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Post by Mister Stewart on Nov 3, 2010 16:32:55 GMT -8
Time: Afternoon Weather: Sunny Warnings: None. Characters: Harry/Michael, Wes, David Young Henning
It was an average sort of afternoon in Greenvale, despite the recent happenings. The only indication that anything had happened was a somber sort of feeling that had settled over the people of the town. The place where the murder was most felt seemed to be the diner - patrons and staff alike missed the waitress dearly, however they tried to carry on. All the usual suspects were out for lunch this day - the daily crowd, the usual staff...no one really out of the ordinary. Except, perhaps, two people seated at a booth in the corner. The townspeople knew them by sight, at least...the peculiar duo who showed up every day for lunch at the Diner. One was an elderly man in a wheelchair, pulled up to the booth, face obscured by a skull-shaped gas mask and wearing an expensive suit. The other was a very clean cut younger man, his white suit immaculate and his back straight as he sat eating his BLT. Curiously, the older man was not eating - he never actually ate at the Diner, always getting takeout for his meals. Instead, he was typing away at a small console on the arm of his chair, occasionally glancing about to survey the room. A bit strange, but most of the townsfolk were used to them by now. Newcomers, however, might not think them such an ordinary fixture.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Nov 3, 2010 18:28:10 GMT -8
There was one such newcomer; a transplant from the city, unfamiliar with the local customs. Although he'd been in town for a few months, he'd spent almost all of his time in seclusion. That was why he moved here, after all. You don't move from the city to a far-off tiny town because you want to socialize.
In the advent of the murder, part of him wanted to just keep away. He didn't know the girl or anyone else, he wasn't involved and didn't want to end up a suspect. But on the other hand, in a small town where people were close and prone to stick together, who would trust the word of the reclusive newcomer? They could all come after him, and no one would be on his side.
He would have to go into town and make friends.
This was not an easy task for Wesley Uccello.
He entered the diner looking irate - probably more than he actually was. Head down, looking through his bangs, he placed himself at the far end of the bar, distanced - this was the first place where he struggled in socializing - from the patrons sitting at the tables.
Except for the gas mask guy in the corner, right behind him.
That was pretty weird.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Nov 3, 2010 19:02:34 GMT -8
The newcomer didn't go unnoticed by the strange duo - the man in the wheelchair turned his head to look at Wes, the younger man eating at the table shifting his gaze up to look at the stranger as well. Turning away, the man with the mask gestured for his companion to move closer - and the man in white set his sandwich down, shifting to listen. The man in the mask was whispering, apparently refusing to talk aloud. Once the comments had been dispensed, the younger man straightened back up, going back to eating his lunch. The man in the wheelchair went back to typing on his console.
Yes, 'pretty weird' seemed an apt description. Especially because the guy in the gas mask in the diner didn't seem interested in food, a brown paper bag settled on the table in front of him for the time being.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Nov 3, 2010 19:57:47 GMT -8
Wes had been pretending that they didn't bother him, pushing his hair out of his eyes and tapping his fingers on the bar. But, unsurprisingly, they really did, as evidenced by the way he sat-turned perpendicular to the bar, keeping an eye on the duo.
Whispering, though? Come on. That was creepy.
"Okay, seriously, what was that?" he asked in a controlled outburst, keeping his voice down as not to attract any attention from the other patrons but still get the point across. "You're creeping me out. If you have something to say about me, say it to my face."
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Post by Mister Stewart on Nov 3, 2010 20:39:17 GMT -8
Despite the outburst, the duo remained quite calm - the younger man and man in the mask both turning their gaze back towards Wes. The younger fellow set his sandwich down, shifting in his chair to lean over and listen again. There was more whispering - the young man just nodded along for a moment before straightening up to speak. Despite the whispering and how neat and clean the boy looked, he seemed normal enough, just a pleasant young man -
...Until he spoke.
"Sir, I - that is to say, Mister Stewart - was not trying to offend you. We merely do not know you yet...the town is small, and you are new - unusual there would be someone we have not met. So says Mister Stewart." His tone was prim and calm, with - strangely - no hesitation despite the fact that he was apparently talking in rhyme for a man who refused to speak. Things were just getting stranger and stranger by the moment, weren't they?
No one else in the diner seemed at all bothered by the two of them, either, even though the young man wasn't exactly rhyming under his breath.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Nov 3, 2010 21:08:50 GMT -8
... Huh?
Wes turned all the way around to face the rhyming man and stared as he spoke, idly running his tongue along the front of his teeth.
"Ho-kay then, Dr. Seuss," he responded, rolling his eyes. Weirdo. It wasn't clear to him whether the guy in white was speaking (rhyming?) for the masked man, who was named Mr. Stewart, or if he was just crazy on his own and calling himself Mr. Stewart in the third person.
The newcomer was about to just turn back around and ignore them, but.... wasn't he here to make acquaintances?
"I'm not all that new here, you know," he added somewhat reluctantly.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Nov 3, 2010 21:33:07 GMT -8
The man in white was more than used to being made fun of for his peculiar way of speaking, so he did not so much as flinch when he was called a name. He merely glanced back to the man in the wheelchair again, leaning over to listen to more whispering. Did he actually speak on his own at any given time? Was the man in the mask actually saying anything? What exactly was going on here, anyway? Who were these men? Clearly they had a great deal of money, by the way they were dressed...perhaps that was their limo parked outside, too?
"You are new compared to the others in town - we are quite sure we've not seen you around. We've been around for quite a few years...nearly everyone knows us here. So says Mister Stewart." Well, if Wes wanted a conversation, he would have one...granted rather a strange one. The young man abandoned his sandwich for the time being, setting it back on its plate and shifting in his seat to better face the stranger.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Nov 3, 2010 22:28:12 GMT -8
More rhyming? He had kind of hoped that that was a one-time thing, and foresaw this becoming annoying.
Also, it kind of made the guy seem crazy. Wes rubbed his temples before responding.
"I will admit, I haven't been very social." His voice was breathy and not particularly sincere. "I've been here for months, though."
He shifted, slouching to lean with his elbows on his knees.
"So, humor me. Who's Mr. Stewart?" he asked. His curiosity was more sincere, but his tone was slightly patronizing. He genuinely wasn't sure, and was kind of hoping that the rhyming man would answer with something like, 'Mr. Stewart is the voice in my head, but you can't hear him so I speak instead.'
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Post by Mister Stewart on Nov 3, 2010 22:57:11 GMT -8
Well, it wasn't a one-time thing. In fact, he didn't seem to think it was strange at all - did he even know he was rhyming? Maybe he was just crazy - but he seemed calm and well-balanced enough, despite the incessant rhymes and slightly strange inflection. It didn't really help that he kept leaning over to listen to the bizarre wheelchair guy with the gas mask, just like he was doing now. This time - maybe a little comfortingly - he seemed to have a short and quiet conversation with the other man, whispering back and forth before straightening up once more.
"Mister Stewart is the man beside me - my name is Michael, his personal aide. He - like you - likes his privacy...now, in return...what is your name?"
So this Michael character COULD speak for himself...granted, he was still rhyming, which meant that that portion of it was really all him. The man in the wheelchair, for all Wes knew, was probably speaking completely ordinary English. Strange as they were, at least they seemed civil...though a couple of the patrons of the diner were starting to look over in concern. They knew that Harry and his protege sometimes caused trouble about town...and here this new fellow was getting himself involved.
Michael gestured politely for Wes to sit across from him in the booth, if he so chose.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Nov 4, 2010 19:14:25 GMT -8
That was slightly disappointing. Still, something was slowly occurring to him; this guy was being really nice to him. Wes pretty much immediately yelled at him and called him a name, but he didn't flinch, was introducing himself and now offering a seat. Was this a small town thing, and people were that much more patient here than in the city? No, that sounded wrong. These were weird guys, they probably had some ulterior motive. No one was just nice.
So Wes didn't really want to move. But he sensed that people were watching him, and suddenly felt vulnerable at his seat at the bar. Somewhat reluctantly, he shuffled over to the booth, though he hid his discomfort fairly well.
"Ah. It's Wes." He wasn't too inclined to give his last name, and it wasn't like the rhyming guy did either.
"You know... 'aide' and 'name' is a terrible rhyme," he taunted lightly, putting on a grin.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Nov 4, 2010 22:24:31 GMT -8
Truly, there was something about Michael that came across as inherently honest and nice - maybe it had something to do with the implied purity of wearing white? Or maybe he really was just a nice guy?
On the other hand, Michael and Mister Stewart were both still pretty weird. Yet there Wes was, taking a seat across from the younger man who gave the faintest of smiles - was this kid a robot? His expression hardly changed at all - and a small polite nod as he was given the other fellow's name. Wes. He could remember that, and Mister Stewart had a way of knowing these things to begin with.
Strangely, Michael didn't seem to understand the teasing, his brow furrowing ever so slightly as the faint smile faded.
"I agree, that rhyme is really quite grating...but what has that got to do with anything?" Wait, wait...did he not know he was rhyming? He didn't look like he was joking. The man in the wheelchair gave a little movement that might have been chuckling, glancing to his aide for a moment before looking back down at his console.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Nov 4, 2010 23:25:25 GMT -8
Really, Wes didn't seem all that bothered by Michael - besides the rhyming, that is. The politeness, serious expression and tired eyes all reminded him of someone he missed.
He did have a way of making people's smiles disappear, though, and continued with the same lack of tact he began with.
"My god, that's even worse," he laughed. "And... seriously? You're a little bit young to be senile, aren't you?" He wasn't sure what to make of this whole thing; it was actually kind of surreal. He was sitting at a diner, not eating anything, with a man in a gas mask and a guy who won't stop rhyming.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Nov 5, 2010 17:01:33 GMT -8
Honestly, Michael wasn't bothered in the least by Wes, either. He was quite used to being berated, made fun of, or just largely ignored - so for someone to sit down willingly across from him was interesting in itself.
Granted, he still behaved as if he had no idea what the other man was referring to.
"...Senile? I'm not, I have no doubt - but I have no idea what you're talking about." The situation was above and beyond surreal, truly - but just another day for Michael and Mister Stewart, and just another eccentricity of small town life. Michael politely offered up the untouched half of his sandwich towards Wes, beginning to feel rather awkward being the only one at the table now eating. Mister Stewart finally finished with his typing for the moment, reading over the little screen with some intent.
Wes Uccello. Interesting....
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Post by Wes Uccello on Nov 5, 2010 19:37:58 GMT -8
A little surprised, Wes looked down at the odd man's offering.
"No thanks," he said with a small hand wave. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry so much as that he didn't want to take anything from them. These kinds of gestures were just ways that guys like these could try to get leverage, to win him over and use him later. He wasn't falling for that.
"That one was better. Good job," he remarked in his most patronizing voice with a sarcastic smirk. "Well, if you're not senile or otherwise memory-deficient," he continued, his voice more frank, "than you're either stupid or crazy. Either one works for me."
He had no idea what Mr. Stewart was doing. That was probably for the best, since, while he wasn't actually very secretive about things like his name and where he came from (compared to what he was thinking and how he felt), knowing that someone felt the need to know about him right now would have freaked him out. On the other hand, if he knew what Mr. Stewart could do, he would probably be a little nicer to Michael....
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Post by Mister Stewart on Nov 6, 2010 0:06:36 GMT -8
For a moment - just a moment - there was a flicker of something that could have been hurt as Wes insulted him. Stupid. Crazy. He'd heard either of the two plenty in his time, over the years. People got used to him, but they never did, really...there was always a chuckling behind his back, a murmur when they thought he couldn't hear. Stupid. Crazy. He must be stupid or crazy, they would say, to spend so much time with HIM.
It wasn't their fault, he reminded himself. They didn't know.
He shook it off and promptly changed the subject, politely nibbling on a french fry. "If you've been living in town so long, then how come no one's seen your face? The impression you give is...rather strong - why did no one see you move in to your place?"
...Also, it was true.
If Wes knew what Mister Stewart could do to him at any given moment, he probably WOULD be a bit nicer to Michael. It didn't help that his eyes were hidden behind those lenses, and all Wes could see from where he sat was a skull-shaped mask suddenly leering at him after his insults.
That was kinda creepy on its own, though.
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