks. “Is there something wrong?”


((I’ll move us to the cemetery after another of your posts and my reply here (or I think I’ll be just one) because Oscar is being fidgety about her attitude, lol. If you don’t mind?))

[Cassidy Morgan]

"What? Door frame? Psh!" Cassidy huffed, placing her hands on her hips as she attempted to look as annoyed as possible with his teasing. This... pretty much failed miserably, thanks largely in part to her replacement of the veil. Rather than coming off as "annoyed", she just looked silly, and her next words - despite being true in some circumstances - just ruined her charade more. "If I hit any door frames, it wasn't from walking into them! Carried into them? Maybe. I'll have you know, blind-folded or not, the only time I came back home was when I was dragged, kicking and screaming. Blind-folds and gags, you know... so I didn't bother the neighbors. Ha."

She shifted a little in her stance, wondering, post admission, if... maybe that was too much information. Or, at least, the wrong kind of information. She sighed, the choice of words reminding her of how very good she was at souring her own reputation. Annoyed, now with herself more than anything else, Cassidy turned back towards the stairway. She listened to Oscar's words about hallucinations, and the vague explanation as to why he started smoking on the first step. The final piece of that - "When I decided I didn't want to live very long" - caused her immediately following step to falter. She had to catch herself on the wooden railing to keep from tumbling down the stairs. Although the words were not explicit, the underlying sentiment was there.

She'd frozen on the steps for a moment, ironically revisiting the terrible past mere moments after Oscar had done the same. It was a very brief flash, causing only a few seconds of hesitation, but the change in her posture and her demeanor, veil or not, was quite apparent. Cassidy was suddenly very aware of the irony of her dress, even if it was completely coincidental. Still, she managed to make it down the steps quick enough to ensure that Oscar wouldn't have the opportunity to try and "support" her from her almost-fall. She had to avoid his touch, in that moment - not for her own sake, but for his. She had no doubt that if he felt the tension that had exploded within her then, he'd walk away and, likely, never speak to her again. (Mission requirements notwithstanding.)

But her pace slowed once she was back on the ground. She was supposed to respond; to say something... anything... that could alleviate the gloom he had just unabashedly shared. Whether it was a correct interpretation or not, she felt as though she had been given a glimpse through a window that showed Oscar as he really was; that his willingness to share something that dark was a sign of trust. She needed to say something, in her usual nature - touch back on the "morbid" fascination that they had been playing on, perhaps - because silence held no compassion. But she couldn't. For a moment, she felt like the constancy of her maid - pure worry. But before she could come to terms with her inner conflict, Oscar stopped her.

Her name, and two questions. She stopped with her name, half-turned with the first question, and completed the turn to face him as he finished the second. At first, she simply stared at him, her hands unconsciously coming together in front her. Wringing them nervously, she watched him carefully, trying to compose herself and come up with something to say that could... that could what? She didn't know. Make it all better? Make what all better? With a sigh, she slowly reached up and pulled her veil back, her revealed expression a mix of sadness and worry.

"Oscar, I..." She struggled a bit, getting started. "I'm not... I mean, if I'm coming off as passive-aggressive, I'm sorry. That's... not what I'm trying to do. I... don't think, anyway. And it's not that I don't want to go. I don't... get all dressed up for nothing, uh, right?" Her attempt at lightening the mood was an utter failure. "You... you wanna know the truth? The truth is, this is unnerving. I-I mean, I'm nervous. Like, really nervous. I've been joking about it, right? Calling this... whatever it is... a "date", and usually, I am just being stupid and screwing around and all of that. B-but, all of that "date" banter and flirting and... and all the bullshit I do? It never amounts to anything, you know? With, uh, anyone else, I mean. Oh, God-" She stopped for a moment, reaching up to rub at her forehead. "-I'm making this seriously stupid, aren't I? W-what I mean, is that I haven't gone anywhere with anyone for any reason, in like... two years and... and it's really... hard to remember what it is I'm supposed to be doing. ...This is so not your fault. I promise."

[Oscar Leonhardt]

He was struck wordless at her dark revelation – the one that resulted from his innocent tease. There was nothing else he could do for a moment but look surprised. However, the strength of expression mellowed and melted away into thoughtfulness very soon. Of course everyone had unpleasant details in their past and it appeared they were both choosing to display some of their own to the other quite openly. Cassidy had changed her position and he was prepared to follow when she lost her balance on the stairs. Instinctively, he reached to help her, but she made quite an effort to stay away from his grasp. It made him pause, an invisible cigarette falling from his mouth as it opened slightly. He blinked, watching her descend the steps with growing confusion in his eyes. It was as clear as black on white that he was doing something wrong. Maybe his humor had jumped over the rail at some point or another. Maybe he was simply being too informal.

The possibilities fluttered through his mind all the way down the staircase. Oscar followed Cassidy with growing anxiety, unsure how to apologize for what he was uncertain about having done. Mercifully, she did stop to his call and turned around. Her open stare – that he couldn’t at all interpret – made him blink some more, a puzzled expression on his face again. She was acting so queer - it made him afraid of her, as if she was going to confess to being an alien within the next few moments. He swallowed the tension he felt and his eye was a little wider than normal when he examined the emotions playing on her face after the raising of the creepy veil.

Her introduction managed to relax him a little, but the feeling didn’t last very long. The suddenly serious, anxious Cassidy was making him nervous in return and it took all of his military discipline to compose himself enough not to show it. It was all very ridiculous really, considering his age and profession, to be so thoroughly ruffled by the observations in her words. Although she had been the one to initiate the jokingly flirtatious atmosphere he had more than happy to waltz along with, he couldn’t say he hadn’t considered it seriously along the way too. She struck him like a fun person, despite the way she brought herself down whenever the opportunity presented itself. Oscar took in a breath and made a decision.

Taking a few steps closer, he came to stand before her. “It’s okay not to know what to do. I don’t mind.” He was smiling and there was warmth in his eye. Then, slowly, his fingers lifted up to touch the half-mask on his face and he absently contemplated the burn scar underneath, gaze lowered to look at nothing specific. His voice came out in a lower tone next. “It could amount to something with me. If you don’t mind a Half-Phantom, that is, ha ha…” The comedy was backfiring all over the place right now. Oscar’s hand lowered from his face. When he looked to Cassidy next, he was smiling again. “So maybe I can treat you with a real date after the funeral?” He was trying to be light about it, but the seriousness of his proposition was in his gaze. There was a glimmer of fear where the usual shine of amusement lay, alongside true consideration and acceptance of his own existent interest.

And his breath was stuck in his chest. Way to go making everything more tense. But he wanted her to know that he wouldn’t take it as a joke, if she didn’t take it that way either. Maybe she hadn’t even meant to make things go this way and true awkwardness could be introduced. Whatever the case, he waited for the consequences of his words.