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𝑽𝑰𝑲𝑻𝑶𝑹'𝑺 𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑽𝑬:
LONDON, ENGLAND
THE LOUD CHIME OF BIG BEN THUNDERED OVERHEAD, providing the silent museum with a slightly less haunted ambience — not that it made any much of a difference to Viktor; he was dead after all. Shadows of marble Greek statues projected onto the white architectural walls, crossing over Viktor's face as he made his way down the long hall.
His polished black boots made soft thuds against the shinning tiles, arranged in a checkered pattern; the opposite of the uneven heavy footsteps that were produced from the ghost only a few meters ahead of him.
By now, Viktor wasn't certain about where Charles and Edwin had disappeared too, but he could only assume that they were outside, exposed for this current haunter to find them.
The World War I soldier ahead of him paused his running when he approached a series of open-panelled windows, glancing over his shoulder at the dark-haired ghost who was catching up to him.
Don't you do it you bastard. Viktor swore.
The Dead Boy Detectives needed to separate him from his gas mask, but how were they supposed to do that when they were constantly being either attacked and chased from him? Or if they couldn't chase him.
Almost as if he were psychic, the ghost jumped through the glass windows, passing through them without a sound; no glass fell or broke.
With a roll of his eyes in frustration, Viktor headed down the hall on his right. Paying no attention to the ghost maids who gave him odd looks, he placed a gloved hand against the first mirror he saw; small with an intricate gold frame.
As a ghost he already felt weightless as it was, but when he travelled through mirrors, it suddenly felt truly like he was nothing but air. It felt like he wasn't even there anymore; he didn't know how to describe it. It was fun though.
In less than a second, he found himself somewhat gracefully stumbling out of a mirror outside. If he could feel the weather changes, then he would of bet that he would have been hit in the face with a fresh gush of wind, judging by the trees that were waving their branches around.
Wasting no time, he made haste and walked to the centre of the street in front of the museum, not failing to notice the two ghosts in long overcoats.
A loud, frustrated shouted travelled through the air, as the World War I ghost leaped from the peak of the museums rooftops. With no elegance, and no grace, he planted his feet in front of Charles and Edwin, who both were backing up from him.
