View Full Version : (IC) Welcome to Bridgewater

July 9th, 2012, 11:18 AM
What do we know, of the world and the universe about us? (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhgSTf0Zi18&feature=relmfu)

Confined to lives of one century at best, we consider this infinitesimal slice of the history of all existence to be all that we know, all that matters. But really, what does the birth of one filthy infant in a bleached-white hospital room mean to the trees, the wind, the Earth, and the cosmos? If there is a God who created this world, His vision must be so broad as to render the plight of these human creatures mere nothings in the face of the universal quandaries that we cannot hope to comprehend.

In truth, if a star could think, if it could feel and emote just as we so readily believe only humans and their ilk can, then it would provide a different view, with its own biases.

It would, with Its lifespan of billions of years, beyond the scope of any species, see that genesis and termination of humanity as merely a blink in Its cosmic, fiery eye; with a day of Its time expended the planet Earth would see the turmoil of its creation through fire, the conception of its basic lifeforms, their extinction and the rise of greater creatures. Weeks later in the view of this sun, that blue chunk of rock floating tenuously in space would be scorched black by the expanding influence of Its heat, swallowing up the red speck that humans called Mercury, with all the care of a horse that trods in a pile of fellow manure.

And then, even at the end of Its life, It would see such an expanse of time as being forever; just as It explodes in a backyard firework of the galaxy or shrinks into a pale dot in Its stellar home, a new, greater Thing would have opened its eyes to a new, broad, galactic morning, the death of It being a mere itch on the skin of this Thing.

The cycle would continue: sometime even the mighty Thing, given the name “Milky Way” billions of years ago by a tribe of adapted biological constructs, would crumble and die, shrivelling and moaning about its own lost grandeur, and how oh so much that it had experienced, and how oh so much it could still do, given a few more of its years. The Thing would fade, no longer existing in the eyes of the greater Cosmos; in time, even the Universe, like the king of all gods, would meet its end, and yet for some greater existence that would be merely a fraction of a fraction of a transitory moment, gone sooner than it could even be remembered.

It is this Universe that we are born into, and it is mighty and careless. In the stream of existence, humans are hardly important enough to be considered granules trailing along with the flow of cosmic water, and in the vast multitude of universes that surely exist there also surely exist more simple creatures of organic make that think themselves lords of all existence.

We are born into a universe of unknowns, and it is these unknowns that we fear the most: as children we fear boogeymen under beds and in closets, and even as adults we remain wary of movements in the shadows, ever morbidly curious and fearful not of what those shadows truly are, but of what they could be.

There is so much that we simply do not know about the world, and so many unknowns and gaps in our knowledge, that the definition of what we consider “real” is tenuous at best, and outright illogical at best.

We base our entire universe around what we can observe and theorize about, refusing to realize that the vast cosmos can never be understood as a whole, and there will always be some bigger, more apathetic fish in the ocean of that cosmos.

Our reaction to terrors we do not wish to know is most commonly to scream; this serves no purpose, and perhaps is the greatest example of the futility with which humanity struggles against the forces of the cosmos so much greater than any mustering of human will.

This is the universe we all live in.

-- --

You, for various reasons all your own, have come to Bridgewater, a little burg in Massachusetts, tantalizingly close to the mighty, heaving Atlantic Ocean.

In mundane terms, it is nowhere: nothing important happens here, with people living out their lives with their own input and output, rarely bothered by the outside world, as those who seek attention and money and power and all those terribly human desires move north to Boston, tearing apart dreams and hopes even as they reach for their own.

But, beyond those trifles and modern poisons, there exists a unique nexus in Bridgewater where the tenebrous truths that none wish to take for reality are given form. The horrors of the endless possibilities of the human mind are given face and form both corporeal and outside worldly jurisdiction to carry out their needs, or their orders. Forces beyond control them, always and forever, keeping them slave to their inscrutable designs.

Whether it be a sopping hole in a swamp infested with creatures whose flesh slides from their bones with every twitch of their muscles, or winged fiends that have their flutters and shrieks disguised by human reasoning as snarls of simple beasts and motions of the wind.

The only place for an easy rest in this town is at the inn, old and just outside the downtown area; with the humid heat of the night you wish for someplace to stay during your trip, and the air conditioning of the lobby is attractive, coming with its lightly musty scent. Its lights are a beacon in the hot darkness, and you enter, paying for your room and board.

The interior design is simple and repetitive, but it has a rustic charm and thorough accommodations that make it fit for a peasant or a king, almost.

To the left of the lobby, at the entrance, there is a kitchen and small eating area, designed with booths and linoleum reminiscent of earlier decades; from the smells, you can tell that food is being made, and the heads of a few customers can be seen above the backs of their seats, but they don't pay any immediate attention to you when you enter.

Straight ahead is the rest of the lobby, with a small television switched to the local news, and two couches angled towards a fireplace, its flame currently extinguished. You get a good idea of how technologically adept this place is by checking the television set: it still uses the rabbit-ears configuration, the projected colour image covered in a very light static snow.

A bulletin board right beside the entry carries a few local advertisements, the sort with slips of paper marked with phone numbers, asking to sell odds and ends and offering menial work for a price.

More importantly, there is a floor plan of the inn; the first floor is made up mostly of rooms and a few services, whereas the second storey is similar in terms of accommodations to the first with thirteen rooms and a view down to the lobby over a wooden balcony and railing; the greatest floor, the third, has half the number of rooms as the other two floors, but has the addition of a study. The map, unfortunately, offers no details to that particular part of the building's construction.

The choice is now yours: you can choose your room or introduce yourself to others around in the lobby. There has been a rush this past evening, with people coming in to return to the safety and comfort of a warm bed.

Do remember, though, that with every opportunity explored, another is lost.


There are 13 rooms on the first floor, fourteen on the second, and six on the third. Select any available one from the list. "a," "b," and "c" mark the respective floors.

Room 1a Taken - NPC
Room 2a
Room 3a Taken - NPC
Room 4a
Room 5a Taken - NPC
Room 6a Taken - NPC
Room 7a
Room 8a Taken - Jack Haruto
Room 9a
Room 10a Taken - NPC
Room 11a
Room 12a
Room 13a

Room 1b Taken - Archibald Westerwittings
Room 2b Taken - NPC
Room 3b
Room 4b
Room 5b Taken - Carlene Loe
Room 6b
Room 7b
Room 8b Taken - NPC
Room 9b Taken - Sarah Marie
Room 10b
Room 11b Taken - NPC
Room 12b Taken - NPC
Room 13b
Room 14b Taken - James Henderson II

Room 1c Taken - NPC
Room 2c Taken - Emily Douglas
Room 3c
Room 4c
Room 5c
Room 6c Taken - NPC


Date: July 9th, 1992
Setting: Bridgewater, Massachusetts, USA

July 9th, 2012, 12:23 PM
James Henderson II
Bridgewater Inn

At last, I had arrived at the town, it was sleepy, a call back in time to the turn of the century, where everyone in town knew your name, where you lived, how your life was going. Lifelong grudges mingled with sparks of friendship, towns like these had a long memory, and hidden secrets just below the quiet surface, like a monstrous leviathan waiting to drag an unfortunate ship to the briny depths of the sea. The streets looked like a scene out of Leave it to Beaver, with a wholesome, family-friendly atmosphere. But, there was... something, in the air, an oppression, like something was consistently watching, disapproving, and I felt it's horrid gaze upon me, as I walked ever-so-slightly quickly from my car to the door of the inn, wishing to get indoors, lest I meet Pennywise the Dancing Clown in a darkened alleyway. I hefted my overnight bag, slightly larger and heavier than usual, and walked through the front doors.

The Inn was a reflection of the town, quiet, peaceful, with that monstrous looming presence fading with the closing of the portal behind me, the scent of cooking food filled my nostrils, and I found my stomach growling, I had neglected to eat lunch, in the hurried drive southwards, and my mouth slavered with my piercing hunger. But, I turned it away, as I had some business to take care of first, after all, it would be rude to eat without entrusting my humble self to the Inn's care.

As I waited for the receptionist to receive my request, I surveyed my surroundings, the usual ritual allowing me to return to a calmer state of mind, as I removed my sunglasses.

A small sitting area awaited, off to the side, a fireplace, likely more active in the coming cold months to come, overlooked several couches, as well as a television, the static lightly running over it, like a stream of rainwater into a sewer. Also, there was a billboard, boasting advertisements for businesses and requests for aid, and, if my vision did not deceive me, a lost pet sign.

I smirked slightly at my overly-dramatic internal narrative, I'd been reading too many horror stories. Perhaps I was tired from the drive, as I hadn't been sleeping well recently, the bodies that lead me to this small, folksy town haunting my thoughts, and, of course, the character that always haunted my every thought, the one I wouldn't name, not even to my psychologist.

After all, I could never read Christine, or Misery.

I'd grab some food from the kitchen after I got my room, rest for a time, maybe chat up some of my fellow guests.

Hopefully none of them from the "fairer sex", then I'd probably turn in early.

July 9th, 2012, 08:49 PM
Bridgewater Inn


“I'm sorry. I can't help you sir. I don't recognize what I'm looking at.” The man said, looking at the strange picture being showed to him.

“...I see. Sorry for bothering you.” The man known as Jack Haruto said while sighing.

“No problem. If you need anything to drink, just be sure to ask me. Mister...uh?”

“Jack. Jack Haruto. Sure, you wouldn't happen to have a pack Mountain Dew, would you?”

“Of course. Here.” The services receptionist went into some closet and came out with the aforementioned pack of Mountain Dew. “That will be $5.99.”

Paying for his case of soda, Jack left the service lobby went straight to his room across from the service lobby, Room 8 on the first floor to leave his 12 case of drink there.

Grabbing one of delicious, green drinks, Jack decided to introduce himself to whoever was around. After all, it's small place. He might need to know a few people here that could help me out here.

Walking around a bit, He greets an old man sitting near the fireplace, eating a warm meal no doubt prepared by the services here. He sat down on the somewhat, comfy looking couch across from the fireplace.

Jack looked around to see who else was around and saw a few other fellows. But, the ones who caught his attention were the two women he saw.

A black haired beauty, and a blonde bombshell.

Jack could only mouth one word that described both of them in a simple way.


It'd be nice to get to know them alright, but knowing his luck...

“...Sometimes, it's not fair. But then again, when was the world ever fair?...” Jack said to himself.

Noticing a few other things in the lobby that caught his attention but not wanting to care about them at the moment, due to his inconsiderate ADHD, he finished the can of soda and decided to shut his eyes for a few minutes to think.

He wanders into his thoughts, not caring about the world around him. Calming his thinking and mind. He thought of only one thing.

He really hoped that being here isn't going to be too troublesome. And with that final thought, he drifts off into sleep until one of the employees comes to wake him up and put himself to bed.

July 10th, 2012, 08:12 PM

It was always good to come in from the rain.

The downpour has started almost as soon as he had gotten onto off the bus from the airport and had shown no real sign of letting up in the ten minutes or so it had taken to get here. Unlike back in Blighty the rain here was much warmer and considerably heavier than its English counterpart, which was annoying since it had almost wrecked his good umbrella in the trek from the bus-stop to the Inn, to say nothing of the fact that he almost drowned in a particularly deceptive puddle.

With an umbrella in one hand and dragging a small wheeled suitcase the other, he had left the matter of his small travelling case to the large Gore-Texed shape that padded next to him through the rain. It was, of course, a dog. A rather large dog for that matter, a Saint Bernard of meticulous good breeding and of considerable size, he would probably be closer to a small pony then a large dog if it were not for the fact that he could bark instead of whinny. Wrapped in a specially made Gore-Tex waterproof that covered him like a blanket and with a harness around his chest and back which strapped the travelling case to his side, he seemed quite excited to be in a new part of the world, especially with his big, wet tail wagging as much as it was.

Squinting through his rain-splattered glasses, Archie peered out through the rain and the heat and at last found the building he was looking for. He had asked the bus driver where the nearest hotel was and he had instead been rather grumpily pointed in the direction of an ‘Inn’ of sorts, although his directions where delivered in a dialect of English yet undiscovered by most humans so it had lost quite a bit of its substance in translation and almost left him lost, which would not have been good in this weather.

As they approached the thick doors the dog went ahead of him, shoving one of them inwards heavily with it’s should just like a person would, holding the door open for his Master as Archie took cover under the overhang presented by the balconies above, using the moment to fold his umbrella down and give it a quick shake before wiping his feet on the soaking mat by the door.

“Thank you Oli.” He said graciously, as he passed the dog and stepped into the cool lobby, to which the dog replied with a muted bark of appreciation as he took a few steps forward and let the door slide shut again.

Kneeling down, with the none too quiet sound of aching joints, Achie removed the case and strapping before he unclipped the waterproof from around Oli’s back and stuffed it quickly into a waiting plastic bag so as to not drag water all the way through the lobby, which would have just been rude.

Sticking the umbrella into the bag as well before knotting it to the handle of his suitcase, he detached his stick from the side and, using it as a support, pulled himself back onto his feet, and with a distinctly audible cracking sound as one of his knees creaked back into position. Oli sat back on his haunches and tilted his head quizzically, looking up at him with those big, brown eyes filled with dogged concern and with his big, pink tongue lolling out, well, it was his job be care after all. Reaching out, Archie stroked the top of his head gently in a reassuring fashion.

“I am getting old you know, it’s to be expected that my parts get a bit rusty”

He could have sworn that the dog almost rolled his eyes.

Ignoring that surprising development, and feeling much more confident on his feet now that he had his stick in hand, Archie, with his suitcase and companion trailing behind, strode slowly into the lobby.

A cool breeze of conditioned air wafted over him and he suddenly realised just how warm it had been outside. It was a strange, sticky heat that he was not really used to, as if slime was stuck to his skin. Enjoying the relief provided by the air conditioning, he made his way slowly across the lobby towards the Reception desk, slowly and carefully observing everything as he went. ‘Quaint’ was the word that came to mind, a quirky Quaint mind you, not any of that crafty nonsense. Surprisingly it reminded him of a place he had once visited in India, minus all of the locals and fakirs of course, plus it was slightly cooler, however the atmosphere was still the same, dusty and underused, like a forgotten toy.

It did not take him too long to book a room and, after a brief exchange of money, he found himself presented with the key for a room on the second floor, 1b to be precise, a room with a window and balcony that was facing the street, mostly because it would give him something to do with his spare time, plus he would like to be able to sit out in the sun once the weather cheered up.

It took him a small amount of time to climb the flight of stairs with his suitcase, dump the unwieldy thing unceremoniously on the large bed (his Wife, God bless her Soul, probably turned in her grave at that), unstrap Oliver of his own truck and add that to the pile as well, before leaving the dog on guard in the room before locking it again, descending the stairs again and deciding to at last to get something to eat for the evening.

After a small amount of time spend browsing the selection of food, he settled on a chicken sandwich and a small bottle of water, which was quick reasonably priced considering what it would have cost him to buy it elsewhere. Selecting a seat at the end of a long trestle table, he set the tray down and cracked open the top of the bottle of water and took a long gulp before starting on his sandwich. Something told him that the dog would have been ever-so-slightly jealous to suddenly come down here and find him eating chicken. He would have to buy him something special if he could find a pet shop or something like that around here, he had been a sensible dog and had not made too much fuss apart from the vaccinations, so he deserved a treat of some form.

July 11th, 2012, 03:33 AM
Emily Douglas
Bridgewater Inn

A young woman with dark hair sat alone at a table, absent-mindedly stirring her half-finished soup. It was not because the food was subpar - far from it, in fact - but simply because she was drained of all her energy from the past few days. Besides, her actual meal would come soon, so she had no particular reason to hastily finish one small bowl of noodle soup.

Emily's tired gaze swept slowly across the room, taking in those seated at nearby tables with somewhat dulled curiosity. On a better evening, maybe she would have socialized with some of the others sitting in the lobby, but she was not feeling up to conversation that night. It wasn't as uncomfortably warm inside as it had been outside, at least, but the weather had still done little to help Emily's sour mood.

When her food arrived - a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, simple but delicious - she met the server with a tired smile and a short nod. So long as nothing decided to suddenly present itself, she would finish her dinner quickly, and be off to bed somewhat early. Hopefully, the next day would be better.

July 11th, 2012, 04:33 PM

You're the first of the evening rush to get up to the reception counter; a younger-looking man is there on his shift, and his gaze darts to you as soon as you get close. He's been here a while, probably.

"Good evening, sir, and welcome to the Bridgewater Inn! How may I help you today?" He gives you a customer-service-standard smile.

You tell him that you want a room, not sparing many words with him. He checks a book under the counter, and opens it wide for you to see. After jotting down a few notes and glancing up at you just as many times, he hands you a pen. Tapping one line in the big list of names, he has you sign in as a guest; apparently, your room is number 14b on the second floor. The receptionist hands you a pamphlet which includes a small map of the building, easing your trip up to the second floor.

In your room, you spare enough time to put down your things and take out the most basic necessities - including, of course, some money - but your hunger gnaws at you too much for you to get a good, long rest. Even the melodic patter of the rain doesn't help you, and a grumble from your stomach finally rouses you.

Trudging downstairs, you rejoin the bustle of the lobby, and you follow your nose to the cafeteria, knowing as if by instinct where the food lies.

A woman's there at the front, her tawny hair covered up with a thick net, a basic khaki uniform on, with a couple spots of grease near her knees. She's an older woman, in her forties at the earliest.

"Hey there, ya lookin' t' get some grub?" She lifts a ladle, some gravy pouring down from it back into its metal container.



Mmm, sleep. Even with the noises streaming into the lobby, you still can manage to get a decent rest here on the sofa, the crackling of the fireplace more soothing than anything; you try to focus on it, but fatigue takes over.


Your eye twitches, but you keep sleeping, trying to get in a good dream. You can imagine it just now-

"Sir, are you asleep?"

Eye twitches again. Someone's standing over you, you can tell that much, but you think more about how annoying it is. Can't a guy get some rest around here, or is tiredness punishable by summary execution?

Just before the guy can talk again you sit up, almost jumping to your feet, but you sit there calmly, arm on the back of the couch. The man nearly falls backward; he's dressed up in what seems to you to be an excessively fancy suit complete with ruddy-coloured waistcoat and a white dress shirt with far too ridged creases down the arms. He shakes his head and wears a blush across his cheeks as he steadies himself, totally messing up his attempts at being a calm, good worker.

"Oh, sorry! Well, ah, sir, if you want to sleep, then you have to go to your room. If you h-have one already, th-that is. Sorry, I'm new here." He bows his head, groaning sadly to himself. He's... not exactly competent, but he at least has enthusiasm.



You scratch your dog behind the ears, and he sits down politely, turning his head in response to your touch. You both know each other well by now, and he really is man's best friend.

After you chuckle a little at his antics and return to your food, Oli perks up a bit, not staring at your sandwich but instead at something coming in from the storm outside. Curious as well, you check to see where the dog's looking, and you see a woman walking in; she has a squarish binder above her head as some impromptu umbrella, and loosely laced between her fingers is the fabric rope of a leash. The creature on the other end shows up soon, shaking its fur just as soon as it steps in the door: a Jack Russel terrier, standing almost up to the girl's knee, but still more a puppy than a full dog like your own.

A few minutes go by, and you're done your sandwich. Just as you stand up, though, the girl and her dog walk into the cafeteria, the little dog trying to run off and explore the strange smells and sounds of the lobby. She wags her finger at her dog, then slides a few locks of auburn hair behind her ear. She looks to be a college student at the oldest, maybe not even from this town, a small, fashionable rain jacket as her only protection against the weather.

Oli certainly seems interested, and the girl unknowingly heads your way, little terrier in tow.



Sighing at the crowds coming in to the lobby, you decide you don't want to deal with them, and as soon as you're done with your dinner you head up to your room, being almost sneaky about it. The stairs creak a little as you ascend, but you know well enough how to avoid making a sound, and you're fairly sure that no one has even noticed you leave the lobby.

Your room is 2c, up on the third floor, the topmost one of this building, before the flat roof. You find the place easily enough, and stop just as your hand grips the brass of the doorknob.

"Damn it, Lisa, this is supposed to be our anniversary!" A man stomps angrily behind a woman, coming up the stairs you were just on.

"Anniversary?" The woman turns to the man and scoffs, crossing her arms. She's got a traditional, older-style dress on, and her accent sounds classically English. "Hank, this is not what I expected for a gift; this is some rundown shanty in the middle of Nowhere, America, how am I supposed to care? You promised we would go to Rio this summer!"

The man sighed, taking a key out of his pocket. "Sorry, hon, but Rio's just out of our budget. Maybe if you got a job within the next ten years, we could afford something like that."

"Oh, I need to get a job? Aren't you talking a bit big there, huh? Hold down a job of your own for a month and I'll consider it, how about that?" Disgusted, she took hold of the man's key, slamming it into the lock on a dock and twisting it. They summarily slipped into their room, and you heard the man let out a stream of swear words; the door to their suite was open a crack, letting a stream of light slide along the floor of the hallway. Apparently, they either didn't notice you, or just ignored your presence.

At the same time, you heard a toppling crash come from the study, heard even beyond the big oaken double doors.

July 11th, 2012, 09:09 PM
Sarah Marie
Bridgewater Inn

Nowhere, America, was certainly a good descriptor for the town, she thought - such a far cry from London. So little, for so few, for such a small time. Quaint, she supposed.

A polite word for "a dump," but there was a certain charm to a tiny, rainy town without much of a real dynamo to it, surviving on Boston's life.

Not to say it lacked for interesting people, though. Some troubled-seeming man managed to peek under the brim of her forward-tilted Australian hat long enough to take a good look, with a... typical response.

Heh, men. Never change. Waving off the thought, she ordered a bowl of soup - light fare, only. She didn't need much, and British Airways, in particular in business class - one had to love billing travel to your employer.

Chuckling to herself - man, they really had no idea how expensive travel actually was - she started at her soup, eating with one hand.

The other rested under the table, occupied by the twirling of a butterfly knife. A great country, she found - it actually let its citizens carry weapons for personal defense. Silently flicking it around her hand, she kept eating, letting the inn pass her by.

July 11th, 2012, 11:44 PM
Luca Cangelosi
Bridgewater Inn

Bridgewater was probably one of the better places for a job. Compared to other places he had been sent to, the charming town seemed almost ideal for a relaxed vacation. He would make sure to not hurry on this particular assignment. Thankfully the Vatican doesn't ask a Cangelosi questions about their work...

If it only wasn't raining so damn much.

Because he had expected sunny weather, the scrawny-looking man was now standing in the lobby of the hotel, wearing completely drenched shorts and a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt.
Combined with his sunglasses, his backpack and a single suitcase it gave the impression of a stereotypical tourist.

As he approached the reception, he pondered for a second if he should use a heavy Italian accent to compliment this image of his, but decided against it. What if he forgot his act in the heat of the moment?

Getting in line behind the man currently occupying the receptionist, he took a coin out his pocket and played a bit with it, daftly running it up and down his knuckles.

July 14th, 2012, 03:48 AM
James Henderson II

I set down my bag, the added weight settling grimly on the bed, with all of the air of a judge's gavel striking down. I stretched slightly, relieved to be free of my burden, then followed that keenest and most voracious desire of mine, the howling beast roaring with glee as I entered my prey's territory, and stalked past the other animals at the basin of nurture as I approached my source of sustenance for the evening.

A wary instinct rears up as I spot the provider, female, that set of chromosomes that had caused my such grief and despair and the past was in control of the foodstuffs, and so, with all of the will and power of my mind, I pushed past my fear of XX, and growled out some instructions for a Ham and Swiss Sandwich, with mustard and some salt-and-vinegar chips if they were available. I also grimly requested a Coca-cola, as to refresh and clear my mind, as well as assist in the consumption of the meal itself.

The provider of food nodded sedately, and requested compensation for the meal, I grudgingly accepted her request, and several minutes later, was victorious in the capture of my prey for the evening, in my mind's eye, the boar squeals with terror as my teeth bury into it's flank, having ambushed it in a field of wheat, legs kicking frantically as I feast upon it's entrails, a dark rain descending upon the dying pig as I tear it apart, it's struggles growing weaker and weaker as I reach inwards, relishing in the taste of victory (and ham) as I devour it, down to the bones.

As an accompaniment to the boar's death, I stalk to a farmer's field and filch some potatoes from his crop, now harvested and basted in vinegar and salt for preservation, I lope away in the dark of night, laughing at the farmer's enraged oaths at the sight of his vandalized crop.

Then I finish off the rest of my Coke, and take a trip to the restroom. Appreciating the fine craftsmanship of the sandwich, I paced over to the woman who'd taken my order, and say:

"Excuse me, my compliments to the chief on this very good sandwich, and, uh," I affected my native Bostonian accent slightly more, "Could you tell me a little about the town? Haven't been down here in a long time."

July 16th, 2012, 12:58 AM
Carlene Loe

It just had to be raining on the first day she came to the town. And not just some light drizzle either- it was an enormous downpour of rain. While she had initially arrived into town in high spirits and high expectations, the downpour of rain had certainly managed to ruin her day.

This backwater town was looking less appealing already. But no matter- no light drizzle would be able to stop her from succeeding from her task.

Despite being completely soaked, Carlene strode into the inn with her head held high. Although she’d had the misfortune of being caught out in the rain, Carlene had no intention of looking anything less than prim and proper. There was no telling how long she’d have to stay in this town, and first impressions were important after all, especially in the superficial society they lived in today.

She’d packed appropriately for the occasion, of course. Carrying with her quite a bit of luggage, Carlene was prepared to stay at the town for quite a bit. All of the tools and instruments that she’d need for the occasion were packed, along with plenty of spare clothes. One might have thought her over prepared, but Carlene was not the type to simply reach a passable level of preparation and call it a day- no, she demanded nothing but absolute perfection of herself. Every possibility that she thought of, she had tried to account for.

Unfortunately, that had led to her luggage being rather large, and difficult to carry for someone of her relatively short stature. But that was just another challenge she’d overcome… if she took a couple breaks here and there.

The inn seemed decent enough for her purposes- rather low technology wise, but perhaps she’d been too used to the universities of America. It had its own rustic charms, and was nicely air conditioned.

Wandering through the lobby, she immediately got in line for the receptionist. Talking with the other residents could simply wait until after she got a room and had managed to settle in- if she even needed to talk to them at all. Beyond a couple simply inquiries, it would be mostly a waste of time to converse with them. Setting down her luggage case and leaning over it, Carlene waited in line for the receptionist.

July 16th, 2012, 02:44 PM

Crowds of people pass by you, and only a few stand out - one man in a Hawaiian shirt who looks like he'd come to the perfectly wrong place, and another, who passes by the receptionist altogether and sits himself down in a booth in one lonely corner of the cafeteria. He carries with him nothing but a long suitcase, like something you'd use to carry around an instrument. It has a luggage lock on it, silver, and the name of some brand you didn't recognize is slapped on its side.

He looks all business (http://safebooru.org/index.php?page=post&s=view&id=854274), barely paying attention to anyone and slapping a big, unwieldy phone on the table in front of him. The case, though, he sets by his side as if it were his companion, sitting in the booth seat next to him. He opens it deftly, and puts effort into checking its contents, using his body as a sort of shield to prevent any onlookers from seeing over his shoulder. While he has the attire of a respectable business man, he's got the poise of someone not so used to open meetings and the nine-to-five grind.

A cigarette lies between his curled lips, and out of apparent suspicion he sets another lock on his case, taking a puff and then standing up. He doesn't wantt o be in here for long, and for one barely noticeable moment he looks your way, an oddly knowing glimmer in his eyes.



There are two reception lines: one, closer to the entrance, has seen more activity, with the man there quickly and efficiently handling the long line he's got, ensuring order and speed. You go for the second line, less busy, where another staff member has been put on shift to handle the growing crowd.

The man ahead of you ambles off on his crutches, heading for the rickety elevator hidden away beside the main stairwell, and he brushes off any help from other inn staff.

There you meet the receptionist and her cheery eyes (http://safebooru.org/index.php?page=post&s=view&id=809561), looking ready to help. She's a young thing, with all the books and pens and everything set out already for you. Compared to her co-worker, she doesn't show any signs of being tired. From that, you can tell that she's probably new here.

"Bonjour- ah, hello!" she says, her accent quite strong. "How can I help you today, sir?"



You get in the first line, which has started to dwindle just as the second line grows. In the space of a few minutes you're up at the counter, with the receptionist there and ready to answer your questions, however many you may have.

Your talk with him is short and to the point, and you're off to your own room almost before he can finish saying "Have a nice evening!" The crowd fills in behind you, like soldiers replacing losses on their front line. The inn definitely doesn't show any sign of getting slower, but the evening is still fairly fresh. In the lobby, too, the front door is open so often that the smell of the rain gets in, and the welcome mat is now more like a welcome puddle, soaked from the storm, its fabric turned dark.

You're in your room soon enough, finding it without any problems. You can set down your luggage and get ready for the night, or do whatever you wish with your time. The inn and its staff aren't going anywhere.

[GM note - pick any available room]

July 18th, 2012, 03:27 PM
Luca Cangelosi

"Bonjour- ah, hello!" she says, her accent quite strong. "How can I help you today, sir?"
He quickly put the coin into his pocket again, and reciprocated her greeting with a slight bow.

"Oh, good today to you too, madame...as you can see I am quite drenched, so I'd like to get a room and change into something more comfortable, if that is possible."

July 19th, 2012, 08:55 PM
Carlene Loe

Setting her luggage down as soon as she arrives into the room, she closes the door to the room. Slightly tired from the trip, she simply lays down on the spacious bed, thinking on her next action. Unpacking her luggage and getting ready to turn in for the night was certainly an option. It was already too dark outside for her to go outside. However, the lobby was currently teeming with people. And she did have a couple questions that she wanted to ask about the town- in particular, about the strange happenings that tended to occur around this place she’d heard about. Around where they tended to occur, when they happened, etc. This could be the perfect opportunity to go out and ask.

But… not with her clothes soaked like this. Quickly getting off the bed for any more water could seep onto it, Carlene opened up her luggage case. Getting out of her soaked clothes, she changes into a cleaner set of clothes, before leaving her room. She could just as easily unpack her luggage later, when the crowd in the lobby thinned out. Locking it as she leaves, Carlene makes her way down to the lobby.

Down at the lobby, Carlene begins to look through the crowd, searching for anybody who seems familiar with the town. If she found someone who seems like they know a bit about the town, then she would get straight to the point and ask.

July 21st, 2012, 09:13 PM

A cigarette lies between his curled lips, and out of apparent suspicion he sets another lock on his case, taking a puff and then standing up. He doesn't wantt o be in here for long, and for one barely noticeable moment he looks your way, an oddly knowing glimmer in his eyes.

I smirk, just looking at my soup. What a farce. A businessman carrying some kind of instrument? I doubt it. Especially in this kind of place - seal a deal with a song, yeah. Sounds likely.

Reaching into my bag besides me, I pulled out a pen and started scribbling on a clean napkin, then balling it up and tossing it across the room, trying to knock the cigarette out of his mouth.

"Sing us a song, you're the piano man. What're you doing here?"

July 24th, 2012, 02:43 AM

"I'll tell ol' Bogie ya liked his grub, and, well..." she starts, scrubbing off the counter in front of her with a checkered rag, "we folk been livin' here where no one really talks about us, since most tourists an' immigrants just go up t' Boston and all, and you probably know all about that, don't you, son? Down here, lately some've been coming to check for the weird junk goin' on, like the aliens or whatever people say they've seen. Now, I say that's all a load of junk, but every year around summer an' winter we get people comin' in the town, muckin' it all up with their cameras and all that. Some check out the swamp - place stinks, don' know why'd they go there- and others like the prison."

The lady shrugs. "I guess they all just come for an excuse t' get scared, but it's not even Halloween. Hmph. Name's Kathy, by the way. Nice to meet ya, mister...?"



As it stands, nearly everyone in the lobby is busy - the ones that aren't are people who've come to the town for their own reasons and are staying around at the inn, not unlike you.

Instead of a person, there's a helpful bulletin board near the entrance with a stack of pamphlets on an end table beside it. A few people take their own copies, but there's more than enough left for the rest, and you take one. It's the only real source of information at the moment, but it's definitely thorough.

On the front page is a map of the city (https://maps.google.ca/maps?q=inn+near+West+Bridgewater,+MA,+United+State s&hl=en&ll=42.014675,-71.00318&spn=0.011638,0.01929&sll=42.014452,-70.997729&sspn=0.011638,0.01929&oq=west+bridgewater+inn&doflg=ptm&hq=inn&hnear=West+Bridgewater,+Plymouth,+Massachusetts,+U nited+States&t=m&z=16) and surrounding areas, centred on the West Bridgewater Inn where you are staying. It's under three miles to the town of Bridgewater itself, and the smaller borough of West Bridgewater is just across the river to the northwest. South, in Bridgewater itself, is the State University itself, and the famous Hockomock Swamp is about seven miles away, to the west.

The next couple of pages are dedicated to a rather dull and uninformative guide to the city (http://www.bridgewaterma.org/), not holding much information compared to the map. It mentions ghostly lights seen on some nights above the local river, as well as UFOs lingering above the town, especially near the university; it goes on to state that these are unfounded rumours, but notes their value as local attractions.

That gives you a general idea of the town and provides you with a useful map, but more specific inquiries will require more specific investigation. You might not be able to do that, at least not in the space of this confined inn.



You make a shot for the man's cigarette - and miss, but your little paper ball lands in his glass ashtray; his eyes flick towards it, and his grubby fingers pick up the paper. Another glance in your general direction is telling enough.

He reads it in just a few moments, his gaze intent, far from casual. Noting something down on the back, he tosses it back to you just a moment later.

The man seems to be a little irritated with this high school note-tossing, and gestures under his table for you to come over. Whether or not you're going to follow along, he's definitely taken an interest in you, for better or for worse. There's little doubt that he's suspicious, and not in the best of ways.

Yet, once he's done all that, he continues to suck on his cigarette like nothing's going on.

The handwritten note, when you get to reading it, says:

"Everyone here's just passing through. Thought I'd see the sights, hear the sounds, smell the... smells. You're being oddly friendly for a stranger, aren't you?"

July 24th, 2012, 05:15 AM
Jack Haruto

"...Ugh... I'm still a young guy, but I feel so old." I remark while laying on the bed of my room. Trying to fall asleep by drinking the sugary goodness of the mountain dew to calm my brain cells from over-thinking. The only way calm a person with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder without giving them brain-death medication is to give them caffeine. Hence why I'm drinking all of the case at the moment.

"...I still don't believe this can lower your goddamned sperm count. I mean c'mon it's a soft drink and oh look, here I am talking to myself again as I usually end up doing at times."

If people saw me doing this, they'd think I'm a loony. I...rather wouldn't want that to happen.

"Well, that's the last of 'em. I should try to get some actual rest...I mean what time is it anyway? Times like this I wish I had a watch..." It didn't matter anyway, all that mattered was that I needed some good rest.

July 24th, 2012, 06:12 PM
Emily Douglas
Bridgewater Inn, Third Floor

As far as she knew, Emily had managed to slip upstairs away from the crowds without being noticed. She knew that she probably hadn't needed to be sneaky, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Unfortunately, she quickly found she was not the only one who decided to retire early, as an arguing couple made their way up the stairs behind her. Sighing, Emily pushed open the door to her own room, not daring to interrupt the man and woman no matter how loud they were being. She knew it would only end badly, and she wasn't willing to risk turning either or both of the two against her instead.

Before she closed and locked her door, though, Emily heard a loud crash coming from elsewhere. The study, it seemed, and it sounded as if something large and heavy had fallen over. Maybe a bookshelf?

Shaking her head and sighing again, Emily reopened the door and went to investigate. Hopefully, it wouldn't be anything too serious.

July 28th, 2012, 02:42 AM
James Henderson II

Smiling politely at the woman's soliloquy, I extracted some small details from the innocuous sentences, Bridgewater, while a small, outlying township, gathered a rather large selection of tourism by those who were intrigued by the town's eerie mystique, my roommate, one Joseph Wolfe, was one of those drawn, roughly a year ago, he'd returned, unharmed but spooked, and by order of his imperial decree, designated the town of Bridgewater, a, and I quote, "fucking spookhouse, bro".

Most of the information the idle conversation had summoned either had already been gleaned from prior knowledge, or were irrelevant details, that, despite myself, I tucked away for future reference.

The lady shrugs. "I guess they all just come for an excuse t' get scared, but it's not even Halloween. Hmph. Name's Kathy, by the way. Nice to meet ya, mister...?"

I started, jolted out of my gumshoe-like monologue by the sudden request, I gave a small smile, and bowed my head slightly, "My name is Jack, M'am. Heard about the spookiness from a friend, had a couple days off, figured I'd go and check it out."

Omitting several important details, of course, but why bother bringing such ghastly talk into a friendly conversation?

I continued my brief inquiry, "Has there been anything particularly.. interesting going on in town lately? Bit of morbid curiosity, and might give me something to give roomy nightmares over a couple beers." I grinned boyishly.

July 28th, 2012, 06:05 PM
"Everyone here's just passing through. Thought I'd see the sights, hear the sounds, smell the... smells. You're being oddly friendly for a stranger, aren't you?"

"Maybe I like being friendly. Maybe you look lonely or bored. Maybe I'm lonely or bored. 9b."

Flicking the paper back to him, I got up from my table and went to go book the room. Something was off about him, that was easy to tell - and considering the things I had heard, investigating would not be such a bad idea...

July 28th, 2012, 09:53 PM
"Oh, sorry! Well, ah, sir, if you want to sleep, then you have to go to your room. If you h-have one already, th-that is. Sorry, I'm new here."

I opened my eyes and stood up quickly.

How could I have missed that?

The guy obviously seemed nervous about something. Even for being on the job for the first time, you should be trying your best to show a facade of calm.

Was he trying to get my attention?

Contemplating on what I should do, I decide to seek him out and ask what's bothering him. Seems like I won't be going to sleep early tonight. I could only think of one thing while walking out of my room.

"Please, don't become a troublesome situation..."

Frantic Author
July 29th, 2012, 04:28 AM
Professor K.A. Mina

I barely even noticed as I entered my room - I was far too preoccupied. Too much to do. Too much to think about.

I grinned widely at the room; it was modest, but it had everything I required. Books. Notes. A board to put notes on.


July 31st, 2012, 06:56 PM
Carlene Loe


The pamphlet was proving quite useful. She wouldn’t really have any trouble finding the university or the swamp from here, and it pointed out the strange occurrences that were said to happen around the city. While they were dismissed as mere unfounded rumors by it, the best way to find out what they truly were would be to go look at them herself. If they occurred frequently enough to be noted as local attractions, then she had a good chance of seeing them herself.

This was probably the limit that she could find out about the town while staying inside the inn, unfortunately. Good enough for today, but the mention of the river in the pamphlet had piqued her interest. It wouldn’t hurt to go outside for a walk and take a look at it.

Keeping the pamphlet for later use as a map, Carlene scanned the rest of the inn for people carrying umbrellas. Of course, she was not going to resort to stealing- but if they were already inside the inn, then they wouldn’t really be needing their umbrella anyways, and she was fairly certain she could convince someone to lend one to her.

August 2nd, 2012, 08:34 PM

"This building is structurally un-sound!" you hear an authoritative voice shout, just as you peek in the library door. The sound of the man barking orders almost makes you freeze in place, but you head in anyways.

A whole row of bookshelves are toppled over, fallen like dominoes with their contents spilled onto the grey carpet of the room. At least one table was broken under the weight of those shelves, and two younger men are scurrying about, trying to fix what's wrong. Unfortunately for them, as you can see, just about everything has gone wrong here.

The two workers are being ordered around by another man, already tall and made taller by the stool he's standing on; he's got a chiseled, broad face and a furrowed brow, and he looks in every way the sort of person who doesn't respect incompetence. His hawk-like eyes watch his clumsy underlings, and only for a moment do they turn to you, noticing immediately as you step through the door. There's a little creak as you make your way in, and the two workers stop and stand up, staring at you.

Their boss quickly sets them to work again with another shout.

"I told you already, you have to be careful with the damned books! They're old, older than you! Of course, not like it seems like it, since you boys are slower than my dead old gran-daddy, Lord rest his soul! Now move!"

His hand snaps into a salute when he sees you, and he steps down from his makeshift watchtower. "Good evening, little lady. How may I help you? The library here is a little out of order - there were some renovations done just last winter, and the contractor was cheap - but if you need anything, ask."

He looks over at his workers - they're not going any faster, and the boss scowls. "Call me Keith, official library manager of this place. If you, ah, want anything, though... you might have to help yourself find it, I'm afraid. There's plenty here, though; I think it's actually one of the biggest book stores in the whole state!"



"Anything interestin'?" She shrugs, rolling her eyes.

"Ah, well... it depends on what ya think is real 'interestin' in that sort, but I guess you could tell yer buddy about this one - just last week, back in June, some geezer was hunting at night, going for some fowl by the river, and when he saw a nice, fat little bird, whoosh! It was snapped up by something he said wasn't no bird, 'cause it was too big to be anything he'd known of, and it screamed like a harpy. I'd reckon I believe him about birds, but the old guy probably got spooked by a low-flyin' plane. People aroun' here don't like much technology, I've gotta say. Same old man's brother said that he saw a lamb on the edge of his field sink into the ground, and the next morning there was just a messed up skeleton there, legs missing below the knees. Don't think he knows much about animals and traffic accidents, and all the problems of them chemicals they put in the water. Eh, still, gotta feel bad for the poor old guys. Lots can spook 'em, it seems."

She shakes her head, looking disappointed about something, and spots a customer coming up to the counter right beside you. She nods, seeing you off, and you can understand that she's got to get back to business. The inn's probably hitting peak evening hours, now.



You wait on the edge of your bed; you don't know if the man is going to show up, and you couldn't judge his opinion on the matter earlier. Still, either he's going to show up, or you could find him yourself. Maybe he doubts your ability to catch him on any of your suspicions, or maybe he's just crazy. You can't quite tell, not yet.

Soon enough there's a knock on your door, and you allow the guest in.

As expected, it's the man himself from earlier. He doesn't have his luggage case, but he's wearing the same suit and coat as earlier; the only thing missing from his last appearance is a cigarette. He looks you up and down, approvingly.

Loosening his tie and setting his coat on a small rack beside your door he steps in, shuffling off his black loafers. He's eyeing you still, but he's a little hesitant.

If anything, it's clear that he wants you to have the first word here. After all, you invited him.

August 6th, 2012, 03:11 PM
James Henderson III

The river, and some guy's land, eh? Well, at least I have some measure of direction here. Still, the evening was beginning to pick up, and a line was starting to form, not wanting to inconvenience her with my curiosity, I bid her farewell, and moseyed off.

Brothers, huh? Shouldn't be too hard to find, I'd just have to ask around some more. I decided to pace back towards the small television area, perhaps I'd find someone looking for conversation there, local or not.

The symbol I'd found flashed in my head once more, making me frown, something grabbing birds in the river, and devouring livestock from the feet up certainly didn't sound like arson. But, this was the only lead I had.

I picked up a pamphlet from the stand on my way to the sitting room, maybe the library could help shed some light on the symbol.

August 8th, 2012, 11:22 PM

You tap the man on the shoulder; he's not facing you, but he's still agitated and paying attention to other things. Asking him if he's alright, he jumps about with a start, eyes trained right on you.

"No, there's nothing wrong, sir, I... no, alright? I'm alright. It's alright." He nods, his breaths shallow, stuttering like he's drowning in air.

He keeps looking at you, his eyes examining the length of your body. "I-If you will, p-please return to your room, or enjoy the cafeteria. There i-is a c-common menu right on the bulletin board, and d-daily specials are p-posted on the c-cafeteria wall n-not far from here."

Again he nods, and he turns towards the stairs, loosening his tie as he goes. He almost bashes into your shoulder trying to get past, and you can tell that he's sweating, his face turning red. Maybe an allergic reaction? He could be sick, or maybe he just has a bad reaction to crowds. You can't exactly be sure just from speaking a few lines to him.

Before he gets out of earshot, and before the din of the lobby takes over, you hear him mutter something to the effect of, "No... it's alright. It's not like last month. They said it wouldn't happen again. Not here."


Carlene Loe

Looking for people with umbrellas, given the stormy weather, isn't all that hard. Sure, some prefer raincoats and big jackets to the hands-on necessity of carrying around an umbrella, but you can see at least five people in your vicinity that have their own, toted along, closed up and strung along on backpacks and in hands. Not having theft on the mind, you feel it would be best to try to convince one of them to part with their things, at least temporarily.

The most likely mark you see is a woman, walking along with her young son - or, what looks to be a son; it can be hard to tell with kids - and carrying two umbrellas, one large and one small. They're both attached to her bright white backpack, wrapped up and naturally not in use.

The woman and her child aren't going anywhere fast; they seem most interested in reading the whiteboard menu just inside the cafeteria. They probably haven't been here long, since you can still see rain marks on their clothes.

August 11th, 2012, 02:57 AM
Emily Douglas

The sudden shouting coming from the library was a bit of a surprise, but not one Emily wasn't prepared for. After pausing for the slightest of moments, the young woman pushed open the door and walked in to have a look at whatever had happened inside.

Bookshelves, huh. Guess that's a point for me.

The library was a mess. Books and fallen shelves everywhere, a broken table or two, and a serious-looking man standing on a stool and barking orders. He didn't seem to be in an overly good mood, but that was hardly surprising, considering the state of the room. The two younger men trying to put the books back in order couldn't be helping things either, with how often their boss had to shout at them. Oh well, not her problem to deal with.

"Call me Keith, official library manager of this place. If you, ah, want anything, though... you might have to help yourself find it, I'm afraid. There's plenty here, though; I think it's actually one of the biggest book stores in the whole state!"

"Hmm." Looking over the trashed bookshelves, Emily considered her options. She hadn't actually come to pick up any books, just to see what was going on, but she could always pick something up while she was there. "Say I was looking for some local history. Should I be digging through one of the piles, or would I find it somewhere else?"

August 12th, 2012, 09:06 PM
"No... it's alright. It's not like last month. They said it wouldn't happen again. Not here."

That did the trick.

Now, I definitely know somethings going on around this town at least. Maybe my lead wasn't so farfetched after all.

"The question is... what happened last month to spook him into a verbal nervousness tic?" I thought out loud. Daring not to question him further at the moment due to the possibility of suspicion, I walked to the lounge to gather my thoughts on what to do next.

"Man, what to do... what to do. Argh, I hate thinking so much at times. I need something to do to take my mind off of useless thoughts at the moment."

And as fast as opening a can of pop, I could only think of one place where I could do just that.

"I wonder if this town has a library..."

August 15th, 2012, 12:39 PM
Archibald Westwitterings
The Inn

The hulking St. Bernard’s ears picked up the sound of paws, the padding sound of a fellow canine. His head cocked itself to one side from its leaning position on its paws at the potential sound as he suddenly scrambled to its feet, removing himself from the lazy position where he had curled himself up on the floor, and quietly padded its way across the canteen towards the Dog. Sparing her Master a brief glance, Oli turned his attention towards the Terrier, towering considerably over the little dog like Goliath over David. His stature passive and non-aggressive, Oli gave a small barking growl, not threatening, but rather an exclamation of curiosity.

In Dog, I suppose that roughly translated into “Salutations Comrade! I welcome you as a fellow member of the Canis to this territory-which-is-not-my-own. Please may I identify you using my olfactory senses so that I might recognise you as an ally in future” …. Or it could have simply being “Hi! Can I sniff you, I won’t bite?” and I might have just simply eloquently mistranslated it, Dogs can be blunt like that.

Either way, the hulking form of Oli cocked his head to one side and gave another curious bark, just to make sure the smaller animal had actually understood what he was saying. Of course, whilst all this happened, leaning on his stick, Archie quietly watched the exchange between the two Dogs with some anticipation. It was not like Oli was the type of Dog to randomly attack his fellow canines; he was much more sedate then that, it was the response of the smaller Terrier in being confronted by a significantly larger Dog that he watched with his own innate curiosity.