 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| What's yer name? | *The translucent old gentleman blinks with surprise. He speaks with the cultured tones of an upper-class Englishman* You can see me? Well. *regains his composure and bows* Lord Carter Thomason. Lord is merely a courtesy title, of course...I'm a younger son. |
| Dat what people call ya, or d'ya got a nickname? | *raises an aristocratic eyebrow* Call me? No one but that lad with the glasses has spoken to me for twenty-five years. *doesn't mention that that awful little actress wench thought he was a bad cheese biscuit* When they did, however, it was either Carter or Lord Carter. Or simply Mr. Thomason. |
| Whaddaya look like? | *smiles wryly* Well, I'm not visible most of the time. But when I am, I have gray hair. Prematurely so, I'm afraid...it's a family trait. My eyes are green, and I am of average height and build. *sighs* Of course, I'm a bit translucent, as well. |
| How old are ya? | *chuckles ruefully* Interesting question. I was born in 1837, which would make me sixty-five if I were alive. However, I was poisoned at the age of forty and have been a ghost twenty five years. So I am either sixty-five, forty, or twenty-five. *smiles* I believe I prefer twenty-five. |
| What kind of work d'ya do? Actor, stagehand, what? | ((Carter has yet to answer this question.)) |
| Got any experience at dat? An' how'd ya end up heah, anyway? | *the ghostly eyebrow goes up again* Here, as in The Rose Theatre? Or here as in being a ghost? I shall answer both, I suppose. I came here from England in 1877 with the purpose of building the finest theatre in all of New York. My sister's son, Alan Sherbrooke, came with me. *smiles* Alan had more courage than I did at the same age...I wanted to act, but not badly enough to tell my parents to "bugger off and let me live my own bloody life", in his words. I waited until my parents were both dead before I set off to pursue my dreams. *sighs* And then Alan sells my theatre to that bastard Carraway. Oh, certainly, he's a fine businessman ...but he hasn't got the slightest bit of theatre sense! *sighs again* But such is life. Or death, rather. Which reminds me, I was to tell you how I became a ghost. The fact of the matter is, I was poisoned. Why or by whom, I don't know. Hence why I must hang about here. *smiles* But every good theatre must have a ghost, mustn't it? |
| How 'bout tellin' us a little 'bout yerself? Ya know, what kind of personality ya got? | *smiles* When I was alive, I was generally criticized for being a dreamer, far too arrogant, far too sarcastic, and far too temperamental. My friends would have said I was witty and entertaining and never, ever dull. *sighs wistfully* But now all my razor wit is used on people who generally don't hear it because " everyone knows there's no such thing as ghosts." |
| Any special talents? | Does haunting count as a special talent? *brightens up a bit* I'm told that I do much better than most new ghosts *chuckles as he begins to fade out of sight*...doubtlessly the theatre experience. *leaves you staring at empty space* |