The world is not as it seems
You have known for a while that you were different than other people. You knew that there was something more to the world than what your peers perceived. Strange things seemed to occur around you, or perhaps the strangeness infused everything and you just saw through the illusion.
What this means for you, you are not sure. You have boded your time, studied what scant information can be gleaned from the reams of bullsh*t in books and online. You prepared for the moment where you could discover what it all really meant.
Then, one day, a package is delivered to your door. An unassuming mailer envelope with a USB flash drive and a card with your name on it...
The card is an invitation. It has an embossed red rose on it. It reads:
Dear ,
You have been invited to a party where several issues of mutual benefit are to be discussed at 7PM on October 22. I hope that you will be able to attend.
Below this is a simple calligrapgy "J.T" and an address:
8 Elliot Drive
Halifax, NH
03038
It is currently October 12. The USB drive is a simple, 1GB model, and if you plug it into a computer:
Miren's dark eyes examine the contents of the package carefully, lingering on the New Hampshire address with some puzzlement.
"A rose in the desert is a rare thing," she muses, rubbing her thumb across the embossed flower.
When the USB plays, her lips quirk into a wry half smile. She pulls the USB and replaces it into the original mailer envelope along with the invitation.
She sits and ponders for a few moments, then calls up the Amtrak and Greyhound schedules for departures from Winslow, AZ to New Hampshire. After examining routes and prices, she pulls a credit card from her wallet and books the trip East, without a return ticket.
With a small sigh, she settles cross-legged onto the large rag rug lying in front of a cold wood stove and closes her eyes, murmuring. In a minute or so, the shape of a young girl forms in the air before her, pushing its spectral hair back to peer into her face curiously.
"Yázhi," Miriam says quietly to the ghost child, "We are taking a trip far from here to the East - to New England and the lands of the Abenaki and Passamaquoddy. Would you like to help me pack?"
The child smiles and nods, trailing after Miren into the bedroom like... well, like a ghost. As Miren pulls a duffle from the closet and begins making piles on the bed, the girl drifts over to a tattered stuffed rabbit sitting on the top of a low bookshelf, brushing her fingers over the remnants of its fur.
"Don't worry. We'll take Little Georgie."
The child smiles vaguely and slowly grows more transparent until she can no longer be seen.
Miren sighs again and keeps packing.
Miren books a Greyhound bus trip to Manchester NH. It’s a long journey, with switchovers in St Louis, New York, and Boston, but she finally arrives at 8AM on the 15th. The air is crisp, and cool. She is unused to the level of moisture in the air, it’s an odd sensation after the desert.
There is a regional bus that heads up I93 and has a stop at Halifax. It’ll be another two hours before it leaves, but Miren is patient. The Greyhound terminal is adjacent to the regional airport, and there is a bustling hum to the area. Miren can see quite a few planes taking off and landing as she sits outside, many of them major carriers like Delta.
Manchester looks to be a mid-size city, about the size of Tempe. The amount of trees in such an urban setting surprises Miren. There are oaks and maples all about, and they are brilliant in their fall colors. Even in this city area, there is a hint of woodsmoke in the air. The sun is shining from a pale blue sky free of clouds
Nace steps out of his silver SUV and squints at the sun. Bright mornings like this are becoming rare this time of year. He runs a hand through his hair, still wet from his shower at the gym. He retrieves his bag from the backseat and heads to the side door of the old colonial house - a coveted private entrance for his basement apartment.
The envelope catches his eye, poking out from the mailbox beside his door. He grabs the mail and looks at the address line - "Officer Ignatius Bishop". When did junk mail get so formal? he thinks to himself, but a sense a foreboding stifles the grin forming on his face.
He lets himself inside and throws his bag on the floor by his shoes. He sets the mail atop the pile of bills and advertisements cluttering his kitchen counter.
First things first. He heads to the small back room, windowless and dark, and flips on the light. Tables and cabinets are covered with chemical and alchemical apparatuses, tiny vials line high shelves, and his strange arcane notes are strewn about the nearby countertop. If anybody saw this, they would guess I was cooking meth, he chuckles to himself, but meth dealers have nicer apartments. That was an amusing thought, but he had busted enough meth dealers to know that it was not necessarily true.
He takes a tiny vial from its place at the end of a long distilling coil and holds it up to the light. The pale liquid refracts the light in shades of yellow and pink. He turns to the cracked, ancient volume on the table beside it and consults the notes. Exactly as it should be, he thinks with satisfaction and stows the alchemical draught in the cabinet beside him.
Nace considered for a moment what his brothers on the force would think of this hobby. Not a hobby, he corrects himself. This isn't chemistry - not when he channels it with the "spark." Sgt. Beecher homebrews beer - if you can call it that. So maybe it's not so strange after all.
A nagging thought reminds him of that strange mailer. With some trepidation he returns to it and examines it again. Finally he opens it and reads the contents. Something about the letter conveys importance, and it never even occurs to him to refuse the invitation.
"I guess I'm going to New Hampshire," he says to himself aloud. It is an easy enough drive - maybe 4 hours from his home in Bridgeport.
He looks at the thumb drive included in the mailer. As he sits down at his computer and prepares to open the file, he muses to himself, "Good thing I never use my vacation time." He clicks on the file and the song begins to play.
Stepping out of the shower, Miyuku pulls on a silk robe, not wasting time drying off as she heads to the door of her hotel room. Stalking silently across the floor, she takes a moment to pick up the jet black wakizashi from the table, the weapon settling comfortably in her hands as the knock at the door comes again.
Who would know she was here?
Considering the only person that knew she was headed to New York was the one person she could trust, and the steps she took to make sure none of her better-known enemies even knew what country she was in, the persistent knocking justifiably triggered more than a little paranoia.
”Yes?” she says simply, opening the door enough to leave the blade concealed in her hand, behind the door, while flashing the concierge a disarming smile. She doubted her was there to kill her, few people could fake being in as poor shape as that while having what it would take to give her trouble.
Accepting the unassuming mailer envelope, she gives him a nod and closes the door, locking it behind her as she walks back into the bedroom, opening the seal with curiosity.
Tracing a finger over the embossed rose, she turns the card over, looking for any identifying details before reading the simple message. Reaching for the bag she kept under the bed, she grabs her laptop, inserting the USB drive expectantly.
The chuckle of amusement breaks the tension as the song, now a classic she supposed, fills the room.
New Hampshire, what the hell would be in New Hampshire…more so who? This J.T. would definitely have to answer a few questions.
Slipping Black Butterfly back in her saya, she sits back on the bed, beginning to look up details along the way from the city. In the morning she’d set out. The East coat was generally pretty good for riding by motorcycle this time of year.
Pru tears open the envelope and almost drops the USB stick as it falls out. She pulls out the card, reads it, looks at the USB stick, and then re-reads the card. Curious but wary, she pulls out her battered laptop and inserts the drive, making sure to run all manner of scans on it before she opens it up.
A crooked grin appears on her face as the music starts playing. "Whoever they are, at least they've got good taste in music, " she thinks to herself.
"JACKIE," she yells, still stating at the laptop as a black cat leaps up onto her lap and she begins stroking it.
A shaved female head pokes around a door frame and a with a British accent yells back "PRU-DENCE".
Pru turns and smiles. "I'm going on a little impromptu trip love, you're in charge while I'm gone." Jackie nods and her head disappears back from whence it came. "Have fun!" comes muffled from another room.
She stares at the screen for a short while, thinking to herself and stroking the cat now curled up on her lap. Finally, she sighs and stands. The cat gives a small hiss of annoyance at being dumped on the floor, but then rubs itself up against her leg. She turns and heads into a messy bedroom and begins throwing clothes and other random odds and ends off the floor into a bright pink Care Bear bag. She raises her arm, sniffs, cocks her head with an 'it'll do' look, and heads out. She grabs the laptop and charger from the desk and puts it in the bag as well.
Jackie's head pops back around the door frame and she gives her a quick kiss before she heads out the door grabbing a set of keys from a hook on the wall as she does.
She heads down the stairs of the old apartment building and turns into the alleyway next to it. Parked there behind a dumpster is an old brown Chevette. She opens the door (why bother locking it... there's nothing inside worth stealing, including the car itself) and climbs in. It starts up and spits a plume of smoke out of the exhaust, but after its initial sputter, seems to be running fine. She eases out into the New York traffic and heads north, asking Siri for directions whenever her innate sense of direction fails her.
The three others make their way up towards New Hampshire. The weather is holding well, and ...
With a few delays and a few other things they all make it on the road and on towards their destination by October 15. After their journeys they all feel a bit hungry, and they head to a local diner to grab a bite to eat just off I93. It is a charming Fifties retro spot, and they all enter separately and find tables. Miren has also wandered in, as she has two hours to kill and the diner is nearby the bus stop she'll need to wait at to get the local bus to Halifax.
All four of the people feel a certain frisson of energy in the diner. They see the other three, and somehow know that they are somehow connected.
An athletically-built man, mid-20s, sits in a booth by himself. He wears a pair of Levi’s and a gray UConn hooded sweatshirt, the hood thrown back to reveal a full head of auburn hair, which seems to reflect highlights of fiery red. His expression is characteristically somber, and he looks about the diner with sharp, wary eyes. The bright blue of one eye offsets his tanned complexion, with the other eye is nominally light brown, but appears at times as if the iris is wreathed in flame.
Nace slides into his booth and looks around the diner. This entire journey has him feeling on edge, and his instinct is to be on alert for danger. He attempts to shake it off, but as he observes the other patrons, the connection he feels only deepens his unease.
The arrival of the waitress is a welcome distraction. “BLT please, with fries. And a Coke.” He sets his menu aside and observes the others while he waits for his sandwich.
Pru sits by herself in a booth in the back of the diner. Anyone who cares to notices can pick out a kind of 'no man's land' of empty tables separating her from the other patrons. Considering it's New Hampshire, it's not hard to see why... long pink hair combed straight down the right side of her head, with short pink fuzz along the left. Her ears are full of earrings and have a spacers in the lobes, and both her nose and bottom lip are pierced as well. She is wearing a black t-shirt with a skull logo on it, short black shorts, and knee high boots covered in zippers. Her hands, arms and legs are all covered in various tattoos. Despite her look, she seems quite cheerful as she hoes into a huge plate of salad and sips on a Coke. Those that pay close attention can see a black cat can be seen curled up on the seat next to her, even though there is a sign on the door that proclaims 'NO PETS ALLOWED'.
In the other back corner of the diner, a slender figure in jeans and a sage green cotton shirt slouches on its bench seat. The square toes of well-worn roper boots, one of which is stretched out to rest on the facing bench, peek out from below the jeans' frayed hem. The figure's face - in fact, its entire head - is obscured by a wool Stetson hat, rudely worn indoors. The tanned hand, holding a fork brimming with some sort of breakfast dish, disappears behind the brim of the Stetson in a regular rhythm, pausing only to cut through something on the dish with the side of the fork. The tan of the hand is more golden than brown, betraying the gringo origins of its owner. The figure's only companion, an army surplus duffle, sits upright on the bench against the wall, draped in some sort of brown blanket-thing.
After a few moments, the fork slows to a stop and a soft groan originates from behind the hat. The hand pushes the plate away and pulls over a cup of coffee, which disappears rapidly. At the sound of another person ordering, the hat tilts up, revealing a face that could belong to a Brazilian supermodel framed by shining black wisps of hair escaped from their braid. The achingly beautiful face is only enhanced by the strange bright gold of the eyes. They make the young woman - surely still a teenager - look feral, like a lioness at rest.
Miren finishes her strange meal and realizes she ate way too fast. She hadn't recognized the name of the dish, but decided to be adventurous and try something new. 'Something new' turned out to be eggs on some sort of grilled bread, smothered in a rich, yellow sauce and topped with enormous chunks of red-bordered white meat. She figured that must be lobster or crab or some sort of spidery thing that lives in the ocean - probably not too far away now. Hungry after a long bus ride, a long walk, and a quick Uber, she had shoveled in the meal, including a generous heap of cottage fries, with barely time to breathe between bites. Now, as the warm coffee helps settle the food, she finally looks up, aware that others are entering the diner, ordering, and eating.
That fleeting sense of familiar unfamiliarity sweeps through her, even here, three-quarters of the way across the country. People here - here in the diner - no, only certain people - give her the same feeling as the hum of high tension lines or the inevitable whuff of a huge windmill looming overhead. Uneasy, she digs out a notebook from the top of her duffle, pulls a pencil from the elastic band on the spine, and begins sketching, glancing up occasionally from below her hat brim to capture the scene. She pauses for a moment when she spots the cat and smiles, then captures the sleeping feline in a few swift strokes.
The ring of the bell that signals the presence of another customer, sounds over the charming big band music as the door opens again, allowing a sleek silhouette of a woman in. Clad in a form fitting, black leather one piece motorcycle suit, embellished with swaths of silver, the figure reaches out to remove her featureless helmet, revealing a rather attractive blend of European and Asian features. Checking the helmet under her arm she shakes her head allowing her length of raven black hair to cascade down her shoulders framing a porcelain pale face, accentuated with subtly dark makeup, drawing attention to pair of smokey violet eyes quickly scan the diner, whitening ever-so-slightly she feels me familiar buzz that always signals the presence of... others.
Her eyes quickly flick to the corners of the room, pausing on the two women that sit separately, before settling on the man practically radiating wariness sitting in a booth.
exits and entrances, paths of escape. Look for the watchers the ones who seem to be expecting something.
She could practically hear her aunt's words in her head, the training being instinct now. Nonchalantly walking over to a table with a view of the door, (counting every step) she smoothly settles into a chair, making eye contact with a waitress and nodding slightly with a hint of a smile, indicating that she was ready to order.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
An electronic chime disturbs Miren's sketching and coffee drinking. She pulls out her phone, silences the alarm, and inserts the pencil back into the sketchbook. She unfolds herself into a standing position with a huge stretch, then doffs the Stetson and slips the blankety thing - which turns out to be a light wool poncho - over her head before replacing her hat. The duffle and sketchbook stay at the table while she takes the check to the counter to pay.
When Miren returns to her table, she picks up the sketchbook to stow it in the duffle, considers it a moment, then strolls over to the pink-haired cat lady, stopping a polite four feet away with a soft "S'cuse me."
"Sorry to disturb your meal. I drew your little friend here without so much as asking leave. If you'd like their sketch, it's yours."
She speaks softly and extends the sketchbook towards Pru with one hand, showing a rough pencil sketch of the curled-up feline for Pru's consideration. Her eyes stay lowered to the book in her hand.
"Not like it's great art or anything, but if it brings you pleasure, it's better with you than being locked up in a book. I learned everything I could from the drawing process." She quirks a shy half-smile, eyes shifting to the cat now.
Pru looks up as the chime rings, a fork full of salad halfway to her mouth. "Another one," she thinks to herself as she eyes the newcomer with both wariness and appreciation. her eyes flick around the room at the others she sensed earlier, then the fork continues its journey towards her mouth.
She senses Miren heading towards her, but doesn't react until she hears the throat clearing. She looks up in surprise at the sketch in Miren's hand, momentarily speechless at the thoughtfulness of the woman. She looks at the sketch, and then at Miren as she accepts the drawing. She studies it for a moment, before poking the cat and showing the drawing to it. "What do you think Mafdet," she seems to ask the cat, "she seems to have captured your laziness quite strikingly." The act gives a hiss as Pru chuckles. It reaches out a paw to pat the paper gently before looking up at Miren and nodding, then curls back up and goes back to its rest.
"She likes it," says Pru to Miren. "It's not quite my style, but I like it too." With a sudden movement, one might almost say a feline grace, she is on her feet and facing Miren, a heavily tattooed hand outstretched. "Pru's the name secrets are the game," she says with an exaggerated wink.
Miren extends a hand decorated only with a band of callouses across the palm and grips Pru's hand firmly. "M.. Miren's the name and... well, I don't think I have a game. Putting people together, I guess, though I'm not very good at it yet." She grins shyly, but her eyes meet Pru's with warmth and steadiness.
"Sorry to interrupt your meal, Pru. I wouldn't have, except my little phone alarm says I need to get moving or I'll miss my bus. I'm glad you and Mafdet like her portrait. Too bad we don't have more time. I can do better."
From several booths away, Nace watches with interest as the two young women converse. I don't know how I know them... I don't know them... But I feel like I will. Nace continues to struggle with these otherworldly sensitivities. Feeling a connection to two total strangers both terrifies him and intrigues him. He is almost disappointed to see the one named Miren start to leave to catch her bus; the people-watcher in him wanted to see how their conversation could have played out.
"Thanks for the pic. I know she looks like she doesn't care, but Mafdet thanks you too." She inclines her head back towards the curled up cat. "Don't want you to miss your bus now, do we. Have a good trip." She puts two fingers to her forehead and gives a little salute/wave, then sits back down to finish her salad.
Anyone paying attention to the interaction can see a thoughtful look on her face as she eats. "It's weird, but it feels like I know her, but for the life of me I can't place where from."
Miren hesitates a moment, then touches the brim of her hat. "Pru. Mafdet. Nice meeting you both."
Returning to her table, she stows the notebook in the top of the duffel and swings it over her shoulder carefully, so as not to bump any tables, chairs or patrons. On her way to the door she walks past the young man in the corner, a slight hitch in her stride as she almost pauses, frowning, but continues past. She studies the young woman who just walked in, nodding if the woman looks up then focusing elsewhere quickly, as if embarrassed to be caught looking.
Once outside, she moves away from the diner's pavement and takes a deep breath of crisp, autumn air.
That was strange... but maybe that's how it is around lots of people. Or maybe there's something about the East. Or the humidity?
She resettles her load a little more comfortably on both shoulders, tugging the poncho out of the way, and starts off towards the bus station at a steady pace, her long legs eating up the distance quickly.
Watching the exchange between the two women past the waitress' hip, Miyuku notes the strange mix of body language, halfway between perfect strangers and people with a familiarity of each other...the same puzzling mix she felt.
When the stunning darker woman makes eye contact on her way out, Miyuku almost drops her fork, momentarily dazzled by the golden, wolflike gaze. She recovers but a moment later, smiling to herself as the woman shyly averts her gaze and heads out.
The energy in the diner was a little less intense now, as if one of the people causing the buzz had exited, but the others still present. Whatever this meeting entailed, it seemed to be bringing her closer to others like her, those who in their own way must have gained some glimpse into the shadows.
With a sigh, she continues her meal, surreptitiously keeping an eye on the other woman, and the man that gave off the feel of a guard dog waiting for someone to take a step in the wrong direction.
Prudence finishes her salad and sits cross legged in the booth, sipping her Coke and staring out the window, a faraway look in her eyes. The car beside her pokes it’s head up from the seat beside her and stares across the diner, it’s gaze flicking back and forth between the strange, leather clad woman, and the man in the hoodie and jeans.
Prudence finishes her salad and sits cross legged in the booth, sipping her Coke and staring out the window, a faraway look in her eyes. The cat beside her pokes it’s head up from the seat and stares across the diner, it’s gaze flicking back and forth between the strange, leather clad woman, and the man in the hoodie and jeans.
Miren heads out to her bus. It arrives on time, and she climbs aboard. The ride is uneventful, and the scenery is a flame of colors quite unlike anything in her experience.
She arrives in the small town of Halifax, as the day begins to wane. Halifax is a small town, and the bus deposits her on its main street. The street is a conglomeration of stores. The buildings look old, possibly as old as mid-19th century, but most of the stores are services like tattoos, birdhouses, antique stores, and a few specialty food shops.
* Go directly to Halifax and snoop around.
* Stay in Manchester and do whatever
* Go directly to Halifax and show up on his door early
* Do/go something/somewhere else
The assorted folks finish up their meals, get into/on their vehicles, and begin the two-hour drive to Halifax. It is late afternoon, a crisp sunny New England fall day, and the forest surrounding the highway is aflame with reds, yellows, and oranges. Nace can smell woodsmoke in the air as he rides his motorcycle down the stretch of road, the houses glimpsed dimly through the forest border often burning leaves in large piles.
They all arrive as sunset nears. Halifax is a small town. It looks as if it has seen busier days, and its main street is a snapshot of the 19th century brick buildings that used to line every town's streets. Most of the buildings house tourist-focused businesses now: tattoo shops, health food, a yoga studio, a birdhouse shop. There aren't any obvious hotels, but a cursory search on a smartphone reveals a dozen bed and breakfasts and/or boarding houses.
Prudence drives into town, rolling her eyes at how the small town locals are probably going to react to her. But as she drives down the street, she notices the tattoo parlour and her opinion goes up a notch. Maybe she should drop in and get something new to commemorate her trip.
She parks out the front and gets out, stretching her legs as Mafdet slinks between them. She heads towards the door and goes inside.
The brick shop has an old look to it, but maintained. There is a largish front window with stenciled name on it. It reads The Ink Pot
As Pru opens the door a small bell jingles. The flash art on the wall inside seems to trend gothic and halloween inspired stuff, along with the standard classic Americana of eagles, flags, skulls, and anchors.
There is a young woman on duty in the shop. She is alone at the moment, reading a tattoo magazine. Her hair is a rainbow explosion and she has a nose ring. She seems to have some Asian ancestry, or perhaps even Native American. She smiles as Pru enters
"Welcome! Can I help you with anything?"
"Welcome! Can I help you with anything?"
Prudence eyes the woman appreciatively and smiles.
"Hey there, I just got into town and it looks like I'm gonna be staying here for a little while. Do you know anywhere nice that I might be able to stay?"
She pulls out her phone and searches for a little, turning it to show the woman a picture on Google Maps of the address she was given. "I don't suppose you know anything about this place do you?"
The girl ponders
"Well, there are a lot of leafers in town, but if you don't mind slumming a bit there's the Old Country Inn. It's usually got space, most of the New Yawkers don't like the look of it."
She looks at the map
"I don't know the house itself, but Elliot Drive is a pretty ritzy address. Mostly out-of-towners live there. Usually quiet until ski season starts. There's a ton of McMansions up there, but a couple of the houses are the real deal from back when lumber barons and mill owners lived around here."
She does a quick Google Search and nods at the information. ”The Country Inn looks perfect, thanks!” She smiles at the woman and holds out her hand. ”Pru‘s the name. I don’t suppose you have any examples of your handiwork?” She gestures at her tattoos. ”I might be interested for you to get your hands on me while I’m in town.”
The woman smiles, admiring Pru
"I'd be happy to! That's some nice-looking work."
She hands Pru a business card.
"I'm Mirabelle. I'm here most days, except Mondays and Tuesdays when the shop is closed."
Nace drives up the main street, looking at the quaint storefronts. He does not have much patience for the leafer types these businesses cater to, but sometimes an old antique store or bookshop can yield an interesting find. He makes a mental note to come back and check some of them out later - maybe in the morning.
He thinks to himself that he should probably find some lodging, but his curiosity gets the better of him. His GPS leads him right to Elliot Drive, to get a look at his would-be host's residence. He turns his SUV down the tony street and drives slowly, hoping to get a good look at the place as he drives by.
| 4 people marked this as a favorite. |
He thinks to himself that he should probably find some lodging, but his curiosity gets the better of him. His GPS leads him right to Elliot Drive, to get a look at his would-be host's residence. He turns his SUV down the tony street and drives slowly, hoping to get a good look at the place as he drives by.
He turns onto the quiet leafy street. The trees are immense, probably planted in the 19th Centurey. There aren't many houses, they are all well-spaced with large rolling lawns. Some are modern-looking or faux colonial monstrosities, but a few have the hallmarks of genuine age.
8 Elliot Drive is surrounded by a moss-covered flagstone wall with a bluestone cap, fully eight feet tall. Not perfect but similar to this. The gate is a double-leaved version in beautiful ornately-scrolled wrought iron, recently painted black by the look, locked with a thick chain and sturdy lock. Nace notes on the top of the wall security cameras are spaced about 30 feet apart, scanning the area.
As he slows to look in through the gate, Nace can see an impressive manse. A massive, well-manicured yard frames an extravagant white home, with a wide porch, flanked by white columns, in the 19th-Century Greek Revival
Style. A long, paved drive leads to the front door before turning away and terminating in an adjacent barn, its doors closed and locked. Only the slow,
steady blink of the security cameras suggests any life within.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
I'm here most days, except Mondays and Tuesdays when the shop is closed."
The smile stays on Prudence's face as she replies. "When's your next free appointment? I was thinking something like this."
Mirabelle smiles wider
“I have availability now, if you’d like. I also have slots through the weekend. It might be better to start early morning, that’s an involved piece”
Mirabelle looks about the small empty parlor.
“As you can see, leafers aren’t usually in the market for tattoos. We get a lot more busy in ski season”
Miren is relieved to exit the diner with its odd, subtle tension. She makes the bus in time and settles in to enjoy the ride. The dark grey stone outcroppings along the highway are lovely against the late green of the grasses, and some of the trees have spectacular color. There's so much green that it's almost overwhelming. And there's water everywhere, even in flashing glimpses of streams that run under the highway and through the trees. The trip to Halifax flies by. She slept on much of the cross-country haul, but is too excited to consider napping now.
When the bus arrives, she thanks the bus driver as he hands out her bag from the luggage compartment and dawdles on the sidewalk while the diesel fumes clear, looking around the town and enjoying the clear, crisp day. Uncertain of where to go, she spies an ice cream parlor tucked into an old building on the main street. Ice cream certainly seems like a good idea - it can't be bad, anyway. She steps inside and is temporarily blinded, until she remembers to remove her sunglasses, and waits patiently in line for her turn. Gingerly testing a single scoop of pumpkin spice on a sugar cone (it's not terrible) she notices a rack of pamphlets next to the door. These reveal a wonderland of local attractions. White Mountain Visitor Center! Mt. Washington Observatory! Lost River Gorge & Boulder Caves! Franconia Notch Stables! And... Santa's Village! She gets the uneasy feeling that a car will be necessary to see all these places in the week before the party.
Grabbing one of each brochure, she meanders out into the street with both hands full of treasure and the duffel slung on her back. The light orange creeping into the western sky reminds her that she has nowhere to stay and no vehicle to drive to one of the cute cabin places she saw on a brochure. Licking the cone, she ambles down the street, scanning for "vacancy" or "room available" or "car rental" signs. As the buildings thin, she crosses to the other side and works her way back down until they thin again, then moves one block off the main drag and loops back, parallel to the main road.
She enjoys the stroll, amazed at the depth and richness of the smells. Under the exhaust and leaf smoke lies a rich, spicy scent of fallen leaves and, near the rocky streams, the deep smell of wet earth, with occasional whiffs of cat territory markers. The blazing tree colors are another wonder, though the little birches pale in comparison with the quaking aspens growing in the higher altitudes near her home. But as beautiful as the trees are, they block her view. She's accustomed to seeing for miles across the dry flats of the high desert. Now, the trees hem her in and prevent that, like blinkers on a horse. It's uncomfortable and mildly claustrophobic.
RPG Superstar 2009 Top 32
|
”Awesome, how does Saturday morning sound? You’re right, now might not be the best time,” she gestures towards the fading afternoon light outside. ”I should probably head over to The Country Inn and find a room before it gets too much later. Once I’m checked, I’ll have to find somewhere to eat. Are there any good vegetarian or vegan places around?”
Mirabelle smiles
“I can fit you in at 9. I might look a bit draggy, but I promise you’ll get top service “
She nods when the notion of food comes up
“There’s the Mad Martigan over on Third. It’s solid food, vegan mostly, but they do vegetarian meals and some fish dishes for the piscaterians “
Miren spots a car rental place off one of the main drag side streets. It’s a typical affair, generic building with a parking lot full of bland cars.
As she walks she also sees a few bed and breakfasts on the side roads, After she leaves the Main Street but every sign seems to have a ‘No Vacancy’ tab underneath. She sees a crowd of older people in the town wandering about taking pictures of the leaves and visiting the shops. Most look dressed for tennis at the club or big game hunting.
Miren tries not to stare at the herds of elderly. She can't quite figure out why they are taking pictures of the leaves. There's no way pictures will match the color and smell and sound of the real thing. Maybe they see themselves in the colorful foliage, trying to go out in a blaze of color before they fall from the tree. The whole thing makes her sad, for some undefinable reason.
Accustomed to a small town where anything that's not a bar closes by 5 pm (6 if you're lucky,) Miren makes a beeline for the car rental place once she spots the sign.
At least I can sleep in the car if there aren't any rooms available.
She dives in through the front door as if it's the finish line of a relay race, before anyone can lock it against her.
Given the formality of the invitation, Nace expected a stately old mansion, and is satisfied to see he was not far off. He makes particular note of the intense security on the place. His curiosity satisfied, he turns to the question of lodging.
He continues past the house and around the next corner. He pulls his vehicle to the side of the road and pulls out his iPhone. He plugs in the zip code and starts looking for available lodging - hopefully affordable and not too sketchy.
Prudence smiles a cheeky grin at Mirabelle. "You look perfectly delightful my dear," she says in her best old lady voice, and then returning to her own voice, "and 9am Saturday morning sounds perfect."
She looks down at her phone again, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. "Right. Country Inn, Mad Martigan, and my appointment with you are now all firmly ensconced in the dark recesses of my phone's memory." She spies a Sharpie in a pen holder on the counter and snatches it up. She grabs Mirabelle's arm and begins quickly writing a number on it before the woman can object. "And here's my number if you need it while I'm in town for anything."
She takes another glance out the window and sighs. "I probably really should be going now, as much as I'd love to stay and chat. I'll see you... soon." She smiles and saunters out of the parlour and back to her car with a smile on her face.
Once in her car, she pulls up the address for the Country Inn and drives over to get a room.
Rolling into town, Miyuku stops outside a row of shops, lifting the visor of her helmet to take a deep breath of the air, so very different from New York....or Tokyo for that matter.
The ride up was enjoyable, and actually rather beautiful the closer she got, leaving behind the steel and glass for trees, fresh air and woodsmoke. It oddly reminded her a bit of Hokkaido.
Dropping the kickstand, she removes her helmet and taking the keys, saunters over to the yoga studio, figuring to gather the lay of the land, so to speak.
... She spies a Sharpie in a pen holder on the counter and snatches it up. She grabs Mirabelle's arm and begins quickly writing a number on it before the woman can object. "And here's my number if you need it while I'm in town for anything."
Mirabelle smiles and looks at the number
“Sure. You could have always just told me and I’d put it in MY phone. I feel like I just got digits at a club”
She smiles wider
“Since you’re obviously in town for a bit, you should come check out the local nightlife. Friday is band night down at the Mill Barn. It’s off Mill road by the Nonquesset River. “
Once in her car, she pulls up the address for the Country Inn and drives over to get a room.
Pru heads out to the Old Country Inn. It’s located on the south side of town, seated on the main road into Halifax proper. Like many semi-tourist spots, Halifax has expanded over the years outside its core, with seasonal houses dotting the countryside leading into the original mill town. The Old Country Inn looms into view, an old building with a large, old-fashioned neon sign in the front parking area. The sign advertises color TV and a pool in aging letters. The neon is missing from a few letters making it read “c lor V” and “ool”.
The building itself looks much older than its sign, which itself must be mid-Twentieth Century vintage. It’s a large square structure, and Pru can see a large old barn/garage with multiple bays out back past the cracked asphalt lot. This place has likely been a hotel since stagecoaches brought travelers.
Pru pulls into the building’s front lot and kills the engine. There are a few other cars, but the lot is fairly deserted. What few cars there are are not high-end. Pru opens the solid wooden door and enters.
Inside is a foyer, large, with a front desk manned by a middle-aged balding man. The foyer is done up in a faded Seventies harvest gold rug, thankfully not shag. The man looks up from his book and gives Pru a tentative smile
“Welcome to the Old Country Inn! Do you have a reservation?”
Rolling into town, Miyuku stops outside a row of shops, lifting the visor of her helmet to take a deep breath of the air, so very different from New York....or Tokyo for that matter.
The ride up was enjoyable, and actually rather beautiful the closer she got, leaving behind the steel and glass for trees, fresh air and woodsmoke. It oddly reminded her a bit of Hokkaido.
Dropping the kickstand, she removes her helmet and taking the keys, saunters over to the yoga studio, figuring to gather the lay of the land, so to speak.
The yoga studio operates in one of the small Main Street shops. Miyuku spots faded lettering above the big window that reads Whelan TV repair. The window itself is plastered with posters of smiling yoga practitioners and advertisements offering Fall special rates and Weekend packages.
Miyuku opens the glass door and a small chime goes off. There is a small area with a cash register and credit card processor along with a rack of various pamphlets on yoga, spirituality, and local tourist stops. A middle-aged woman in a leotard and a long Grey braid of hair walks out from a back area hidden from sight by a beaded curtain.
“Good afternoon! How may I help you?”
Given the formality of the invitation, Nace expected a stately old mansion, and is satisfied to see he was not far off. He makes particular note of the intense security on the place. His curiosity satisfied, he turns to the question of lodging.
He continues past the house and around the next corner. He pulls his vehicle to the side of the road and pulls out his iPhone. He plugs in the zip code and starts looking for available lodging - hopefully affordable and not too sketchy.
Nace does a bit of scrolling and comes up with a few hits, mostly bed-and-breakfasts. There aren’t any hotels in town, most of the ones nearby aren’t very nearby. A few quick calls show him that the bed-and-breakfasts are full up with tourists at the moment. He does see a few reviews on Yelp for a place called the Old Country Inn. Sifting through the various reviews with an experienced eye, Nace figures it’s an inexpensive place with little by way of frills. It doesn’t have a website, but there is a number. He calls and there is a vacancy for a reasonable daily rate
Miren tries not to stare at the herds of elderly. She can't quite figure out why they are taking pictures of the leaves. There's no way pictures will match the color and smell and sound of the real thing. Maybe they see themselves in the colorful foliage, trying to go out in a blaze of color before they fall from the tree. The whole thing makes her sad, for some undefinable reason.
Accustomed to a small town where anything that's not a bar closes by 5 pm (6 if you're lucky,) Miren makes a beeline for the car rental place once she spots the sign.
At least I can sleep in the car if there aren't any rooms available.
She dives in through the front door as if it's the finish line of a relay race, before anyone can lock it against her.
The rental place is as generic As it seemed from the outside. A pale thin young man helms the desk inside, and looks up at Miren
“Welcome! How can I help you today?”
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Hey there. I'd like to borrow a car... I mean rent a car." Miren blushes and removes her hat, strolling towards the desk.
"I came in by bus, but it looks like you really need a car around here to be able to see anything," she explains, then realizes the guy probably doesn't care and she's overexplaining.
"Anyway, it doesn't matter what car, just something that runs. Small, maybe, easy on gas? Stick or automatic, either is fine," she continues in her gentle Western drawl. She pulls out her wallet as she nears the desk and shuffles her license and credit card out of it.
"I'll be here for a couple weeks. Oh, and if you could recommend a place to stay, that would be great. The B&B's here in town are full up." She gives the guy a genuine, dazzling smile as she offers her cards to him.
"I'd really appreciate it."