[Game Thread] Chapter One: New York

[Lemming23]

CHAPTER ONE: NEW YORK ~*~Theme Tune~*~ Thursday, January 15, 1925: Manhattan, New York City. Scene: Rosabelle, a tea salon in Manhattan. The place is dimly lit, featuring a single, large room, with both tables and booths, The lighting makes the place warm and welcoming, and on the walls are many artworks, as well as decorative wall displays that include handcuffs, photographs of Erik ‘The Handcuff King’ Weisz doing some of his famed illusions, and assorted memorabilia from the years before his untimely demise. In addition, book jacket artwork from Jackson Elias’ many books can be seen dotted here and there. Bethany Having received the rather cryptic (but then, when aren’t his missives?) radiogram (sent at sea!) from Jackson Elias, you’ve been on tenterhooks waiting to see him again - it’s been a while this time, your only contact for the last 6 months or so coming by way of the odd (and I mean odd) telegram or letter. And now, it’s finally the 15th: Jackson phoned you last night to say he’d just arrived, was dog tired, and was going to the Chelsea (the hotel just a block or two down the road). Weary from transatlantic travel, he was planning on sleeping till midday (which he often does anyway when he’s writing), and asked if you could arrange a table for him at your tea rooms for noon, for 8 people - which you amended to 9, having brought in Dennis, who runs errands for you. You know a little of his past, and like you, has had some experiences that would put you in the funny farm if you told the wrong person, but since Jackson has asked you to participate in another escapade - though surely not one as dangerous or exciting as the events in Peru - you thought that Dennis might be useful. Jackson also said that he’d invited Dr Garrett and some of his friends, who you haven’t seen for a while - indeed, it’s almost time to pass on the mirror. You wonder if you should pass it back to him when he comes? It’s not quite time to pass it on, and it is currently in your possession, as it should be for a couple more months. It seems like an age when he has the mirror in his possession. Funny word, possession, you think idly, it can mean one’s own goods, of course, but then there’s the other form of possession, the one involving dark spirits inhabiting the mind and body…you give an involuntary shudder at the thought, but one not entirely of fear, you realise. Maybe tinged with a little frisson of excitement, even? But no, of course not. That’s silly. Jackson seemed a little off when he phoned - distracted, maybe even anxious. You’ve never really seen him like that before, but you assume it’s the travails of travel or that he’s been feverishly writing cryptic notes to himself before he forgets ideas. You know how he gets. Dennis New York has been suffering several snowstorms this month, real humdingers too, a coupla feet or so in that last one. You’ve been out front of Miss Bethany’s tea shop clearing the snow for a good hour or two, maybe longer, and your back’s doing you no favours. You’re being careful too, don’t wanna muss up your clothes, you’re wearing what passes for your best (which ain’t saying much, but still, you’re making an effort). You’re also a little nervous, if you’re honest, Miss Bethany inviting you in the shop to meet with some friend of hers, and some pretty fancy one at that from what she says. She showed you that telegram thing, whatever, from one of her friends, that writer fella, though you ain’t read any of his books. Said that your experiences might make you “amenable to helping out in case this case is reminiscent of her previous escapade” with this Elias guy. You might not always know all the fancy words that Miss Bethany uses when she talks to you, but you appreciate that she doesn’t try to dumb it down for you when she does. Not many like her treat you that well. Dr Garrett You were surprised when you received the radiogram from Elias; it’s been a while since you’ve seen him, what with his travel and your own rarely intersecting. He called you late last night too, saying that he’d arrived in New York, and asking you to meet with him at Bethany’s tea shop, and to bring any friends that you thought might be able to help him in some new misadventure. Given your last excursion with Elias, and the possibility (slight, obviously) of a somewhat similar nature to this new investigation, you have decided to bring along with you two of your friends. Firstly, Datsyuk, who you met during the war when he dug graves (far, far too many graves) for you. The way he didn’t flinch at so much death (without, of course, being blase about it - the man’s not a monster. Not like Mendoza was) made you think he’d be reliable, and if there’s any physical danger likely to come out of this new foray into the strange (but hopefully not too dangerous, and not too strange), then he’d be very handy. Heh, “handy,” you made a pun without even thinking about it. See Garrett, not just the stuffed shirt! You also thought of Valentine, a bit of an odd one that man, had some rum do in China, but seemed genuinely interested when you pointed out the rare Ceropegia odorata plant in India, didn’t even let the smell put him off. Seems like the two of them could be useful anyway, so you showed them the radiogram (not telegram; they’re sent by wire, radiograms, such as this one sent from the ship Elias as travelling on are sent, as the name suggests, by radio wave, not telegraph wire). You’ve arranged to meet up with them at the tea shop; apparently Elias has booked a table under his name for your group there to discuss this latest intrigue. It’’ll be good to see Miss Rahner - Bethany - again too, it’s almost time for her to hand over the mirror again, seems like an age since you gave it over to her. Perhaps she could be persuaded to do so when you see her, hmm? Aleksandr You had some days in port in Boston, so you contacted Dr Higgins, who you’ve stayed in touch with every now and then since the war. He’s a good man, he understands the fragility of life, having seen it at first hand, as you have. Plus, he always has just the right ointment - often homemade, something he’s experimenting with - on hand to soothe your aching muscles. Despite your social differences, he’s an easy man to get on with, shared experience often does that to people, and although you never talk about the war, it hovers there between you, encompassing both of you in its invisible grasp like the corpse that both of you, as worms, eat your way through. When he showed you the radiogram (you know the difference between that and a telegram already, having worked on ships for years now), and gave you a short lecture on the difference between them, you didn’t butt in; the curious brevity and nature of the message itself already had your mind working. Life on the ships is okay, but this…this sounds like something different, something out of the ordinary, and Dr Higgins’ obvious wary excitement - something you don’t often see unless he’s talking about some rare plant or new species of insect he’s found - has you intrigued. When he asked if you would accompany him to New York to meet some of his friends, how could you say no? Dalton You’ve been in touch with Higgins for about a year or so now, after meeting him on an expedition to India, where he pointed out some godawful-smelling plant that had some curative properties for stomach ailments - you had a bit of a gippy tummy at the time, so the memory stuck with you. It was his obvious excitement at the find that amused you - he’s a bit of a stodgy old chap at times - but there was genuine pleasure in his modus investigandi that stood out to you. You’ve had a few good conversations with him over a snifter of brandy (it’s easy when you have the money to get some delivered via Canada, despite Prohibition) and a cigar, and so when he showed you the telegram thingy from some friend of his - a writer chap, apparently - you immediately recognised the Carlyle name - chap went off on expedition a few years back, got himself and his group massacred, you believe - you were hooked. You practically demanded that he bring you along - after all, they’ll need your expertise if they’re going to follow in Carylye’s footsteps. Which you hope they are! Dr Serrano You were surprised when the book arrived, a couple of years after that horrendous trip to Peru. You still can’t really get over what you saw there, that creature that Mendoza had become. It was enough to send you running at the time, feeling strangely ill, and you’ve woken at night sometimes in a cold sweat, your heart racing, with a feeling as if something was left unfinished. It was Jackson Elias' new book, The Hungry Dead, with a note from the author thanking you, apologising for getting you mixed up in what happened (Elias was circumspect in the note and the book, not revealing anything of what actually occurred). In addition to his apologies for getting you involved, he also requested your professional opinion - he had some artifacts that he wanted you to look over. You were quite willing to do so, and from your regular meetings discussing the provenance, value, and which museums might be interested in buying or accepting them as donations, you grew to like the man, and his initial distress at having gotten you involved in the Peru expedition was obviously genuine. You’ve stayed in touch sporadically over the last couple of years, and when he sent you this telegram thing, you decided that your unfinished business with him could finally get some closure. He phoned you late last night to say he was in New York, where you’re currently staying at the New Grand Hotel while spending your sabbatical at New York University’s Washington Square campus. He has invited you to attend a luncheon (he’s booked a table under his name) at a small tea shop tomorrow at noon - the place doesn’t seem too far away, and you find yourself oddly anticipating the meeting. Armas You were a little surprised just how helpful Jackson Elias was when you arrived on these foreign shores. Most of the people you saw on arrival (and still to this day) openly stare at you when they see you, but Jackson Elias immediately welcomed you to the city and the country as a friend, and even introduced you to some people who spoke your language and could get you work. It isn’t much, and it’s mostly physical labour, tiring work that makes your muscles sing in agony some days, but you’re strong, and you work as hard as any two or three other men, and you’re helping people rather than murdering them. You still have pangs of conscience at what you have done in the name of Kruz, and you seek atonement. You also owe Jackson Elias a debt of gratitude for what he has done for you, and so when a man appeared on your doorstep with a short letter for you, you read it, finger pointing the way through the brief lines, and lips murmuring each word. You have no idea who this Carlyle is, but if your friend Jackson Elias needs your help, you’ll be there. You found another of these short letters (telegram, the man who brought it called it) pinned to your door when you got back from work late last night, asking you to go to a kapihan of some sort at noon tomorrow to meet with Jackson Elias and some of his friends. You could do with a day off from your back-breaking labours, so you’re going to see what this Carlyle person wants. Delilah After puzzling at the telegram for a while, and why Elias would send for you, you received a second one, inviting you today to a meeting with like minds to discuss the Carlyle expedition at a tea shop in Manhattan. It’s not that far from where you are, so you might as well see what he wants. After checking to see where the tea shop is, you made a startling discovery too - the owner of the business is one Bethany Rahner. A name you’re all too familiar with. What on earth is Elias playing at here? And so, almost noon, you’re each making your way to the tea shop on West 23rd and Ninth Ave.

OOC For your first post, please describe entering the tea shop - the order that you post in reflects the order in which your character arrives, though Bethany and Dennis are already there, since both work there (though Bethany might be in the kitchen, and Dennis still clearing snow - they appear when they post too). A table’s been booked under Jackson Elias’ name. Please describe what your character looks like, what reactions he or she has to any of those already present, and introduce yourself to those already there. I’ll be posting again next Monday, so please post by then, and if you wish to make small talk with the other PCs, react to newcomers etc in the meantime and post more frequently reflecting that, feel free to do so. Also, having received or seen the radiogram sent by Elias, you’ve had a couple of days to prepare - are you doing any research into the Carlyle Expedition mentioned in the radiogram? If you wish to, please make an Archival Research roll to see what you can dig up. That’s done by adding together your Academic attribute and your Archival Research skill, rolling that number of dice, and seeing if any come up as a 6. The dice code is (dice)ZD6smh6(/dice) with the ( ) replaced with [ ], and where Z is the number of dice you’re throwing. Bethany: Do you recognise Delilah when she arrives? After all, she was just one in a long line of fake mediums that you have cast down.

[FatherDondo]

Dennis Winslow, Drifter Dennis was a tall man, easily 6'5" when he stood up straight, though he didn't always have the drive to do so. He'd fallen far from where he thought he should be, but life has encouraged him to be humble. Besides, some folks were scared of mugs like him looming over them, and he didn't want anyone to have more cause to think he's dangerous. The things he saw took care of that already. His secondhand clothes were always baggy and loose, when they didn't flap in the breeze from holes in them, but Dennis was still a very strong man, if not a well fed one. His skin was tanned and baked from long hours in the sun, and his hair was a mud-brown bristle brush on top of his head; he couldn't afford a barber, so he did his best with a pair of scissors. Damned snow. Sky just had to open up again, just before Ms. Bethany's friends were meant to come, too. Every few scoops of his snow shovel saw him trying in vain to brush snow off his good pants with fingers beet red from the cold. I can't go around in any fancy tea house smelling like a dog. Hell, I don't need more water in my shoes. Ya get fungus that way. The shoes in question were the least scuffed of two pairs, and better suited for the occasion inside than clomping around in the rubber boots Ms Bethany provided to work in, but the shoes had bigger holes, and his feet were soaked. However, having two pairs of shoes was a luxury. He decided to take a small break. He set the shovel aside and went in the back way to the kitchen. Some snow blew in as he did his customary scan of the room. No sign of the what Dennis calls the figure he sees sometimes, the one that's been following him for some years nowBlack Rot Man meant he could come inside. There, he could afford to take a seat in front of the stove and take his sodden shoes and stockings off to dry while he warmed up. After a few painful minutes of him regaining feeling in his hands, it occurred to him that he could've left his good shoes in the kitchen and shoveled snow in his nice, dry boots. He had half a mind to slap himself for playing the fool. Never mind. All that matters is that I'm dry before those rich folks show up. Should I help while they're here? I don't know how to do butler stuff. Maybe I should just stay quiet in the back. Take their coats and such. The simpler laborer had been worried about the event; these rich folks were all going to be smarter than him, and experienced in... all this stuff. He didn't want to sound completely a fool, so he took some time after work to sneak into Ms Bethany's library to try and read about this stuff. Maybe not "sneak," but he didn't advertise his being there. He wouldn't ever be able to hold his own in a conversation, but maybe he could keep from embarrassing himself too much if they asked him questions, which they would. He stuck out like a sore thumb. It only took a couple of tries before Dennis decided that all of this mumbo jumbo was giving him a headache and he'd given up.   Dice Roll: 2d6smh6 3 ✘, 2 ✘ (0/2) Total = 5

[Palliven]

Dalton Valentine, Explorer Dalton's nod of greeting was lost on the young ladies that passed him as he stepped out of the taxi cab. Their heads were down, arms clutching each other tight to stay warm and avoid slipping on the snow covered sidewalks. What had them out on such a day? Likely fear of losing their job for staying home he guessed. Many lived under the yoke of necessity, a yoke that ground them down and crushed their spirit. Dalton had spent the first half of his life embracing the debauchery of his dreams and the second half distancing himself from that lifestyle. While he had rejected his upbringing and its own form of prison that came with it, he was not hypocritical to think that life of privilege didn't make all the difference in who he was. Once he had tried to understand why life had turned out the way it did for him. There were no answers though so he had just come to accept it, but standing here now brought that nagging question back. Why did it often feel like life drove him to a destination of its choosing and all he could do was hold on for the ride? At times it seemed to him as if he had been plucked out of a life that was given to him and placed in the stream of someone else's destiny. If tragedy had not struck him some twenty years back he would not have found himself exploring the world, looking for what he still couldn't say even to himself, only to meet Dr. Garrett, a seemingly unimportant event. Yet without that he never would have been called to this meeting to discuss the infamous Carlysle Expedition. He had heard rumors of course and had a good mind of which to believe and which were spun from whole cloth. To be able to know for sure thought, perhaps to even read a journal or follow a map! Famous, ill-fated and surrounded by mystery it had the feel of purpose for the estranged son of Randolph Valentine. Enough of that pondering Dalton. Time to take that first step and see where it all leads. Tapping the snow off his brown calf finish shoes, bits of white falling away as his carved purple heart wood walking stick struck finely crafted leather, he walked into the warmth of the tea room. At nearly six feet tall he was the image of the perfect gentleman today. He deliberately hung his tweed overcoat on one of the two coatracks by the door then removed his black homburg and hung the hat on one of the hooks along the wall. With his outer layer removed, his tailored grey suit was revealed. Measured and cut for his fit frame, it did a splendid job of covering his hard muscles in a casing of civility. Not seeing a cane stand he gently leaned his walking stick against the wall directly under his hat. It had been a long time since he had the occasion to wear good clothes and as much as he wished he didn't, he enjoyed it. It had not proven difficult to have this tailored and ready in a jiffy. One of the benefits of being a Valentine. He had rejected his father and his inheritance, but as he was stuck with the family name he had decided some time ago to make use of it where it was needed. Always a balancing act, his pride and principle against the convenience and opportunity. It had made the difference between success and failure in more than one of his endeavors though so it was not something he was willing to throw away completely. The place was comfortably warm against the cold and had a much more welcoming feel than most of the establishments he tended to frequent. Whether that was back in his reckless youth carousing the streets of New York or his more recent venture preparing for his next excursion in the alley shops of Marrakesh. Slipping his black gloves into his suit pocket he rubbed his hands together then brought them to his mouth to blow on them for warmth. Reflexively stroking his white mustache and beard, neatly trimmed after a year of growing unkempt, he smiled at the lady he saw sitting in the rear of the tearoom. "Hello ma'am," he said waving a hand that was as tanned and weathered as the rest of him. "Quite a cold morning and you have the right of it, sitting in such a place with a cup of tea I would say." Taking the liberty of stepping into the room further Dalton noted the interesting décor that seemed a bit out of place with the comfortable style of the establishment. "I believe I am early, quite the penchant of mine I am afraid, but I am to meet several acquaintances here shortly. Perhaps you have seen the proprietor? I would hate to presume to take a seat if one has already been arranged for our gathering"   Dice Roll: 3D6smh6 1 ✘, 4 ✘, 1 ✘ (0/3) Total = 6

[OneDarkness]

Rosabelle, a tea salon in Manhattan Isadora may have been in New York for a little while now but she still hadn't adapted fully to the cold and right about now would would love to be somewhere a fair bit warmer, but she was never one to pass up the opportunity to study ancient artifacts and New York city had its fair share in museums and private collections. So bundled up in her ankle length grey wool coat with matching fur trim she did her best to stay warm, and she was relieved when she entered into Rosabelle's and escaped the coolness outside. It was much quieter than she expected it to be with only a few individuals present and none of them being Bethany, Garret or Jackson, so she must be early. Removing her coat and hanging it up, she was back to her more classical clothing choices of a white silk blouse with a black fitted skirt that came down to around her knees with a stylish belt. Without an idea of whether the whole room was for Jackson's gathering or if a portion she moved up closer to a Daltongentleman who had just arrived himself it seems and was inquiring after a table. She didn't recognize the man and its possible that noon in the tea room would have more than a few such gatherings of friends to meet, so she chose not to make any assumptions. With an accent that suggests that english is not her first language and some clear spanish undertones she addresses the hostess as well. "Good Afternoon, something hot to drink would certainly help escape the chill out there today. I believe you have a table reserved for Jackson Elias?" Jackson's message had mentioned the Carlyle expedition, and while she had heard of it she did do a Dice Archival research: 7D6smh6 5 ✘, 1 ✘, 4 ✘, 6 ✔, 3 ✘, 6 ✔, 4 ✘ (2/7) Total = 29 bit of digging about it as well in the library to see if she could get a feel for what Jackson might be on to or if at least nothing more refresh her memory on the details so she could contribute to the conversation.

[sammichweasel]

Delilah St Claire, Purported Mystic Something about the crisp air and piling snow suited Delilah's mood, snappy and ponderous rolled up with a small measure of anxiety. She adjusted her suit, flattening out the burgundy pinstripes, then adjusted the matching top hat. She hadn't worn either the suit or hat since the last time she had anything to do with Miss Rahner, but it seemed the only real choice she had. If Elias wanted to invite her to a fancy locale owned by the woman that destroyed her life, well, she was going to put on a show. As she walked, she Dice Academics(4)+Archival Research(1): 5d6smh6 1 ✘, 2 ✘, 5 ✘, 5 ✘, 3 ✘ (0/5) Total = 16 revised in her head the various newspaper articles and rumor sheets she had found on the expedition; she was not one to enter a situation completely blind. She wasn't sure how accurate the publicly available information would be, given Elias's odd interest with it, but any little bit would help. She spotted another woman enter the establishment she had her eye on before her, and realized there was a very good chance that this was not going to be a one on one meeting with the mad author. She hurried a little, the carefully cleared walkway causing little trouble for her low heeled boots. That was surprising; she was sure any semblance of tread they had was completely worn away by now, and the leather was little more than a thin sheet lacquered to a presentable finish. She gave a silent thanks to whoever had spent the time to shovel that up. Delilah St Claire, also known as DeeDee Mystere in some circles, threw open the door with a flourish. She had carefully crafted and perfected the carefree yet subtly seductive pose she now struck, and a delightfully compliant swirl of snowflakes raced about her as the wind rushed inside. She caught the tail end of the question from the same woman she had seen before, and stepped boldly into what she could only assume was, at best, neutral territory, and quite possibly hostile. She dipped her hat, not fulling removing it, but raising it enough to make well sure her unique hair was spotted. She wanted to make sure Bethany saw that her life had not changed much - even though it had been almost irrevocably ruined. A moment later, she silently cursed herself, as she had not actually worn an overcoat, removing an element of the reveal. Ah well, given the now meager resources available to her, what she had managed would have to do. Adding a bow to the hat tip aimed at the hostess, Delilah's rich and carefully crafted Creole drawl - a complete fabrication, mind you, but it served her much better than her own native Cajun patois - settled into the room like a languid cat finding just the right fold of silk. "Aye, me mama say de same, Miss. And it seem we here for de same man. Madam Hostess, perraps you might find us someting Colonial? A nice oolong, dem leaves are good for drinkin' and readin', if ye know de ways." She shot an obvious wink at the more conservatively dressed friend of Elias, and glanced about, taking in the other man in the room. "And you, my sir, are ye here to see Mister Jackson as well?"

[Palliven]

Dalton Valentine, Explorer The cold blast of air that followed the attractive woman in skulked around for a few moments after she closed the door, eventually making its way to Dalton still strong enough to give him a chill. Never one to stare, he hadn't forgotten his manners while trudging through the wilds of the world, he instead took note of her flowing accent. It reminded him of his time spent in Spain. A lovely country with an exciting people, it was a shame more didn't make the voyage across to ocean to visit her. He would never forget that winter outside Barcelona, the one he spent enjoying the company of the very charming Louisa Jimenez. What a sense of curiosity she had. Such a sense of humor and quick wit. Pulling himself back into the moment, Dalton took a step towards the young woman meaning to greet her but was interrupted when the door opened again and another lovely woman entered the Rosabelle. Dark of skin, bold of dress and strong of voice this newcomer made an entrance worthy of a debutant ball. He did not know of any balls which he attended in his younger days that would ever have permitted a woman of color to attend. He was ashamed to admit it, but back then he would have been one of those unwilling to allow it. It had taken his being absconded and then forced to wander the world before his eyes were opened to the ignorance of his youth. He did not grow up to be a saint, far from it, but had come to learn a rare truth. Judge others by their action and make sure your own show the person you hoped you were. What is it with you lately chum? Stop being so philosophical and take care of the matter at hand. "Ah, no. At least I don't believe so," he said to young woman dressed in burgundy. "I am here to meet an old friend, business matters and such." With a gentlemanly nod to each of them followed up by a smile that had once made the daughters of New England's elite swoon, he introduced himself. "Dalton Valentine and if being here to meet this Mr. Jackson would allow me the privilege of sharing a cup of tea with you ladies then perhaps he is a man I should get to know."

[GeneT]

---

A New Start It had stopped snowing sometime in the late morning. Aleksandr watched old men play chess in Union Square Park, breath blossoming from his mouth like mist from a waterfall, billowing in gouts from his lips until it dissipated into the cold. He didn't play. He just sat and listened to the old men talk, as much as it was. Old men, old slavic men, don't talk much, but the sound of it, single words in bursts, two or three together a waltz, or an exclaimed complete sentence when something grand or unexpected happened reminded Aleksandr of his father. Aleksandr's father was dead now, dying when Aleksandr was at war. He hadn't heard his father's voice that whole time while at War in some other country digging holes for sons of other fathers to be laid in. He hadn't seen him buried. And inside, it was like Aleksandr's father hadn't died because Aleksandr wasn't there in the end. The War took that away from him too. Aleksandr Datsyuk sat in Union Square Park watching old slavic men play chess in the dense cold and closed his eyes. He could almost feel his father's rugged hard thick hands teaching him how to move the pieces. Smell his pipe smoke laden breath. The murmur of his father's voice when he was about to make a foolish move. And that staccato grumble when Aleksandr, only twelve, beat him for the first time. It was as close to his father he had been since he had returned from the war and it took him hours to leave the park, hours to pull himself away. He couldn't play chess anymore. That died too with his father. Taken away from him as so many other things. Aleksandr had met Dr. Garret by whim while laid over in Boston waiting for his coastal hauler to resupply and ship out. But he knows the meeting wasn't by chance. Few things in life ever are. Luck is for fools. The world was like a giant mechanism churning forward. Some unknown esoteric power spinning its gears grinding and Aleksandr was moving along a path he couldn't really see or understand yet. Like the first time he sat with his father to play chess. He'd figure it out eventually if he didn't die along the way. He made a cursory inspection of the Carlyle thing, reading papers while waiting for the train or dipping into New York's public library. Archival Research : Dice Roll: 3d6smh6 2 ✘, 2 ✘, 4 ✘ (0/3) Total = 8 Information was like chess pieces. If you didn't know how they moved, you would always loss. He walked from the park to the meeting. It took him an hour along slick sidewalks. He didn't mind the cold. His people were born of it in the harsh land of upper Ukraine. Outside the Rosebelle, Aleksandr pauses, uncertain if he really wanted to go in, wondering if he shoulda stayed on that coastal hauler and lived a simpler life. Finding the walkway's snow half shoveled, he delays, taking the shovel that is leaning against the building and beginning to clear what remains. He shovels for another hour, moving up the street and to other entrances. Wasting more time to indecision. ""pereyikhaty abo zalyshyty" : Move or quitпереїхати або залишити," his father's rough warm voice says inside him and Aleksandr returns to the Rosebelle, setting the shovel back against the building's wall before entering. He shakes snow from his boots and hears his mother's voice calling him. She is dead too, but that happened when he was much younger. Yet, still, he smells hulubtsi as if he had just come in out of the cold playing when a boy. ""Tse oznaka" : It is omenЦе ознака," his father says. And Aleksandr agrees. He stands by the door only a few moments before noting a table set aside for a larger group. It is already occupied by a few and Aleksandr can tell they are I figured his Perception and Spot Clues explains.not very well acquainted. He doesn't see Dr. Higgins but he can't simply stand at the door until the man arrives. Waiting for the memory of cooking cabbage to fade before approaching the table, Aleksandr nods to everyone and offers a rough hand in greeting. His hands are wide and warm. Just like his father's had been. "Alek," he says thickly. "Friend of Dr. Higgins." He doesn't smile often and he doesn't smile as he sits. War takes those things away to or, at least, makes them harder to come by. When asked about tea he says Black. Cream and/or sugar. He blinks and shakes his head with a mild crinkling of his forehead. "No." The Brits took their tea with cream and the rich added sugar. He'd ask for a bit of honey. His mother would give him little when he was young, but they'd likely ruin it by putting in a whole teaspoon rather than a pinch. He looks at the others at the table but Dr. Higgins had yet to arrive and Aleksandr is not a very talkative man. Quiet. Like old men playing chess in a park in the winter.

[Talkin]

Dr. Garrett Higgins Garrett slowly walks up the boulevard towards Bethany's tea salon, his legs carrying him forward as a part of him wonders if he should turn around and run away. It's OK. I'm just going to have some tea and hear Jackson out. I'm not committed to anything. I can leave any time I want. Yet, Garrett somehow suspects that last bit was a lie. Deep down, he knew that they had started something in Peru which was not truly finished, and into which he was now intertwined whether he liked it or not. And worse, he had pulled Aleksandr and Dalton into it too... just like Larkin had pulled Garrett into the expedition in Peru. Garrett shudders as he thought of how their former "leader" had paid for his sins. Have I just done the same thing for which I condemned Larkin for as he lay dying? But, Jackson had indicated that he was looking for "reliable" people, and Garrett knew that they both fit that bill. Of course, Garrett wasn't even 100% sure why he was there or what he was getting himself into. He had done a little research into the "Carlyle Expedition" mentioned in Jackson's radiogram, but wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. So lost in his thoughts, Garrett doesn't notice the cold until he enters the tea shop, where the warm air suddenly feels like hot needles on his icy skin. Garrett takes a few moments to doff his coat and rub his hands, getting the circulation back. As he looks around the well-appointed room, Garrett instantly guesses which is their table. The ecclectic mix of people gives him an odd twinge of deja vu to his first night in Lima, when the motley group there had met for the first time over a delicious (and boozy) dinner. Alas, nary a bottle in sight here. Maybe that's a good thing. It might mean that whatever Jackson is about to tell us won't require a drink to go down. Seeing that Bethany is not around--maybe she could fill him in a bit more on what was happening--Garrett starts making his rounds. "Aleksandr, good to see you. And, thank you for coming." "Dalton, always a pleasure. Glad you could make it." "And... oh my god, Dr. Serrano? Is that really you? I had no idea you'd be here. This is quite suprise. But, a truly pleasant one." Garrett is in fact quite shocked to see her these several years later, and has to close his mouth before it looks like he was gaping. She had been wise enough to get out while the getting was good back in Lima, and Garrett really couldn't imagine what would have led her to answer a new call like this from Jackson. Still, Garrett had found her to be smart and engaging in the brief time they had spent together, so whatever the reason, he was glad to see her. The next person was an eye-catching stanger--a dark-skinned lady in a suit and top hat. That's a new look. It makes a statement, though I'm not entirely sure what that statement is... Garrett walks up to introduce himself. "Ma'am, how do you do? I'm Dr. Garrett Higgins." Garrett also saw a very tall, slim man near the periphery, but couldn't tell if he was part of group. Garrett figured he would meet the man in due time. OOC Dice Archival Research re Carlyle Expedition: 4d6smh6 6 ✔, 6 ✔, 2 ✘, 1 ✘ (2/4) Total = 15

[Strange2099]

Bethany Rahner, Artist (Thursday, 15 January, 1925) Ten years had passed since the death of her husband, and not a single day had gone by that Beth didn’t miss Erik – the 'Handcuff King’, as he was known by his stage name. The former stage magician, escape artist and performer extraordinaire was the love of Beth’s life, and his passing had left her missing more than a husband, she had lost her soulmate. That’s not to say that the widow was completely devoid of living her life. As proprietor of the Rosabelle tea salon, not only was she busy running a business, but she also had a particular promise to keep: her promise to continue the work that they had both started. Beth dutifully continued investigating stories of the spiritual and supernatural, inevitably exposing those involved as frauds and charlatans. It was almost a full time career just to keep up with the figurative explosion of occult mediums and false mystics. And, of course, there was his promise to her, which was also still to be kept. The annual seances were growing more popular each year, attracting all manner of metaphysical practitioners - all of them ultimately shown to be no more than dishonest con-artists. Still, despite all the debunked cases, she kept hope. A promise was a promise, after all. And if anyone could pull off the feat of contacting her from the beyond, it would be him: her darling Erik. Besides, the seances were not all in vain. Aside from the material for her own articles and editorials, it was at one such event – now six years passed - where she met Jackson Elias, and in doing so gained a new, close friend. Her fondness of him grew over the years to form a close partnership, cemented in mutual trust and respect. He was, in a way, more than a friend – almost like family, he was like a close brother. And of course, in addition to the family-like relationship, there was also their business exploits – born of a mutual interest in the occult and exposing the fraudulent. Yet, nothing could epitomize their relationship more than their adventure in Peru, four years prior. That was where a small group of strangers grew into a close band of companions that placed their lives – their very sanities – into each other’s hands and somehow made it back alive and relatively unscathed. Most of them made it back…. So when Beth received the radiogram from Jackson that he’d be in town in January, she was absolutely ecstatic. Six months between visits was not uncommon, but it was incredibly trying. As she oversaw the preparations for the lunch, her mind started to wander, just a little. The arrangements were practically second-nature – she knew exactly what he needed. "No, pour that out," she instructed Larry, the cook. "Put on a fresh pot. He’ll take it strong," she explained the need to brew a fresh pot of coffee. Beth then paused a moment to reflect on the meeting that they were about to have. It wasn’t the terse nature of the radiogram, that bothered her … not so much; she was used to that about him. Although she didn’t really have a good grasp about what the ‘Carlyle Expedition’ was, despite having browsed through her personal library; more than that it was the request for such a large gathering of people that had her thinking. Even though she knew some of those who would be attending, and was greatly looking forward to seeing them again, she hadn’t needed to attend such a large gathering organized by him since, since … well, that’s why she arranged to have Dennis join her. If they were about to embark on some new, wild jaunt, she needed to ensure that there would be another solid, dependable person with her that she could trust. Unlike the like last time…. "Dennis?" Beth called, softly, as she popped out of the kitchen to check on the main room. "Oh!" The presence of the visitors that had already arrived startled her out of her musings. Beth started walking towards the group that was already being shown to the table, which she had reserved for their meeting. She overheard one of them – Mr. Valentine – inquiring about the reservation for Jackson, and that removed any final doubts. Finding Isadora, Beth caught the Spaniard’s eye with her own bright smile and moved towards her to embrace her in a quick hug. Beth kissed Isadora once on each cheek before separating a bit to marvel at the Doctor’s appearance. "Isadora! It’s so good to see you, again! When did you arrive in town?" She looked at the other men and with a demure smile, she introduced herself. "Hello, gentlemen. I’m Bethany Rahner. You’re all here for the meeting with Jackson Elias, right? I’ll be your host today for the lunch that we’ll have while we talk." Beth turned away from everyone for a moment to call out towards the kitchen. "Jezebel," she sang in a melodic tone for her waitress to come take everyone’s orders before she turned her attention back to her guests. "Please, everyone, have a seat. And, make sure you save room for desert! Today’s special is apple surprise!" Beth then noticed that Garrett had arrived and was conversing with a dark-skinned woman. Beth rushed over and gave Garrett a cordial hug, which was not as intimate as the embrace that she had just given Isadora but was still familiar and welcoming. "Doctor!" she exclaimed. "Did you just arrive in New York or had you stayed overnight? How was your trip? Don’t be shy, now! Introduce me to your --" At first, Beth had to do a double-take. For an awkward moment, she stared intensely at the lady by his side, until she recognized who she was looking at. Beth realized that she already knew the lady who was wearing a cheap pinstripe suit and a tacky top hat. Beth’s smile instantly vanished, as she finished her previous sentence. "… friend?" Beth looked questioningly to Garrett, her eyes searching him for some kind of explanation, before she quickly assessed that he had none to give. "Excuse me, Doctor Higgins." She turned to address the flamboyant lady, directly. "Delilah. Of all people, why are you here?" she asked without an ounce of mirth or warmth.   OOC: Physical description: Beth is a short, petite lady wearing a ?petticoat? I’ll add a better description of clothing and appearance in my next post! Dice Archival Research: 3d6smh6 3 ✘, 4 ✘, 5 ✘ (0/3) Total = 12

[Palliven]

Dalton Valentine, Explorer The empty tea room he had entered just a few minutes ago was starting to be quite the wingding. There had been barely enough time for pleasantries with the two young women before the quiet slav stepped in from the snow. A strapping lad he had the look of a laborer from a factory or yard. The kind of man he would gladly hire for an expedition and be counted on to work hard without complaint. Lad likes liked his tea black. Nothing wrong with a simple cup of tea now is there? Simple, pragmatic, predictable. The next to enter was Dr. Higgins, the very reason he was here at all. "Been quite some time Garrett," he said standing up to shake his friends hand. "Looking well, hope you have been taking care." There would be time for catching up later as it was clear that Garrett knew several of those in attendance. Including the young man, Aleksandr by name. That's surprising. Maybe the lad isn't so simple after all. The arrival of the short woman brought things together for Dalton. It seemed that he was indeed here to meet Mr. Jackson Elias after all. As she walked the room greeting everyone with the expected mix of politeness and familiarity, Dalton decided the proper thing was to introduce himself. He changed his mind as their hostess stopped short in front of the woman she called Delilah.

[FatherDondo]

Dennis Winslow, Drifter Hearing his name, Dennis looked up to see Ms Bethany passing him by and heading into the next room. People did have a tendency to forget he was in the room. He knew she didn't mean anything by it; he just faded into the background sometimes. But if she was calling for him... Oh, ****. He hurriedly put on his socks and shoes, which were warmer if not fully dry, and tried to make himself as presentable as possible. All things considered. Just as he was afraid of, everyone was here, or near enough. Dennis couldn't help but be nervous. This was a room full of important doctors, explorers, socialites. And... well, there's Delilah. He'd never met the lady, but knew her by... reputation. Surely Ms. Bethany's reaction was clue enough by itself. Oh, this might not be pretty. He wasn't fully sure what the nature of their grudge was, but it was a thing that existed. He didn't like seeing Ms. Bethany upset, but... maybe he could be a distraction, give her an excuse to be sidetracked and come back when she weren't surprised. He came up beside her and said in a stage whisper, "I'm sorry, Ms. Bethany, but you needed me?"

 

I'm giving Bethany an 'out' in case she wants it to de-escalate.

[sammichweasel]

Delilah St Claire, Purported Mystic The brief cordial greetings with the rest of Jackson's invited soiree were a nice enough distraction from her general anxiety, and full of the looks of confusion and curiosity she had once lived for. But then... well, it was expected, this being her establishment, but Delilah quickly discovered that she had not completely prepared herself for this confrontation. Upon seeing the vivre leave the proprietor's face, she couldn't help herself, and a small smile tickled the corners of her mouth. She saw her presumed shop assistant lean in and whisper, but she ignored it, leaning back to dig in. "Ah, ma cherie, it is the owner of this...quaint little teashop we find ourselves in! It appears our good and mutual friend, Mister Jackson Elias hisself, has taken it upon his very peculiarly set shoulders to see old acquaintances reunited." She chuckled, letting the velvety mirth that had carried her through many a faux seance nuzzle the bristling woman beneath the chin. But in an instant, her gaze hardened, still holding a piqued grin, but now lining the pleasantness with broken splinters and shattered glass. She waved a hand towards her hat, managing to dip it ever so slightly as she kept her eyes locked on the artist. "Ah, but tell me, doux Bethany, it has been some small time since I had the pleasure of your company. In your time making sure the rich and bored didn't lose any fraction of their fortunes to the poor and desperate..." Delilah paused a moment, knowing that what came next would cut the deepest. She gestured broadly at the photos on the walls. "In all those years spent putting hope before survival, have you heard a word?"

[OneDarkness]

Rosabelle, a tea salon in Manhattan As much as Isadora had tried to stay in contact with Garret and Bethany over the years she had always got the impression that more had happened after Lima than they were letting on. She never pressed them on it, as she had hadn't been there herself and always felt that if they had wanted to share more then they certainly would have. Still she was happy to see them and both appeared to be in relative good shape, lot of other new faces here as well she met with a pleasant smile and small talk while waiting for the others to arrive including their host. "Its a pleasure Garrett, and it would seem fate has a funny way of bringing us all back together again, well some of us at least. I couldn't very well pass up the chance hear what Jackson has in mind as his message was certainly intriguing. Do you know what he may have found out?" Isadora remains standing around the table for the time being unless everybody moves to sit, as she liked to be able to greet people properly and they may be sitting long enough in good time. "Thank you for having us all here Bethany, it truly is a beautiful spot you have here and I wish I could have come by sooner." Isadora smile was quite genuine at the reuniting. "The apple surprise sounds quite lovely and something hot to warm me up would be fantastic, as I not used to this cold yet, no matter how many layers I put on."

[GeneT]

---

The Cold When Dr. Higgins arrives, Aleksandr stands. His smile is warm enough and even reaches his eyes. He reaches out past Dr. Higgins' hand and takes his lower arm into his powerful fingers. He grips it and pulls the man in, one arm going slightly around Dr. Garret's shoulder in a brief embrace. They had survived the War and that was a lot between men or women. It isn't something that can be explained. Nor is digging graves for mangled bodies, air raid sirens, the whiff of poison gas, the fear you're about to die as you fumble to strap a mask on, and counting long seconds holding your breath because you just can seem to breath with the haze all around you despite your breath being drawn through charcoal canisters. It not the counting or holding your breath that gets to you. It watching as men die. First they vomit. Then they fall to the ground and shake themselves to death. And whatever ever contorted position they end up in as Death makes them cold, you bury them that way. Crooked, cold, stones. "It is good to be here," Aleksandr says. It is mostly truth. Memories of huddling with this man during a bombardment is a door or window that opens to bleaker memories and visions. He sits and drinks his black tea, watching what occurs with more sharpness than a simple laborer. It is only when the woman, Dr. Serrano, mentions the cold that Aleksandr speaks. "The cold mild today. You come walk the park just after midnight. The ground creaks then. I can show you. It is best time to practice ignoring it. Pretending it not real. It will leave you alone and you not feel it so much," Aleksandr says, his slavic accent along the edges and noticeable in the dropping of certain words. Walking the park after midnight is also good when you can't sleep. Pretending not to feel the cold keeps the dreams away.

[Strange2099]

Bethany Rahner, Artist (Thursday, 15 January, 1925) ~~ Theme Music ~~ The memory comes unbidden as Beth takes in the exotic visage of the woman standing in front of her. The smoke from incense was heavy, that day. As it mixed with Delilah’s too strong and too sweet-smelling perfume, the nauseating combination was practically overpowering as it formed an intoxicating bouquet, which hung in the air like a thick molasses. The scent is gone, now, but it still takes no small amount of effort for Beth to stifle a sudden urge to wretch. Beth sees that Delilah looks just as sleek and sultry as she did on that day, some years ago, and she assumes that the southern vixen remains just as deceptively malicious. "Yes, Dennis," Beth replies when he asks if she was looking for him. Although he stands to her side, she continues looking straight ahead while she talks to him, never taking her eyes off of Delilah for even a second. "I wanted to thank you for clearing the snow out front. And now, I have a more urgent problem. It seems that Miss St. Claire has gotten lost and needs to be shown the door. Would you be so kind as to escort her out?" Beth pauses when Delilah voices "It appears our good and mutual friend, Mister Jackson Elias hisself, has taken it upon his very peculiarly set shoulders to see old acquaintances reunited," she chuckled.her greeting. The clever accent and soft chuckle tacked on to the end only serve to irritate Beth, but it is Delilah’s assertion that Jackson actually invited her to the gathering at Rosabelle, which causes Beth to furrow her brow in confusion. "What do you mean?" Beth interrogates Delilah. "Are you saying that Jackson asked you to come here?" Despite (or perhaps because of!) Beth’s noticeable frustration, Delilah "Ah, but tell me, doux Bethany, it has been some small time since I had the pleasure of your company. In your time making sure the rich and bored didn't lose any fraction of their fortunes to the poor and desperate..." Delilah paused a moment, knowing that what came next would cut the deepest. She gestured broadly at the photos on the walls. "In all those years spent putting hope before survival, have you heard a word?"continues talking, to Beth’s consternation. Beth steps closer to Delilah, and now stands directly in front of her to look her eye to eye. Due to Beth’s shorter stature, she has to look up slightly to see into Delilah’s face, which, she does with her hands set firmly on her hips. The resulting pose with the sheer, billowing sleeves of the black satin, ankle-length gown accentuates her petite, lithe figure. One might think that she’s trying to either seduce, or out-seduce the Cajun mistress, were it not for the sharp countenance on Beth’s face, which indicates that she has no intention of backing down. "You would know about desperation, wouldn’t you?" Beth chastises Delilah. "I don’t defend the rich from the poor, I defend honest people from those like you who would prey on their insecurities and misfortunes!" "As for hope, I have plenty of it, Delilah! I’ve done more than survive, as I’m sure you can plainly see. But I’ll have you know that what transpires between my husband and me is of no concern to you! Now, I’d say to you ‘Good Day’, but I can’t imagine how you could have one. There’s the door. Don’t let it hit you on the way out."