Wigs Through the Wormhole: The Chateau OTSM Investigation
By special investigative reporter Sarah Tonin, a review of Chateau OSTM
Summary
Multi-person cast of characters with an impressive commitment to historical roleplay.
Photogenic garden and outbuildings for afternoon tea and fine dining.
Exceptional RP service and social atmosphere.
Great communication and a straightforward booking process.
Semi-private rooms available for rent.
Recommended for those who enjoy RP dining and unique SL experiences.
From the Paranormal Investigation Files of Sarah Tonin
The first sign of a temporal anomaly is the smallest detail out of place. A clock running backwards. A calendar with two Junes.
A text from Dirk when the hour's reasonable. "Got word of a time slip at a historic Chateau. Guests checking in for the weekend, checking out two centuries ago later," It was still too daylight for a Dirktext. Already, alarm bells. "Not your usual beat, but my first choice is off-hunting almanacs."
Temporal anomaly. Chronological disturbance. Daylight savings. Our paranormal investigations had taken us far and wide but never across time... zones. I examined the photos: a stately manor house, perfectly kept gardens, figures in period dress. Had Dirk uncovered a particularly devoted historical reenactment society? Or had a weekend-sized hole been punched straight through spacetime? (Rather that than the ozone.)
"Violet!" I called out. "Pack the quantum interpolators! Dirk's got time weirdness!"
"Time weirdness!" Violet looked up from arranging her cryptid hair samples. A vial labeled Sasquatchicus Hirsutus rolled under the bed, forgotten. "Sounds spooky. Have you got any idea how rare temporal anomalies are? Right, we'll need to blend in."
"Let me guess," I was already dreading it. "Corsets?"
"Yep, that's right," she replied. I could see her sizing me up and dividing by two. "Think Amazon Prime does wig powder?"
The look in her eye should have been a warning sign: whalebone and suffering ahead.
Investigation Note: Our booking at the Chateau was handled through notecard exchanges. The process was straightforward, and (owner) Linda's responses were warm, prompt, and thoughtfully detailed.
Arrival at the Chateau
"Any sign of time disruption?" Violet asked while sweeping the area for evidence.
"The only thing being disrupted right now is my circulation," I complained, historically accurate torture device staunching my ability to inhale any historically accurate smog. "Remind me why we couldn't investigate a time slip to sweatpants future?"
Through the gate, the Chateau grounds opened before us. Peacocks wandered across an oversized chess board; decorative hedgerows framed carefully manicured walkways. Violet had left the bigfoot detector at home, but we weren't without our paranormal investigation equipment - you'd be surprised how easily an EMF reader fits in the stick part of a parasol.
A woman in full-period attire approached the gate and ushered us in. "Welcome to the Chateau," she greeted us with a curtsey. "I am Linda, Governess of the estate. You must be our guests." She didn't seem affected by the press of her dress, either from a lifetime of deportment training or a complete lack of internal organs.
"Yes," I managed to wheeze, corset nearly crushing a rib mid-curtsey return. "We're here to investigate para-"
"-doxical elements of garden architecture," Violet interrupted smoothly.
Linda's expression remained neutral. But pleasant. "How fascinating. Please allow me to show you around. The Lord of the Manor is currently away. A matter of honour demanded his attention this morning - a duel, of course, you understand."
"Naturally," I nodded along, as if duels were as common as cave raves on my social calendar. "Inconvenient when they put them on the weekend."
Investigation Note: Upon arrival, we were greeted by Linda, who provided a thorough tour of the property, introducing us to the workers and residents at the manor while staying perfectly in character. The grounds are pretty, great for pictures, and include a manor house, outbuildings for tea and fine dining, and a picnic area with games.
The Manor House Tour
Grand hallways with portraits of stern-seeming aristocrats. Enough antiques to cause a roadshow detour. A pool table that Violet chose to describe as "sturdy" for some reason. And Mabel. So much Mabel - in the kitchen, Linda had introduced her as the cook - but really, she was the most reliable champagne delivery service this side of the DoorDash easter egg I keep suggesting. (Haven't heard back, yet.)
Linda's tour of the manor was nothing if not thorough. But there were signs of temporal disturbance everywhere; my parasol was practically spinning (and not from the wine.) Some of the decor appeared more realistic than the rest, glossy reflections straining against otherwise flattened floors and ceilings. Could have been the bubbles, but the contrast was dizzying.
"Is that an original?"
It was the third Mona Lisa I'd seen so far.
Investigation Note: The interior of the manor was a mix of old and new. PBR mirrors line the halls, some of the furniture and decor is more recent, but the bones of the building remain d̶a̶t̶e̶d̶ lived-in. Still, it's not without charm. The build was clearly made with care; however, there are places one might visit that show less age.
Can We Talk About the Hair Now?
We chose to stay in the Chateau's Suite Premiere Classe, which combines a pleasantly dark palette with ornate ostentation. Art on every surface - even the ceiling - and a room service chime to call for champagne.
Importantly, the period-appropriate furnishings supported the temporal warp hypothesis. Louis XIV would have felt right at home - or asked them to dial it down a notch.
As we were getting settled, Violet snapped open the latches on a particularly baroque piece of luggage to reveal various contraptions, flumes, and vials. "What's all that?" I wondered if she was working up a tiny DeLorean to take us home.
"Period-authentic hairstyling equipment," she replied, already beginning to heat something over a candle. "You want to blend in, don't you?"
For the next hour, I was subjected to a new, old form of torture. Hot clay rollers, a tangle of tonics, and something called pomatum that smelled like rendered animal fat (because it was.) Time slowed to a crawl. Another data point for our research.
"Hang on, I need to pulverize the quince seeds," Violet muttered with some effort as she applied elbow grease to her mortar and pestle. "It's for the bandoline." Don't ask; I wasn't about to bother. After that, I was commanded to hold perfectly still before being blasted with powder through a bellows, leaving the imprint of my silhouette on the lacquered panel behind me.
"Is that," I sneezed, "flour?"
"Has some lavender and plaster of Paris for staying power."
"You're putting wall material in my hair?"
"It's historically accurate, Sarah."
So that's what 'making one's toilet' means in old books. Not plumbing - construction. I emerged with a tower where my hair had been and the beginnings of a tension headache.
Investigation Note: Our observations about the Suite Premiere Class are similar to those of the build as a whole. It's thoughtfully designed and decorated but a little older than we would have preferred. The bed had adult poses and worked well enough, but if you're expecting ‘Darkfold’ or ‘Good Moaning’, you won't be impressed. Privacy is limited in the manor; although the property is closed to the public, guests and staff could cam through the walls if they wanted to peep.
Afternoon Tea, or: Meeting People is Easy
On our way to tea at the gazebo, I nearly walked my skyscraper hair into the top of the doorframe. Of the possible blameworthy architects, I chose the one whose blueprint involved macerated quince. After improvising some scaffolding from a nearby tomato plant stake, we were seated and served tea by Mabel.
I'm less of a tea connoisseur than Violet, but the pastries and tiny sandwiches were delicious and delightful. She didn't seem to have any complaints about the warm drinks, even if she switched back to champagne after just a cup.
Linda, assisted by the estate's Assistant Manager Ari, was a remarkably attentive host. Their every-so-often check-ins were -bearing without being over-. More impressive still was how she managed the hubbub and bustle of a property without electricity, indoor plumbing, or women's suffrage.
Meanwhile, the garden was abuzz with activity; there were preparations being made for the Lord of the manor's return. Word had arrived: his duel was a hit, in that he hadn't been.
We never did meet the Lord, but Linda was eager to introduce the next best thing: her son, Apollo.
She claimed he was back from the front lines and had led the charge. Looking to locate myself in history, and suspicious given his station in life, I asked at which front he'd served. "It's unseemly to discuss such matters in mixed company," he replied, with authentic, period-appropriate sexism. More proof that time had been warped.
As tea wound down, there was a sudden burst of activity in the garden. Mabel and Ari were whispering in their loudest shouts about a missing letter and a murder that had taken place on the grounds.
As keen investigators our first instinct was to get involved, but being professional means sticking to your assignment. And our assignment was to h̶a̶v̶e̶ t̶e̶a̶ investigate time weirdness, not to get involved with chasing down Colonel Mustard in the library.
Investigation Note: The Chateau offers RP tea and fine dining, and the tea experience was top tier. Linda and her crew provided hook after hook to hang stories from, and the revolving door of characters made afternoon tea feel like the social event I imagined it to be. Stubbornly in character, the time and effort everyone spent playing along with our nonsense made us feel like special guests.
Conclusion
After a night in our suite, we bid farewell to the Chateau. Mabel caught Violet raiding the armory, which led to a departure that was a little more abrupt than we had planned for. But she still offered us champagne while we waited for our carriage. (Everyone needs a Mabel.)
As our horse-drawn tumble drier trundled us back to the future, we compared notes and sought meaning in pre-modernity.
As paranormal investigators, the Chateau presents something of a paradox. From a structural perspective, it's clearly a place caught between eras. Some parts show their age without the benefit of patina, while others gleam with more recent updates. In terms of time weirdness, Dirk had heard right.
But that's not the full story. The people who reside in the Chateau are great company and gracious hosts, accommodating to the needs of their guests. Even guests whose parasols won't stop pointing in the general direction of 2025.
We decided to file our investigation of the Chateau's temporal anomalies under "Improbable (but entertaining)." Whether the denizens of the estate are truly from another century, or just method actors with a love for large wigs, what seemed to matter most was our willingness to play along. Further investigation may be required, namely about how I've come to enjoy wearing this fucking corset.
Booking Details
Chateau OTSM is a closed property with access restricted to guests. Bookings can be made by email and in-world - see the website for more details. Rooms range in price from L$1100 to L$2000 per night. Afternoon Tea is L$750 per person. Fine dining is L$1000 per person.
P.S. We found another time traveler!
