| Your Memories Await the Finding |
| Summary: | A visit to the Lost and Found leaves a couple of Lost in a nostalgic frame of mind. |
| Date: | 2018-03-14 |
| Related: | None |
| Player Characters: | Eddie, Ida, Scorse |
----| Shop - Lost and Found - Cherry Oak |
Upon entering the Lost and Found, a mixture of scents hit you all at once. It is a strong cocktail of old and new with neither gaining ground over the other. Moist earth mixed with machine lubricant, old book pages with ozone, wood with plastic. Concentration will sort them out, but for the first whiff, it is a trigger to the memories of days gone past. The red wagon your father pulled you around in when you were a child, or that cobbled together bow you made with your best friend that you could never tighten enough to make it shoot an arrow, that set of keys you lost in the Bay three years ago. And those are just the mundane memories. The others rise unbidden of the Hedge and of the journey taken to escape. That nymph you met along the path who smelled of wet moss or the first taste of goblin fruit, so rich and sweet.
Here, there is all of this and more. It is a place of memories. Those already made and those still to be made in your future. Rickety wooden shelves are scattered throughout the large shop alongside cheap metal shelves from some discount store on the Other Side. Every inch of available space is filled with the largest assortment of items and trinkets known to man or Fae. Assorted old books line the eastern wall, mixed with recent bestsellers and how-to non-fiction books. If one looks hard enough, though, there is also that one book they have always meant to buy. The rest of the place is anarchy: clothes racks here and there, various gadgets and toys and trifles residing on the shelves and waiting to be found.
To the back of the shop is a small office desk that looks like it was brought over circa 1970. Stacks off papers, all of varying heights, create a wall between the shop and whoever sits behind it. Directly behind the desk is an open stairway heading up to the loft where the owner lives. If one looks up, they can see an intricate web of ropes that crisscross the ceiling. At some junctures of the ligatures, hooks hold up flower ports, but mainly the grid is bare, except for the small grey little imp that swings from rope to rope with a bundle or trinket under his left arm. Jasper is often seen stocking the shelves or doing inventory work. Though he seldom speaks, he is as much a part of the shop as the things for sale within its walls.
Not too late in the evening yet, so the store is open, but being Wednesday, there's no other patrons here at this time. Being there first time in the Lost and Found, it can be a bit overwhelming. Imagine a large flea market's worth of random goods strewn on book cases and shelves the line most every wall and large tables spread out in a walking grid to give ample space between them to meander. The eclectic mix of things is at once totally bizarre, but then it's almost artful in its complete disarray. As you look around, you will notice half inch red ropes the criss cross the rafters like a loose web and occasionally catch sight of a small hob running across them with various items being put out for display. As for the owner and operator, Scorse, he is towards the rear of the shop behind the main counter and looks up when the bell on the door opens. "Come one, come all! Your memories await for the finding! Welcome to the Lost and Found!"
From the way he races into the room, it's clear that Eddie's spooked by something. This place, though. The smells. The disorganization. All the weird little gewgaws, like the things he finds in the trash on a real pearl of a day. It's enough to maek him forget, for a minute, just looking around and breathing the air. He shakes his head. No time for that. "My memories, huh? I wondered where I left those." He follows the voice, and finds the counter. He's carrying a big stack of papers under one arm, obviously photocopies of something hand written. "Scorse. Glad you're open. I hear you picked up a thing or two about Tokens, living on the wrong side of reality."
Ida drifts in after Eddie, the tall Fairest back to wearing her normal 1940s style garments, hair like a sullen thunderstorm of dark gemstone shades, golden skin gleaming in the store's lights. Her strange bug eyes widen a little at the sights of the store, she pauses for a moment looking at a selection of little glass paperweights, snow globes and the like before continuing to follow the sleuth further inside. Outside it's dark and warm and cloudless, the starry sky holding the thinnest sliver of a waning crescent moon. As has been the pattern lately there is no wind, the air that follows the pair feels somehow stale despite the close proximity of the sea.
"A little bit of this and that, my friend. It's good to see you, though you do look a bit more stressed than usual?" Scorse's mantle flares a bit when they come in, scents of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles. it's almost always food, though he can't quite figure out why. "And I see you brought a new face here with ya? Hello there, my name is Scorse. If you need it, I got it. If you don't know you need it yet, just walk around a bit and it will likely come to ya. What you got for me to look at, Eddie?"
"Impossible," Eddie scoffs. "Stress is the water I swim in." He gets distracted again for a moment, by the smell of sweet things. He should have got enough at Bea's, but sugar is also the water he swims in. He sets down the papers on the counter, face down, then reaches into his coat with a blue cloth handkerchief and comes out with a gun. He holds it by the barrel, so as not to alarm, and sets it down in front of Scorse. It's a pistol, a pretty nasty looking piece of work, and obviously some kind of token. "I had to wrestle a severed hand for this. No idea what it does, aside from the obvious. I thought maybe you could fool around with it, see what you can learn. I'd owe you one. Cash, favor, however you take your payments." There's a beat. "Uh, probably you'd get a better return, on the favor, these days." He leaves his lovely assistant to handle her own introductions.
The apparent Gal Friday to everyone's favorite private eye, the woman gives Scorse a pleasant smile. "It is good to make your acquaintance. I am Ida. You have a splendid emporium." She walks closer to the counter, looking at the pistol with some curiousity. Otherwise she is just watching and listening, the image of keen albeit politely non-intrusive interest.
Scorse picks up a pen and pokes it into the barrel to lift the gun from the counter and tilt it this way and that. "Nice to meet you, Ida. Interesting fashion sense, like right outta hard boiled detective movie. Eddie, can you give me a day to get it into my workshop and see what I can discern about it? What's with the dead tree here? These notes you found with it?"
Eddie looks back at Ida, as if noticing her wardrobe for the first time. "Huh. You're right. I wondered why I kept her around," he grins, then turns his attention back to Scorse, and the gun. "Keep it as long as you need. It gives me the willies, if I'm being perfectly honest. Not going to turn down a little extra firepower, though, if it turns out safe to use." He looks down at the papers, tapping his finger on the stack, and frowns. "No. Just something else I thought maybe you could help with. Something I found out that people ought to know about. Every branch on the grapevine helps." He gathers up a couple of pages and turns them over and pushes them forward. He must have made a bunch of copies, if that's there is to it.
The comments about her fashion choice gets a raised eyebrow from Ida, followed by a more dimpled smile. "I but try to lead by example." She reaches out and casually adjust that perpetually dangling tie of the fly Beast's, before the papers come up and gets her full attention. "Is that the… Hmm. The hand writing is interesting." Glancing between the two men, following the conversation.
Scorse nods his head, picking up the papers to peruse them quickly. "I'll see what I can do. I'll give you a call once i have something to share? This gun does look interesting. So very shiny. Shiny is kind of a weakness but I'll be fine! A pleasure to meet you, Ida. Please come around any time! I have a strange feeling I have a an old camera in here with your name on it?"
"I never saw the appeal of shiny things." Another look back at Ida, faux-surreptitious. "With a few exceptions, here and there." Then, directly to the Courtless, as he gathers up the remaining papers and tucks them back under his arm: "Handwriting analysis is a complete sham. You ought to know that, if you plan on working for a detective, one day." He frowns for a moment as Scorse turns on the salesmanship, then remembers he's not paying for it, yet, and gives Scorse a grin. "You could send your kid to college off of her, if you let her look around a minute. She's got this unwholesome attraction to shabby things."
"Darling, I wholly admit your mastership of your realm of expertise, but please do not misjudge me so. I meant the way the hand is shaky here and there, the splattered marks." Ida points at the print outs, the parts that she sees showing those things. Maybe a little bit of a faint pout given to Eddie, like a sad-eyed Watson being doubted by Holmes. Then back to the regular smile, if slightly puzzled at Scorse. "I will certainly stop by, your inventory is most fascinating. I am afraid I have no creative talent for the arts, photography or otherwise, but I appreciate the thought."
----| Roof Top - Willowgate Manor Apts - Downtown |
It's a rooftop like many others in the district, only about five or six stories above the ground and still high up enough to get a tremendous view of Port Angeles. Antennae wrestle with air filters for the glory of oddness that pokes out of the hard tarred surface, a squat brick cube near the rear and center housing the final destination of a creaky old elevator. Surrounding the brick outpost is a small army of cheap plants in flimsy white pots, common urban landscaping like flowering kales, daises and black-eyed Susans.
Around that back area a simple patio has been built, recycled slabs of broken concrete rising about a step above the tarry roof proper, held together by a coarse wooden frame and amateurishly applied blobs of mortar. Overhead a pergola has been added into the frame, rickety structure providing shelter as well as night-time illumination courtesy of old white Christmas lights. Some plastic lawn chairs skulk in the corners, forgotten price tags of '50c' and '1$' announcing their status as second hand goods not worth stealing.
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Our dynamic arthropodic duo so left the shop behind. At first just vaguely driving around conversating about this and that, Ida eventually brokered the idea of coming here. The roof top of the apartment building where she is about to rent a place of her own, and where she once upon a time shared a space with two strange human women. As an exception to all things Port Angeles, Willowgate has remained almost exactly the same since. There may be some touch ups here and there, a bit of fresh paint, but otherwise the deja vu is strong.
The stars gleam above, the slight sliver of moon long since gone. The roof top is high up enough that the air is fresher than at ground level, you can still smell the sea. The Christmas lights gleam around the pergola, inviting cool illumination. On the way over here they stopped at a convenience store, and Ida is holding a little bag of drinks and treats. She moves towards the lawn chairs, smiling over her shoulder to him. "This was always one of my favorite places."
"And me without my binoculars." Eddie is out on the ledge, staring out at the city, his toes poking over the edge. There's a lot more to see out there, these days, and he's not sure how to feel about that. There are more lights on the ground, and fewer in the sky. Light pollution, they call it, giving the night sky a weird yellow cast that wasn't there seven years ago. He's not sure how to feel about it. He'll just have to stay up here, 'til he figures it out. The stack of papers he left on the little table they have out here, under a stray chunk of concrete, to keep them from blowing away.
He didn't invite her to read them, but he didn't tell her not to, either. Just set them down, and found another direction to look at. "I remember that night up here, with Perry. I wonder whatever happened to him." He lets out a sigh. "That jacket never did smell right, after that."
Of course she's reading them. Gingerly, like even after the photocopying there might be something nasty lurking in the pages. The Fairest's metallic shimmer sparkles more in the cool light of the pergola, her colors brought out in response to the contrast. Like a fantastic brooch in spotlight. She has claimed her position in one of the lawn chairs, legs crossed and stretched out in front of her, one foot wiggling slowly up and down as she focuses on reading, becomes engrossed. Only the rustle of paper can be heard for a bit. An airplane passes over head, going up and out, southwards. In the distance a car alarm goes off and a small dog starts barking. The music of the big city, how sweet 'tis.
"Mmm… Oh, of course. You had to wash it thrice, once in lye, and still the scent of dutiful assistant was there. You poor long suffering soul, the sacrifices you make." There is a little amused lilt to her voice, lips curved in a smile as she continues to read while sassing back at him.
"The sacrifices I make." It sounds a lot different, when he says it. Eddie can hear those papers rustling, of course, but he makes pretend he doesn't. He looks up at the airplane, tracks it across the sky. "Smart people, leaving Port Angeles. Can you believe they put that, there?" He looks back over his shoulder, but not far enough to actually see her, pointing out toward one of the tall new buildings they've got all over, now. Why he's singling that one out is a mystery, until he elaborates: "Used to be able to see the office, from here. Or at least squint your eyes and pretend."
"You should stop that, you know. Be a little selfish." Gentle teasing, with a not-teasing undertone. She glances up and over at him here, maybe he can feel the gaze on his shoulder. "Or a lot." Like a brief echo of the previous night… Then gone again, down to the papers. Focusing. Shuffling through them, backtracking to compare a section to another. "The view is getting obscured, it is true. This place will soon be eclipsed by real skyscrapers." A pause. "I am very glad you no longer have that - hat, in your possession, going by these notes. Apparently things could have gone much worse." She puts the bundle back, held down by the concrete. "With all that has been forgotten in this place, there must be a library or two of clues hidden away. Someone must have made records of what exactly happened. More diaries. More journals. A list of terms."
A long moment passes, silent beyond the sounds of the city.
"About that." Eddie turns and steps down from the ledge, onto the roof, and makes a slow approach. He reaches into his coat and comes out with a circular something, hollow in the middle, wrapped in blue cloth handkerchiefs. He takes away the handkerchiefs one at a time, leaving one alone, so he can hold the coronet without having to touch it. That's what it is, no question, a plain silver and onyx circlet, adorned with little arrowheads. He sets it down gingerly on the table, next to the papers. There it is.
Ida sighs.
Then she puts the nearest handkerchief back on top of the coronet, covering it. "Of course you do. I do not suppose you have any plans on tossing it into the city's garbage incinerato— I mean handing it to someone else for safe keeping?" She has her lips pressed together at the end of that sentence, displeased. Out comes the cigarettes. She offers him one. They are of her old style, Turkish and tarry, shorter and wider than the more modern varieties.
"I don't have any type of plans, anymore. I tried, for a while," Eddie waves a hand around vaguely, plucking away the cigarette at the end of the gesture, "It got to be too embarrassing." He rummages around in his pockets for a match, striking it with his thumbnail, getting on the first try for once. He leans down and holds it out, upright between his thumb and forefinger, ladies first. Courtesy complete, he lights his own, and settles down into one of the other lawnchairs. A slow descent, feeling even older than he is, tonight. "But somebody's got to keep an eye on the thing. Can't be Gwen. It'd clash with all that red hair."
The smile is back at the courtesy, and Ida stretches out a leg to nudge Eddie's knee lightly with the toe of her boot. "I do enjoy watching the two of you interact. It is fun. I also enjoy how independent she is. She is obviously fond of you but she would laugh in your face if you were to try and order her about. I have seen some of our other comrades wait for your word on occasion." She inhales, exhales, smoke ring into smoke ring and there is just a little hint of something insectish skittering crawling around the edges of the smoke for a few moments. Then it is haze, and then it gone. "I feel like everybody is waiting for someone to grab the reins. Ours is not a community that does well with uncertainty. The bickering and little power have already begun. Like children testing boundaries when the adults are gone, trying to regain security."
"What," Eddie snorts, incredulous, "Audgrim? He's new, that's all. He'll learn better." He takes a long drag off that stubby cigarette, holds it 'til he can't anymore, lets it out through his nose. They were never his favorites, these things, but it's been a long time since he's had one. They've got a saying, about hearts, and absences, and that kind of thing. "I don't like orders. Not taking them, not giving them. Why else would I be in my line of work? It couldn't be the pay. If someone wants to grab the reins, they're welcome to the dislocated shoulders."
Ida is laughing, quietly. She reaches down, fumbles through the bag and hands Eddie a can of soda. It's something supposedly exotic fruit flavor, with the end result being like being punched in the mouth by the angry mutant lovechild of cotton candy and pineapples. It's saccharine sweet enough to curl the toes. "But see, this is what you get for being able to be your own boss. And you have an assistant. Clearly you are the man to go to for orders on what to do. And then the next thing you know you are leading heroic groups and performing mighty deeds." She has let her boot rest against his leg for a little while, now retreats it, stretching languidly. "Life must be rough on top, Mr. Brundle sir. I am glad I am but a humble secretary."
"Like falling down a flight of stairs, into a pile of other people's guts," Eddie says, recounting his mighty deeds. He slurps his soda obnoxiously, of course. That's half the fun. "I wish I could meet this guy people keep mistaking me for, and kick him into a pit of spikes. He's going to get me in trouble one day, spreading these ideas around. Congratulations, by the way," he turns his head to look at her, raising his soda can in salute, "who'd you get to hire you?"
"He seems a bothersome type," Ida agrees, fetching her own drink. It is the same brand but apparently 'calamansi and pomegranate' flavor, the picture on the can showing some kind of green citrus fruit next to the ruby red spill of an opened pomegranate. It smells like a tangy sweet exotic fruit salad as she sips it. "Mmm. You should sue him for libel. And defamation of character." She clicks her can against his, dimples showing. "I knew you would be happy for me. He practices investigatory law. Something of a character, but I have found myself quite fond of his eccentricities. And certainly the work will not be boring."
"Well take it easy on the poor dope. I'm sure he doesn't know what he's getting into." Eddie finishes his soda, and then his cigarette, dropping the butt into the can and the can onto the ground. He puts an arm behind his head, to use as a pillow, looking up and letting his eyes unfocus for a while. He'd like to go to sleep, here. There'd be a pleasant symmetry to that. But he turns his head, and there it is, under that handkerchief Ida dropped over it. He rises into an upright position with more of a groan than seems strictly necessary, and swings his legs over the side of his chair. "I better get back to moving that thing around."
"Indeed." She rises back up to her full six feet plus whatever inches the boots give her, putting out her cigarette for now. "How about a drive up to the woods, then back? You can nap on the way." She moves the slab of concrete, picking up his bundle of papers. "Though I will need to stop for coffee, also." The car and the dog have both long since stopped making noise. Only the low hum of the big city itself remains, the traffic in the distance, the tinny sound of music from some open window or late night bar.
You flick your mane and click your fingers again
And from your bed, you call my name
And like a fool, I run right back to you
And dance along to your latest tune