Scenario Entitled: That's Some Bad Jujus, MonCharacters:
Rayne, dubbed Crazy by the general populace; poor, misunderstood woman.
Rockhound, whose mind works in strange and mysterious ways..
Darren, new friend of Rayne's, ever the gentleman.
Inger, who pops in and out.
Location: The Hanged Man, the little occult shop where Rayne now works
Date: Marron 13th, 110 P.A.
From the main area of the shop, Rayne finishes tidying up one of the numerous sagging shelves and looks around the place, rubbing her hands nervously on her pants as though preparing for some devious and unseemly task. Would there were anyone in the shop to see, one might think she was about to steal some of the merchandise. Instead, she takes a couple of steps toward the beaded curtain, then just before reaching it, turns and makes her way back along the same path. She does this several times, mumbling something under her breath and taking deep breaths.
From the Back Room, a draft of late winter air.. carrying hints of fresh soil and wet vegetation.. enters, probably from the courtyard behind the Hanged Man. Like a sigh, it breathes into the main room of the shop. The owner of the shop is nearby, it's almost as natural as breathing these days, to sense his waking presence. Fresh soil, and crypt air.. that what he feels/smells like.
Rockhound steps into the store from the noisy street.
Quite without meaning to, a small yelp escapes the young employee's lips as she senses her employer's presense from behind the curtain. She angles herself so that without stepping any closer to the curtain she can just barely make out some shapes through the strands. "M-M-Mister Yarg?" she calls out. "Is... is that you?" Silly question, of course, but what else is she to say.
Rockhound steps inside from the morning cold, only to be confronted with a surprised Rayne. After closing the door, he stops and waits, looking for other customers.
Darren steps into the store from the noisy street.
Yet another yelp escapes Rayne's lips and she twists around, nearly knocking over a small display in the process, "WHO? What the...?" Her eyes wide and body tense with fear, Rayne stands staring at the newcomer for a long moment before she's able to force herself to make sense of the situation and calm down some. "Oh. I... Mister Kelley? What ARE you doing here?" Hm... some way to treat potential customers, eh?
Rockhound takes a tentative step forward into the room, looking around with curiosity, his hand hanging near his pick. He smiles warmly, however, as he speaks to Rayne, "Well, Missus Rainbow, Missy told me that I might catch you here, and apparently I have." He offers a friendly wink at the 'Missus Rainbow' part.
It's a wonderful way to greet customers. Really. Through the door not long after Mr. Kelly, a tall, thickset figure slips throug, shutting the door carefully behind him to shut out the bitter morning chill. Lifting a hand to brush a few errant locks of hair from his brow, Darren's gaze flickers briefly over the shop, looking more curious than aught else, before his gaze falls upon Rockhound and Rayne: the man's lips curve briefly, and he nods, stating quietly in a soft, resonant baritone, "Good day to you both."
From the Back Room, a slow, susurration creeps across the floor, building into a stuttering sort of sucking noise. Someone's got a faulty vacuum-cleaner going in back, sounds like.
Rayne shudders and winces at the sound behind the curtain. In her best "greet the customers" voice, she says, "Welcome to the Hanged Man! May I assist you gentlemen with anything on this FINE morning?" Her voice is entirely too chipper and she gives Darren a look that is probably meant to be significant, but what it's supposed to signify she doesn't make apparent. Another whirling around motion settles Rayne in a position she can better see both the front door and the doorway with the beaded curtain more easily.
Rockhound turns slightly and offers a hand to Darren after spotting the man. "Good morning, Mr. Faulken." He steps slowly up to Rayne's counter with a funny look on his face, sniffing the air quietly. "Good morning, ma'am. It's good to see you again." He sniffs again. "You and Colonel Cinders have some kind of special going on?"
Briefly trying to interpret Rayne's glance, Darren gives up after a moment, and offers her, then Rockhound, another smile. He responds to the other man, "And a good morning to you as well, sir," before stridingfurther into the room. He cants his head curiously to the side at the scents emerging from the back of the establishment, but doesn't comment upon it, instead pausing at one of the shelves, before heading towards the counter, "I doubt it; I was just dropping in to look around, quite honestly."
The long strings of beads are draped close together in the doorway, quite a few years old, and chipped, nicked, and scuffed in some parts, from the daily activity of being brushed through, and clacked together. Now the individual strands click gently as they shift and swell outwards into the room. Drafts. Springtime drafts.
Rayne winces again, only slightly this time and covered up quickly by a bright smile, "Well, have a look around. I'd be glad to do a reading for either of you. I.. well, Darren, er, Mister Faulken, will you be available to tour the soup kitchen with me at lunch, do you think?"
Rockhound ignores Rayne's ignoring him, peering into the beaded curtain and scrunching up his nose. "Madam Rayne, is that... I don't know... potting soil or something? Doesn't really seem like your type of product." He pushes his hat back off of his head and lets the chinstrap catch around his neck.
Now that Rockhound's mentioned it, Darren asks, "Not sure, it doesn't smell like potting soil, exactly. Soil smells fresher." He's lived in the woods quite a while-- he'd know. "How's your wife, sir?" He directs this at Rockhound with a smile, before saying to Rayne, "I should be available, soon, yes. I need to do that anyway, speak to the children there."
Rayne takes a deeep breath and releases it slowly, then smiles, "What smell?" she chimes brightly. "Incense, probably. I have all varieties. If either of you would like to buy some I can have it packaged up and hand delivered. You know I'm SO busy, I have a million duties to tend to. Work, work, work. Never ends, you know. Of course, that's the deal, I need a vacation. Actually, I was just about to ask my employer for some vacation time, you know, and well, of course, I'm sure you two must be very busy. So... if there isn't anything you specifically need...?" All of this in a jumbled, long, run-on sort of way and while she shifts her weight from one foot to the next and keeps glancing over at the beaded curtain.
It's morning, and there's a draft coming through from the back. But it's quite heavily dark through the curtains. Thick. Probably no windows back there, being a back room and all. The sound of someone performing an amateur liposuction continues. It's not loud, just a *tad* pervading.
"Fiancee, not wife, yet, Mr. Faulken." Rockhound waggles a finger, speaking absently over his shoulder. He turns his head back quickly and looks at Darren, sizing up the man from their previous talks. He looks back at Rayne, slowly shaking his head, speaking with a trace of doubt in his voice, "I'm not a buyer of incense, but that sure doesn't smell like insense I've ever smelled. It's like.." he sniffs again, "..well, frankly, it's like a cemetary." He puts his hand on his rockpick. "And what IS that noise?"
"Ahh, I see, sir." Darren offers Rockhound a smile, then considers his last words, even as he looks towards Rayne, curiously. He seems to weigh things, considering the words she's just spoken, then says, "What sort of vacation are you going to have?" He casually leans forward on the counter, leaning upon his arms, which brings him closer, coincidentally, if only slightly, to the odd sound.
Rayne looks at her wrist at a non-exsistant watch and exclaims, "Oop! Look at that, time for my ten minute break. Well, if you two gentleman will excuse me. You're welcome to come back in a few minutes, but I need to lock up shop for a few so I can, you know... um.... powder my nose?" She doesn't sound very convincing, but she looks desperate to be rid of the two men. She glances at the front door, then at the beaded curtain.
From the Back Room, a moment or so later, the uneven slurping changes abruptly, to a slithering, hollow sort of sigh. It draws out and draws out, a constantly deflating airbag. The curtains stir again, sinking back a little, before executing a slow, gentle billow out towards Rayne. The tips of a few bead laden ropes drift against Rayne's sleeves, and before departing, snag at some curls in her hair.
Rockhound sets his arms akimbo, leaning his weight back on his left foot, silently tapping with his right as the breeze blows over him. Normally so polite and cordial to women, he refuses to be moved, ignoring Rayne's semi-frantic pleas, staring at the beaded curtain with slightly narrowed eyes and a mouth quirked to one side. He finally speaks, his quiet tenor weaving its way through the room. "Rayne, just what is back there?"
Brow lofting slightly, Darren furrows it as he looks towards the back. He cants his head tot he side, glancing curiously towards the back room, before looking towards Rockhound as the man questions her. He slips easily to a standing position, tucking his hands casually into his pockets, relaxed, and doesn't speak-- he sees no reason to, for the moment. Instead, he watches, gaze flickering towards the back room now and again.
Suddenly a mood of irritation comes over her. She's tried being polite, heck, she's even tried being sneaky, and now she's just miffed. After reaching up to untangle her hair, she plants her hands on her hips and voice full of annoyance says, "My boss. I already told you, I need to discuss my vacation time with him. Now, if you'll excuse me, please?" She strides over to the front door of the shop and tugs on the handle, now prepared to verbally toss the poor guys out on their metaphoric ears.
Rockhound looks over at Darren, his face a mask of concern. He remains where he is, turning at the waist to follow Rayne's actions. Still speaking in his soft voice, he continues, "Ma'am, I apologize for causing you trouble, I really do. But I'm afraid that I have some concerns about what may be back there. Especially in light of your unusual behavior." He looks somewhat ashamed, offering another, "I'm quite sorry, ma'am."
Inger steps into the store from the noisy street.
As for Darren, the man gestures for Rockhound to join him, hands slipping out of his pockets. He states, simply, "Come, sir. If the young woman was in danger, she would say so. A gentleman can only push so far, before bowing to what the lady wishes." The man's light baritone conveys slight wryness, as he hovers near the doorway, waiting to see if Rockhound joins him or not. Turning his attention briefly towards Rayne, he slips a hand out of his pocket, and pulls out-- a card. Yes, a card, like a business card. It only has name and number, "If you've need of anything, or wish to arrange that tour, that has my number."
The curtain falls back into place with a musical trill of clacks after Rayne lets the errant ropes loose. At the flare of her ire, the exhalation continues uninterrupted. The feeling scent of deep earth uncovered is pungent, as if the Hanged Man might have been sucked underground. Ahh, spring is sprung! Mother Nature needs a shower or something.
The door to the hanged man is opening, before Inger can even step in. Rayne is holding the door open and looking somewhere between annoyed and panic stricken. She reaches out and takes a card from Darren, then says hurriedly to him, "Thank you, now please, go. I can't protect you both. It's all I can do to manage myself." To Inger, she says, "I'm sorry, the shop is closed for now. We'll be opening back up in about ten minutes." Despite trying to sound cheery, the raw, nervous edge to her voice is apparent.
Inger ohs, and nods, silently inching away from the door.
Rockhound turns to follow Darren, but as the breeze seemingly picks up again, he turns back and glares at the curtain. After a moment's concentration, he looks at Rayne, stating simply, "Let me see your neck please, ma'am."
Inger leaves through the front door of the shop.
Darren's brow rises ironically, first at what Rayne says, then Rockhound's words. He lifts a hand, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, then peers curiously towards Rayne, then out towards the curtain again.
Pushed past her breaking point, Rayne shouts, "GET OUT OF MY SHOP NOW, Mister Kelley!" Doctor or no, she's obviously not going to put up with this any longer, "Unless you'd like me to call the militia and TRUST me, I have high friends within those ranks. Now, GET out before I have to see you forcibly removed from the premises." Wild eyed, she looks back to the curtain. As she does, her eyes pass over Darren, and she winces and looks more than a little remorseful. "Please," she adds, this time in a soft, feeble voice.
Rockhound holds up his hands in mock surrender, speaking in what he hopes is a soothing voice. "I promise that I will get out of here, ma'am." He shakes his head and looks over at Darren for support. "But only after you let me check your neck, please."
From the Back Room, the soft susurration crawls under the curtain, just a constant airy presence among the tension and the musty smell(Feel) in the air. Then Rayne yells. The hiss reverses, the sucking of liquid and air pockets, drawing inwards and inwards. It's quicker.
Darren simply shakes his head, with a soft sigh: he gestures to Rockhound, "Come. This shall not solve anything, for the moment, sir." His voice is calm enough, as he glances curiously towards Rayne, before back to said curtain of beads. "It can wait, for another time."
Rayne's voice is now thin and weak as she pleads with Rockhound, "Later, please... please go!" Her eyes go to Darren, big, green saucers, filling slightly with tears. She attempts to talk sense into him, "We are newly aquainted, but you know I would not ask, were it not important. Please go. If He," you can almost catch the capital "h" in the tone of her voice, "Comes in, I don't know the havoc that will ensue. Go. For your own safety."
Rockhound moves toward the door again, only to stop once again and turn around, one foot in, one foot outside. His voice is slightly pleading at this point. "Ma'am, friends are kept to be trusted. And I think that this is something that you should talk about." He looks up at Darren and shrugs, then turns walks out the door, calling back over his shoulder, "I'll be right outside, ma'am. But I'll be coming back as soon as the 'ten-minute break' is up." He steps out the door.
Darren simply smiles wryly; he taps his forehead, and says to Rayne, "Fear is in the mind, miss. Just relax. Things will be all right." He turns to follow Rockhound, pausing briefly to examine the room fully for some reason, then steps out the door.
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