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the deep ones

((comments welcome))

He tossed and turned relentlessly in his sleep. Elements of the waking world lending themselves far too readily to the substances most commonly reserved for nightmares. Images and words collided in his subconscious. (Chelmsford’s voice:) “His boots are fairly strapped on him.” …Why isn’t there any blood? …Nymlet…..apron covered in blood….Underby…..Town Hall…mechanical thing…..brain….(Ellsmere’s voice:)”She came through that door” …Wolf…..Town Hall…..

What was it about that blasted Town Hall that made every vile thing he’d seen here so far seem to be near it? Underby, the wolf, the mechanical thing….. Something was weird about the town hall. Was it a target? Maybe the town hall had some element about it that drew evil. It made him suspicious of the place. And that in turn made him suspicious of the man with it under his control.

In the beginning he hadn’t liked him in the same way some people don’t like peas. No real basis, his name put him off. With the subsequent orders and quotes from the newspapers, his reasons had taken form. His questions about the curfew, and not just its creator grew too. All things had reasons to his way of thinking. And if he didn’t believe the reason the acting mayor gave (altruistic concern failed to fit him) then what was the reason for the curfew? What was going on at night that he didn’t want anyone to know or see?

He needed to talk it out with someone.-Deposit his misgivings with someone who might know better what there was to do.

He rose and reached for his clothes and tried to remember if the militia office inside that town hall had shown where to find its leader.

He reached for his coat and under it saw the news article faced up to him of a few days before. “Grady was arrested by Commodore Dagger of the New Babbage Militia at Ruby’s Public House…”

Ruby’s Public House then is where he would go to start to look for her.

Ruby’s Pub was a considerable trek from the Academy, by his arrival the breaking dawn was the color of cigar smoke. Inside the pub he’d found three urchins: Jimmy, Zaida, a petite young woman named River who he’d not had the pleasure of meeting before, and a rather formidable feline which stood near the bar. They greeted him and after several seconds of small talk filled him in on the chaos of the night before: wolves and what appeared as a giant lizard thing coming out of the town hall. Jimmy had referred to them as “deep ones”, a title that sounded all the world as though the dark place most say their prayers to avoid in the afterworld had opened up.

It made a cold rivlet trickle across his spine. Going off to ramble of the role of the Town Hall looked a fruitless endeavor, as whatever it was that was that was going on there looked to be making its presence known quite well on its own.

He hurried off into the cold not feeling the frigid wind.

((If I messed up anyone’s name from the bar I apologize, my log was unavail to check it))

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  1. Zaida Gearbox Zaida Gearbox January 25, 2013

    ((River’s not an urchin. She’s 15 years older than Zaida. She’s just petite.))

    • Mack Blackwell Mack Blackwell January 25, 2013

      ((Oops. Fixing that. My apologies to Miss River and Thank you Zaida for letting me know!))

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