Patron of the arts

[Tharione]

Dec 14, 1923:
The ride into Vermont along the railway was a pleasant one, if uneventful. The scenic path of the train into terrain lazily curved around hills as it proceeded north into territory with ever decreasing amounts of industrialization was an ever present and delightful diversion. Perhaps it would be worth taking the trip again in the summer and fall to take in all the country has to offer. The long hours of the ride gave plenty of time to consider the majesty of nature all from the safety, comfort, and warmth of a first class rail car. The ubiquitous clacking of the wheels only broken by the occasional bout of laughter from the normally politely quiet conversations had among the various private booths of the car and the even more occasional stop at a station.

The length of the ride has also left you plenty of time to ponder your current endeavors. Your employer, Mr. Mckay, has hired you and the others currently sitting at your booth to retrieve valuable artworks he believes to be located in the sleepy town of Fairview Vermont. From the looks of those around you though an outside observer would never guess you five were colleagues, indeed it is hard to believe it yourself. Why Mckay would employ people of such varied professions to purchase artwork is a mystery, but your goal in Vermont is clear: Find as many of the works of Francis Redeaux as possible and return with them, but most importantly find his final piece, 'Anguish in Red'.

Mckay has provided a weeks worth of accommodations at a local ski lodge for all of you and any time you have left over before your train leaves from Fairview you may do with as you wish. He has also provided an expense account of $400 for the purchasing of whatever you may justifiably need on the hunt (although it was heavily implied to be only for purchasing paintings).

A stop in the ever present drone of the wheels shakes you from your thoughts, leaving you once more in the comfort of a first class train car in a booth with four people you barely know.

[ArcturusV]

Snowy woods. Marcus smiled faintly as he looked out the window towards the wilderness. When he was a kid, he might have looked on those landscapes and imagined some great castle waiting to be formed out of the snow and the trees, his own little kingdom, ready for a siege and to rule over Winter. Now though all he could do was look out there and spot the hazards. Trees about to topple in the next storm, heavy snow drifts, signs of where wildlife was marking territory and might not appreciate the intrusion of men. Places that were just begging for an accident if he went to work on it, pondering if something went wrong, some wolf bite, or a bad swing of the axe or fall just how far help would be out here. That cold mental calculation of blood loss, heat loss, and the frailty of human nature that he had been forced to learn over the past few years.

Morbid thoughts. Not exactly the making of a pleasant winter vacation to scenic Vermont. He was trying to get away from everything. Maybe find a chance to change who he was entirely out here. He forced his eyes from the window, and towards his fellow passengers. All seemingly roughly the same age, more or less as he could guess. The others were far more sharp dressed than he was. City people if he'd hazard a guess. Probably from some swanky New York neighborhood that he could only dream of in his wildest dreams. A far cry from the flannel, blue jeans, and solid work boots that he wore.

Definitely stuck out. He wondered if he should have used some of that money for some new duds to fit in. But it wouldn't feel right, not without doing the job first at least.

Chewing a bit on his lip he looked over the three, and eventually rubbed his right hand on his pant leg, clearing off some imaginary dirt and grime that must have clung to him among all the shine in the booth. "Name's Marcus," he said, holding out his right hand towards the men to shake, and giving a bit of a bow of his head and a tip of some imaginary cap to the dame. "I take it you've all done this before, right?" He could only guess. They just seemed far more... fitting... than him.

[Q'telun]

Isaac read the paper idly, eyes scanning the same spot on the page over and over again as he contemplates how he had gotten himself into this mess. Sure, he killed someone, but it was just one guy, all he had to do was lay low for a while until the cops had been paid off. But here he was, on his way to Vermont at the suggestion of the boss. Something about old liquor in the houses. Probably a bull**** excuse to keep him out of trouble for a while.

He blinks as the silence is interrupted by the rougher looking man. Nervous looking man, seemed a bit out of place in first class. Probably his first time sitting among this level of wealth. Just like Isaac had been the first time in the boss's office. Isaac grins and takes the offered hand. His hands are rough and calloused from heavy use. "Isaac. Pleasure to meet you Marcus. As to your question, this'll be my first time acquiring art, but not the first time being the middleman in a deal like this."

[Xsesiv]

"Never, but anything for art. Raven. Just Raven. I used to sign my old stuff, the tamer stuff, P. Reginald Raven. For the audience, you understand. But it's just Raven."

The man who speaks, wearing a black suit and white overcoat and hat - both beautifully tailored garments - looks to have had all the colour leached out of him, from his pale skin to the very tips of his long, white-blond hair, apart from his indigo eyes.

He feels quite the same way. This is not where he wants to be at this time, rattling north on a train in the freezing midwinter. He should be getting up about now to pour himself some breakfast; or sitting wrapped in a blanket in front of a log fire with an old manuscript on his knee, nursing a hangover, a cup of tea and a cigar; or else dozing in bed, using some pretty young thing or other as a hot-water bottle. Jazz kittens were his favourite. Emmy, in her words, knew the score. She could drink him under the table, too.

Raven offers his own round of handshakes, letting his hand linger on the pretty woman's if she accepts his - not long enough to be awkward or uncomfortable, but long enough to make his admiration known - then he reaches into his left breast pocket and produces a case of fine cigarettes. He takes one, then offers the box around. He has made sure not to offer his right-pocket case, which contains his special cigarettes: a couple with a spot of opium, one or two sprinkled with cocaine, and a few with much of the tobacco replaced by that most potent, dangerous narcotic: marihuana.

Once everyone wanting one has got a cigarette, he produces a lighter and lights first his own, then starts on the others'.

"So, how do you all know Mr. McKay?"

[Sgt. Suitable]

Rachel smiles when Marcus breaks the silence and nods her head once in return to his gesture. "Rachel, pleased to meet you." Her voice is smoky and sweet. She's wearing one of those handkerchief scarf things over her head and has big dark sunglasses which she lowers to look everyone in the eyes while she speaks.
She came in with considerably more luggage than the rest and spend a good while trying to stuff her two large duffel-bags in the overhead compartments. Her red leather purse rests on her lap and she fidgets with it every now and then, her keychain within more than anything else. It's the one item she brought that she won't be needing, ever again and she hasn't figured out yet why she's holding on to it.
Glad for the distraction she joins the conversation and the keys disappear in the depths of the purse.
"I have never been on such an expedition either, it's quite exciting." She stares out of the window for a moment.

"Breathtaking landscape. I wonder why these paintings are worth all this trouble, though I'm not complaining ofcourse."

[Q'telun]

Isaac takes the cigarette with a nod of thanks and fishes in his coat pocket for his own lighter, making sure not to expose the butt of his gun. "If I had to guess, McKay is an eccentric and Redeaux was an even more eccentric painter. That makes his works expensive and worth having." He pulls a silver flask out of a different pocket and holds it out to the group after taking a pull. "Drink?"

[Tharione]

A conductor passes through the car, as you have all seen him do often enough already. He nods to you collectively and speaks before heading onward down the car.

"Fairview's the next stop, half an hour or so."

[ArcturusV]

Marcus shakes his head at the offer of smokes and a nip of something. Very self conscious about how he must look around all these slick types, he didn't want to look like some poor kid from the sticks grabbing at everything he could. Instead he settled back in his seat, and gave a shrug as the conductor passed by.

"Beats me. Figure it's easy money though and a nice trip myself," he offered as his only possible explanation. What could be hard about it? Go up to someone, give them a pile of cash, get a painting, and then relax for a week. Seemed simple enough to him. Course he was big enough, and his hands scarred up enough that someone might wonder if he wasn't sent for something a bit more... persuasive... than Cash. But he didn't carry himself that way, with brutal confidence and the feeling that he could snap the three of you like twigs. Just very self conscious and unconsciously shying away from the three of you.

[Xsesiv]

"Kind, I'm sure," says Raven at the offer of a drink, "but I've brought my own."

He leans down to his Gladstone bag, pulling out a portable ashtray, opening it and setting it on the table. He then takes out a navy-blue enamel Thermos flask. He acknowledges the conductor with little more than a nod, waits for him to leave, and then takes up the flask and pours a slug of some amber liquid into the accompanying cup. It has been pre-warmed, and the unmistakable smell of cognac fills the air amongst the tobacco smoke. "Damn hard to get, decent stuff," he says. "Some poor sap has to go over the border for it. To hell with the Eighteenth Amendment."

He doesn't quite offer the flask around, but puts it onto the table where anyone wanting some can help themselves. If they do, he won't protest, and they'll find the flask about three-quarters full.

"The idea someone might want to abandon artworks instead of get hold of them is pretty alien to me. Get them back to civilisation where people can actually see them, I say."

Seeing how uncomfortable Marcus is getting, Raven becomes slightly embarrassed, though he doesn't show that. He ashes his cigarette in the ashtray, turns his gaze to the window, and lets his eyes assume a practiced dreamy, faraway quality.

[Gem_Knight]

As the Conductor passes by, Neruneko stops snoring. Having spent most of the train ride so far in the lounge, people watching, listening and looking for hints- speakeasies specifically- that he might find during their visit to Vermont. He sits up and yawns, then shivers a little, immediately reaching for a jacket. His normal attire wasn't well suited to the cold of Vermont's winter. He should have known better, he reminds himself, it's colder there than home. He sighs and pulls the black denim jacket tighter over the sleeveless brown shirt and grey pants. He certainly didn't look professional- and most of all he looked young- except for the scar. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small nipper flask, but as he opened it, he turned it over and it was empty. He frowned. He reached into his overhead bag and pulled out a small bag with a medical emblem on it, rummaging through that he pulled out a bottle of old-ish looking brandy, most likely smuggled in from Asian (Japan specifically). He poured from the long wine-bottle-shaped bottle into the nip flask, then put everything back in it's place before taking a sip.

"Sorry if I missed the introductions, I was people watching until they closed the lounge last night." He cracked his neck, and stood upright, "Name is Neruneko, you can call me Dr. Neko if you like, I specialize in the mind." He smiled, and held up his nip flash in toast. Then tucked it back in the inner pocket of his jacket before offering his hand to shake.

[Q'telun]

"Personally, I find the 18th amendment good for business." Isaac takes a long pull from his own flask and stows it. "A pleasure, Doctor. What brings you to the United States?"

[Gem_Knight]

"Don't let the squint in my eye's fool you, I'm 3rd generation american. It's just the scar and my grandmother's genetics that give me the squint," he chuckles, "and the the lack of dimension." (Calling himself short).

[Tharione]

Through the windows, first on the left side of the train then the right as the chain makes a gentle turn, a small town and station come into view through the trees and snow. Not long after the train pulls into Fairview station, a few minutes earlier than predicted. Gathering your things you disembark the train out into the crisp, cold air of the town. Your party seem to be the only ones disembarking the train today, although a few people are getting aboard the train before it's departure.

A large green sign with yellow print above the platform says 'Fairview Station'. The paint on it (and most everything around) is flaking, making the station seem as if it has been some time since it received proper maintenance. From the open-air train platform you can see much of the town, small and built at the base of a large hill, the structures are primarily wooden and most of it seems to be all along a wide main street. Smoke rises from dozens of chimneys, no cars are to be seen, everything seems to be easily within walking distance, and a white church steeple is the tallest structure, poking out above the rooftops. A postcard-perfect small town if ever there was one.


With a sharp blow of its whistle and a few slow chugs, which rapidly accelerate, the locomotive speeds off. Leaving you and your belongings on the cold rail platform.

[Q'telun]

Isaac blows a stream of steam through his mouth before heaving his bag over his left shoulder and picking up one of Rachel's bags.. "Well, might as well find a place to sleep before we get down to art hunting. What do you think, try for an inn on main street? Or one of those cheesy little bed and breakfast places."

[Xsesiv]

"Ah, the mind? Used to study that a bit, myself. Found the soul much more intriguing, though." Raven swishes the cognac around his cup, finishes it in one whiff, then closes his eyes, waiting for the familiar warmth to spread through his body.

"I used to know a Japanese fellow. Sora, his name was. 'Sky', am I correct? He was into his literature. I don't suppose you know any stories from the old country, so to speak? I mean, these Oriental writers really know how to frighten. They go to unsettle, rather than spook."

______

As the train rattles away, Raven, with Gladstone bag and suitcase, looks at the town with an odd mixture of distaste and approval - approval for the picaresque quality of the place, distaste for its modest size, state and location.

"We aren't exactly spoilt for choice. I'm all for counting our blessings at the first place that does a cold gin, a warm bed and a hot meal. Any two out of the three, I'm not picky."

[Tharione]

The remainder of the party decides to make its way to the accommodations provided for them, trekking through the crunchy, pristine snow of the streets.

Downtown appears to have a small store of every variety one would need to live comfortably. A grocer, a small hospital, library, smoke shop, library, even a mechanic and parts shop despite the apparent lack of motor vehicles. At the other, older end of main street the civic buildings appeared to have been grouped closely together. The police station stands opposite the church and next to the post office, which is across from the library. The Main street itself terminates before a building that must be town hall. The only notable structures that aren't on main street appear to be the church and your current destination. One which is just off a side street from the central avenue, and the other which is built at the top of the hill, by necessity.

The few townsfolk about seem friendly enough, and acutely aware of your status as an out of towner. They wave and smile whenever you have the fortune to lock eyes for even the briefest moment...

...The slog up the hillside was certainly the worst part of the trip, even with the path provided and kept clear of snow and ice. You must admit, however, that the view from the top is breathtaking. the town below seems too perfectly like the contents of a snowglobe: a tiny vignette representative of small town simplicity.

The lodge itself is a large two story structure made almost exclusively of great pine logs, a cobblestone fireplace being the sole visible exception. Within it is comfortably warm, presumably because of the roaring fire in the central fireplace of the structure. The main room is a two story foyer, with a lower area filled with long tables and associated benches, at the back is a main desk which doubles as a bar (although the liquor stands behind it now stand empty of any bottles). Two large staircases flank the main room and lead up to the balcony overlooking most of he tables. A small radio on the back shelf softly fills the room with pleasant music, although at a volume interrupted by the crackles and pops of the fire.

A chipper looking, older lady who stands sentry at the desk heads over to greet you personally when you enter through the doors.

"ooh welcome, welcome! You must be the group we were expecting, Mckay party right? Look exactly as described. I have your keys right here."

She smiles excitedly and reaches into the pocket of her apron and retrieves three room keys, handing these over to anyone with a free hand.

"Rooms are 4 5 and 6, anytime ya need anything to eat or anything for your rooms I'll be down here at the front desk. The sauna showers and john are out in the back... Oh! and if you need any help with your things Harris should be along any second, he was busy gathering some more firewood."

She gives a brief thoughtful pause to make sure she hasn't forgotten anything.

"I'm Mrs. Applebee by the way. Mr. Applebee and I run the lodge. Pleasure to meet ya." She smiles brightly.

[ArcturusV]

Marcus's sole baggage was a large sea bag that he carried slung over his shoulder. It was probably as heavy, maybe even heavier than most of what others carried, but he seemed to have little trouble with the hike up the hill with his baggage. Then again, it probably wasn't all that surprising looking at the rather large-ish man. And it certainly was nothing compared to hiking out through the wilderness and lugging logs up for the chains to be certain.

He'd have offered to carry the lady's bags as well, if she was showing any signs of trouble with them, though he was less inclined to help the other men, taking a bit of perverse pride that the fancy city slickers would be getting winded and struggling with what was (to him) a relative cakewalk of a hike.

When they got to the lodge, he set his bags down carefully near the counter, and looked at the three keys that were handed out. Far less than the size of the party after all, people would have to double up. His eyes flicked over towards the others, wondering if he really wanted to share a room with any of them. Oh not that he was afraid they might 'try something'. He was pretty sure a slug to the face would stop anything like that, and that he could handle himself. Just they seemed fussy, and a bit shady so far. Not exactly the sort of thing you looked for in a bunkmate, just begged for trouble and an unpleasant stay.

Regardless of how it broke down, he vowed then and there mentally not to spend too much time in his room, and to always keep what valuables he had with him.

"Guessin' the lady gets a room to herself, and the rest of us are pairing up, eh?" he asked, taking up one of the keys, number 5 to be specific. He smiled at the lady and gave her a nod, "No need to bother Harris there. We're all strapping young men, I think we'll be fine carrying our own, right?" he looked over towards the others, grinning a bit as he wondered how winded they might be, and if they'd tap out or try to carry on. Good test of what sort of person his prospective roommate might end up being.

[Q'telun]

Isaac manages to make it to the top only slightly out of breath, an impressive feat for a man used to hauling around crates of merchandise on flat ground. Once inside the ski lodge he sets his own bag and Rachel's down to take a breather, eyes wandering about the inn as the old woman talks. His attention snaps back to their host for the introduction.

"Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Applebee, and thank you for having us. Its a lovely place you have here."

He takes the key to room 4 with a grateful smile, then picks up his own bag again. "Miss Rachel, would you like some help getting your bags to your room?" Offering was the polite thing to do. And taking one more bag up a flight of stairs would be a walk in the park after hauling them up that mountain.

[Xsesiv]

Raven is not the happiest when he reaches the top of the mountain, blowing and puffing, his near-white skin distinctly pinking up. Drinking too much, smoking too much, taking too many drugs, eating too little and too badly, and taking minimal exercise, have left him little more than a physical wreck. His lungs are sore from the rapid intake of freezing-cold air. He stubbornly refuses any offers of help, and certainly doesn't offer to help the others with their baggage.

In the lobby he pantingly lights himself a cigarette, and gasping, he inhales too deeply and begins to cough. Shaking his head, he chucks the whole thing in the fire.

"I don't know what McKay thinks his game is. First-class train tickets, but shared rooms?"

He briefly contemplates the fact he's not going to get any girls coming back to a shared room. But this was a little more rural than his normal stomping-ground, probably unlikely to have his usual flappers and artsy-types around. And not quite rural enough to have innocent Bouguereauesque peasant girls wandering about. Too cold for bare feet, I suppose.

He glances wistfully at the empty liquor cabinet, before remembering his own flask of brandy tucked in his Gladstone. With a smirk, he considers grabbing key number 6, where Rachel would be staying given that the men had already picked out the other two, but thinks better of it given her total lack of interest on the train. "Hmm, two equally pleasant choices. Eeny, meeny...let's call it number four."

He hefts up his cases with a sigh. As soon as he gets to his room, as soon as he can get a cognac down his neck and a sit-down with a notepad.

[Tharione]

The rooms are simple and clean. A single window sits on the wall between two soft mattresses. a pipe runs through the room up along the inner wall, warming it up. A lantern hangs from a hook in the center of the room. Currently the lantern is not lit and enough light enters through the window to see.

[Sgt. Suitable]

Rachel thanks Isaac as he helps with her bag. Feeling a bit silly about the luggage she sheepishly follows the boys to the lodge. She had toured with bands from city to city a few years ago and was used to living out of a small suitcase. She hoped they wouldn't think she was high maintenance, but she simply had no other option than to take all she could fit in these bags right here and didn't feel like sharing her story with strangers.
As arrive get to the lodge Rachel's spirit picks up. "Such a nice place."
She listens to mrs Applebee's welcome and can't help but smile at the hospitable woman.

When Marcus offers one of the rooms for just herself she feels a bit high maintenance again but relieved at the same time, then a bit guilty about feeling relieved but the relief wins out and she gratefully accepts the offer.
"Thank you, true gentlemen..I sincerely hope I'm not too much trouble." She adds when Isaac offers to help carry the bags up. "Thank you so very much. Anyone up for drinks in an hour or so?" She asks as she walks up. "Let's meet down here."

Thanking Isaac once again at the door she closes it carefully and spins around to check out the room. Simple, but she didn't need more at the moment. She let herself fall facedown on the mattress and couldn't help but cry for a moment, the built up emotions came pouring out. Then a moment more because damnit she shouldn't be crying now and it took a moment more to come to terms with it and forgive herself. Working through these steps had become a too comfortable routine and she took a deep breath. Screw it. Screw it all. This wasn't the end, and she had to take charge again. The hardest part was over, the first step had been taken and she was going to show the world who Rachel Underwood was.
A frantic few seconds later the room was totally hers. Clothes strewn over the floor and bed, old fotographs pinned to the door and a small mirror standing up against the wall on top of an empty suitcase. Makeup of all sorts of colors and smells around it and a bit of incense smoldering in the corner. More had come out of the bags than possibly could have fit inside them and the organization was one of pure chaos. It was her chaos. And she felt good.

[Q'telun]

Once Isaac has Rachel's bag in her room he goes to room number 4 and starts his own unpacking. He methodically lays out his shirts and pants on the chair before setting up his shaving kit in the bathroom, making sure to keep the more questionable items hidden under clothes. "So, Raven, was it? You're a writer? Can't say I've ever heard of you."

[Xsesiv]

Raven chucks his cases to the floor of room number four, to be ordered and put away when he felt more up to it. He opens up the Gladstone and produces his Thermos and a notebook and pen, and sits cross-legged on the bed.

He sips several shots' worth of cognac straight from the flask, just to settle his nerves which are still shot after the trek up the mountainside. After a minute or two of rumination, he finds his mind dozing from the combined effects of the relatively early morning, the unaccustomed exertion and the brandy, and his hand is working idly, doodling in the margin, when Isaac asks him a question.

"Oh, no? Didn't get to the theatre much, I suppose? Don't worry, you will. Hear of me, I mean, not go to the theatre. Drama's not my favourite medium, but that's where my work's most popular. An artist's bound to have some struggles when he starts out, but I'm sitting on the kernel of an idea here. Could spin it out into a novel. Should be quite good, if I do say so myself."

He looks down at the page. He's drawn a rough sketch of a pretty girl smoking a cigar and walking with a book balanced on her head, like in that posture-improving exercise. Feeling like a fool to himself, he puts it away.

"And you, ah, Isaac, you're involved in this stuff, from your comment earlier." He shakes the flask with a smirk. "Don't worry, I'm sure you've noticed I'm not a Fed. Do you know of anywhere around here that has a supply? Jazz places, ideally?"

[Gem_Knight]

The Hike up the hillside to the lodge was not fun, but nothing compared to the hell of his physical trainer back at the hospital. When they got to the top of the hill he probably looked pale and faint, but kept his expression neutral.

"So Marcus, that leaves me in 5 with you does it?" He goes and puts his bag away, it's a military-styled green dufflebag, though it looks quite old, older than him. In the room he sets the bag at the side of the bed he gets, then sits down for a moment, to catch his breath. He opens his bag and sets the medical bag from the top at the head of the bed.

Presuming Marcus is still in the room while he sits since they've the better part of an hour to kill, Neko speaks up, "So, you don't look like this march through the woods stuff is new to you?"

[Q'telun]

Isaac pauses in his unpacking and turns to face Raven, holding a plain white shirt in his hands, a sardonic look on his face.

"You want to know if I've heard of a jazz joint near Fairweather, Vermont. A town I didn't even know existed until a few days ago."

He sighs and turns back to his unpacking, making sure to keep the three black boxes in the bottom of his bag out of view of the artist.

"The most you'll see up here is moonshiners and stills. Maybe someone making a border crossing, if you're lucky. Judging by the state of the town though, I doubt you'll even see a hooker."

He finally finishes unpacking and stows his bag under the bed. "I'll be downstairs. Try not to finish the flask before you join us."

[Xsesiv]

"Just thought you might be know about the distribution lines. Yes, I didn't think much of the place either, but that was my last hope."

Seeing he's getting nothing done here, Raven screws on the flask lid and tosses it onto the bed. "I'll do my unpacking now. Didn't want to get in your way. I'll come and meet you in a minute. Creative block. I might as well get a conversation in."

Once Isaac's left, Raven, having had his quick rest, feels up to starting to unpack his suits from his suitcase and hang them up: the two black, the white, the tuxedo. A dark-grey overcoat to go next to the white, six white shirts, four pairs of shoes. He checks them all, nods and smirks in approval. He stuffs the suitcase containing his underclothes and sundries under the bed and takes his wash-bag to the bathroom to freshen up. A comb of the hair, his second shave of the day, a brisk splash of the face. Not bad.

He takes a cigar box from his Gladstone, takes out a cigar and pockets the box, then fills a hip-flask from his Thermos and puts that in another pocket, and makes his way to the lobby.

[Tharione]

After unpacking their things everyone meets down in the main area.

[Gem_Knight]

Neruneko spent the rest of the hour using small tools to continue the physical training since he left the hospital; primarily a spring resistant pulley for his leg was the core of his exorcise. The last few minutes before he went down he sat back and drained his current Nip Flask before refilling it and pocketing the flask.

Finally he wiped his brow and headed downstairs to meet the others.