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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 31, 2011 4:26:14 GMT -8
Charlotte grinned back.
“Or you end up with a bunch of vapid fans trying desperately to get your attention. And end up having to go into hiding.” She laughed. “It is.” Smirking, she whistled the familiar notes of “The Circle of Life” from The Lion King.
She shrugged.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you at least have one character witness now. Us ‘weird strangers’ have to stick together, after all.” She made an amused noise. “Or something.”
“They are indeed. That was tenacious of him, wasn’t it.” She sighed. “That’s what I thought at first, too. No one shows that much concern for a complete stranger. There’s got to be more to it. But... Not everyone would sit with someone bleeding and hurt, making them a cup of tea and just talking to try and keep them from passing out before they can get to the hospital.” And freaking out. Unconsciously her fingers brushed against the fading bruise on her brow. “It threw me. This town is bloody strange.” In more ways than he knows. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected that he hadn’t... seen anything odd. Not yet.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Feb 1, 2011 0:09:03 GMT -8
"I guess it's pretty much inevitable that I end up back in hiding, then." Wes grinned again, then ran his tongue along the front of his teeth - he did that a lot, didn't he? - and shrugged. It wasn't an ending that he was opposed to.
"Ah, good," he said, offering an exaggerated facial expression to the spines of the books. "You can attest to the way that I nag random photographers and ruin breakfast conversations."
Wes considered the rest of what Charlotte said. He hadn't noticed her bruise, and wasn't looking at the moment, but of course what she said got his attention. "What happened, anyway?" he asked, trying not to sound pushy. He had an idea of what she was talking about; Henning had mentioned 'something happening to someone he knew' before telling him to stay away from Charlotte. Apparently, something had happened to her, and Wes was wondering if she'd draw a line to connect the last dot: the lumber mill that the agent felt the need to question him about...
Afterward, to further the non-nosy image, he added, "It is strange, isn't it? Overly-friendly bar guy told me that half the town is afraid to go out in the rain because of a folk tale. In Washington state, which, as I understand, is pretty much the rain capital of the U.S. I'd think he was lying if I hadn't seen how abandoned the streets were." She was right. He hadn't seen anything 'odd,' besides noticing his birds behaving strangely in the rain. Ignorance is bliss, they say.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Feb 1, 2011 19:18:26 GMT -8
“Hiding’s not such a bad thing,” Charlotte replied, sounding amused. “At least you avoid angry mobs. And burning windmills.”
She smirked. “Both very important things that need to be attested to.”
She blinked in surprise at his question. That was unexpected. She... hadn’t thought that would be the sort of question he would ask. But what do you know? He had. She bit her lip, rapidly trying to figure out what exactly to tell him. The bare bones of the story would be all right, the falling down stairs part. But would a partial truth as to the cause be advisable?
“I... was at the lumber mill, taking photos as I am wont to do... and I fell. Down some stairs.” If Wes were to look at her now, he might notice the tension in her shoulders, on her face. Maybe there was something more to the incident at the lumber mill? It seemed strange that Henning should ask about it if it were something as simple as a fall down stairs, didn’t it...
She tilted her head. Wait... folk tale? Could this have something to do with the incident Mister Stewart had mentioned in passing?
"A folk tale is why the city turns into something resembling a ghost town when it rains?" she asked. "What sort of folk tale? Must be a doozy, to have that sort of effect."
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Post by Wes Uccello on Feb 1, 2011 21:46:33 GMT -8
"I do," Wes said, tilting his head, "Until the next thing comes up that makes them drive me out."
He still wasn't looking at her, trying to keep up the nonchalance of his questioning. She had paused a bit, in her statement, and he got the feeling that it wasn't the whole story.
Onto the next dot.
He decided to divulge a little more; after all, it was the agent who might be upset about the information being given away, and he'd be upset if he knew about the conversation at all. Wes wasn't sure why he was so interested in what happened to her all of a sudden; maybe because it just sounded like a weird story. Maybe because he wanted to know what Henning thought he might have did. Maybe because he knew that Henning would hate him knowing.
"Oh. That explains a bit. Your agent asked me some questions about the lumber mill," Wes said, his voice a little bit apprehensive. "You wouldn't have happened to trip over a chained-up rabbit, would you?" He would be disappointed to know that the chained-up rabbit really was the agent's creation.
His voice was more relaxed as he spoke about the folk tale. "What he told me was that, in the fifties, there was a serial killer with an axe who came after people in the rain. He said that there were around a hundred victims, though he was probably exaggerating there, and some people think he's still around."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Feb 1, 2011 22:01:52 GMT -8
“At least it’s cyclical, so you know it’s coming. Sort of.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” David’s desire to protect her was sweet, but she felt badly that it had led to him dragging Wes into an interrogation. Charlotte wondered off-handedly if maybe she could try and get the two men to, if not actually like each other... at least act neutrally around each other. That might be a feat beyond her, though.
She couldn’t help the soft intake of breath when he asked about the rabbit. I think David revealed more than he was intending. Of course, he didn’t think that Wes would talk to me, so maybe it was a calculated risk. Sighing, she tried to relax. It didn’t work. Her free hand tightened around the edge of the bookshelf.
“It wasn’t chained up.”
Charlotte frowned, trying to figure out where the folk tale played into everything. Maybe... could it be based on something that happened? Or maybe it’s just the town’s way of explaining the feelings of apprehension that crop up when it rains.
“Huh. Interesting. At least I know why now. That’s something.”
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Post by Wes Uccello on Feb 1, 2011 22:23:38 GMT -8
"Yeah, small comfort." Wes said frankly.
"He did." He again paused, seeming apprehensive about divulging further. He heard her gasp could tell that she immediately went on edge at the mention of the rabbit. It bothered her. Why? Apparently it was a part of the untold story, which she didn't seem to be thrilled to talk about.
He continued anyway.
"Was it chopped up, then, or should I be worried about the agent's imagination?" It was an honest question. Of course, he doubted that she would've actually tripped over a rabbit that was in pieces. But she wouldn't be this tense about a live one. A more gentle person probably wouldn't be pressing her any further, but unfortunately, Wes was Wes.
He was still fingering through the books, but really he wasn't paying attention to any of them.
"Knowing is half the battle, right?"
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Feb 1, 2011 23:33:59 GMT -8
Charlotte managed a dry laugh. She appreciated his blunt nature... but she very much wished that he hadn’t chosen to pursue this particular line of questions. But he had, and she would answer him. She wasn't sure why she didn't consider just lying to him, but it never crossed her mind. Her grip on the bookshelf tightened.
“Actually, it was partially skinned and disembowelled, intestines strewn about.” Her voice was steady, and more than a little wry. “Its skin had been pinned dissection-style with rusty nails. Oh, and its eyes had been plucked out and were sitting under a cigarette in an ashtray. I don’t know what he said, but I’m not sure you should worry about David’s imagination. It probably was mild in comparison to the truth.”
Her laughter was a little more amused this time.
“I guess it is. I wonder what other sort of interesting folk tales Greenvale has.”
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Post by Wes Uccello on Feb 2, 2011 0:03:28 GMT -8
Charlotte laughed - Wes must have said something funny, then. At least, something she thought was supposed to be funny. It wasn't, really, but even a dry laugh was a little less awkward than silence.
Her tale didn't disappoint when it came to being odd and colorful. Wes didn't seem too phased by her description; he was, like he'd said at breakfast before, not squeamish. It did make him curious, though. Odd thing to find in a lumbermill. His mind wandered around the possibilities, to the conversation he had earlier in the morning....
"At this point, I'm assuming it wasn't really on the floor and you didn't trip on it, right?" he asked to clarify, although he was sure she wouldn't want to answer. "Sounds like a taxidermy project by someone who didn't know what they were doing. Or just had a sick sense of humor." He shrugged, then added, as if in an afterthought, "Oh, and he asked me if I chained up rabbits or chopped them up, hence the questions."
Again, his voice when he commented on the other subject was more relaxed. "I would've assumed that there weren't any before I actually came into town, but everyone seems crazy enough that I'm sure there's more. That guy with the skull mask seems like one himself. Maybe I'll ask the guy from the bar if I run into him again."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Feb 2, 2011 22:24:03 GMT -8
Charlotte shrugged. A little of the tension had eased out of her, helped in part by his reaction to what she’d told him. It was reassuring, oddly enough. She glanced at him.
“I stumbled across it in the metaphorical sense. It was on a desk.” A ghost of a smirk flickered across her face. “I’m... reasonably certain that it’s a sick sense of humour.” That and the fact that it was meant to mirror where I found my mother’s body. Think I’ll leave that part out. “Oh. Makes sense, then.” She had the sudden (and somewhat random) desire to return to the hotel, drag David back to bed and curl up together for a few hours. Maybe later...
“Greenvale seems like too sleepy a town when you first step foot inside to have many folk tales like that,” she said, “But once you’re here a bit... You realise it probably does.” She almost laughed. I wonder if Mister Stewart would find that as amusing as I do. “You’ll have to let me know what he tells you. I’m curious.”
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Post by Wes Uccello on Feb 4, 2011 21:12:49 GMT -8
"That sounds more plausible," Wes said casually. He hadn't actually doubted her story - he hadn't really thought to, as it made enough sense in the context of the agent's questions and the strangeness of the town - but the "tripping over it" bit, though his own creation, was rather far-fetched.
"So why'd you fall, then?" Again, he was being annoyingly pushy. Although she sounded a little bit calmer, she didn't seem to be interested in elaborating on her own. But he was still trying to figure this out; if not the rabbit, then something else had to have actually happened at the mill. Otherwise, Henning wouldn't have tried to question him about. And speaking of him...
"Wait, that makes sense to you? Why?" Certainly, the questions didn't make sense; at least the way that Wes had worded them.
He bended over slightly, so that he could pretend to be looking at the next row down on the bookshelf.
"Folks tales were always kind of a story book thing for me, and the person telling them was supposed to be an old man carving a bear statue next to a fire or something. Hearing them for real is actually kind of fun." He grinned.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Feb 4, 2011 22:31:23 GMT -8
Charlotte smirked, raising an eyebrow at him. At least she knew WHY her adventures in the lumber mill were of an interest to him. She’d say something to David about his sharing more than expected... except that Wes wasn’t supposed to be talking to her, and saying something sort of ruined the whole matter of secrecy.
“I’m glad you agree.”
And just when the tension had eased out of her... he asked the one pertinent question she was trying to avoid. Ah, hell. She tried to release her death grip on the bookshelf. Now what did she say? ‘A psychotic chain smoker chased me through the lumber mill?’ She could lie, she supposed. It would probably be better if she did. For some reason the idea bothered her, though. Charlotte frowned, choosing her words carefully. Very, very carefully.
“I fell because I wasn’t watching my footing,” she told him. It was true, technically. It just didn’t include the reason why. “That was after the ninja attack, of course. I was a little distracted.” She was well accustomed to using humour and sarcasm as a deflection technique. She just didn't know if it would work with him.
She almost laughed at his surprise. “Makes sense that you’d ask me questions about it, I mean. Since we happened to be talking and all. I certainly would have, had our positions been reversed.”
It’s not so fun when they’re actually REAL. She found herself wondering what he would think if he knew that there may be some basis in truth to the folk tale he’d been told. She wouldn’t wish what she’d faced on anyone. So hopefully he’d remain... unaware for a while longer. I’ll tell him if it seems like he needs the information to save his life, she decided.
“Did the guy at the bar fit that image?” she asked, returning his grin.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Feb 8, 2011 21:55:03 GMT -8
Wes was intent both on pretending to ignore her and hearing everything that she said. Even the light banging of the tipped books got a little bit lighter and he listened for subtleties in her voice. He kept quiet for a bit, biting his lip.
"Aah, ninjas," he repeated after her comment. "I'll have to ask the guy from the bar about that one too. I had no idea that there was a ninja presence around here. I'm so clueless." His voice was light and sarcastic.
Of course, the joke only further convinced him that there was something else going on. She was now actively avoiding the subject. It had to be something, right?
He tried a different approach.
"You know I'm not just trying to be difficult here. Whatever happened to you, he suspects me of. Maybe if I knew what it was, I could clear my name." He shrugged.
He didn't seem to be too interested in answering her question, but did anyway. "Ah. No, not at all. he was this annoying blonde off-duty cop."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Feb 8, 2011 23:01:31 GMT -8
“Well, you’re not supposed to see ninjas,” Charlotte retorted. “So it’s okay.” She was incredibly glad that Wes wasn’t looking at her. There were some things she couldn’t hide. The way she had paled at his continued persistence in questioning her about what had happened at the lumber mill. The flicker of remembered fear through her eyes as memories of being pursued... tormented flashed through her mind. If I get a chance I’m going to punch that fucking Smoking Man in the face...
She took a soft, shaky breath as the remembered fear faded, leaving her irritated and a little angry at herself. She didn’t intend to tell him what happened... but she wasn’t thinking.
“It has nothing to do with you,” she told him. Her voice was steady, with a tinge of sarcasm. “David... worries. He shouldn’t suspect you, but he does, because of his job and probably your mob Daddy.” She paused. Fuck it. She moved around him, so she was standing in front of him as much as she could be. If she was going to tell him, he was sure as fuck going to look at her. “But if you really want to know...” The sarcasm in her voice was biting now. She leaned against the bookshelf with her shoulder. “I went to the lumber mill to take photographs.” She’d dropped her voice, pitching it so he was the only other person who could hear her. “Only to get chased through the halls by someone with a twisted sense of humour. Using things out of my past to torture me. He terrified me. To the point where I was running for my life. THAT’S how I fell down the bloody stairs.”
Charlotte hissed in frustration and scrubbed a hand through her hair, backing away from him to sag against the bookshelf. She closed her eyes. She hadn't meant to tell him... HELL. Shouldn't have told him. The truth, anyway. Not that he would believe her.
“Happy?”
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Post by Wes Uccello on Feb 10, 2011 21:08:09 GMT -8
Charlotte had a snappy comeback as always, but Wes noticed an unsteadiness in her breath. There really was something to this, wasn't there?
"I know it doesn't have anything to do with me. But you can't expect people to just believe to truth. They believe what's simple." Where her voice was sarcastic, his was a little bit bitter again. He was serious. In his own selfish mind, this was one of the biggest things to worry about right now.
For a minute, Wes was stunned by her apparent sudden determination. She repositioned herself, and something about her - her attitude, her timing - demanded his attention. He did look at her; it wasn't as if he could pretend that she wasn't talking to him right now. He looked up at her, briefly meeting her eyes but finding it a bit too uncomfortable to continue. Instead, he focused on her mouth, which was dispensing some powerful, but not too specific, words.
He listened to the story, trying to keep as straight a face a possible. It wasn't quite what he'd hoped, but he found it hard to be annoyed at someone who seemed to have been struggling a great deal with saying as much as she had. Wrestling information out of someone wasn't all that much fun. Especially not when he sort of liked them. It was just sort of tiring. Emotional people were tiring.
When her eyes were closed, he looked at her more directly again.
"Satisfied, yes. Happy... why would I be?" He tilted his head. "It sucks that that happened to you," he said in a voice that was slightly strained with the attempt to be nice. "I'd offer condolences, but I don't want to get into that speculative pity stuff, and I doubt you'd want me to."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Feb 10, 2011 22:23:46 GMT -8
Why couldn’t he have left it alone? And why couldn’t she have kept her irritation under control and kept up with the bullshit answers until he did? Charlotte was more than a little frustrated with herself at the moment. It felt a little like airing her dirty laundry. She should have kept her mouth shut.
“I generally don’t expect much from anyone. They can believe me, or not. ‘Tis no matter to me.”
He was indeed looking at her, though his eye contact lasted not long at all before his gaze shifted to her mouth. But it was better than just staring at the bookshelves, so it was considerable progress. She was a little too irritated to care, though. She carefully reined in her emotions, tucking them back where they belonged for the time being. She’d already revealed more of what she was feeling than she would have liked. Granted, she sort of liked him... but that didn't mean she wanted to over-share.
She made a noise that might have sounded vaguely amused, opening her eyes and glancing back up at him. “Don’t be nice on my account." Though it was... sweet of him to make the effort. "I appreciate the avoiding the speculative pity shit, though.”
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