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The date is Wednesday, October 19th, 2016, and Romney, New Hampshire seems to be going about its regular business. The college town, with a population of a bit over 150,000, has been generally following its usual existence. There isn't a lot of trouble in Romney, no pressing political concerns beyond usual, crime rates are about average, and it's an average New England city in many ways. The only talk that's out of the usual lately is expected, even: the two-year anniversary of Ricky Thompson's disappearance is coming up on the 29th, just ten days away. That dark spot in Romney's recent history has been brought back to local attention, thanks both to the upcoming date as well as an "anonymous tip" that led to a story in the local tabloid, the Romney Rag, wherein it was suggested that the Thompson family may be filing to have their son declared legally dead.
But as with every city across the world, darkness lurks under the surface. The shadows are around every corner, and there are many things in Romney that have gone thus far unseen, or unspoken, by the general public...
As your thoughts are drifting off, you're brought back by the ringing of your office phone. You answer to hear the familiar sound of Detective Marcus Warren, one of the local LEOs you've worked with over the last couple years. "Nikhols, hey, I figured I'd give you a ring. You still working that case with the sergeant thing? Asked me to send you anything with the Thompson kid for that, yeah?" He pauses, apparently both for you to answer and for a sip of something. "Well, we just got word that some art thing going up in town tomorrow? New exhibit opening, something like that, I dunno the specifics just yet. Anyway, apparently there's a last-minute addition and it's a tribute to the kid. Figured I'd send it your way, in case you wanted a look at it. Dunno what connection you see, but hey, you federal boys got further sight than us, I guess."
Warren's chuckle ruins his attempt to sound like the gruff cop bothered by higher-ups pulling rank or jurisdiction. He's an old hand at the game, and he cares a lot more about actually seeing justice done than anything else. He was also one of the original detectives assigned to the Thompson case, and he's been helpful in more than one investigation since.
Your thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice--Dennis, one of the guys in your lab. You don't know him incredibly well, this is the first course you've had together, but he's a friendly guy. Just now, he's got his hand on your shoulder and a grin on his face. "Hey man, you going to the opening tomorrow night? I heard professors aren't counting it as absences for labs or anything."
Your thoughts are interrupted by the door opening and your roommate, Summer Shines (her actual name, thanks to parents who never quite outgrew the sixties despite not growing up during them), coming in to flop down on her bed. She heaves one sigh from a day of classes and then turns to look at you. "Hey, you hear about the art thing going up downtown tomorrow? Apparently there's gonna be a gamer thing as part of it. Maybe a good way to get out of the room for a bit, do something fun and different, you know?"
Fitting for her name, Summer's got a bright outlook on life and a cheery personality, for the most part. She was your roommate last year, and she's been a true friend and what even you recognize as a good influence, helping you continue to keep out of your shell and do new things. She doesn't ever really push you to do anything you don't want, but she's definitely suggested events in the past that have turned out to be a lot of fun.
Your thoughts are cut off by a new email coming into your inbox, and you check the subject line. New Exhibit Opening Tomorrow--Please Read! Opening the email reveals a longer message, sent out through the Art Department's collective email service to all of its students at Romney State.
To All Our Students and Faculty: A new exhibit is opening at the P. Stroehmann Gallery downtown tomorrow night, Memory Warp, and we would like to officially invite all of Romney State's fine arts community to attend if they have the time and desire. While we always encourage our students to attend exhibits if possible, but in this particular case we believe there may be even more value than usual in attending. The exhibit is showcasing works of local artists, working individually and together to create a showcase of unique and varied pieces. Also of note is a recently announced addition to the exhibit which will relate to the life and memory of Ricky Thompson. We are all aware that our community still feels the disappearance of Ricky and its effects, and we would like to encourage everyone to participate in this special reflection.
As such, any classes tomorrow evening will be excused, and you should speak to your professors regarding possible extensions to any ongoing projects. We hope you will take this opportunity to view a special collection of local work and participate in an important community event.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the scrape of wood on wood and a familiar, if somewhat unwelcome, face appearing on the other side of the table. Now seated across from you is Hollis Brown, well-known to you and other Romney locals as the owner, publisher, and senior editor of the Rag. Most people think of him as a talentless hack, and as a publisher, he definitely is--but you know enough about the craft of writing to realize, however grudgingly, that the rare article he writes himself is well-written, if not completely factual or even ethical.
"Hey there, golden boy. You gonna be at the big hoedown tomorrow at the gallery? Asking strictly off-record, of course." He gives the wheezy laugh of a lifelong smoker at his own joke. He wrote a review of your novel and published it in the Rag after it came out--it was positive overall, although he seemed to miss the real plot in favor of wild conjecture about your own psychology and how it was represented on the page. "I'm sure it'd mean a lot to the community if our very own homegrown literary hero attended. Especially what with the Thompson piece and all."
Your thoughts are interrupted by the tone of a new message popping up in an online chat you use to keep in touch with people of "similar interests." The message is from a "username" that's just a meaningless string of numbers, letters, and symbols, similar to your own in format and the fact that it'll be wiped and replaced as soon as you disconnect from the server. The actual sender, you know, is a local hacker with moderate skills and too little ambition to get him on a bigger scene. They go by PAC, always all caps, and you haven't met in person, but you've gotten to know them pretty well--as anonymous hacker collectives go--since coming to Romney.
Found lead on 1928--art open tomorrow. You in? Short and to the point while maintaining full spelling fits PAC's usual style, and they're the only one you share the codename 1928 with. It's a fairly basic but adequate way to mask discussions involving Ricky Thompson, and PAC is a source who's been helpful with gathering some info here and there, more with word on the street than hard hacking ability.
Your thoughts are interrupted by a chime from your computer, signaling a new email in your inbox. You open it up, figuring it may be important, or at least distract you from your own work. New Exhibit Opening Tomorrow--Please Read! The subject certainly suggests it might be important.
To All Our Students and Faculty: A new exhibit is opening at the P. Stroehmann Gallery downtown tomorrow night, Memory Warp, and we would like to officially invite all of Romney State's fine arts community to attend if they have the time and desire. While we always encourage our students to attend exhibits if possible, but in this particular case we believe there may be even more value than usual in attending. The exhibit is showcasing works of local artists, working individually and together to create a showcase of unique and varied pieces. Also of note is a recently announced addition to the exhibit which will relate to the life and memory of Ricky Thompson. We are all aware that our community still feels the disappearance of Ricky and its effects, and we would like to encourage everyone to participate in this special reflection.
As such, any classes tomorrow evening will be excused, and you should speak to your professors regarding possible extensions to any ongoing projects. We hope you will take this opportunity to view a special collection of local work and participate in an important community event.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the office phone ringing, and you answer it to hear a familiar voice. "Hello, Doctor Wilcox." It's Detective Andrew Banner with the Romney PD, one of the detectives from the Thompson case who's worked with you on-and-off over the years, giving you what information he can when it's available. He's also worked with you on a couple of other cases since then. He tends to be serious to a fault, but he's gold where it counts. "Detective Banner here. I thought I'd let you know something came up in relation to the Richard Thompson case? We don't have anything solid, but we've gotten word there's an art exhibit opening tomorrow in town, with a piece relating to him somehow. I can't say any more than that, but I thought I'd let you know, in case you hadn't heard. Apparently the piece is a last-minute addition, so not a lot of people have heard about it yet."
Tell me, will you be attending the exhibit? Also, is this something I can look up on the internet or should I get the specifics from you so I don't miss it? I certainly would like to assist in any way I can with the case, after all Ricky was a young bright student of mine and I would like to bring his family closure if possible".
I will send him a text that says Yes. Send me the info. then finish what I'm working on and do a basic web search for art shows going on tomorrow.
Michelle sighs deeply, inaudible to anyone but her and her collie Virgil. Virgil immediately looks up to see what's the matter, but then drops its head again as Michelle sits down at her desk.
It's been such a long time. I had always hoped he would turn up again, sometime, somewhere. But I guess his parents have given up hope of him turning up alive at least. Whatever happened to you Ricky?
Michelle jots down pencil stripes without even noticing she does so, a quirk she has developed over the years. Somewhere her mind and hand drift to a scene about 3 years ago. The smiling face of Ricky after he came by for dinner and her grandma, Mariana Gabriela, making insinuations in Spanish about the two of them. Even though Ricky didn't understand Spanish, Michelle's red face and bothered look was enough. They were eating an old-fashioned chili that night.
Even though there was nothing between Michelle and Ricky, he still felt like family to her, her grandma and her father, Mateo Diego Arguiz. Something about that night felt home. Safe. She looked up from her daydream and looked at the little sketch she made. Four people chatting at a table, one smiling like an idiot, another smirking.
She looked up at her drawings and wondered what felt off about them. Something didn't feel... normal?
Perhaps another sketch could work? No there's no time really, to make a piece that good.
She looked at the time: 3.45 PM.
Certainly not enough time, well I'll think about it when taking Virgil for a walk.
"Come on boy! Come on Virgil! We're going for a walk, then I'll take care of dinner for us both."
Virgil barked and jumped up, already searching Michelle's slightly cramped room for the leash.
Michelle changed into jogging pants and put on her running shoes.
"Hopefully I can keep up with you this time."
She walked to the door of her room and opened it, letting Virgil go outside first running down the hall. He would come back as soon as he noticed she wasn't there yet. Then she locked the door behind her.
Unfortunately, he's interrupted by someone he'd really rather not deal with right now. "Good afternoon to you too..." He tries to smile, but it doesn't really come across as genuine. "I was thinking about it," he admits. "But what's this about Ricky? I haven't heard anything about the exhibit being connected to him." He's a little surprised that Brown even cares, considering how most of the man's coverage of the case was wild conspiracy theory garbage.
Diana pauses the game for a moment, rubbing her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah. Uh, good idea. Probably." Way back when they first met, Summer and Diana had worked out an agreement: nothing from Diana's side of the room crossed the black line, and vice versa. It wasn't some stupid, catty thing. Rather, it was a way to keep them both sane. Diana's side was absolutely cluttered, buried in geeky detritus and used junk food containers. Com cards littered every surface, no less than three empty pizza boxes lay on her bed, a variety of tees with snarky or geeky quips on them lay limpid on the floor, seven novels that could only be described as "dissected"-filled with notes, and each word, sentence, paragraph, and page highlighted-were scattered everywhere, and discarded game cases were piled high, each with a small notebook tucked where the instruction manual would normally be.
Diana looks at her vampire-white skin. "Good idea. Unless I burn in the sun. Disintegrate." Beat. "Like a vampire." Another beat. "That was a joke."
As he reads the email he feels a pang in his heart when he gets to Ricky's name. Had it really been so long since he had disappeared? He had tried his best to forget about Ricky--but with the second anniversary of his vanishing approaching it had been next to impossible. His mind kept drifting back to the nights before the 29th--Ricky had asked him to go to a dance club--he had hesitated at first, not sure what Ricky was planning, and still a little wary about being noticed in public--but he had finally agreed. But Ricky hadn't shown up, and it turned out no one knew where he was.
He wondered who had done the picture of Ricky that would be in the gallery. He had done a few drawings of Ricky himself, and had even started a painting, but he had gotten rid of them all after Ricky had disappeared--they were far too painful to hold onto, though he still clung to one, in one of his older notebooks--the first one he had done of Ricky, when he had asked if he would help him with class by posing. He thought maybe he should skip this event--it sounded pretty official but he wasn't sure that he could take it. Just thinking about Ricky still gave him butterflies in his stomach. But--Ricky's parents were trying to declare him dead--if they were able to move on, maybe he could too. Maybe this would help. Maybe.
Well. At least it looked like he knew what he was doing tomorrow.
"Oooh, yeah. Guys. Alright, alright, let's go," Diana says, gingerly picking her way across the floor to her dresser, which, thankfully, isn't nearly as filthy as the rest of her room. She throws on some worn jeans-more respectable than her stained sweatpants-and a simple grey shirt, with 'TEH' emblazoned on the front. She pauses. "I took a shower last night, right? Yeah. I did." Pulling on some battered sneakers and a brown bomber jacket, she fumbles around her room for her wallet, before finally retrieving it. She then heads out the door, presumably with Summer in tow.
John will log out and then log in as his created admin account and then begin attempting to breach their site security, specifically looking for a catalogue of the exibits. Once he has that he'll make a local copy of it, remove the logs from the machine and the servers, and then copy it to a thumb drive.
"Hey Luke," says Hunter, jogging up to him. "You hear about this art gallery thing? Looks like they're canceling class for it. Must be pretty big."
Russel will hang up his cell and pop on his laptop conducting a search for the Stroehmann Gallery on Ninth Street to see if anything about the exhibit tonight jumps out at him.
"Oh Nathan! Sorry for that. Virgil is always difficult to handle when he just gets outside. How are your sketches of the parks and statues coming along? You also going to the Stroehmann Gallery tomorrow evening?"
Before Nathan could answer, Michelle looks at Virgil and with a forceful tone says: "Sit Virgil!"
Virgil holds his head a bit askew, then after a moment sits down and Michelle puts on his leash.
Then looks up at Nathan with a bright smile. "Where were we?"
A web search brings up the site for the P. Stroehmann Art Gallery, an establishment downtown that's been open since the late 1800s. There are a few galleries in Romney, and the Stroehmann is neither the biggest nor most acclaimed, but it's popular with local art and it's large enough to provide space for varied and unique pieces; in the past it's showcased everything from sculptures to film to interactive drama. Tomorrow's exhibit is titled Memory Warp, featuring only local artists, in different media.
He stands back up and exhales slowly. "The gallery... I don't know. I didn't really know Ricky, I started after he, uh..." He trails off, rubbing his neck with a sheepish expression. Nathan's an out-of-towner, and a sophomore--removed from the Ricky business, but still aware of it, like more or less everyone at the school is. "It's the sort of thing we ought to go to, I guess, but I'd feel way out of place. To be honest, it's not really my scene."
Getting through site security for the gallery isn't very difficult, and soon you're scrolling through some of their more private information. Scrolling through their recent exhibits, there's the sole theme that local artists are featured more than visiting exhibitions. The pieces on display have run the gamut from paintings to films, but when you look for information on the upcoming exhibit, there's just a placeholder note file: TBA. No amount of searching pulls up anything more: it doesn't seem the gallery knows what's in tomorrow's exhibit, or at least it isn't anywhere on their site information.
That's strange. I would think that someone running an exhibit would have more information than this. I wonder who is putting together the exhibit. I'll have to do some searching when I get home. Thinks John who then closes out his bootleg admin credentials and logs off his machine after modifying the logs to show that his student account was logged in the entire time.
John will gather his things and head outside, then go get his things and go for a run to order his thoughts.
Diana stops. "Oh, yeah." A pause. "I should probably still change, though. I don't remember how long I've worn those sweatpants. That's never a good sign." She shrugs. "As long as I'm motivated and not buried in my projects, might as well roll out."
"Working in graphite makes your work all the more special Nathan. It takes time to perfect it. I'm sure you'll get the perfect balance eventually."
Michelle shrugs as Nathan's trying to evade mentioning Ricky's disppearance. "Don't feel the need to bloom things Nathan." She says, while pushing back her hair a bit.
"I'm going mostly for the new art, but I'm also a little bit intrigued what kind of thing they have about Ricky. If it's not your thing then you shouldn't go."
Michelle bends down to pet Virgil again, ready to go for the brisk walk and run with him.
"I'll be sure to send you a text if the other art next to the special exhibition is worthwhile. We could go to the Gallery another day together then. Any plans for today Nathan?"
"The email I got said it was about Ricky," continues Hunter, his words trailing off, not sure what else to say. "I thought you might know something about it, since you're from around here, you know."
"I'm heading out into town, I'll be back in a few hours," he tells the guard stationed at the post. "I'll probably be back before your shift is over, but let your relief know if I'm not." Assuming he doesn't have reason to stop, he drives down to the gallery to look around before the exhibit officially opens.
Your pizza arrives in a timely fashion, and is fine if not fantastic in quality. (The best parlors in Romney don't deliver, after all.)
In a couple minutes you're ready to go, out in the hall locking the door. "So, where to, Miss Smith? Catch a movie, get a bite to eat, just walk around? Never know what you'll find on the action-packed streets of central New Hampshire!"
After a moment, he shrugs. "I mean, probably it's all nothing, but kinda weird, am I right? Maybe that's just how you art folks roll, though. Judging by you, I mean." He gives you a patented Luke sh*t-eating grin, dismissing the oddity as quickly as it came up.
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Diana shrugs. "I've heard that they're actually putting Curse of the Dragonslayer on the big screen over at the theater. Never thought it would get off of Netflix. Pretty good. Wanna go see it?"
James tucks his laptop away in his bag and slings it over his shoulder. "I'm not even surprised. I'll see you tomorrow then." He drops his empty cup in the garbage and walks out of the shop, pulling his coat around him to ward off the fall breeze.
Thankfully, the walk home isn't too long and his hands are only a little cold by the time he makes it to his mother's house. He unlocks the front door steps inside. "Mom? You in?"
"Now where we Virgil? O yeah that's right, we would go for a short run. But hwere to?"
Virgil looks at her with his head askew, then looking back to Nathan who just rounds a corner. Then he looks up again.
"Oh I know, why don't we go see if there's any posters or some things to see already at the gallery? Afterwards we'll have dinner. Come on Virgil!"
Michelle sprints away, ahead of Virgil. Virgil is quick to give chase, happily barking alongside of Michelle. Just another day in her life, maybe...
"Kind of weird they're canceling class for it. You doing anything tomorrow? Want to see what this opening is about?" says Hunter, his heart beating a little faster in his chest, and for a second he can't make eye contact with the other soccer player.
"And in the meantime, we've got an hour to kill before practice starts; you want to hang out until then?"
Your mother's house is about the state it usually is: tidy, but with a sense of disuse, like it's been left alone rather than intentionally cleaned. The first inhabitant to greet you is the cat, who turns to regard you from his place on the back of the couch. His eyes take you in, and recognizing you as no threat, he yawns and rolls over, presenting his stomach if you would be so kind as to scratch.
Your mother responds about the same time, coming down the short hall from the kitchen. "Oh, James. It's good you stopped by. How are things?" She gives you the smile that hasn't been quite the same since your father died, and her hands wring together, her fingers brushing her wedding band--a nervous tick that's been almost constant for the past couple years. It's far from the worst she's been, but it isn't the best, either.
It doesn't take a whole lot of searching to find the basics of the local art scene, which features maybe a dozen core members and a few who pop up here and there. Most seem fairly regular, painters or sculptors, with a somewhat popular DJ and an independent short film director in the mix. The one who sticks out most, though, is an E. Jonah Vane, very much an indie artist who's garnered a small following of devoted fans. He's a dabbler, working in various media from 2D to 3D to sound, and he definitely tends toward the experimental, along with some activist agenda that moves all over the place with the times. His name is familiar, and after a few links you place it: he was the alleged perpetrator of a particularly weird public art display, a "graffiti" job that involved painting the brick wall of a building to look like... another brick wall, only it just didn't line up with the walls around the corners. It's a very loose connection, but the piece seemed to have gone up the night Ricky disappeared, and a few people questioned if it was some prophetic display. What it would be trying to say is beyond your guess; Vane never gave comment even on whether or not he did it, and the charges were dropped even before the paint was removed.
Even so, it's just strange enough to make your wall, with a printout of a picture of the man--maybe in his early thirties, long hair tied back with loose strands in his eyes, scruffy goatee and mustache--and his only comment to the Rag, which ran the most complete story on the event. "Art isn't meaningful, the meaning comes from you," Vane told our reporter. "Art just is--except when it isn't." The quote rests just below the picture, and his dark eyes give no indication if it was serious or not.
When you ask about the gallery and hanging out, Luke pauses, clearly going over his schedule in his head. "Hmm. Canceling class, Ricky, the Stroehmann place. Call me crazy, but that's enough weirdness together that it's gotta be worth checking out. I'm in." He grins. "But if there's any creepy little girls who start cussing me out I'm tripping you up for getting me into it." He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. "I'd love to hang now, but I've got a presentation tomorrow in econ, and I've gotta get it done before I crash later on. I'll see you at practice, though, huh? Not long at all." He smiles and waves as he heads off to his own dorm.
The P. Stroehmann Gallery is a pleasant building in the heart of downtown Romney, located on Ninth Street just a block from where it crosses Main. With a cream-plastered front perfect for displaying posters for upcoming events, and a pair of Romanesque columns flanking the large-doored entrance, there's little mistaking it for anything but what it is, especially since it's the largest building on the block, despite the deceptively small front; the adjacent shops are actually quite small (a barbeque joint that mostly serves order-out on the left, a cigar place on the right), and the gallery takes up much of the space that might normally be reserved for those buildings.
Currently the doors are closed, and some traffic cones are set up on the street and sidewalk near the entrance, keeping foot and road traffic from coming too near. The reason is fairly apparent: it looks like some of the installation is still in progress, judging by the storage truck parked by the front. They say not to judge a book by its cover, but the young woman leaning against the truck's back is almost certainly an artist, probably waiting on her work to be brought in: dyed jeans that look to be more rip than denim, a leather jacket paired with a decorative scarf, and hair dyed a metallic purple that reflects the afternoon light. She looks preoccupied with her phone at the moment.
John will spend a small amount of time attending to his actual classwork and then do some quick research to find what someone his age who wants to blend in with a bunch of people who are interested in experimental art would wear, along with a list of topics for small talk.
Michelle comes jogging behind Virgil as he pulls her along. But when they get to the gallery iself she digs in her heels and makes Virgil halt in his tracks.
"Good boy Virgil. Now we can take it easy for a moment."
Michelle looks around and sees the truck and works being unloaded from it.
Guess those are for the exhibit. Then she must be one of the artists. Never seen her before though, perhaps an introduction is in order, if she knows Ricky then she couldn't be all that bad.
After walking Virgil towards the truck, Michelle greets the woman excitedly standing near the truck.
"Hi! Nice afternoon isn't it? I reckon you're one of the artists on display in the Gallery tomorrow evening. I can't wait to see your work. I'm Michelle by the way, one of the local art students. Did you know Ricky Thompson well?"
A young woman with ruffled, mousy brown hair walks with a chatty friend, looking rather dazed. She's rather lanky, and the worn shirt with a geeky slogan hangs loosely off of her frame, while slightly too long bluejeans pool around her ankles. Although she looks like she was just recently dragged out of the dark recesses of some cave, her cerulean eyes are deep with thoughts and ideas, slowly churning over each one.
As the woman approaches the artist and asks about Ricky she peaks his curiosity. However, he stops short when he sees Diana approaching and walks in her direction.
"Ms. Smith? How are you? This is the first time I have seen you off campus. Tell me, how are you enjoying my Psychology course?"
He then pauses and introduces himself to Diana's friend, "I am Professor Wilcox or Dr. Wilcox depending on your preference". He smiles.
Diana snaps to attention at the sight of her professor. "Ah! Oh, um, hi. Sorry, startled me. Pondering ideas while walking in the city isn't the safest thing, but my mind tends to, um, wander. Um. Yeah. The course is interesting, definitely, ah, especially in applications for entertainment, and maybe for emergent AI. How could we create a mind if we don't understand our own? If, um, emergent AI were to become a thing." She blinks. "...I'm not a supervillain."
Despite her apparent scatterbrained tendencies, Diana is one of your brightest students. Although she doodles, writes, and brainstorms the entire class, she gives intelligent questions and answers, and does extremely well on tests. She's especially keen on developmental psych, but, curiously, doesn't appear to want to go into the field of education or research, but rather uses it to write convincing characters for her projects for her major.
A wandering mind is an inquisitive one, no harm in that Ms. Smith, you would be surprised how often my mind wanders when I grade tests and papers.
I understand AI has had some solid development it is of course not my field of expertise but perhaps someone should look into it. I mean there are dog and cat psychologists out in LA why not psychologists for theoretical intelligences made manifest right?
So do you come down here often and wander around or are you here for a specific purpose?" He asks making idle chatter but keeping an ear out for the conversation that had mentioned Ricky's name.
"It's fascinating! I'm personally split down the middle of whether it would be more interesting to study a completely nonhuman intelligence, or try to create a humanlike one. Oh, ah, Summer here is just being a good friend, and, um, dragging me outside of my cave to feel some sun and catch a film."
Russel smiles and clasps hands with Aaron, "This is a pleasant coincidence. Aaron, meet Ms. Diana Smith, current undergraduate student and future best selling author and her friend Summer.
Absolutely, I can always spare time for you my friend. We don't get many in this world Lord knows so when you find a good one you need to have their back!
As an aside, I did not come down here for a walk, I came down here cause I got a call regarding the Thompson case and it seems I am not the only one". Russel gestures towards the woman speaking with the Artist. "I heard her asking about Ricky and tried to eavesdrop when I saw Ms. Smith here and decided to say hello. I would bet on the fact that it is not a coincidence then that you are here, you get a similar call?"
As he approaches anyone who bothers can get a good look at him, Derek is approaching 6ft, has a lean frame, short dark red hair, and has a very distinct set of three scars running from just his left ear to under his chin. He's dressed dark cargo pants, boots, a light camo jacket over a red t-shirt.
Derek walks up to the group with one hand in his pocket and the other raised in greeting, and a casual smile, trying not to show how thankful he is that there's someone else here."Hey Professor, assorted friends of the Professor. Here to check out the Gallery as well?"
The young woman at the truck looks up as Michelle speaks to her, and she finishes whatever was on her phone and slides it away with a smile. "Yeah, it's nice. Good weather for this time of year, yeah? I'd say good for an installation if that was happening right now." She laughs, and it doesn't take a profiler to sense that she's at least a little annoyed. "Yep, I'll be there if anybody's good enough to do their job and get it set up. I'm Clara Stiles." She runs a hand through her hair. "Nice to meet you, Michelle. Art student, huh? Don't let 'em drum the love out of you." She laughs again, and shakes her head at your final question. "No, I didn't know Ricky. Not a local, I'm a Mass girl. Just part of the local circuit is all. The Ricky thing's something Vane set up, I think."
Michelle can only assume she's referring to Jonah Vane, the most well-known local artist due to his weird exhibitions and public works, as well as the persona that's earned him several spots in local news.
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Summer smiles and shakes Russel's hand. "Good to meet you, Doctor Wilcox," she says. She laughs at Diana's supervillain comment, and generally seems happy to stand by while her roommate talks to somebody. When the conversation rolls back to her, she sticks out her tongue at Diana. "A film you suggested. Whatsit, Curse of the Dragon?" She shrugs. "It's fun and it isn't our room, so it gets my vote." She smiles and introduces herself to Aaron and Derek when they arrive, as well.
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