NSWRPF Archive Graven Bay: Dead of Night 2006 (survival horror style)

No prob, Elu. I'll post your starting point when I recieve it, already have a pretty good idea where I'll head with it.

Nice work, so far people. MoonlightsAngel, I'll run with what you've posted so far, it was similar to what I was thinking anyway.

Starting Points (contiuned)

Grace Brown has just thirty minutes left to got at the UGC campus store, which closes at 6.30pm. Her plan will be to finish, cash up and get out of there by 7pm. Her evening will probably involve visiting her friend Katie Jones up at the Bay FM station further into town. There are a couple of parties on in town, most notably the Crow's Nest shindig. Grace isn't a huge socialite, but she's been studying hard lately and would like the chance to unwind somwhat. She's just hoping that the UGC football team, the Cougars, who are known for their drunken antics (and more annoyingly, getting away with them) won't be out in force tonight, though as the Cougar's Den bar on campus is closed tonight, they'll probably be at the Crow's Nest down on the wharf. She contemplates calling her classmate and friend Bayden Lane to invite him out. Grace gets on with him quite well despite his disliked status in town, finding herself less than impressed with some of Graven's residents' small-mindedness. Knowing Lane is something of loner, she tries to include him things, though in this case she recalls he mentioned going of out town this weekend and decides to call him later to see if he's still in town. Checking her watch, she will be glad to get out of work for the night.

Bellatrix Marchand has just left the music store where works part time. "High Fidelity" is a combined musical media/insturment shop, the largest in Graven Bay. The instrument side of the shop has just closes and she has left her co-worker Davey to lock up. Plugging her Ipod, Bellatrix heads off down Bayview Street, the main raod in Port Devon. A few blocks away, she passes by Westfield Multiplex, the large shopping mall. Cutting down a back alley, which leads past the service entrance, she catches a glimpse of Naomi Rivers, whom she she is ambigous to, Rivers being one of the "popular girls" on campus. They exchange glances, but nothing more. Bellatrix continues her walk home, noting the chill in the air and a tad annoyed that her car, an older VW Beetle didn't start today, meaning she had to bus to work and class. She arrives home a short while later, noting it will be dark soon. Her home is a small appartment above a pizza shack which looks quite busine tonight. Entereing the tiny appartment, she notices the lights are flickering more than usual, which is not entirely odd, but gives her a weird feeling.

Naomi River is working at a boutique fashion store in Westfield Mall, which is something new to her and not to her liking. She is used to having wealth at her disposal and a change in her families fortune didn't bode well for her. Depiste her disillusionment, she continues to work, making out to her socialite friends that it's just to "pass the time and to get paid to hang at the mall" rather than a financial necessity which it has become to keep up with her lifestyle. She's feeling a bit wrecked from the night at the Cougar's Den last night, where her ex Jeremy Mangold got into some strife with teh police. Though they split up a while ago, she still had a bit of time for Jeremy, and noticed he's actually trying to get by on his academeic merit this year instead of sports prowess. Whilst bright and intelligent, Naomi prefers to let her looks and sassy attitude do the talking. She steps outside for a moment to dump some boxes in teh trash and spots Bellatrix Marchand, whom she views as a bit of a loser when with her friends. In truth, she partially admires Marchand's fearlesness of other people's opinions, something Naomi herself doesn't always have. Returning inside, she is annoyed to find she still has three h

 

Bellatrix Marchand has just left the music store where works part time. "High Fidelity" is a combined musical media/insturment shop, the largest in Graven Bay. The instrument side of the shop has just closes and she has left her co-worker Davey to lock up. Plugging her Ipod, Bellatrix heads off down Bayview Street, the main raod in Port Devon. A few blocks away, she passes by Westfield Multiplex, the large shopping mall. Cutting down a back alley, which leads past the service entrance, she catches a glimpse of Naomi Rivers, whom she she is ambigous to, Rivers being one of the "popular girls" on campus. They exchange glances, but nothing more. Bellatrix continues her walk home, noting the chill in the air and a tad annoyed that her car, an older VW Beetle didn't start today, meaning she had to bus to work and class. She arrives home a short while later, noting it will be dark soon. Her home is a small appartment above a pizza shack which looks quite busine tonight. Entereing the tiny appartment, she notices the lights are flickering more than usual, which is not entirely odd, but gives her a weird feeling.

IC:Bellatrix Marchand
She saw the lights flicker, not unusual, for they always flicker-yet, just not this violently. She blew it off, thinking it was either a loose or dying bulb. When the bulb blew, she'd just change it, she had to work on her show music right now.
She walked down the hallway, but stopped and looked at a drawing she had drawn on the wall. She tilted her head and noticed it was rather crooked on the right side. She took a pencil out of her pocket and started drawing on the wall.
"I curse myself being lefthanded" she said to herself."I can't draw the right side of anything straight the first time!"
She fixed the drawing on the wall and walked on to the room at the end of the hall and went inside. It was her "instrument" room as you might call it. It had two drumsets, at least seven guitars, a bass or two, marching snares, and a marching bass. She even had a Timpani set in there.
She grabbed the black guitar that was pinstriped with neon green. It was outfitted with pickholders and extra knobs and handles and such for the fact that she played guitars, drums and sung till something went wrong. This was the guitar that she'd played so much, so hard that one concert it had caught fire when too much stress was put upon it.
She had it refinished after that and became a legend in Ukiah since that concert. It was almost unheard of to set a guitar on fire from playing it, but she had did it.
She plugged the cord into the jack of the guitar and shut her eyes and concentrated for a moment. She tried to clear her head so that the performance in front of her was to the best of her ability. Any less would torment her soul.
She opened her eyes again and went through the tabs in her head that she had learned. They were also written on the wall by the poster of AFI.
She let herself play what was written and what she could do to bring out the sound even more.

She gave her life to her music, and if one person stepped foot into her home, they would be able to tell. Guitar parts lay spread on tables. Broken drum heads lay in the floor, the TV left on Fuse, some hard rock video always playing. Posters of AFI, A7X or Ozzy Osbourne or Marilyn Manson papered the walls. Papers with possible lyrics on them littered the floors.
and yet, through the street was the all yet distinct sound that anybody who went by could recognize.

TAG:anybody

 

Detective Robert Church
Graven Bay Police Station

Church stepped through the doors to the Police Station. The building was small, but not cramped. Church liked it. Staff was good, too, but they had the small-town way of thinking deeply ingrained in their psyche. A "people are inherently good" way of thinking.

Although, these "Sons of Midnight" may be an exception.

He looked at the men on staff for the night shift. "Evening, chaps."

They looked up, and gave him a strained smile. It was tough to get to know people, and Church didn't blame them for not taking the initiative in befriending him. He was a solitary man, by nature. Always had been.

When he got to his office, Church removed his coat and hung it on his coat rack. The three-hooked piece of furniture was English-made, and a twin resided in his large apartment above Bentley's. He needed to get a hat, his head was damp with melted snow...

He sat at the desk, which was at a right-angle with the door. The Sons of Midnight...he'd need to check the archives.

***

"S...S...Sons of Midnight...there you go, sir." The constable handed him a thick dossier. "Having trouble sleeping, Detective? 'Cause that's all you're gonna find in there - a good night's sleep. That's been a cold case for nigh on twenty years."

Church took the folder from the young cop's outstretched hand.

"You know anything of this?" he asked, ignoring the joke.

The kid grinned. "I wasn't even born yet, sir!"

Church returned the smile. "Nevermind, then. Thanks for the help." He turned to go, making it into the main office. A young kid, well-dressed, stood in the office. Perfect hair, athlete's physique - a jock, by the looks of it. Church didn't like the look of him, that kind was always trouble, but was intriugued. Something underneath it all.

His gaze didn't leave the young man, and he leaned over to the young cop, Morris.

"Who's that? The kid," he asked.

Morris glanced over his shoulder, saw the kid, and looked at Church. "Jeremy Mangold. Rich kid, his dad's the mayor. YOu can see him riding around on that bike of his almost everyday. Only reason he's here is 'cause the bike's been impounded."

Church nodded, then went back to his office. Tonight was going to be long and boring.

Tag: Jeremy, anyone else

 

IC: Mia

Too lazy to drive all the way up to her house in Hillcrest, Mia drove to the mall after droping Tsuki off with a classmate. She parked and grabbed her gym bag.

Inside the mall there was a small dance studio where she worked as a dance instructor after school, to keep herself busy. Since today was Haloween, she wasn't supposed to work, but a little dancing on a boring night would sure help.

People were surprised to see the lights on on the dance studio, but they didn't stop for long. Mia put her black leggings on, along with her leotard and her dancing shoes. She carefully tied what she could of her short hair and held the shorter layers in place with bobby-pins (sp?). Lazily closing the locker's room behind her, she moved into the actual studio, ignoring the curious looks from some people as they passed by her and looked into the big window.

She started with simple warm-up, before putting quicker music and starting some real dance. Sweat trickling down her face and body as she fell and split her legs, tryng to breathe calmly.

Suddenly the lights flickered and the music was cut; the young dancer blinked and stood up, ready to change the disc when the soft, melodious tone re-started. She frowned, but it suerly wasn't anything to get freaked out over...seriously, could happen to anyone, eh?

She looked at the big clock over the mirror-wall (how her younger students called the mirrors) she had been dancing for almost two hours. Her cellphone rang from the corner of the room. She walked to it and picked it up, frowning as she didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

No answer

"Hello?"

No answer...

Thinking it might be some drunken classmate from school, she rolled her eyes

"Gods...you are SO stupid at times guys" she sighed into the phone before hanging up and walking to the showers.

Now she was bored AND tiered.

 

Naomi River is working at a boutique fashion store in Westfield Mall, which is something new to her and not to her liking. She is used to having wealth at her disposal and a change in her families fortune didn't bode well for her. Depiste her disillusionment, she continues to work, making out to her socialite friends that it's just to "pass the time and to get paid to hang at the mall" rather than a financial necessity which it has become to keep up with her lifestyle. She's feeling a bit wrecked from the night at the Cougar's Den last night, where her ex Jeremy Mangold got into some strife with teh police. Though they split up a while ago, she still had a bit of time for Jeremy, and noticed he's actually trying to get by on his academeic merit this year instead of sports prowess. Whilst bright and intelligent, Naomi prefers to let her looks and sassy attitude do the talking. She steps outside for a moment to dump some boxes in teh trash and spots Bellatrix Marchand, whom she views as a bit of a loser when with her friends. In truth, she partially admires Marchand's fearlesness of other people's opinions, something Naomi herself doesn't always have. Returning inside, she is annoyed to find she still has three hours left before she finishes for the night.

ic: Naomi Rivers
Westfield Mall

Naomi gasped as she saw Bellatrix in the alleyway. She instinctivly moved her arm to cover the name badge, she would not be humiliated by this lower girl. She quickly dumped the boxes and moved back inside. She walked quickly back into the shopfront and started to organise a rack of clothes. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw a group of her friends walk by, standing still she looked to see if them had missed her. Just as she relaxed they came back around and walked in.

"Naomi! Why didn't you tell us you were going shopping!" One blonde girl said, her makeup caked on so thick that as she talked bits of it cracked.
"Oh sorry Chastity, the maid fell down the stairs and ripped her work skirt, obviously she can't go and get a new one herself and being the charitable person I am I offered to go and get her a new one, I can't have her clean without a proper skirt!" Naomi lied, looking around slightly and seeing her boss shake her head in disappointment.
"Well stop that and come shopping with us, I saw a dress that you will love, I swear, you'll scream!" Chastity said putting her hand out for Naomi.
"Oh guys, that's really sweet but I'm really busy." Naomi answered trying to hide her nametag with a shirt from the rack.
"Dear, have you seen that girl of mine, I need to tell her to have the rest of the day off." Naomi's boss, Megan, said loudly grinning slightly. Naomi delight was obvious due to the huge grin that spread across her face.
"No sorry Megan, if I see her around I'll tell her." Naomi said, slipping the tag off subtly and mouthing "thank you" to her boss.

---

They arrived at "3", one of the most expensive shops in the mall, called so because they only stock sizes 3 and under slightly later. The troupe of girls swarmed in and grabbed certain items holding them up to themselves infront of a mirror without even looking, as if it was some kind of ritual. [b]Chastity [/b]dragged [b]Naomi [/b]into a corner and took out a beautiful silver, silk dress. It was a dress that had been in the window for a few months, it was the reason [b]Naomi [/b]had got her job, but now she had to help her parents with food and repaying debt so it was out of the question. [b]Naomi [/b]gazed at it longingly, holding it to her body and staring at her reflection. This was the kind of thing she should have without any trouble.
"What are you talking about [b]Chastity[/b]! This thing is hideous! You can buy it if you want, but i assure you that you will remain the way you name describes you for a long time!" [b]Naomi [/b]shouted, throwing the stunning dress back at [b]Chastity[/b]. "Argh, I can't deal with you people, you have no style! I'm going

 

Jeremy Mangold
Graven County Police Station
6:21pm

Idling a paper cup of water in his right hand, Jeremy rested a heavy head upon the back of the nondescript chair in the county Police station. His eyes were closed; tightly closed against a dull ache that tremored behind his forehead. Jeremy inhaled through his nostrils, drawing in the scent of the station. Aged coffee grounds. A hint of cigarette smoke. The odorous tang of a man's hard day's work. Stale air.

His neck popped as he pulled his head back up, eyes still drawn together, and brought the lip of that paper cup to his mouth. He took a swallow of the cool, tasteless water- not tasteless actually, as he swished the liquid in his mouth. It had a tinge of paper to it. Jeremy took another sip, ignoring the tatse of the cup. Off some ways in the station he heard Katie's voice on the radio. That made him smile, but only somewhat.

Jeremy lowered his arm, keeping the cup positioned between three of his fingers and dangled it casually above the white vinyl flooring of the Police station. As he let his head rest upright, he felt his bangs brush against his temples and forehead. The skin there itched. He brushed the sensation away.

Footfalls upon the vinyl awoke the listless boy and with an inhalation he rose from the nonchalant slouch and sat up. It was the same officer whom had taken his statement. Lieutenant Upham. He remembered because he gave the kid a black eye back in Miss Kerstner's fifth grade. Upham remembered too. The gleam in his eye, the curve -too curved for officiousness- of his mouth and the hassle he gave Jeremy all led to the conclusion that Upham remembered that spring day all too well.

"Wake up, sunshine," Upham said. "You're all set to go but I am afraid I got some bad news." His aberrant grin betrayed the forced empathy in the officer's words. "Snow's keeping the tow truck in Mayfield, so you'll have to do without your bike for another night. And we wouldn't want you driving out there on the ice and getting wrecked now. You're likely to cry again, ya?"

Jeremy looked at the young officer, three months his junior, through his unruly brown hair but refused to put on the show Upham so wanted preformed. Both men knew the truck wasn't needed for the bike. Both knew the ice wasn't so bad as to keep his bike off the road. Upham was after his balls for that single black eye back in the fifth grade- that and laying Naomi, whom he was rumoured to crush on. Just like Upham to hold a boyish crush and a boyish grudge at 21. With an exhalation, neither annoyed or bereaved, Jeremy stood and held out his outstretched right hand. Upham mistook it for an invitation to shake. Jeremy put that right out of his mind when he made a fist and struck the lieutenant across the jaw. Upham went flying back, knocking over a cubicle wall and sending the officer behind it diving for a gun.

Before Jeremy had even begun to shake the pain off his fist, the other Policeman pulled up his handgun and fired a round. The bullet drove through that stale air and pierced Jeremy through the ribs. His right lung was punctured, suffocating his throat with blood. When the force caught up with the blood rising at the back of his throat, he was pulled backwards off the ground. The last thing he felt was the shattering of glass behind him. His head whipped back and his sight faded quickly into blurred darkness.

Jeremy's eyes snapped open. The paper cup was an inch from his mouth. He was parched, and his tongue felt slick with frothy savila. After he shook his head to clear his languid mind from the violent fantasy he had just experienced, he took a sip of the bland water and stood. From the corner of his eyes he noticed the new DT eying him. Just what he needed, more Police attention. He gave the man a sort of visual challange; mean mugging the elder fellow with a quick, aggressive slant of the brows. 'What you're looking at?' Jeremy gestured silently.

Footfalls upon the vinyl called his attention to his left. Lieu

 

Detective Church
Graven County Police Station

Church was so embroiled in the Midnight casefile, he barely heard the door swing shut. His mind registered that the golden boy had gone, but not conciously. He continued to scan the file, waiting for something to leap out at him.

Twenty minutes later, nothing did. The usual comments, some from shrinks, some from profilers, most from shocked townsfolk. Nothing of use - no real profiles on cultists, no transcripts...it was embarassing. What a mess. He took a green sticky from a pad of its fellows, wrote the words "Reminder - check over archives", underlined "archives" twice, then stuck it up the edge of his bulletin board.

He heard a knock at his door, and turned to see Morris and Upham.

"Listen, Detective, we're heading out on patrol - need a lift to some of those cases?" asked Morris. Upham laughed. Church couldn't blame him - it was hard to call grafitti and petty pranks "cases".

He cracked a grin, then nodded, "Sure," he said, standing and taking his coat. "Just let me drop off this folder first."

---

Morris and Upham drove off into the night, one of them giving the thumbs-up. Church waved back, one hand clutching paper. His "cases". Upham and Morris would pick him up in twenty minutes, they had to do their rounds. Church walked up the driveway to the house - nice, well-kept, and homely. Not old-fashioned, thank God, he didn't think he could cope with chicken wallpaper.

Church knocked at the door. There was the sound of footsteps, then the click of a lock, and the the door was open. A woman stood in the doorframe, half-hidden behind the door. Forty-something, Church guessed.

"Good evening, ma'am, this is the Valley household, correct?" he asked.

She blinked in confusion. "Yes, why? Is everything alright?"

Church didn't respond. "Is John Valley at home?"

"Yes, why do you need to see him?" she asked, growing bolder. Who was this stranger, to come calling, asking questions?

"My name is Detective Robert Church, I'm looking into reports of vandalism and teen violence. Your son's name is on the list, so I'm here."

"He didn't do anything!" she said, anger in her voice.

Church straightened his back, and brought as much weight into his voice as possible. He'd had practice on tougher people - this mother'd back down in seconds.

"Ma'am, if you don't let me see him, then he'll be arrested. If you let me speak with him now, then we can work something out. If he didn't do anything, then he'll go right back to whatever it was he was doing."

In the end, she backed down.

"So. John, do you own any spray paint?"

"No." Surly, this one.

"Certain?"

"Yeah, jeez..."

"Did you assault Henry Wilkinson, verbally and physically?"

"No, I just pushed him outta my way, you know..."

"Pushed him until he got a broken rib?"

Nothing. Guilty, as charged.

"John?"

"He deserved it, he dissed me!" yelled John.

"Three witnesses say he was just sticking up for himself. And anyways, that's no legitimate reason to break a rib."

John's lip curled in a sneer. Church had heard enough. He handed the kid a summons, then gave him a few words of warning. "You show up to court, the worst you'll get is a slap on the wrist, sadly. But I'll be watching you. So don't screw up."

He turned on his heel, and walked to the waiting car. Upham and Morris grinned as he got in.

"That was great, sir! That kid's gotten out of so much trouble - it's good to see him taken down a notch."

Church smiled as the car drove off.

[b]Tag: Any[/b]

 

OOC: I have arrived.

NAME: Patrick Owens

AGE: 30

GENDER/ETHNICITY: Male, comes from Multi-Cultural Family

HEIGHT/WEIGHT/BUILD: 6' tall, about 169 lbs., and has a slender but strong build

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE/FEATURES: Light blue eyes and black hair that is usually slicked back

CLOTHING: He wears your normal police uniform with a gun(.45) on his left hip and his own personal revolver in a shoulder holster at his left shoulder. He is right handed after all.

OCCUPATION: Police Sheriff

PERSONALITY/TRAITS: Patrick fears nothing, as far as he?s concerned anyway and can be extremely stubborn. But he can take orders and listens carefully. In times of a fight he usually hangs back for a minute or two, if permitted, to analyze, and then goes with whatever idea he had. Is usually impassive, but can become negative when things get really bad.
SPECIAL SKILLS/TRAINING: Is a great marksman with a rifle and guns in general, though very unsure about himself when it comes to knives or sabers or anything of that sort. Patrick has a knack for climbing into places that is usually too hard for people and also the knack for sneaking around quietly.

ITEMS: Revolver, .45, flashlight, baton, wallet, pair of radios, and handcuffs

BIOGRAPHY: Patrick Owens has always wanted to be on the police and when he got his chance, he jumped at it. Becoming a Police Officer made him happy, to say the least. When he became the Sheriff of Graven Bay at the age of 29, he was ecstatic. He has lived in Graven Bay all his life and has enjoyed it. He?s heard a few weird rumors about strange events and keeps a steady eye on such things. In his memory he remembers something odd going around the town when he was ten. His whole family had been acting quite strangely and would rarely let him outside and never told him what was going on. That whole year, to this day, stirs up deep fear within him and he does not know why. All towns have their wild rumors though, right? So he tries his b est to discern wild rumors. Patrick is also extremely loyal when he gets close to someone. Which hasn?t been often. His gun expertise has been helpful in any cases it was needed. Though those occasions have been rare. His ability to climb and sneak have proved to be invaluable on a great many cases though and he hopes that has earned him some respect.

Patrick has his small circle of friends and hangs out with him whenever time presents itself. Other than them though, he finds himself sort of lonely in the town. Unbeknownst to him, he?ll have much more company soon...even if its not welcome.

 

OOC: Yay.

 

00c: I'm gunna b out of town till monday (or sunday) I think...GM, can you please make sure Mia doesn't completly get thrown out of the story?

See you all soon I hope!

~*~Moonlight~*~

 

OOC: Up!!!

 

OOC: Waiting on Darth_Joesha.

 

OOC: Waiting on our GM.

 

Hi all - extreme apologies for the delay. Had family woes with ex-wife in hospital so I've had to kind of bow out of things to be there for her, all divorces aside. I'll post something up within the next few days.

 

OOC:alright then.

 

OOC: *bumps up*

 

IC:Bellatrix Marchand

She opened her eyes and the guitar's strings wailed one last time. She took off the guitar and placed it back in the stand and nodded her head.
Decent work Bellatrix. Decent work.
She wiped some of the sweat from her face on her sleeve and went back into the living room that is littered with numerous papers, pizza boxes and books on Xtreme Guitar Playing, Magic Tricks of Houdini, and that old science book from 10th grade that was fixed with duct tape.
She looked at the answering machine which was blinking. She pressed the little green button and listened.
"Hey, this is Nick from Backstage Music shop, your guitar is gonna cost more than a thousand dollars in repairs. We'll still fix it, but it's gonna take a few more weeks than expected. These pickups are way long gone. Sorry Bellatrix. Call us back if you need details..."
it beeped to signal the end of the message.
eh, fix it...I can pay for it.
"hey Bella! It's me Kayla. Yeah, Ukiah bound...listen our band got a record deal. I sent in an old CD to that old company, and they accepted us. I thought you might wanna know, cuz you gotta come here in a few weeks to start recording. well, call me or one of us back. Rock on Bella. see ya later skater!"
She stared at the answering machine.
Us...a record deal...no way.
She let out a scream that probably carried into the city, but she didn't care. This was what they had been waiting for for the longest time ever.

TAG:anybody in the street who can hear the scream or whatever...

OOC:Just tryin to wake this RPG back up.

 

OOC: Good posts so far people. Sorry for my delay, here is my opening post, and I'll post a general update to the folks around town.

Bayden Lane - Kingsley Cottage, Shady Cove, six kilomtres north of Port Devon - 6pm-ish


Though he'd debated it many times in his head, the same conclusion had to come to mind on every occassion, and like any journalist (or even one in training), he had made sure that he had gathered the facts accurately, and processed them before accepting his findings. Part of him knew that he didn't have to be so analytical of every aspect of his life; as was the case in point.

It was a simple truth really; Graven Bay was quite beautiful in the early evening. It was taht time of the day when the blue above was a plethora of shades from orange and gold to purple and violet, the last gasp of day giving way to the curtain of night. From the skies, the slightest of snowfalls trickled from above, by no means a storm, but strangely idyllic in the final moments of full sun on this Friday evening marking the last day of October.

Staring out the water-stained window that looked out on the beach of Shady Cove, Bayden Lane gave a small grin to no one in particular and took another sip from the nondescript mug in his left hand, the sting of still-hot coffee on his tongue. Swallowing, he replaced the mug on the large desk where he sat, amidst reasonably stacked piles of notes, scribbles and various books, newspapers and magazines. Though it might appear a tad chaotic, Bayden's workspace was organised by a strange set of criteria only know to him, but somehow, maintaining a sense of order. Adjusting the black-framed square glasses that rested on his nose, he relaxed back into the padded desk chair he sat and clicked the mouse in his right hand, panning through the open web-browser displaying his latest emails. There were a half-dozen, but none of it appeared to be greatly urgent - a couple of itmes he was bidding for on Ebay, a joke forwarded to him by a classmate nicknamed "Worm" and a bank notification that he'd once again recieved another scholarship payment. Clicking the close icon in the top corner, he looked out the window again.

Port Devon was in the distance; further along the coastline and just visible against the backdrop of the ascending hils and ranges, the depths of the ocean to one side. His home, a compact, semi-vintage beach house was located a ten-minute drive from the main town, on the cusp of the beachfront community of Shady Cove, of which Bayden lived at more of the 'original' end, harking to the fact that in the last decade or two, many of the residents had moved out. Shady Cove had become something of an upmarket tourist front, which the rich and prosperous folk from out of town establishign tehir summer homes in an increasingly-elite community of their own. Over the years, the native townsfolk of the area had felt inclined to leave, inadvertently forced out by the increase of rowdy teenagers and development of irritanting affluence. By this year, only a handful of the locals remained. Bayden's home was one fo the last of the previous generation, inherited from his maternal family, a mostly open-plan design A-frame with two stories. It was small, well kept and tidy, and for the last three years, had been his home.

The house itself was mildly decorated with contents; though mostly there were a great deal of boxes containing various belongings that Bayden had never really unpacked despite his tenure here. Even his bedroom upstairs was sparse, and more often than not he found himself dozing off to sleep on the counch in front of the TV, or worse, at his desk in the late hours. It was functional and plain abode, but there were a few personal touches about the place - photographs of places and scenery he'd taken, the odd scribble of art (he had a humble talent for sketching) and some modern pop-culture posters and gig flyers, owing to the band he'd played guitar in during high school, Fade From Veiw. His electric guitar and amplifier sat in the corne

 

IC:Bellatrix Marchand

Enlight of the new found record deal, she had called up all the bandmembers in Ukiah, who were all very excited, not only about the deal, but hearing from her as well. They had all started to record, and were just waiting on her to come down for Lead Guitar and vocals.
She talked to them for a long time, then grabbed a few things and was now on the street performing some magic for people to get a few extra bucks to fix the guitar at a faster rate.
She grabbed the tips off the ground and poked them away in her pocket and started walking down the street and a odd symbol on the wall caught her attention.
Just some weird graffiti
She told herself and walked on into the city.

TAG:whoever