Dreams of Doors and Roads [Gardens of Oneiromancy]

Sam


Sam winces slightly, remembering last year's Revel. Well, probing the drink-sodden gap in his memory where last year's Revel should be, at any rate. "Wouldn't miss it. See you later."


Sam heads outside, looking around consideringly. He didn't know anyone well enough to ensorcell them willingly.


Time to go find myself a patsy.
 
Nalani Appleblossom


Nalani settles her bill, leaving a generous enough tip to cover the scrounging for bacon. Glancing around for Tabitha, she considers only for the briefest of moments before sliding out of the booth. It's way too early in the day to be anywhere near The Speakeasy. A little walk to Widow's Recluse might prove to be a good diversion even if she was wrong about what the strange message meant.


With time to kill, Nalani decides to walk, tugging her hood over her head as she steps out of The Station and makes her way towards the park.
 
To Sam


The trouble with living in a commuter town is that there's precious few people out and about on a working day, even at this early hour. To find a suitable "patsy", you'll have to narrow your search.


You're on Main Street at the moment, so you could in theory just stop the first person you meet. You realise that Aisling was being quite broad in her terms; apart from the deadline, she didn't think it necessary to indicate what sort of person you should pick. Maybe it doesn't matter. If that's the case, it's really up to you.


Where do people congregate at this hour... somehow, bothering people at work doesn't seem like a feasible option, unless you're feeling particularly mischievous. You could swing by the local university; there's bound to be hundreds of choices without the need to explain why you're on campus - the Drop-Inn bar is a popular place to just hang-out. Alternatively, you could trawl through the Docks and find someone there; some likely homeless person, perhaps? Or maybe one of Ivyvale's parks; there would be joggers and dog-walkers out at Parkstead Memorial and the Widow's Recluse parks this morning.
 
To Nalani


The bus is inconveniently absent, so it'll take a while to get back... you passed the park on your way to the Station, but it's not that far away, at least. Still, it gives you plenty of time to admire graffiti (the Mayor has been making efforts to stamp this out - firmly) and decaying posters. You discover there's some new exhibition at the local art gallery back on Main Street opening shortly, actually; these posters are new, pasted over the old. Very modern. There's another announcing a concert in the next month or so in Knoxheart.


You'll turn left and left again, minding your own business. Very few people out and about; there's not terribly much else to see this side of town. There's a florist's on your right, and some sort of spa on your left; you'd heard things about the latter. Very select.


You'll note all this in passing as you make your way through the streets to the Widow's Recluse. The widow in question was Mrs. Worthington, a local legend. In the late 18th century her husband had made his fortune taking goods downstream to other laketowns along the river's path. Exactly what he carried is a subject for debate, ranging from simple grain to emeralds, but whatever his cargo he was apparently set upon by "brigands" and never returned. For her part, Mrs. Worthington never accepted his passing, returning day after day to the Docks to await his return. The Widow's Recluse was built on the closest piece of land in the Worthington's holdings to the Docks, where indeed she had been asked to be buried.


It's a somewhat forbidding place; small, nowhere near as large as Parkstead. Exactly three yew trees tower overhead, so gnarled that one in the far corner forms a natural bench. Snowdrops sprinkle across the lawn in a snowdrift haze.


At the centre of all this, facing the Docks, is a statue of Mrs. Worthington herself, a commanding figure in black marble, her eyes open to the sky, her hands clasped in front of her as if in contrition. Below her, on the plinth, are the words:


Patience and diligence, like faith, remove mountains.


Desire is the burning hunger of the soul, but we are willingly consumed.


The last line were supposedly the widow's last words.


Roll Wits+Investigation
 
Nalani Appleblossom


Forbidding or not, she was glad for the shadow that the large yews cast. Darkling that she is, Nalani naturally gravitates more towards shadows, choosing even a dappled one over being in full sun whenever she can. Buttoning up her coat, she meanders towards the statue, her mien shifting fluidly in the shadows - sometimes there and sometimes almost not. In so particular hurry, she picks up random snowdrops along the way until she has her own little frosty bouquet of white flowers. Circling the statue casually, snowdrops in one hand, she keeps her eyes peeled for anything that might look as though someone wanted her to be here.


Wits + Investigation


Results for 3 dice: 2 successes [ 9 8 7 ] (TN: 8)
 
To Nalani


Something flutters from the statue's clasped hands, caught momentarily in the breeze. Upon closer inspection you discover tiny scraps of paper scrunched up and carefully placed between her hands.
 
Sam


Weighing up his options, Sam decides to try the university. Students are willing to try anything.
 
To Sam


Ah, off to the good old Ivyvale U., the old alma mater, the old hunting grounds, the old sod...and other assorted nonsense. You'll need to hop on the trolley to get to the campus - a quaint little leftover from the late 19th century, the rattling tram system had never really gone out of fashion in Ivyvale, at least as transport to the university. It's slow and the jangling bells would get on your nerves if you had to ride in the thing for miles, but it costs a pittance, it's more reliable than the bus, and it gets you where you're going.


The first stop is just north on Main Street, close to where the Old Quarter (the artsy side of town) begins. The whole thing is automated so you can just hop on.
 
Nalani Appleblossom


Curious.


Nalani steps up to the statue. Pretending to read the words inscribed on the plinth first, she then places the little bouquet of flowers in the statue's hands, taking the little bits of paper with her. Keeping them concealed in her hand, she scans the park for a good place to read it in relative privacy.
 
To Nalani


Something tells you leaving the park with the scraps of paper would be a bad idea, so the gnarled yew bench is probably your best bet.
 
To Sam


The tram will rattle off down the tracks with the occasional lurch; there's nothing actually wrong with it, per se, it was just never designed with all that much shock absorption in mind. As a result the ride is not smooth but hardly a harrowing experience by any means, unless you count your fellow passengers. You're treated to a little slice of goth-culture on the way as a couple holding hands talk animatedly about an upcoming art exhibition; well, she does (at least, you think it's a she), he (again, you think) mumbles somewhat non-committally. She's winning the argument, if argument it was, by the time the outskirts of the campus pulls into view. They're both dressed in identical black clothing, with identical shaved heads, although she (the one with the slightly higher voice) has six piercings that you can see while he (then again, this one's voice is contralto...) has a red and black tattoo of some stylised thingamajig running down his neck. They ignore you for the entire trip, and get off before you. Today's kids have the weirdest tastes.


The campus itself is nice though not much to look at right now; sure, there's the promise of green but the grounds look sooo much better in summer. Still, it's late enough in the day for you to spot some likely marks. For instance...


"...I can't believe he dumped me."


"Pig."


"Bastard."


Three girls, two brunettes and a redhead, are walking past you, as oblivious to your presence as the couple on the tram were before. The first brunette is by far the better-looking of the three, tossing her hair angrily as she declaims (drama student, or just drama queen?) loudly and publicly about the lowest form of life on Earth: the ex-boyfriend. "I hate him! I hope he fucking walks out into traffic."


"Sure."


"Yeah! I mean, I guess..."


Her eyes are tired and puffy; behind the brave and arrogant face, you can tell she's been crying.
 
Sam


Dashing stranger mode activate!


Sam strides purposefully toward the girls, clearly not paying attention to where he's going when he 'accidentally' bumps in to the leading brunette, spilling her books on to the ground.


"Jesus, I'm sorry!"


Bending over quickly, he stoops down to pick up her scattered belongings, looking up at her to give her his best "aw shucks" grin. Come on Sam, they don't call you Fairest for nothing...
 
To Sam


"Urrrgh!" The lead brunette growls in a thoroughly unladylike fashion. "You guys go on ahead, I'll catch up." She grabs a book (Myths of the Holy See: Superstition and Christianity) and shakes it as if to dislodge some non-existent dirt. "Watch where you're going, will you?" she'll grumble, but not quite snap.

Gimme a Presence+Socialise roll.
Click to expand...
 
Sam


Sam manages to look suitably apologetic as he helps her gather her stuff. Noting the title of the book, he grins. "Interested in the otherworldly?" He lets a little glamour suffuse his smile, softening and warming his expression to engender trust.


Spending 2 glamour for +2 to the Presence roll.


Results for 4 dice: 1 success [ 4 7 5 0 ] (TN: 8 ) (damage/extra)


Results for 1 dice: 1 success [ 0 ] (TN: 8 ) (damage/extra)


Results for 1 dice: 1 success [ 0 ] (TN: 8 ) (damage/extra)


Results for 1 dice: 0 successes [ 7 ] (TN: 8 ) (damage/extra)


3 successes total.
 
To Sam


She'll look almost embarrassed for a moment as she hurriedly straightens, smoothing her skirt. "I'm taking Comparative Theology," she replies in an arch tone, though she's no exactly on the defensive. "Thanks," she says (grudgingly) as she retrieves her scattered belongings.
 
Sam


Sam grins wider. "That's not a no. I've always been interested in that sort of thing myself. Comparative theology sounds fascinating, though." Carefully, he hands her the books he's handed her. "I really am sorry about that. I hope I didn't hurt you. I'm Sam, by the way. Sam Lightfoot."
 
To Sam


She pauses as if finally weighing you with her eyes. "Denise Richmond," she announces, breaking the silence. "I'd shake your hand but mine are conveniently full at the moment."
 
Sam


Sam smiles. "Nice to meet you, Denise. I'd like to make this up to you sometime, if that'd be ok. Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee or something?"
 
Nalani Appleblossom


The yew bench seems as good a place as any. Besides, something about it feels familiar, the way something natural is shaped to be something of use as well. Running her hand over the twisted limbs that form the bench, she shuts out the faint stirrings of unease that it brings, that slight reminder of her time away. Sighing, she finds the shadiest spot to sit in and carefully straightens out the crumpled pieces of paper, eager to read the contents.
 
To Sam


She frowns; prettily, somehow, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "I was on my way- no, you know what? You're on. But you're paying."


She tosses her hair in a somewhat over-contrived gesture, marching ahead of you with the books held tightly (protectively?) to her chest. She'll look back over her shoulder after a few feet and add "Well? Are you coming?"
 
To Nalani


...oh. Well.


You're reading what appears to be submissions for the Revel, the annual party Spring holds every year when they take over from Winter. It's usually...loud. But every Court looks forward to it because those of the Emerald Court attempt to make the desires of each guest a reality.


You're holding what amounts to...well, wishes, basically. People have been slipping these scraps of paper into the widow's hands. It's cute, yet... well, some desires are unreservedly blunt, shall we say? There's no names attached to any pieces of paper, so (thankfully) you can't find out who's asked for... that... and that! You feel your cheeks flushing.
 
To Sam


"You know your way around. Do you regularly knock books out of girl's arms around here, then?"
 
Sam


"I try to keep book-knocking to a minimum. I'm rarely so lucky in whose books I knock."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 2 (members: 0, guests: 2)

Similar threads

Sora No Kami
A vicious dance with death (RP 1x1 based on the song "My R") TW: Self-loathing, Suicune
Replies
1
Views
100
Sora No Kami
Sora No Kami
Back
Top