Ebon Eaves, Chapter One: The Rising Sun Casts Long Shadows

It is about seven o'clock in the town of Ebon Eaves, Alabama. The locals have been waking up to go about their business. It is about the end of May, and the summer heat is just starting to creep in, granting the land a certain warmth that in ages past might have been associated with rejuvenating life, but modern science has dissected as radiation from a distant star.

At the Sleeping Dragon, one would assume that all the boarders are downstairs for Ms. Hobbes's breakfast. The woman herself, short and stout with one cauliflower ear, has lain out various dishes of scrambled eggs and grits and all those other good morning fixins. The coffee's hot and the milk is cold. After arranging the repast, the matron of the house has gone to tend to her garden. If one looked out the window right now, one could see her pruning a rather large rosebush.

Nash Anderson and Claire Davis, I assume that you two have convened to break your fast? If not, what on earth could you be doing right now?

Of course, at the same time, what could Amelia Regan be doing at this hour in the morning? Sleeping in like the idle rich are wont to do? Beginning an extravagantly large breakfast? Something....else?

Amelia is wandering downstairs, bleary-eyed and hung over. It was a good night, but she is paying for it. She shows a remarkable disregard for her own appearance: her blonde curls are sticking out in every direction, her dressing-gown is tied haphazardly, and her first words -- "Coffee, please--" are to the butler, not her family. Shame on her.

Claire floats from her room to the dining area, humming a tune as she gathers together some toast and eggs on her plate with a cold glass of juice. Seated at a table near the windows, she absentmindedly eats as she watches the flowers sway in the wind. Her mind whirls behind her dreamy eyes, thinking over several other scenarios for the middle of her novel. There's still so much she needs to learn about this town before she can truly begin setting down her novel's events in stone.

Nash is actually already on his way out the door. His just-a-little-too-big suit jacket is being slipped on, one arm at a time -- a piece of toast clutched between his teeth -- as he walks past Claire with a polite nod. His camera is in his bag and his bag is around his neck as he leans out the door, eyes peeled for the taxi he called up. He's on his way in to the news desk , since he's expected to have a piece out this Friday. He's not in too big of a rush... after all, Ebon Eaves is his retirement gig after the war.

The taxi backfires and Nash jumps in his skin. He loosens his tie with one hand, and mops his brow with the other.

That said, he wants to avoid The Spike, and that means dotting the i's and crossing the t's on his current piece. So, he flags down the cabbie and prepares his things.

Caire manages a wave to Nash before he gets out the door, and considers what she needs to do with her day. Certainly, one of the first things is to go to the Black Grove and take a look around. There has to be something there that she can identify as unusual in the light of day. She would never dare to go there at night.

Satisfied with her simple plan, she deposits her dishes in the bin and retrieves her notebook and pencil from her room, along with a wide-brimmed straw hat. A gift from her publisher after Kentucky Blood, it's a little frayed on the edges now, the blue ribbon somewhat faded, but she loves it too much to part with it. She slips her firearm into her reticule, the small, tan leather bag hanging from her wrist more heavily than usual. The weight is reassuring.

Her first trip into the Grove hadn't ended well. She had been startled by what she is sure now was a deer or something else natural, but at the time had seemed dark and sinister to her mind. It had probably just been her imagination, but a pound of cure was worth an ounce of prevention. She had convinced her editor Charlie to help her get the little pistol, claiming she should know how it felt to shoot one for her novels. Nothing was better for description than experience, you know.

That done, she waved goodbye to Ms. Hobbe's and walked out onto the street, making her way to the Black Grove.

With a wave of his hand to the driver, Nash signaled him to idle just a moment longer. The driver was a broad man, greasy black hair -- he complied, although he didn't seem too pleased with it.

Spying Claire's exit from the Sleeping Dragon, Nash waved her over -- calling out to her in the process. She had to pass him on her way out, as the road was after all right there and Nash took advantage of this.

"Ms. Davis, how are you doing on this fine day? Heading into town?" He motioned loosely at the cab, offering the spare back seat. "I don't take up that much room, if you don't feel like walking."

He moves the conversation briskly along. "Ms. Davis, if I may? I don't mean to intrude on you, but I have a small favor to ask. I'm heading in to the office -- have a piece to write before Friday, ya know -- and I was thinking to myself: you know what would make a good human interest piece?"

" 'What is it about this little town that makes acclaimed author Claire Davis so very interested?' Can you see it now? A column all about what you find charming, interesting, suspenseful, romantic about this quiet little place. Reinvent the town through your eyes for them to rediscover on their own." He laughs a bit at the idea, genuinely thinking it's a good idea. "Swell, huh? So, I was hoping that you could help me out."

"We've talked about the War and all, a bit here and there. I figure, I'll give you the full on sit down nitty-gritty you've been wanting -- maybe over drinks -- if you wouldn't mind tossing me... well, I guess everything you're up to around here. You know, for picking through, finding my angle, writing on and all that. What do ya say?"

Nash throws on a winning smile. If he can get Claire to do all of his legwork for him, that will certainly free up even more of his time. Just have to keep on smiling until she takes the bait.

Boom, and here we go. I'm going to roll to convince Claire to basically give me everything she finds while poking around town. I mean, not necessarily physically, but if she finds clues or bits of Lore, then I figure she'll share the cool details with Nash.

To be perfectly frank, Nash is just working an angle. If Claire does the legwork for him then awesome, more time to fuck around.

So, my leverage is giving her a full scoop on the war. If that's valid leverage, here's my roll. An 8! To refuse is acting under pressure! Can she resist my dazzling good looks and cheeky politeness? Oh man, speaking of which--

Here's me Hindering with any sense she may have by fluttering my Manlashes and looking Manfully into her eyes. An 8, so she's -1 on acting under pressure to refuse. Also, I expose myself to trouble? Dun Dun Duuuuuun.

Let's do this. Digital dice have hit the table.

((I can't think of any reason Claire would refuse, after all she does trust you quite a bit and does want to hear more about your war stories and experiences. So she shall be convinced))

Claire smiles and nods in thanks, preceding him into the cab. "Thank you, Mr. Anderson, you are most kind." She settles into the faded seats as the door closes behind Nash. "I would be happy to help you out with anything around here, but I haven't been here too long."

She mulls over the question for a moment, and finally says, "I believe what I enjoy most is the cozy feeling you get from the shops. It's so different from what you find in cities, and rather refreshing. That lovely candy store on the corner of Main Street is my favorite. The owner, Mr. Codder, is always so polite and welcoming. He even gave me a free butterscotch for being new in town!" She smiles widely, and makes a mental note to stop by the shop later.

Her smiles changes, grows a little more anticipatory. "Although I do have to say that the mysterious testing, and the tales of the cult and the Black Grove are what really brought me here. After all, I do write horror novels, and what beter place to start than a small town that seems to be seething with haunting memories and secrets?"

Shame on you indeed, Amelia. While the butler (What's his name?) goes off to fetch a cup of coffee for you, your brother Cyrus gives you a bit of a scowl as he munches on a piece of buttered toast. Wiping crumbs from his mouth with a napkin, he mutters "Amelia, you've got to stop staying out so late. Don't you care about your reputation at all? Also, please do freshen yourself up, the Rains are coming over soon to discuss some litigation and I'm sure you don't want to be around them looking like, well..." He gives you another once-over, followed by a particularly dismissive hand gesture.

The taxi cab brings its occupants into the middle of Ebon Eaves, the scenery passing by outside. It's a bit like a more-rustic Birmingham. At your mention of the Black Grove, Claire, the driver gives a small huff. "Don't tell me you're actually thinking of going out to that place, miss? It's mighty dangerous out there, even without all of Pastor Brown's carryin' on with hellfire and brimstone."

Claire looks toward the driver, blue eyes intensely focused for a change. "Well, I know that it is a bit out of the way, and some of the animals come much closer than is quite safe. Or did you mean something else, mister...?" She opens her notebook on her lap and sits, pencil poised to make note of anything the man says.

"You're quite right. I don't want to be around them at all," she says peevishly, pouring a generous amount of cream into the coffee that Mr. Stevens has brought her. "How soon are we talking? Two hours soon? Half an hour? What do you have to discuss with them anyway?"

She eyes the toast and eggs, wondering if her stomach is ready to handle them. She decides to wait on the eggs, and takes toast and jam.

Cyrus takes a long sip from his coffee. "They're wanting to file another class action lawsuit against the city for the incidents with the experiments a few years back." He dabs the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin. "They wanted to discuss options with me first. Honestly I have no idea why they've suddenly decided to become champions of the hoi polloi. After all those other cushy government settlements I can't exactly see them being all that grateful." He stands, and motions for Mr. Stevens to begin clearing away breakfast. "They'll be here in twenty minutes or so I'd presume, so you better either clean yourself up or make yourself scarce."

--

The driver coughs once. "You're not from around here, are you miss? If you were, you'd know that the only path out to the Black Grove goes right past those old abandoned mines, and it's mighty dangerous around those parts, especially after the accident." The car slows to a stop in front of the newspaper's offices. "Anyway, here's your stop, Mr. Anderson."

"Thanks, mac," and Nash passes him a fiver for himself and Claire. "It's on me." And then he's slipped out of the taxi and hanging himself half through the window to bid her adieu.

"Ms. Davis, it was a pleasure as always. Keep me in mind today while you're working? I'd love to hear all about it." A winning smile, and that should seal it, he thinks. With one palm, he lightly smacks the cab's window frame and says his goodbyes.

And then he's through the thin green door with brass knocker whose screws are loose, and up the awkwardly tilted staircase (pausing only for a moment to say hello to the mail boy Danny who is sifting through in-coming mail before taking it up to the offices to hand out). Nash doesn't greet anyone except for the Editor -- and even then it's only a polite doff of his hat before he sits down to get to work.

Nash sits at his desk: it's an oak beast, big with thick legs, but it has nothing to do with status. Nash is still on the floor like all the other reporters -- his pulitzer didn't earn him an office, but he gave up being insulted when he first arrived in Ebon Eaves. It seems the simple, two floor building only had two real offices and one belonged to the editor. The other belonged to the mail room, and the presses were in a wholly separate building altogether. It was quaint.

His jacket and hat on a nearby coat rack, Nash picks up his phone and gets ahold of the secretary he passed at the top of the stairs. "Peggy, any messages for me?" Pen in hand, pad flipped open, he begins to take notes.

Staff Reporter Engage! Roll+Luck gets me a 10! So, I receive a lead on a news story symbolized by or connected to 1 Clue, please.

There's some static over the phone for a moment--the town is not exactly known for its land lines--before you hear Peggy clear her throat. "Just one, Mr Anderson. It's from the courthouse, a notice about an impending lawsuit, this Thursday. The People of Ebon Eaves vs Dr Jonas Cliver, the people being represented by Maximilian Rain. Mr Rossburg says he wants you to interview Rain before the trial."

So, Nash, you've just gotten yourself a Clue! Here's how Clues work, for future reference for everyone: You gain +1 forward when you act on a Clue. It's a bit ambiguous in the rulebook, but I'm going to say that it's a one-time expenditure.

"Of course, Mr. Anderson. And thank you!" Claire says with a smile before turning her attention back to the driver. "I'm just doing a little research, sir, and surely those mines can't be too dangerous in the day time? And since they're abandoned, what could be in there that's so dangerous?"

((I think I should roll to Read a Person? I'm not too sure here.))

"I'll be scarce, all right. I'm going riding. Look for me around dinner. The neighbors will be gone by then, won't they?" Amelia asks, absently finger-combing the waves of her hair. It begins to behave under the ministrations, but she still looks a fright.

The driver makes a short grunt. "Bad things. Some folks say there's demons, but it's probably just some wild animals. Maybe a pack of rabid wolves. Either way, people have turned up missing around there, so it's dangerous to go out there alone. Now, where is it you wanted to go?"

Claire's eyes narrow on the driver and she calmly says, "I would still very much like to go to the Grove, sir. It's is very important for my research, you see." She meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, hers uncharacteristically focused and intense.

((I think I need to roll Convince? So the roll below says I got a 7. What assurance does he need from me to take me to the Grove?))
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3957195/