Camille: Speak of the Java Speak... Ben pulled his Jetta into the a corner slot of Bill's Fixer. Opening the door, he stepped out and went around to Camille's side, calling over to mechanics. "Mind if I leave it here for a bit? Everywhere else is full. Damned tourists. Won't be long, just gonna grab a bite at the Java Speak." "You lied to me, Ben Hanson!" Camille yelled from the open passenger door. "I told you already, Artie will flip out." "Artie is also your friend, Cami. He deserves to know that you're alright. Gossip spreads fast than wildfire in this place. By now everyone will know that something happened at the Grammar Hammer." He said as he collected her from the front seat. Too tired to fight about the matter, Camille dropped her head against his shoulder and let Ben have his way. "Don't think you've heard the end of this, Officer Hanson." Reaching the Java Speak took less time than she expected. Well, she could say this for the man certainly knew how to cover ground. The familiar, annoying bell clanged in welcome as Ben push open the door and deposited her at a table near the windows. Several heads turned in her direction, but Camille pointedly avoided eye contact, cursing her telltale hair and bandaged knees. The swinging half door that lead behind the counter slammed against the wall as Artie came striding out, bearing a striking resemblance to an irritated bull. He shot a furious glance at his new hire Raven, who appeared to be flirting with Shyla, the doctor's daughter. "What are you drawing?" He said placing the plate down. "Kindly remember Raven, I pay you to serve customers, not talk. There are others waiting for your attention." He said, indicating the line, which seemed to have doubled in the last twenty minutes. Plopping down in the chair facing Camille's he lit into her. "I told you to be careful, Miss Camille. Why don't you ever listen? If Hanson hadn't found you when he did..." Camille flinched, guilt swamping her. Artie was more of a father to her than her own had ever been. He genuinely cared and that tore at her heartstrings. "It's nothing, Artie. Just two scraped knees. Bert patched me up and Ben gave me a lift back into town. It looks way worse than it is, honestly." Ben returned to the table, having placed their order. "Two strawberry smoothies and your famous Roadhouse Chicken sandwiches will go a long way to curing any ill, Artie." He said, dropping a comforting hand on the older man's shoulder. "How have the bones been?" "Sore." Artie grumbled. "Knew somethin' was in the offin', and damned if I wasn't right." Getting up from the chair, he jabbed a slightly gnarled finger at Camille. "You need a keeper, young lady. And next time, you listen when I tell you somethin'. The bones don't lie." "Yes, sir." Camille mumbled as she slouched down in her chair, wishing for the first time in her life that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Ben had the gall to grin at her. "See, I told you." Camille aimed a kick at his shin while they waited for their order.
Shyla Anderson "What are you drawing?" The waiter asked. Shyla looked up and gave an embarresed laugh. "I'm attempting to draw this." She pushed over a photo of a dirt bike. Her dirt bike. "I didn't pick up drawing till last year...so it's more like a stick figure than anything else." "Kindly remember Raven, I pay you to serve customers, not talk. There are others waiting for your attention." Someone said behind her to the waiter who was kind enough to ask about her drawing. "You dont' have to be rude you know." Shy spoke up. Here a cute guy was taking the time to talk to her and some bozo in another booth was ruining it. "He was just being polite...it's not like we've been talking for hour upon..." Shyla swallowed down the last few words as she turned in her seat to see that it was Officer Hanson. But she didn't take back the ones she had spoke either. Way to go, Shy. Get arrested on top of having a destroyed cellphone. Mom and dad will love that. "Hey, Camille." Shyla suddenly said changing the subject. Camille was one of the more interesting people in this town. Fragile...or so people said. Rumor was she had some sort of blood disorder. Her mother had never confirmed or denied it. "Paitent confidentiality." Like that was true in this small town.
Camille: See, Nothing to Worry About "Hey, Camille." Shyla suddenly said changing the subject. Camille pulled herself out of her slouch and pushed her glasses back up. "Hey, Shy. Sorry about Artie chewing on your friend. His arthritis is pretty bad today. That, and he flipped out when he found out I tripped. Two scraped knees. It's not like it's the end of the world." Leaning over the back of her chair, she studiously ignored Ben, who scowled. Camille grinned. "So how did the race go? I heard you did well."
Baley Warsaw "I'm livin' in a nightmare..." Baley said to herself as she started down the path. Conveniently, all of her family were out in the fields somewhere. She'd left a note that she was going to check if old Ms. Bert had gotten her milk. Thankfully, she'd be long gone before any of them could protest. Baley walked on the side of the country road, all the while scowling at her bare left hand. She felt a tremor in her veins as the wind blew over her tanned skin. Even being alone she felt exposed. She continued on, kicking the concrete. Peace, yeah right. A half hour ago now felt like ages, thanks to being a kook with an ability. Like she wasn't weird enough. Baley sighed, walking into the grass to crush dandelions. She stomped on them, one after the other, until they were limp and dead. "I hate this!" Baley yelled at the top of her lungs as she stomped on a final dandelion. Her voice echoed, followed by the crow of a rooster. "Well, that don't really help my situation..." she said and picked up her pace. At least she had got her anger out and could think clearer. She had to find that glove...or buy some new ones. She did have plenty of money. She hadn't told Chuck how much they'd made and Ma and Pa would never know. A pang of guilt hit her heart, but really she didn't have a choice. She could search all over Grygla or buy a new pair. As she weighed the choices, buying a new pair sounded like the better deal. She started running and ten minutes later she entered town. As she stepped onto the sidewalk she avoided brushing up against any of the town-folk. That would be...worse than a nightmare. "Excuse me, sorry, excuse me..." Baley muttered as she weaved her way through the crowd of tourists. Next stop, the closest clothing store she could find.
Shyla and Camille "So how did the race go? I heard you did well." Camille asked. Shyla beamed happily. "I won. And if I win next month's race, I go to nationals!" She took a bite of her sandwich and a sip of her smoothie before speaking again. "So what happened to your knees. The cement come up and bite you?" She smiled cheekishly. "I hope you bit back." "I wish." Camille smiled. "But no. That flaky Bandi Prewitt accused me of setting off her sprinklers in order to ruin her sheets. Seriously, who owns bed linens that are handwash in filtered water, anyway? It was a case of brawn beats brain. She shoved me, and I fell. The woman deserves to have her pipes freeze, but no chance of that happening in this weather. So nationals, huh. What do your folks think about that? Pretty impressive, I say." Shyla's face fell and she suddenly seemed extremly intrested in her sandwich. "They don't know yet. I haven't had a chance to tell them...they've both been so busy." She shrugged like it wasn't a big deal and smiled again. "But they're proud of me when I do win a race. Uncle Walter has helped alot. He has all these equations that show me if I turn a certain angle at a certain time I'll increase my speed by such 'n such amount. It's kinda cool actually. Who knew science could help you win a motor-cross race?" Camille shivered in mock horror. "Math was never my strong suite, much to my parents' dismay. I'm the creative one in a family of math and science nerds." Her smile was a little warmer, lighted flare of understanding. "Having parents too busy to notice you is tough, but all of Grygla is rooting for you. You give the paper something to brag about. A refreshing change from the crime wave. Did you hear about the no name guy they found in an alley off of State?" "Yeah." Shy replied, a small shiver going down her spine. "I can't believe no one knows who he is. That's weird, especially in a town like this. I can't believe I walked past that ally only a few hours before they found him there." Camille was about to reply when the click of a plate drew her attention. Sheepishly, she grinned. "I should let you get back to your lunch. Ben is still determined to stare a hole through the back of my head. Some days you just can't catch a break. Good talking to you, Shy. Don't be a stranger." She said, turning her attention to her Roadhouse Chicken. "Yeah. You too." Shyla smiled in returned back to her meal. She loved the people of this town.
Camille: Gossip Camille licked a bit of honey mustard off her lip as she reached for a chip. Noting the slightly confused expression on Ben's face, she asked. "What?" Ben pointed over her shoulder at Shyla. "That's the doctor's kid, right? Shouldn't she be in school?" "No, she's nineteen. Graduated last year." Camille replied and smiled at his rueful look. "People do have a tendency to grow up, Ben, or don't you bother to read the paper?" Officer Hanson swallowed a bite of his Roadhouse. "Nope. No point. Gossip gets me the news three times faster and with more detail." "Hmm?" Camille intoned around a mouthful of chicken. "Well..." Ben continued looking thoughtful, while eavesdropping rather shamelessly on the other patrons. His steely blue eyes locked on a prime target, Bandi Preweitt, who was in line, ranting to someone on her cell phone. "Ralph!" She howled into the phone. "I tell you they're frozen. Like completely solid. Nothing running through them. No, I'm not crazy. Why don't you every believe me when I tell you something. It's that freaky Perrie girl's fault..." A few seconds of silence followed. "Yes. The really short redhead with the brains. That Perrie girl. What do you mean, don't lie...I didn't do anything. Just get someone out to fix the damned pipes Ralph." Hanging up with a vicious click, Bandi hurled the phone across the room. It smashed into the window just above Officer Hanson's head. Ben glanced down as the shattered phone, his temper a latent glimmer in his eyes. "Trying to finish what you started, Bandi?" Hearing her name, the town harpy turned around ready to do battle when she caught sight of Camille at the same table and the eyes of countless patrons fixed on her. Mortification seized her. Glancing down at her watch she beat a hasty retreat to the door. "Is she on medication?" Camille asked, breaking the sudden, encompassing silence. Ben laughed. "We can only hope." Slowly his expression sobered. "This has been one hell of a week with that body off State, these no name agency Feds, and too many cases of petty theft to count. And now this whole Preweitt mess and rumors that that weird widow a few blocks down is a hoarder." Ignoring his mention of the Preweitt mess, Camille latched onto the mention of the widow. "Radish and I pass that house everyday. But I noticed the front window was broken when we drove back into town. Something must have happened." Ben scowled. "If something dire went down, they would have paged me, Cam. I'm not totally oblivious to my duties, you know." "I know," she replied. "But maybe you should check it out just in case." "Fine. After the grocery store, and after I get you home." He stated flatly.
Alan “...for a hundred bucks.” "You sure it's the battery, it's been having trouble with carbeurator ever since I got it..." Still though, he reaching into his pocket and got his wallet. He had four hundred dollars, the last of his money. "Look, I'd feel better if you take a look at it before I give you any money, I'm on a pretty tight budget..." He couldn't afford to get ripped off by some small town mechanic. "Well, what do you say?" Then Alan had a thought. He really was in no hurry, this didn't seem like a bad kind of place, might even be some work available. He didn't really have anywhere else to go. Maybe he'd hang out here for a while. "And, you know of any construction going on around here?"
Gabriel Reeve "Just, leave me alone." Gabe's eyebrows went up and he crouched next to the woman, but was careful to keep his eyes from locking with hers, "Well, being alone obviously hasn't helped your state of mind. I have to say I'm glad that you haven't . . ." he swallowed. Died. He couldn't help but feel extreemely awkward around the two of them, and he didn't even know their names. Well, maybe you should ask. another part of him scolded him. "I -um- my name is Gabriel. Could you tell me your names?" he stammered, feeling like a complete fool, "Now this may sound rediculous, but I . . . i might be able to help you out." he said, cautiously meeting eyes with Sheena. He felt as if static electricity was building in his body, and his muscles were tensed, wary. He stilled himself. He wouldn't lose control. Not this time, "I -uh- I'm a phychic -phsychiatrist." he corrected hurriedly, puttign a hand to his face and stifling a groan, "Sorry -I don't talk much."
Evangeline Albrite “Bert, what did I miss and why didn’t you call me?” Eva asked in a coldly serious tone the moment she stepped through the door. Her assistant, George Bert, looked up from where he was sterilizing a recently-used patient chair. Eva and Bert had been working together for years, to pay off his elderly mother’s medical bills. The old woman was blind and deaf in one ear. Bert handled just about everything that didn’t require a medical degree. He drove the ambulance, delivered prescriptions, answered the phones, and more. He was no ‘doctor,’ but there was no way Eva could handle the clinic all by herself. Bert tossed a bloodied rag into the bin of medical waste and turned to her with a smile as she entered and set down her briefcase. “It was no big deal,” he began, but she cut him off there. “Speeding through town with the sirens on is ‘no big deal?’” “It appeared worse than it was. From the look on Ben’s face you’d think the girl was dyin’ or somethin.” Bert lowered his voice. “You know, those two are, umm… well, let’s just say he keeps her safe under the long arm o’ the law.” He chuckled. “I wish they’d just ring the weddin’ bells already and quit leavin’ us in suspense, know what I mean?” “We do not bring gossip into this office,” Eva said with finality. “Now, tell me what happened… and keep it strictly medical, please.” Bert nodded. “Camille just got a little scrape, is all. She fell and skinned her knees. Well, actually, she was push-“ he stopped, remembering the ‘no gossip’ policy. “Nevermind. She fell. Ben found her, the dispatch gave me a ring, and I patched her up right here. I did it all by the book, just like I’ve seen you do a thousand times before. She’s fine.” “She’s a hemophiliac. You should’ve called me,” Eva said, but there was no use going on and on about it. “You did good, Bert,” she finally admitted, after a long pause. “I’ll call her tomorrow for a follow-up, just to be sure, but it sounds like you handled things fine without me.” He beamed with pride. His dream of being ‘Doctor Bert’ felt more real now that ever before. “Thanks, Angie. I learned from the best,” he said, and shifted to another subject. “How were things at the school? You’re back early.” “They’re having meatloaf, peas, and carrots for lunch,” Eva said, pausing to take a long sip of her coffee. “I got to watch little Suzie Gordon regurgitate it all in a wastebin. Twice.” “Aren’t kids just the cutest little thing…” Bert teased. “There’s a mild stomach flu going around,” Eva sighed, “or something like it. I'd have to run tests to know for sure.” “Tests? How many times I gotta tell you, it’s that damn diner!” Bert said. “Bev's Grill. They barely squeaked by their last health inspection and everyone knows it. I heard they paid off the inspector. We've had this discussion about a hundred times, Angie. They're causing this! I know it.” “No gossip,” Eva said, wagging her slender finger at him. "And stop calling me Angie." But Bert went on: “they’re poisoning this town,” he said. “I bet if ya checked their kitchen, you’d find rat shit piled a mile high. It’s a miracle they ain’t killed nobody yet. As a doctor, I don’t see how you can keep your mouth shut about this, Angie. Say somethin’ dammit. Bring it up at the next council meeting. They’ll listen to you if you’d quit playin’ nice and speak up.” Eva said nothing and waited for him to finish. She’d never seen Bert get so worked up. “It’s just a rumor,” she said, but he spoke over her. “You and Mrs. Anderson are the only actual medical professionals we got in this town,” Bert said, his cheeks red with anger, “and she’s too busy working at a fancy hospital in the city to give five minutes for us little folks out here. Hell, the woman doesn’t even attend her own daughter’s races, so why would she ever give a damn about-” “That’s enough,” Eva said, with such force he abruptly shut his mouth. After a few seconds, she composed herself and continued in a calmer tone. “Whatever’s killing those people has nothing to do with the food being served at Bev’s Grill. It’s got nothing to do with the strange widow who never comes out of her house. It’s not aliens. It’s not men in suits. This is all nonsense and I wish these rumors would just STOP!” Bert bit his lip and slowly nodded. She was right, in a way. Tensions were high. The gossip was starting to get a little out of hand. “You’re probably right,” he said, running a hand through his balding scalp. “You’re usually right, Angie, and that’s why I always stick by you, no matter what... but I don't know if I agree with you on this one. Can I ask you something?” “Always,” she said. “What’s killin’ this town, doc? If it ain’t none of them things, then what the heck is it?”
"I -um- my name is Gabriel. Could you tell me your names?" he stammered, feeling like a complete fool, "Now this may sound rediculous, but I . . . i might be able to help you out." he said, cautiously meeting eyes with Sheena. He felt as if static electricity was building in his body, and his muscles were tensed, wary. He stilled himself. He wouldn't lose control. Not this time, "I -uh- I'm a phychic -phsychiatrist." he corrected hurriedly, puttign a hand to his face and stifling a groan, "Sorry -I don't talk much." Oh how she wished she could accept his offer but her conscious wouldn't let her. What if she hurt him or worse, all it would take was a false hand motion and he would be dead. I can't put anybodies life in danger she thought. She got to her feet and very carefully placed her hands on his back and ushered him out the door not listening to any protest. "S-sorry, but you shouldn't come back." She didn't look at him, she kept her eye's on the floor avoiding eye contact, lest he see her tearing up. "Good day." and with that she closed the door. She stared at the belt on the ceiling, but for some reason, she couldn't bring her self to do it again. Despite the pain something inside sparked a small desire, to live.
Teddy Jones “...you know of any construction going on around here?” The biker pondered. “No, not much of that needed around here, they usually just bring in contractors.” Teddy stayed a moment while trying to search his mind. “There is a wood shop up the road by the name of ‘Carving & Crafts’, that’s about as close to construction you will get round here.” “With regards to your bike, I can take a look. I know what it is though.” He gave the customer a smug look as he wheeled the bike into the garage, his arrogance almost palpable. The inside of Bill’s Fixer did not inspire hope. Ratchets, spanners, nuts and bolts all lay strewn about, and the humidity from all the engines and tools gave the garage a sweaty appeal. The walls seem to ooze oil in the heat, and a trucker van had been stripped down mercilessly, to the point where it was naked beyond recognition. “Yours will be the last thing I work on. We always close early today.” He placed the bike in the centre and stood rigidly to face the man. “Be thankful for that.” Teddy mind continued to scratch at his head. He wasn’t sure if it was just him, but he didn’t like the guy. A drifter himself at a young age, he now valued the routine and friends around him, yet he didn’t have sympathy for his customer. Maybe he was a little too juiced up, he’d been feeling somewhat aggressive all day. Nah, Teddy thought and then proceeded to light a cigarette and blow smoke in the guy’s face. “I’ll take a ‘look’ at your motor to see what the problem is...” He coughed and slipped in “battery”, and returned a prickly stare after. “But now I’m gonna need some privacy, so why don’t you take a look around.” Teddy eyed up the biker with bored exasperation. “I’m sure there’ll be something here you like.”
Alan “I’ll take a ‘look’ at your motor to see what the problem is...” He coughed and slipped in “battery”, and returned a prickly stare after. “But now I’m gonna need some privacy, so why don’t you take a look around.” Teddy eyed up the biker with bored exasperation. “I’m sure there’ll be something here you like.” "Cool man," Alan replied, trying to be nice despite the other guys attitude. He seemed like a nice enough sort, but he didn't seem like he wanted to be nice to Alan. Whatever, he was used to it. Walking out of the garage, he noticed the cafe down the street a little ways. He hadn't eaten since he'd left Grand Forks the day before. "I'll be back in a little while, I appreciate the help," he said, then set off to the cafe, Java Speak. Walking in he noticed that it looked like a pretty popular place. A few of the people he'd seen out in the streets were here. It was always awkward for Alan, walking into small town cafes. Everyone knew each other, and no one knew him. He much preferred big cities where no one was expected to know anyone else. Here, he was an outsider with no hope of blending in. Still there was the appeal of one day being part of a community like this, tight knit and close. It was something that he'd never known, even his own family had never been close, and then they died. He examined the menu for a moment before pulling a twenty out of his wallet and walking up to the counter, noticing that a few people were looking at him, some just curious, others down right suspicious. "Hey, can I get a Roast Beef on Chibata, with a side of whatever soup you've got today?"
Kindly remember Raven, I pay you to serve customers, not talk. There are others waiting for your attention." Raven's boss said behind him. "You dont' have to be rude you know." The girl said. It was nice to see someone speaking up. "He was just being polite...it's not like we've been talking for hour upon..." Raven flashed her another smile as he whispered his thanks and returned to the counter. His boss wasn't normally so rude, mabye it was a bad day. He would have to find out the girls name at some point aswell. Behind the counter he returned to rolling out some pastry. Raven preffered the days were his boss was preocupied leaving him to talk to people and bake. Raven paused as a brown haired man started to order. "Hey, can I get a Roast Beef on Chibata, with a side of whatever soup you've got today?" He said holding out a twenty. "Sure, the soup's chicken. I'll bring it over when its ready if you want to take a seat."
Camille: Errands "Hey, can I get a Roast Beef on Chibata, with a side of whatever soup you've got today?" "Hey, just a quick inside scoop." Camille chimed in as Ben wended his way toward the door. "Try it with the house honey mustard. Artie knows how to treat his meat right." Ben's all too familiar scowl returned. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to take to strangers?" Camille slugged him in the arm. "Haven't you ever heard of Minnesota Nice? You're acting like a Neanderthal." "My prerogative." Ben replied. "I'm the one with the car keys, the cash, and the badge. What do you have?" Camille's flower like face crumpled. "Two scuffed knees and an ass hat for a best friend..." Several patrons hooted with laughter. As Artie called out. "You did ask, Ben. Miss Camille has never been one to tuck in her claws." "She spits and hisses like a hellcat when she knows she needs help." Ben added as he pulled open the door. "Nice thing about her tumble, it makes her a hell of a lot easier to handle." With a parting grin he added. "She can't walk out on me." Camille glared daggers at Ben as he strode back over to the Jetta and plopped her in the passenger seat. "Where to? Red Owl?"
Alan "Sure, the soup's chicken. I'll bring it over when its ready if you want to take a seat." "Thanks bro," Alan replied. "Hey, just a quick inside scoop." Camille chimed in as Ben wended his way toward the door. "Try it with the house honey mustard. Artie knows how to treat his meat right." "Thanks for the tip," Alan replied with a smile. That was the other great thing about small towns, there were usually a good handful of nice people. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to take to strangers?" And then there were the suspicious jerks... usually cops. Small town cops were the worst. But as he listened to their exchange, he smiled at her jab at him. "Hey, best of luck to you officer. She seems like she's a handful," he said, then smiled at the girl. Once they'd left, he spotted a spot near the window, away from most of the other people. He went and sat down, looking out at the quiet little town. Then he caught sight of his reflection in the window. His hair was all blown back and messy, and there were rings around his eyes from his goggles. No wonder people were giving him dirty looks. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get it pushed to the side, and wiped his face on his jacket sleeve. When he looked again, he looked slightly more dignified, but not much. He really hoped that that guy at the mechanic didn't screw up his bike... he seemed far to cocky for his own good. Then he noticed a blue streak on the head of one of the other patrons. Wasn't that the girl who had dropped off a dirt bike? She was kinda cute, didn't look exactly like a typical northerner. If she trusted her bike with the guy, maybe he wasn't as bad as Alan was thinking... He got up and awkwardly walked over to where the girl with the blue highlight was sitting. "Um, excuse me... I noticed you dropped off a bike at that mechanic next door... and well, my bike just broke down, you might have hear the backfire," he said, still awkwardly. "I was just wondering, does he do pretty well with motorcycles? I'm a little worried is all," he said, smiling.Editing
Ina Holt "Ina!" Her father's voice rang through the door. Ina looked up from her work, "What?" "W-where are you?" Ina's hands re-materialized, and she picked up a cloth to wipe away the stream of green ooze leaking from her left eye. "I'm in my room." She called. "Well get out here!" Her father snapped. Ina checked her face in a mirror to make sure there wasn't any slime left, then pulled her hair over her face to hide her bloodshot eye, which hadn't stopped spinning yet. "Hurry up!" "Coming!" Ina shouted, pulling her door open, and tromping into the living room. Her father was still in his couch. "What?" She demanded. "Get me som-... food." Her father said, with a hiccup, leering at her through half-open eyes. Ina pursed her lips, "No." "Why y-" Her father swatted the air fruitlessly, "Bring me something to eat!" "There isn't any food." Ina snapped, crossing her arms, "Mom hasn't gone shopping yet this week!" "The- then you go!" Her father growled, reaching into his pocket to pull out some crumpled bills, "Bring me some beer as well." He threw a ten dollar bill at her. "Uh, hello!" Ina snapped, "I'm twelve! I can't just buy alcoho-" "Don't you talk back to me!" Her father roared, making another swipe at her. Ina picked up the wrinkled bill. Any excuse to get out of the house was a good one. "This isn't enough for all we need." She said flatly. Her father swore loudly, and pulled out a ruined twenty, and threw it at her. "Get out of here!" He boomed. Ina stomped to the door, and flung it open, slamming it shut behind her. Taking a calming breath, she wiped a hand across her eyes. Stupid. She thought, tucking the bills into her jumper pocket. She checked the clock on the street corner going into the city. 2:01 She was surprised at how much time had passed. She'd been working at her project for a while. At least her grade would be out of school, she wouldn't have to worry about meddling parents. She set off, taking one look back into the living room window. Her father was yelling at the television. Stupid. As she walked, she observed the parents walking through town with their newly picked-up children. What she wouldn't give to have a normal parent. One that would always love her, not just when sober. She quickly passed her hand over her eyes once more. *Bump* She'd run into the strangest looking girl she'd ever seen. "Oh, sorry." She said distractedly, not sounding sorry at all. She eyed the the strange logo on the girls hoodie. "Aaaare you hurt?"
Brian finally admitted defeat. He couldn't find this place anywhere. He then started considering something he'd probably regret. He was gonna ask someone for directions. He was sitting in a gutter as he his eyes calmly searched for someone to help him. That's when he spotted the two girls that seemed to be about to start a conversation. He began walking up to them. Brian was gonna make this as quick as possible. Just a small bit of human contact and then hopefully he could find this place and get arrested. Better to get it done as soon as possible before Wolfgang catches on. Brian walked behind Ina and tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me....don't be scared despite my looks I'm not a bum. I just needed directions." Brian stated. "Would you mind helping me out......I just need you to point the way or something." He said sincerely to the little girl. He then looked up at Baley. "Oh um sorry to interrupt your conversation." He said apologetically.
Shyla "I was just wondering, does he do pretty well with motorcycles? I'm a little worried is all," he said, smiling. Shyla looked up from her pathetic sketching of her dirtbike to see the kid with the motorcycle. He was one of those out-of-towners. She smiled back and ran a hand through her highlight. "No need to worry. He's been taking care of my dirt-bike and motorcycle for the past 4 years. Never broke down once. So, where you coming from. We don't get many visitors out this far." She asked plesantly.
Alan "No need to worry. He's been taking care of my dirt-bike and motorcycle for the past 4 years. Never broke down once. So, where you coming from. We don't get many visitors out this far." "That's kind of a big question," he replied. "I've been all over really, but I started out in California. Been on the road for a few months now though, looking for work wherever I can find it... Not exactly to sure what brought me here though," he said. He honestly hadn't been sure why he'd gone anywhere he'd been though. "I was going to go to Minot North Dakota, I'd heard that they're having quite a boom right now. But for some reason I ended up here." He shrugged. "Thanks for putting my mind at ease about my bike, I basically live on it right now, so I don't know what I would do if anything happened to it," he smiled again, but didn't want to seem creepy, so nodding his head he started to walk back to the spot he'd picked out.
Camille: Perspective of the Red Owl Ben dropped into the driver's seat while Camille continued to fume in stony silence, refusing to answer his question. His own patience running a bit thin, he grumbled. "Fine. Red Owl, it is." Quickly he backed the Jetta out of its spot and into traffic. It took about two minutes to cover the distance from one end of the two center to the other. The old Red Owl store had been around, some claimed, as long as Grygla, itself. It was a sizable, cinder block building faded to the color of a dried cow pie with glass doors across the front and a googly eyed red owl staring down. Pulling into an end slot, the only one available, Ben cut the engine and went around to Camille's door. Opening it he looked down at her. "Are you going to be an adult about this or are you going to continue to sulk?" "I'm not sulking." She fired back, temper shining in her dark blue eyes. "I'm mad." "You can be both." Ben replied as he scooped her up again. "And right now you're in a snit." "Am not." She insisted. "Do I need to dignify that with a response?" He demanded, grinning. "You just proved my point." The irony of his logic hit her. Camille began to laugh, not only at herself, but this entire, ridiculous situation. "You have no idea how annoying this whole day has been." Ben flashed her a wounded look. Guilty color crept into Camille's pale face, making her feel like she had just kicked a puppy. "Not you, Ben. You've been my rock through this entire mess. I was talking about the not being able to walk factor." "It really bothers you that much?" He asked, clearly surprised by her perspective. Camille nodded, her blue eyes fixed on her toes. Most other women he knew would be demanding constant attention and fussing. Not Camille, though. Never, Camille. And in Ben's opinion, if someone deserved a little spoiling it was Camille. She never gave herself a break and downplayed too many things. Given this sudden insight to her quirky personality, he readjusted his approach. "I'll make you deal. The price for being your personal sherpa and buying you lunch, is a home cooked meal that you have to make." Camille glanced up as he deposited her in a cart. "Deal. What are you in the mood for?" "Tacos." "Hard or soft shell?" "Both." He said, another grin splitting his somewhat craggy features. "Glutton." "Nag."
Dr. Albrite, getting suspicious After finishing her coffee and enjoying a few moments of peaceful solitude, Eva headed out to retrieve the mail. Her red brick mailbox was perched at the end of the dirt driveway, near the main road, far enough for her to read every piece of mail a dozen times before getting back to the house. She was used to finding a fairly thick stack of envelopes inside. Most of them contained payments for prescription medicine or ‘thank you’ letters from her patients. As she walked back to the house, Eva separated the business mail from the personal mail, but this day one letter puzzled her. The envelope had unfamiliar handwriting and no return address or sender. Eva tucked every other piece of mail into the pockets of her labcoat and gave this one her undivided attention. She held it up to the sun, where the light outlined a dark shape inside, roughly the size of an index card or photograph. Taking a seat on the porch swing, she carefully opened it with a penknife. Inside was a photograph of an aging building; a half-broken sign was its only telltale trait. “Berkle?” she whispered under her breath. “Berkley?" Eva retrieved the enclosed note and opened it, but found nothing, only a blank sheet of lined notebook paper. A frown creased her elegant features and her cunning eyes narrowed on the page as Eva folded it back up and returned everything to the envelope. Someone’s toying with me, she thought darkly as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and stood with the mysterious letter pinched between her fingers. “I’m going to the bank to cash some checks,” she told Bert as she went inside to grab her shoulder bag. And to the post office, she thought. Harold, the postman, might know something about this. “Huh, now? But you just got back,” Bert said, barely catching the hastily-uttered goodbye as she disappeared out the door. He trudged after her, and reached the porch in time to see Eva’s car back out and vanish down the dirt road, leaving a cloud in its wake.
Camille: In Defense of Food "Worcestershire Sauce. Really?" Ben asked, sounding a little appalled as he handed the bottle to Camille. "Are you sure you're not trying to poison me? Who puts such a thing in tacos." "Me." Camille stated unequivocally. "Don't be such a snob. Minnesota tacos are a bit more mild, but still yummy. It's my grandma's recipe. She made it all the time when we were kids." "You have no appreciation for heat, do you?" Camille shook her head. "Nope. Blame it on my Heartlander's touchy tongue." The cart continued on down the aisles that had changed little in the past twenty-odd years. "What next?" "Shells." She said. "Grab a package of hard corn ones and a bag of the small tortillas. A packet of that mild taco seasoning, too. I have ketchup and french dressing at home." "Mild? Come on, Cami. Live a little." He goaded. "Go for the heat." "Fine." She conceded. "Grab a packet of the spicy." Holding up a warning finger she added. "Don't blame me if you get heartburn. Remember you were the one, who asked for spicy." "Now what?" "Perishables. Milk, cheese, hamburger, lettuce, tomatoes, sour cream, and ice cream for desert." She smiled up at Ben's bemused look. "There is a limit to my culinary skills." "Okay," Ben said. "But I get to chose the flavor." "Deal, but only if you help with dishes." She replied. "Grab a carton of eggs and juice, too. I have sausage in the freezer. Don't forget the little Jell-O cups." "Anything else?" Camille's brow furrowed. "We have the veggies, fruits, cereal...Oh, peanut butter, English Muffins, and more jam. I'm out of Mom's homemade stuff. Did you remember the dog food? Radish won't be happy if you forgot." Ben pointed to the 30lb. bag on the bottom rack of the cart. "Heaven forbid we disappoint Radish." "Damn straight." Camille said. "By the by, when did Red Owl start carrying Blue Buffalo?" Ben asked. "I thought that was a fancy pet store thing." "I have two brothers, who run the largest vet clinic in nine counties, Ben." She gave him a speaking look. "It wasn't that hard, just a few words in the right ears." "Anything else?" "Ice cream." She said. "And a frozen pizza." "Frozen pizza?" He laughed. "This coming from the girl who feeds her dog holistic kibble..." "Can it, Hanson and choose your ice cream flavor." She sniped. "Vanilla." It was Camille's turn to laugh. "This from the man who is afraid of mild tacos..." "With chocolate syrup. It's classic. Even you can't knock it." Ben replied in defense of his food. With the last of the required items in the cart, Ben tried maneuvering between the throngs of customers, none of whom, he recognized. "Who are all these shmucks?" He whispered to Camille in an undertone. Camille shrugged as clueless as the cop. Ben pulled out his cell phone and dialed Martha. "Hey, Martha. Can you send one of the squad cars down and start running plates at the Red Owl. Something's up."
Gabriel Reeve He turned to look back at the door after the woman had pushed him out, blinking in surprise. Of course, he shouldn't be surprised, but something about her had reminded him of himself. He gritted his teeth and his body shook as the old memory came: "Come on Gabe! Let's see who can make who jump in the river first!" Gabe's twin brother, Gale called. Tall, thin, an exact replica of himself in college, the two boys laughed and locked eyes, both blue with flecks of gold. Gabe smiled confidently, his jersey clinging to his body with the sweat he had built up from football practice, "Sure -why not?" The two boys laughed, and then an odd kind of staring contest ensued. Both of their faces became dead serious, and they remained still as stone until, two minutes later, Gale flung himself back into the river with a dismayed shout. "Ha! I won!" Gabe crowed, but then heard his twin's cry of fear as he was dragged under suddenly. "Gale!" Gabriel shouted, diving in after his brother, ice-cold water rushing over his head and enveloping him in darkness. It took ten hours before anyone found them farther downriver, Gabe clinging to his dead twin's corpse with one arm and to a rock with the other, sobbing. He was gone. Gone. Dead from drowning. Gabriel snapped out of the daze and found tears streaking down his face. He should have been the one to die. Pressing his forehead to the door, he realized that he had recognized something in that woman because of his powers -powers he had loathed ever since his twin's demise. "Miss . . . I know this may sound crazy, but strange things happen. Things that we can't control. Well, maybe we can, but I've had no luck either." he said, slipping a small scrap of paper with his phone number on it under the door, "If you want to talk, just call me. Maybe we can find something out . . ." he stopped, turned and walked away, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn't know if what he said would make any sense, but he knew it was wrong to leave someone alone. He knew all too well what that felt like.
Shyla and Alan The out-of-town vistor returned to his seat and began munching on his lunch. Obviously that short conversation was over. Shyla gathered her stuff and was just about to walk out when she saw Edgar Mullen just outside the door about to walk in. The dude had a serious obsession over her. It was extremly annoying. After thinking of escape routes for a second she spun on her heel and sat in the chair opposite of the kid she had been talking to earlier, smiling at him like she belonged there. "Play along." She managed to whisper just as Edgar came in. "Um... wha?" Alan began to protest but she flashed him a look that said shut up. Edgar looked around and spotted Shyla. He went straight to her a goofy grin on his face. He was large. At least 6 1/2 ft tall at 20 years of age and his chest was proof he worked out quite a bit. He seemed to hesitate when he saw Alan though. "Hey, Shy. I saw you win the race, on t.v. today. You really kicked everyone's a** out there. Damn that makes you so hot." He was practically drooling. "Hey, Edgar." Shyla said with a hidden look of disdain. Then she smiled coyly and guestured to Alan, "Oh, you haven't met my boyfriend yet, have you? This is..." She hesitated her eyes pleading for help. Alan wasn't sure what to do, but he had taken an drama class back in high school. Suddenly that kicked. "Alan," he said, confidently, and stood up, holding his hand out to the kid. He was a few inches taller than Alan, and definitely more muscular, but he didn't look like he'd ever done any actual work in his life. "Alan Moray, I'm new in town, but I saw Shy," he didn't know her full name, and thought that Shy was an odd name, but whatever, "At a motocross meet about a month ago. Boy, she can fly on a bike, can't she!" he exclaimed, laughing. He even let a slight nordic accent, common to northern Minnesota, slip into his voice. Then he stopped laughing, looked Edgar in the eye and said, "So how do you know Shy?" he put as much ice into it as he could, and only then started to wonder if he was taking this to far... Edgar had been flexing his muscles and puffing out his chest like a rooster up to this point. Suddenly he seemed to deflate like a balloon and his lip quivered. "Uh...uh...uh month!? Shyla and I have known eachother for 3 years!" Edgar turned a painfilled face towards Shyla. "You started dating him after only a month? How could you do that? You said you'd date me!" "No!" She protested. "I said I'd consider it...two years ago. But like I said before...your not my type. And I'm definetly not yours." "You don't know that." "Actually I do. Sorry, Edgar. It's high time you left me alone." Edgar turned a hate filled glare at Alan. One that said...some day, I'll kill you. "Fine. This is just a fling...and when it's over you'll come running to me. And I'll be waiting." With one last look of hate at Alan and a look of longing at Shyla he left the coffee shop. Shyla looked around at the quiet cafe with a glare and people returned to their conversations. The show was apparently over. She sighed and looked at Alan with a new respect for this traveler. "Thanks for that. He's been a pain in the butt for as long as I can remember." "I mean," Alan started, "It's not usually in my MO to go around helping young women in distress, but... Well, you didn't leave me much choice." He said with a smile, then pushed his hair back to the side. "So, is your name really Shy? You don't seem all that shy to me..." he trailed off. Shyla laughed. "No...it's Shyla. People just call me Shy as a nickname. That was an impressive act you did, Alan. Thought all that off the top of your head? You almost had me convinced." "Yeah, I don't know what came over me..." he said. "High school drama class I guess," he shrugged. "Anyway, nice to officially meet you Shyla, I'm Alan, Alan Moray." "Thankyou for your help, Alan." She said as she stood. Shyla took a $10 out of her wallet and lay it on the table. "Lunch is on me." She said as she turned towards the door with her drawing pad. "Good luck on your travels." "Thanks," Alan replied, "and thanks for lunch." He felt he'd earned it. "Oh hey, do you know of anyplace around here I can stay? I have a feeling I'm not going to have a ride for a little while..." "Yeah. Try Martha's Home. It's a nice inn. And Martha's a sweet old lady as well as a friend of my mom's. She gives good prices to travelers. Go up this block, turn left at the first light, Fairview street I believe, and at the end of that block is Martha's Home. Tell her Shyla Anderson sent you and she'll give you a discount." Shyla turned her attention to the counter. "Thanks for the sandwich, Raven. It was awesome." She waved goodbye to both of them and walked out the door.
Baley Warsaw Baley swallowed back a squeal as someone bumped hard into her shoulder. Out of habit, she recoiled and took a step back, cradling her left hand in the crook of her other arm. "Oh, sorry. Aaaare you hurt?" Baley peered from behind her bangs to find a girl standing in front of her. She appeared to be younger than her, or she may just be a shortie like she was. "I reckon' I'll be fine." Baley muttered and took another step back, closer to the wall of a nearby building. The girl was lucky she'd hadn't taken worse of a tumble, if she had touched her... At that moment another man tromped up to them, running his yapper that he wasn't a bum and needed directions. Baley half-ignored him as she turned her attention to the shops on the street. Usually she went to Tracy's, the cheap thrift store, but that might be too far to walk in her condition. The longer she went without a glove, the longer the danger remained. "Oh um sorry to interrupt your conversation." Baley turned her head and the bum was looking straight at her. "No bother. I...I'll be needin' some directions too. Would ya'll happen to know of a good clothin' store on this here street?" As another crowd of tourists passed them by, Baley hugged her arm closer.
