Christine looked around being careful not to touch the delicate things. "It is quite strange. Actually Terrifyingly vague fit's it perfectly" she studied the different pieces "This is horrifying and amazing at the same time" she exclaimed "you basically live in a museum" she pointed out getting herself excited, "I could only imagine the number of people that have been trying to find it and the danger your in" her voice broke off suddenly and she turned towards what she thought was a crash, not noticing anything she turned back to Keefe, her face white and terrified "this place is giving me the chills" she moved back over to Keefe and looked around, why did the room have a 'dark' feeling towards it, -I'm worrying to much, Keefe doesn't look like he cares too much, or does he? ahhh get it together Chris- she slowly breathed out and closed her eyes for a second to focus back on the present moment.

Keefe leaned heavily against a wall, partially sitting on an old oak table that looked like it weighed a thousand pounds. "Strange works too." He agreed quietly, chuckling weakly at her next words. "Definitely horrifying. That sums it up. I wouldn't really call it amazing. Living in a museum I never get to see. I only know where all this is because I sneak around at night." He snorted quietly, then jerked his head sideways at the noise. "This place is EXTREMELY creepy. Let's- go back. And also, as soon as I can walk I'm getting a different house, much smaller, without all the creepy artifacts that I am totally donating to a real museum." Keefe sidled out of the room, limping back down the hall.

Christine smiled relieved, she followed Keefe out taking a quick look behind her, she thought she saw something move but brushed it off her mind and walked back out into the sunlight from a window, the warm sun beaming on her hair. She sat down and faced Keefe only then asking more about the house, "so I'm guessing you've lived here for most of your life? Wouldn't you miss it? I mean it must hold some sort of happy memory..." She stopped speaking realising she was pushing a little to far into a uncomfortable zone.

Keefe went back to the living room area, right in the front of the house, and sat down heavily in a chair with a grimace of pain. At her question he looked a little grief stricken for a second, but his face quickly cleared. "I wish, but no. This place doesn't hold a single happy memory. Only painful ones. I'd be glad to leave." He answered stoutly, not caring if she didn't want an answer. "But yeah... I've lived here all my life."

Christine looked around the house, "I could see how this would be a place of grief and anger". Looking around there didnt seem to be any real 'homely' stuff, it was more just stuff. No family pictures, no fun loving memory's. Although Christines past was hard her Aunt always seemed to make it her top priority to have the house presentable and have a 'homely" feeling. Keefe's house looked more like a jail cell. A beautiful jail cell. "You know Keefe, you don't exactly have to leave, I mean you could wipe and clean all the hated memorys from this place and instead hold fresh long-lasting memorys" -And i dont wanna leave- she said to herself trying not to laugh

Keefe nodded slowly. "Yeaaaah." He answered, glancing around as she did. Such a cold, empty, dark void of happiness. At her words he slowly looked back at her, blinking once or twice. "Well, it's not just the memories. I don't like the space. The empty space. There's no way I'd be able to fill it all with nice homey stuff if I got rid of all the creepy weird stuff that no one cares about. It would just be long hallways of void-ly nothing." He huffed slightly- she had brought up a valid point he didn't want to look at.

Softly but not quietly she said, "Well I could help you, if you wanted.." She looked around and noted it would need a bit of work but could be possible. "I'm willing to try, even if you don't wanna live here anymore it'll sell better all sparkling and dazzled" she smiled and paused, "Although I totally understand if you dont want to, sometime it's best to forget"

Keefe glanced up as Christine spoke, his expression a bit surprised with something hidden behind that. She would... would she really help him? He was just.. him. Of course he wanted her to stay, but did she want to stay? At least long enough to do what she was talking about. "Sparkling and dazzled." He repeated slowly, sounding the slightest bit amused. "I'd really appreciate that, if you're willing to help. This place could be really nice with some scrubbing." He smiled faintly, looking around again, this time with different eyes. There was so much more to this mansion than silly artifacts and bad memories. It could still make good memories.

Christine jumped up excited, she raced from room to room her mind filling with wild ideas on how to make it look more homely. She studied the walls closely, the tiniest corner did not go unseen by her. Should someone be this excited for cleaning? Most likley not, but she was having too much fun to care. One word struck her most out of all and that was, plants. She walked back down to the room she thought Keefe was in and noticed some movement in the back of one of the rooms. She peeked in but freaked herself out and went on to find Keefe. She soon found him and exclaimed, "once we've cleaned everything up, where gonna get ya some plants" and with that she was off again storming up new ideas.

Keefe watched Christine run away. He didn't really mean right now... he still couldn't walk more than ten feet before falling over. When she came rushing back he lifted his eyebrows. "That's a bad idea. I suck at keeping plants alive." He snorted, standing slowly and making a call. There. He had told the museum he had some pretty nice stuff for them. Well, he wanted to keep a couple of the things. He MIGHT like stuffed animals everywhere, because he loved hunting, but hey, that was just him. Stuffed animal wall hangings and plants. Best house ever. With the thought he smiled wryly, walking over to the one picture above the fireplace. Him at ten years old, with his mother and father. The only picture they had taken and kept. He popped it out of the frame and ripped it up.