The Morbid Socialite

If one had a calling card and could find an ermine stoat in the heat of False Summer, they could offer up the card and a scratch behind the ears to be escorted through London, to the flat of the Morbid Socialite. Due to the twisting nature of the streets of London, it was difficult to tell if the flat was situated closer to Veilgarden, Spite, the Flit, or Mahogany Hall, but it was nonetheless a small flat on the second storey of a building, requiring that one climb the internal stairs to reach the top floor. The door was simple, wood with a brass handle. Depending on the time of day, any number of sounds could be heard, from the chittering of weasels to the chattering of half-adopted urchins, from the cacophony of recreational drink to barren and utter silence. And, if there was a stocking on the door, it was best not to listen in.

Tularemia would climb up the simple door frame and stare down at the guest with stark, black eyes before disappearing into a small crack in the wall. Unless the guest knocked, they would be left on the stoop...

(OOC: I've realized I've handed out plenty of calling cards and invitations and had no place to start RPs, so consider this as my starter for anyone wanting to RP one on one if we haven't established how it would otherwise start!)