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// Act Two: What's My Line? 
// Story: Delinquency 
// by Daemon McRae 
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Act Two: What’s My Line?

The Inkwell Estate may very well be as old, if not older, than some of the stories the boys and girls had shared at Sunset’s party on Friday night. Or, at least, as old as they said they were. The road leading to the main gate had to be designed by someone who watched far too many horror movies in the late 80’s. It wound and rose through what could be easily underestimated as a forest, seemingly straightening out only when the woods were too dense to allow sunlight in. As if the soul who had it put in wanted to discourage as many lost souls as possible from finishing the drive and disturbing their rest.

The woods actually set themselves apart from the typical air of a horror movie in that they were full of broad, sturdy trees seemingly spaced rather evenly along the road, which may very well have been intentional. There were no withered, broken memories of tree trunks scattered about in thin lines with little foliage. In fact, many of the trees were evergreens, pines and the like, such that even in the middle of fall as they were there was still plenty of green to go around. The road itself was the only colorless thing to be seen, a well-managed stream of still gray pebbles carefully laid out and kept to itself, its only real presence in the sound the van made as it shuffled the rocks underneath its wheels with that all-too-familiar crumbling sound.

The only passenger of said van with any interest in the scenery, however, was Spooky, who took in the dense woods and isolationist surroundings with a slightly more interested variation of his typical dry gaze. After the first few hundred trees, however, even this interest began to wane, and he turned his attention to the assortment of conversations taking place in front of him. By virtue of him being in the back seat, of course. He shared it only with a wide assortment of heavy trunks he had been told a few times not to open. Bones wasn’t, after all, without his curiosity.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Dusty asked again, leaning against the back of the driver’s seat, much to Indigo’s chagrin.

The blue-haired girl glared in the rear-view mirror in a valiant effort to light Dusty’s head on fire with her mind. “I swear to god, if you don’t shut the fuck up I’m going to shove an Evenrude up your ass and pull the ripcord out your ears!”

Rubble leaned against the group daredevil, pushing him into the door. “I think she liiiikes you.”

Treble groaned, rolling his eyes from the far side of the row. “Oh good, we’re doing this now.”

There was a heavy sigh as the secondary gate mere meters from the house rose into view. “Oh thank god. I thought I was going to drive this van into a tree and kill us all.”

Twilight’s wide-eyed panic was not entirely misplaced, given Indigo’s penchant for sounding as dead serious as she wanted to, even with heaping loads of sarcasm underneath. “Don’t you dare!” the scientist yelped from the passenger seat. “Don’t forget how expensive all of this equipment is!”

“What part of kill us all do I need to explain again?” Zap growled, parking in front of the gate and putting the van in park with more force than may have been necessary. She looked more than ready to just shove everyone and everything out of the van, insured or no, and take off to leave them fend for themselves. Which is what she fully intended to do as they were all set up. Less so for the fact that they annoyed the absolute hell out of her, and more so that she didn’t do well with ghost stories, let alone haunted houses. Though she’d never tell another soul about that.

Twilight regarded her carefully as she stepped out of the van, not so oblivious as to miss the obvious tension in her friend. The boys looked ready to jump out, but she held up a hand to keep them still, a command that Indigo was surprised they’d followed. Sparkle made her way up to the gate, where she was met by a rather jittery-looking young woman whom they hadn’t noticed before. Mainly because she had been standing, or hiding, behind one of the large stone pillars that flanked the wrought iron gate. “Miss Inkwell?” Twilight asked, leaning shyly to get a better look at their welcoming party.

She was pretty in the classical sense, with long black hair and fair off-white skin. She wore small lenses and dressed reservedly without being “frumpy”. She seemed filled with a sense of confidence that was undercut by the presence of the house that had given her so much trouble; this was apparent in how she attempted to keep herself straight, yet had a hard time keeping her gaze from wandering over her shoulder at the rather innocuous, if lavish, home. “Yes, that’s me. Um, I was told that the group coming to… investigate were all boys. May I ask who you are?”

Nodding fervently, Twilight reached a hand out between the iron bars, which Raven accepted. “My name is Twilight Sparkle. I’m… well, I’m a volunteer. I’ve brought a good deal of equipment, if you don’t mind. I didn’t get a chance to call ahead and ask if that would be okay with you.”

Raven smiled lightly. “Honestly, whatever makes this work, you do it. Just try not to do too much damage. Some is, I’ve been assured, inevitable. At least, that’s what previous investigators have told me. Not that I entirely believe it, but I’d rather be prepared for the worst. I’m glad to have you, especially as a volunteer. I don’t think I could afford to put any more money into this, even with the rest of the inheritance. Not without putting myself at risk tax-wise.”

“I understand completely. Could you open the gate so we could drive in and park? I’d hate to have to haul all of this stuff up the entire drive,” Sparkle explained.

Their hostess smiled more genuinely, with a hint of relief on her face. “Of course, please, come in,” she said, moving to undo the padlock on the chains holding the whole thing together.

Twilight smiled in return, making her way back into the van. She sat eagerly as Indigo marched the van forward like a good little soldier, making a few generous K-Turns to point the aft-end at the front doors. As she shut the vehicle down, the rest piled out of the vehicle, spreading out like children at an amusement park. Which, for some of them, was true. Dusty helped Rubble out, as Treble raised a curious eyebrow at Spooky and Twilight, who were already beside themselves admiring the old structure.

It was rather grandiose, meeting all of the expectations one would have of a family like the Inkwells. Easily four stories tall, five in some places where a roof simply wasn’t enough and a tower had been deemed necessary, it rose over the drive like the last guard before the gates of heaven. Or hell, if you believe the stories. Stretching possibly a dozen windows in each direction from the front door, there was no telling where they were now how far back the enormous building stretched. The woodwork and trimmings were done in darker tones, almost black save for a drab hint of color hear and there, though Treble couldn’t tell much more than that. Architecture was not his strong suit. The front entrance, a massive double-door affair with lions-head knockers, stood at the end of a massive stone step approach guarded loyally by generous stone birds. An interesting choice, but not unexpected, given the family’s history. There was a rumor that the progenitor of the family was none other than the famous Gothic poet himself, Poe. Of course, rumors where rumors until they shook your hand.

Treble admired the building as long as he felt customary, then approached Raven Inkwell with the kind of smooth confidence you get from being told “Yes” more often than not, or hustling pool. “Pleasure to meet you!” he said cheerfully, putting on his ‘face of the operation’ suit and striding largely and eagerly to stand a few feet away from their hostess, who had strode up the drive with the kind of hesitation that betrayed her distaste of the house. His confidence and demeanor were accentuated by the simple three-piece navy blue suit he’s chosen to wear, which was admittedly a step down from his attire at the Fall Formal, but wouldn’t look out of place had he held a job at a bank or law firm. “My name is Deep Treble,” he continued, as soon as she was within conversation range. “For the most part I’ll be your point of contact in this mater, as Principal Celestia has informed me that you intend to advance quickly and tactically in the other direction as soon as possible.”

Twilight heard all of this, and raised a suspicious eyebrow at DT. “Um, what the hell is he doing?”

Rubble looked over his shoulder, having been waiting for a chance to make himself useful, as Twilight was directing the other three in where to put the boxes, and with what level of caution. “Oh, that. Yeah, that’s his ‘Leader’ face. There’s a reason he’s our PR guy, he has this neat and rather annoying tendency to make absolute disasters sound like mild inconveniences. You don’t get a reputation as a relentless flirt unless the flirting works. Then you're just a pervert. We usually let him talk to the public, when there’s a public to talk to, because he’s the best option we have. Spooks scares the shit out of everyone, and Dusty and I basically hate people that aren’t us. And even that’s pushing it. You might actually enjoy watching DT go to work, it’s rather fascinating. And be sure to play along when he starts dragging us into the conversation. Keeps the normies from getting too edgy. Edgy is bad. Edgy makes them impatient, which makes our job difficult. Ask Aria about her warg bite when you get a chance; she’ll tell you the importance of good public relations.”

Twilight looked ready to say something, but the conversation in front of her dragged her attention forward.

“Of course,” Raven said with a nod, in response to something Treble had said that she’d missed. “As long as you think it will help. So, tell me, who are the… rest of these people?” she asked curiously, looking past Deep and eying the parade of heavy equipment being loaded onto the front porch.

Treble followed her gaze, and gestured to each of the teenagers in turn. “That’s Twilight Sparkle, whom you’ve met. She’s our technician and resident scientist,” Sparkle gave a light wave at the mention of her name, which Raven returned. “Next to her is Rubble Maker, our combat and construction specialist. Don’t mind the injury, he’s bullheading his way to better health as we speak.” Rubble gave a small nod. “Behind those two, currently strong-arming a rather alarmingly large crate into submission, is Dust Devil. Think of him like a generalist. He does a little of everything, and is easily the fastest on his feet out of the group. It helps that they have wheels attached. The other girl is Indigo Zap, our transportation, although I’m assured she won’t be staying if she can help it. Unless the house locks her in with us, she’s most likely going to leave as soon, if not sooner, than you. Maybe you should talk to her, she might give you a ride back to town.” The two ignored him, either because they didn’t hear him or because they didn’t care.

Treble gestured to the last member of the group, who seemed rather fascinated with the stone reliefs of large blackbirds adorning the front steps. “The last of our crew, and by far not the least, is Spooky Bones. He’s our paranaturalist, scholar, and generally the first person you want to send down a dark haunted hallway, if for no other reason than he might very well out-scare anything with more sense than ectoplasm. Believe me when I tell you that there’s maybe only one other person in the city who knows more about ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties than he does, and he’s currently doing cartwheels in his grave as of late.” Spooks raised a hand in acknowledgment, not tearing his attention away from the base of one of the birds.

“Now, as I imagine you have many other places you’d rather be than here, and you were very, very clear that we wouldn’t see a dime without tangible results, I imagine I’ve run out of ways to razzle and/or dazzle you without actually bringing you back into the house with ringside seats to the general nasty-not-niceness we intend to visit on whatever seems to think it has more right to live here than the people who are actually alive. So is there anything you’d like to ask us before you smartly skedaddle of into the wild blue yonder?” Treble finished, with a fluidity and presence of ego that would impress even the smoothest of swindlers and conniving of con men.

Raven regarded him with the kind of curious suspicion of someone who had dealt with both in her time. Which, given the nature of supernatural investigation, was more likely than not. “That was quite a lot of words to say rather little, don’t you think?”

Treble’s eyebrow raised, and a smile, or rather, smirk of appreciation crossed his face slowly and predominantly. “Oh good, I was hoping you were smarter than the average bear. You’d be surprised how many people can be snowed and shoveled out with the right dance of long words and fancy sentence structure. Despite that, I assure you we have more than enough experience in dealing with things that no sane person has any right doing so, let alone setting time out of their weekends for."

Raven gave him an appraising look.  "If you think snowing the ghosts with long-winded speeches about how afraid they should be and how afraid you’re assuredly not, then by all means keep talking. Just don’t expect me to hang around for it, let alone fall for it. If nothing else, please try to keep as much blood OFF the walls as you can. I’m not exactly popular with interior designers as of late.”

“HEY LADY!” Dusty groaned, as he leaned against the front door. “YOU GOT A KEY?!”

Raven looked up to the front porch, where the rest of the group was either staring impatiently, or off in their own little world. Then she looked back at Treble, who was regarding her with the same smug smile she was quickly associating with someone who either had no idea what they were doing, or knew exactly as much. “I can see why they sent you to talk to me, at least.”