#love how beau acts as some kind of live in servant in this household just by his own nature and once he leaves it just falls apart

[plumbogs]

yayyy new round! Dustin finally gets a job today in the intelligence career starting tomorrow.

the fact that dogs greet the mail carriers is cute to me. he's such a nice boy.

tiffani tried to do something cool for school lunch and failed :( how sad

going thru an era of self-discovery... trans beamification but i have to once again figure out a name i hate it here so much.

this household is so silly and fun. Dina gets home from work and gets annoyed because of how nasty the house is now that Beau isn't autonomously cleaning up all the messes.

speaking of him, Brandi wanted to invite someone over :) so he's hanging out for the day. She brings up a topic he is very interested in hearing about.

Then she cooks soup for everyone :) they're all so friendly and nice to each other.

this house is too small for this many people. dustin's moving soon, so it won't be for too long. I think once the kids all empty out I may find Brandi and Dina a new home... that's quite a while away though.

after the regularly scheduled evening bathroom traffic jam the brothers hang out and block the entire hallway to talk about sports and other stuff like that.

[asktheghosthost]

Far more eerie than any pop-up ghoul or murderous bride in the attic was the quiet that had taken over the Magic Kingdom. Beauregard couldn't even compare it to a typical midnight. Midnight still had a handful of Cast Members tending to all of those technical tasks that magic was too confused about to bother with. Midnight could still have the distant wheezes and rumbles of traffic. It was as if the world had halted. If he hadn't noticed a squirrel digging in the front yard cemetery, he would have believed time was frozen.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed, announcing it was two p.m. Two p.m. and the park was deserted.

With a sigh that was more of a groan, he pushed himself up out of his chair and headed... elsewhere. It didn't matter where. He needed a distraction from the depressing lack of mortal guests. For several days now, (he'd lost count), there'd been no screams, no giggles, and--worst of all-- no sympathetic vibrations from lively visitors. It was making all of the ghosts of the Haunted Mansion restless.

As he wandered further down one dark hall and then the next, a curious scent wafted to his nostrils. It was sweet, pleasant, and had a strong hint of ginger. He followed it along until it brought him to the kitchen.

Inside, the former Gracey coachman/ fellow happy haunt/ regular graveyard tea party participant Dustin T. Dust was busy taking out his second tray of cookies from the oven. It was then placed to cool on a table that had not only the first tray of cookies, but a dozen blueberry muffins. And now he was returning to a mixing bowl to stir up more batter.

Beauregard cleared his throat. "Dustin..."

"Gah!" Dustin yelped, nearly dropping his bowl and fumbling it to safety. "It's just you, sir," he said with a nervous chuckle. He set the batter aside so he could adjust his glasses.

"Beau," Beauregard corrected. "No 'sir's for me." Hands behind his back, he mosied over to the table to get a closer look at the treats.

"'S hard not to call the great Ghost Host 'sir.'" Dustin had gone back to stirring. The big bowl seemed too hefty for his wiry frame, but not only was he holding it up just fine, he was also incorporating some dance steps as he moved about the kitchen.

"Oh please." Beauregard realized he needed to tuck his noose under his waistcoat lest it brush against the muffins, and quickly did so. "We used to work together as servants in this household." He frowned. "It's not as if I get to do much ghost hosting now, anyway, what with..." He trailed off, looking up to meet the other man's gaze.

Dustin shared his look of worry for a moment, but then put on a smile. "Things will be right as rain soon, sir, er, Beau. The mortals just need to be extra cautious." Another tray had already been set up, and he was scooping out small dollops of what would soon be snickerdoodles. While those were cooking, he turned his attention on the ginger cat shaped cookies that had finished cooling, and began decorating them.

Beauregard watched him add tiny chocolate sliver whiskers. "What exactly are you doing, Dustin? With all this, I mean?"

"Well, when there's nothing to do, but I'm still anxious, I get to stress baking... So long as the cook isn't around. She never liked me in the kitchen. Said I smelled like horses." His mouth twisted into intense concentration, tip of his tongue sticking out just past his buck teeth. Those tiny whiskers were always tricky.

"I shouldn't be anxious, really," he went on. "We can't get sick, not with mortal illnesses, anyway. Maybe I'm just jittery from the lack of guests." Half the cats now had whiskers, he realized proudly. "Mum and dad were bakers. They had a little shop back home in London. It's where I learned it..."

As Dustin went on, something dawned on Beau, and he straightened up with a strange look of clarity on his face. "We can't catch it..."

Dustin stopped mid autobiography. "No. We're dead."

"We're dead... and we have enough baked goods to fill a burial plot..."

"That's a rather morbid measurement..."

Beau grinned. "Dustin, there's a whole kingdom full of our neighbors, shut indoors, worried, likely bored to tears!"

Dustin countered with a smile of his own. "Neighbors who would welcome a gift basket and a friendly visit. Brilliant, sir! See, you're still an excellent host."

"Ghost Host," Beau corrected, grabbing an apron for himself. "Let's see how many more treats we can make by dusk, and then I'll ask if Dorian has any flowers he'd be willing to part with."

The two quickly got to work.

Later that night, a hearse, pulled by an invisible horse, rolled through the streets of the Magic Kingdom. At the sound of clomping hooves, residents of the park would pull back their curtains to peek out, wondering if this was some tasteless joke. Moments later, they'd find it was actually a tasty greeting when either the Ghost Host, Master Gracey, or the coachman would come knocking on their door bearing a basket full of sweets and flowers.

It didn't end at the Magic Kingdom, either. The ghosts were sure to deliver baskets to the Imagination Institute, much to the delight of Figment. (Dr. Channing was quick to point out that the little dragon really didn't need any extra sugar in his hyperactive system, thank you very much.) They stopped at Elsa's ice palace, had one basket just straight up snatched by a flock of seagulls screaming "MINE!", and quietly left a gift for the yeti at Mt. Everest. One basket was flung into the elevator shaft of the Hollywood Tower Hotel, because the spirits knew better than to directly engage the Twilight Zone lest they get trapped, too. Harrison Hightower III tried to trade a basket for the Shiriki Utundu, which the ghosts explained wasn't necessary, and they fled before he could he could attempt to leave the idol with them. Henry Mystic and Albert got plenty of banana bread to share.

All in all, it was a very long but very rewarding night.

By the time they had returned to the mansion, a note was waiting for them on the door. Dorian plucked it up, and read it out loud:

Dear ghosts of the Haunted Mansion,

When times are frightful, it's easy to get swept up in the uncertainty, and completely forget that everyone around you is trying to cope, too. Simple acts of kindness-- such as yours-- ground us, unite us, and remind us all to never lose our empathy and compassion. Thank you.

We're so proud to call you 'family.' See ya real soon!

-Mickey and Minnie Mouse

All three ghosts looked at the letter a moment longer, before sharing glances with one another.

"You know," Dorian began slowly. "I bet I could make some lovely wreaths... and flower crowns, and we could hand those out this weekend..."

"We could pack a lot of books in that hearse," suggested Beauregard. "Our library is well stocked, after all..."

"I bet I could convince the graveyard band to perform in the streets, give people a concert right outside their windows," said Dustin.

And thus one idea led to another, enough to bring a little joy to every day the parks were closed.

[queenofmyshuno]

Amersham

This is the story of Frederick Amersham: dutiful servant, attentive beau, regular churchgoer, responsible citizen, and generally pleasant chap. At least, these are all the things he said to me when I asked him to describe himself. Come, I’ll tell you all about him, and you can see for yourself.

Amersham’s days start early. Before the sun even hints at rising, Amersham is impeccably dressed and noiselessly descending the cold wooden boards of the staircase. He carefully shifts around familiar creaky spots, so as not to wake the family, and lights the fireplaces in the elegant three-story townhome.

He spent almost three months as a chef’s apprentice, and his cooking skills are a point of pride. He prepares breakfast, expertly wielding the knives that he sharpens and polishes nightly; he likes the clunck-clunck sound they make as the blade hits the cutting board. Long ago, Mr. Prescott, nortorious for his tight pursestrings, allowed Amersham to purchase fine quality cutlery for the kitchen, so Amersham makes sure to take good care of it.

Once the table is set and breakfast served, he stands in the kitchen and grabs a quick bite.

(Note: I’m making this out to be like it’s part of his busy schedule, but really, I forgot to leave a space in the kitchen for a table and chair, LOLs.)

Next, he scrubs the dishes and churns the butter. Normally, a home this size would have two or even three servants, but Amersham does it all. In this house, he’s the chef, scullery maid, chamber maid, launderer, footman, house boy, chauffer, and butler.

Mrs. Prescott recognizes how hard he works and will occasionally ask if he’d like her to talk to Mr. Prescott about hiring more help. He always politely refuses. The truth is, Amersham prefers it this way. He has a certain way he likes to do things, and other staff would only interfere with his thorough procedures.

Mr. Prescott also likes it this way as it saves him money. He’s very proud of how committed and competent Amersham is and regularly refers to him as “my man, Amersham,” as in, “Don’t worry about those bags; my man Amersham will see to them” or “Why don’t you come by the house for dinner this Tuesday; my man Amersham makes a mean pigeon pie.”

Back when Amersham was but a young man, he came to town looking for a fresh start, having learned from the mistakes of his past. Sumner Prescott, also in his prime, was just at the point where he needed his own manservant. Amersham was hired on and has been with him ever since. The two men have a longstanding bond and mutual respect for one another.

Indeed, the entire family counts themselves lucky to have such good help. Other people will complain about this or that thing their servants said or did, but Amersham never gives them any cause. In fact, they rarely even see him. They only see the cozy fire he started before they came into the room or the hot coffee placed in the parlor for them when they arrive home after being out on a rainy day. He’s a master at being present but undetected—in other words, the perfect servant.

His skills at getting around unnoticed are also sometimes useful when he’s not working. On Sunday evenings, after the family has had their supper and the dishes have all been washed and put away, he has a few hours off…

…to pursue his own interests. I hope I have not shocked you and that you will not repeat what you have learned here, for all that I have shared with you has been told to you in confidence. Amersham has desires, and in this respect, he’s no different than any other man. So, let us not dwell on this small aspect of Amersham’s life, but instead talk of something more acceptable.

Amersham has a sweetheart. Have you ever noticed how men who are in a relationship seem less threatening? For instance, women need not be apprehensive about romantic advances from a man who is taken. Additionally, both sexes tend to think of someone in a relationship as more stable, and therefore more reliable. People might not consciously think this, but there’s an underlying societal perception that makes others more comfortable if one is paired up. Have you noticed this? Amersham has.

Amersham’s girl is named Nadine Dudley, and they meet Wednesdays at the market when they’re shopping for their respective households. She adores him. He enjoys this. Sometimes he gets jealous if another man talks to her for too long, but he and Nadine get along exceptionally well, really just swimmingly well.

Except for sometimes. Nadine is keen to get engaged and feels that Amersham is putting her off. At times, she gets unreasonably cranky and is prone to whinge, that is, complain persistently (and in such a high-pitched voice that one who is far less kind than Amersham might describe it as “screechy”). Even the most patient person would be hard-pressed not to find this irritating.

Amersham, though, keeps his cool. He reasons with her (as much as one can reason with a woman) that they’re both servants living in other people’s homes. Extremely nice homes. If they were to get married, where would they live? With their finances, probably in a tenement. Where would they work if they were no longer live-in servants? They have no other job skills. No. They must wait and save their money. “I want you to have a beautiful home and the wedding you always dreamed about. I only want to wait because I care so much about you.”

You wouldn’t guess it by looking at him, but Amersham is very good with words. His words, his gestures, the soothing tone of his voice—he has a way of making even the most determined opponent come around to his way of thinking. Nadine gives in and apologizes for being silly. Because they’re not engaged, they haven’t yet kissed (except on the cheek). So, he simply holds her close, runs his fingers through her cherry-red hair, and says, “That’s okay. I forgive you.”

Amersham isn’t telling Nadine everything, though (as you well know). But let’s be honest, does anyone ever really tell anyone everything? What about you? Are you holding something back from someone in your life right now? Not everyone needs to know everything; some things are best kept unspoken. Amersham has many unspoken things that he puts in a corner of his mind and tucks away beneath a blanket of silence.

Reva. Amersham never speaks her name for fear his desire will betray him in an unexpected tremble or rasp in his voice. Reva, the beautiful eldest daughter of the Prescott family. Reva whose dark eyes seem to always have a perpetual touch of sadness in them. Reva whose one rebel curl always falls out from her neatly placed bun. Reva whose face Amersham sees every time he closes his eyes. Reva, beautiful Reva.

Reva has had countless suitors paraded in front of her but has shown no interest in any of them. Why is that? If Amersham had been born to a higher station, he would have swept her off her feet by now and they’d be living happily in their own beautiful house with roses in the garden, a porch so long it spanned the length of the house, and a little boy with his father’s face but his mother’s eyes. Does Reva ever dream about him, too? Is this why she’s still not married? Amersham holds out hope that somehow, someday he and Reva will end up together. And that’s why he perpetually courts but never marries Nadine.

Lately, Reva has been volunteering at the Vicar’s cottage which means that Amersham has to drive her there, which is no short ride. He wonders if this is all a ploy of hers so that she and Amersham can spend more time together.

Amersham himself does not have the time (nor, to be honest, the inclination) to volunteer with the church except when required to do so by the family, but he does go to church (religiously, as it were) every Sunday morning.

When the service ends, the family usually stays if there’s a church function that day, or goes to a friend’s house to visit, while Amersham returns home to attend to his duties. With the family safely away, he makes himself comfortable on Reva’s bed (the bed for which he washed the linens, fluffed the pillows, and tucked the corners in ever so lovingly) and checks her journal to see if there is any mention of him or their long drives to the Vicar’s cottage. There is not. Perhaps some things are too private to write down.

Before you think his actions inappropriate, know that he checks the younger daughter’s journal regularly, as well. As he has no interest in the younger daughter, this is proof that his actions are first and foremost to make himself as useful to his employers as possible.

If he has done something to displease them that the ladies are too refined to mention to him directly, is it not in their best interest that he finds that thing that is causing them displeasure and takes measures to correct it?

Indeed, you could even consider this as a gentlemanly favor to them, to know their wants and attend to them dutifully without ever being told.

To quietly check on a person‘s wellbeing and know their needs, whether it be through reading what they’ve written down or through watching attentively and then silently backing out of a room without disturbing them, these are all acts of great caring and great skill.

Why do you think the family loves him so? It’s because he loves them back, more than they’ll ever realize. Quietly and patiently, always just on the other side of the door, Amersham’s love and service know no boundaries.