Logs:Lost Lenore

Lost Lenore
Dramatis Personae Murphy, Naomi, Sera
In Absentia	2021-03-09 "Did -- did I just get called a Boomer?"
Location <NYC> Mysterious Apartment - NoHo
This building is old and a touch shabby--just enough to give it bohemian character. There is an apartment tucked on the third story above a tiny teashop whose fragrance wafts tantalizingly into the stairwell. Beyond the broad dark wood door with an elaborate gargoyle head knocker, the apartment has three rooms arranged around around a cozy but bright parlor. The decor is high Victorian throughout, but updated and posh, the furniture freshly cleaned and arranged as to display the space to best effect rather than serve the convenience of the people who are obviously not living there anymore or yet. At the head of her little pack of intrepid scavenger hunters, Sera coasts to a stop at the door of the apartment their last clue indicated. She's in a slightly oversized and surpassingly soft sweater with broad green and black horizontal stripes, straight-leg jeans with a subtle embroidery of flowering vines along the scalloped cuffs, and brand new purple high-top Converses. Anticipation and just a touch of nervousness ripples out from her in waves, stronger than the background of excited cheer. She glances back, nods at the others, and lifts the handle of the knocker, a heavy black ring clutched in the mouth of a grotesque, and brings it down three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. The knock echoes out... and for the first five seconds, there's no reply. Then, there's muffled shuffling -- grunting, muttering, thumping -- followed by an inaudible voice mumbling something that's not entirely discernible... but a keen ear could still pick up a sentence containing the name 'Lucien'. And whatever the sentence was, it didn't sound like a friendly one. Now there's a rattling of locks -- clk, clk, clk! -- followed by the door sweeping open. Inside, it looks like something straight out of an Edgar Allan Poe novel -- silver mirrors with ornate, grotesque frames; wall-mounted gas-fueled candelabras... it looks like the sort of place Dracula would live, if Dracula had a flair for fashion and enough sense to install a modern thermostat. But between the gaggle of teens and this absolute banquet of mystery is... a haggard, square-jawed man with a five o'clock shadow, bleary eyes, and a shaggy mane of hair in desperate need of a trim. He's clad in a dark coat that's long enough to reach the thighs; collars popped up. Under that, a grey collared shirt and (currently partly unraveled) tie. He looks positively annoyed -- and the sight of a bunch of little goddamn rugrats at the door certainly isn't diminishing that annoyance. "What the hell do y--" Murphy Law cuts himself off. His brows knit together as he just... stares down at Sera. He goes through three distinct emotional states, one right after the other: Confusion. Shock. And finally, realization. At that last one, his eyebrows fling up, and... "Oh, sh-- I mean. Uh. One minute." The heavy door slams; the grotesque's ring whumps and rattles. Approximately one minute later, the door clicks, opens again -- and now Murphy's smiling. "Hey, kids." He's combed his hair, tightened his tie, and manages to look... vaguely non-threatening. "Ready to solve a mystery?" <<FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.>> Sera's already wide green eyes go even wider. Her excitement and just a touch of fear tug back at the tide of Murphy's emotions. She's just opened her mouth to speak when Murphy shuts the door in her face. Still slightly slack-jawed, she turns to her companions as if for confirmation of what's just happened. It takes her a moment to collect herself. "Maybe we...misread it? she suggest dubiously, glancing down at the pale green card in her hand, exquisitely hand-calligraphed in jet black shadowed with silver. The brass numeral above the leering door knocker matches that in the address written on the card. She's still squinting at the ornate numbers when the door opens again, and she blinks rapidly. She only hesitates a fraction of a second, then a broad smile spreads across her face, the warmth of her relief infectious. "We are!" She cranes her neck to peer at the room beyond the man. "Are you the mystery? You seem very mysterious, mister..." Her eyes flick back up to Murphy, all friendliness. "No way," Naomi says, the grinding of scales soft but audible as her brow scrunches up. She's dressed up just a touch for the outing. Dark green sweater, black jeans, and high tops are easily casual but her accessories show effort - the gold-coloured slip holding her locs in an up-do, the silver bangles and earrings, and the shimmery metallic eyeshadow matching her nails are not accidentally. "It's the same number!" When the door opens again her eyes glow emerald, just for a moment, before the relief cascading from Sera calms her suspicions. Naomi blinks, eyes returning to their normal green. "What kinda mystery. This more Encylcopedia Brown or Scooby Doo?" The door opens all the way, exposing the interior of the apartment -- as Murphy steps aside. "Murphy," he responds. "And here, everything's a mystery." He's trying his best to sound like a gracious host for a pack of mystery-starved kids. In addition to decor by Dracula, the interior of the room has what looks like a fresh tray set out -- complete with a small banquet of finger-foods. There's little mini-sandwiches (P&J), chicken cutlets, a small fruit-salad tray... it actually looks like quite the ritzy little setup! There's even several lines of bottled water, alongside other assorted soft-drinks. "Make yourselves at home, kids," he tells the group, his eyes drifting to Naomi -- catching that brief... flash of green. He's managed a relatively jolly expression (for Murphy, anyway), but that flash causes the mask to momentarily drop: "Thinkin' more Poe, actually. Kids still read Encyclopedia Brown?" "Thank you, Mr. Murphy." Sera chirps as she slips Murphy into the room, turning a full circle to take in the gothic decor. "Kids still read Poe, too," she points out casually, with just a touch of indignant zoomer. "Okay," this now is apparently to her companions, excitement rippling out from her again, "let's grab some snacks, fan out, and search these rooms." She herself stays in the living room, eyes flicking from object to object as she walks a slow circuit. "Quite a lot of awful things happened in those stories," she remarks to Murphy as she studies a small replica of Pierre Julien's Dying Gladiator on the sideboard. The words sound slightly stilted in her mouth, but the flick of her bright green eyes aside at their host is thoughtful and not a little reminiscent of Lucien. "Kids read whatever the library has," Naomi replies airly. She catches the scowl from Murphy, frowns as she scoots past him after Sera. The small bubble of distrust dissipates in the wave of excitement washing over Naomi, part of it from Sera but much of it her own anticipation looking about at the candelabras and mirrors. "Dibs on that room," she says, pointing at the nearest one. She swipes up a couple of the mini-sandwiches into her palm and, pausing only to give Sera a quick smile, slips into the mystery room. "Mr. --" Murphy's about to correct Sera, but then thinks better of it. "Mr. Murphy," he repeats under his breath. When Sera slips by and starts exploring the room, Murphy takes a moment to watch her -- brows crumpling. He rakes his rather extensive long-term memory regarding what he recalls of her, and... Hm. The look Sera briefly gives him causes those brows to crumple deeper, forming a tight, troubled knot. He glances at Naomi as she passes by, heading to one of the side-rooms to explore for clues -- as she does, he reaches toward the tray where she acquired the sandwiches... and, with quite a bit of subterfuge, plucks up the small real-estate sign that says 'WELCOME TO OUR OPEN HOUSE', and proceeds to flick it into the conveniently located waste-bin. "Uh, don't break anything," he calls out after the girl. His eyes flick back to Sera. "Yeah. I've always been a big fan of The Fall of the House of Usher." Like the bit where Madeline -- once thought dead -- arrives, hands twisted into blood-slick claws she used to dig her way out of her own tomb. He doesn't say that bit aloud. To a perfect memory, Sera looks very much like an older, healthier version of her previous self. She carries herself with a certain hesitancy -- though that might well be adolescent awkwardness at work -- and there's a piercing cleverness in her gaze, but the spark of enthusiastic curiosity is the same. That, and the periodic ebb and flow of neurochemical influence, though it's subtler than Murphy remembers, less jarring. "I like that one, too." She brushes fingertips along the beautiful jacquard upholstery of the chaise lounge. "And The Oval Portrait." Her eyes lift to scan the walls as if half expecting to find some disturbingly life-like painting. Or a clue. "So, are you playing a character from those stories, Mr. Murphy? The famed gentleman detective Dupin, maybe?" The jolly facade drops again -- revealing something more surly, more jagged, more harsh. Murphy snorts: "Shoulda figured a Tessier would know their Poe," he replies, though he doesn't sound disappointed. More... accepting. His eyes drift across the mantelpiece where an ornate snuffbox sits; upon the wall to its left dangles a somewhat shoddy-looking wooden card-rack, hung via a strip of ribbon. A few pieces of torn paper have been discarded inside of it. "Don't think anyone's ever thought of me as a gentleman detective," he tells her, flatly. His eyes drift back her way. His arm reaches up, scratching the back of his head self-consciously. "Truth be told, wasn't... really expectin' anyone to show. I thought..." He stops himself. Rethinks what he's saying. Decides on a different tact: "I read The Purloined Letter when I was 12 -- s'what made me want to be a detective." Sera gravitates towards the mantlepiece, nonchalantly examining the card rack. Her next glance at him is lingering, thoughtful. "You knew her, didn't you? The other me." She plucks at the cuff of her sweater. "I'm sorry if it's weird for you." Waves of emotions tug at Murphy, sorrow tinged with guilt and, perhaps surprisingly, envy. "The Stranger in the Window was the first one I read, but my detective phase didn't last too long. What do you investigate?" Murphy freezes. Not so much at the words, but at the surge of emotions -- the wave that rushes over him. A subtle twist of his mouth follows. The card rack contains several opened and torn envelopes, freshly discarded. At least one of them looks like it still contains a card -- a pale green edge poking out from one of the envelope's frayed edges. "Yeah. I did. And it was weird," Murphy replies, "up until you said 'other me'. Now it kinda makes sense. For a minute, there, was wondering if..." His mouth twists. "Anything you pay me to. Missing folks, mostly. Lotta that around, these days." He shakes his head, lifting a hand toward his nose. "Just... please tell me he didn't... steal you away from a family in an alternate universe or something." Sera plucks up the envelope, but doesn't withdraw the card just yet. "So no perplexing railway murders or rare gems hidden in geese?" A faint smile plays over her lips again, the emotions behind it opaque as the girl successfully wrests her power into submission. "I did come from an alternate universe, but he didn't steal me. I don't think he would have..." But she trails off, her slender fingers worrying at the edge of the card. Her control is slipping again, spilling grief and longing to the others in the apartment. "I -- stole myself, I guess? It's kind of complicated." THUD. Whatever has fallen over in the study seems to be sturdy, at least, as there is no crash and minimal swearing from the other side of the door. When Naomi emerges, she seems a touch sheepish, a small coil of embarrassment tucked under general excitement. In her hand she clutches a shiny chess piece - a rook, painted bright red. There’s a scrap of paper tucked into her front pocket, too, but she seems much more enthused about the red rook. “Hey, is this anything—“ Naomi cuts herself off, staring at Murphy and Sera as she catches the edge of the conversation, the cascade of Sera’s grief overwhelming her for a split second. She leans on the doorway, blinking back tears that aren’t really her own before trying again. “Oh, cool, Mr. Murphy is catching up on the alternate dimension thing. Has anyone else found a red chess piece yet?” Naomi forces a smile, the emotion underneath not so much cheerful as determined. "Jesus H. flippin' Christ, that was a joke, kid--" Murphy's eyebrows shoot up. "You really are from...?" Then that wave of grief hits; he grimaces. Perhaps surprisingly, his reaction is otherwise muted. When your default state is agonizing pain + angry, a hard jab of grief to the gut doesn't carry the same amount of punch. Still, it manages to squeeze a mumbled "goddamn" out of him. Then comes the thud. He swings his head over to Naomi -- jolly-mode is now fully dropped. Surly McScowl-face mode is now activated. "You didn't break anything, right?" He eyes the rook, then eyes her -- particularly the look on her face. That surly scowl softens. The relentless pull of Sera's power recedes again, though it does not go away completely, this time. "Yeah. It sucked over there, but it was home and anyway," she adds, just a touch diffident, "it sucks here too." Her head tilts as she studies Murphy, the now gentle but no less persistent tug of her emotions -- quite abruptly warm and curious again -- feeling distinctly like Lucien's now, though with considerably less finesse. "Oh! A red chess piece!" She smiles brightly, going to Naomi. "Old school. I bet it goes on a board at our next location." Drawing the card from the dogeared envelope, she waggles it in the air. "Or maybe someone else will turn something?" Her eyes study Murphy sidelong for any tells. “Nothing broke,” Naomi grumbles, though her cheeks are flushing darker. “The bust was fine I put him back. Who is he anyway like a poet or something?” Naomi isn’t really listening, eyes wide and pressing against the scale on her brows as she looks from the card to her rook. Her gaze twists to Murphy a little after Sera’s does, tilts her head. “I bet there’s more here,” she stage whispers conspiratorially. “Place is too decked out for just two clues.” "Sucks everywhere," Murphy replies, almost automatically -- his tone soft. His eyes flick over to Sera at that familiar prodding of emotion. For just a moment, something tenses in his jaw. "Either way... welcome to our shitberg of a universe. Sorry the place is a mess -- we weren't expectin' company." He grunts at Sera's query regarding the chess-piece -- then blanches, just a smidge, at Naomi asking about the bust. "Who's...? He's -- Christ! How do people know who Encyclopedia Brown is, but don't know who friggin Edgar Allen Poe is?" Then, a little softer: "There's at least, I don't know. Three more clues. I might have walled the landlord up in the basement along with a crate of wine-coolers, too." Amontillado's a bit too pricy on Murphy's budget. "Thanks? Though I like to imagine there's a universe where earth is a utopia and things only suck like, incidentally sometimes." Sera pulls a face half-way between skepticism and mild disgust -- whether at the idea of heinous murder or wine coolers is anyone's guess. "Poe is like -- this super gothy author and poet from the 19th century. He wrote 'The Raven'...if you have that one here." She bounces up onto the balls of her feet. "Three more clues!" Her anticipation drags Naomi along, though it might not feel so jarring if she feels similarly. "Help me look. The snuff box is kinda obvious but we should start there..." "Maybe the next extra-dimensional field trip will suck less," Naomi offers, half-joking. She pulls a face, mock-offended -- "I know who Poe is I just didn't know what he looked like! Encyclopedia Brown got pictures." Her grumbling is mostly performance -- Sera's anticipation gets twisted up in her excitement and she snatches up the snuff box, flipping it open and holding it out so both girls can see in. "If there is, I'm pretty sure it's that way only 'cuz they export all their problems to other universes," Murphy grumbles, before adding, to Sera's description of Poe: "He looks like Gomez Addams' extremely depressed third cousin." As they approach the snuff box, Murphy tries his best not to scowl; he makes a mental note to maybe put a little more effort next time in hiding all of this junk. "My Encyclopedia Brown didn't have pictures," he complains... but it's low enough to miss. Inside the snuffbox, Naomi finds... a blunted arrowhead! A modern one; closer inspection of the edge shows it bares the logo of a well-known archery club in the city. A clue as to their eventual destination, perhaps? Or maybe just an arrowhead that needs to find the arrow to which it belongs? Sera sniffs a little indignantly at Murphy's cynicism. "Guess it's got to be our generation that starts fixing things, huh?" Her smile at Naomi is only a little bit forced, but in the very next moment she's bouncing up onto the balls of her feet at the arrowhead. She plucks it up to examine it, then shows it to Naomi, her excitement rippling out to draw the others along yet again. "Oh, I hope we're supposed to go there!" she blurts, her eyes gleaming. "But let's go see if anyone else has found anything!" Her glance back at Murphy is pleased, if a touch opaque. Then she's off to the other rooms, waving Naomi along. Naomi ignores Murphy's next few grumbles, rolling her eyes with a soft mumbling of "Okay, boomer." Her eyes go wide at the arrowhead, Sera's excitement feeding her own enthuisiasm. "Maaaaaaan you think your -- the other Mr. Tessier got us arrow tag? I hope we get to play arrow tag." From the other room, there seems to be excitement from the rest of the party. Sera runs off -- Naomi pauses, looks to Murphy what would be a raised eyebrow if her eyebrows had not been replaced with a ridge of scales. "Next time I'll get the Poe jokes. I'm gonna read all o' them." It's a quick declaration, and then she's off into the other room with the others. Murphy subtly grimaces at the mention of generations, but doesn't respond -- a sort of exhausted guilt creeps up and into his face. By the time Sera's looking at him again, though, he's managed to stow it away and slap back on that scowl. "Eh. I dug Encyclopedia Brown more," he admits to Naomi with a half-smile, but by the time he says it, she's already turning and vanishing into the other room. He scowls again, turns back to the food tray... looks around to make sure the coast is clear... then starts pocketing finger-sandwiches. A man like Murphy knows better than to turn down free food. After about six or seven of those sandwiches make their way into his pockets, he's struck by something -- turning to peer at the door where Naomi vanished with the others. His brows grind together like gears in some immense adding machine: "Wait. Did -- did I just get called a Boomer?"