Our Cabaret's First Act [Cthulhu Dark]

[D20ragon]

Despord Ohio, 1935

OOC (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?491292-Backstage-at-The-Roleplayers-Cabaret-OOC&p=20888073#post20888073)

Micheal Bruns, the barkeep, swallows thickly. The air in "The Corporal's Pride" is the worst it's been since he's worked here, a rank scent of mildew creeping into his shirt and settling on his skin. The light, dangling from its cord, sways slightly as Mrs. Gull thumps away at her sewing machine in the apartment above the inn. There's been no new business, and the inevitable foreclosure sign seems to hang around Micheal's neck, stooping his tall, ungainly frame nearly double as he pours himself a drink of water from the pitcher on the bar. The dim light glints off the windows facing the street, barring the darkness from his vision with reflections of his own tiny world, chipping plaster, grubby counter and all.

A sudden knock, abrupt and solid. A neighbors dog gives a rattling bark, as the silence of night is broken. Micheal nearly chokes on his water as he straightens.
"Come in" he sputters. "Don't hang about in the street."

[DoctorFaust]

Far back in the depths of the bar, Jack Whitehall jerks awake at the table where he's been sitting. He glances down at his watch, silently curses his stupidity for misreading "p.m.", and hurriedly begins fixing his tie and shirt, cognizant of just how useless his efforts actually are.

[ElementalHymn]

At the bar Leonard takes another swig of coffee and grimaces. The taste is terrible, but it's probably the only thing keeping him awake at the moment. So he decides he'll just have to bear with it for now. He has been awake since yesterday perusing through old newspapers and a couple journals of a few of the early settlers of the town. Even now at the bar he has one of the journals and is jotting down notes in his notebook. I'm almost finished with this one. He thinks to himself. I'll turn in after just a few more hours.
His fatigued mind is suddenly brought away from his work by the bartender coughing up the water he had been drinking. As the bartender beckons for the new arrival to enter Leonard turns to see the new guest in the near deserted bar.

[T-Mick]

The door clatters open - a little harder and it would have fallen off its hinges, and a brusque Frenchman strides in, a blackrobe priest in his forties. He stomps up to the bar and takes a seat.

"Beer, Mr. Bruns, and bacon if you have it." He tries to pat the grime out of his clothes, making a little cloud of dust around him. "There are some other folks on the street, you have a good night before you."

Fr. Brunet kicks a leg out to the left, glancing hardly about. A few regulars, a new face or two.

"Mon dieu, Leonard! You have all the look of a man run down by a bull!"

[Volcan]

Collin, who had been slouched at a table in the corner, looking over a tome that looked five times his age, stood up. He walked toward the bar with his empty glass, ignoring any of the patrons that he happened to pass, "More of the same," he said, setting his glass upon the stained bar.

[ElementalHymn]

Leonard let's out a small chuckle at the priests comment and gives him a tired smile. "Careful Father, I may not speak french but I know enough to know that you shouldn't be using that language." He takes another sip of coffee and make a conscious effort not to make a face as he swallows. "I've just been awake a lot longer than I should be. I'll be of more sound body and mind as soon as I've finished with this journal and have had a rest. So what brings you here Father?"

[D20ragon]

Collin, who had been slouched at a table in the corner, looking over a tome that looked five times his age, stood up. He walked toward the bar with his empty glass, ignoring any of the patrons that he happened to pass, "More of the same," he said, setting his glass upon the stained bar.


Leonard let's out a small chuckle at the priests comment and gives him a tired smile. "Careful Father, I may not speak french but I know enough to know that you shouldn't be using that language." He takes another sip of coffee and make a conscious effort not to make a face as he swallows. "I've just been awake a lot longer than I should be. I'll be of more sound body and mind as soon as I've finished with this journal and have had a rest. So what brings you here Father?"

"More of the same it is," the barkeep mumbles, making his way to the collection of stained bottles, where he pours Collin a glass of a questionable looking substance. Still holding the cup, he address the priest, just as Leonard finishes. "Yeah. Why here? How many more outside?" His voice is louder than intended, and it cuts across the room, leaving a void of sound behind it. He sets the glass down. "Just so I can fix up rooms..."


Far back in the depths of the bar, Jack Whitehall jerks awake at the table where he's been sitting. He glances down at his watch, silently curses his stupidity for misreading "p.m.", and hurriedly begins fixing his tie and shirt, cognizant of just how useless his efforts actually are.
The bar's louder than it's been since Jacks been here, and the noise is worming itself into a knot of a headache, lodged in his temple.

[T-Mick]

"You'd be much the better off in body and soul if you'd lay off that Mahometan swill you're drinking," the priest grumbled to himself.

"It's damp out, I need a Christian drink to fortify the soul." Michael brought around a mug of beer. No bacon. Such is life.

"I was at the graveyard just before. We put Mrs. Harris' husband to rest today. Poor woman. He was a few years older than me. Requiescat, et cetera."

He took a deep draft from the mug, but choked and beat his breast. He turned to the barkeep and wheezed, "Two men. I think there was a woman speaking too, so maybe three.

[DoctorFaust]

With a growl, Jack slaps his hat down on his head, pulling it far down over his eyes, and walks up to the bar beside the priest. "Neat whiskey and a water," he mumbles, slumping down in the new seat.

[agrimfuture]

The door swings softly open and a man enters with a gust of air. He is remarkably pale, clad in a long black coat, a black scarf and a black fedora with a thin package, wrapped in brown paper, under his arm. His eyes drift searchingly over the assembled patrons until he is hailed by a portly gentleman seated at a table towards the back of the bar. "Edward! Punctual as always." Edward smiles as he makes his way to the table seating himself across from the man and placing the package on the table. "Hello Mr. Gremski." "Is this the painting?" Mr. Gremski gestures at the package. "As you commissioned," "Fifty you said?" Edward nods and his companion places a collection of bills on the table on the table. Edward shuffles through them and then pockets them, sliding the package towards Mr. Gremski.

[D20ragon]

With a growl, Jack slaps his hat down on his head, pulling it far down over his eyes, and walks up to the bar beside the priest. "Neat whiskey and a water," he mumbles, slumping down in the new seat.


The door swings softly open and a man enters with a gust of air. He is remarkably pale, clad in a long black coat, a black scarf and a black fedora with a thin package, wrapped in brown paper, under his arm. His eyes drift searchingly over the assembled patrons until he is hailed by a portly gentleman seated at a table towards the back of the bar. "Edward! Punctual as always." Edward smiles as he makes his way to the table seating himself across from the man and placing the package on the table. "Hello Mr. Gremski." "Is this the painting?" Mr. Gremski gestures at the package. "As you commissioned," "Fifty you said?" Edward nods and his companion places a collection of bills on the table on the table. Edward shuffles through them and then pockets them, sliding the package towards Mr. Gremski.

Jack's drink is mutely provided, as the bartender turns to watch the sum of money change hands from Gremski to Edward. He licks his lips, visibly. Outside, rain begins to patter, tracing lines down the glass. A man and woman enter, slightly somber, but with the unmistakable vigor of youth about them.
"Good evening to you all" says the man, removing his hat to reveal short, chocolaty hair. He turns, addresses Micheal. "Mrs. Gull is still in the room above?"
As though summoned by his voice, a hacking cough rattles from the upstairs, followed by a leaden thump.
"She's up there" Micheal says, eyes still on Edwards money.

[DoctorFaust]

Jack nods and mutters a "Good Evening" to the new patron of the bar. He downs the whiskey, and is about to turn and strike up a conversation with the Father when the thump sounds out, loud enough to be heard over the rain and what little business the bar has. His free hand darts inside his jacket, and he very slowly motions for the bartenders attention with the other. "This, uh, Miss Gull, was it? Does she have a tendency to faint suddenly? Or to knock over her sewing machine at strange intervals?"

[D20ragon]

Jack nods and mutters a "Good Evening" to the new patron of the bar. He downs the whiskey, and is about to turn and strike up a conversation with the Father when the thump sounds out, loud enough to be heard over the rain and what little business the bar has. His free hand darts inside his jacket, and he very slowly motions for the bartenders attention with the other. "This, uh, Miss Gull, was it? Does she have a tendency to faint suddenly? Or to knock over her sewing machine at strange intervals?"

"Nothing for you worry about" Micheal said, reluctantly turning to face Jack. "The door to the upstairs isn't locked" he continued slowly, addressing the couple.
"Oh dear" the woman said, quietly. "I do hate bothering everyone. I'm sure she's alright, everyone."