Dark corridor. Whiskey clutched in hand. Plethoras of machines, secret stone rooms, walls covered in numerous browned papers of varying importance.
Blackthorn Manor could only be described as labrynthian. There was many a room that casual visitors never got to see. Not that the master of the house would want them to see anyway.
James was currently making his way down one such corridor, his leather soles sending clicks that bounced off of the cold stone surfaces. He was of average height, and dressed like something out of the 1800's, looking quite at home in the bowels of Blackthorn. His moustache curled around his face in a light dusty muttonchop, accentuating his eyes and giving him a somewhat soft, regal appearance.
A dark, rumbling voice echoed forth from the mansion's P.A system.
James. Check that sector 3-dash-zero-four-two passes final preparations, then get up here. My guests are beginning to arrive.
The click, click of Jame's leather soles quickened. He did not want to be late, and infuriate the man behind the P.A. As he ran, occasionally stopping to check if certain systems were in check, James wondered about what was going to happen tonight. How far were these people willing to take it? He knew none of them. They all could well be just as psycopathic as his dear old friend.
Jame's gloved hand pushed down on one, final button. 'It is done. I will meet them in the dining room promptly.' His polite South London accent danced down in the small space, trailing off into the darkness. There was no reply on the other end. Typical. Only when he needs something.
Hey keyed in a sequence of numbers on the same panel, causing the stone before him to shift and slide, revealing one of Blackthorn's many secret elevators.
Stepping inside, James could only wonder... Is this right?