Multiple Settings The Bakker Case: A Lovecraftian Horror Story [IC] [Closed]

[EdwardDewey98]

Preface
The year is 1922. The Great War is long over, slowly becoming a fading memory. Prohibition is in full effect, alcohol being banned across the United States, and the mafia continues to grow in power. In Lovecraft County, life continues as normal. Or so it seems. Famous actress and singer Martha Bakker reports that her father, known magnate Theodore Bakker, has gone missing without leaving a single clue as to his whereabouts. The police seem unable to pick up a trail. Growing desperate, and losing trust in the police force, Martha decides it might be best to hire a group of volunteers and professionals to help her find her father. From hardy thugs, to Great War vets, to private detectives and even scholars and occultists as her father was quite fond of the occult himself. Their mission seems to be rather easy at first, but as the investigators continue to delve deeper and deeper into the case, it clearly becomes more than just a case of a missing person.

Rules
This RP is currently a closed RP, but might potentially open for new players later. Keep an eye on it! As GM, I control various NPCs in the story, but some may be controlled by players. All events will be under my direction. Feel free to throw ideas at your fellow players. I really want you guys to have fun!
​

1. Please, be nice.
2. No power or metagaming. You have a lot of freedom and slack, but ultimately rolls determine if things happen.
3. Out of Character (OOC) chat should be in double parentheses, ((so it will look like this when you post OOC)).
4. If you go inactive or drop, your character(s) will be under my control (and may potentially die.) If you let me know you're going to be inactive for a while and can pick back up later, I'll look after your character until you return.
5. This is primarily a PvE game, but PvP can still potentially happen if its agreed upon by both parties and run by me.
6. As GM, new rules can be implemented on the fly.

Link to the Bakker Case wikia page: The Bakker Case (Under construction, but most lore and character pages and such are there and up!)

Players
(If a player drops out, their character will be controlled by me and listed here as dropped.)

• Albert Leahman by Humble1
• Atlas Ward by Lillian_4
• Alton Cooper by AriAriAbabwa
• Artem Bondarenko by joshuadim
• Brian Demonte by Vexumin
• Dominik 'Dom' Kästner by Infab
• Edelweiß Alphi Morganach by Mook-LandStrider
• Ira Hielscher by FloweryMuffin
• Masao Itō by Firelie
• John "Jay" McDonough by Zillamaster55
• Ruth “Yancy” Jansen by BriiAngelic
• Sylvia Arnold by Nuclear Magician

Welcome to Arkham

 

[EdwardDewey98]

​

Prologue

October 3th, 1922 • Arkham, Massachusetts.​

It was a typical autumn evening in Arkham. The once green trees that were a common sight among the estates of the rich and powerful around Millhaven district were now a plethora of magnificent colored leaves, each slowly falling with each gust of cold wind. Among these estates was the Bakker estate, home to the well-known Belgian-American magnate Theodore Bakker and his daughter, famous actress Martha Bakker. The estate house itself was nothing but impressive and rather extravagant in design, which bore heavy resemblance to the many château's of France. The inside of the house can only be described as convoluted, due to the large amount of rather exotic items found in each room which ranged from ancient and quite impressive foreign decorations such as African masks hanging from the wall, Meso-American jewelry and statues, and even 13th century medieval armors in exquisite condition, however, other items ranged into the strange and esoteric, with daggers of queer design safely kept in protective cases and bookshelves full of books dedicated to the occult, written by unknown, forgotten authors.

Up stairs, Martha Bakker found herself in a daily situation. Right after waking up from a well-deserved rest, she was applied her make-up while still wearing her sleeping gown. And as usual, her husband, John Readings entered the room uninvited. He gave his wife a tired, frustrated look as he approached her. "You were supposed to attend the Woodrow's art gallery, but of course, I find you sulking in your room. Looking at your own reflection." Said John as moved closer, Martha's eyes followed his movement through the mirror. "I already told you, my dear husband, that today I will have guests over. I can't attend trivial things such as an art gallery. Specifically one hosted by the Woodrows." John crossed his arms, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection in the mirror. "You keep leaving me alone in these meetings. Everyone is talking about it. Don't you care about your reputation, Martha?" The actress shrugged, as she began to apply her lipstick. "...My reputation matters little when compared to more urgent matters. Today, I'll be receiving people that can help me find my father."

John threw his arms in the air, letting a heavy breath in frustration. "Oh, for god's sake, Martha. Leave that to the police. They will find him. He's an old man, he might have gotten lost on the way here after his visit to Boston." Martha glanced over her shoulder. Her stunning but cold blue eyes could make any man or woman stutter in place, it was enough to intimidate John for the moment. "...You know my father was far from senile. Even at his age. Besides, the police found his car in Arkham." Martha returned to her mirror one last time, smiling at the results of her make-up session. She then stood, moving towards her changing room, but then her rather stubborn husband had moved in front of her, blocking her path, with the same frustrated look he had when he walked in.

"...Martha. I'm your husband, god damn it. You might not care about what others say about you, but I care about what they say about me." Martha chuckled a bit, before sighing. "...And what do they say about me? That I'm an adulteress?" She continued to giggle at the thought. "...That I broke my vows before God in pursuit of earthly pleasures? You know better, John... I hate people, just as much as I hate you." She walked past him, watching his expression change from frustration to anger as she entered her changing room. "Go to your little art gallery, and gawk at the Woodrows' antics all you want... I have more important business to attend to."

Meanwhile...​

At the front of the estate, a taxi pulls to a stop and from it emerges a young woman wearing a rather elegant red dress. After paying the driver, the vehicle drove away leaving the young woman alone in front of the Bakker state. After looking at the state of her dress, she approached the front gate and was quickly welcomed by the gardener of the Bakker estate, a fellow black American like herself, the older gentleman gave her a friendly smile before asking. "Hello there, madame. How can I help you?" The young lady returned the smile, and gave him a nod. "Hello there, good sir. I was invited by madam Martha Bakker. She requires my services here, let me show you the invitation." After taking a moment to rumage through her purse, the young woman pulled a letter, an invitation to the state signed by none other than Martha Bakker herself.

As the gardener looked at the letter, another stranger approached the gates. A rather simple but nonetheless attractive man of sturdy frame wearing a fedora and a coat. He looked over the woman, and took off his hat to speak with her. "Uhm... can I ask you a question, ma'am? Is this the Bakker estate? I'm from Boston and I'm a bit of a stranger to Arkham." The lady nodded while waiting for the gardener to speak again. "Yes, you are in the right location. Were you invited by Madame Bakker as well, sir?" The man shook his head while giving her a polite smile. "I'm afraid I was not but I do know of her fathers disappearance, she seems to be looking for private detectives and other type of investigators. A friend of mine in the Pinkerton Agency told me of her case, and suggested me to pay her a visit. I heard that she was gathering volunteers of all walks of life here today so... I thought, why not help her?" As the two strangers talked with one another, another unknown began to approach the front gate of the estate. Seemingly invited by Martha Bakker herself or heard rumors of her need for volunteers.

 

[Mook-LandStrider]

Edelweiß Alphi Morganach



Hearing a knock at her door Edelweiß rolled onto her side and sat up quickly. She could feel the rocking of the seas had died down followed by that same knocking snapping her attention. “Yes? Are we there?” She called out to whomever was beyond the door. “Yes my lady, we are just coming into port now. We expect to be moored within the hour, I advise gathering your things with haste.”. She thought to call back but she knew they had moved on by now. Standing up she ran a hand through her short hair before stretching. She pulled her nightgown against herself before pulling the blinds of the cabin back to reveal a rapidly changing Boston. Standing there for several seconds she felt a jolt of excitement shoot up her spine at the concept of being in the city again. Though that brought forth the social norms… and how she hated those. Grimacing, she pushed the thought away and began to gather her things.

Pulling a long chain up from her shirt she pulled out a watch and checked it before closing it and pulling her shirt out to drop it back in. Having disembarked from the ship she jogged towards her meeting point. Stopping a few steps away she looked at the man standing beside a Duesenberg and gave a little wave “Hello there.” The man, obviously day dreaming, shook back to life, startled by her sudden appearance. “Oh, uhm… you don't happen to be Lady Morganach would you?” he asked. “Yes, but please call me Weiss… or Edel… or Edelweiß. Infact, you can call me fun, because we are about to have a little.” she responded, making him blush. “Relax, I don't mean you. Give me the keys.” She said bluntly as she held out her hand.

“Miss, I believe it was your father’s wish that I drive you…” he said as she turned the engine over. His protests didn’t seem to shake her resolve at all as she rummaged around in the car. Finding what she was looking for she put the goggles on and began to fiddle with the car itself. “Its-” he began to say before she figured it out and managed to get the car moving. The trip could have been faster but she wasn’t overly sure how her now passenger would handle it. By the end of it the man seemed white as a ghost.

Pulling up to the estate she put it in park and cut the engine much to the joy and elation of the man in the passenger seat. “That was rather enjoyable. But I can tell you didn’t like that so much… my apologies.” She mumbled out having been so focused on driving that she hadn’t noticed the terrified passenger. Getting out she adjusted her jacket and necktie before looking back. “If you want to go out and about I only ask that you be back by… erm… like 5?” she said with a shrug. “Just don’t disappear when it gets dark.” she said before turning around to take in the Bakker estate. She hadn’t seen Martha in several years and she so wished it was on better terms.

Waving to her driver as they pulled away she approached the front gates, nostalgia taking over she quickly remembered how Mr. Bakker kept his estate. The thought of seeing all the precious objects made her heart flutter. Approaching the small group that had formed Edelweiß gave a small bow “Miss Morganach at your service.” she said with a charming smile. “Miss Bakker did say we were expecting quite a gathering. I do wish this were on better terms, but a gathering nonetheless is an interesting experience.” Weiss spoke, almost gleaming.

​

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Ruth "Yancy" || Moonshiner

• 
  
  
  
  Interacting With:
  Gardener, Marie, Detective ( EdwardDewey98 ) Edelweiß ( Mook-LandStrider )
  

  ~Bakker Estate ~
  ~ October 3th, 1922 • Arkham, Massachusetts ~
  
  It Don't Mean A Thing || Ruth's CS File
  
  She wondered how uncouth it might seem to arrive strapped with her rifle. She naturally splurged and bought herself a pretty little slip of a dress for the night. She might as well not care how uncouth she looked as she boldly paired the dress with a long fur-trimmed dressing gown overtop. No doubt eyes would be drawn to the moxie she had bringing such sheer bedroom fabric outdoors.
  
  Certainly drew more eyes walking by than the silly little cloche hats every Mary and Margaret wore around town. As if she’d cut her luscious locks for some independent look. No her freedoms came from meticulous skill and practice sex appeal. She adjusted the slits of the skirt of her dress adjusting the leather sheathe strapped down and hidden by her stockings.
  
  Well now to make herself taken seriously or revel in the mystique of a lone woman arriving seemingly unarmed. Hmm no her employer was a woman this time was she not? Best take the rifle then. Not all women were weak to her specific brand of proclivities. It would only serve to be her undoing if she were to irritate her employer and not have something to show for her skills.
  
  She carefully strapped the rifle onto her back under the dressing gown. It would provide her with precious little to distract from it but that was the aim. She might be a moonshiner but she could more than handle her own and then some. She left swinging her hips as she entered the backseat of her suitor of the week’s Model T.
  
  Besides… it was just too interesting to leave be.
  
  A man missing, and presumably not from the local mafia or she’d have heard wind of it by now. Too old to be of much worth for mens work but too young to be senile. Too rich not to be of ransom, let alone worth ending with the pressures of his influence.
  
  She’d almost suspect the husband if she could find a motive.
  
  She gave her recent man a kiss before exiting the car. She saw the eyes of the man turn with every flick of her hips as she turned back to face the man she’d already forgotten the name of.
  
  “Why do tell your little Dorthey I give my regards. She’s certainly taught you how to please a woman.”
  
  She watched the man begin to trip over his own words with a giggle.
  
  “Now now don’t think I didn’t know I was the mistress. Don’t feel bad by all regards you are too.”
  
  She started to saunter away but not before blowing a kiss over her shoulder. She was certain that the man that was meant to be nothing more than arm candy couldn’t mistake the clear dismissal in her actions. He sputtered but looked once more towards the rifle that sat upon her back and called for the driver to go.
  
  “Oh and I won’t be requiring a ride back of course.”
  
  She looked to the gardener who had just taken a look to the letter of another. She pulled her own from within her brassiere handing it to the gardener.
  
  “Here for a Madame Bakker. Heard from a little birdie that we would be in for an interesting time if we came on down Arkham. What about you two? Here for business? Pleasure? Or something in betwe-?”
  
  She took a better look at the third recognizing the woman in a mere moment despite their long pause in correspondance. In fact she hadn't seen the woman since the business went south with the outlawing of her family's trade.
  
  "Edel? EDEL? Wouldn't imagine seeing you here of all people."
  
  

 

[Humble1]

A sharp tapping could be heard a few moments before the creator came into view. A nattily dressed man and his metal-shod cane approached the front gate. Carefully giving wide berth to the two women having a reunion, he paused to take in the sweep of the grounds.

"Ah, the fabulous Bakker estate. Feh, what a pile. Money may or may not buy happiness, but it can't even make the down payment on good taste. Still ..."

With smiling aplomb, he approached the fetchingly dressed black woman conversing with the estate gardener and a man trying very hard to look like a PI.

"Well, I see a line is already forming. Well enough, I believe this search could use all the eyes we can bring to it. My name's Albert Leahman, by the way, part-owner of Leahman Brother's Books and one of Theodore Bakker's suppliers in his bibliomaniacal addictions. May I ask who I'm addressing?"

 

[Vexumin]

Brian Demonte




A letter for Kelepher from Arkham. More than enough to get Brian's attention. It was the location of his fathers last case. It's not that the young PI hadn't made this trip before to search for his teacher after his disappearance, but any possible leads had run cold and locals weren't always welcoming to people coming about to ask questions. Perhaps something kept them hesitant. It was something that Brian was eager to find out during this next trip over. It had been a long drive thus far. A drive that was actually quite quiet and awkward. Upon his fathers disappearance, Brian had been given temporary inheritance of the agency and all of its assets until the possible return of the true owner. This included the car and the hired driver, Davies.

Davies had spent the better part of the drive looking back at Brian through the rear-view mirror, or the "cop-spotter" as the fellow enjoyed to jokingly call it. Brian knew the reason the driver kept gazing at him through the mirror, but it didn't take Davies long to spell it out himself.

"Young master... are you sure this is a wise idea? I had brought Master Kelepher here and twas the last I saw of him... I'd rather not lose you as well. It'd break my heart. That, and I'd be out of the job, surely." Davies was always one to crack a joke. Kelepher appreciated the lighthearted humor for rather tense situations. Brian has come to appreciate them as well.

"Afraid that there is nothing to be done about it. I must take every case that comes to my door from this place. If there is a chance I can find even a shred of evidence about the whereabout of my father, then I must go. Besides, we are nearly there. Surely you'd prefer we not turn about at this point in the trip?" Brian's own little attempt at a joke was met only with silence until Davies voice sounded from the drivers seat. "Honestly, young master... I'd much prefer we head home."

Brian felt the fear in those words. The desperate hope from the older British fellow that he was not going to have to mourn the disappearance of another employer and long time friend. The young man just breathes in and lets out a sigh through his nose. There would be nothing to fear, he hoped. Besides, they were nearly there. Turning back now would be a wasted effort. It would also be cowardice of the highest degree for the young personal investigator. It was one of the first lessons he had been taught by his adoptive father. The greatest discoveries are made when one takes a leap, not when they try and find the safest path ahead.

His father had a habit of getting himself put into precarious situations, and Brian was turning out, day after day, a lot like his mentor and guardian. If this trip proved anything, it would be that fact alone. The car soon rolls up to the Bakker estate. There seemed to be a few people already gathered by the gate. Davies steps from the vehicle, approaching Brians door and opening it for the young man. As Brian steps from the car, he straightens the tie around his neck, flattening out his vest and waistcoat. From his vest pocket he produces a letter, one much like that the others gathered carried with them, aside from the fellow with the large coat and hat.

"Seems I was not the only one whose services have been sought out."​

 

[FloweryMuffin]

Ira disliked the cold. So much so she almost regretted leaving the confines of her little home that day. She almost wanted to give in to the words of her two maids, yet her desire to be in some other space, preferably lacking any walls, she waved her maid’s words, Amira’s, away indifferently. There was also the matter of her sister and that husband of hers, both whom never returned from their trip to...was it Rhode Island? Did it matter anymore? They were still both missing.

“Madam, maybe it would be a better idea to not meddle in the affairs of…these kinds of people, you don’t need to make this trip, because miss Eien will be found eventually. Bart gets really agitated whenever you take to leaving.”

Ira heaved a sigh for the eighth time that, having already heard Amira’s speech several times that morning and the day before. As a reply, she picked up the little suitcase Amira reluctantly packed for her, and with her free hand pet Bart’s head, who was laying down by her feet, whispering ‘look after these two, will you?’ She stood up, extending a hand towards the maid.
“My cane, please. Those bastards cannot find an old man like Bakker, how do you ever expect for police or whatever in God’s name to pull both my sister and her husband out of whatever hole they’re in now?” She heaved another sight, but at last the maid handed over her cane and Ira was finally ready to leave. You better be alive out there.

“Goodbye. Look after Jana and Bart and I urge you not to bother letting anybody know where I’ve gone to.” Not like there is anybody left who’s ask. With that Ira finally left her little home in the countryside for the first time in half a year. She was finally heading into the city. Arkham, but the name held very little importance, because in her mind, they were all much the same. Cold. Noisy. The thought made her pull her shawl tighter around herself. She had to admit that she preferred them if only for the fact that the amount of noise tended to dull out those other, less human things passing her ears. Maybe they are invisible.

The man that was supposed to drive Ira into the city waited for her somewhere ahead, at the entrance to the main road. Perhaps he was surprised to see an unseeing woman travelling alone. Ira kept trying to gouge what kind of expression wore while on the road to the city. If he were to ever ask, Ira had a not-so-pleasant remark prepared, but her driver resigned to driving her in silence, so as to not insult her.

Ira had but one purpose and that was to see whether the disappearances of her sister and brother-in-law as well as Bakker were all connected. Now, if whoever Miss Bakker had called over and the rest were to decide that perhaps they didn’t have much they could do with her, well, the trip back home was much like the one that led to the estate. Ira wasn’t a stranger to being cast away.

Once they arrived, Ira bid the driver good day, took her suitcase and with the other hand she placed her cane in front of her until she started hearing fragments of conversations and inquiries. She tried to look in the direction she thought they were coming from, but Ira heard several voices. In truth, she wasn’t quite sure whether to move from her spot then, just a little ways away, so as to not intrude on them. While pondering that particular decision, she was looking up, almost as if contemplating the architecture of an estate that was, to her something like chatter. A description written on paper.

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Alma/Alton Cooper​

A rich magnate of a father, gone under mysterious circumstances, and the adventure taken to discover the truth in the seedy underbelly of Arkham. The thought of it made Alma Cooper giddy. Just imagine the viewers who would pitch in to enjoy the story! And just maybe the ratings would be enough to push her past that damned wild west themed podcast. She leaned her chin on her fist, staring out the bumpy taxi ride as the Bakker estate came into view.

Their arrival was finalized by the driver's gruff, "We're here, sir."

Sir. Good to know the old persona still did the trick. Alton Cooper left a handful of cash to him, scooting out the door. "Thanks for the drive, partner."

An unsuspecting nod from him. As soon as she slammed the door shut, the taxi sped away. Alton was alone again with nothing but his cash, notes, the masculine attire, and his haircut. The estate's presence overwhelmed me the moment I was outside of the building. But little did I know that that was only the beginning of my tale... No, no, that sounds too cliche, that'll make the viewers groan. Ah, Hell, I'll figure it out later.

There was already a gathering of people outside. He'd make notes on the party later on, but for now he was an intruding visitor with only a hope he could tag along the aforementioned mission.

But as he approached the crowd, Alton found himself feeling like a fish out of water. The merry crew that Martha Bakker found herself appeared fairly gungho and prepared; compared to the person only there to catch a story. But such was the nature of playing this game—the feeling was nothing new for him. Might as well get the first impressions underway.

Retrieving a sloshing metal flask, he jumped into the midst. "Good day to you all! The name's Alton Cooper, here for the same reason I presume everyone else is." He swung around the container, dancing his gaze around the current assortment of people. He took a swig of his drink. "We're helping this poor lass find her father where the authorities could not. Now ain't that a thrilling case to be on? Oh, wonder!" Another swig of his flask. "Mrs. Bakker must truly believe something is amiss for her to round up folks like us. Even taking you lovely ladies in for this case" Alton offhandedly motioned towards the present women with his drink.

 

[Lillian_4]

On a quiet avenue, a sleek automobile came sputtering cheerily along, pulling up haphazardly in front of one of many red-bricked townhouses. The driver, a red-faced man with thinning blonde hair turned back, mopping at his brow. “Here we are sonny,” he announced, motioning at the meter, “I hope you are good on your word for greenbacks, I don’t take any of your strange British money, what was it called again? Ounces or something?”

Atlas pulled his gaze from the window, an indulgently wry smile pulling at his lips, having been subjected to a dozen jabs and jokes about the English over the course of the drive. He didn’t bother to correct the man, reaching out into his pocket and pulling out a crisp bundle of bills. The driver’s eyes visibly widened at that, “You’s some sort of Lord or something?”

“Nothing like that,” Atlas responded mildly, handing one of the smaller denominations off to the driver. “I am but a simple Archivist.”

Atlas opened the door, a sudden gust of wind nearly blowing the door shut again, forcing him to brace an arm against the interior, when a hand grasped the edge, holding it open. “Need a hand?” Came an amused voice.

Atlas glanced up, grinning when he realized who it was. “O’Connery,” he greeted with great warmth, stepping out of the car, clasping hands with the younger man.

‘O’Connery,’ was a taller man, dark-haired with a smatter of freckles across a honest-looking face, hazel eyes filled with amusement. He shook Atlas’ hand, pumping it. “Good to see you again Sarge, you took so long I almost thought you changed your mind. What do you think? Not bad for a yank, eh?” He gestured to the townhouse behind him. “Here, let me give you a hand with the luggage.”

“You don’t have to call me Sarge anymore,” Atlas said dryly, watching as the taller man busied himself with grabbing a considerable amount of luggage. “And no, not bad indeed.”

“And you don’t have to call me O’Connery. God’s sake, Sar--” He caught himself, “Atlas, we are friends, hell, you’re even staying with me. Just call me Thomas.”

Atlas exhaled sharply in amusement, “Thomas, then. But you must know it doesn’t carry the same sort of ring. Here, let me get that, it would be remiss if I were to stay at your place free of board and still make you carry my things.”

Thomas clicked his tongue at Atlas, turning away from him, and hurrying up the steps before he could get ahold of his baggage. “There is no way I will make a guest work in my house. My ma’s taught me better than that.” He fumbled with the door, clearly unable to unlock the door and carrying everything at the same time, somehow managing to do it before Atlas managed to grab ahold of the door, pushing it open with the toe of his shoe. Thomas dropped the luggage onto the walnut floors, opening the door up wider, throwing open his arms grandly. “Well? What do you think?”

Atlas walked in, taking in the dim hallways suffused with a melancholic glow. “It’s brilliant.” He said admiringly. “Thank you again, for hosting me. If it’s another trouble at all, please let me know. I’ll be out of your hair as quickly as I appeared.”

Thomas laughed at that, hazel eyes glinting, flecks of gold amongst warm brown and green. “After you got me out of that bind, Sarge? I mean -- ha, sorry, old habit, Atlas. No way I am letting my savior sleep in some two-bit hotel. Oh. Right. Here.” He whisked out a rolled-up newspaper.

Atlas raised a brow. “Newspaper. I -- thank you, I haven’t had the chance to… read news yet,” he said slowly, taken back, yet attempting to remain polite. He accepted it, unfurling the paper, ink smudging lightly onto the pads of his fingers.

“What? No,” Thomas laughed, “look in the adverts. I spotted it a few days ago. And well, I thought that sounded up your alley, right? Strange happenings and all. That is how I was able to finally convince you to come visit.”

Atlas glanced down into the advert. “Magnate goes missing… ah, and he was fond of the occult. Excellent. Oh -- well, not that the poor sod’s gone missing. But you’re right, it does sound like something I might want to get a statement or record of.. Thank you, Thomas. Again.”

Thomas grinned. “Glad to see I could finally surprise you. Come on, I’ll give you a ride. I think you will find my new automobile just as… what was it that you Englishmen are so fond of saying? Ah. Brilliant.”

The ride was a long distance from Thomas’ new home. But it was an enjoyable drive, Atlas watching the scenery blur by, catching up with Thomas since the last they’ve seen one another on the front. The trees were crimson and gold, the trees, crimson, like fire, the color of madness, the thought came to Atlas, unbidden, reminding him of a statement he had once read and shelved. The car parked, Atlas raising a brow at the beginnings of a crowd.

“Seems like quite a party you got there,” Thomas remarked, hand resting atop the passenger side’s shoulder. “Think you will be alright? Or should I come with?”

Atlas offered Thomas another one of his wry smiles. “I shouldn’t trouble you anymore. Don’t worry about me, I can find my way back later tonight.”

“If you insist. No trouble to me, I just think of it as spending time with an old friend. Here--” Thomas tossed Atlas a ring. “So you can let yourself in. See you later, Sarge.” He saluted playfully, then drove off, leaving Atlas to turn around and gaze thoughtfully at the house.

It seemed the others were already conversing, but for now, Atlas preferred to observe and listen. He cut quite a figure, a smart-looking wool overcoat, a three-piece suit, and a silky white caveat tied around his throat, keeping out the chill. Seeing that some seemed to have an official-looking invitation in their grasp, he couldn't help but think of the advert he cut from the newspaper carefully kept between two pages in his notebook.

 

[joshuadim]

Within a small, cramped tenement in one of the industrial areas of Arkham a man sat in a wooden chair next to an oil lantern atop a table. The light emanating from it illuminating his face and his surroundings as he sat with a bottle of whisky in one hand and the other gripped the armrest. A necklace with a small icon attached to it rested on his chest as the thin rope attaching to it rested on his neck. He sat in silence as footsteps could be heard above and next to his quarters, the thin walls doing little for sound insulation. Given his situation, scrounging for work wherever he could as both an immigrant and a veteran of the war, it was all that was available to him regardless of its faults with its construction. A roof was all he needed.

Artem's tired face stared emotionless at a small letter that had been delivered a few days prior in an unceremonious white envelope that had been addressed to him. It sat atop the table with its contents unfolded and spread out before him. It was an invitation from a 'Martha Bakker', a name he was completely unfamiliar with but apparently the reverse was not the same. He was not sure what to make of it, and why he himself was asked for. He wasn't a detective, nor was he the type to see things under a veil. What use would he be of an investigation? And yet, the allure of pay was what continued to grasp his interest. He did need money to pay for rent soon, as well as for more drink. He took another swig of the whisky bottle, which was by now about three-quarters empty, before grabbing the letter again and looking over its contents one more time.

A missing man, hiring, et cetera... and upon finishing he sighed before setting his bottle down onto the table. He folded the letter into a small pocket on his dirty shirt and headed out the door to make his way over to this person's estate. He didn't have money for a cab fare, so he settled for walking. As he was inebriated somewhat, his steps were sluggish and uncoordinated as he swayed from side to side. Still, the outside air and the exercise was good to keep him somewhat capable as he made his way in town towards his destination. He just hoped there was something worthwhile from all this.

Some time later, he finally found himself in front of an estate's gates where Artem had to pull out his letter and double check to make sure he was at the right address. Why would some wealthy bourgeoisie invite a vagrant like him to such a place? Instinctively he was on edge from such a strange circumstance. It also seemed as though he was not alone as he saw others gathered further along the road into the estate's entrance, conversing with one another. Cautiously, he approached with letter in hand and the other at his side with his fingers curled slightly. His eyes darted from one individual to the other as they appeared to him, and he almost wanted to turn around and leave out of anxiety.

He remained quiet as he slowly approached before coming to a stop at the very edge of where the group's vicinity were gathering.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

"I'm afraid I was not but I do know of her fathers disappearance, she seems to be looking for private detectives and other type of investigators. A friend of mine in the Pinkerton Agency told me of her case, and suggested me to pay her a visit. I heard that she was gathering volunteers of all walks of life here today so... I thought, why not help her?"

"Are you a Pinkerton detective, then?" asked the woman in the red dress suddenly, making the private investigator fumble with his words for a moment. "Uh, yeah, I do work for them for time to time, but I've working on my own these days, not many people want to work with uh, a union buster." The woman in the red dress nodded along, if she thought little of the detective for working with the agency, she certainly did not show it. "Hmhm... Marie Eveline Lubin, a pleasure to meet you, detective." She said before looking back at the gardener as he finished reading her letter. "John Belluco, you have a lovely name, Ms. Lubin." responded the detective, however, he did not get any response from the mysterious woman who simply continued to stare at the gardener. "Hmhm... yes, this all looks in place." said the old gardener as he gave the invitation back to Marie. "I'll go ask Ms. Bakker if she's ready to welcom-"

“Miss Morganach at your service - Miss Bakker did say we were expecting quite a gathering. I do wish this were on better terms, but a gathering nonetheless is an interesting experience.”

Upon seeing Edel, the old gardener let out a surprised but happy gasp. "Ah! Alphi! it's been a while since you've visited us." said the gardener, giving her a genuine smile. John and Marie looked at the scholar.

[Edel Background Clue: Childhood Friend] Edelweiß and her father, being a close friends to the Bakkers, knew almost everyone who lived in the state, and recognized the old gardener as Otis Simpson. A gentle old man that's been working with the Bakkers for as long as she remembered.

[Marie Background Clue: Miskatonic University] While the gardener looked at Edel, Marie studied her for a moment before speaking to her. "I also hoped to meet you in better terms, mademoiselle. I know of you, Ms. Morganach, and of you and your fathers work in Mesoamerican civilizations, fascinating research." Marie gave Edel a little curtsy before introducing herself. "You might have heard of me, I am Marie Eveline Lubin. I've studied in the Miskatonic University like you. Ever heard of "The Loa and the mythology of Haiti"? It's my work, sadly under the name of professor Roger Webley."

[Edel Background Clue: Miskatonic University] Morganach definitely heard of Marie, she shared the honor of being one of the few female students of the campus, but also she was famous for breaking boundaries, being the first black female student of the university. She also knew of "The Load and the Mythology of Haiti" and how apparent it was to her that the book wasn't written by the rather bigoted professor Roger Webley.

“Here for a Madame Bakker. Heard from a little birdie that we would be in for an interesting time if we came on down Arkham. What about you two? Here for business? Pleasure? Or something in betwe-?”

While Edel looked at Marie, John watched as a car stops next to them, from the vehicle emerged a rather attractive femme fatale carrying a hunting rifle of some kind. Almost instinctually, the detective rushed to grab his hidden gun underneath his coat, but as the woman presented herself as another of volunteers, he relaxed. That's when he realized that her accent, she certainly wasn't Italian but definitely was from Boston. "Well, hello there ma'am, John Belluco, Private Investigator." He removed his hand from his coat, offering a much friendlier smile. "You have a nice piece there... the gun I mean, but I must admit it is a bit intimidating to carry it out in the open like that."

While John seemed interested in Ruth, the same couldn't be said for Marie, who did not seem to care much for Ruth as she continued to talk with Edel, even after Ruth recognized the adventurer. As the group talked with one another, another man joined them. A well dressed one at that.

"Well, I see a line is already forming. Well enough, I believe this search could use all the eyes we can bring to it. My name's Albert Leahman, by the way, part-owner of Leahman Brother's Books and one of Theodore Bakker's suppliers in his bibliomaniacal addictions. May I ask who I'm addressing?"

John was a bit surprised by the introduction, because he actually knew of the store despite not being a local of Arkham. "Leahman, huh?" asked John with an odd grin on his face. "Yeah, I know of you and your store, mainly because one of my contacts talks about how his stock is better than yours - ever heard Solomon Hoffman? Owner of Solomon's Grimoire down in Boston?" [Albert Background Clue: Lovecraft County Native] Of course he knew of Solomon Hoffman, an old and nasty man who sadly did possess a collection of books, tomes and grimoires far greater than what he had on the shelves at the moment, but Theodore Bakker chose him over Solomon for a reason, and whatever that reason was is unknown even to Albert himself. "I'm Marie Eveline Lubin, a pleasure to meet you Mr. Leahman." said the scholar while John stared at Albert, awaiting a response.

After Leahman had arrived, a couple of more volunteers approached the scene. First was a young man, followed afterwards by a young woman that looked rather lost... and then another rather eccentric guest had made an entrance worthy of an actor.

"We're helping this poor lass find her father where the authorities could not. Now ain't that a thrilling case to be on? Oh, wonder! Mrs. Bakker must truly believe something is amiss for her to round up folks like us. Even taking you lovely ladies in for this case"

It was clear for the moment he spoke that John was not going to get along with this guy. The way he talked and moved was annoying him greatly. "Hey, fella." said John before eyeing the young, confused woman looking around. "How about you go help the young lady over there." he said while pointing at Ira. "...a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cooper." said Marie before looking back at Edel, uninterested in the young man.

 

[Nuclear Magician]

Tire squeal announced the car's presence long before it came into view. It was a low, sleek thing that smelt of polish and burnt rubber. Dr Arnold sat in the back, headless as her driver tore through the afternoon traffic with a recklessness that made other drives slam their breaks. The sound of swearing hung on the breeze momentarily before being snatched away by the wind of their passing. Lips clamped on a cigarette, she stared intently at the sheaf of papers in her hand. Occasionally she would make a small notion with a stub of pencil. But mostly, she just stared, eyes flicking back and forth across the paper as her grimace grew. She barely registered as the car mounted the curb, her foot pinning her bag in place instinctively. Dr Arnold slid across the fine leather, pencil continuing to make delicate markings as she slowly deciphered the puzzle before her. The car's motion faded into the background as she worked methodically.

It was a soft cough that drew her back to reality. She glanced up to see Jack turned round in his seat, eyes seeming to bulge behind his milk bottle glasses. Blinking, she looked around, noticing the car was stationary and seeing the faux-French manor out the window. "Ah, wonderful." "Head back to the hotel and try not to get too drunk; I might need you later." The old coot gave her a gap-toothed grin, brushing the few remaining strands of long white hair back over his pate before nodding. She slid the pencil into her pocket before opening the door with her foot and grabbing her bag. She'd barely cleared the door before the engine roared to life, and the car sped off, taking the corner so fast two of its wheels lifted off the ground.

Riffling through her bag, Dr Arnold pulled out a crumpled envelope before striding toward the main gate. A small group appeared to have gathered, a member of the estate's staff corralling them toward the main door. She nodded to the few who took notice of her. As the Gardner's attention fell upon her, she proffered the letter, smiling politely. "Dr Sylvia Arnold. I believe I'm expected."

 

[Humble1]

"... ever heard Solomon Hoffman? Owner of Solomon's Grimoire down in Boston?"

Albert pasted on a smile. "Oh, old Sol is still around, is he? Good to hear, I was afraid his gout had finally gotten the better of him. Well, I'm afraid that he's right in the superiority of his stock, since Leahman Brothers is hampered by our commitment to authenticity."

Honestly. Solomon's Grimoire? Is there a better example of trying too hard? I'm surprised the alter cacker didn't name it 'Solomon's Key'. Oh well, I'm sure it brings in the tourists.

Albert would trade a dozen tourists for one rich eccentric like Theodore Bakker. There is a man who knows what he wants, isn't bashful about paying for it, and not too curious about where it had come from. Many a hot little tome had slipped into the Bakker library right before the authorities could pay Leahman Brothers a visit.

"If you do see the old chap before he keels over, please tell him I've found a copy of Everard's translation of The Divine Pymander and I know he was looking for one. I can offer an excellent price." ... based on the sound principle that stolen goods are never sold at a loss.

"I'm Marie Eveline Lubin, a pleasure to meet you Mr. Leahman."

Albert's eyebrows shot up. "Oh! Marie Lubin, it truly is a pleasure to put a face to that name. And such a lovely face, too! Theodore speaks very highly of you, and I hear the faculty at the Miskatonic do the same. If we can wrangle a spare moment, I have a new translation of Agrippa's Occult Philosophy, and I would love to hear your thoughts on it."

 

[Infab]

You've been let go.

The words repeated in the man's mind, as he emerged from the building. Brushing past others out on the sidewalk as he approached his motorcycle. His eyebrows steadily lowered, eyes narrowing as he mounted the bike. They had said that it was due to some restructuring company-wide. In reality, it was because someone new had been placed in a position above him. Someone whom happened to be a veteran of the war, and didn't exactly like the idea of a 'damned Hun' working for them.

He sat there on his motorcycle for a few moments, staring down at the wide handlebars as his hands rested on his thighs. The thought had honestly crossed his mind to do something about it. Draw that revolver sitting inside his shoulder holster, march back inside, and plant a few shots in someone's chest. Of course, that wouldn't end well. He soon sighed. Just let it go, Dominik. There will be other places. Other jobs.

He adjusted his leather jacket, making sure the buttons were fastened, and slipped on his gloves. Next, his riding goggles were pulled down over his eyes. He still had a little mail left to deliver, then he could go job hunting once more. After starting the motorcycle, the bike roaring to life and purring as it waited for further input, he reached down into the satchel on the side of the bike and drew out the last remaining letters. Two of them. One was for someone at the Bakker estate. He had delivered mail there before a few times. Spoken to the old gardener there, whom didn't seem to mind his German lineage. Or acted like it didn't, which was better than nothing.

The second letter surprised him a bit. A letter intended for him. Dominik Kästner. He raised an eyebrow, before turning the envelope around and tearing the side of it open with his teeth. He slipped the paper out, and gave it a read. His eyes tracing the fancy writing upon the paper, darting about behind the lightly tinted glass of his goggles. A request for assistance from the famous Martha Bakker, in locating her missing father Theodore Bakker. Dominik sat there confused after reading the letter, looking about before looking at the paper again.

Why me? What did I do to be singled out?

He scratched his head, before tucking the letter back into its envelope. Then, the envelope was tucked into his jacket pocket. The other letter was slipped back into its satchel. Next stop, the Bakker residence. It looked as though he'd be getting some answers straight from the source.

And minutes later, he would be arriving at the estate. And the first thing that would draw his attention would be the mass of people gathered out front. Others that were invited, perhaps? Or just random pedestrians that decided to stop and see what was going on regarding Theodore?

Once he found a place to stop, he switched the bike off and dismounted. Drawing the letter from the satchel, as well as his own from his jacket, he soon turned about and walked over to where the others were standing.

"A letter for the Bakkers, Mr. Simpson." he stated, his German accent bleeding heavily through his words as he offered the unopened letter to the gardener. He then held up his own letter, as he pulled his goggles up to his forehead. "And I was apparently summoned by Lady Bakker as well. For some reason." he added.

He then glanced to the others. "I'm... assuming the rest of you were as well?" he said, his eyes darting between each of them. They paused on the man wearing a fedora and long coat. His appearance screamed detective. Whether he was freelance or police aligned was another story.

 

[Mook-LandStrider]

Seeing Mr. Simpson light up made her smile “Hello Mr. Simpson, I hope things have been good for you. Ah, I have something for you.” She chirped before opening her satchel and taking out a small, wrapped object. “No need to open it now with everyone gathering.” Weiss finished as Marie began to speak to her. Weiss studied the woman as she spoke, and her mind connected the dots.

“Absolutely, while I have had little opportunity to delve deeper into the plethora of topics surrounding Haitian culture, I have read it. I just wish I had more on the topic at my disposal, but we only really had what we brought with us. As for the uhm… publishing I can't say I am shocked…” she said, a little disheartened. “Still, it's excellent work and you should be proud you can lord that over him. I am looking forward to speaking with you later. Not quite sure what we are all going to get into, but it seems like quite the motley crew we have arriving.” Weiss said, her voice carrying a slightly impressed tone as another car drove up.

Seeing who stepped out Weiss simply stared for a real long minute. She let the woman saunter up and didn’t say anything as she spoke up and took out her own invitation. Out of everyone that could have shown up, this was one of the people she never would have guessed. Before Weiss could open her mouth Ruth recognized her. “I was going to say the same thing to you, huh… interesting. We can catch up a bit later.” Weiss said with a smile as she began to take a step back to let the arriving strangers come up.

She watched them come and while most stepped up and presented their letters, she saw some that stayed back and watched from afar. She eyed a woman in particular with a cane and she came immediately to the realization that she was likely blind. She waited a moment before finally approaching Ira.

“Hello, I'm Edelweiß. Are you here to see Miss Bakker like the rest of us?” She asked as others began to hover around the centralized group. Looking to the two men that had approached she looked again to Ira “It's a bit chaotic up there which I bet you can tell. Might want to stay here for a minute or so.”. Now focusing her attention on Atlas and Bondarenko she walked towards them. “Hello, I'm Edelweiß. I’m a friend of Miss Bakker's, I take it you are both here to speak with her? I’m sure she will be out to greet us soon or we will be taken into the house. Thank you for coming.” She said with a smile as she looked to the gathered group, which had grown a larger since she departed it.​

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Ruth "Yancy" || Moonshiner

• 
  
  
  
  Interacting With:
  John ( EdwardDewey98 ), Edelweiß ( Mook-LandStrider ), Albert ( Humble1 ), Alton ( AriAriAbabwa ), Brian ( Vexumin ), Dom ( Infab )
  

  ~Bakker Estate ~
  ~ October 3th, 1922 • Arkham, Massachusetts ~
  
  Bust Your Kneecaps || Ruth's CS File
  
  “I was going to say the same thing to you, huh… interesting. We can catch up a bit later.”
  
  She gave Edel a nod not quite over the coincidence of seeing an old friend on a little pet project job. She hadn’t even realized the woman was around considering all her travels. She instead schooled her expression back to one of complete confidence as the ones she’d addressed came closer to.
  
  "Well, hello there ma'am, John Belluco, Private Investigator. You have a nice piece there... the gun I mean, but I must admit it is a bit intimidating to carry it out in the open like that.”
  
  She gave a little swish of her hips as she stepped closer to the man letting the strap of her dress slip in a way that was hard to initially tell was purposeful. While it gave a dip more of the start of clevage to take a peak at it also illuminated the impressive scar on left shoulder that twisted ugly against the clavicle peaking out from under the rifle’s strap.
  
  “Intimidated huh? That’s good, that’s how I like my men.”
  
  She leaned her chest forwards as she pulled the strap back up with a snap as the brasserie came with. She pulled herself back up straight as she heard another addressing the man before her. She listened in not fully invested in the conversation until she heard a bit of information that interested her.
  
  "Well, I'm afraid that he's right in the superiority of his stock, since Leahman Brothers is hampered by our commitment to authenticity."
  
  She hid a little giggle as she turned her head away from the other as the librarian tried to one-up their competition. A book was a book. So long as it had the same material printed within it didn’t really matter who put it there. No, she didn’t much see what mattered for a bookstore one way or another beyond which was sold at the cheapest cost. Still, Leahman Brothers… might be a worthwhile stop when she was back in Boston for the snarky company if nothing else.
  
  Either way, she didn’t much wish to continue listening to the men talk about dusty old tomes and instead made her way back to the approaching others as various vehicles and foot traffic brought more to their destination.
  
  "Good day to you all! The name's Alton Cooper, here for the same reason I presume everyone else is."
  
  She took an interest in the name, racking her brain for where she’d heard it before. With a twist, she began to approach the man lightly on her feet and ready to twirl out of the way if she found they truly who they said they were. Even better the swirl of the flask gave her an in to the conversation.
  
  "We're helping this poor lass find her father where the authorities could not. Now ain't that a thrilling case to be on? Oh, wonder! Mrs. Bakker must truly believe something is amiss for her to round up folks like us. Even taking you lovely ladies in for this case"
  
  She gave a dangerous flash of a grin as she came closer. With a click of her Mary Jane heels, she brought herself within distance to breathe in the scent of the other’s breath. Despite planning to open up with her being able to provide a better lager or spirit than whatever the man was playing around with she found a distinct lack of smell of ethanol on him.
  
  “Hmm… Not a big drinker huh? Curious, and here I thought I had a big fish to hook since all I heard some year back was how a positively gorgeous man came in and utterly fucked over my little rival’s business. But I suppose there’s more than one Alton ahnt there.”
  
  "Hey, fella. How about you go help the young lady over there"
  
  She wanted to call out ol John on going back to the conversation with the Librarian but she didn’t feel like it was that needed as she saw Edel swoop in and help the lass out herself while poaching some of the more quiet fellahs to the side. She gave a cheeky grin to the other before turning back to the more social people.
  
  "Seems I was not the only one whose services have been sought out."
  
  "I'm... assuming the rest of you were as well?"
  
  “Yup. Wasn’t expectin’ this many. But I gotta say I’m far more used ta working in a group than not. Still quite the crowd for a disappearance. Hope they aren't expecting us to go scouring the earth without a clue ta begin with. Oh, but where ah my manners. Ruth Yancy, and you all ah?”
  
  

 

[Vexumin]

Seems that quite a few of these people knew each other or were already getting acquainted. In truth, Brian knew of none of these folk. Not for a lack of interest, but more that networking was very scarce under the tutelage of his father. Kelepher was a very reserved individual, only really trusting his time to clients or to a select few individuals. As such, much of Brians own time was spent in much the same way. The great Kelepher can't have his adopted son spilling information unintentionally.

It cost Brian a lot of his social life after he was adopted, but considering that the rest of his time was filled with study, needless to say he did not mind too much. It likely will cost him in the long run though, not having those connections. However, he is more than prepared for his life dedicating himself to his career.

Though as he grew more content with working on his own and perhaps even trying to make his way into the manor early before anyone else, he was spoken to. A woman. The woman who seemed to be quite scandalous when it came to drawing the eye of men. Brian, unfortunately had little care for such things. At least in regards to sexual attraction. His interest in the opposite sex or even the same sex was simply null and void. He had little time to think of such things. However, perhaps that contributes to his open minded nature. He didn't quite believe in bearing an oppressive or judgmental hand over another's choices. This 'Ruth Yancy' might find others to criticize her choice of clothing, but she would find none from Brian.

“Yup. Wasn’t expectin’ this many. But I gotta say I’m far more used ta working in a group than not. Still quite the crowd for a disappearance. Hope they aren't expecting us to go scouring the earth without a clue ta begin with. Oh, but where ah my manners. Ruth Yancy, and you all ah?”

Though the rifle bound to the woman back threw Brian off a little, it wouldn't take him long to offer a nod of his head in greeting. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Yancy. I am Kelepher. Head detective of the Primrose Agency. Working in a group as large as this is definitely... odd. However, I'm certain we can achieve whatever is required of us with such numbers."

Brian turns his head to look back towards the manor. "I wish we did not have to stand idly out here. I'm sure there is so much to be discovered inside. The sooner we find some manner of lead, the better. With each passing second, who knows just how much more out of reach Mr. Bakker becomes."

Interacting with: BriiAngelic

 

[FloweryMuffin]

Somewhere in the middle of her contemplation of Martha Bakker's hypothetical house, Ira heard a voice adressing her a greeting. A woman. She tried to turn toward the direction of the woman's voice but even then perhaps she was looking in a different direction entirely. How disturbing. If she were to speak, Ira simply hoped she knew she was the one Ira was adressing. Staring in what she thought her general direction, she spoke:

"Ira. Good day to you." Listening to her comment about the crowd slowly forming, "I'll make my way there eventually." She gripped her cane tighter, she wasn't very fond of navigating crowds, especially when she had only her cane for support. It was very easy to lose direction in a crowd, a sense that was already very frail in her case. And that confusion and disorientation would only let in the sounds of... those things.

As an afterthought to her comment, ira saw fit to mention to Edelweiß, regardless of whether she was listening or not, "I suppose I am not much inclined to move through crowds like this."


Interactions: Mook-LandStrider (Edelweiß)

 

[Zillamaster55]

John watched from some distance as people gathered near the Bakker estate, a cigarette clamped between his fingers. In the same soft brown fleece jacket he wore every day at the store he ran for years. Though in civilian garb, his face showed the signs of a hardened veteran. The light of a street lamp cast dark shadows down his shallow cheeks, and bags under his eyes suggested sights that were best unseen.

He made his way forward, tossing the cigarette to the side and adjusting his collar. As he approached the group, he sensed an odd sense of belonging. Something, somehow, felt right about this meeting, this effort.

Approaching the slowly growing group of people, he removed his flat cap and with a curt nod, introduced himself.

"Lieutenant John McDonough, United States Marine Corps veteran and part time paranormal investigator, pleased to meet you."

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Alma/Alton Cooper​

Alton paused his sipping of the flask, taking in Ruth's words with surprise—even if not much of it showed on his face. "Oh no, you've discovered my secret," he spoke monotonously. "Indeed, this flask holds nothing but water. I've been trying to stop, y'see." That wasn't all Ruth had to offer with her words, though. Apparently, the speakeasy Alton appeared in so long ago was a rival business to hers.

The man grinned, swelling inside with pride. This was the kind of story that Alma loved to create: one to make a name known and recognized long after the story itself occurred. "You're awfully sharp. But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; the whole story went on radio! And to be fair, I thought the guy would only start a brawl that would spread around the joint, I mean who'd draw their gun when all I did was kiss his missy? She was drunk!" Alton cackled like mad just recalling the experience. But granted, it made a hell of a story to tell.

The passing remarks between Ruth and Edel did not go unnoticed by Alton as he spoke. And so surfaces the tip of the character dynamics. He took mental note of their possible relationship. From what he learned at the speakeasy, the stronger relationships always provided a bigger 'spark.' Surely something mind-gripping would come of them later on... "Ta-ta for now, Ruth." Alton nodded towards the guy in the cloak who initially directed him to a blind girl... though by the look of it, she found plenty of help already.

This meant more time to mingle. As he took a step, Alton noticed one of the newer arrivals approach. His military origin said it all. With the brightest smile he could muster, Alton saluted and said, "Thank you for your service, Lieutenant! I always love meeting people of the war. They always have such thrilling tales with vigor emotion and development... "

An intriguing cast of people placed at the beginning of a thrilling mystery... Perhaps she could make a novel out of this. The first written work of Doris O'Niell, branching out from broadcasting. Reach a wider audience.

"I'm here of my own will and the kindness of my heart, sir," he answered to Dominik, though not sparing any glance at him. "Though now I'm willing to stay solely for the people here..."

BriiAngelic Zillamaster55 EdwardDewey98 Infab

 

[Infab]

“Yup. Wasn’t expectin’ this many. But I gotta say I’m far more used ta working in a group than not. Still quite the crowd for a disappearance. Hope they aren't expecting us to go scouring the earth without a clue ta begin with. Oh, but where ah my manners. Ruth Yancy, and you all ah?”

Dominik eyed the rifle that the woman had adorning the back of her shoulder, before eventually replying. "Dominik Kästner. Most call me Dom." he responded, before glancing in the direction of Alton as they spoke in response to Dominik's earlier question.

"I'm here of my own will and the kindness of my heart, sir," he answered to Dominik, though not sparing any glance at him. "Though now I'm willing to stay solely for the people here..."

"Ja, its a surprisingly diverse mix." he stated, looking to the others that had arrived. Including the American soldier that had strolled up and introduced themselves. A thought popped into his head regarding just how many of the men here had actually served in the war, but he decided to put that thought aside for the moment. It probably wouldn't be a great idea to bring up his own involvement in the military, as he had been on the opposing side of things during that hellish point in recent history.

 

[Firelie]

Masao Itō​

It didn't take Masao long to navigate to the bakker estate. He had been there before, after all. Donning a ragged coat, the somber mans only defense against the chills of fall, Masao trudged up to the base of the noisy estate. He looked down at the invitation held tightly in his left hand. He had sworn off sailing oh so long ago, the very idea made his stomach drop. Yet here he was, fresh off a shoddy cargo ship for a job that would no doubt call for his sea faring skills. Why else would he be called here if it were not for the circumstance of him being a seaman who knew the MIA bakker in person. The japanese man cursed his foolishness in his native tongue and steeled himself for the greeting that would secure his fate in this doomed journey.

Atleast he tried to steel himself. He wasn't quite ready to commit fully on introductions. He spotted a man sitting to the side holding an invitation not unlike Masao's own. Masao approached the man, thinking it easier to fully immerse himself in the joys of socialization if he dipped his toe in the water first by speaking to the not so enthusiastic looking man. He cleared his throat as he approached Artem, making himself known. "You should save the drink. You'll need it for what is to come." The Japanese man's accent was thick but his English was impeccable. "I mean that, too. I hope you have plenty of liquid courage for our little search."


joshuadim