The House of Heron

[Carthrat]

Roosevelt,

A small-sized Texan town in the middle of nowhere, by anyone's guess. Train, road, and bus are the three ways to get here- but most people just skip it, having far more interesting places to head to. Not that Roosevelt isn't a nice place...

...as long as you stay in the town area, and don't head to the caravan-park ridden outskirts. Unfortunately, that's just where Heron's residence (well, one of them) is. Though it's significantly better than a caravan. A pleasant, two-story house stands just near the town boundaries, white, boxy pseudohouses barely a hundred metres away. A short road leads from the highway to the metal gate of a driveway, and the house is surrounded by a low, stucco-ridden brick fence.

Wood coated with white varnish, and windows with curtains drawn are what's seen from the front. Garden gnomes stand guard about an overgrown lawn, and a dusty wooden door, with leadlight windows built in is between the exterior and the interior, the connections present in the form of a doorknob, and a brass knocker. A tile clatters to the ground, and a creak braces across the hot wind, but no noise from a source other than the house graces the estate.

OOC: Set yourselves up! Coincidences are part and parcel, so no drama about showing up simultaneously.

If you wanted to do something in Roosevelt before coming to the house, stab me.

[Brian]

Fresh off the bus, Liron Shaftoe groans as he sets down a hefty duffel bag filled with clothes and music books.  An instrument is slung across his back; a 1982 Gibson model called the 'Guild' guitar.  The guitar might have been a collector's piece, had it not obviously seen such better days.  While the piece looks completely functional, it's also been heavily marked, stained, repaired, and the frets wouldn't look original to the eyes of someone familiar with the brand.

The anacronistic but quite faded 'Kaya: 1978; Bob Marley and the Wailers' bumpersticker across the backplate doesn't really help enhance the image, nor does the fact that a guitar pick was left stuck through the strings, next to the tuning keys.  The guitar gets an affectionate pat as Liron turns and surveys his surroundings, squinting slightly at the encroaching jungle of suburban sprawl, though he smirks at the thought that even its tenacious roots seem unable to thrive in such remote soil.

Brushing his dreadlocks from his face, he gives a resolute nod, picks up his duffel bag, and hops over the fence, pausing to nod at each of the lawn gnomes.  "I and I've seen better days," he says to the last gnome before the door, jerking a head at the building, "but we stick together, yeah?"

With that, he readjusts the guitar on his back to a more comfortable position, and knocks on the door in a quick tattoo, eschewing the heavy-looking knocker.  He whistles to himself as he looks around and waits for an answer, as though continuing the melody established by knocking on the door.

(Time 1: What time is it?  That was a long bus ride....)

[Carthrat]

(Time 1: Late afternoon, around 5pm. It's summer; the sun will be around for a while, yet.)

The door swings open at Liron's harmony, falling slightly askew; the lock is broken and the door damaged, but cleverly disguised that the outside viewer would see nothing amiss.

Reasons become abundantly clear as a broken hallway stands before the rasta,  the shattered glass of an overhead light just one element of prior violence. A fallen painting lies facedown in the centre of the hallway, fine art not being exempt from the carnage.

[Brian]

Liron blinks and changes his tune -- literally.  The initial tune was a somewhat rambling islander harmony, almost reggae without the intensity.  The new song is somewhat more cautious and foreboding.  While Liron considers his options, he studies the hallway without entering.

(Time 2: Time sight.  Using the song o/` This isn't what we meant o/` as a standard focus.  Irony says roll 1: 7, 3.)

[Carthrat]

Code Select Expand

Liron's song changes, slightly, his voice turning harsh as violent beats pop through his mind, and inadvertantly spill out into the world. Words spring as unbidden whispers from his tounge, frantic and hurried, but the melody- and the lyrics- are incomplete.

[Corwin]

Raven drives his beat-up 1989-make Daihatsu Applause down the familiar road leading from the highway to Roosevelt. He pays no attention to the lazy everyday life around him, heading for what is apparently Heron's local residence. There will be time for sightseeing later, and Heron made it -- whatever 'it' was -- sound urgent.

He stops his car right outside the metal gate, and after double-checking he's at the right place, Raven parks the car and exits, taking a deep breath. His gratitude to Heron for all he had done for him brought Raven this far, but he would have preferred to have more to go on, he muses. Shaking his head, he heads for the gateway and takes a look around, putting his keys in the back pocket of his jeans as he does so.

[Carthrat]

The creaky house does not react to Raven's presence, car breaking the silence as the dying engine nonetheless intrudes on Liron's beat. Raven can easily see the old place, along with the visitor in front of the door; the gnomes greet Raven with fixed smiles, and the letterbox stands in front of the fence, rising out the dirt as if in a grim salute.

[Corwin]

Rising an eyebrow, Raven approaches Liron, waving at him in greeting. His eyes are closed behind the reflective surface of his sunglasses as he meditates on the area around the front door of the house, trying to take a quick glance back into the past quarter hour to see what took place. Raven walks slowly, using his other senses to guide him on the path to the front door.

(Time 2: Divination; 6, 6, 4)

[Carthrat]

Code Select Expand

A flash before the minds eye, vision reflecting off the tinted glass. In peaceful solitude sat the house, broken only by the visitors. One recognizable, walking with the legs of a weary traveller in just the last minute, but aside from this recent incursion, the property remains vacant... on the outside.

[Brian]

"Hello," Liron says, affecting the American accent he learned in Miami.  He turns back from the open doorway and gives the newcomer an anxious smile.  "Are you the, uh, property manager?" he asks curiously, fingering the gold rosary hanging about his neck and cocking an eyebrow.

[Corwin]

Raven's lips quirk, and he shrugs. "Just the question I was about to ask you, my friend," he responds.

[Brian]

Liron inclines his head slightly.  "A fair question," he says.  "But no, I was just a friend.  I don't suppose you might know where I could find the guy who lived here?" he asks hopefully.

Since this conversation might take a while, Liron tries to display a relaxed attitude, setting down his duffel even though he's kind of unsettled by the image he recieved.

[Corwin]

"I was hoping he would be inside," Raven says, frowning. "The person I'm looking for asked me to meet him here."

Placing his hands in his pockets, he approaches Liron. Nodding in the direction of the door, he asks, "Might be a stupid question, but are you sure there's nobody home?"

[Brian]

Looking back inside the building, Liron shakes his head.  "Not entirely," he admits.  He humms thoughtfully, considering his options.  "Now, you know, I'm not sure this looks like a standard style of decor.  Might be a good time to call the cops."

[Corwin]

"If Heron wanted the cops here, he wouldn't have asked for my help," Raven says casually, glancing sideways at Liron to see his reaction to the name.