Realistic or Modern Loudwater, USA (Reboot) - A Paranormal Roleplay

[Safety Hammer]

Welcome To Loudwater


​

Loudwater is your average town in the upper peninsula of Michigan. Shrouded in trees, the only notification that you are entering the sleepy nook of the north is its famous road sign which simply reads in big painted letters: "WELCOME TO LOUDWATER: A SAFE HAVEN FROM THE PINES". A cozy little town, this little hamlet in the north is known for its multiple tourist attractions as well as it's eccentric but mostly friendly townsfolk. Stay at the Northern Lodge, our beautiful hotel resort and take in the sights. Walk into town and shop at one of our many fabulous and interesting shops. Visit our museum in the center of town and be amazed by our rich history dating back to before America was settled by the pilgrims. Take a stroll down our beautiful shoreline that borders Lake Superior, the biggest of The Great Lakes! And don't forget to stop by Rita's Diner for a slice of its famous cherry pie!
But don't go exploring in the woods.
People don't come back from the woods.

And most importantly,

Come Back Soon!

 

[Safety Hammer]

Theodore Green
Location: Loudwater Public Library
Mood: Calm
Interactions: None
Mentions: None



Theo delicately lifted his cup of coffee to his nose and smelled it, the aroma curling his mouth into a smile. He had decided to splurge this one time and spoil himself with the best coffee he could buy. Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee. Picked directly from the Blue Mountain in limited supply every year, he had gotten his hands on some. And sure, to the average person, $55.49 plus shipping and handling for a four pound bag of coffee might sound extreme. But to Theo, it was money well spent.

This quirky little town. On his arrival it had seemed so.. boring. So quiet and dull. Not at all the bizarre quirky place he had learned it to be. After all, he was just an interloper a few months ago. Just another stranger. But seeing how the old librarian had passed away, and Theo was looking for a job, it seemed almost serendipitous for him to get the job and the apartment. And although he missed the warm halls of the university, as well as his old colleagues and students, he knew he could never ever return. So this sleepy life was his now.

 

[EliaAnneFree]

Location: Loudwater Public Library
Mood: Stressed
Interactions: None
Mentions: None

Elia sighed as she read over another essay, 'These kids really don't pay attention do they?'. She set the paper down and leaned back in her chair, her gaze shifting to the open window beside her. The sun was beginning to dip in the horizon showcasing the sky in hues of orange and red. 'I am never going to finish grading these.' she thought and let out a frustrated groan. She started at the paper in front of her trying to figure out what they were attempting to say but her mind was drawing a blank. She shook her head and gathered up her things, deciding to finish it after a nice bath and a meal.

 

[BippityBoppityBoop]

Benjamin Lacour
Location: LMHI
Interactions/ Mentions: None
​

Ben sat behind his desk in the empty, darkening space of his office re-reading some of his patient's files. This particular one was an older woman by the name of Amy Leinole. If he recalled correctly, she had gone to grad school with him in California. The two never spoke to each other as she was much older than him and he couldn't really see them as friends, but she was nice enough. They'd had multiple sessions over the phone. Mrs. Leinole didn't live anywhere near Loudwater, but she preferred not to see a specialist in her area as it would inevitably "taint her reputation". Ben sighed and closed the folder rubbing his eyes. He could feel a headache start to settle just behind them, and he decided now would be a great time for a drink.

Getting up and grabbing his coat, he headed outside, making sure to lock the door tightly behind him. The sky was settling into a stunning orange that faded slowly to red as it got closer to the horizon, and Ben immediately felt better. Being cooped up in a office nearly all day wasn't his ideal place to be, but he supposed taking a nice, slow stroll in the cooler weather would calm him some.

 

[Marmalade Skye]

Rita J Hollis
Location: Loudwater Tech, Arts Building
Mood: Tense
Mentions/Interactions: None

RJ day in the empty lecture room, stack of tests on realism-Impressionism tests from earlier that morning splayed out of their Manila folder and onto the table in front of her. She knee it would be a frustrating test to grade when the morning of the review session multiple students couldn’t tell the difference between Manet and Monet. They were from different art movements for god’s sake. She introduced them at different times. Grey eyes scanned the papers aimlessly, more to make sure everything was filled out than to actually review answered.

I want caffeine, she thought to herself, breaking any semblance of concentration. Her eyes roamed to the window, watching orange sky turn to red, deepening the rich green of foliage to a hungry blue that consumed the light and detail of her landscape. RJ decided the darkening atmosphere was a good enough indicator to leave and head somewhere she could grade. She sighed and collected her folders, placing them inside a dark brown messenger bad and making her way to her bike. Loudwater Public Library should be open, and she could crash nearby in her studio, given she kept a sleeping bag and cot there.

This town was quieter for sure. She could hear the faint buzzing of insects and and distant music of birds, which a month and a half ago would have been footsteps and cars and chatter. Her world was smaller now too, less complicated as far as people were concerned. However the absence of people and complicated relationships did not mean the absence of life. Loudwater was as alive as it was quiet and uncomplicated as far as RJ was concerned. And if not for some odd family ties, she would not have known this place existed or that something could be quiet and lively at once. She pulled up to the library, locked up her bike, and entered to find her usual seat and get to work.

 

[Moomba]

Phillip Carston
Location: House/Forge
Mood: Relaxed
Interactions: None

Phil slammed the hammer down with a resounding clang, the hot metal changing shape under the pressure of the head. He swung again and again, shaping the piece of metal into the blade of a knife. As the metal cooled, Phil stuck it back into the forge, letting it heat again before returning to the anvil. After he’d gotten the shape of the blade correct, he picked up a chisel, adding finer details to it.
He lifted the rapidly cooling blade up to inspect it, before he dunked it in a barrel, steam hissing up around him. It was normal steel, in the shape of a bowie knife, but a bit thinner than a normal knife would be. Phil set the piece of steel aside, picking up another piece of metal, this one in the shape of a bowie knife missing its center. It was made of silver, forged as precisely as possible.

Phil had come up with this idea on a whim one day, after wanting to make a silver knife. Making one totally out of silver would be too expensive, but just the blade… He slid the silver blade section over the steel core and smiled. It fit perfectly, but it came off rather easily. So he stuck the two pieces in the forge and waited, pulling them out occasionally. Once they were a glowing reddish-white, he set them on the anvil and left them to cool slowly.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing outside. The sun was setting already, lighting up the sky with orangish highlights. Phil pulled off his apron, hanging it up on a hook and walking out of the forge, humming a Led Zeppelin song to himself. He walked down the well-worn road to his house, wanting to take a shower. After he’d showered and changed into clothes as grease-stained as his previous ones, he left his house, heading for Joe’s Garage.

The garage was the same as it had always been. Three of the garages were empty, the fourth had the 1969 Rambler Rebel that Phil was restoring in it. Phil flicked the lights on, still humming to himself. He walked over to the collection of tapes and CDs in stacked milk crates next to a player. He kept the records at his house, since he didn’t want them broken. He thumbed through the stacks of cases, finding the Led Zeppelin album he was looking for. He stuck the disk in the player, and the opening strains of Immigrant Song echoed through the garage.

Phil sat down at the old desk, putting his feet up and closing his eyes, letting the music wash over him.

 

[Birdsie]

Jasper Allard
Location: Loudwater Exxon
Mood: Nervous Liberosis
Interactions: Gnomes

Several facts.

Number one, life is often disappointing.

Perhaps this is obvious to anyone truly adult. Life isn't a story with a satisfying conclusion or a dream where everything goes to shit or to perfection depending on the dreamer's mood. Life is a series of events, occurring in a mostly random sequence.

Disappointment, mathematically, was no less common than satisfaction, but people had a bad tendency to imprint on negative events more than positive ones. Someone's death would stick with you more than someone's birth; someone getting their leg cut off was more notable than someone with a limb already missing getting a prosthetic. People who focused on the positive were notably rare, like nuggets of gold in a bog of shit.

This, at least, Jasper Allard found to be grimly amusing. There were people in this existence who could ignore the disappointment.

Factoid number two is that life is often fucking weird.

It was so many months ago that Jasper managed to land himself a desperate job as the clerk at the nearby Loudwater Exxon. At least half a dozen tourists passed by every day, and maybe twice as many locals came in to buy a pack of smokes or stock up on party supplies for their kids' birthday. The reasons were myriad, the visitors uncountable and faceless.

Do you want to know why fact two is true? Undeniably, irresistibly the correct fact, as opposed to the counter-statement that life was in fact, 'often fucking normal?'

Jasper entered the gas station bathroom. His advance was cautious, like a wolf prowling in the bushes and following the scent of either prey or fellow predator.

Wary and cautious; his entry was forwarded by a mop, its bushy sweepers poised low to the ground like a spear ready to penetrate a deer's stomach in some ancient, primeval jungle of neanderthals and leopard loincloths worn as garb. He wore a football helmet, and some knee-pads as protection, because you never know with these things.

One hand desperately fluttering at the wall, he managed to find the light switch. Flicking it on...

There was a gnome on the other side of the bathroom. A cold shiver of dread went down Jasper's spine, tingling every vertebra like the grim reaper's caress. His knees became weak, ready to buckle with the merest motion from the creature.

To a normal customer, this was a gnome. A garden decoration. A bearded smiling fantasy creature with a pointed red hat. Some forgettable elements of human culture, visible both in suburban yards and in internet memes alike.

To Jasper Allard, who had the doubtless honor of working at the gas station for months, this was a monster in disguise. A monster; a demon, a great spawn of darkness, capable of untold destruction.

Life was often weird, but life as the gas station clerk was even weirder. Strange things often took place at the gas station, things that no one would be able to explain, and Jasper often found himself forced to fix them or repair them on his own. He really wished he could no longer care about starving and not having a future, and stop working there, but that's not how life worked.

"Okay," he informed the gnome calmly. Its black-dot eyes on white circles regarded him carefully, although it didn't move. It was a crafted, inanimate object, made from ceramics. "I will approach you, and pick you up. You will not laugh at me. Your friends will not laugh at me, from behind my back to distract me. You will not run away when I blink and hide in one of the stalls. You will not disable the light, nor will you bite me. Then, I will lock you back in the freezer. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

The gnome didn't respond. It only stood. It was a garden decoration; how could it possibly answer?

Jasper's lips squared, and he nodded stiffly. "I'm glad we managed to reach an agreement." Jasper relaxed subtly, although in his heart of hearts, his guard stayed up.

He walked over to the creature of darkness, and gingerly scooped it up in his heavily-gloved hands, before opening the freezer. He placed it in, closed the door, turned the valve to ensure the door stayed locked, then pushed the small bookcase into place as the blockade. None of the others could have escaped, because he tied them up with duct tape to the freezer walls and re-checked upon entry.

He was in the green, at least for now.

"Phew." With sudden relief, Jasper began to doff his armor, and walked over to the cash register where he was meant to be. "I have no fucking idea how that thing escaped. Probably fucking Silas again. I'll strangle him one of these days, I swear... He's messing with things he doesn't understand."

Not that Jasper wasn't. In all of his months, he'd never tried to understand the insanity of the gas station or study it in-depth. He merely safeguarded himself and the customers against its insanities by trying to understand them - and more importantly, how to defeat them - on the surface.

To study the gas station was folly. It was like the place was sentiently malevolent to human life, and it would ensure whoever tried and accomplished to study its secrets tasted defeat in other ways. He saw it happen to some of the previous workers. One of them went into the forest after a raccoon that stole a pack of Doritos, then disappeared in mysterious circumstances. One spent a night in the freezer after locking himself in, and when Jasper retrieved him, he was essentially rendered mute; answering no questions or making no indication of what he saw. He left town on the next day, and according to rumor, he'd committed suicide in a week's time.

So no, as eager as Jasper was eager to study something, anything, just to get out of this place... He wasn't going to study the place itself.

Instead, he took up a styrofoam cup and pressed it against the slurry machine, to taste what the machine proclaimed to be 'strawberry.' There was a wide number of tastes available, and the only strange thing was that one taste in the middle had been labelled, 'puRple.' The owners told him that he was strictly forbidden from writing anything else.

The same owners he'd only met once since the beginning of his tasteful career, and he'd been talking with over the phone ever since then.

He sighed. This place never gets boring, at least...

He raised the 'strawberry slurry' to his lips and tasted.

Grilled shrimp, as expected.

The slurry machine was capricious - it would serve customers as desired, but the moment Jasper or Silas attempted to withdraw one for themselves, it began to offer the strangest flavors. He'd already become well-acquainted with its repertoire of eccentric tastes. It ranged from 'rare but reasonable,' such as white grapes, tangerines, grapefruit, and peppermint, to 'fucking bewildering,' such as cooked beans, rosewater, mustard, aubergine, soap, and zucchini. Bertie Bott's Every-Flavored Bullshit Machine.

And like that, Jasper was back to his usual routine of waiting for a customer to enter. In the meantime, he took another draw of his grilled shrimp caloric mush.

Safety Hammer
Holy shit this came out long, but I wanted a "strong" intro, so to speak. Hope this is okay.

 

[PJ-Flash]

The atmosphere inside of the library was sleepy. A cozy, well-fed kind of sleepy; it pulsed with an air of rustic hospitality and warmth not unlike an apple pie made from scratch, or a softly smoldering fireplace in a quaint-looking sitting room. To many a resident of Loudwater it was a safe haven, free from the bustle of modern life. A home away from home.

It's such a shame - it really, truly is - that it had merely seconds left before its calm was shattered and left, in shards, beneath a pair of muddy Vans. This time it owed not to an angry poltergeist, but to an equally disruptive regular -- owner of a mop of brown hair and cheeky, dimpled smile ... the radiant Silas Davian. As if on cue, Silas erupted through the front door, the sound of the bell offering little to announce his presence over the clatter of the door behind him and his hurried footsteps. A stack of books, varying wildly in appearances, wobbled from where they sat cradled in his arms; it was almost comical, watching Silas, though tall in stature, crane his neck and turn up his nose just to see above the collection. At the very top, balanced precariously on a hardcover, there was a small plastic cup adorned with gaudy colors and a garish emblem. Inside, a room-temperature slushy began the arduous process of melting into a sticky, disappointing liquid. For the most part it had been neglected, on account of it tasting like cherry-flavored prophylactic paste.

With no real finesse and in one hell of a rush, Silas waddled over to the front desk and set down his books with a satisfying thump. The cup teetered, warbling as it danced along the cover. Silas swept it up into his hand before it fell. "Hey, Greene!" he puffed, fumbling around in his pockets for a library card. "Got returns. I know a couple are late, but, y'know ... was reading 'em over and over." With a flourish, Silas retrieved his card and slid it across the desk. "Let's make this quick so I can find a few new ones. Also 'cause I'm supposed to be working in ten minutes." He chuckled, his grin sheepish.

In the brief silence that followed, Silas raised his eyebrows - if you concentrated, you could surely see the gears in his head turning - and with a click of his tongue and his friendliest smile, he asked, "But how was your day, Greene?" He did feel a little guilty about trying to swindle Theodore. Silas liked him plenty; he was an interesting fellow, and easy to talk to. Silas didn't do a whole lot of socialising outside of pestering Jasper or interrogating the townspeople, but he felt inexplicably comfortable shooting the breeze with the guy in-between checkouts. He'd never been one to dwell on the innerworkings of those kinds of things, but if he was, he'd surmise it had something to do with Theodore's lack of familiarity with Loudwater. Most of the long-time residents pitied Silas terribly, which couldn't help but sink into his interactions like the bitter smell of cigarette smoke. Like tragedies tend to do, it still fluttered around in conversation and hung in folks' minds, but the buzz had largely died down. It was unlikely Theodore knew much about it, if he was aware of it at all. If he did, he certainly didn't let on, and for Silas it was refreshing.

But back to the swindling. Silas had been stewing on one of a few recent developments for a while now -- it had been brought to his attention that the Loudwater Public Library most likely was in possession of a few historic journals or records from in and around the town. If prospectors in days of yore gossiped anywhere near as much as the Internet does nowadays, there'd be a few local accounts or sightings of the supernatural hidden among the pages, possibly dating back as far as a few hundred years. Perhaps even - and the mere thought is enough to send a shiver down Silas' spine, a cocktail of giddiness and terror - writings of an inciting incident; a catalyst. Something specific he could focus on. Something, finally.

In any case, and with any outcome, it would be promising stuff for Silas' investigation, and would do well to imply that he wasn't entirely insane or hallucinating. Loudwater residents were generally dismissive of this sort of story, and Silas' blog as a whole, however many times he tried to goad them into reading it. For the entirety of his journalistic escapade, the only person around to back up his claims had been Jasper, and only because they often encountered the paranormal within earshot of one another. But Hell would freeze over before Jasper agreed to film an interview or take part in his studies.

These journals, though? They could change everything.

All he had to do was butter up the librarian.

/ Sorry if this is rambly. I do that a lot. Also, I made this macro myself (and I have almost no experience), so if you notice any weirdness let me know.

SILAS DAVIAN.
at Loudwater Public Library | feeling Casual | with Theodore ( Safety Hammer )

Spoiler: mobile-friendly just in case

The atmosphere inside of the library was sleepy. A cozy, well-fed kind of sleepy; it pulsed with an air of rustic hospitality and warmth not unlike an apple pie made from scratch, or a softly smoldering fireplace in a quaint-looking sitting room. To many a resident of Loudwater it was a safe haven, free from the bustle of modern life. A home away from home.

It's such a shame - it really, truly is - that it had merely seconds left before its calm was shattered and left, in shards, beneath a pair of muddy Vans. This time it owed not to an angry poltergeist, but to an equally disruptive regular -- owner of a mop of brown hair and cheeky, dimpled smile ... the radiant Silas Davian. As if on cue, Silas erupted through the front door, the sound of the bell offering little to announce his presence over the clatter of the door behind him and his hurried footsteps. A stack of books, varying wildly in appearances, wobbled from where they sat cradled in his arms; it was almost comical, watching Silas, though tall in stature, crane his neck and turn up his nose just to see above the collection. At the very top, balanced precariously on a hardcover, there was a small plastic cup adorned with gaudy colors and a garish emblem. Inside, a room-temperature slushy began the arduous process of melting into a sticky, disappointing liquid. For the most part it had been neglected, on account of it tasting like cherry-flavored prophylactic paste.

With no real finesse and in one hell of a rush, Silas waddled over to the front desk and set down his books with a satisfying thump. The cup teetered, warbling as it danced along the cover. Silas swept it up into his hand before it fell. "Hey, Greene!" he puffed, fumbling around in his pockets for a library card. "Got returns. I know a couple are late, but, y'know ... was reading 'em over and over." With a flourish, Silas retrieved his card and slid it across the desk. "Let's make this quick so I can find a few new ones. Also 'cause I'm supposed to be working in ten minutes." He chuckled, his grin sheepish.

In the brief silence that followed, Silas raised his eyebrows - if you concentrated, you could surely see the gears in his head turning - and with a click of his tongue and his friendliest smile, he asked, "But how was your day, Greene?" He did feel a little guilty about trying to swindle Theodore. Silas liked him plenty; he was an interesting fellow, and easy to talk to. Silas didn't do a whole lot of socialising outside of pestering Jasper or interrogating the townspeople, but he felt inexplicably comfortable shooting the breeze with the guy in-between checkouts. He'd never been one to dwell on the innerworkings of those kinds of things, but if he was, he'd surmise it had something to do with Theodore's lack of familiarity with Loudwater. Most of the long-time residents pitied Silas terribly, which couldn't help but sink into his interactions like the bitter smell of cigarette smoke. Like tragedies tend to do, it still fluttered around in conversation and hung in folks' minds, but the buzz had largely died down. It was unlikely Theodore knew much about it, if he was aware of it at all. If he did, he certainly didn't let on, and for Silas it was refreshing.

But back to the swindling. Silas had been stewing on one of a few recent developments for a while now -- it had been brought to his attention that the Loudwater Public Library most likely was in possession of a few historic journals or records from in and around the town. If prospectors in days of yore gossiped anywhere near as much as the Internet does nowadays, there'd be a few local accounts or sightings of the supernatural hidden among the pages, possibly dating back as far as a few hundred years. Perhaps even - and the mere thought is enough to send a shiver down Silas' spine, a cocktail of giddiness and terror - writings of an inciting incident; a catalyst, the center of it all. Something specific he could focus on. Something, finally.

In any case, and with any outcome, it would be promising stuff for Silas' investigation, and would do well to imply that he wasn't entirely insane or hallucinating. Loudwater residents were generally dismissive of this sort of story, and Silas' blog as a whole, however many times he tried to goad them into reading it. For the entirety of his journalistic escapade, the only person around to back up his claims had been Jasper, and only because they often encountered the paranormal within earshot of one another. But Hell would freeze over before Jasper agreed to film an interview or take part in his studies.

These journals, though? They could change everything.

All he had to do was butter up the librarian.

 

[Kmbrly]

Marisol Renee Fournier

LOCATION:

Marisol's Cake and Coffee Cafe

INTERACTION:

Customers

It's a small town indeed, cars are passing outside, passersby's in their own world, not even one small glimpse in her cafe. People in this town have their own problems, they have jobs to hurriedly go to, better jobs with a better salary than hers that's for sure. Meanwhile, Marisol's still cocooned in her cafe, still patiently waiting for more customers.

She stayed seated in the same stool, in front of the cash register. She tapped her fingers against the cold surface of her counter and humming to herself every now and then. She wrote down her unpaid bills in a sticky paper and stuck it to her cash register where she can easily see it, unending numbers of sticky papers are still stuck there, some words are already crossed out, which means its already paid. It's 11.45, a few students would come here to study on their lunchtime and order, they're her only customers. Usually, they're in four groups, the other has two people, and the other has three, all seated in the tables they seated the last time they went here.

A few more minutes and here they come, the bell on top of her door rang signaling that her customers have arrived. One student from each group lined up in front of her, waiting to get their order.

"Hello, welcome to Marisol's Cake and Coffee Cafe, how may I serve you?" Her tone sounded robotic, even though her tone was the usual chirpy cafe cashier voice, she sounded dull and lifeless. "Please don't say Frappuccino," she thought to herself.

"I'll have two Frappuccinos, I want more whipped in the other, and five cookies" and there we go.

Then another ordered Frappuccino, then another one. She mentally face palmed, now she's making stacks of Frappuccino, with a lot of whipped cream, she prayed for her customer's health if they continue drinking this every day.

 

[PyroMonomania]

Marion Faucher
Location: Concert Hall - Gas Station
Interactions: Birdsie

In an ornate office sat a long, curly blond haired man wearing a white blouse and black pants. He sat face planted in pile of papers, dead asleep and almost buried among the mountain of papers surrounding him. On these papers were detailed notes about how a particular instrument sounded with another, the resonance of different sounds, unconventional instruments and so on. Beside him was a large piled of crumpled paper, all unfinished sheet music that he deemed unsuitable. The abandoned sheets of music whispered to anyone able to hear it, begging for people to finish them by any means necessary. They wanted to scream and claw, ripping and tearing the wholeness of people and keeping it for their own. But they are merely sheets of paper and can only effect people unfortunate enough to read them.

A soft knock sounded on the door, it didn’t budge Marion in the slightest. A couple more rounds of knocking slowly getting progressively louder until the person was practically banging on the door. Marion didn’t even twitch. The door opened hesitantly as a masked face peeked through the crack. The mask was white and plain shape, the blank mask people most often use for moulds and painting. The masked man begrudgingly walking into the office, he wore a fancy but nondescript black suit. This man was apart of the Orchestra, the members of the Orchestra agreed on a uniform and they chose the blank mask and black suit as to draw less attention to themselves as individuals. After all the only individual that matters is the Conductor.

“C-Conductor?” He meekly muttered, “Conductor please wake up it’s almost noon. It’s not healthy to sleep in this late and the others are worried for you since you didn’t show up for the communal breakfast.”

“G...Gerald?” Marion blearily said voice muffled as it was still buried into his pile of papers on his desk.

“Yes.” Said Gerald blissfully as the Conductor himself uttered his name. Truly a blessed day this is. “You should go reassure them. You know we get worried easily.”

“I...should...shouldn’t I?” Marion mumbled as he finally sat up. A piece of paper stuck to his forehead at his slowly blinked his eyes trying to will himself awake. He grabbed the paper on his forehead a looked at it, eyes staring right through it as he slowly came to the realization at the situation he found himself in. “Ah! Apologies.” Marion quickly said scrambling to make himself somewhat presentable. “I must’ve dozed off while composing. It seems I had been working into wee hours of morning and I’m usually much better about my sleep schedule than this, for shame. I hope didn’t worry you all too badly. What’s everyone doing?”

Gerald straightens as he sees the Conductor finally in the realm of the living, “We are still at breakfast, sir.” He says with the most assuredness.

“Still at...breakfast? Didn’t you say it was almost noon?” Marion asks in worried confusion.

“Yes. But we of Orchestra will not take a single bite until our Conductor takes his first.” Gerald says nodding as if this was an irrefutable law.

“I see...” Marion nods still not understanding the weird intensity that is present in all his musicians before a cold realization hits him. “Wait...but there are children in the Orchestra as well.

Gerald’s proud smile is heard is voice, “Not one bite. The young ones learn so well.”

Marion blankly smiles as he nearly trips in the his haste to get to the door. “Well we better get to breakfast then. No need to starve anyone further.”

The Orchestra cheers when they see the Conductor arrive and the breakfast is able to proceed without further delay. Marion practically swallows his breakfast whole as he desperately wants to get in his personal quarters to change and shower. Once he freshens up, Marion feels like a whole new person. He wears his usual garb of the pinstriped coattails with the indigo undervest.

Hmm..what to do today, what to do...I feel like a break in order after that unfortunate all nighter. A knock on the door disrupts his thoughts. “Come in.” Marion says kindly.

“Conductor. I have some urgent news.” Says a smooth toneless voice, as a woman walks in wearing the usual uniform of Orchestra.

“What is it, Bethany?” Marion responds with a slight hint of worry.

“It appears that one sheet music of the unfinished music has been lost.” Bethany responds as monotone as ever though with a hint of joy at hearing her name.

“Where was last seen?” Marion asks.

“By the gas station. Issac was destroying the unfinished pieces in the unusual fashion via burning but the wind blew one sheets away in the direction of the gas station. We immediately came here to inform you.” She replies.

Marion sighs and they didn’t even try to find it. Honestly, he worries deeply for the Orchestra. “Very well then. I’ll find it. I needed some fresh air anyways. I do hope than no one else finds it first. The unfinished pieces were always so much more vocal than the complete ones. If anyone gets hurt I’ll get scolded by Mayor again and that always makes me feel terrible. Return to what you were doing, Bethany.”

She bows and leaves. Marion looks around and grabs a folder to store the missing piece in at leaves the Concert House dorms in a hurry to find the sheet. He makes his way over to the gas station and doesn’t see any obvious pieces of paper floating around. He paces checking in the branches of the nearby trees, the ditches by the road, even peering into one of the garbage cans but to no avail. He really didn’t want to get scolded so he decided to ask one of the employees if they happened to see a random sheet of paper fly by. Walking to the gas station doors he opens it and spots a pessimistic looking person manning the tills.

“Hello there!” Marion greets cheerfully, looking very out of place dress in a fancy suit while in a seedy gas station. “I happened to loose a sheet of paper near here and it flew in this direction. I’m wondering if you happened to see it or hear it so to speak. It looks you haven’t read which is a wonderful thing for you but I really find it before someone else does. Or else my ear is going to be talked straight off of my head.”

 

[Birdsie]

Jasper Allard
Location: Loudwater Exxon
Mood: Annoyed Sonder
Interactions: One of those crazy people from the orchestra ( PyroMonomania )

"A sheet of paper, huh? Wait here," Jasper answered. He put down his grilled shrimp slurry on the counter, then walked off into one of the hallways of the gas station, presumably the staff room. A minute later, a series of banging noises, a hushed scream, and a couple of grunts came from the room, and a couple of seconds later, a disheleved Jasper walked out. His hair was in disarray, and there was a series of bleeding papercuts on his fingers and forearms, but he carried a massive stack of papers, so tall that it reached up to his chin.

Unceremoniously, he slapped them onto the counter. At a look, there had to be at least ten kilograms (22 pounds) of paper in the massive stack, bound with lines of hardened string. Potentially thousands of pages.

With that, Jasper proceeded to monologue, in a drab voice, "These are all papers - trust me, all papers - that have been: lost, abandoned, deliberately left, misplaced, forgotten about, or deposited within this gas station in the last seventy-eight hours. If what you're looking for isn't in here, it's probably underneath the floor, and if you want to go there, you'll have to sign a waiver that you accept the possibility of death and seizure, and are advised to wear a class-three HAZMAT protective suit. Furthermore, if the paper you're looking for is neither in this pile nor under the floor, that means it's in the archives, for which I'd have to call my bosses and get back to you. Can I offer to help you by looking for the lost item, as I am bound by the regulations - pleasesayno?"

With that, Jasper picked up his slurry and continued to drink it.

PyroMonomania

 

[Safety Hammer]

Theodore Green
Location: Loudwater Public Library
Mood: Calm
Interactions: PJ-Flash
Mentions: PJ-Flash



The library was rather busy today. Not a horribly bad thing, if anything it gave him more to do. People to socialize with, books to arrange, fines to be billed and books to be checked in. The only downside was that with all of the eyes on him, he couldn't really sneak away into an unused isle and sleep for an hour. That was before he heard that all too familiar voice. The one that Mr. Greene now permanently associated with a long bill of overdue books. Specifically a bill reaching over fifty dollars in overdue fines, and one Theo had been too soft hearted to revoke Silas Davian's library card over.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite blogger. Y'know, I'd really appreciate it if you could leave my name out of your posts when you specifically slander the library. Mayor Deckland has asked me now on repeated occasions to- oh, nonono!" Theo teased, an especially cocky look on his face as he spun around to face the young man, before his librarian senses locked onto the melted slushy. He scrambled to make sure it didnt fall down or drip or.. well, anything, before Silas quickly grabbed it. "Oh thank heavens.. Now, what was it you were asking for?"

 

[Marmalade Skye]

Rita J Hollis
Location: Loudwater Public Library
Mood: tired
Interactions: Safety Hammer PJ-Flash

RJ found her reading nook and got to work grading. She preferred a place near the entrance where she would watch the time through the window. It tended to move too quickly if she wasn’t always kind of watching. She also liked to stay near the check out and return station. Loudwater was full of characters and some of the interactions she’s watched from this seat were better than anything she could make up. She marked multiple choice answers idly with her red pen in places graphite didn’t reach while she let her peripheral take the role of people watching. The 1870 art movement that was most notable for its distancing from the Paris Salons standards was notable for the work Impression of a Sunrise not Stone-breakers damnit. She marked the question with an x.

A bell rang as someone else made their way into the library. She recognized this one. It was a younger looking guy with brown hair, green eyes, and an expression like he was getting away with.. something regardless of if the situation. He worked at the gas station she would frequent for her shitty canned coffee, the occasional energy drink, and Marlboro Lights midnight runs. She wouldn’t stay long, as it puts her on edge to be there at night. It was a strange place. The guy whose name she never learned was returning a book and making some small talk that wouldn’t have looked suspicious if it were anyone else.

RJ realized she had run out of multiple choice tests to mark up, and she had some library books she was finished with herself she could return. She stood and packed her bag again before taking out a couple borrowed books of her own. She approached cautiously, looking at a slushy cup seated precariously atop a stack of book, the stickiness of its melted contents seemed to permeate through it. She frowned, wondering if it was fine for food and drink to be in the library. Then she wondered if it was any of her business. Theodore Green answered her concern first.

“Blogger?” RJ asked, mostly to herself, scratching her head and trying to figure out what on earth the library would be slandered for. Being there almost every day for a month now, she saw plenty of eccentrics but nothing incriminating.

“If you’re writing about whats wrong with the library I can’t imagine you’ll get an interesting story.” RJ said with a smirk.

She was a stranger or barely an acquaintance and if she were less tired and more busy she would likely have not said anything at all, it now her curiosity was piqued.

 

[Moomba]

Phil Carston
Location: Joe's Garage
Mood: Thoughtful
Interactions: None
Phil opened his eyes, yawning and looking outside. The sky was darker than it had been, meaning that he’d fallen asleep. He frowned, sitting up in his chair. Falling asleep in the worn office chair hadn’t done anything for his back, and now his neck ached. “Maybe I should go back to drinking coffee.” he muttered, standing up. Now that he was awake, there were a couple of things he’d neglected to do.

Yawning again and cracking his neck, he walked out to the mailbox by the side of the road. There were a few envelopes, mostly junk mail, it appeared. As Phil leafed through the sheaf of envelopes, one caught his eye. It was addressed to him, but the return address was listed as the US Marshal Service office in New Orleans. One of his old coworkers, likely. Well, it was worth reading. He strode inside, dropping the junk mail directly into the trash and sitting back down at his desk. The envelope he dropped onto his desk, pulling his knife out of this pocket and slitting it open. Inside were several pieces of paper. The first was a letter from Hank Terringson, one of his old partners.

Phil,
You know I respect your privacy, and that I’d only send you something like this if I needed your help badly. Well, I do. We’ve been assigned to an interagency task force, with the express purpose of finding cults and bringing them to justice.
Phil rolled his eyes. He knew where this was going.
Our intel points towards Loudwater as a hub of activity for groups like the kind we’re tasked with bringing down. So, I’d like to ask your help in investigating Loudwater. Enclosed is a letter confirming your reinstatement to the Service as an Inspector reporting to me. When you get this letter, call me, because I know it won’t be enough to convince you.
It was signed by Hank, and a phone number was written below the signature.
Phil snorted. Hank was right, he had no plans to help this task force, even if he didn’t have to leave town. But he didn’t want to leave his old partner hanging. He took out his cell phone, punching in the number. Hank picked up after a few rings.
“It’s me, Hank, I got your letter,” Phil said, putting his feet up on the desk once again.

“Oh, Phil, so what do you think?” the deputy asked expectantly. He clearly wanted Phil’s help in this case.

“I think I’d rather not help you with this investigation.” Phil answered, sighing. “I moved out here for a reason, and it wasn’t to arrest cult leaders.” he stood up, shoving the letters into his pocket and walking out of the garage.

“I know you, you must be intrigued.” Hank said, “Remember all those crazies we tracked down?”

Phil sighed, walking down the dark dirt road to his house. “One thing you don’t understand about Loudwater, everyone here could be a member of a cult. Hell, even the mayor would qualify as a cult leader.”

“If you say so. Listen, if you don’t look into it, the FBI is probably gonna send some of their people in.”

“That would be a horrible idea. Loudwater chews those types up and spits them out.” Phil shook his head. Any FBI special agent that came to Loudwater had a 50/50 chance of either going insane or disappearing, maybe literally being eaten by something. “I’ll think about it.” he said finally, “But in the meantime, I’d refrain from sending anyone here.” Phil hung up the phone, sticking it into his pocket. While talking to Hank, he’d walked all the way home, and was now going down to his basement.

He unlocked the steel door and opened it, flicking on the lights. It was one room, with cinderblock walls and a concrete floor. There were long tables against the walls, and covered with old books, sheets of notes, small trinkets and jewelry, and a few guns in various states of disrepair. The far left corner of the room was taken up by a safe, and the walls had several gun racks on them.

Phil walked over to the safe, putting in the combination and opening it. Inside were his old badge and some papers. He put the envelope into the safe and locked it up again. He sat down in an office chair that looked exactly the same as the one at the garage and pulled his revolver off the wall, taking it apart and beginning to clean it, thinking.

He didn’t want to help with the investigation. Simple as that. Years of serving the country made him somewhat remorseful about the fact, but he was retired. Eventually, he came to a compromise. If something big happened, he would take up the case, but otherwise, he was staying out of it.

 

[PJ-Flash]

Oh ... right.

There happened to be a particular, semi-recent post, in which, buried within long-winded rants and halfhearted updates, Silas claimed the library was quote 'disguising its true identity as an archive of the arcane, a position it has been using for years to hide its overwhelming amount of evidence, which proves my point that the paranormal does congregate to extremity within the city limits' and that 'its blatant disregard for informing the public is, while not a direct cause, contributing to the utter disarray in Loudwater, a fact which the librarian, Mister Greene, perhaps ignorantly, endorses. My point still stands: the government of Loudwater does not care about its residents, and none of its institutes are exempt of this accusation.'

It was an impulse post, honest, written at around four in the morning a few nights ago. Theodore ultimately had little to do with it - Silas had been denied permission to snoop around the backrooms of the facility, as anyone would have been (though admittedly Silas Davian had made himself twice as likely to be turned away as the creator of the LEP and a known blabbermouth). He'd been up for far longer than any human being should, and on a considerable amount of caffeine and cheap beer. Ghost Adventures was on, and he'd felt combative. Sue him! (Don't, actually. A defamation lawsuit is practically a guaranteed victory at this point.)

He tapped the side of his cup, trying to draw attention away from his face and the sudden crimson hue it had adopted. "Aw, you know I've got nothin' against you, Greene. It's my civic duty is all," Silas raised his free hand to the edge of his forehead in an exaggerated salute, "but yeah, I'll, uh, be a little more careful with what I say. Can't believe I pissed off the mayor." The latter half of his statement oozed sarcasm and ill-contained distaste. Deckland had been outspoken about his disapproval of the LEP practically since its conception, and it grated on Silas like a permanent migraine. The sole benefit was the extent to which he fueled Silas' determination to reveal whatever twisted shit was going on behind those often-closed doors, incentivize the search for his mother, and shut that fucking guy up for like five minutes. But we've digressed.

Silas bounced back almost instantly, pasting on another smile, "anyway, I wanted t' know how you're doing, Greene!" He drummed a little tune into the top of the desk, doing his damnedest to keep the mood sweet. It'd be a lie to say Silas usually couldn't be bothered to check in with Theodore or listen to what he had to say -- he just ... has an agenda this one time.

Before he could continue, however, a woman crept into his peripheral, carrying a bag and an armful of books. He turned on a dime as she spoke, sounding skeptical, and he chirped, "I prefer the term 'journalist!' I write a blog about Loudwater." It dawned on him then that despite his enthusiasm, it was probably unwise to advertise the controversial blog that had just finished slamming the very building they were in. "It's ... about nature." Silas nodded decidedly, like it did anything to validate his statement, and prepared to move on; then she dug deeper, and struck a nerve. There was a ping in Silas' head, a signal - in bright, neon letters, advising him to throw all caution to the wind and fill her in. Completely helpless to Inner Silas' genius and with a surge of new energy, Outer Silas blurted, "oh, you would be surprised. I know for certain this place has some dark secrets. Not Greene, though. He's clean." He flashed the man a thumbs-up, as if he'd preserved his reputation better than just not talking for once would have.

SILAS DAVIAN.
at Loudwater Public Library | feeling Amiable | with Theo, RJ
Safety Hammer Marmalade Skye

Spoiler: extra mobile-friendly

Oh ... right.

There happened to be a particular, semi-recent post, in which, buried within long-winded rants and halfhearted updates, Silas claimed the library was quote 'disguising its true identity as an archive of the arcane, a position it has been using for years to hide its overwhelming amount of evidence, which proves my point that the paranormal does congregate to extremity within the city limits' and that 'its blatant disregard for informing the public is, while not a direct cause, contributing to the utter disarray in Loudwater, a fact which the librarian, Mister Greene, perhaps ignorantly, endorses. My point still stands: the government of Loudwater does not care about its residents, and none of its institutes are exempt of this accusation.'

It was an impulse post, honest, written at around four in the morning a few nights ago. Theodore ultimately had little to do with it - Silas had been denied permission to snoop around the backrooms of the facility, as anyone would have been (though admittedly Silas Davian had made himself twice as likely to be turned away as the creator of the LEP and a known blabbermouth). He'd been up for far longer than any human being should, and on a considerable amount of caffeine and cheap beer. Ghost Adventures was on, and he'd felt combative. Sue him! (Don't, actually. A defamation lawsuit is practically a guaranteed victory at this point.)

He tapped the side of his cup, trying to draw attention away from his face and the sudden crimson hue it had adopted. "Aw, you know I've got nothin' against you, Greene. It's my civic duty is all," Silas raised his free hand to the edge of his forehead in an exaggerated salute, "but yeah, I'll, uh, be a little more careful with what I say. Can't believe I pissed off the mayor." The latter half of his statement oozed sarcasm and ill-contained distaste. Deckland had been outspoken about his disapproval of the LEP practically since its conception, and it grated on Silas like a permanent migraine. The sole benefit was the extent to which he fueled Silas' determination to reveal whatever twisted shit was going on behind those often-closed doors, incentivize the search for his mother, and shut that fucking guy up for like five minutes. But we've digressed.

Silas bounced back almost instantly, pasting on another smile, "anyway, I wanted t' know how you're doing, Greene!" He drummed a little tune into the top of the desk, doing his damnedest to keep the mood sweet. It'd be a lie to say Silas usually couldn't be bothered to check in with Theodore or listen to what he had to say -- he just ... has an agenda this one time.

Before he could continue, however, a woman crept into his peripheral, carrying a bag and an armful of books. He turned on a dime as she spoke, sounding skeptical, and he chirped, "I prefer the term 'journalist!' I write a blog about Loudwater." It dawned on him then that despite his enthusiasm, it was probably unwise to advertise the controversial blog that had just finished slamming the very building they were in. "It's ... about nature." Silas nodded decidedly, like it did anything to validate his statement, and prepared to move on; then she dug deeper, and struck a nerve. There was a ping in Silas' head, a signal - in bright, neon letters, advising him to throw all caution to the wind and fill her in. Completely helpless to Inner Silas' genius and with a surge of new energy, Outer Silas blurted, "oh, you would be surprised. I know for certain this place has some dark secrets. Not Greene, though. He's clean." He flashed the man a thumbs-up, as if he'd preserved his reputation better than just not talking for once would have.

 

[PyroMonomania]

Marion Faucher
Location: Gas Station
Interactions: Birdsie

Marion smiles gently as if he didn’t hear the last three words of Jasper’s sentence, “A kind offer, thank you. Though I’ll first have to see if I need it.” He then turns to the tall stack of papers and tilts his head as if pondering something. The Conductor’s face lights up when he comes to a conclusion, he then starts to hum. The melody seems normal at first though leaving the listener with a feeling that the melody is empty but soon it starts to distort, it begins taking multiple tones at the same time not possible with only one person. Then the notes notes reach peaks and crevasses in range not possibly made by a human. Then the sounds distort further soon sounding like it came from a broken, old radio that’s underwater. The mind is trying to protect you from this melody and causes pain to those who try too hard to understand it. The stack of paper soon starts to react, malice radiates from the whole pile and then the papers start to bleed ink.

Marion frowns when he sees the entire stack react, “Only the sheet music supposed to react to that. After all I’m humming it’s song but for all of them to react...” Marion walks up to the pile and take the first paper from the top. It was today’s newspaper, he looks at it and his eyes widen in surprise. He then takes the paper beneath it as well, a missing pet poster. Looking between the two he sighs deeply. In a fresh coat of ink there is sheet music drawn overtop both the pages, the very same one he was looking for.

“It copied itself? But it’s an incomplete piece, it shouldn’t have the ability.” Marion puts his hand in his pocket and fishes around for his lighter, he doesn’t smoke but he does like his baths with candles. Pulling out the lighter he promptly tries to set the pile on fire. The pile lights up but the papers don’t look damaged and after awhile the fire fizzles out leaving the pile untouched.
“That isn’t a good sign.” Marion mutters with a worried frown.

Buzz...Buzz...Buzz

“Oh my phone. Hold on I have to take this.” Marion says as he pulls out a rather old fashioned phone, a Nokia to be exact, and answers it. “Hello? Marion speaking.”

“Conductor! How nice to hear from you.” A boisterous and old voice is heard from it, as the volume of the phone and the person speaking is quite high.

“Ah, Wilson. What is it that you need?” Marion’s replies pulling the phone farther from his ear.

“Well you remember Lester, right? You know the one that makes positively the best scones I’ve ever had. If fact I aspire to have those scones every time I sit down with a cup of tea. But you know how he is, the little snake denying me every time. No Wilson I can’t make you scones every time you want tea. Bah! That little scoundrel, see how he likes it when I got him stuck doing exercises during a performance. That would shown him. Lisa is much better. You see she somehow always manages to track down my favourite kind of tea. Maybe I should some of Lester’s scones with her next time see her, if the damn boy would actually make me some. If fact it’s been a solid two weeks since he last made me some. I would know after I got some people watching the kitchens. You don’t that he’s sneaking out and making some off compound? No, I know he is. The way he smiles is just screaming it. Just you wait Lester, I’m going catch you redhanded. Those scones will be mine. I’ve had to survive will only Emily’s blueberry muffins. Just muffins! I need more variety than that for tea time. Though I have heard on grapevine that Gerald can make cinnamon teacake to die for. Speaking of Gerald here he comes and looking pretty angry. Wait you can’t just take the pho—“ A muffled movement is heard and well as an angry shout in the distance.

Marion just stares helplessly at the phone as he wasn’t able to find a space in Wilson’s rant to ask him why he was calling.

“Conductor?” Gerald’s voice echoes out of the phone.

“Yes, Gerald. Wilson being Wilson as usual I assume. I wonder if he even breathed during that rant. Being head of choir does give him a hefty pair of lungs doesn’t it. So what was the call initially about? I know you all are all so hesitant to call me. Even though I would accept personal calls you all call only if it’s urgent.” Marion says fondly finally putting the phone closer than a foot away from his head.

“Conductor, we can’t intrude with your personal time. We always ask too much already but you graciously grant us your presence everyday. To ask for more would be unthinkable. But yes it is urgent. It appears Lester is bleeding from every orifice in face. I had sent Wilson to call you for help but it appears his just used this call to take up your time.” Gerald replies, his voice practically spitting Wilson’s name out.

“Hmm...bleeding huh.” Marion pinches his chin in thought, “It could be because he over exerted himself and practiced too much. But the signs of over practice starts off with just a nose bleed. To get to this point would meant that he ignored plenty of the early signs. Well at this point just get him on a blood bag and wait for the bleeding to stop. Also don’t let him practice for the next couple of weeks, that will give him enough time to rest.”

“Of course, Conductor. I shall get right on it. Do be back in time for dinner though, all of us are still worried for you. And remember to eat lunch, missing meals if bad for your body.”

“Yes, of course. Wouldn’t want repeat of this morning’s incident. And I’ll grab something in town for lunch. Though don’t be surprised if I call within the next few minutes as this missing sheet music problem seems to be a lot more complicated than at first glance.”

“I will always answer for the Conductor. To not would a be a disgrace to the Orchestra.” Gerald’s voice was overflowing with zeal.

Marion chuckles as he ends the call and puts the phone in his pocket. He looks up a Jasper and gives and apologetic smile. “I sincerely apologize for that. Now what to do with these papers. You wouldn’t have something to destroy them with would you? Something stronger than fire as these I guess you could say are contaminated now and will be rather hazardous to anyone who reads them. Though I do wonder what’s giving the sheet music power to be able to achieve this. I some theories but that’s all they are. Theories.”

 

[Birdsie]

Jasper Allard
Location: Loudwater Exxon
Mood: Rückkehrunruhe
Interactions: One of those crazy people from the orchestra ( PyroMonomania )

Jasper observed, rather unimpressed, as the Conductor's humming unmistakably killed the papers. It also gave Jasper an oddly unpleasant headache and a raw feeling behind his nose, like a vein popped somewhere in there from a spike of unexpected strain.

Jasper noted that it was certainly strange, but he didn't suspect much. So what if the man knew the brown note? This gas station had gnomes, which necessitated the alcohol section to literally be locked with a key that only employees were allowed to carry and handle, and weren't allowed to leave in the building unsupervised.

It was more unfortunate, however, that the papers bled ink. It went down the stack like maple syrup down a stack of pancakes, pooling around it on the counter in a nasty black circle.

Jasper reached underneath the desk and unsheathed a red plastic tray meant for meal packets. He gingerly raised the heavy papers by the upper string, placing them on the tray with a wet clap. Once again, the gas station employee reached back under the desk and emerged with thick, insulated sterile gloves in yellow color, reaching up to his elbows and tightly clinging to the skin. He raised a spray bottle of clear, translucent liquid and a damp rag soaked in something faintly smelling of formaldehyde and ethanol, and began to use them to clean up the ink.

Once he was done, he threw the rag into a trash can behind the counter, alongside the now-corrupted gloves. Jasper had worked in the gas station for long enough to understand that resources had to be burned in order to ensure the continued survival of himself and the clients.

Marion appeared to be done with his phone call at roughly the same time that Jasper was done cleaning up. He promptly requested something to destroy the papers with.

Jasper, oddly, found himself smiling at the request. He didn't want to admit it openly, but hearing someone else that was so eager to destroy evidence or paranormal objects filled Jasper with an uncanny kinship for the weirdo conductor. In another world, he imagined they could have been friends.

"Stronger than fire? Yes, I've prepared plenty of optio-" His heart froze before he revealed the existence of the machine in the basement. He needed something less conspicuous. "I mean, uh, would hydrochloric acid be enough? I have a barrel in store, for, uh, no particular reason at all."

He stared at Marion for a moment, expressionless to the point where it was shady.

Jasper cleared his throat and coughed awkwardly. "I'll go get the acid. It'll take a few minutes to drag the barrel down the stairs, so please, wait here." Down the stairs? That was eyebrow-raising. This station didn't appear to have a second floor. Nonetheless, Jasper walked away and went into what appeared to be the basement at the very end of the hallway, closing the door quickly and tightly behind himself, as if wanting no one to see what was in there.

Like that, Marion was left alone in the lobby of the gas station. Everything here was calm and sedate. The floortiles were squicky-clean and definitely waxed, the walls had been cleared and painted with a lot of care, and the products lining the shelves were arranged in immaculate order that made them easier to pick out. Perhaps the only flaw that could be highlighted was that the ceiling lamps appeared to blink from time to time as if something in the wires was interfering with the electricity. Another thing that stood out was the slurry machine, which had the taste of 'puRple.' Something about that label oozed a familiar wrongness, as though the option was directly hostile to him.

There was something else, though. Something deeper, more intricate. Now that the gas station clerk had left, it was like every shelf in the lobby, the very counter and cash register, the lights, walls, floors, and ceiling had all turned sets of invisible eyes towards the conductor, watching him. Observing.

They weren't doing anything. It was a feeling, after all. An unmistakable feeling of being observed, watched; from every single one of his three-hundred and sixty angles, from up and down. But nothing happened, and maybe that was worse.

Two minutes later, there was a clanging noise in the basement, and in a couple of seconds, Jasper came back, opening the door one-handed before clutching something in front of himself. He stepped out of the basement, holding the brim of a heavy oil drum colored red, with a white stripe. Almost like explosive barrels in modern video games.

He managed to drag the barrel up the stairs and huffed out. For a moment, Marion could swear he saw movement in the darkness of the basement, and a hushed noise, but Jasper quickly slammed the door shut with his foot, before dragging the barrel up to the cash register.

"Here we are," he said, huffing out. He stepped back and sat down in a chair behind the cash register for a moment, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Man, that was exhausting. What time is it?"

The question was asked as if he'd been gone for hours, or at least half an hour, but not longer than a day.

 

[BippityBoppityBoop]

Benjamin Lacour
Location:Gas Station
Mentions/ Interactions: Birdsie PyroMonomania

As Ben made his way down the street, the familiar light that indicated the presence of the gas station caught his attention. He could describe it as nothing else but a presence. It was probably the only place in the world that could put him as on edge as he was now. Sure, Loudwater was a strange town and nobody would catch him dead in the woods that bordered it, but this particular little convenient store gave him certain feelings that most skeptics such as himself would never admit to. His sudden interest in the store was mostly due to the fact that his stomach had been yelling at him all day to just eat something for God's sake. Of course he had ignored it, per usual.

However Ben wasn't a stupid man, and he knew he needed to get something in his stomach before he started drinking. Ah, how he regretted the days of an amateur drinker! Making his way inside, he almost stopped dead in his tracks just to walk back out. He managed to hold his ground, standing with quite a dumbfounded look on his face as he took in the sight of the young kid Jasper, panting and looking as if he had just ran a marathon while holding the suspicious looking barrel beside him and Marion, the conductor of the Orchestra whom Ben was certain sat around a pentagram and sacrificed people while laughing easily over a game of cards every other week.

Clearing his throat, he closed the door behind him.

"Bad time?"

 

[PyroMonomania]

Marion Faucher
Location: Gas Station
Interactions: Birdsie BippityBoppityBoop

Marion tilts his head in thought. “Hydrochloric acid? Perhaps. I’m unsure of how the sheet music works now that it’s been empowered by something. In fact the original piece may even no be in that pile. But I’m hoping it is and if it isn’t...well let’s just hope that this plague is contained.” He sees Jasper run off to grab the acid, “Try not to burn yourself, that would be horribly unpleasant. Poor Madeline was never same again after the acid incident.”

This just left him alone in the silent gas station, he didn’t feel alone. It felt like there were eyes everywhere silently watching. Maybe it was from the gaps between the chip bags. Maybe from outside the window in the forest. Perhaps it’s from the crack of slight ajar door of the supply closet? Does his own reflection gaze at himself a little too intensely? Maybe the gnome who wasn’t that spot before, the one that smiles eerily? Perhaps it was all of them. He doesn’t know what but there is something watching, waiting. Marion just smiles at the feeling and hums a pleasant melody. If he has an audience might as well entertain them.

Jasper soon comes back with the barrel, panting from the exertion of dragging it over. When he asks how long he was gone for Marion responds, “Two minutes and twenty three seconds according to the time relative to me. I can’t account for time dilation unfortunately.”

The then the door opens and man walks in pausing at the sight in front of him,” Bad time?” He asks.

Marion looks over saying, “Ben, right? Don’t you worry I should be finishing up here soon if anymore problems don’t crop up. Which, fingers crossed, there isn’t. If there are you may go on ahead and finish your business ahead of me.”

 

[Birdsie]

Jasper Allard
Location: Loudwater Exxon
Mood: Andronitic Anxiety
Interactions: A surprisingly relatable conductor ( PyroMonomania ), a potential witness ( BippityBoppityBoop )

Jasper nodded at the explanation, furrowing his eyebrows in thought. "Time dilation would-" He paused, eyelids widening a millimeter. He looked askance. "I mean- uh, not, explain... anything?" His eyes slid to glance at Marion blankly before he decided to just get on with his work.

Once again, Jasper slapped on a pair of insulated gloves and used them to lift up the stack of papers by the string, almost like a grasping crane. He used a pocket knife that might have been illegal in this state to pop off the lid of the barrel with a plasticine thunk, revealing it was two-thirds full of a swirling, yellowish-green liquid that bubbled in exposure to oxygen. It also had a foul smell.

And then someone came into the store.

Just as the gas station cashier was about to toss a stack of papers heavy and big enough to serve as a footstool into a red drum-style barrel of vile liquid, which looked like something that might have been created after a witch threw the wrong ingredient into her cauldron.

The clerk was momentarily torn between greeting the customer in a chipper manner and inviting him in to lay off suspicion, and his usual greeting which involved a blank look and enough dry wit to explode a cube of ice.

He was pretty sure he recognized the man who'd entered the gas station. It was none other than Ben Lacour, the local psychologist. While the common idiot might fall for deception like that, there was no easy way to convince him that everything was alright, while also betokening his true feelings of not really caring much about this job.

Which might have been an inconsistency, honestly. Jasper ran a marathon just now to burn a stack of papers; if that wasn't devotion to one's duties, what was?

So in the end, Jasper merely said, "No," with a voice dry enough to be used as a towel.

And he tossed the papers into the barrel. They sizzled and appeared to release a high-pitched whine as they sank to the bottom, as though in painful agony. Before the last paper disappeared from the surface of the liquid, Jasper placed the lid of the barrel back on and pressed the 'max' setting button on the fan.

"Let's hope your paper was in there," he commented to Marion candidly.

"If it wasn't there, that means it's under the floorboards. There's a lot of..." he trailed off at the end, as if unsure he wanted to continue. It sounded like he was going to say something akin to 'rats' or 'life' but in the end, Jasper squeaked out, "Yes!... There's quite a lot. Ek-hem. Ahe-he-hem. Anyway... Can I help you?"

Returning to his bored cashier persona, Jasper addressed the man standing in the entrance.

 

[BippityBoppityBoop]

Benjamin Lacour
Location: Gas Station
Mentions/ Interactions: Birdsie PyroMonomania

Ben gave a tight, uncomfortable smile as the two glanced up at him. Of course they were the only two in the store so his entrance would naturally draw attention, but that logic did nothing to comfort the man's anxiety. He instead decided to draw his gaze to Jasper, who now was looking a bit flustered which only made his assumption more concrete that it was, in fact, a bad time. Ben seemed to have a knack for stumbling upon oddities, more so now since he moved to Loudwater. Seeing the clerk throw a humongous stack of papers into what looked like something that would ooz out of one hundred year old pipelines and the assurance from Marion that hopefully nothing could go wrong with whatever activity was taking place, Ben heaved a weary sigh and nodded slowly.

"Right," he turned to Jasper, "I just need some chips or something before I head to the bar. I'm trying to avoid spending twenty dollars on an appetizer just so I can get wasted." He explained, although he was sure the kid couldn't care less. He looked like he would rather be lying on a bed of nails than here, and Ben couldn't blame him. Heading into the chip isle he hardly glanced at what he picked up and brought it to the counter. Then he turned back to Marion. Ben knew asking wasn't really in his favor, but his curiosity got the best of him.

"What exactly are you doing?"

 

[Safety Hammer]

Theodore Green
Location: Loudwater Public Library
Mood: Calm
Interactions: PJ-Flash
Mentions: PJ-Flash


Theodore squinted his eyes, looking at the shifty gas station employee with suspicion plastered all over his face. "Yeeeaahhhh.. I'm sure that's the only reason why you're here.." the Librarian said, as he began to stamp the books that Silas had brought him. It was the occasional occult mumbo jumbo, all about bigfeet and mothmen, specters and spirits. Y'know. Bored college kid stuff. And although he himself believed in some sort of occult happenings, he just.. well, it brought up too many unpleasant memories he had long since left buried for reasons he would rather keep to himself.

"Silas, as much as I love your enthusiasm for learning and reading, please remember that you can renew books. Might I remind you that your 'tab' has reached sixty dollars already? Just.. please remember to turn in your books on time. I can't keep paying this outta my own pocket." The former professor said, looking rather beleaguered. He cared a lot for Si. After all, it didnt take an especially observant person to see that he led a rough life. So he tried his best to alleviate his pain through these little things. "Go ahead, Si. Check out your stuff quick, ok? You got work, right?"

 

[PyroMonomania]

Marion Faucher
Location: Gas Station
Interactions: BippityBoppityBoop Nearby: Birdsie

Marion raises an eyebrow when Jasper agreed only to disagree with the time dilation comment. When the clerk threw the papers into the barrel he watches as the ink tries to spread to the acid but is unable to contaminate liquid before putting the lid on. Hopefully with this there isn’t anymore problems...of course till more crop up. His music tends create those quite often. The paper lets out a squeal as it burns but appears to not fight against the corrosion, though he’ll have to wait and see if it’ll fight more. As Marion waits to see if there are anymore problems cropping up, Ben walks by bringing a bag of plain tortilla chips to the counter. Perhaps he has some salsa at home. He asks what he was doing. Marion supposes that this situation does look a little shady from an outsider prospective.

So to ease Ben’s concern Marion says,” Oh, just making sure that some rather dangerous paper is unable to harm anyone. Hopefully source of this inky contamination has be successfully suppressed. If not we’ll...let’s just hope that doesn’t happen. Thankfully it’s only incomplete piece, aggressive but more bark than bite. Can’t imagine what would’ve happen if it was finished one. So no need to wor—“

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The barrel rattled horribly at it starts to shake, a noise rings out of it as if there was someone inside pounding against side. Marion looks around hastily for something heavy and spots a tip jar full of what looks to be half cent coins. Not sure what that’s doing there as Marion was sure that they stopped making those long ago but it’s something he can use as a weight. Quickly grabbing the rather large jar of useless coins and puts it on top of the barrel lid. An inhuman wailing noise soon emits from the barrel along side the banging. Marion soon realizes that the noises were actually a rather crude attempt at replicating the melody of the incomplete piece. He could pity the music, so desperately wanting to be heard but inherently something that can’t be played. Unfinished music is like a doll that desires to be human, a lake that wants be an ocean. So similar but simply isn’t.

Then something shifted in this clumsy melody, it became more complete.

“How miraculous...” Marion couldn’t help but utter and he stares in awe at a piece that managed to make the next step itself. He knows he should warn the other people that soon this music would start to effect them negatively but he couldn’t stop observing this miracle.

 

[Birdsie]

Jasper Allard
Location: Loudwater Exxon
Mood: Controlled Panic
Interactions: A surprisingly relatable conductor ( PyroMonomania ), a witness ( BippityBoppityBoop )

Jasper elegantly scanned the pack of wavy Krinkle Originals with the taste of green onion for a total of $3.98, before pausing as the barrel started to shake and bang, emitting an unearthly shrieking noise.

"I'll deal with it," Jasper said, determinedly. He walked up to the barrel and dragged it. He definitely wasn't putting this in the freezer, so he'd just kick it down into the basement and hope it decided to stay there.

As he was dragging it, however, the barrel rattled mightily, its song of beauteous devastation intensifying to the point of staggering Jasper, with so much force at once that it went flying out of his grasp, skidded across the floor on its bottom, then tipped over right at the end of aisle four, causing the lid to pop off with a thunk and rattle. Jasper stopped in shock.

No hydrochloric acid came pouring out, but the song was clearer now. It was no longer forced to resonate across the solid walls of the barrel's round containment.

Did the papers absorb the acid for energy, or...? No! Don't think about it.

He ran back to the cash register and picked up his trusty mop for self-defense. Last time a barrel tipped over, Jasper spent a week with bruises and a hairline fracture on one of his ribs, and he really didn't want to repeat that experience.

He looked at Benjamin, then quickly tossed him a pair of insulated gloves. "I'll lie down on the barrel to keep it from moving around, you put the lid back on. No matter what, don't look inside. Get ready."

 

[BippityBoppityBoop]

Benjamin Lacour
Location: Gas Station
Mentions/ Interactions: Birdsie PyroMonomania

Ben jumped as the barrel rattled and shook so suddenly. He stepped back a bit, wondering how in the world paper, out of anything else in the world, could be dangerous except for the minor paper cuts every now and again. Meanwhile Jasper seemed calm and collected.

'Obviously he's used to this shit.' Ben thought, surprise masking his features as he watched the clerk go around the counter and grab the box in exasperation. Ben decided he may as well pay now and head out to avoid whatever was unfolding here, but a burst of pain interrupted his course of action. He grabbed his head as if it were splitting open and he had to keep it held together. Somewhere that seemed quite far away from him was a small thud, and he managed to glance over to find Jasper standing in complete shock as the barrel skidded a few feet away from him. Papers spilled unceremoniously out of their container, and the odd music that had been somewhat muffled now rang loud around them, only urging the ever growing pain in his head. Ben cursed under his breath, hardly noticing when Jasper handed him the insulated gloves.

He was about to protest, but decided these two might actually need his help. Somewhere in the back of his mind he found it a bit humorous that this time nobody was asking for his help with personal, typically mental issues. It happened so often it usually gave Ben a certain reluctance to tell people what he did for a living unless he felt it was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately nearly everyone in town knew his position here anyways, so his reluctance didn't matter.

Sliding the gloves on he waited for Jasper's orders to close the barrel back up, squinting against the throbbing ache in his head. Ben wasted no time when he received the okay. He raced across the store, dropped to his knees and slammed the lid of the barrel closed, leaning his whole weight onto it.

"What the hell," He yelled, his voice strained, "What do we do with it?!" He had to raise his voice over the melody which now seemed to swell as if it were alive.