Haunted Mansion Mafia Character Thread

Victor James shifted a little in his seat at the uncomfortable looks he was getting.

"Heh, alright, I'll start. My name is Victor. I'm a, uh, photographer," he said, holding up his camera case with a goofy sort of grin. "Anyway, nice to meet you all! Come on now, who's next?"

Name: Marcus Crowley
Occupation: Pizza boy

Marcus hurried up to the mansion,leaving his motorcycle parked in the street, wondering as he got near who would ever want to live in a place such as this. He shock the though from his head, why should he care what some rich guy does with his money.

Marcus could hear the knock on the door he made echo from inside the building, and after waiting for awhile got fed up. He opened the door and peeked inside and saw no one.

"Hello! Pizza Delivory for an........", Marcus paused once he read the name. *Damn* he thought to himself as he quitely stated, "I. C. Wiener".

Pissed that no one noticed (or cared about) the name on the the box he decided to eat the pizza himself. He went into a side room and began eating when he suddenly heard noises. People were coming into the house. Not wanting to be noticed he stayed hidden while peeking out, he could hear people talking and even thought he saw some portriat move!

/ooc - this next part takes place after Etric's intro.

As he heard Isaac tell everyone else his name he shouted, "Crap!", by reflex. When all attention was drawn to the door of the room he was hiding in, he came out.

"I'm sorry sir, but I got this pizza, and after I saw no one was here when I came, and saw your initials on the name tag of the pizza box, I kinda thought, well..."

Marcus produced the pizza box and handed it to Isaac, "I only ate one slice...And I won't charge you for the pizza. Sorry?"

Marcus took an empty seat at the table and was shocked when he noticed a form in front of him that he didn't see when he went to sit down.

"I guess this is for me."

"And I guess that I should introduce myself. My name is Marcus Crowley, you can call me Mark is you wish, and I am a pizza boy, obviously", he stated as he looked at his Pizza Hut uniform.

"I'm 22 years old, and I live alone in my apartment. My intrests include books, games, video games, TV, and computers, cooking, and cold weather sports. I don't date much, because, well, what woman would be interrested in me?", Mark chuckled.

"When I get out of college I plan to open my restaurant. I plan to make a game theemed restaurant, not like chuckie cheesies, something more like Dave and Buster's or Jullians's, and I suppose if I win this house and sell it, it will help me open the restaurant", Mark paused for a few seconds, "I guess that's about it."

One of the other's at the table, mark couldn't remember their name since he was bad at names, said, "You were supposed to introduce yourself, not tell your life story!"

Dia looked nervously around the room. Something from inside her told her to flee, get out while she could. A unsettling voice from afar howled inside her head. It screamed of years of pain and agony and begged to be set free.

Dia gasped and shook her head trying to clear her thoughts. She looked down at the broken wine glass before her and slowly picked up a shard. She had knocked the glass over when that dreary painting had started to move and speak. There was just a trace of wine left on the glass it shimmered in the dull lighting. A mans gruesome face stared back at her mouth agape. Shocked she dropped the shard back to the table and she felt the faces of the other vistors looking at her.

"Heh, alright, I'll start. My name is Victor. I'm a, uh, photographer," the man across from her said, holding up his camera case with a goofy sort of grin. "Anyway, nice to meet you all! Come on now, who's next?"

They had begun introducing themselves, before her interuption. Dia took the glares as her key to do so as well.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Victor, My name is Dia. I have my own private practise."

Dia didn't lead on to what she did in her private practise, while she was proud of her abilities and of the help she had provided people, she didnt know these people or what they would think. Announcing, at this very time, in this very place, where a painting had just talked, about ones own ability to speak with lost souls, just seemed absurd.

With a resounding humph, all eyes turned to the end of the table, furthest away from the painting. The creature in red took a moment to check her nails and then looked up, deigning the table ready to meet her. Her facial features were slender and petite. Her eyes were violet and cat shaped.

With long black hair and perfectly done make up that was curiously in a blue tint, she spoke. 'My name is Maelarya Dys'Entari.' Her eyes narrowed waiting. 'Its my stage name of course, I am an theatre actress.' Then with a glorious smile she greeted the rest of the guests.

'I'm not sure why I'm here or anyone else for that matter, but I'm determined to enjoy myself.' She adjusted her red shift that barely covered her voluptuous and again curiously enough, blue tinted breasts. She flicked her fingernail and hummed softly. Almost...purring.

'Next?'

"Ohhh My God, Like, did you guys see that? That ugly dude in that picture just totally talked to us! Like, that was wicked shit man. I was just sitting here and he then he was like," Jade lowered her voice in an attempt to mock De'Lecti, "Can I have your attention and stuff." She took a breath.

"Then I was like, Oh My God, that ugly painting is totally talking to us. I thought maybe at first it was my imagination, but I've never really had a good one of those. I looked at you guys and you guys totally had the same look on your face that I did, a "wow, that dude is talking to us" look. Duuuuude, this is so cool, but it's so freaky. I can't wait to get home and tell Stacy about this. Stacy is my best friend, she will totally, like, flip out about this. Oh my God, You know who else will think this is freaky shit? Bradley. He totally, like, digs this kinda of stuff. Man, I can't wait to tell them. They're not gonna beleive me. Hey, if they don't beleive me, can you guys tell them I'm not joking? I know they won't beleive me, but, like, it did."

"Are you guys gonna sign those papers? I think I am just cause Bradley said he doesn't think I can, like, stay anywhere and not call him to see what's he's doing. So, I'm gonna do it tonight. Why do guys do that anyway? Give you, like, a challenge, knowing you'll do it, then they'll be wrong." Jade smacks her gum and blows a bubble, popping it loudly. "Well, anyway, I'll show him. I'm gonna stay here all night. I don't care about the money, my daddy has enough for me in the bank. But, I'll, like, show Bradley that I can stay and not think about him or call him. I'll, like, do it."

Taking a strand of her blonde hair and twirling it with her hand, Jade realized she was probably rambling. She looked around at all the guests there and wondered why they were looking at her in annoyance. She popped her gum again. Oh well, she thought, once I get out of this dirty place, I'll go shopping.

"Oh, like, I didn't introduce myself. My name is Jade McLeary. My Daddy is Jack McLeary, he owns, like, lots of buildings and stuff. I don't have a job, cause like, I don't need one." Jade laughs. "Anyway, in my spare time I like to talk on the phone, shop, hang out with friends, and dress up my toy poodle, Chachi." Jade smiles at everyone and continues to pop bubbles with her gum and twirl her hair.

She looks to the next person waiting for an introduction.

The woman sitting nearest to Maelarya was dressed in what can only be described as a military uniform, though her rank and country of origin were anyone’s guess. As the party turned to her expectantly, she drew a bizarre mechanical contraption from a grey satchel she had hidden away beneath the table. It was a Speak and Spell, albeit a heavily modified one. There were red and green wires running amok upon its surface, and an impossibly large speaker clung dubiously to its base. The woman drew a small microphone from her jacket and plugged it into a socket in the device's side. As she began to speak in a language wholly unknown to everyone present, the mechanical voice of the Speak and Spell translated her words.

"I do not speak the English, for this I am apologize,” the machine regurgitated in monotone. “I have the name Svetlana, and when I look, I am not knowing who is dining on me this night, but I must very urgent speak with your President Bush."

She was greeted with a combination of silence and utter confusion. She continued, completely unaware of her audience’s reaction.

"I am come to United States from my country home for big-time cowboy festival, to help my people fight to be democracy." The speaker crackled and hissed for a moment, as she looked around the room. "Though I think to have become lost in Disneyland. If your kindness would be to point at me in a direction of Washington D.C., I would get there this night, no problem."

She smiled, and unplugged the microphone, waiting for someone to give her directions.

Trying in vain to fade away from where she sat nearly at the end of the table, Alexis Montgomery wrung her hands in her lap. Maybe no one would notice her. "Yeah, cuz that's nothing new," she thought to herself.

She lifted one hand from under the table to smooth down her mousy brown hair, tucking a stray strand behind one ear. Sucking her bottom lip against her teeth, a nervous gesture to be sure, she watched the painfully foreign woman asking for directions to Washington. Well, that was definitely...odd.

With a small shrug to herself, she laid her hands back in her lap, suddenly quite intent upon what could become an annoying hang nail. Alex had grown quite adept over there years at 'being there', without seeming to really be there. That's what happens when you're the ugly duckling in a family of swans. With two beautiful sisters, who would ever take the time to notice her? Plain brown hair, average brown eyes, lips that were neither too full nor too thin, a body that was not skinny or fat, just in between.

That's where she always was, in the middle. In the past it had been between her sisters, Tiffany and Caitlin. Tonight, she was in the middle of a room full of strangers. Glancing up at them all, she wondered if she reached out to her purse laying on the table for her nail clippers, would anyone notice...

"How did I get myself into this" Isaac thought to himself. Sitting in a chair in this huge room, Isaac thought long and hard. He looked at his watch.

"It's been almost 24 hours since I've gotten any!. Stupid goth slut. First she tells me to order a pizza and meet her at her place and then she gives me a fake address. That's the last time I mix business with pleasure."

He looked around at the house and at the other guests. He hated introductions and this house was giving him the creeps, but it was also kind of turning him on.

"Well, I won't be young forever and I don't know how much longer I can last in the business. This house could fetch a tidy sum. Easily enough for me to retire on. Besides, there are some nice pieces of tail here."

Staring at Maelarya, Isaac began to speak. "I'm a 'theater' actor too, so I think I'll introduce myself using my stage name as well.". Shooting at lazy smile at Jade, Isaac continued. "Actually, I'm more of an adult theater actor. My name is Isaac Carson Wiener, but everyone calls me Isaac..." AFter pausing to smile at the plain looking girl near the end of the table, he continued "...and my 'friends' call me Icy.".

Isaac stopped speaking and signed the document. "Maybe I will mix business and pleasure just one more time..." he thought.

/ooc MEC, that's fine. I'm really enjoying reading these characters so far and creativity is always a plus .

Gus Dario pulled the paper to him, his cheek twitching slightly. I've come all this way, followed her trail to his town. After her stay here, she just disappears. So I'll sign, what the fuck. I've got to know.

"Yeah, so," he cleared his throat, "My name's Gus Dario. I'm a P.I., a private investigator."

"Oh, yeah?" the pizza delivery kid smirked. "Come to investigate the big fucking talking bastard painting? Hired by a ghost or some shit?"

"No."

"So, like, you were hired by some really weird relatives to, like, whoa, check out the De'Lecti dude's estate?" profferred the ditzy gal whose name had immediately escaped Gus.

"No, nobody hired me. This isn't a job."

"But you're investigating something, we presume." Victor's eyes sparkled with some underlying emotion that unnerved Gus.

"I'm looking for someone. Someone I lost a long time ago." He sighed and for no real reason he could explain continued. "My mom. Left me when I was 10. Long story short, I tracked her here. This morning I got a letter at the front desk of my hotel inviting me here."

Dia, the dangerously sexy-looking one, shifted uneasily. "Do you think she... that Kadaver had something to do with her disappearance?"

Gus shrugged. He'd revealed entirely too much as it was. But there was something thick and oppressive in the air that seemed to suggest that Ana Dario might just have come to this godforsaken mansion. And though he was convinced that the painting's having spoken was nothing more than some technological slight-of-hand, he wondered if the spirit of the woman he'd become certain was now dead might still be lingering in the cobwebby recesses of De'Lecti's estate...
[/b][/i]

The eyes of this wary group wandered to the pale woman seated nonchalantly to the side of the table and smoking a cigar. Her deep brown eyes looked almost like black pools as she stared fixedly at De'Lecti's portrait. Feeling the stares of everyone in the room, she focused her gaze on the woman who introduced herself as Dia.

"My name is Ophelia D'Abo," she spoke, her smooth and mesmerizing voice pouring like honey from her full, wine-colored lips. "My business is...controversial. My interest here is personal," she stated with a tone that indicated she would say nothing more on those matters.

Ignoring the continued stares from the rest of the group, Ophelia gracefully put out her cigar and then pushed back her long, raven hair with her slender, red-tipped fingers while rising from the large wooden chair. Standing at full height, she towered over the other guests in her black strapless top, which was only held up by the curve of her full bosom, and her snug black cigarette pants that accentuated the rest of her voluptuous physique. Quickly scanning the room, her eyes fell upon a small bar tucked to one side. She seemed to glide as she walked across the room, her stiletto-heeled boots echoing in the vast expanse. A smirk fell upon her face as she poured herself a drink. Ophelia always found the alcohol.

"Oh, I do hope the good Lord rejects your soul from heaven."

Jacob tried to reply to his wife, but all he could muster was an inaduble whisper.

"Always trying to have the last word Jacob? You always were a stubborn man."

Again Jacob tried to reply, but his voice failed to create an audible tone.

"How do you like the situation now Jacob? You on your death bed, and me full of life. For once, I am no longer the weaker one, and you are now at my mercy."

With that, Clara stepped on his respirator cord, partialy cutting off the oxygen to Jacob.

"Oh and Jacob, since you didn't specify in your will. I think you would be an excellent candidate for cremation. Besides, we are running low on cat litter"

With his oxygen restricted, Jacob began to struggle to regain his oxygen intake.

"I'll leave you to your suffering Jacob. I hope your death is long and painful."

With the last word in, Clara released the oxygen cord and left the hospital room so Jacob could die alone. Just as she wanted.

----

"Here are Dad's remains mother."

"Thank you Benson, I'll keep them in my room, just as he would have liked."

Something however, was still bothering Benson.

"Mother are you happy that Father is dead?"

"Benson, I have never been happier in my life. If it wasn't for my wonderful children and grandchildren, I would have left ages ago. Your father was an overbearing controlling man, who was never faithful to any of us during the entirety of our marriage."

"I never knew this mother."

"Well, now you do, please leave me be. I have a vacation to plan."

Benson, now uneasily satisfied with his mother's answer left her be.

----

"Ms. Stalerson, are you sure that the Canary Islands are where you want to go?"

"I have never been so sure in my life, so please, stop trying to convince me of going on some damn retirement trip. I have no intention on spending a vacation with a bunch of half-dead geeziers."

"As you wish Ms. Stalerson"

----

In contrast to the travel planners predictions, the Canary Islands were extremly receptive to Clara Stalerson.

Weeks later, she returned home. Exhausted, yet unusualy full of life for someone of her age, she began to check her stack of unread mail.

One item of mail in particular, peaked her interest. The mail was vague, but that did little to spurn her interest.

"Another adventure perhaps? Oh, I can only hope."

Following the instructions to a key, Clara left for the Mansion on the date set.

----

"Reminds me of one of Jacob's mistress' homes." Clara thought to herself.

The door to the mansion was unlocked, and not to be discourged by the unknown, she went inside.

She heard chatter, and zero'd in on the sound like a hawk. The room she found was a sort of dining room, with some of the chairs occupied with people, others waiting for (late ass posts) people. Clara, surveying the scene and the people, sat down in one of the side chairs.

Thus her adventure began.

Sitting at the table, nearest Victor, an average sized male shifted in his seat, trying to make himself more comfortable. Calmly, he tapped his fingers against the table, tap tap tap.. quietly, yet loud enough to grab everyones attention.

When the man looked up, peering around the table, his eyes had pierced into others that had turned their attention to him. Instead of being aggressive like some may of percieved him, he bowed his head, took his hand off the table and cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, my name is Drend. Drend Priggly." He once again shifted in his seat, looking once again around the table. He continued, "The reason I am here, is once again my own. I recieved a letter in the mail, unnaturally, it had said I would find something I had been looking for here." He sighed, hopeful.

Drend was not used to recieving mail. The only mail he recieved was that of bills, this is why the letter was unnatural to him. He lived a quiet life, even though the aura he gave to others was not that of a quiet lifestyle. Drend had been searching for something greater in his life, something different. This is why he appeared here.

Looking around one last time, Drend sat back in his chair, hands in his lap, and peered around the room.

Summer sat swinging her legs back and forth in the chair as she listened to the others introduce themselves. She might have even paid attention to one or two. Occasionally she'd chat to the empty chair next to her, sometimes arguing and sometimes agreeing.

Realizing it was her turn to speak, she smiled up at the table full of people. Summer flipped her long brown hair back from her shoulders and cleared her throat to begin her introduction in her most grown up voice.

"My name is Summer Bethany Miles and I'm eight and three months old. I live near here... well not too near." She frowned, Summer had actually walked a much longer way from home than was normal. It was all Priscella's idea.

She turned her head to the chair next to her and nodded. "This is Priscella Davenport. I call her Cella. She says you'd probably not hear her so I was to introduce her. We're here, uhm... we.. Oh." Summer paused as if listening to someone. "Cella says we were invited."

((OOC: we're all newness and stuff but we did read the rules, hopefully this is done correctly and on time. ))

/ooc - it's on time and fine, but are you wo people, is cella imaginary, or are you doing someone else's profile for them?

Priscella is imaginary... you know 8 year olds and their creative imaginations. y

*thumbs up*

Her date book open before her and her ever present cell phone near her ear, Tatyana Nicoli muttered to herself " No that won't work....how about.......no that won't work either.........now wait a minute.....I thought...can it be?.........YES!!!!THATS IT!!!"she all but shouted

Breaking out of her mussings she looked up and blushed becomingly " I do beg your pardon" she says in a slightly accented voice " I am Tatyana Nicoli, I am a....................." Breaking off agan she Notices Maelarya.

Rather excitedly she proclaims " Ms. Dys'Entari you are PERFECT for this JUST PERFECT!"

Rushing to the other end of the table Tatyana hands Maelarya a business card that reads

Tatyana Nicoli
Producer & Director
Stage and Screen

Forcing her self to become calm once more she states " I do beg that indulgence good peopleI was carried away for a moment."

Straightening her clothing she begins again " I am Tatyania Nicoli Producer and director of the most maginicifent stage productions and screen plays you have ever seen. I am here to look over this house for the possible setting of a movie I am producing soon."

Pascal Laurent nervously twirled the pen around and around in his increasingly sweaty palm. Three minutes remained.

"I don't need to do this. I have all the money I'll ever need. Money is not something I need," he thought to himself.

But it wasn't the money he needed. He needed the press. He needed to prove to the world that a French Rock Star could nut it up enough to gain the noteriety needed to make a run at the U.S. He needed to be brave, and this might just be the way to do it.

He was handsome, arrogant and wealthy. The son of the famous French rock star Johnny Laurent, he'd always lingered in his shadow. Johnny Laurent was bigger than Elvis in France. Except that Elvis had died. A long time ago. His dad just kept on going.

Sent to the U.S. to go to school with his American mom, Pascal had never felt a part of the French culture, but France claimed him... sort of.

His first three albums made money on name recognition alone. His last two were substantial bombs -- barely making enough money to break even. The reviews cast him as washed up, spoiled and lazy.

He needed a image makeover and spending the night in a crazy house with some crazy dude who talked through a painting might just be the ticket. When he won the house, he'd donate it to some U.S. Charity and use the act as a launching pad to sucess in the U.S.

Pascal grabbed the pen and signed his name hastily.

Name : Gilbert Grape


Hi EVERYONE !!!!! My name is gilbert and I like to climb trees and watch birds. He yells to everyone in the room while picking his nose with his left index finger. Anyone want to play with me. I like birds and trees.
As he sits down he looks over into Mae's area and says. Hey you are pretty, would you climb a tree with me?