Katja thinks Dagon may be mentioned somewhere in the bible in connection with the ark of the covenant but that is the extent of her knowledge on the subject.
Grip hands the golden rod to Kenny, who asked for it first. It is quite heavy but well balanced. Two strange carven aquatic figures consort with each other around the bulb like end of the rod. The 'handle' of the rod is grooved and there is a small knob on the thin end. The whole thing appears to be made out of gold.
"Pretty neat, huh,..." says Samuel Grip.
"Dagon was a Philistine god. I've writtena pamphlet on him... I have a few copies of it still somewhere."
"I would love to read the pamphlet. What purpose does this serve? Is it a ceremonial piece?"
"I would love to read the pamphlet. What purpose does this serve? Is it a ceremonial piece?"
"I have no idea what it is yet," says Grip, "It looks like a ceremonial piece of some sort. Like I said Walter thought it would be great to use..."
Suddenly Samuel Grip's face falls. He looks worried and then a moment later sorrow seems to give way to a bit of... maybe fear. Then he tries to smile, "I keep the pamphlet up near the front of the store... When do you want to do the pictures? If you have to come back, I could let you take the rod with you... Crack investigators like you might be able to find out about it for me... That would be... uh... great."
"How soon after you write a story does it see print?"
"Oh, stories see print almost right away," Katja assures the weirdo, not really knowing or caring if what she's saying is true.
"So, Grip, your psychic group sounds really interesting. I'm definitely interested! You're so right, I owe it to my powers to give them a thorough workout. It's like Occult Pilates. Would I be using sceptres like this in ceremonies? What exactly is one trying to DO in such a ceremony?"
"Oh and, one more little question: was Dagon, like, a GOOD god or a BAD god? I definitely want to read up on him! You mentioned a pamphlet...?"
“It’s really not about good or evil,” says Grip conversationally as he leads the way back towards the front of the store, “Gods like Dagon are not about rewarding the virtuous, they reward those who please and supplicate them. There’s about ten of us and we meet every new moon on the beach. We’re not really a psychic group, we’re a group that believes everyone has the potential inside them and this is one avenue we have chosen in trying to unlock that potential.”
“Here we are,” says Grip as he moves behind his cash register, “Free of charge.” He indicates a pile of about twenty thick pamphlets. The cover is a photocopy of some woodsketch showing a fish like man holding a trident.
“So when do you think you will be able to take those photographs?” He looks at the cameras that are being carried as he speaks.
"Since we are here, why not now?"
"When is the next new moon, anyway?"
Samuel Grip thinks a moment and then volunteers, "The fifteenth of next month. We just had our last ritual three days ago."
He hands each of the reporters one of the pamphlets and then says, "Wow, what a day of mixed emotions, know what I mean... I can't help but worry about what must have happened to Walter. He's such a great guy."
Samuel Grip thinks a moment and then volunteers, "The fifteenth of next month. We just had our last ritual three days ago."
He hands each of the reporters one of the pamphlets and then says, "Wow, what a day of mixed emotions, know what I mean... I can't help but worry about what must have happened to Walter. He's such a great guy."
"Have you tried to contact him since yesterday?"
"While we are waiting to set up the lights and such for the photos, why don't you tell me about Walter? Did you guys grow up together?"
"Walter is older than I am," says Samuel, "But I grew up next to his house. He took me under his wing when I was little and then later, when he was having problems, I tried to be there for him. he was the first to join my little worship circle and we're just good friends. He's the one that gave me Cerebrus, the fish that is, and he's always bringing me little things from here and there. He has a real knack for finding the wierdest things."
"I didn't sleep well last night and just sort of dragged myself in here this morning. So no - didn't even think of calling him. How many know he's missing?"
"I didn't sleep well last night and just sort of dragged myself in here this morning. So no - didn't even think of calling him. How many know he's missing?"
Grip picks up a phone and says, "I can try calling him."
He dials. After a few rings, he shrugs... "No answer."
Katja's struggling to take in all the weirdness - Grip himself seems to be a one-man factory of said substance. There are so many freaky loose ends in what Grip says, so many strange tips to follow up on, that Katja's brain is slightly melting. Plus, she wants to call her daughter soon. Erzulie should be home from pre-pre-K before long.
Well, go with what you know. In this case, not pole-dancing, nor substance abuse, but photography.
"Gripman, let's bang out some shots right now. Cerberus looks like he's rarin' to go, just like a supermodel. Cerberus...hey, that was the three-headed dog that guarded the underworld, right? Your critter is one head short, I'm afraid. Maybe y'all should have called him a Pushmi-Pullyu. That was the two-headed antelope creature that ran around with Dr. Seuss. No, not Dr. Seuss- who am I thinking of?- that guy who could talk to the animals in those great kids' books. Eddie Murphy played him in a crap-ass movie. Doolittle. Dr. Doolittle. Hey Grip, I don't suppose YOU can talk to animals, huh? Does Dagon help with that sort of thing? It sounds like a Lifetime special:'If These Two-Headed Fish Could Talk.' "
Grip stares a moment at Katja like he wants to say something witty but he shakes his head instead and bites his lip.
Katja pats her camera lovingly.
"Grip, we're going to do you and Cerberus proud. Pix like you WOULDN'T believe, and that's saying a lot, seeing as how you placate Dagon and turn up two-headed fishes and all. It's going to take me some time to set up the shots JUST RIGHT, however. Maybe in the meantime we can ask you more questions. I mean, gosh, this all so incredible!
Kenny, Harv, what do you say- do we have some time to kill? We gotta do this two-headed fish JUSTICE, right?"
"Grip, we're going to do you and Cerberus proud. Pix like you WOULDN'T believe, and that's saying a lot, seeing as how you placate Dagon and turn up two-headed fishes and all. It's going to take me some time to set up the shots JUST RIGHT, however. Maybe in the meantime we can ask you more questions. I mean, gosh, this all so incredible!
Kenny, Harv, what do you say- do we have some time to kill? We gotta do this two-headed fish JUSTICE, right?"
"Of course. Cerberus and Mr. Grip deserve the best."
"Mr. Grip, did Walter catch Cerebrus himself? Was he on the Bouncing Skipper when he caught him or does Walter have other boats? Do you know where he was caught, exactly? Does he act like most flouders do?"
(After Grip answers Kenny's question, Harvey gets closer to Grip)
"Grip, did anything...happen at those beach meetings? Anything with Walter?"
"Mr. Grip, did Walter catch Cerebrus himself? Was he on the Bouncing Skipper when he caught him or does Walter have other boats? Do you know where he was caught, exactly? Does he act like most flouders do?"
As Katja leaves to go photograph the fish, Samuel Grip seems to relax a little bit more.
With a weak smile, Grip tries to appear cheerful.
“Walter bought Cerebrus from an Alaskan fisherman. At least that’s what he told me. I don’t know where he was caught but there are no hook marks in his mouth. Maybe he was farm raised or caught with a net. The remarkable thing is that both of the heads can eat. He acts just like a normal fish but he doesn’t swim quite as well.”
“I’ve had him for about six or seven months now. Walter was on a business trip in Alaska, something about a part for his boat I think. He just has the one boat, makes runs up to New England and down to Florida, hauling freight, but he has this knack for being able to find the strangest things for sale.”
(After Grip answers Kenny's question, Harvey gets closer to Grip)
"Grip, did anything...happen at those beach meetings? Anything with Walter?"
Grip’s smile vanishes for a moment but then reappears. He smacks his lips and gives a little laugh.
“Well, Walter is a High Priest. Plenty happens at our meetings, but nothing really strange. It’s not like we’re breaking the law or anything... I mean… It’s not like we’re a fertility cult or anything… Though Hugh Kilmeade and his wife have tried to get a few to worship their goddess with them… Walter might have gone with them a time or two…”
Subsequent questioning of Walter over the next few minutes makes it clear that though they have apparently sacrificed a few chickens on the beach, they haven’t really been doing much illegal. Strange, but not illegal.
As for Walter’s last visit to Samuel, Grip makes it clear that Walter was very nervous but did not say much.
“He did mention something about watching out for Hydra,” says Grip, “In my pamphlet you will see that some ancient texts link Hydra to Dagon. We venerate her as the malicious side of Dagon and I think he just meant to watch out for bad luck.”
About thirty minutes later, Katja is done with her pictures and it seems clear that Grip has nothing more to tell them. He seems anxious to see a story about his fish in print but he also seems excited at the prospect of maybe having his golden rod also seeing a write up.
“Take it with you today,” says Grip, “Bring it back whenever. I won’t need it for a month. Maybe you guys can find out more about it than I can.”
"Thank you, Mr. Grip. I can write you out a receipt for the sceptre if you like."
"Where did you do most of your research about Dagon?"
"Thank you, Mr. Grip. I can write you out a receipt for the sceptre if you like."
"Where did you do most of your research about Dagon?"
Grip accepts a reciept, taking down Kenny's name and cell number while he is at it. He writes these in a notebook next to the cash register, along with the name of the Hotel that the group is staying at.
"I did a lot of reading on the internet," says Grip, "And looked up information in encyclopedias and at the library. There was a small group in New England that called themselves the Order of Dagon and when I saw them mentioned in a brief newsstory it opened my eyes to the possibility of... well paganism."
"All right, kids," says Katja, exiting from the backroom oceanarium. "I think I got some great shots! Grip, you're going to haveta start fielding calls from all the hot lady two-headed fishes who are going to be calling for Mr. Mac Daddy Cerberus, once these pictures run."
Katja seems high in a good way, relaxed and pleased with herself: the flush of a job well done. She looks around the room for inspiration. "Grip, what say I get a few shots of you waving the golden scepter? We could definitely profile you as a brave hero type, protecting the clueless from deeo sea threats with uh...Dagon-power."
"Eastman, can I talk to you?"
*pulls Kenny aside*
"Is this safe? Taking the rod like this? I don't know if I trust Fish Man."
"Eastman, can I talk to you?"
*pulls Kenny aside*
"Is this safe? Taking the rod like this? I don't know if I trust Fish Man."
"I'm not sure myself. I thought about taking it to some professors at locals schools. It might be a missing piece of artwork or such. That stuff is always being stolen. I figure that they could tell if the police are on to it."
"I think Grip knows more than he is letting on. I just want to see if we can find out more by looking into this Dagon thing. Also, if we find out something good we have a reason to talk to him again. If he is reluctant we can make him come to us to get his rod back."
"If you have any other ideas I would love to hear them. I am just improvising right now."
The time of day, in game, is about 5 p.m.
Katja looks at the time display on her Nokia. "Ah sh*t! I gotta call my baby! This'll just take a few minutes. Then, Grip, I'd like to take a few pix of you, before we go."
To her fellow Scoops: "Harv, Kenny - I'm game for whatever y'all want to do next. Just let me get a few shots of Grip, in full high priest drag, if he's willing. But first I gotta call my daughter."
Grip it appears does not have his priestly garments with him. They are at his house. He tells Katja that if she returns in the morning, he would be happy to wear them for her.
Grip it appears does not have his priestly garments with him. They are at his house. He tells Katja that if she returns in the morning, he would be happy to wear them for her.
"Okay, Grip, this is all gonna work out fine! Could we meet tomorrow, say 10 AM, somewhere by the water?"
To Harv and Eastman: "Guys- I feel uneasy about holding onto to a solid gold artifact. What if gets lost or stolen? Do we maybe leave it with the Gripman overnight, and have him bring it along to the photo shoot tomorrow? I just don't want to be responsible for such a valuable item."
"Mr. Grip, I'm afraid I overstepped myself in saying that we could take the scepter to have it examined. I just thought of my boss' expression if he knew we had such a valuable item and that the Scoop were responsible for it. Thank you for your generous offer, though."
"
Grip seems inordinately disappointed as he recieves the scepter back. But he tries to put on a brave face.
"Very well. I'll put it in my office then I guess. It should be fairly well hidden there. I'll see you folks tomorrow then."
*as they leave the shop Harvey stops*
"That was smart, leaving the rod, you two. I got a really bad feeling about it.
Let's head to the hotel and regroup. Tomorrow, we'll need start asking around about Walter. But we don't want to get too close, if he did...something to his crew...well, he could be dangerous. And I don't like the sound of his brand of crazy.
Anything else either of you need before we head to the hotel. I know I need some smokes."
(Out of character: DM, does the author HP Lovecraft exist in this world?)
I'm fine.
(Out of character: DM, does the author HP Lovecraft exist in this world?)
As Katja has already discovered, the Hotel Renard is, to put it mildly, a dump. The three story building is weathered and battered. An ancient wooden sign above the front door displays the name and paint has chipped off in large flakes from both the building and the sign. One of the windows on the second floor is being held in place by duct-tape. There is a small potted plant near the front door. It is dead.
Harvey and Kenny, afoot, make it there from the bookstore after about twenty minutes.
The man at the front desk, a heavy set man with brown skin and dark black hair speaks with a slight mexican accent, pauses between sentences for lengthy periods of time and seems to have to think quite hard about the simplest of tasks. Harvey and Kenny have been given room 206, which the man assures them, albeit slowly, “Ees one of… dee best… rooms… in dee whole of dee building.”
When Kenny asks about racetracks, the man, whose name-tag reads, ‘Ramone,’ stares blankly for the space of several heartbeats and then asks, “What was that?” Kenny is forced to repeat his question, and after another long pause, Ramone answers with a big helpful smile, “Horses? Si? You want fast horses?… Nooo… I do not think ees anything… such as thees around here.”
The elevator does not work and reaching the second floor requires the use of the stairs. Though the stairs have faded carpeting, the whole stairwell smells of fish. Nor does the smell notably diminished on the second floor. The painted walls of both 206 and 208 are peeling and there is a patch of black mold growing near the ceiling in 206. Thankfully the smell of fish is a little lessened in the room and the beds do look to have been freshly made that morning. In the bathroom, the toilets and sinks have rust stains and the avocado green bathtubs do not have shower curtains. In a strange nod to hotel safety, there are fairly new escape ladders rolled up in steel boxes under each of the large dirty windows in both rooms. There are no television sets in the rooms but there are phones.
Grip seems inordinately disappointed as he recieves the scepter back. But he tries to put on a brave face.
"Very well. I'll put it in my office then I guess. It should be fairly well hidden there. I'll see you folks tomorrow then."
The man at the front desk, a heavy set man with brown skin and dark black hair speaks with a slight mexican accent, pauses between sentences for lengthy periods of time and seems to have to think quite hard about the simplest of tasks. Harvey and Kenny have been given room 206, which the man assures them, albeit slowly, “Ees one of… dee best… rooms… in dee whole of dee building.”
"Harvey, I think the three of us should sit down and get our heads together. I can't see how Walter could kill the entire crew by himself. He must have had help or a group of people did it while they were out on the water. Or some crew memebers killed the others and then fled with whatever was worth taking."
At about 6 p.m., some fifteen minutes or so after the guys get themselves to their rooms, Harvey's phone rings.
It is Hugh Rogers calling.
After leaving Grip's shop, Katja hops aboard her scooter, and plans to meet her two comrades back at the Renard, however long it takes them on foot (or by cab?). Katja thinks the idea of the three Scoopies trying to put their heads together to hash this whole Bouncing Skipper thing out is a good one.
Harvey's phone continues to ring. :)
*Harvey wakes up from an alcohol fueled daze, thinking of his mispent youth, his veritable orgy of failure, of loss, of broken dreams, thinking of the words that he lives by now, the words he writes, listening to the sound of his pulse, the thump of his life - and realizes his phone has been ringing on and on*
"Oh sh*t, *answer phone* Hell..hello?"
The gruff, hearty voice of Hugh Rogers booms.
"Glad I caught you. Just checking in. Didn't want my new reporters to think I had forgotten about them. So fill me in. What have you got so far? Have you taken pictures of the ship, inside and out yet. All the new's channels covered the story this afternoon - Captain and crew vanishes, sort of thing. don't know if you saw it. So we got to make sure to get a different spin on the whole thing..."
"So tell me what you got. Lots of pictures I hope!"
"Hugh, we got some pretty...uh...some pretty weird stuff. Katja has been handling the pictures. Our primary source is some creepy devil worshiper named grip, midnight beach orgies, that kind of deal. Already it seems like a Sunlight Scoop story, I'll tell you that.
"We haven't made it to the ship yet. Katja said something about it being pretty tightly watched (I'm assuming Katja mentioned this, if not - sorry :) )"
"If anything, that ship seems like the sanest place in this town so far. If we get into a little trouble trying to...uh... *looks around the motel room* sneak aboard, God I sound crazy saying that, anyway, if we run into any trouble, we may not be get those pictures you want of the inside of the ship.
"But, a jobs a job, and all I can tell you Hugh is I'll do my best. Between you and me, I think Katja will have no ethical problems sneaking aboard a ship. Eastman seems pretty loose also, so, there you go."
After calling Erzulie, her daughter, Katja rides her scooter back to Hotel Re-Animator, a.k.a. the Hotel Renard - whatevs.
Once back at the Hotel, Katja takes a very quick shower in the only-partially-fetid water of a Hotel Renard bathroom, mainly to rinse off a sense of lingering Grip cooties, rather than to truly get clean.
Finding out which room 'the boys' are staying in, Katja knocks on the door marked 206, her hand almost punching a hole through the crappy plywood, and she's not even banging that hard..
On the other side of the door, she can hear Harvey, talking to someone...
"Who's Katja? You already picked up a girl down there have you? Well whatever works. If you can get aboard, great! Of course, we don't want no trouble with the law. That means lawyers! Anyway, don't forget your deadline. Let me know if there's anything you need. Talk to you later. Maybe tomorrow."
There's a click and the line is empty.
Once back at the Hotel, Katja takes a very quick shower in the only-partially-fetid water of a Hotel Renard bathroom, mainly to rinse off a sense of lingering Grip cooties, rather than to truly get clean.
Finding out which room 'the boys' are staying in, Katja knocks on the door marked 206, her hand almost punching a hole through the crappy plywood, and she's not even banging that hard..
Actually, the main problem with the water in the shower is that the hot water kicks completely off half-way through the shower, not that it was very warm to begin with...
And now that the doors have been mentioned, Katja might be comforted to know that they seem fairly stout. They appear to be antique oak doors. Of course the old brass knobs on the doors seem fairly loose. The walls on the other hand... Well let's just say that almost every word spoken in the rooms of the hotel are easily heard through the walls.
Other than that, Katja's impression of the hotel seems spot on. ^_^
Katja looks down at her hand in shock. The wood her fist just banged against was thoroughly solid - why, for a moment, had she thought the wood was paper-thin?
Uh oh. Katja remembers - all too well - the early days of her sobriety, when all her sense-perceptions had been totally off. There was even that stint of -What's it called? Oh, yeah, synesthesia. F'r instance, whenever her eyes were hit with bright light, Katja would swear she could hear a child, screaming, somewhere off in the distance. Yeah, like THAT wasn't nerve-rattling!
Katja takes one more look at her hand, and at the solid oak door, before taking a deep, steadying breath. Chill, girl.
Then she knocks again.