Futuristic The Roar-ing Twenties [Jurassic Park]

[Saurosian]

There was nothing gentle, nothing beautiful, about the raw mechanical shudder of the plane as it barreled over the blue expanse.

The trip had been rough from the outset, when a loose dog, running in zig-zags down the runway, had kept them all standing or awkwardly crouching in the dusty equatorial sun. The pilot had shrugged in the way of "What can you do?" Eventually, the dog had tired, lain down, and someone had grabbed it by the scruff and tugged it off the field.

Ocean liner, then airplane, and hardly a break in between; it was not a trip for the infrequent traveler.

"Estamos pousando em breve." The pilot shouted, somehow only half as loud as he needed to, to overcome the noise of the machine. Still, the words cut through, added to the loud that was all around them. Six passengers, strapped in three to a wall, their eyes occasionally meeting to provoke an awkward smile or a quick glance away. The plane swallowed speech.

Minutes later, through the windows, there was something new: where before it had been blue, suddenly, there was a tint of green, a patch of grey. The air changed, the vibrations shifted; and then something leapt up into each of their throats, like a little frog not looking to escape but prepared to do so, if worst came to worst. But that was not the way to think, in terms of 'worsts'.

The plane thudded to a landing; the pilot, momentarily exuberant, whooped with joy and thrust his fist up high, before seeming to think better of it. He grinned, though, as he slowed the pain down the runway and taxied to a stop, throwing the occasional grin and nod back to his passengers. The short little woman sitting near the front nodded each time and gave as much of a smile as she could, before breathing heavily - like air was being pumped out of the cabin - each time he looked away. She eventually seemed to work up the strength to unclench a single hand from the straps across her shoulders, and with it she pushed her spectacles back up her nose. They slipped right back down, and she seemed defeated by it, unwilling to descend into a futile second attempt.

Outside the plane - only a small leap to the ground - paradise. Mountains rose not like titans but like memories of their footfalls, each speckled with the greens of higher trees and the greys of barren face. The jungle - there, right there, beyond the clearing for the airstrip - was swallowing greens and deceptive limes, all alive with rustlings that couldn't quite be pinned to the winds.

"Welcome!"

A woman. One they might know: Roberta Gomar. But dressed not in the rhinestones and evening hues of all her photos: khaki greens, a vest and pants. Dangling earrings - ruby red - glowed just below her perching onyx hair.

"We're so excited to have you. Come with me. It's just a short ride to the museum."

They climbed into two open trucks - painted in shimmering fresh coats, like they'd not spent months in a humid rusting jungle, and like before that they hadn't seen muddy battlefields for years.

One of the six arrivals, a gaunt and uncannily tall man, slapped at something near his face as he settled into the seat. He pulled his hand away and studied the palm. Crudely, he wiped it on the edge of the vehicle; and eyed the whole air with a suspicious attention.

The sounds of birds and - what was that? a monkey? a vole? - all of it cried out, this time not overwhelmed by the humming of the engine. Muddy puddles and ponds buzzing with flies and midges splashed up across the wheels. Roberta turned from the seat beside the driver.

"Does it feel remarkable yet? Or does that come later? I can scarcely remember now - it feels like my whole life has passed on this island since I first arrived."

The mountain range peaked out over the treeline to their right as they drove, and then they turned a corner and it was expanse, a landscape before them stretching out like a continent. Tall grasses grew in the foreground, and in the distance was the forest, and there beyond them was the mountain range - and another - and a pass between them. The road became firmer - dry dirt, well packed - and a great building rose up before them. The face was limestone rock and gray efface, carved like out of a Victorian fantasy; the edifice ran up and down two long wings on either side, and across a great foyer in the centre; but behind, a glass dome, latticed with iron metal work, rose up, as tall as an apartment building, its peak cresting over all the rest of the building. There were hints of dark trees within, but it was all glaring with the sun and gloomy beyond the pane with moisture and shadows of the forest hidden within.

The old woman adjusted her glasses, again. The tall man studied the building without a word, but maybe a hint of impression in his look.

The trucks slowed, stopped, and the drivers climbed out to help their guests down. "They'll take your luggage on to the accommodations." Roberta joined them at the steps. "Shall we?"

Pillars held up the awning. A banner hung between them, with the same words as on the plaque above the great wooden doors:

Merribrand Museum of Life

The doors creaked open. The hall within was lit by electric light and great stained-glass windows in high crannies along the walls. Red banners with gold lace hung motionless between them.

Everything in the room fixed around a great skeleton, 70 feet in length, whose skull was suspended up above their heads by a metal pole, sticking out from the wall.

Brontosaurus excelsus, read a plaque before them.

Roberta seemed to hardly notice it, as she led them around, down the length of the hall - and through another set of doors. The quick notes of brasses and percussions, with the occasional woodwind, exploded over them.

"Mr. Merribrand will be out to greet you soon. In the meantime -"

She gestured to the room, where a great buffet was set along one side. A band played on a stage in the corner. Another stage was empty, save for a pedestal; behind it, a mural of a prehistoric sky was framed by curtains. Twenty or thirty men and women were already about, some gathered near the fossil displays spaced evenly across each wall, others standing in conversation.

"- please, enjoy."​

 

[Teltex]

Frank

Their arrival was threefold: sea, air, then land.

For a man like Merribrand, Frank expected nothing less. He’d glanced at the file before departing – it was thinner than he liked, and mostly filled with the empty sort of fluff that was everywhere nowadays. A gala here. A charity there. For the decade’s newly bloomed millionaire class, perhaps the only thing of note was that were wasn’t anything of note. That was, until recent.

His thoughts were shaken out of him when the truck lurched over a particularly coarse section of dirt, ceaseless in its inland charge. The further they rode away from the ocean, the deeper Frank frowned. Having multiple exits was best, no matter how safe the area was. Presently, it seemed like the only alternative to a shoddy dirt path to shore was trekking through the jungle, which wasn’t beyond his capabilities… but he was just out practice, that was all.

He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow and waved back a fly. Now wasn’t the time for exit plans. He could already imagine Martins laughing at him, lounging in a dimly lit office and waving his concerns away with a cigarette.

“Exit plan?” he’d say, reclining behind a thin haze of smoke. “You leave the same way you arrive. Subtlety, Amly, that’s the name of the game. Don’t cause a stir, and you won’t need an ‘exit plan’. Understood?”

Martins could eat a hat. Compared to Merribrand, Frank was the subtlest guy in the world. The ginormous fossil they encountered upon entering the museum only assured him of this fact. It was bold, and maybe would’ve been an eyesore in another location. Out here in the jungle, however, it seemed right at home. An emblem of ambition. Not too bad for ol’ Merribrand.

The jostle of movement and chatter from the next room, where a buffet was standing, suddenly made Frank’s hand twitch with craving, but he suppressed it. He’d network a bit, get to know what’s what, find out a little more about the people he was down here with. Then he’d give himself a smoke.

A millionaire’s island playpen, complete with ancient skeletons from times long past and enough funding to make any nation jealous. Frank sighed. What a time to be alive.

 

[_gallifrog_]

Kaz
Dressed in a dark shirt and trousers Kaz had been working the floor for well over an hour and found himself slipping comfortably back in to the rhythm of his teenage years. It was strangely comforting to be a waiter again, a reminder of simpler times, times when he wasn't undercover on a millionaire's private island resort trying to find out what exactly was going on. Outwardly his expression was professionally neutral as he glided around the room, half-empty tray of drinks, inwardly he was concentrating intently on the snippets of conversation he heard as he passed by.

"Oh it's just a fling, it's never actually going to last between those two" Not helpful, unless one of those people was Merribrand- which Kaz highly doubted

"I was at the last exhibition, the things they call art these days... it's simply frightful Meryl" Amusing, but again not helpful

"There's no damn chance of him winning the mid-terms, not after......" Interesting, but sadly not the right story

"So, what exactly IS that old codger Merribrand up to this time?"

Much more like it! The speaker, a heavyset middle-aged man with an immense moustache and cigar had Kaz's full attention. This one little remark spoke volumes about Merribrand's influence- if he could bring all these people to a private island without telling them why, what else was he capable of?

The half-empty tray was plucked suddenly from his hands "new arrivals, look sharp" Jeremy teased as he passed a new tray to Kaz, their fingers brushing ever so slightly. The game they were playing was a dangerous one, they were a team, both working undercover, sent by the same newspaper to ferret out the secret of Isla Ilsa.

Kaz glanced across the room to the door where a group of about six people were entering. They looked rumpled and disorientated, only just arrived on the island he guessed. His own journey to the island a couple of weeks ago had been a harrowing experience, he'd discovered the hard way that not only did he get seasick, he also got airsick. General staff lived on sight which meant for Kaz the only time he'd be making that harrowing jeep-boat-plane journey would be when he left with a story. "Keep an ear on the moustache with the brandy" Kaz replied, then wove his way towards the arrivals.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Sasha
He had been on worse journeys--or ones where he had been more certain he was going to die, at least--but Sasha was going to count the trip to Merribrand's little party as one of the worst. Top five, easily.

Maybe he just hated airplanes.

"Does it feel remarkable yet? Or does that come later? I can scarcely remember now - it feels like my whole life has passed on this island since I first arrived." Roberta babbled as the trucks rumbled through the forest. She didn't seem to want an answer, but it certainly didn't feel remarkable to Sasha yet. It just felt like another rich boy playing at being an explorer. Merribrand was just being more dramatic about it than most. Most just hired a guy like Sasha to keep them from being eaten when they went to Africa to shoot a rhino or a lion.

The stone monstrosity that the trucks stopped in front of seemed even more off putting. Why bother going someplace so remote if you were just going to throw up a swanky hotel like you were in New York? Sasha wondered, pushing his hair out of his face after he exited the truck. What was the point?

But he kept his thoughts to himself as they continued inside, into the great belly of the museum. With the stained glass, it almost resembled a church, only instead of pews or a cross, the room contained a massive fossilized skeleton. Sasha looked up at the giant skeleton of the Brontosaurus as Roberta welcomed them into the rest of the party, and then down, his eyes following the long neck down to powerful shoulder blades, to feet much larger than any elephant's. He'd hate to be so close to anything with feet that big living. Getting squashed was hardly a dignified end.

"Well," he said, as Roberta finished, adjusting the set of his leopard coat, "I don't know about rest of you, but I need drink after that." He could use a smoke too, but first things first.

 

[irregular-neptune]

Catherine
​

Catherine was quite in awe when she’d received her invitation to the mysterious Merribrand’s exhibition. She was used to being invited to the typical Hollywood soirees, but this felt like something a bit more… dramatic. A bit more serious. Something that real people cared about, not just the airy socialites in her hometown who cared about little more than cameras and the length of their skirts. This felt like a little more than juicy gossip. Of course, she enthusiastically agreed to go, even if it wasn’t her typical scene (the jungle wasn’t for her, she preferred her temperatures more… moderate).

This had been confirmed while they transitioned to the plane to endure a most unpleasant plane ride. She hadn’t expected her trip to be the most comfortable (it was a jungle after all), but she hadn’t expected to lose her hearing. Used to first-class on a commercial airline, she hadn’t expected to go old school. She wouldn’t complain of course, but she could see the distaste for their travel method on the faces of her traveling companions.

She was thankful to leave the plane and begin the final part of their trek on a truck. Excited to see the museum, Catherine listened to Roberta as she spoke. She’d known of Roberta most of her life and had always looked up to her. She’d been heartbroken to hear of her retirement and was in awe of being in her presence now. Catherine hoped she’d get a moment to speak with Roberta before the evening was over. Not to bother her about her performance career but to just soak in her presence and tell her of her admiration. But for now, she was eager to make it to the museum, almost giddy to know why they were all here. Her energy had returned to her since landing, glad to not be traveling anymore.

The museum grew before them and towered over them, a magnificent monument to Merribrand’s greatness, smack dab in the middle of the jungle, an impressive feat of man’s insistence upon nature. It was quite impressive, almost beautiful in a twisted way.

She wasn’t one to frequent museums, but even she had to admit that the great skeleton of an ancient beast in the entrance of the museum was quite impressive. “That’s amazing,” she whispered to one of her companions as they passed, before hurrying to keep up as Roberta ferried them through to the great room where they were greeted with a band, a buffet, and a crowd. Now, this was more like it. She was in her element, and it was time to fish around to see who her traveling companions were and what they knew about all this.

Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need a drink after that.

Catherine could quite agree, her nerves a little rattled from all the traveling. Plus, it could be a good opportunity for her to feel out the crowd. “That sounds like quite a good idea,” she said, trailing behind the man as they walked over to the buffet. “The name’s Catherine, by the way. Catherine Ripley.” She flashed him a smile. “That was quite the trip, wasn’t it? How far away are you from?”

 

[Saurosian]

"Ah -" The old woman started, but it was a second too late; she had turned, and Roberta had disappeared. "Well." Her eyes only flickered between her companions, suddenly very intense, like a gull standing at an empty street corner, wondering why the humans were approaching.

"Well. Ah!" And, seeming to recognize something - or someone - near the poorly articulated but beautifully cleaned skeleton of a giant crocodile, she hurried off, with more sureness in her step than her age and stature betrayed.

The tall man said nothing, looked around the room once, twice, and then remained motionless just where the glistening light couldn't reach him, eyes flickering between people and things like it was all a grand painting before him.

The band thumped away on a tune rich with deep percussion and low brass, but mellowed out to slip below the conversational timbre of the room.

A fresh dolly rolled into the room with more platters of drinks and shrimp and little cheese-coated pastries, and its custodian wiped his brow of sweat.

"Now listen," said an older, balding gentleman in a pinstripe suit, when the moustache with the brandy finally shut up. "I can't tell you everything I know but I'll tell you this much: there's more money per square foot of this island than there's ever been in any other place on Earth. The expense of what Merribrand is doing here is really something."

The moustache with the brandy tipped his head and raised his cigar. "You don't throw away that kind of money on nothing, is all I'm saying."

In the corner nearest the stage - where the lights were brightest and the people fewest - six rifle-bearing soldiers seemed, whether by design or not, to be discouraging the crowd's approach. In their midst there was another military man, older and with a chest adorned in medals. He was speaking sideways to a woman, who wrote furiously with his every word.

The band finished, a handful of people clapped, and they launched into their next song.

 

[Teltex]

Frank

Frank had seen places like these all the time back home. Chattering, excitable places, filled with bated breaths and backhanded dealings. Dim, save for the orange pendants hanging above. They tried to be comfortable, tried to ease you in with a glass of gin or something stronger, but after years of being in places like these, Frank didn't hate them any less. They were a formality he had to endure when he was the job and one he avoided whenever he wasn't.

Ah well. Best stop crying and get on with it, then.

His travel companions seemed keener than he. There was the young woman who's face he recognized from a film, and next to her the showman in leopard skin. Frank didn't recognize his face, but it stopped him from writing the man off as yet another blowhard with money to burn. There was toughness in that face, and the way the man held himself spoke of substance. Why he was wearing leopard skin, then, Frank didn't know. Some folks, no matter how tough, simply didn't have a fashion sense. Frank made sure to keep an eye on the man and looked around elsewhere. Also in their posse was a short woman long gone and another man who seemed even more stand-offish than Frank. Such fun.

This whole trip was a lot to take in, and Frank was sifting through it all just as the topic of drinks was brought up. Instantly his eyes shot towards the buffet and the circling waiters with trays in their hands. Of course there were drinks. Suddenly Frank's lips went dry and he tried to regain focus. He'd be breaking no laws drinking - they were in foreign lands now. Sure, there was something to be said about 'national integrity' and whatnot, especially since Frank was representing the State, but those musings seemed meaningless.

A quick drink, then. To calm the spirit. Then he'd get on with work.

Already his left hand twitched in anticipation as he made his way to a young-looking waiter who was already moving in their general direction. He wondered how much the general catering staff knew about this island.

"Excuse me," he said, stopping in front of the waiter and scanning over the tray of drinks. Instinct yelled at him to grab one and down it, but he reined himself in. He blinked, smiled politely to the waiter and forced himself to say the words.

"I don't suppose you have anything a little weaker?"

_gallifrog_

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Sasha
Sasha paused to let the young woman catch up to him. She was pretty in a way that he felt he should recognize--maybe he'd seen her on a film?--but more interestingly she had a bright, infectious smile that even the long multi-stage trip had not been able to dim.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Ripley," he said. "My name is Aleksandr Romanov. I'm from Alaska. And you?"

He raised an eye at one of their other companions--a man who, if he saw him on the street, Sasha would have pegged for some kind of government type--asked for something weaker from the waiter. "Can not get much weaker than champagne, unless you want milk, tough guy," he said, taking one of the glasses from the tray and offering it to Catherine. "And champagne is appropriate, da? We're celebrating not dying on that damned plane." He gave the other man another look over and grinned. "You do not have to follow Prohibition here. We will not tell," he added with a wink.

 

[_gallifrog_]

Kaz

As he approached the group of new arrivals, two things became apparent to Kaz. Firstly the face of the darker-skinned woman with the elegant walk was one he recognised. Not from personal experience investigating her- showbiz gossip was not his thing- but from the posters hung on the walls of the bedroom his sisters shared. The three were obsessed with Hollywood and actresses in general and the rising star Catherine Ripley was one of their favourites. Kaz didn't see the point himself, the whole world of film-making seemed utterly fake to him, the drama manufactured and repetitive. The second (and more surprising) thing was that what, from a distance, he'd assumed to be a bulky overcoat was actually a leopard skin. A real leopard skin. This man- Aleksandr as he was introducing himself- was serious business. One to keep an eye on perhaps?

The third surprise in barely as many minutes was when the stoic-looking man in the suit and hat asked if there was anything weaker available. All the guests Kaz had dealt with that night had no qualms with taking advantage of the full bar. This man was different (more principled than the city slicker fat-cats he'd dealt with) and it surprised Kaz, parties for the rich and famous were rarely places for integrity. He kept his face professional however and was about to respond when Aleksandr interjected.

Kaz did crack a slight smile at the plane quip- it echoed his own thoughts when he'd first arrived. He'd ben first out of the plane and had almost kissed the solid ground of the runway out of relief. "There might be something weaker behind the bar, if you'd care to follow me? And for those interested in something stronger, we definitely have that."

 

[Teltex]

Frank

Frank listened to the Russian with idle curiosity. Alaskan, so he'd overheard. An immigrant, then, and probably not a recent one, if he introduced himself by the state. None of it was useful intel, but Frank stored in the back of his head anyway. Details were odd things, always coming into play when you least expected them to.

At the comment of Prohibition, Frank had to - briefly - return the smile. A Russian in a leopard suit reassuring him. He'd make sure to include this in the report.

"Appreciate it," he said, turning back towards the dark champagne glasses. Maybe if he took one, he could have a few sips, then ditch it at an empty table? Something deep inside him told him he had the self-control to pull it off, but something deeper told him he didn't, and he knew it. So instead, he shook his head and glanced at the young waiter. The boy's eyes reminded him of some young conmen he'd caught a while back, quiet and observant, betraying a deeper intelligence than they let on.

Not that it meant much. If anything, all it said was that the boy was smart. Which you had to be, Frank supposed, to wind up with a gig like this. Maybe what he needed to do was stop speculating on his colleagues and just relax.

"I think I'll think the waiter up on his offer, though," he said finally, nodding to the boy. "Plane ride or not, if I took a glass of champagne for every near-death experience, I'd be dead in a year."

 

[Saurosian]

There was a bustle, a flare - the horns crescendoed and the strings held a rising note but somehow it all felt natural, perfect, like every movement in the room had been pre-ordained to arrive at this moment.

And Edward Jason Merribrand hopped on stage with a smile.

Even the grim military man in the corner joined the applause.

"Friends!" Merribrand grinned. "Welcome!"

Edward Merribrand had the clean face of a boy on the wrong end of puberty, but the body of a man in his late twenty's. His hair was so dark it couldn't be natural, but how could you doubt the authenticity of a man with a smile like that? He grabbed the microphone and swung it in towards him - not because he needed to, said the twinkle in his eyes, but because you just know you want me to. A little pin on his lapel caught the light at just the right angle. Gold, around an oily apricot stone.

Something, draped in a carmine cloth, had appeared behind him on the stage. A meter and a half tall, and another meter wide, with a rounded dome and curved sides.

"And now that I've brought you all to this secluded island - it is time to say goodbye," said Merribrand. His face had lost every glimmer it had before, as he surveyed the waiting crowd. Someone coughed, and Merribrand barely reacted - but then his smile began to grow again, like a sun seeping through the clouds on a grainy day. "Goodbye, to everything you have known before. Goodbye, to all your modern sensibilities. To all the riffraff and the ritz. Goodbye, to the world of today - and hello, to the world - of the past!"

Spotlights hummed on, transfixing around the room the specimens of giant ammonoids, and horned beasts, and a slab of rock ten feet long with all the makings of a snake. The shadows gave to each relief the sense of life, and in the darkness around them, where people shifted out of view, there was the impression of rich forests and unknowable seas.

But the glimmering lights on Merribrand persisted. And his smile would never fade.

"First," he said. "Oh, boy. I'd really rather get on with the show. But! First. Many thanks to all of you. To all of you who have been here with us over the years. I know that there have been many questions, I understand that, certainly. But I promise that after tonight there will be no more need for secrets. And you will be proud of the roles you have played. To all of you who are hearing of this for the first time - to my friends, to my fellows, I will not break your trust. Trust, in the Merribrand name. Trust in my reputation. Trust that we will deliver. And to those of you - and you know who you are." He pointed out into the crowd. "To those of you who have been critical, I hold no ill will. I cannot hold ill will. Because after tonight, I am sure that some mixture of embarrassment and admiration will break down any old grudges between us. You will leave this island in a new world - let's leave all the diseases of the old one in the past."

"Second, to General Duarte and his countrymen." Merribrand gave a quarter bow to the corner where the militarymen were still sequestered. "Your support has been invaluable. What we have achieved here will be a testament to your nation. Thank you."

Then a sound - alien, and horrid - pierced the room.

People murmured. Eyes narrowed on the stage. Merribrand smiled more widely. One knuckle whitened where it gripped the microphone.

"My lord," shouted the moustache with the brandy - brandy now brandished on the top of his suit and in the hairs of his beard, where alarm had interrupted consumption in the act. "By god, what was that?"

And his cigar gestured up, because there was the unmistakable highness of the sound. It was a noise made for crested rooftops and creviced cliffs, where roosted the gargoyles and the gryphons and the harpies of myth.

"It appears we're moving ahead of schedule," Merribrand said. "But when has time ever been in our control, huh?" He let the microphone rest, and scrabbled at his wrist. From it he tore away his hand and upheld a shimmering thing. "This is not a tool! It is a prison. It is an order to march, a chime to wake, a looming reminder of how little we control - and how much we are controlled by it! Time, passing away, passing through, and we just want to reach out and..." He closed his outstretched hand into an upturned fist "...grasp it. But it slips away. It has always slipped away."

He tossed the wristwatch over his shoulder. "I reject the dominion of time."

He walked back to the hooded shape. Something moved within the cloth! "Today, we make the future ours - by laying a glorious claim upon the past."

Merribrand laid a hand upon the peak of the drape and tore it away; and as it rose, and the cage within was exposed to different sides of the room at a millisecond's difference in time, a gasp traced its way from left to right within the crowd, and landed where Merribrand stood. He had eyes for the crowd - but finally, they had none for him.

Within the cage, moving with lethargy on a wooden beam, was a small creature with upturned leathery wings. It grasped with feet and feeble claws, and its mouth was like a caiman's, seeming never closed for all the teeth it brought to bare on empty air.

"Unholy! Unholy!"

Tainted moonlight broke the picture and a man's footfalls echoed through the outer hall. Other eyes glued enviously upon the door.

Someone had fainted near the stage.

"Perhaps too much for some minds. Well, we won't open the cage, then." Merribrand rattled with the lock. The beast eyed his hand with a hooded glare... but it did not strike. "But, for those of you who can overcome your fear, if only for a minute, come, take a look. You won't want to get so close to the big ones."

It couldn't quite be clear which remark Merribrand addressed next, as the bravest few ventured up onto the edge of the stage and others glanced to their neighbours to see how harshly they'd be judged if they refrained. "Tomorrow," he smiled, and stepped back into the blooming crowd.

 

[irregular-neptune]

Catherine​

“Well, I’ve been all around but home base is Los Angeles for now,” Catherine said, smiling at Aleksandr. “Also, please, Catherine is fine.”

The room was buzzing with energy and she finally felt in her element, even as another of their traveling companions joined them, asking the waiter for something a little weaker, which was a request she was sure he didn’t hear often. Happily taking the glass offered to her by her new friend, she took a sip and then giggled at his comment on Prohibition. She was familiar with ignoring that particular law (not that she’d admit it), but she knew many who would prefer death over a little partaking. She wasn’t sure that that was the motivation behind the man’s rejection of the champagne, though he did seem a bit uptight.

As the waiter mentioned possibly something stronger behind the bar, she perked up. “Well, you ‘ve certainly peaked my interest.”

Before the group could get very far, however, the world behind them burst alive with energy. Merribrand began controlling the crowd in that very special way that he could, one any actor, including Catherine, could admire and almost envy. He was quite the character and had an excellent flair for the dramatic.

Catherine craned her neck to see where Merribrand stood, next to a cage with something….moving? Under the sheet? She tried to get at closer look while only half listening to Merribrand’s words and half listening to a few whispers in the crowd as people on the outskirts of the room murmuring about the excitement they were experiencing. “What is that?” “Can you see anything?” “What’s he saying?” She still did not understand fully why she had been invited, but she was becoming increasingly glad that she had been, as this seemed like something that she’d remember for many years to come, though she didn’t quite know why.

However, as Merribrand continued speaking and dramatically tore away the cloth on the cage, Catherine knew exactly why. This was an incredible moment in history, and people would be jealous of her having been there for as long as she lived. This thought did not, however, stop the shock as she saw the creature within the cage stir, gasping with the rest of the crowd, and jumping slightly in shock, spilling her champagne down her front and quickly running to a nearby table to grab some napkins. She frantically tried to dab her dress and dry it while trying to see what was happening on the stage. Merribrand had left the stage by now, leaving the room to sit in its shock and its wonder as the creature in the cage sat on a full, proud display for all to see. Merribrand’s words hung in the air as they all had the same question — were there more of them?

As she finished dabbing her dress, she couldn’t help but gravitate towards the stage, wanting to see the creature… no, the dinosaur, as shocking to her as it was to say, a little bit closer, shaking a bit in both excitement and fear.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Sasha
Sasha did not consider himself a particularly religious man, but at the sight of the creature in the cage he reflexively crossed himself. Merribrand continued on grandiosely, and it reminded Sasha of the sort of steaming shit some of his stupider clients had said before they'd gone and gotten themselves mauled by a cape buffalo or a moose.

People who didn't respect nature usually got killed by it.

You won't want to get so close to the big ones, Merribrand closed with, and Sasha made a face. He had never been overly concerned with paleontology, but his niece was obsessed, and he remembered the photographs in her books, of men standing next to fossilized bones as big as they were--or even larger.

"Боже милостивый," Sasha muttered. "How big?"

Catherine was moving towards the cage, as if entranced by the screeching, unhappy creature, and though Sasha would have preferred to give it a good distance, he followed her. He didn't trust anyone encouraging people to get closer to a wild, trapped animal to think very hard about what would happen when people did get close, but he could picture several unpleasant scenarios without thinking very hard.

 

[Teltex]

Frank

This was unholy.

Frank had expected a big reveal. Something crazy. When he'd read the file and had seen just how much scientific funding had went into this island, just how many scientists had disappeared only to wind up working here, his mind had went to places. He'd imagined things, big things. But somehow, staring at the little monster only a short distance away, all of those musings felt small now. This was something big, something larger than Frank, this island, Merribrand or even the State. This was life, created out of nothing but archaic bones.

This was the stuff God did.

And it was clear, Frank thought, that a God was exactly what Mr. Merribrand fancied himself. The showmanship, the empty fluff and rowdy speeches - it had bothered Frank, but somehow now it was the last thing on his mind. His eyes snapped to the fossils by the sides of the room to Merribrand and the mysterious General Duarte before resting finally on the monster. Even an idiot could tell it was no trick, no puppet or play of the light. Frank's mind was buzzing with ideas. He needed someplace to write all this down.

Finally, the jungle, the 'Museum of Life', the fossils, the map they'd received... it all made sense. Jurassic Park was a zoo. Merribrand had somehow harnessed the power of life, the power of creation, and he was using it to build a theme park. Suddenly, this didn't feel like a routine intel-gathering mission anymore. This discovery... it would change everything.

Without hesitation, Frank grabbed a champagne glass from the waiter's tray and downed half of it, still staring at the monster. The time for holding back was over.

 

[_gallifrog_]

Kaz

As the music swelled, the lights dimmed and Merribrand materialised on stage, Kaz kept in his sigh. Possessing that much money it was guaranteed that Merribrand would be a showboat- but this was pomp, theatrics and showmanship on a level Kaz had never seen before. His words amounted to nothing, empty wafflings worthy of a politician, but they gripped his empty-headed audience. "So your vision has come to fruition- that's wonderful, just tell us what the damn thing is!" he yelled internally.

The screech caught Kaz off guard, the tray of glasses wobbling alarmingly in his hands, champagne jumping from the flutes. The noise was alien, inhuman. Kaz could feel every hair on his arms standing on end, the noise triggering some ancient ancestral flight response. It was a sound not of this world- or if Merribrand's witterings were to be taken seriously- not of this time. Yet Kaz had heard it before, echoing faintly from far away as he hauled crates of supplies from the Landrovers to the main buildings. But that time it hadn't been as loud and or as close. That time he'd put it down to his groggy imagination playing tricks on him. This, whatever this was, was real and close.

Kaz let out a proper gasp when the cover was ripped from the cage. As other stepped backwards he craned forwards, rising to the tips of his toes to get a better look. The creature was like nothing he'd seen before. He wanted to call it a bird- but birds had feathers not wrinkled leathery skin. It jerked and snapped at the air, Kaz's eyes widening at the sight of the sharp teeth crammed into its jaw. This was what Merribrand had been hiding, this creature animal was the secret of Isla Ilsa that he'd been sent to find out.

His boss was going to go crazy when Kaz' exclusive landed on his desk.

"Боже милостивый". Kaz didn't speak Russian, but there were enough similarities between it and Polish he'd grown up with that he understood what Aleksandr had muttered. "Na tyle duży, że taki milioner jak on się tym martwi" he replied. "Big enough for a millionaire like him to actually be worried about it"

No sooner had Frank grabbed and downed the drink then Kaz had set the tray down to one side. All thoughts of staying in character as a waiter had fled from his head as he began to make his way to the front of the room, weaving through the crowd. Merribrand's invitation for a closer look had been for all in the room hadn't it?

 

[Saurosian]

The melange of bravest - or stupidest - souls who had gravitated to the stage seemed to be predominantly two groups: intellectual types, with dusty brown jackets and hands grasping for notebooks and instruments they didn't have; and the youthful crowd, the ones who just sparkled with a raw passion and lost sense of self.

"He's absolutely vile," a young lady was remarking, head lowered just inches from the cage, smiling like you would at a baby. The man standing a few feet behind her had a cloth over his mouth.

"The smell of it," he wretched.

She didn't even frown, like she couldn't afford to spare more than words to respond to him and be drawn out of this moment. "I don't smell anything."

"Well it's certainly not a Cretaceous variety," a thin-spectacled man said to his older, shorter colleague, who was wiping off own lenses with the edge of his suit.

"None that I'm aware of. Those teeth -"

"- and the tail!" the first man interjected.

"It's a Rhamphorynchus," said another man. "Or at least something quite like it. We have an immaculate preservation in Munich, have you been?"

The older man coughed.

"Excuse me." The short, older woman from before squeezed her way between the group to find herself beside the cage. As if she couldn't help herself, she reached out, her fingers hovering just beyond the cage.

The creature noticed them - and recoiled, with a flurry of excitement, that shook the cage with battering wings.

It was sometime past midnight, when all had been thoroughly exhausted, that Roberta Gomar - the gracious, present host that Merribrand seemed unwilling to become - appeared on the stage and, with a tired smile, ushered them all out to the road in turns, where the same vehicles that had brought them here waited to take them away.

"In the morning," she smiled, "We'll begin with a tour of the rest of the museum, for those of you who rise early. Instructions will be provided on how to prepare for the rest of the day's activities."

The vehicles carried them through the grasses and over a creaking wooden bridge, up a road towards the north of the island and finally stopped in a sprawling mess of buildings, each window glowing like an ember in the midst of the dark jungle night. It was like a little town built for one of the picture shows - four identical four-story hotels, although the vehicles only filed their guests into two. They were ushered to their rooms.

[[NOTE: all of our characters are located on the third floor of the same hotel, except for Kaz, who has been housed with some of the other 'imported staff' (the ones who were brought in specifically for this big event) on the first floor of the other hotel.]]

Wakefulness receded, one by one, and sleep ruled over the images of the day that had been and the imaginations of those to come.

Daylight.

It was perhaps not daylight that awakened them all. But when each of them found their way to a clock, and read the time, it was nearly a quarter past eight. Ample time to still catch one of the shuttles that they had been instructed would bring them to the museum. Ample time, maybe, to have a snack in the lobby downstairs, or even a drink at the pub they had been promised would be open at the crack of dawn (to much applause, that one).

But what was not ample, at this hour of the morning, was noise.

The rooms were silent.

The halls were silent.

Suddenly there was a noise. Someone - distinctly a person, but why had they questioned that? - screamed something hoarse, and a patter of footsteps brushed over the dusty street outside, and disappeared.

In the distance there was another noise, because even when it is silent there is noise. The jungle buzzed with a thousand billion insects.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Sasha
Typically, Sasha was the sort to be up at ungodly early hours, but between the long travel and the late night and the jet lag he couldn't feel bad about sleeping in. He woke with a sense of impending dread, which he chalked up to the unease he felt about Merribrand attempting to keep anything less domesticated than a lap dog safely. But he was already here, and so he got up with a luxurious stretch and went to the little in-suite bathroom.

It wasn't until he was nearly finished shaving that he realized that sense of impending dread had a far more immediate cause.

It was the silence.

The total, deep silence of nature when something was out there, waiting, and only the insects, too small to be prey, continued on with their affairs.

Sasha looked away from his reflection in the mirror, lowering the razor, as if he could hear something else if he tried hard enough.

Almost at once someone screamed, hoarse and horrible and human.

That heavy feeling of dread lifted as Sasha got dressed and pulled on his boots. Something bad wasn't about to happen--it already had. He just had to make sure it didn't also happen to him. And on that front, he thought, pulling his leopard coat on with a grin, he had a fairly good track record.

Rifle in hand, he paused at the door, listening, but there was only silence on the other side. Sasha stepped out into the hall.

 

[Teltex]

Frank

Sleep came for an hour or three, then left Frank altogether. For the rest of the buzzing hot night, all the agent could do was lay on his sheets and gaze vacantly at the spinning ceiling fan above him. Electric, and expensive, but Merribrand had left no stone unturned. Round and round, Frank watched the fan spin, his thoughts feverish on the dinosaur, on the general, of everyone he'd seen in that room. He wanted to sleep, but the slight edge the champagne had given him mixed with the head-spinning implications of what Merribrand had done had made rest impossible. His brain raced with conclusions and connections, most unfounded but all weighing on his mind.

"Lord in heaven," he whispered, still staring at the spinning fan. "You've really thrown me a curveball here."

***

Frank was in the hallway when daylight cracked over the horizon, and he remained there for the next hour or two, leaning against his door and puffing away at his cigarettes. He could hear people taking shuttles back to the museum, but to go early would be to reveal his hand, give away his eagerness. He had to look in control. The exhaustion creeping in at the edges of his vision said otherwise, but Frank had to be alert. He had to be -

Someone screamed.

Frank jolted up, breathing smoke and gazing down the hall. In the luxurious safety of Merribrand's hotel, the scream unsettled Frank more than it had any right to. He shook his head and stood up straight just as a door opened and a man entered into the hallway. But it wasn't just any man - Frank recognized the leopard-skinned Russian immediately. He almost would've cracked a smile, if it wasn't for the bone-chilling scream that had erupted just moments earlier.

"Someone's having a bad day," Frank said to the Russian. He eyed the rifle, then looked down the length of the hall again. "My money's on a fall. Lotta ways you can trip and break something."

Though the reasoning was rational, Frank's uneasiness didn't cease. No broken bone had ever sounded like that.

 

[_gallifrog_]

Kaz
Pouring the last of the drunken guests into their room, Kaz made his way across to the second building where his own room was located. Compared to the plush rooms of the invited guests it was a spartan box consisting of only the basic furniture and some generic-looking artwork on the walls. If it was ever to be used for guests, it would be for those on a tight budget. But it was private and it was his.

One of the floorboards had been ever so slightly loose when he arrived and with the help of a knife 'liberated' from the kitchen and some beginner's luck Kaz had been able to carefully ease up the board from the floor, giving him access to a small cavity below. It was just big enough to fit a few books or maybe some files (should he ever get his hands on such a thing). Reaching inside he pulled out the notebook that served as both his work jotter and his personal diary. By the light of the small bedside lamp he began to jot down the events of that night.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Kaz cursed Merribrand's open all night (and seemingly all day as well) bar as he scrubbed at a particularly nasty piece of vomit. One of the guests, unable to hold down his liquor after an impressive drinking binge the night before had woken up and projectile vomited all over the bathroom in spectacular style. There was no earthly way this had all come from one person, Kaz though to himself, there had to have been a gang of them. Kaz's appetite had shrivelled and died at the sight of the vomit while the impressively hungover man had been directed into another guest room.

His thoughts floated back to the previous night, to the creature in the cage. Kaz had made a few attempts to sketch it, but couldn't quite get the shape of it's jaw right, or the gleam of.... something... Kaz was hesitant to say intelligence... in it's eyes. There was an awareness.... a hunger maybe? in it's beady eyes. Whatever it was, it wasn't some dumb animal.

The scream snapped Kaz right out of his thoughts, his head jerking upwards what he guessed to be the source of the noise. It was muffled, but unmistakeably human.

The Russian he'd served a number of cocktails to the previous night was in the corridor -rifle in hand, trademark leopardskin coat loosely wrapped around him- as was the shrewd looking man in the snazzy hat. Kaz was vastly under-dressed compared to the duo in the standard issue shirt, trousers and sturdy boots of the general staff. The bright yellow of his nearly elbow-length rubber gloves however, provided an amusing contrast to his otherwise dark attire

"I don't suppose either of you know what direction it came from?"

 

[Saurosian]

The scream had disappeared but it had left, in its wake, the sounds of awakening. While before the morning had lingered in that hesitant state where any noise louder than a mouse's squeak was put off to keep from disturbing a creaky-eyed night-owl before they'd had their morning joe, now there was a gradual crescendo, a carelessness, that fed into a general hum of well-oiled door hinges and cautious queries. The ice had been broken and everyone was eager not to be the last to figure out why.

"That's quite a sound," said a greying gentleman in thin-rimmed glasses as he stepped out of his room, further down the corridor. He passed his gaze furtively between the other three, as if gauging how that had come across. "I hope everyone's alright."

The steps down to the second level - and below that, the first - were just a few feet back of Kaz, who stood between every guest and down. But there was already a confusion on the stairs, as feet patter-patter-pattered and suddenly a voice called out: "- No! Stay there!"

"I won't. What's gotten into this -"

"I said stay!" So harsh the other voice, when it followed, was too meek to here from this far away. What followed, from the first voice, was not quite clear. "- in there. The back, I think."

[[NOTE: below is an 'artistic representation' of the ground floor of the hotel. In green are several guests on the landing of the stairs. In gold is a man with a rifle, nervously eyeing the door at the back. Closed doors are in grey. The darker red 'c' shapes are couches. There is other furniture - tables, decorative drawers and armrests, large potted ferns - around the lobby. The 'left' wing contains four workrooms (laundry, etc.), and two administrative rooms (connected, lower right). The 'right' wing contains rows of shelving for storage. The room in the lower right, beside the stairs, is a private dining area.]]

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Sasha
"Fall?" Sasha repeated, dubious. He could tell that Frank didn't really believe it, but couldn't keep himself from continuing. "Last time I heard a scream like that this bastard killed a twelve year old," he said, grabbing part of his coat and pulling it away, to indicate that the leopard was the bastard in question. That scream had been worse, in many ways: it had belonged to a child. However, they hadn't had to wait so long to find out who had caused it.

He didn't have a chance to answer Kaz's question before other doors started opening and--even more alarmingly--people started shouting from the stairwell behind Kaz.

"I am thinking you might want to get behind me," Sasha told Kaz. It didn't sound like anything was coming up yet, but yet was the key word.