Thread: The Manor (Mr. Quixotic & Malicious Lullaby)

RE The Manor Mr. QuixoticMalicious Lullaby Hawthorne Tisch was an enigma. Born and raised in Seattle, Washington, the only child of a newspaper magnate, and socialite ex fashion model, he'd had it all. A privileged upbringing, wealth, access to the best education, and expected to inherit his family's business interests, along with their fortune. However, Hawthorne Ticsch had disappeared at eighteen years of age. Rumour had it that the teenage boy had been accused of a crime so heinous, and so damaging to the Tisch reputation, that he'd been summarily packed off to College in New York, as far away as from Seattle as you could get whilst remaining in the same country, and subsequently ex-communicated from the family. True or not, and no-one knew for certain, except for those close to him, the crimes he'd supposedly been responsible for had increased in villainy and notoriety with the passage of time. What was known for a fact, however, was that Hawthorne had not been sighted in his town of birth for over two decades not for his Mother's funeral five years previously, nor for that of his Father who'd died after of pneumonia the previous Winter. Never spoken of by his parents, he'd been presumed dead by many. That was, until the July of 2014 where after a lengthy legal battle waged in New York, Hawthorne Ticsch had returned to Seattle, Washington to claim a portion of his family's fortune. And the Manor. Now Forty years of age, Hawthorne had taken after his Father. Six feet one inch tall, a head of slightly curled, brown hair, which showed just the slightest hint of grey at the temples, slim athletic body kept in shape by regular workouts, piercing green eyes, strong jaw, defined cheekbones, and a nose best described as aristocratic, he exuded confidence and charm. At least that's the appearance he projected in newspaper photograph's which accompanied the articles written about his return the type of man Hawthorne Tisch actually was, was difficult to determine. He'd refused all interview requests, and his whereabouts for the past two decades, and plans for the Manor, remained a mystery. The Manor. It had been his parents home, well before Hawthorne had entered the world. As his Father's wealth had increased, and with the imminent arrival of their first, and only, child, a country Estate had been purchased on the outskirts of the city, and the family relocated. The Manor, however, which held many good memories, had been retained, and converted into a five-star hotel, catering to the wealthy. Unfortunately, after thirty years of thriving, the Global Financial Crisis had hit, and with his wife dead, and own health ailing, Tisch Senior had allowed the Manor to fall into disrepair, and it subsequently closed for business. It had last been open five years ago. The assumption when Hawthorne had returned to take up residence was that the Manor would be returned to its former glory, and reopened. At it's peak it had been the place the for wealthy and privileged, and it could be again. On the first count, the analysts had been correct. Within weeks of his arrival, the residence had taken upon a fresh coat of paint, the lawns manicured, gardens tended, half-mile long driveway freshly paved, six-foot high security fence erected around the perimeter, and the interior gutted and rebuilt. However, as time continued to pass, there was no advertising, no marketing, no publicity, or no opening date. Hawthorne had been amused by each article he'd read as they moved from confidence in their supposed knowledge of his plans, to query, then scepticism, and finally, downright confusion. They'd failed to realise the Manor had already been re-opened, however not as a hotel. It's new purpose was much more lucrative, and entry by invitation only. Hawthorne, the first guest arrived a half-hour ago, you should really have been there to greet them. Hawthorne finished knotting his bow-tie, smoothed out the creases in his tuxedo, then turned away from the full-length mirror to face his right-hand man, George Carpenter. They'd known each other since College, and their relationship more one of firm friends than that of boss and employee. Got caught up with some last minute business. Why don't you head back down, and ensure our guests have everything they need. Tische smiled at the smaller man slim and angular with thinning brown hair, blue eyes hidden by horn-rimmed spectacles, then stepped towards the four-poster bed which dominated the room, and withdrew a gold mask which lay upon the red satin sheets. Go on, I'll be down in a minute. It's a masquerade ball, so who I am is meant to remain a secret it's not as if anyone will know it's their host who's the latecomer. He waited for the man to depart, then slipped the mask over his head, and once again checked himself in the mirror. With it placed on, only his eyes and lips were visible the latter curled up into a smile as he exited the room. Hawthorne was very much looking forward to the display of firm, young flesh, always in abundance at these events. The grand-ballroom was already half-filled, with cocktail waitresses in skirts that barely covered their buttocks, and busts which threatened to pop the buttons of their tight shirts serving drinks and canapes to men in black-tie who chatted to a variety of expensively and beautifully dressed young women. Everyone wore masks. Of varying shapes and sizes, from the tall to the short, thin to the 'comfortable', Tisch was aware that each of the men was rich in his own right, and attended for one reason only. To take advantage of the gorgeous young women in any way that money could buy. Although this event was consensual, Hawthorne had discovered most girls had their price, and it was a rare man who departed with desires not satiated. A smile returned to his features as he selected a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress, and surveyed the crowd already in attendance. It appeared as if it would be a lucrative night, and this was just the tip of the iceberg.