Falling into the Sky

[Voshkod]

October 3

It snowed last night. Not much, a light dusting on the ground, but enough to send a clear message - winter is coming, early and hard.

Near dawn, a sharp cold wind from the west rose. The low clouds that brought the snow scudded off in haste to the east like a pack of murderers fleeing the scene of the crime. The sun rose, casting fingers of red across the sky, and down in the crater the lake began to breath, warm water exhaling long plumes of mist into the chilly air. Wizard Island drifts in and out of the fog like a ghost ship.

The tourists are packing up, Mom and Dad and the kids and the dog loaded into the SUV for the trip back to Portland or Seattle or Kansas City. In the Crater Lake Lodge, the staff is closing down rooms, sealing up entire wings. Outside, the rangers are clearing and closing Rim Village, where the lodge, the cabins, the cafeteria, and the overlook are. Other rangers are making the survey of the rim of the caldera, making sure hikers and campers know that the Park is closing down.

Closing down. In past years, they've kept the road from Mazama village plowed all season. Not this year. Budget cuts. The backcountry will still be open for skiers and hikers, but no one will be making the drive up to the Rim when the snow starts in earnest.

The snow. Forty-four feet on average. October to May. A small group of rangers stays at the Rim, in the Lodge, to make sure the place doesn't fall apart, to act as first responders for whatever idiots get themselves lost and frozen in the back country. The winter shift.

You drew the short straw this year. You got winter shift. At least six months up on the rim of the Crater, buried in snow. You get time and a half, so you'll make a year's pay in six months. That's not so bad, right?

But now the sun is up, and Jake Molley expects you at the Lodge for a brief. A chance to see who else drew the short straw, to find out who you'll be sharing the winter with on the edge of the Crater.

[un_known]

October 3rd

Damean awoke with a start, he’d had the nightmares again; the dream about that day when he and his friends had fallen into a place that could never be found. He began to feel around in the dark for his glasses on the stand beside his bunk. He found them and put them on after sitting up. He clutched the old native arrowhead around his neck and like normal he accidentally cut himself.

“Dammit!” He said before sticking his finger in his mouth and walking out of the room. He fumbled at a drawer in the hallway before getting the First-Aid kit out and grabbing a band-aid. He was standing near a window, looking out he could see the forest and the rising sun. Looking at his watch he knew he had lots of time and so he meandered back to his room and got changed. Grabbed his belt and warm coat and silently left the quarters he was staying in. He would be in the lodge for the next few months and that wasn’t too bad. If it hadn’t been the winter shift, he hated the winter shift. One of his friends had left the Ranger’s after doing the winter shift and kept looking over his shoulder all shifty eyed now a days.

Damean walked towards the lodge with the crisp autumn air tingling his spine. But then he remembered he’d left a book back in his room, the one he’d been reading: Tales of the Wendigo. He liked the book but couldn’t remember the authors name for the life of him. After running back to his quarters he grabbed the book and once again began his stroll towards the Lodge.

Few people were out this early in the morning and those he did pass were like zombies, still asleep. A mumbled ‘Hi’ here or there and maybe a groggy wave was all the notice he got. He could see the light of the sun just dipping over the caldera of the mountain, and wondered what the lake would look like right now. Beautiful it would be there was no doubt. He’d watched the sun rise many times in the past two years of his employment here but never had it been this strange, weird or beautiful. The sun was red and the sky was clouded constantly shifting. What a picture it would have made If he’d gotten a chance to go to a lookout. But time wasn’t there.

Damean wandered up to the Lodge and opened the door, the warmth of the inside wafting out. He stumbled inside and sat down in a chair. Only time would tell when, who and what Damean would have to deal with.

[TerrickTerran]

October 3rd

Alexis was less than thrilled at pulling winter shift. She hated cold weather with a passion. What was worse was that it wouldn't allow her to explore some of the stuff she had hoped. Well at least she had some company while doing it. She gave a cursory nod to the other rangers as she started reading her notes on the history of the area. It was quite fascinating stuff. She hoped that at least one of the others had similar interests so she could have some fun conversations during what she considered a lot of drudge work. Oh well, maybe next year she would get summer instead and do some proper research. Her fingers were crossed as she nodded at someone passing her.

[Voshkod]

The meeting is in the ground floor lounge of the Lodge. A large semi-circular room, with the circular half dominated by a set of windows that look out over the lake, broken in the middle by a massive fireplace. On the walls, stuffed and mounted animal heads, long-dead bears, deer, and other unfortunates. Scattered here and there are deep leather-covered armchairs and vast sofas, heavy wooden tables, and a fifteen-foot long mahogany wet bar (apparently still well-stocked).

Jake Molley is standing in front of the fireplace, waiting for stragglers. Jake's a legend in the Park Service, or at least a legend in his own mind. A former Marine, two tours in Iraq and a Silver Star, he's worked some of the hardest parks - Denali, Gates of the Arctic, Dry Tortugas. He's been to the top of McKinley twice, and once dragged someone else down during a rescue. Rumor has it he's been exiled to Crater Lake for some unknown sin. Whatever the reason, this short, barrel-chested man with a gray crew-cut is in charge for the winter.

Sitting together on a couch next to the fireplace are the Twins, though they don't look a thing alike. Inseparable, Toby Dechetes and Jim Lopez, both big handsome guys, one a blond, the other with black hair, kind of scruffy but with big plans for the future that they'll tell you all about - again and again. They're going to do this Park Ranger thing for a few years, then set up a mountain guide company, make some real bucks. Maybe they can do it. Together they've got the brawn of three men and the brains of at least one. Both of them came out of Oregon State University's wilderness recreation program.

Off in a corner, lost in a massive armchair, is a small black woman with wire-rim glasses. She's got an enormous tome in her lap, Equine Respiratory Diseases. Tanya Drew, graduate of University of Washington's veterinary program. Large animal vet, pre-med as well. Quiet, reserved. Doesn't seem to like people all that much, but she's good with the animals.

Standing at the window, looking out over the lake, is Cecil Wellbourne. A thin guy, the first to fall out on long hikes, but a hell of a brain. University of Chicago, astronomy. Handles all the star-gazing hikes for the tourists at night. Nice enough fellow, though, but not someone you’d want at your back during a winter rescue.

Sitting at the bar, drinking some sparkling water, is Heather Carter. Her red hair falls down to her shoulders. University of Hawaii, vulcanology. Vocally bitter about being assigned to Crater Lake. There's Mount Shasta, Yellowstone, Hawaii, lots of places with active volcanoes, and they put her on one that's long-dead. Rumor is she refused the advances of someone pretty high up in the Service, so they sent her here.

Standing by the door is Mel. Melissa Halsey, Park Police. She's in uniform, has a holstered pistol at her side. Blond hair done in a tight bun. She's new to Crater Lake, assigned from Great Smokey just a few weeks ago. No one's had much time to get to know her.

Standing near Wellbourne is Thereisama "Call me Terry" Manavi. Dark skin, long dark hair done in a complex braid down her back. Came out of Brigham Young with a specialty in Indian (American) cultures. She's always walking around writing in a leather-covered journal, or painting pictures of the Lake. She's pretty good, too. Even Molley, not the most sentimental of guys, put some of her pictures on display in the HQ building, and some software mogul from Seattle bought two of them.

Behind the bar is Carl Mendoza. Ageless, skin so tanned that he might as well be made of beef jerky, bald. He works for the Lodge as a handyman and winter staff. Been up here every winter for fifty years, they say. They say he was here in '45 when the Navy dropped a bomber into the Lake, but he can't be that old.

Molley checks his watch again.

[un_known]

"So Terry, you here with us this winter? I thought you'd be on the beach somewhere snapping up photos by the dozen," Damean says to her with a flash of his dashign smile. He'd been on shift with Terry before and he liked her. She had a nice sense of humor and well he really did like her...

He god up and deposited himself down in an armchair next to her waiting for her reply. He was thumbing the arrowhead beneath his shirt, it was still sharp.

[Voshkod]

Terry laughs. "Not this year. I've been doing summer studies of the lake for a while, and I want to do a few winterscapes. Get the snow blowing across the ice, that sort of thing." She leans over, lowers her voice. "That, and I got the short straw. Stuck up here all winter with the Twins and Molley? Good thing the bar is well stocked."

[un_known]

"Well you at least me and I will have to see about that bar sometime. If I remember right I make a great Mojito and as I remember you like Tequila," Damean said with an arch little smile.

"When do you want to take those pictures because just ask and I'll come right along," he said with earnest. He really did like Terry.

[Voshkod]

"You set the drinks up and I'll knock them down," she says, still smiling. She looks around the room. "Damn, where is everyone? Molley's going start biting off heads soon."

[Kythorian]

James stands outside his room looking across the lake. Looking across the light covering of snow dusting the trees and ground, more than anything. Where he came from, snow like this came maybe once a year, but he knew this was only the very beginning of what would come here. He wanted to enjoy the outside while he could before it was too cold to stick your head outside without bundling yourself up with so many clothes that it wasn't really worth it.

But he really should be on to Jake's meeting...He was probably going to be late as it is. With a sigh, he hurries towards the entrance to the Lodge.

Just inside the door, he pauses for a moment as he looks around at who else was there. After a moment, he walks over and drops down into one of the seats next to Damean. With a nod to each, he says, "Hey Damean, Terry. You both get stuck out here for the winter too?" He glances around and continues without waiting for an answer, "Well, I guess I'm not the last one here though, at least."

[TerrickTerran]

Alexis wasn't sure why, but she decided to talk to Mel. :"So anything going on that we should know about?" Alexis figured that it was in her best interest to get as much information as possible since they were going to be here for a long while and she did not want to be caught unprepared.

[Voshkod]

Mel shrugged. She's not a large woman, but she looks tough. Alexis has seen her at the gym in the Lodge once or twice, pounding the hell out of a punching bag, tape wrapped around her knuckles. "Nah," she says in a slight Georgia accent. "Couple of reports of pot growers out in the brush, but they'll be moving on with the snow."

Terry gives Jake a smile as well. "Yeah, but it's not all bad. Like I was telling Damean, I've been wanting to paint some winter scenes and . . . ."

"OK, settle down," Molley says from up front. He begins to pace slowly in front of the window. Anyone who's see Patton might get a brief image of the start of that movie, but with Crater Lake as the backdrop instead of the American flag. "I'm gonna get started." The room falls quiet.

"First, thanks for 'volunteering' for winter shift. It's not as bad as you've heard. You get a full year pay in six months, you get plenty of time to yourself. We have a few light duties to pull, making sure the buildings up here and around the rim stay in good shape. If any of the hikers or campers get stuck, we pull rescue. Other than that, your time is your own."

The Twins seem to be paying close attention. Tanya doesn't even look up from her book. Cecil and Heather are listening, as is Mel, while Terry's looking out the window. Carl, behind the bar, takes a none too subtle nip from a bottle.

"A couple of rules. You don't go anywhere outside of the Rim camp without a buddy. Two man rule at all times. And you both take a radio, you report in hourly. A lotta folks don't respect this mountain because it ain't that high," he says, casting a significant look at the Twins. "But it'll kill ya. A bright blue day can turn into a ping-pong ball whitout within minutes.

"Second rule. We take shifts on cooking and cleaning. I'll put up a sign up sheet.

"Third rule. I don't care what you all get up to with each other, unless it causes me problems. So keep it private." Heather giggles.

"Tanya, you have the stables as your main duty. Keep the horses in good shape." From her armchair, Tanya nods without looking up. "If we need to move around," Molley continues, "we've got the horses, four snowmobiles, two Sno-cats, and plenty of snowshoes and cross-country skis. We've got the second floor, north wing, for rooms. I've taken the suite, you call can choose whatever room up there you want. No maid service, though. South wing is off limits and shut down. We have the run of the kitchen, pantries, game room, library, and the rest of the place, but we are guests, so don't mess it up. And as long as we help Mr. Mendoza take care of the lodge, we have access to the bar."

He stops pacing, looks very serious for a moment. "That doesn't mean you can get drunk every night. And I'd better not find out anyone" - he glances at Heather - "has brought anything more powerful than booze with them. And no one's allowed to have a gun, either. Mel's got a gun, and I have access to a few more, in case we have to put an animal down, but that's it. Questions?"

[Kythorian]

My char's name is James...whoops. Apparently I got Jake Molley's name mixed up with my char's, and was not paying enough attention. Sorry. Anyway...

James nods to Terry and opens his mouth to respond, but settles back into the chair looking at Molley as he begins to speak. He listened without comment, then glanced around at the others to see if they had any questions. The whole thing sounded pretty cut and dry though. They were in for a boring winter, but it seemed simple enough.

[un_known]

"Well now that you've gotten that spiel out Jake anything we should specifically know about? Like last winter with the old man who was still in his room in the section we weren't allowed in. Cause I don't think I could take another shock of walking into the kitchen at 2:00 A.M. for a glass of water and seeing a hobo looking in the fridge," Damean say's reminding Jake of the biggest problem they had had the winter before.

All in all the problem had turned out easier said then done. The old man had Alzheimer’s Disease and didn't even know the date or his name for the matter. But once they'd gotten him back to his family; who had put a search out for him everything had been quiet calm for the summer.

[Voshkod]

Molley laughs. "No, nothing surprising this year. I've checked the rooms, no one else is here. If you see someone you don't know, I guess it's a ghost. Right, Carl? We're on an old Indian burial ground."

Mendoza smiles thinly. "Oh, yeah, haunted to hell, ghosts everywhere."

"Anyone else?" Molley looks ready to end the session.

[Voshkod]

"All right, then. Get out there and help get the tourists out of here," Molley says, and the meeting breaks up.

November 15, 2010

It's been a warm fall so far, frost on a few nights, some light snow here and there, but generally pleasant weather. Everyone's picked their rooms on the second floor, north wing, and so far, at least, no one's ready to kill anyone else. Everyone's doing their share.

It's almost ten at night. Dinner was eaten late, a spicy chili cooked by the Twins (with a vegetarian version for Terry and Tanya). Lots of beer has flowed to fight off the four alarms of spices in your stomachs. Mel's back in the kitchen on clean-up, while Cecil is outside, having set up a 10-inch refractor telescope for a little stargazing. Everyone else is inside, around the fire. Molley's plucking away at a guitar in one corner, the Twins are both playing Madden on the X-Box (with Heather cheerleading for both sides), Tanya's got her head in another book of equine medicine, and Terry's giving an impromptu poetry reading. Mendoza, the hotel handyman, is not around.

Molley's started in on Hendrix's All Along the Watchtower, singing in a raspy voice, mostly to himself. Terry's on Yeats' Easter 1916, reading in a quiet tone, "What is it but nightfall? No, no, not night but death; Was it needless death after all?"

Cheering from the Twins drowns out most of the rest of the verse, except the end. "A terrible beauty is born," she murmurs, and she closes the book.

[un_known]

Damean walks up behind Terry listening to the verses as she ends it and says, “Dark poetry for a darker night but why don’t hear mine?” Damean looked to sky and with wide eyes began.

“Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

I have whirled with the earth at the dawning,
When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or luster or name.

I had drifted over seas without ending,
Under sinister grey-clouded skies,
That the many-forked lightning is rending,
That resounds with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons, that out of green waters rise.

I have plunged like a deer through the arches
Of the hoary primordial grove,
Where the oaks feel the presence that marches,
And stalks on where no spirit dares rove,
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers through dead branches above.

I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains
That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the fog-fetid fountains
That oozes down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things; I care not to gaze on again.

I have scanned the vast ivy-clad palace,
I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon rising up from the valleys
Shows the tapestried things on the wall;
Strange figures discordantly woven, that I cannot endure to recall.
I have peered from the casements in wonder”

As he finished he looked down at Terry, “Like it?”

[Voshkod]

"Lovecraft, Nemesis," she says with a smile. "Honestly, he's a better prose writer than a poet."

OOC: Anyone else still here?

[TerrickTerran]

Alexis simply decided to relax until anything else happened. It was quiet, perhaps too quiet, but she knew that could change really quickly.

[un_known]

"True. His prose is better then his poetry, but when it comes to dark poetry I still think of him and his cosmic evil," Damean reveals.

He looks around the room before noticing that Cecil is probably outside with his telescope and with a night like this those stars would be mighty big. So he motiosn to the door and waves his hand walking out to Cecil.

"Anything interesting out there tonight Cecil?"

[Voshkod]

As Damean opens the door, he's almost bowled over by Cecil tearing inside. "You all gotta get out here," he pants. "It's incredible! Beautiful!" With that he turns and tears outside again. Everyone is suddenly aware of a green glow slowly suffusing the room. Even with all the lights on, outside you can tell the sky has suddenly filled with ribbons of milky green-white color, all twisting and knotting.

[un_known]

Damean looks into the sky. A sky that seems to be alight with green fire, the unearthly lights that one might attribute to the spirit world.

"Is that the Aurora Borealis?" he asks profoundly.

[Voshkod]

"It's got to be," says Terry, coming up behind Damean. "Never seen it like that before."

"I have," Molley says, stepping outside. "On Denali." His voice is very small, almost fearful.

The Twins, Heather, and Mel all follow Molley outside into the chilly evening. Everyone's craning their necks upwards as the lights dance. Down below on the perfectly still lake, the lights are dancing in reflection. The sky and the lake are twinned mirrors of green.

[Voshkod]

Everyone's outside now but the handyman, who's nowhere to be seen. Even Tanya has stepped out to the porch and is staring upwards. The sky is crystal clear, and the stars seem to be moving behind the green lights. The wind begins to moan, softly at first, then loudly, but the trees on the rim of the lake aren't moving at all.

[OOC: Anyone left?]