The Willow Tapes (Tape 43)
Aug. 12th, 2018 11:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerI have been working and reworking this for a while now. I'm not sure I got Alex's voice quite right, which is going to drive me insane, but oh well, work's already working on that.
The nice thing is that since Alex is a personality designed to be whatever Xander needs, he doesn't have to be consistent, persay. And he's definitely the 'clever' one, as opposed to Xander (the 'common sense' one). More of application than actual IQ difference, but still.
This is a fun Twin Peaks reference, yes--no one else in this universe could be 'Diane'! (I'm also amused by the whole Rosenberg/Rosenfield thing.) And there are definitely hints of Deadly Premonition as well.
I enjoy it, but it doesn't feel quite right, is the thing (though, maybe with the whole Lynchian theme, that's exactly what it's supposed to be?).
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU (Xander is an FBI Agent. Universe is vaguely based on Normal Again.)
Summary: Xander and Alex like to keep Agent Rosenberg in the loop.
Word Count: 2734
Rating: Gen
The nice thing is that since Alex is a personality designed to be whatever Xander needs, he doesn't have to be consistent, persay. And he's definitely the 'clever' one, as opposed to Xander (the 'common sense' one). More of application than actual IQ difference, but still.
This is a fun Twin Peaks reference, yes--no one else in this universe could be 'Diane'! (I'm also amused by the whole Rosenberg/Rosenfield thing.) And there are definitely hints of Deadly Premonition as well.
I enjoy it, but it doesn't feel quite right, is the thing (though, maybe with the whole Lynchian theme, that's exactly what it's supposed to be?).
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU (Xander is an FBI Agent. Universe is vaguely based on Normal Again.)
Summary: Xander and Alex like to keep Agent Rosenberg in the loop.
Word Count: 2734
Rating: Gen
Willow. Agent Rosenberg? No, Willow. You asked me to address you thusly. I am.
Words like thusly are fun, aren’t they? (Besides, they’re helping me work on my posh accent, which does, in fact, put people more at ease than a bastardized Cockney. Odd, don’t you think? Please note the sarcasm.)
Though that is kind of beside the point.
Anyway, I don’t suppose it will matter even if the Assistant Director does listen to the messages. (Were you having me on when you said that?)
Picture, if you will, a grand hotel…no. Rewind. Start further back. Picture, if you will, two agents driving up a winding mountain road, terrifying at times in its width. The sheets of rain do not help the situation, though they add to the foggy, gloomy, dark atmosphere. You expect a horror film to start playing any minute now, and for the agents to go plunging into the abyss. I am glad Agent Osbourne is driving, as that one has a steady hand and nerves of steel. As replacements for Kennedy go, he’s not bad.
Take a turn and you appear in the mesa, a wide-open place that nonetheless barely holds the hotel, a grand, awe-inspiring building in every sense of the word.
Hiking, camping, and the like are huge draws, as is the posh hotel.
Hiking is, incidentally, what got our victims killed. Not that it’s their fault, of course, but it’s the preferred stalking grounds of our unsub. Fortunately, you didn’t have to see the bodies. Not pretty. The amount of blood appeared ritualistic. Though…of course, you don’t want to hear the details on this one. Your preferred crime involves the bodies of computers, not of living, breathing people. Or formerly living, breathing people. Even when cybercrime goes ugly, you like to be the woman behind the curtain. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, just an observation. Personally, I think it helped you balance out Kennedy. Her interest in plays didn’t really balance out her violent tendencies, and now that I think about it, it occurs to me that I don’t know if I ever got her last name. Perhaps it was an effort to distance herself from her political New York family, of which I’ve only heard rumors?
I’m taking you at your word that you’re all right talking about her now. Take care of yourself. (Did your date go well? I’m assuming it did, since you didn’t call me after and Giles didn’t call me after. We just want to know you’re okay, Xan and me. And you’re more than welcome to rejoin the Agents’ Club of Ice Cream and Bollywood at any time you feel like it. Agent Jasmine Holland—you know, the data wiz at the local Virginia office—joined in, bringing our Secret Agent membership totals to five.)
The rooms are, by the by, exquisite. Mine, at least, is a little dark—black and indigo, suiting the name of the hotel—wait, did I mention the name of the place? The Midnight Raven, majestic and inviting trouble all at once, a raven’s cry to that master of the macabre—you guessed it, Poe. Still haven’t gotten Xan to read it, and we’re both bummed by the lack of good films based on his works (followed shortly by the lack of good Lovecraft films—not that bad quality’s a disqualifier in Xander’s book, mind you). I’ve looked up the history of the area but have yet to find any other incidents, which seems unrealistic. If not from the feel of the place, the history of gold-mining is not without its own dark secrets and tragic past. Hopefully someone with a secret-keeping family or an elderly individual with the elephant’s memory can be found, either at the hotel or at the (relatively) nearby town (a mere hour and a half by car). Supplies usually went through town, so hopefully someone will be more aware of goings-on at the inn, so to speak.
Bloody hell, it’s a surprise the sheer mystery bleeding from the walls didn’t up and strangle someone. I enjoy it, but I admit, I never did quite get over that gothic phase when I was sixteen.
Agent Osbourne took off with a few words about tracking. I feel he might be a werewolf or other shifter, but hasn’t actually said so. It may have been one of those silent conversations we had where we both acknowledge it and know that the other acknowledges it too.
Since you’ve told me you prefer at all times (especially romantic situations) to be prepared, I should inform you of the following: I feel as if you are one of very few things he gets more emotional about. He’s said more than four words on the subject of you, which is wild. And he expressed interest in getting to know you better through picking up online games and playing with you, which is both practical (with our salary a game-capable laptop is easily doable particularly if you only spend money on your guitar) and actually respectful, since it allows you both to get to know each other better without pressure. The two of you could merely become friends, particularly if the date you just attended was that good.
That being said, if he ever does anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, either slap him upside the head or I will do so in your stead. Delegating doesn’t make you any less of an agent. Xan & I do it to each other all the time. I don’t think that would happen, but then, Xander’s been a jerk before, though fortunately life, you, and I have been good at training him out of it, and it’s always hard to tell. Especially from a male perspective, even when that male perspective happens to be bi. Some blokes just seem to have a gift for being a complete and utter tool (in no way referencing the band) when it comes to women and would never come off that way to another bloke.
He’s left me with the cast of colourful characters to entertain. We agreed we probably should keep the DID diagnosis to ourselves for the time being, so Xander’s going to be doing the meet & greet (or I’m going to be imitating him).
First and foremost, the three police officers, borrowed from the nearby town, Forty-Nine (so named because of gold rush history, or so I’m told; I thought streets all numbered rather than named was odd, but that one takes poor Xan’s cake). I have yet to meet Officer Jonathan Levinson. He’s on call at all times in town, what with the Chief and second Officer constantly staking out the Midnight Raven. The Chief, Liam Brannon, at least seemed relieved we’d come, but then, murder, especially of this magnitude, is probably more than they usually deal with. He’s not really sure how to deal with me, but he’s putting in the effort. There’s another officer, an Officer Faith Lehane, who keeps flirting with me and getting into my personal space. Very unprofessional. (Xander’s not yet noticed, and I’m not sure I want to point it out.) At least Brannon’s doing his best.
There’s a family of three who came down for a ‘vacation’ and drove up through the rain. Only arrived a day before we did, supposedly, after the murder, but Chief Brannon held them here because there were a few questions about when they’d actually arrived. Among other things, their reservations were to start two days prior.
Hank Summers is almost assuredly cheating on his wife. I suspect with the maid who I have yet to meet formally or even been told her name, although for once she seems amenable given her reaction in the half a minute she’d talked to him before noticing I was in the room and scurrying away, which renders it marginally better. I don’t and will never understand the urge to cheat. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a serious relationship (Xander actually has, twice, before we met you, but my presence made things harder) and then met someone, but I suspect it’s my blunt honesty at work. I can’t conceive of the notion of lying to someone I’m dating about something like that, let alone going through with it. He’s rather rich, a computer engineer on the wrong side of the ego spectrum. That being said, you would electronically wipe the floor with him. I suspect he’s also cheating with his secretary, also unnamed (and not present, so presumably unrelated to the case?).
Joyce Summers runs an art gallery. She’s a little more…oblivious? She’s protective of her daughter, doesn’t want me talking with her, and seems to have absolutely no idea about the cheating.
Buffy Summers is a bit of a weird name, but she’s a little…shy, and her parents want me to have nothing to do with her. She’s in a wheelchair. Most likely she’s recovering from having been been bedridden for some time. There’s still some sort of reluctance to engage in the real world, some distance…sometimes she won’t even meet anyone’s eyes or even focus on anything she can see. I want to know more about her—not in a creepy way, mind you, given that she’s certainly underage—but there’s something about her that feels…familiar? Nostalgic? Her parents are certainly hiding things about her. I sincerely doubt she’s involved in the murders, but there’s still something significant about her.
William Pratt is…well, he’s a gothic poet. I have no idea whether he’s any good, since he refuses to share his poetry with anyone. I’m not sure what he does for a living aside from that, and he refused to inform me. He at the very least has the punk look going for him, so there’s that. Oddly enough, the way he bleaches his hair, and the whole gothic thing…he reminds us of what we thought I’d look like. You know, if I had my own body. Constantine, after all, was a blond. Xander let me experiment with the gothic look myself, back when we were teens, but we agreed it was for the best if we didn’t continue. Aside from the earrings; he let me keep those, as a visual sign as to who was in the driver’s seat (of course, you knew that already).
Did I tell you that our current profession is actually a concession on his part to begin with? Oh, he enjoyed the shows as much as the next person, but in the end he didn’t have the confidence in himself. If he’d had his way, we would’ve been a construction worker or the like. He tends to discount his own experience and social knowledge. Thing is, social intelligence isn’t a term used very much, even if it is incredibly useful.
I’m sure you’ve heard of mentalists through various media, but have you heard of the origin of most of their talent? In fact, most have abuse in their early past, or a troubled home life. This leads to the development of a keen ability to read social cues, because for them, it’s a survival skill. It’s a small leap from there to psychology, but not an option he would’ve considered on his own.
Back to the matter at hand. He’s here with his girlfriend, whom the Summers also don’t want their daughter interacting with. Drusilla Laluna, a very lyrical name, don’t you think? Follows the gothic appearance, which suits her. She likes to talk in riddles and act oddly, though I get the feeling that she’s just doing it to amuse herself. Still, it’s already given us clues into the Summers situation. An overreaction, almost violent overreaction, to signs of, potentially, mental conditions?
I worry about the young Miss Summers, under such circumstances. And I get the feeling they should certainly not be introduced to Alex, that is, me, under any circumstances.
Drusilla, by the way, had some words about the future—to trust the raven’s flight (I wonder if the name of Brannon meaning has any bearing on this matter—Brannon being son of Bran, and Bran being raven), to beware the day when the wind freezes water, and a beautiful protector will shake and shiver. I don’t know what any of it means, and the likelihood is that she’s just some sort of crank, but I’ve not been in the FBI, particularly investigating these kinds of cases, without learning to pay attention to possible signs and portents. I’ll need to keep it in mind for later, just in case it ends up being somehow relevant. Also, she mentioned doing a Tarot reading for me later. I might take up the offer, just to see.
There’s an actress, a Miss Cordelia Chase. I know you hated her last film, Ghoul Attack!, but at least she was an intelligent, sophisticated yet sexy character, a nuanced portrayal for someone who only survived half the film, the bright spot in an otherwise average B movie horror. She was just going to be the average horror movie girl, but I hear she insisted that any film she stars in will write her differently after she’d made a name for herself. I’d love to just sit and discuss fighting clichés in Hollywood writing, but alas, there are other mandated topics of discussion. (On a side note, I wonder how many great portrayals she’ll have to give before you forgive her the Magical Pregnancy trope in Sensation Mall. You’re aware that was retaliation because she wouldn’t sleep with the hack of the director, right?)
The mayor of Forty-Nine, Robert Snyder, is an unpleasant fellow who demanded that I ‘arrest someone quickly’. Note that he didn’t mention ‘the culprit’ or ‘the murderer’, just ‘someone’. I think he wants this cleaned up as quickly as possible, never mind the idea that if the murderer goes free he or she will probably just kill again, and that will be even worse to the tourism dollars than a simple longer investigation. He was actually staying in the hotel at the time, and has no alibi (a fact he announced rather abruptly) considering that no one wants to stay in his radius for more than five minutes. While suspicious, my genre savvy senses suggest that he’s a red herring.
There’s three army men, about as plastic as their counterparts. A Riley Finn, Forrest Gates, and Graham Miller. We were warned they were here, but were told their mission was classified unless we could prove it was related. Given that we don’t know what their mission is, proving it’s related is a bit circular logic, but we’ll keep our eyes out. They’re so far as helpful as they can be given their orders. They were the ones that found the bodies (well, what was left) and called it in, but at least they knew to leave someone watching the area and not to violate the site. (Assuming we trust them, of course—still an open question.)
There’s also a squirrely little author, Andrew Wells, and his editor, Warren Mears. I have a feeling, authors being as they are, Andrew will have seen at least one useful thing, but his editor asked us to wait to question him, given the state of his nerves (apparently, he’s up here with a nervous breakdown). The editor rubs me the wrong way, though.
49 has an occult shop run by a Jennifer Calendar. I’ll visit her later. There’s also a private eye, Wesley Wyndam-Price, the local mortician-slash-every-lab-thing-ever, Dr. Winifred Burkle (remind me to look her up; the name sounds familiar—something like quantum physics?), a teacher, Allen Francis Doyle, the lawyer, Charles Gunn, and his secretary, a Harmony Kendall, and the owners of the Magic Town diner, Amy and Catherine Madison. There are others, of course, but those were the only ones the owner, Ms. Litto, mentioned. She also talked about how she absolutely loves Poe (given the place’s themes, I’d already gathered that), how the victims should have learned self-defense (given the state of the bodies, it’s doubtful that would’ve made a difference), and how she loves to go jogging around dawn (I recommended a jogging buddy, not me, and wondered if she’d seen anything, not that she said anything; I’ll ask her more questions later).
Quite a colourful cast, eh? Well, if I’m to have an early start, I’ll need to get my rest.
Words like thusly are fun, aren’t they? (Besides, they’re helping me work on my posh accent, which does, in fact, put people more at ease than a bastardized Cockney. Odd, don’t you think? Please note the sarcasm.)
Though that is kind of beside the point.
Anyway, I don’t suppose it will matter even if the Assistant Director does listen to the messages. (Were you having me on when you said that?)
Picture, if you will, a grand hotel…no. Rewind. Start further back. Picture, if you will, two agents driving up a winding mountain road, terrifying at times in its width. The sheets of rain do not help the situation, though they add to the foggy, gloomy, dark atmosphere. You expect a horror film to start playing any minute now, and for the agents to go plunging into the abyss. I am glad Agent Osbourne is driving, as that one has a steady hand and nerves of steel. As replacements for Kennedy go, he’s not bad.
Take a turn and you appear in the mesa, a wide-open place that nonetheless barely holds the hotel, a grand, awe-inspiring building in every sense of the word.
Hiking, camping, and the like are huge draws, as is the posh hotel.
Hiking is, incidentally, what got our victims killed. Not that it’s their fault, of course, but it’s the preferred stalking grounds of our unsub. Fortunately, you didn’t have to see the bodies. Not pretty. The amount of blood appeared ritualistic. Though…of course, you don’t want to hear the details on this one. Your preferred crime involves the bodies of computers, not of living, breathing people. Or formerly living, breathing people. Even when cybercrime goes ugly, you like to be the woman behind the curtain. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, just an observation. Personally, I think it helped you balance out Kennedy. Her interest in plays didn’t really balance out her violent tendencies, and now that I think about it, it occurs to me that I don’t know if I ever got her last name. Perhaps it was an effort to distance herself from her political New York family, of which I’ve only heard rumors?
I’m taking you at your word that you’re all right talking about her now. Take care of yourself. (Did your date go well? I’m assuming it did, since you didn’t call me after and Giles didn’t call me after. We just want to know you’re okay, Xan and me. And you’re more than welcome to rejoin the Agents’ Club of Ice Cream and Bollywood at any time you feel like it. Agent Jasmine Holland—you know, the data wiz at the local Virginia office—joined in, bringing our Secret Agent membership totals to five.)
The rooms are, by the by, exquisite. Mine, at least, is a little dark—black and indigo, suiting the name of the hotel—wait, did I mention the name of the place? The Midnight Raven, majestic and inviting trouble all at once, a raven’s cry to that master of the macabre—you guessed it, Poe. Still haven’t gotten Xan to read it, and we’re both bummed by the lack of good films based on his works (followed shortly by the lack of good Lovecraft films—not that bad quality’s a disqualifier in Xander’s book, mind you). I’ve looked up the history of the area but have yet to find any other incidents, which seems unrealistic. If not from the feel of the place, the history of gold-mining is not without its own dark secrets and tragic past. Hopefully someone with a secret-keeping family or an elderly individual with the elephant’s memory can be found, either at the hotel or at the (relatively) nearby town (a mere hour and a half by car). Supplies usually went through town, so hopefully someone will be more aware of goings-on at the inn, so to speak.
Bloody hell, it’s a surprise the sheer mystery bleeding from the walls didn’t up and strangle someone. I enjoy it, but I admit, I never did quite get over that gothic phase when I was sixteen.
Agent Osbourne took off with a few words about tracking. I feel he might be a werewolf or other shifter, but hasn’t actually said so. It may have been one of those silent conversations we had where we both acknowledge it and know that the other acknowledges it too.
Since you’ve told me you prefer at all times (especially romantic situations) to be prepared, I should inform you of the following: I feel as if you are one of very few things he gets more emotional about. He’s said more than four words on the subject of you, which is wild. And he expressed interest in getting to know you better through picking up online games and playing with you, which is both practical (with our salary a game-capable laptop is easily doable particularly if you only spend money on your guitar) and actually respectful, since it allows you both to get to know each other better without pressure. The two of you could merely become friends, particularly if the date you just attended was that good.
That being said, if he ever does anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, either slap him upside the head or I will do so in your stead. Delegating doesn’t make you any less of an agent. Xan & I do it to each other all the time. I don’t think that would happen, but then, Xander’s been a jerk before, though fortunately life, you, and I have been good at training him out of it, and it’s always hard to tell. Especially from a male perspective, even when that male perspective happens to be bi. Some blokes just seem to have a gift for being a complete and utter tool (in no way referencing the band) when it comes to women and would never come off that way to another bloke.
He’s left me with the cast of colourful characters to entertain. We agreed we probably should keep the DID diagnosis to ourselves for the time being, so Xander’s going to be doing the meet & greet (or I’m going to be imitating him).
First and foremost, the three police officers, borrowed from the nearby town, Forty-Nine (so named because of gold rush history, or so I’m told; I thought streets all numbered rather than named was odd, but that one takes poor Xan’s cake). I have yet to meet Officer Jonathan Levinson. He’s on call at all times in town, what with the Chief and second Officer constantly staking out the Midnight Raven. The Chief, Liam Brannon, at least seemed relieved we’d come, but then, murder, especially of this magnitude, is probably more than they usually deal with. He’s not really sure how to deal with me, but he’s putting in the effort. There’s another officer, an Officer Faith Lehane, who keeps flirting with me and getting into my personal space. Very unprofessional. (Xander’s not yet noticed, and I’m not sure I want to point it out.) At least Brannon’s doing his best.
There’s a family of three who came down for a ‘vacation’ and drove up through the rain. Only arrived a day before we did, supposedly, after the murder, but Chief Brannon held them here because there were a few questions about when they’d actually arrived. Among other things, their reservations were to start two days prior.
Hank Summers is almost assuredly cheating on his wife. I suspect with the maid who I have yet to meet formally or even been told her name, although for once she seems amenable given her reaction in the half a minute she’d talked to him before noticing I was in the room and scurrying away, which renders it marginally better. I don’t and will never understand the urge to cheat. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a serious relationship (Xander actually has, twice, before we met you, but my presence made things harder) and then met someone, but I suspect it’s my blunt honesty at work. I can’t conceive of the notion of lying to someone I’m dating about something like that, let alone going through with it. He’s rather rich, a computer engineer on the wrong side of the ego spectrum. That being said, you would electronically wipe the floor with him. I suspect he’s also cheating with his secretary, also unnamed (and not present, so presumably unrelated to the case?).
Joyce Summers runs an art gallery. She’s a little more…oblivious? She’s protective of her daughter, doesn’t want me talking with her, and seems to have absolutely no idea about the cheating.
Buffy Summers is a bit of a weird name, but she’s a little…shy, and her parents want me to have nothing to do with her. She’s in a wheelchair. Most likely she’s recovering from having been been bedridden for some time. There’s still some sort of reluctance to engage in the real world, some distance…sometimes she won’t even meet anyone’s eyes or even focus on anything she can see. I want to know more about her—not in a creepy way, mind you, given that she’s certainly underage—but there’s something about her that feels…familiar? Nostalgic? Her parents are certainly hiding things about her. I sincerely doubt she’s involved in the murders, but there’s still something significant about her.
William Pratt is…well, he’s a gothic poet. I have no idea whether he’s any good, since he refuses to share his poetry with anyone. I’m not sure what he does for a living aside from that, and he refused to inform me. He at the very least has the punk look going for him, so there’s that. Oddly enough, the way he bleaches his hair, and the whole gothic thing…he reminds us of what we thought I’d look like. You know, if I had my own body. Constantine, after all, was a blond. Xander let me experiment with the gothic look myself, back when we were teens, but we agreed it was for the best if we didn’t continue. Aside from the earrings; he let me keep those, as a visual sign as to who was in the driver’s seat (of course, you knew that already).
Did I tell you that our current profession is actually a concession on his part to begin with? Oh, he enjoyed the shows as much as the next person, but in the end he didn’t have the confidence in himself. If he’d had his way, we would’ve been a construction worker or the like. He tends to discount his own experience and social knowledge. Thing is, social intelligence isn’t a term used very much, even if it is incredibly useful.
I’m sure you’ve heard of mentalists through various media, but have you heard of the origin of most of their talent? In fact, most have abuse in their early past, or a troubled home life. This leads to the development of a keen ability to read social cues, because for them, it’s a survival skill. It’s a small leap from there to psychology, but not an option he would’ve considered on his own.
Back to the matter at hand. He’s here with his girlfriend, whom the Summers also don’t want their daughter interacting with. Drusilla Laluna, a very lyrical name, don’t you think? Follows the gothic appearance, which suits her. She likes to talk in riddles and act oddly, though I get the feeling that she’s just doing it to amuse herself. Still, it’s already given us clues into the Summers situation. An overreaction, almost violent overreaction, to signs of, potentially, mental conditions?
I worry about the young Miss Summers, under such circumstances. And I get the feeling they should certainly not be introduced to Alex, that is, me, under any circumstances.
Drusilla, by the way, had some words about the future—to trust the raven’s flight (I wonder if the name of Brannon meaning has any bearing on this matter—Brannon being son of Bran, and Bran being raven), to beware the day when the wind freezes water, and a beautiful protector will shake and shiver. I don’t know what any of it means, and the likelihood is that she’s just some sort of crank, but I’ve not been in the FBI, particularly investigating these kinds of cases, without learning to pay attention to possible signs and portents. I’ll need to keep it in mind for later, just in case it ends up being somehow relevant. Also, she mentioned doing a Tarot reading for me later. I might take up the offer, just to see.
There’s an actress, a Miss Cordelia Chase. I know you hated her last film, Ghoul Attack!, but at least she was an intelligent, sophisticated yet sexy character, a nuanced portrayal for someone who only survived half the film, the bright spot in an otherwise average B movie horror. She was just going to be the average horror movie girl, but I hear she insisted that any film she stars in will write her differently after she’d made a name for herself. I’d love to just sit and discuss fighting clichés in Hollywood writing, but alas, there are other mandated topics of discussion. (On a side note, I wonder how many great portrayals she’ll have to give before you forgive her the Magical Pregnancy trope in Sensation Mall. You’re aware that was retaliation because she wouldn’t sleep with the hack of the director, right?)
The mayor of Forty-Nine, Robert Snyder, is an unpleasant fellow who demanded that I ‘arrest someone quickly’. Note that he didn’t mention ‘the culprit’ or ‘the murderer’, just ‘someone’. I think he wants this cleaned up as quickly as possible, never mind the idea that if the murderer goes free he or she will probably just kill again, and that will be even worse to the tourism dollars than a simple longer investigation. He was actually staying in the hotel at the time, and has no alibi (a fact he announced rather abruptly) considering that no one wants to stay in his radius for more than five minutes. While suspicious, my genre savvy senses suggest that he’s a red herring.
There’s three army men, about as plastic as their counterparts. A Riley Finn, Forrest Gates, and Graham Miller. We were warned they were here, but were told their mission was classified unless we could prove it was related. Given that we don’t know what their mission is, proving it’s related is a bit circular logic, but we’ll keep our eyes out. They’re so far as helpful as they can be given their orders. They were the ones that found the bodies (well, what was left) and called it in, but at least they knew to leave someone watching the area and not to violate the site. (Assuming we trust them, of course—still an open question.)
There’s also a squirrely little author, Andrew Wells, and his editor, Warren Mears. I have a feeling, authors being as they are, Andrew will have seen at least one useful thing, but his editor asked us to wait to question him, given the state of his nerves (apparently, he’s up here with a nervous breakdown). The editor rubs me the wrong way, though.
49 has an occult shop run by a Jennifer Calendar. I’ll visit her later. There’s also a private eye, Wesley Wyndam-Price, the local mortician-slash-every-lab-thing-ever, Dr. Winifred Burkle (remind me to look her up; the name sounds familiar—something like quantum physics?), a teacher, Allen Francis Doyle, the lawyer, Charles Gunn, and his secretary, a Harmony Kendall, and the owners of the Magic Town diner, Amy and Catherine Madison. There are others, of course, but those were the only ones the owner, Ms. Litto, mentioned. She also talked about how she absolutely loves Poe (given the place’s themes, I’d already gathered that), how the victims should have learned self-defense (given the state of the bodies, it’s doubtful that would’ve made a difference), and how she loves to go jogging around dawn (I recommended a jogging buddy, not me, and wondered if she’d seen anything, not that she said anything; I’ll ask her more questions later).
Quite a colourful cast, eh? Well, if I’m to have an early start, I’ll need to get my rest.
