2019-04-26 through 2019-09-08 - Yesterday (Open Vignette)

Thomas - 6/20/19 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/386)

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Gregory. Happy birthday to you."

Thomas clapped his son on the back with the flat of his palm, giving his shoulder a squeeze, then knocked back the rest of his gin-and-tonic in one big gulp. Life was good. His family was all here, celebrating his son's birthday, and he was having a great time. He even tried to dance a little.

But then he got way too drunk and passed out. When he woke up some number of hours later, there was a terrific storm raging outside, and his head was throbbing, and BILLY BILLY BILLY BILLY

He emptied his guts onto Marge's very nice rug. She was going to be pissed, but he had much, much bigger problems.

Graham - 4/26/19 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/50)

Thumb-tap the End Call button, and Graham mostly rolled his way out of the driver's side door, letting it thump closed behind him with a satisfyingly heavy sound of metal-to-metal. Absently, he knuckled a scuff off the door, frowning at the small mark on the perfect paint before deciding it was just a trick of the poor lighting. The road ahead was just getting dark, but it didn't matter. He had taken this road so many times by now, he could practically drive it in his sleep.

The road home. The road away from all the stupid shit he had been doing and toward that promise of redemption that never quite panned out.

"See you soon, G."
"See you in the morning, Ellybean."

A cigarette took the edge off. He leaned against the hood of his car, the thing he loved second-most in the entire world, and he mentally mapped out the rest of the drive. The way he figured, he would be in Gray Harbor around four in the morning. He could probably break into Elise's house and crawl into bed with her and die happy pass out on the couch, but that'd probably piss her off.

Maybe he should stop somewhere, catch some Zzs.

"See you soon, G."

Fuck that. The cigarette died in a spray of tobacco-coals on the pavement of the turn-out, and he crushed it out under his heel before swinging back around and slumping behind the wheel again.

Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, he'd actually get his shit together.

Duncan & Maddie - 7/22/19 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/811)

MADDIE sits in the back of the rickety camper, her face pressed to the window. DUNCAN is in the driver's seat. JIMMY is in the passenger seat with the window rolled down. The camper is stopped adjacent to Addington Park, with the words Daydream Theatre reflected in the windshield.

MADDIE ...absolutely Keene. It's exactly the kind of place he would like.

DUNCAN
(Tapping his finger against the dial where the fuel needle leans hard on the 'E')
Welp, that's pretty much it for gas. We're gonna be on fumes from now on.

MADDIE
(Gets up and walks to the front of the trailer, looping her arms around Duncan's shoulders.)
Don't worry about it, Dun. We're here now. Soon, we'll find Keene and exact justice for Jimmy.

JIMMY …

Hailey - 8/10/19 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1127)

Restless Hailey pulled the pillow over her ears, stubbornly trying to block the swooshy, clicky squeak. If it wasn't such a rhythmic noise, she could totally have blocked it out, but there it was…

clicksqueakswoosh clicksqueakswoosh clicksqueakswoosh

Pestered Hailey peeled herself out of bed and switched the stupid, noisy fan off, then flopped back into the hotel bed, sprawling her arms out. Almost immediately, she started sweating.

In bed.

Uncomfortable Hailey flailed, kicking at the sheets and blanket, kicking them all into a wad at the foot of the bed. She wasn't even using them, but she was uncomfortable and flopping and why was it so hot in this room?!

Being too hot to sleep was awful.

Sleepless Hailey rolled out of bed again and stared at the offending fan. She could just fix this. She could. It wouldn't even be hard. But she had no buffer anymore, and she had been probing people without regard for that fact.

There were worse things squeaky fans.

Weary Hailey shoved her feet into her sneakers and left the hotel room. A walk would clear her head. It almost always did. Sure, there was a serial killer in this town, and it was dark, and she was a 20-something woman walking alone at night, but she was going to have to take her chances.

She really needed a roommate.

Roxy - 09/06/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1473)

Riika looked solemnly at the bad Oregon driver's license as she slid it to the clerk at the hotel. The name on it read Roxanne Kivela. It wasn't her name, but the R made it feel somewhat familiar to answer to, and the last name was Finnish. She had to keep that one little piece of herself. Besides, no one would hear her accent and buy she was a Vasquez or a Jones, which were the other options the forger had.

She pays for the room for a week in advance, with cash. Cash is all she has. Her fake ID isn't strong enough to open a bank account, or get a credit card. It's also not enough to get an apartment, get into school, or get a job that requires things like an actual history to go with the identity. As the clerk works on setting up her keycard she glances at a tourist area nearby, that has racks of pamphlets for local businesses and attractions, and a bulletin board with flyers. One of them advertises an amateur night at the local strip club, tomorrow.

She'd been doing burlesque in Portland for the past year, saving up enough money to move on to where the call was pulling her, and get a better ID, one that would let her set up a life of some sort here. There is no burlesque in Gray Harbor, why would there be? It's a small town. But there is a strip club, and it would only take a few alterations to her routines and costumes to remove all her clothing. Panties and pasties would just have to go. She could use the amateur night as an audition, and hope the club owner wouldn't want to look too hard at who she is to hire her.

The clerk clears her throat and Riika turns. The key is handed forth, the room number emblazoned on it. "There you go Miss Kivela, enjoy your stay."

She takes the key and gives the girl a faint smile and a nod, then heads for the elevator. She didn't know if she'd be enjoying her stay, but at least the burning gravitational pull that had driven her for two years had quieted. She was where she needed to be. A new home.

Easton - 2019-05-14 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/84)

It's the last day of driving. The long slow plod through the entire country that at first seemed like freedom has now become painfully boring and just plain painful. Even with his prosthesis off and sitting down Easton can feel the throbbing in his lower leg. Yes he should have been stretching and walking on it over the course of the trip, no he didn't do those things. The wind with the top down on the old red jeep makes it difficult to light a cigarette while he drives but he manages after a few attempts. Just as he puts down the lighter his phone lights up in the cup holder.

Katherine

Nope. Not taking that.

Easton looks up from the phone just in time to catch the 'Welcome to Gray Harbor' sign. Yes, it's his destination. The whole purpose for this cross country escape.

So why does he feel an impending sense of dread?

Clarissa - 2019-08-27 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1315)

The library is normally a place of silence and serenity, but Clarissa's expensive heels shatter that every time she takes a step, juggling a phone in one hand and a giant tome under her other arm, "I don't need someone to actually be here in the town, I just need someone that can manage a calendar and is very good at party planning from a distance. Someone detail oriented with exquisite taste who can be on call at any time. That shouldn't be too hard to find, right? Listen, you send me the resumes, I have to go I'm in a library." She clicks the phone off, ignoring a glare from one of the nearby patrons and drops the tome on the table (loud) then sits down with a sigh (also loud). Opening her laptop, she plugs in a few searches, frowning at what returns. Business listings. A couple of local articles on high school students who apparently raised a prize pig. She wrinkles her nose. Like she needed another reminder that this town was awful.

Leaning back in her chair she flips open the book, which holds even older newspaper write-ups that haven't been scanned in anywhere yet. More local stories, written by locals, about different events and happenings in Gray Harbor. The grayest of gray towns. There isn't even a Starbucks! If there isn't a Starbucks can you even call a place settled? She ought to just close the book and look up tickets to Paris. She could live a good life in Paris. Maybe Spain? Malaga is always beautiful no matter the season. Still, she knows that even if she did, even if she found the most picturesque home on the most picturesque square it'd take a few days for the unease to set in. Then the longing. And there's just no getting away from the nightmares wherever she ends up. They've seemed better here, since she returned. As if whatever was punishing her for daring to leave granted a small reprieve. But that's silly, nightmares are just nightmares and a place doesn't care whether you're there or not. Not even one as desperate for class as Gray Harbor. She shakes her head, dismissing the thought and flips another few pages.

There is something about this place, though. Probably Pierce. His obsession with this town was downright scary at times and that's probably why she came back. That's how she explains it anyway. To others and herself. It was important to him and she still, a year later, has no idea why. But it's got to be here somewhere. She glances around the room like the very walls themselves will suddenly display an answer. But they're just walls and anything they have to offer they aren't sharing. Why is nothing ever that easy? Another sigh and she's closing the book, rubbing at her temples when her phone buzzes. Must be those resumes for a personal assistant. She scrolls through a few, then dials a number. The speaker phone blares as the line on the other end rings twice and two more patrons turn to glare. She ignores them.

"Stephen? It's Clarissa Robbins. This Michael fellow seems decent. Call him and have him book me the best tour around here on the history of Gray Harbor. If I like it, he's got the job. But only if I like it."

Finch - 06/14/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/354)

The mailman comes to Mallard House every day at 2 pm. And like clockwork, since she's been home for the summer, Finch made the long walk down the drive to where the mailbox was set on Bayside Road. Miss Magdalena Heinroth, her pet rat, was perched on her shoulder, wearing an adorable sunhat adorned with silk daisies. Finch was less formally attired, in shorts and a hoodie over a tee. She had been eagerly awaiting the letter from her Thesis Advisor with recommended texts, equipment, and review schedules for the next semester.

She opened the box, a delightful looking thing, made of cedar, designed to mimic Mallard House's carriage house. Inside was the usual junk, advertisements, credit card offers, the water bill from the county, a postcard from Out on a Limb reminding people to trim their trees for the summer, and an official looking envelope from Cornell University. Everything not bearing Cornell's seal was stuffed inside her hoodie for safe-keeping. She ripped open the envelope from the school and pulled out the pages within. Her eyes swept over the words once, twice, three times, and the world grew hazy in her periphery.

The next thing she knew, she was up on the roof of Mallard House, sitting outside the attic window on one of the gables, the message from the school clenched in her hand, and the rest of the mail fluttering down to the ground below, a few pieces landing beside her on the rooftop. The red stamp on the top of the first page of the missive was stark against the high quality white paper. <<NOTICE OF HOLD FOR NON-PAYMENT>>. The check for her tuition had bounced like a quarter off a marine's rack. $15,000 for the last semester, and in need of another $30,000 for her final year.

The once vast Celaeno family resources had been bled dry. The cost of keeping her mother and great aunt institutionalized had been high. Most of the prior family murderbirds had been killed by the police after their rampage, but not Starling. She'd just quietly and primly surrendered herself and even at the age of 82 seemed determined to outlive them all. And her mother, Wren, was the added burden. Granny Dove's insistence on keeping her sister and daughter well cared for had depleted their funds. Uncle Merlin moving his family away and not contributing to the upkeep of the family had left a deficit. They were broke.

There was only a single sliver of good news in the letter from the school. They would hold her place for six months, because of her grades and the testimony of her Thesis Advisor. She had to come up with the money. Outside of selling the house, that meant she would need a job. Right now anything would do, maybe they'd let her pay a little at a time in good faith that way. Her eyes rested on the few pieces of mail that had remained on the roof, and she plucked up the postcard. Out on a Limb. She'd been climbing trees and working in them to study birds forever. She'd go tomorrow and ask, no, tell the owner to give her a job. She'd get this handled. She climbed back in through the attic window, to go reclaim the scattered mail down below.

Dahlia - 6/11/2019 ( https://gray-harbor.com/scene/335 )

Madison Evergreen was only in her late 50s, but she looked so much older, and so frail. She was sleeping right now and Dahlia stood in the doorway of the little room that her mother had slept in all of Dahlia's life. It was depressing, heartbreaking, seeing her mother this way. Was it ever going to be easy? Her brothers were already gone. There was no one to help her. Nothing new. She'd always taken care of herself at the end of the day.

Dahlia drew in a breath and moved, closing the door and walking back out into the living room. This was going to be a long, difficult journey.

Eleanor - 07/09/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/584)

Eleanor pushed her glasses up on her nose and peered more closely at her various murder boards. The third bedroom of her little Craftsman Bungalow, formerly owned by her parents, had been converted into her 'home office'. Not for her business. No, she had a proper office in Espresso Yourself. This was for her side business, the one that didn't pay her anything. She'd call it a hobby, but she had invested way too much into it to cheapen it with that label.

She held some newspaper clippings in her hand. One regarded the announcement that there would be some construction on the sewer systems going on downtown during the month of July. The rest were all related to an apparent gas explosion that happened due to said construction, and took out the pizza place, Pew Pew Pie. So far, it didn't seem to be anything weird, but just in case, she added it to the "To Be Investigated" board. She plucked up a pad of post-it notes and a sharpie and scribbled "Ask Clayton" on one, before sticking it to one side of the explosion article. Alexander would have already poked his nose into it, she was sure. He was faster to the punch on things like this, but she had her very organized research and historical timelines to her credit. A second copy of each of the articles was sitting on the desk in the room. She got two papers every day for this very purpose.

She moved to grab a blank file folder from a stack on the desk, and the sharpie came out again to scrawl "Downtown Gas Explosion – 06/29/19". A sticky tab in red gets affixed to it, part of her system. Red for 'not yet investigated', yellow for 'in progress' and green for 'completed'. Then there was another tab added, grey, to indicate the presence of weird or not. It meant it was unknown as yet. Black meant weird, white meant mundane. Then there were stickers, a letter and a number, which got affixed to the side. These were matched to little flags that she attached to a pin with a red head on it, and stuck into the map at the location the explosion occurred. Then the file itself went into the In box on her desk, because it needed to be worked on. A very complex, but thorough, system.

If and when it was resolved, either the pin would be removed from the map and the numbers and flags recycled, the tabs replaced with proper ones, and the file put in a cabinet marked "Mundane", or it would get a more specific pin in the map with a head colored to match the type of weird. Dreams, Portals, Monsters, Murders, all these and more had specific colored pins, and the map was full of them. Some of the pins of matching colors had colored threads connecting them. These were connected incidents.

Eleanor glanced over at the wall of filing cabinets. The mundane one was by far the least full. The rest were laden with all sorts of incidents she'd collected since she was a teenager, since her horrifying experience in the Veil. It was the reason there were no reflective surfaces in her home. Why the only mirror was a small one in a medicine cabinet in the guest bathroom for visitors. She knew things. Too many things.

She got up and headed out of the office flipping off the lights and locking the door securely behind her, with multiple locks. No one needed to see her obsession. It was hers alone.

Rebecca - 06/28/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/473)

There were so many cardboard boxes still needing to be unpacked. But first things first. Rebecca got the last cable for her computer equipment hooked up and booted the system. It didn't take long. It was top of the line, her first purchase after her first whopper of a paycheck from Chef Vydal. She logged in and began the updates process on Overwatch immediately. She hadn't been able to play for a few weeks, with the packing and the moving and the unpacking, all while trying to keep Vyvyan from blowing a gasket at all the disruptions to his life caused by his decision to relocate them to this podunk little town for some bizarre reason.

She was still puzzled over why her parents raised such a stink about her moving to Gray Harbor. It wasn't like she could possibly get into any sort of trouble in a place like this. The churches outnumber the single strip club. The bars mostly are more pub-like and serve food. There are trees and fresh air. Granted, there was that...pull she felt, the closer they got to the town. It stopped once she arrived, but it was like gravity had gotten stronger in just this direction for a while. She had shrugged it off as stress about leaving California and her siblings behind. She'd made Andrew promise to look in on Kelly often, and that had settled her nerves a bit.

The game finished updating and she logged in. PocketAna#1275. She queued up for ladder and plucked up her favorite support champ, Ana. The character was a badass 60-year-old, one-eyed, Egyptian sniper with snarky lines galore. She looked over the composition of the team and frowned. No tanks. This wasn't going to end well. She'd shank someone for a regular Reinhardt player to queue with.

As expected, they lost badly, and she logged back out. She didn't have to go in early tomorrow because Vyv had something or other to do on personal time, so she could maybe do some shopping, find some decor for the apartment. She didn't own enough things to fill it up yet. It was the most extravagant place she'd ever had, but such is the case when you move to a small town with a California salary. Her money went much further here.

She got up and moved into her bedroom, carefully taking off her necklace and setting it on her nightstand. It was special, a diamond with a golden tree seemingly growing out of it. When she filed for divorce, her little sister had asked for her wedding and engagement rings. A few weeks later she gave her the pendant. It was meant to say that great things, wonderful things, beautiful things were ahead of her as she grew from her terrible experience with Frederick. She brushed her fingers over it, a symbol that helped her move on. Her sister was the greatest treasure of her life.

She put on her pajamas and slipped into bed. Tomorrow she'd shop and turn this apartment into her place. Then she'd invite Kelly to come and stay a few days with her, and make it feel like a home.

<b>Isabella</b> - 06/21/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/399)

"Where are we going?" Isabella asked, her hand clutching her brother's as they ran through the woods.

She could only glimpse his back, his blond hair tousled by the autumnal gusts; tall, even at seven years of age, despite her being three minutes older. Isidore only laughed, and kept tugging her forward.

"You'll see. You just have to trust me."

The clearing gave way, past a perimeter of gnarled oak and aspen, their branches twisting upwards in a futile effort to reach the skies. Headstones, old and new, dotted the emerald field. When they finally stopped from their run, they both looked at his name etched on the granite surface of Isidore's own marker, the space before it ruined and wrecked. The scent of grass, of disturbed earth - fertile and mineral - filled her nose. Her green-and-gold eyes found the yawning chasm that extended from the surface of the ground, and inward, the darkness broken up by the white outline of stone stairs that led deep into the underbelly of the grave, and whatever waited for them there.

She hesitated, but she didn't take a step back.

"Your name's on it," she pointed out.

"Yeah, it is."

"But you're not down there."

"No. I'm not. It's a lie." His tone was hollow, and despite the fury she could sense, the words were deceptively gentle. "You know why I'm not."

The urge to cry again at the reminder welled up from within her chest, a dam waiting to burst. "I'm sorry," she told him, eyes rendered bright by tears that were too stubborn to fall.

He shook his head, and finally turned to face her. Fingers disengaging from hers, he lifted his hands to frame both sides of her face with them. He smiled.

"Don't be," he said, gently still, fixing black, empty eyes upon her, shadows curling from the grotesque, lidless pits. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

He glanced down at the stairs leading below.

"Won't you do the same for me?"

~ * ~

She never surfaced from Dreams violently, but today was an exception. She had been told to expect rough weather the closer they ventured into Seattle airspace, but the turbulence was enough that it had completely jolted her from a deep sleep. Isabella stared, wide-eyed, at the back of the seat in front of her, her breath trapped within her lungs.

The plane-wide dispatch chimed in activity, cheery in spite of nervous passengers - and with good reason. After all, whoever wanted to be trapped in a metallic tube full of compressed oxygen, flying over thirty thousand feet?

"Folks, this is your captain speaking. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. All flight attendants, please do the same."

Some of her fellow passengers yelped as the plane was forced to dip low and avoid the worst of it, but she couldn't hear them over the sound of her wildly pounding heart.

The skeleton in the clearing isn't a deer, though it is deer-like. It has the overall shape of a deer, and to anyone not familiar with the specifics maybe it even passes as that. Scoured clean of any flesh or muscle, it's nothing more than a collection of stark white fragments that could easily be mistaken for wood.

Not so to August. He knows what deer, elk, moose, and antelope skeletons look like, and this is not it. The leg bones are too long, willowy like young saplings. The arch in the spine is too deep, and though that could be put down to how the creature fell, August knows in the marrow of his own bones that it's not. The feet have four toes, not two. The head's too broad and flat.

And then there's the antlers. They don't end in tips like they should; really, they're not even antlers. They're the branches of some strange tree that only blooms once it's dead, each sporting several twigs that bear five-petaled flowers, shaped similarly to a dogwood, yet colored like a dusky purple, green, and gray hellebore.

He stands there, staring at the skeleton in the clearing, for a long time. There's no evidence of how or why it died. No clear sign of an arrow or rifleshot, no breakage in the neck from a fall (accidental or predatory), no claw or toothmarks on the bones. A gentle breeze stirs the flowers, bends the grass. The thick-growing shrubs that ring this small space shiver. Nothing else moves.

He's done hunting; it was a banner day, ten collared dove. He won't have to go out for a couple of weeks, between that and the last of the elk from fall and the lamb He traded for in Hoquaim. He has time before he heads back to the car, drives home to clean and store these. So after a couple more seconds of gauging the area (why? this things been dead for months, yet still, he's wary) he works his way through the salal and walks into the clearing.

The ground is oddly spongey and soft, like there's a bed of moss between the grass and the earth. He's out on the surge plain, so that's not a total surprise. He tests with each step, mindful of any sinkholes, yet the path to the skeleton remains consistent, if not very stable. He reaches it without incident.

August crouches down next to the skeleton. He runs his hands over the bones, studying them for a time, first with his eyes, then his hands, and then the Gift. The Gift confirms what he already suspected: this creature isn't--wasn't normal, wasn't from here. It was from Elsewhere.

He doesn't have words to describe the concept, so he's taken to thinking of it as a room in a house which he doesn't know how to access. He sees evidence of its existence everywhere; the Gift, of course, but also strange creatures like this one, odd events that defy explanation. Yet despite knowing it's there, and that it's a There to be gone to, he has no idea how to go about that. This being had, though. It had come from that room, through a door, and died, leaving it's impossible self here as evidence.

He traces the shapes of the flowers. Crowned with lilies and with laurel, he thinks.

He stands, takes a step back. A furtive glance around to make sure no one is near by, then he begins nudging the grass to grow up and over the skeleton, pull it down into the earth. Slowly it sinks, dragged into that spongey layer until only the blooming antlers remain. They look like an odd sort of deciduous shrub this way. A botanist like himself will be curious about them, but almost no one else will give them a second glance.

A final look at the odd, otherly flowers, then he adjusts his shotgun against his back, turns and makes his way through the shrubs to the main trail.

It was three in the morning when the world ended. The buzzing of a phone set to vibrate pulling Andy out of sleep in the rudest manner. He groped around on his nightstand before finally getting ahold of the phone, forgot to pull out the charging cable and ended up knocking the book he'd been reading before falling asleep and a glass of water onto the floor. With a muttered god damn it Andy stabbed at the screen, answering a number he didn't recognize. "What?" He'd expected it would be someone at the office. Some development in his backlog. Someone to whom he could give some grief for the late night call. Instead a voice at the other end said, "Is this Mister Gerrux?" Andy didn't know the voice and wasn't thrilled at the mispronunciation of his name. "It is." A pause at the other end, as if waiting for more, then the voice said, "This is Doctor Leo Ohanian at Addington Memorial Hospital. I'm calling about your mother."

It's not a long drive to Gray Harbor from Portland. A couple of hours or so, depending on traffic. Andy drives and to his left the ocean is high, tempestuous winds blowing in off the Pacific bringing with them heavy black clouds. As the first drops fall Andy flips on his wipers and turns up the radio.

The doctor did not soften his language. The words he used were plain and ones easily understandable. Words with weight to them. Leukemia. Chemotherapy. Power of attorney. He could accept verbal consent now, but would need Andy present as soon as possible. Andy listened and nodded, as though the doctor could see him, and wrote things down, though when the call was over he sat there numb.

The rain escalates quickly, going from a drizzle to a punishing downpour. When Andy looks to the left it seems like the whole ocean is coming up to greet him.

"...a pleasure having you on the team, Andy. Should you ever make it back to Portland we would be happy to have to rejoin us at the field office." Andy resigned from his dream job since Gray Harbor was an hour's drive from the closest FBI field office in Olympia. Over the next two weeks his life was moments like these. Quietly snipping ties to his home of two years. Gym membership? Closed. Utilities? Canceled. A chapter of his life came to a close and ahead of him the world was gray.

The rain is beating down on the car louder than the radio can play, so Andy jabs at the knob, turning it off. Even with his brights on he can scarcely see more than fifty yards ahead. The speed limit is 65, but he's going 30. Despite the miserable conditions an eighteen wheeler passes him on the left, the truck's wake leaving Andy's SUV shuddering and pushing hard to the right. Andy curses, wrestles to right the wheel, continues on his way. This is enough that the big German Shepherd sleeping in the back seat sits up and shoves her head through to the front, barking at the red tail lights as they fade in the distance.

Everything was packed up, the life he had made in Portland fitting into a half-dozen neat boxes that fit perfectly in the back of his Lexus. Andy Géroux, taking only memories, leaving barely a footprint. Manjula came to see him off, which was a nice gesture, though seeing the new engagement ring where their wedding ring used to be hurt more than he'd have cared to admit. He'd only stopped wearing his a week or so earlier. They hugged and he opened the door, calling for Saga to climb in the back. Then it was time to go. No excuses. As Portland disappeared in the rear view thunder rolled off the coast.

Andy tries not to think about what's ahead of him. The city he left, doing whatever it takes to pull him back in. A mother, his best friend for decades, the closest person in his life since they both lost his Gran, fading away as the cancer robs her of everything. And behind him a life washed clean away by the driving rain.

Too few parties lately. Nothing good was going on in this town. Everyone she usually partied with was getting married. Having kids. Making families. How long had it been since Erin had even dated anyone seriously? Since right after high school? No one really thought she took anything serious anyway, so no one really looked at her that way.

They didn't know about her nursing classes and she preferred it that way. For some reason being looked at as the party girl was better than being looked at as any other options.

Church on Sunday with her Grandmother and Great Uncle.
Classes on Monday through Thursday.
Friday and Saturday were drinking and parties.

Here she was, a quarter of the way through a century with nothing but a pretty car to show for it.
Even her friends from school had stopped calling and were having barbecues and cookouts instead.

It was time to get her shit together, even if her grandmother sort of discouraged her from doing so.
Sometimes she believed it was to be able to keep Erin from being independent.
Erin was a big girl and it was time she made a few decisions for herself.
Maybe even stand up for herself.
This would be good, everything would be great.
Just wait and see.

((The day before Alexander goes to his 'parents'' house for Sunday Dinner: https://gray-harbor.com/scene/69)

It was typical Saturday for this time of year: cool and rainy. It'd only been misting when Alexander had woken up, but now it was a steady shower, and the drum beat on the roof was a comforting background when he had nowhere in particular to go. In this case, he didn't; although he didn't keep what you'd call 'regular hours', weekends tended to be quiet - weirdly enough, when people called for his services, it was often late night in the week. He'd just finished up the semester at the college - only three students (if you could call them that; it wasn't like his courses were graded) this time around, and they had all chosen fairly simple projects that didn't require much in the way of final suggestions.

So, since his schedule was clear, he'd made time for a very important activity: playing games with his best friend.

Alexander's socked feet were up on the coffee table and he was slumped on the couch, one Nintendo control in his hands, the other set out for Luigi. "I'm going to beat you, you know," he told the bird confidently. The conure bobbed his head, pecking defiantly at the buttons. He'd figure out how to work this damnable human contraption yet! Or, at least, that's what Alexander liked to think Luigi was thinking. He fired up the first level, and the bird whistled excitedly along with the music, pecking and stomping as Alexander guided Mario across the tiny TV screen.

Luigi wasn't really the best competition, if you cared about such things. But he was always enthusiastic, and Alexander felt himself smile.

Isolde - 5/30/2019 ( https://gray-harbor.com/scene/227 )

Isolde was scowling as she pushed her way out of the Gray Harbor PD precinct. Having been brought in kicking and screaming just a few short hours before. Brand new in town and already causing trouble. It wasn't her fault she didn't have any money! Besides, it was just a candybar or something. Not even worth calling the cops. Assholes. At least the grumpy police person had given Isolde her medicine back. She drew in a breath, feeling a few drops of rain hit her skin. She made her way towards the Boardwalk, it'd be a good place to take shelter for the night at least.

05/15/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/85)

Kevin Walters spins around and around in his desk chair, staring up at the ceiling as if the secrets to the universe might be waiting for him there. He doesn't need the secrets of the universe to be up there, though, just the topic for his next story. Just any story that will actually get printed without a bazillion hours of rewrites. He could totally lift something from his blog, but he's got a feeling that the editor would nix most any of those. He reaches up with both hands, tucking them behind his head as he groans and spins some more. Uuuuugh. Deadlines blow.

A conversation drifts up from elsewhere in the bullpen, and he quickly lowers his arms, smoothing down his baggy t-shirt reading 'Cthulu 2020 Why Vote for the Lesser Evil,' and sighs. Nope, nothing happening here, and, hey look, it's 5:00. What he needs is some inspiration. Yup, definitely some inspiration. Wheeling himself closer to his desk, he closes the blank document on his laptop -- no, he doesn't want to save Document1 -- and password-locks the computer, tucking it away in his desk, "I'm off for dinner. Don't wait up." It's a cheerful call, and truth be told, he's feeling a little better already. Inspiration is what he needs, and inspiration is what he'll get. A New Hope awaits at home.

The air in the bus was stale and the old woman in the seat next to him had fallen asleep almost as soon as the bus has pulled away, leaning over to rest fully against Poe's shoulder. This was the life! He'd been away from Gray Harbor for a full decade and this is pretty much what he had to show for himself.

He was still alive. That had been his first priority. Success!

Other than that? He'd run away a decade ago without much purpose in his life. Make ends meet. Now he was headed back with the same intentions. This didn't really seem like the right direction. If he couldn't break out and find his life in the massive city of LA it seemed like going back was just admitting defeat.

Poe drags out his phone and stares down at it. Few hours to kill until he was back where it all began. Why was he so nervous? It was like ... he was forgetting what it was like there before.

Today was much like any other day. That wasn't a good or bad thing. Life was comfortable and this is what he'd built for himself in this small town. It's not always easy to stay on the outskirts when everyone knows everyone else - and like any day he wasn't trying to avoid people. He just didn't go out of his way to seek them out.

Work was done for the morning and it was time for a walk. Today it would likely be up the cemetery. Talk to his mom.

Maybe tomorrow he'd wander around town and stop in for a coffee somewhere. Maybe he'd even talk to someone tomorrow.

Today was going to be a quiet day though.

07/08/2019 - (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/584)

Washington State Ferry, Vancouver Island

Love stands on the deck of the huge ferry, carrying cars and passengers on the couple of hours from Vancouver Island to the next port in Washington, where she’ll get in her car and drive on down to Gray Harbor. She brought only two cases: one of clothing and one of art supplies, both hard-sided suitcases tucked into the trunk of her black 1966 Mustang convertible. Of course the top is down. She’ll be driving the PNW with the top down.

Her phone in her hand chimes, and she smiles when she looks down at the screen:


Lolo: Sweet face, how’s the drive?

Love: more of a float rn. headed down in the ferry & stoked.

Lolo: Sarcasm does not become you. You’ll have dinner with the deadbeat dad, laugh about this stupid power play, then truck it back home to enjoy the entirety of your sabbatical, painting portraits fo all the weird and wonderful Van weirdos.

Love: i think it’ll take longer than that. there’s the issue of this legally binding paperwork. i have to get him to take it back or sell this… whatever a foggy bluff is.

Lolo: Sounds charming. You like the drive, anyway. You should surf your way down the coast and make a thing out of it. Send me lots of pictures & don’t forget to use the playlist I sent you.

Love: leilani, it’s impossible to maintain a shitty mood in the face of your effervescent search for a silver lining. you’re right tho. i’m just cranky about having to leave my apartment in the care of a pair of 19 year olds who promised not to burn it down.

Lolo: See? You’re going to be fine, your apartment is going to be fine, and you need the vacation anyway. It’ll give you time to complete all those paintings for that show next year, which I AM coming to, thank you very much.

Love: i didn’t ask them if they were a fire hazard. it was the second thing out of their mouths when i opened the door and said hello to my new house-sitters/potential-subletters.

Lolo: … you’re going to be fine, your apartment has fire insurance, and I love you, sister. Look at that view. The water will calm you down. Call me when you get in safe & do not, do not, do not meet any hotness while you’re in Washington. (If you do, send me photos.) I know you. You’ll get distracted. (If you do, send me photos.)

Love: i love you too, Lolo. send ME some photos. i miss the island and your smoking hot brother.

Lolo: Love, gross.

Love: you started it.

7-5-2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/554)

"Aunt Riya! We're going to go see the fireworks!" Ashira had squealed as she came running across the floor of Minerva's parents home.

The one eyed woman had scooped up her niece and spun her around, delighted to see the little one. "You are? I'm so jealous." she'd grinned at her. "You'll bring me back a snow cone, yes?" she asks her with a smile.

The raven haired child had nodded, her blue eyes shining, "Yep!" Then she'd looked to her Aunt's covered eye and taken a moment to reach out and touch it, "Daddy says you got hurt when you were a child. What happened?" she asks her. Children were so innocent in the way they asked things.

Minerva gives a half smile, "I can't tell you now, but when you are older I will tell you what happened. I promise." she tells her as she places a kiss to her forehead. "You won't have the same issues as I did." she murmurs to her. It was as if Ciprian heard the question and came to take his daughter, "We're going to be late. Tell Riya good bye for now and we'll be back after fireworks." he told his daughter as he lifted her into the air.

"Bye Aunt Riya! We'll bring you a snow cone!" Ashira had waved happily at her.

Byron - 05/14/2019 - (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/92)

The sound of rain taps lazily on the Wraith's wind shield where the expensive luxury vehicle is parked just outside one of the buildings in the Downtown area. Taking a call from his car, his phone and the Rolls being paired via Bluetooth, Byron Thorne enjoys the dry reprieve found within. He had just left a meeting a mere ten minutes ago, before holding office once more within his car. He's a very busy man.

"Make sure to double check all of the buildings' generators. The last time we had an outage, Building B not only lost access to their lights, but their refrigerators shut down too. And I didn't have the time to check but Mister Rutherford from #609A called about one of the lights shorting in 6A's hallway. However, I spoke to Missus Thorne in #603 and she said that that wasn't the case, but I want you to check anyway." Thorne's teeth grit when he practically seethes those words, his own mind tagging on 'In case that bitch is lying'. "Thanks, Lou. Let me know whether or not the lights on 6A were really out."

That was one call down.

For this next call, Byron corrects his posture, sitting stiffly within the driver's seat, while his long, slender fingers pull up the number of one of his business associates located in L.A. "Clancy! This is Thorne. I got your memo. Yes. Mm-hmm. Right. I'm afraid that you won't find much interest in people willing to sell their property to you only for you to tear it all down. We've got quite a few historical sites here. Now, there is an industrial zone and I'll try to reach out to some of the landowners around Firefly Forest."

He'll go on, trying to appease the man on the other line when he's notified of a received message. With a swipe of a finger, he pulls it up: Olivia.

Olivia: Care for some drinks tonight?
Olivia: We can hit up TIBS.

"If I'm being honest, Clancy," Thorne starts up again, dismissing the message he'd received, "Your best bet is to get a warehouse on--" His gaze now lifted, no longer focused on the text message, something catches his attention from out of the corner of his eyes. It's hard to tell, with how hard the rain starts to fall, covering the town in a thick, heavy wet sheet. "Spruce.." There's clear distraction in his tone, "I'll tell you what, I'll make some calls and I'll send over what I've found out." An absent hand reaches for his phone in the center console, turning off the Bluetooth to finish up the call with the receiver to his ear. The car door draws open and despite the weather taking a turn for the worse, Byron steps out into it, getting his business suit soaked, his free hand resting on the frame of the now opened door.

That couldn't have been Lilith. Could it? He knew that the Pawnshop was being rebuilt after a fire, but she wouldn't return home for that?

"Something came up. I'll have to call you back..." The car door closes behind him, he's picking up pace, those expensive Oxfords splashing in the puddles. Rounding the corner where he thought he'd seen a ghost, he stops. He could see a sea of umbrellas, mostly black, but no Li--

Maybe it was just my imagination. But I should check in with Hank.

At that moment, his phone goes off before he slowly brings it to his ear without checking to see who the caller was. His mind was somewhere else now. "This is Thorne speaking." Only then does he realize that he's standing out in the middle of the rain. "Mister Daniels. No, I'm free right now." He puts on his professional voice and he hurries his way back to his car.

He'll just have to call Hank another day.

09/15/2019 - (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1612)

Hot water sprays down the form of one Cameron Cambridge as she stands with her head bowed under the faucet, a hand planted against the tile of the wall. Her trailer doesn't have a very large hot water tank, and she knows soon the comforting warmth and heat will turn into ice. But for now, it feels good on the parts of her that it touches, relaxing muscles, relieving tension. Shows have a way of refreshing and reinvigorating. Washing away the grime both inside and out, allowing one to face their day clean and anew.

A hand reaches down, shutting off the single-lever water source which cuts out immediately. The sound of droplets of water falling from her hair and body is interrupted by the clunk of the switch that swaps between shower and bathwater falling from loss of pressure, a smattering of liquid that was left in the pipes draining out. She stands there for a long moment watching the drain. With a sigh, she turns and pulls back the shower curtain.

The tiny bathroom is filled with steam, curls of it rising up and caressing everything in sight, obscuring and fogging all that it touches. She grabs a towel and dries herself off. Her body is easy, hair will take much longer. With it wrapped around her torso, she wipes away the fog from the mirror with a few passes of her hand.

Cameron leans on the sink, staring into her reflection's eyes. For a long, long moment, neither of them blink. The dark-haired young woman sighs, looking down, reaching for her toothbrush. She applies the paste, brushes for at least two minutes, spit, rinse. Floss. Never forget the floss. It is a ritual itself of sorts, part of a routine, and those calm the soul.

She smiles at herself, tries to make it warm and sunny. It mostly works. The smile fades.

"You're not a loser." Cameron says to her reflection with a desperate hopefulness. "You're going to help people."

She moves away from the sink.

...

The camera flicks on to show Cameron sitting at her desk, a shelf filled with books on spells, rituals, crystal skulls, and spell components behind her. She's leaning back in her chair, toying with a pen, looking off to the side for a long moment. Then her eyes gradually move towards the camera as she swings slowly from side to side in her chair.

Cam leans forward, dropping the pen on her desk and placing her hands together, affecting a broad, tight-lipped smile. "So! Today we're going to talk about another danger and how to defend yourself from it. Today we're talking about... Hobgoblins. They're very vicious creatures..."

09/03/2019 - (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1415)

"It's all your fault! You fucking bitch! You were supposed to find the one who hurt my baby! He should be in jail! This is YOUR FAULT! It's YOUR FAULT he's dead!"

The grieving woman standing in front of a passive GHPD Detective Sarah Stevens is Mrs. Harlow. Formerly a mother of two, now a mother of one. She's wearing all black, her dark-skinned face partially obscurbed by a miniature veil on her hat because she's at her oldest son's funeral. He was sixteen two weeks ago. He will never grow older.

The woman tries to hit the detective, who just sort of steps back and shuffles a bit while her relatives restrain her. Sarah doesn't even try to defend herself. She isn't going to beat down and arrest a grieving mother at her son's funeral. Especially not after giving her the news that the man who did it was going to walk. The key piece of evidence, the murder weapon, was mishandled. Now it was inadmissable. And now they had no case.

The woman is wailing, heaping curses over her shoulder at Detective Stevens as her other son and her husband help her back to the van. Sarah looks away, towards the hole where the casket has already been lowered. People are glancing at her, staring. Some glaring, a lot of them whispering.

The blonde looks down, at the nice little black suit she wears for occasions such as this. Tragic occasions. Funerals, wakes. She's been to far too many of these things. She could tell them that this wasn't her fault. She worked the case as hard as anyone had worked anything. That someone in the lab had been the one to screw up. She could talk about the sleepless nights she spent researching and taking notes long past the point of fatigue. Or the seemingly-endless man hours the GHPD and DA's office had poured into finding justice. How angry and frustrated she and her fellow officers were at this, that they hated it, too.

It wouldn't help. Her son would still be dead, there would be no justice for him. Whose fault it was didn't matter, someone needed to take the blame. Every cop knows not to let cases get to you, not to let them become personal. Every cop knows how impossible that is, that they slip through the cracks and worm their way into you until you can't let go. It's their job to protect people, and sometimes the system she's supposed to believe in... just gets in the way.

Sarah slides a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, turning to walk back to her car.

05/16/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/90)

She'd stuck a branch in his hair before wandering off down the path, the stones rising up to meet her feet as she meandered her way above the canopy.

Carver sat down against the trunk of a tree that ascended higher than he cared to guess, having drawn a conclusion of 'A fuckton of feet' when he sat down about an hour back. They'd talked about what he was going to do in town, the plan of which currently resembled something of a smash and grab raid on a jeweler's. Get in, case the joint, nab what you can of use, bail. It was the same plan they'd had for the last four towns, and apart from them not working at all and the two of them getting away with nothing to show for it, the plan had worked perfectly.

'Perfectly' had held a different definition for Carver and Melissa for about 30 years. It showed no signs of changing now. For example, Carver was perfectly nursing the bottle of bourbon in his hand. He was perfectly sober at half the bottle in. He was perfectly somehow still hungover without a headache.

He was perfectly aware of the small army of ants slipping down the tree above him, screaming battle slogans too low for the human ear to pick up.

Fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, his hands are pressed to his thighs as he drags deep breaths into his lungs, sweat beading down his forehead after the calamitous sprint. Melissa looked bored. In fact, she was checking the print she wore on her nails. Casually, almost as an aside, she made a slight amendment to their usual perfect plan. "We're finding you a pocket healer."

Magnolia & Easton - 6/11/19 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/325)

Buh-dump. Buh-dump.

The simple rubber ball bounces off the window, launching back to the open hand of the blonde slouched in her office chair. She throws it again, and the ball ricochets off the floor, leaping up to the window to only be sent back into Magnolia's waiting hand.

Buh-dump.

She rubs her hand around the ball, feeling its slight give along its smooth red surface. She glances at the phone that sits silent on her desk. With a sigh, she launches the ball again.

Buh-dump.

Her last client was two weeks ago -- missing person's case that the police wouldn't take. Ends up her wife had run off with the nanny, which Mags thought would be a dead give away since the wife and babysitter disappeared at the same time. But no, she was in denial. Most are. So, she closed up that case quickly (even if she could have dragged it out a couple days, netted a few more daily fees). If she doesn't get another case soon, she will be putting in that application to the pizza place down the street.

Buh-dump.

Do they let you bring your kid with you on pizza delivery runs?

Buh-dump.

It would save her some cash on babysitter costs.

Buh-dump.

She could ask Byron for a loan.

Buh-dump.

No, she couldn't.

Buh-dump, crash.

The remains of the single-pane window tinkles to the ground, and the floor of her office. She stares at it in disbelief.

"What the f--"

There goes the rest of her bank account's balance, and then some.

The phone rings, and she doesn't take her eye off the broken window while she picks up the phone, bringing it dumbly to her ear. "Sneakers Investigations, Magnolia Jones speaking."

"Hello, Ms. Jones? This is Easton Marshall."

06/10/2019 - (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/337)

Lucinda Lapin stands outside the Sea View Suites looking into the empty maw of a hot tub hung with a completely unnecessary OUT OF ORDER sign on it. It’s empty, for one, and there’s some sand in the bottom, for another (inexplicably). It’s the kind that looks as if it hasn’t been fired up in years, the kind you might expect to find a few dead hookers in on a slow news day, the kind that sends people to the hospital with skin eating infections.

The motel manager shuffles up. “Did you decide if you want the room?”

Lucinda’s arm uncrosses from her chest, holding up a small wad of cash. “One night.”



“You get a discount if—“

“No.” Luce cuts him off. “One night. And then anything goes.” That sounds suitably ominous, but the clerk takes the cash and wanders off to grab a room key for her, probably.

She takes out her phone, sighs, and combs through the digital ads, typing out a text for one.

(Txt to Uknown) Luce: You have a room for rent.

(Txt to Luce) Unknown: Do I?

Luce takes a slow breath, and glances around, and raises her phone again. She pauses for several beats before she replies, her thumbs hovering over the keys. “If you piss me off,” she says out loud, rather than typing it, because the classified ad-holder doesn’t need to know, “I’ll steal the most inconvenient of your shit.”

08/09/2019 - (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1099)

Tillie Harlow is stretched out on her white upholstered couch, half atop a red-headed man of a similar age, Nathan Bowman. Nathan and Tillie are dressed in simple summer attire, tees and threadbare jeans.

“… I think it’s a lovely idea, children at our ages, but ultimately I’m glad we chose to adopt teenagers. I’m equally glad they’re now away at University. No more waiting up, no more fussy eaters, no more interruptions on the make-out couch…”

“Yes, wife, but I do miss it.” Nathan replies, reaching up to tuck his folded arm behind his head, his other hand sliding down her back.

“I know, husband. We haven’t been caught on this couch in ages. I do miss their horrified faces.” She laughs softly, “Mum, Dad… gross.”

"Really? You go for 'gross' and not the infamous 'bringing home a date'? I've never heard someone say 'Mrs. Harlow' so meekly."

“Husband, if they’ve never seen that done and find it difficult to witness, they’re not good enough for our daughter.”

Nicole - 8/27/19 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1314)

It's raining, again. A late summer heat lingers outside and with the air conditioning inside, the large picture windows in Nicole's living area are framed in a misty haze. She sits upon her small sofa, back against one of the arms, bare feet up and toes tapping to some soft music playing nearby. A plush chenille blanket of gray lay draped over her legs, her knees are up and half hugged as she watches the trail of water race down the window. With a sigh, she reaches for her chromebook and powers it up, using her thighs as an easel to support it in tablet mode. Touchscreens are awesome.

She heads to her evenote account and opens a notebook titled: Journal.

There is a moment of hesitation before she turns the screen horizontal and flips open the keyboard again, moving her legs to sit cross-legged, resting the tablet there before she begins to type.

"It's been nearly two years since I came back. Two years and I have somehow managed to hide away from almost everyone I ever knew. That is no easy feat in a small town, I tell you. Two years.

"I came back because I needed some sense of something real. I came back because as much as I hated this fucking place, it is the only place that resonates with me when I think of the word, 'home'. But what is my home? I don't live in the house I grew up in, my parents are gone (not that that is a bad thing), I have avoided talking to old friends. Pretty sure Geoff lives like RIGHT THERE out my window and that's totally not awkward at all (right?). What am I hiding from? Who? No one here knows about my life after I left... not really. I did keep in touch a little at first, but... they essentially know nothing. And if they did? I doubt anyone would really care.

"So why do I sit here in my trailer, watching the rain on yet another evening? Why do I not go knock on Geoff's door to say hi? Why don't I look up at the cashier who graduated the year before me when I buy my groceries? Why do I cringe when an old classmate comes into the salon? Why don't I just head to the bar for a drink?

"I think, maybe, it is because even though this place is the closest thing to home I know... I no longer know it, truly. It's changed. I've changed.... and I have yet to truly figure out who this new version of me is. That -feels- like the why. So, tonight I sit here, listen to music, watch the rain, and tell myself yet again.....

"'Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will take a step outside of my box, move forward, wander out of the shade of hermitage and into the sun of having a life.'

"Tomorrow."

Her fingers pause over the keys after the free-flow of words ceases as if she might type more. Shaking her head, Nicole closes the chromebook and sets it aside on the table, exchanging it for a glass of iced tea, watching the rain and humming to the songs that play until she grows to drowsy to keep her eyes open.

08/09/2019 - (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1099)

"I've never seen someone not look at your chest with such focus. He might as well have been casing our house for a robbery for all the glancing around."

Nathan's hand trails back up his wife's back, a sliding drag of fingertips in reminiscence that couple well with the smile breaking out on his face. He missed the kids. They'd been a joint choice after a year of resurfacing conversation, and while they'd been a part of the household for a comparatively short time, the impact they'd had was immesurable. The first years had been rough. Rough on everyone. There were days they never left their rooms, or never came back to the house. There were days Tillie could be found trying to vacuum at 3AM in the morning, having not slept for at least two days. There were days spent from dawn to dusk in his workshop, avoiding the incoming shit-storm of yelling and unfocused anger.

The kids were away for their third and fouth years. Both of them still went all out on video calling at least three times a month. Not to mention the texts. So many texts.

His hand leaves his wife's back to press softly over her shoulder, dropping his face down to bury it in her hair for just a second.

"We did okay, right?"

06/08/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/300)

Mark's head reeled back at the harsh light that hit his face. For once, he'd actually meant to turn the phone on in selfie mode to start with, but that doesn't mean he was ready for the sudden brightness in the dimly lit public backroom.

He struggled some, both with trying to find that perfect up and slightly to the side angle, partly with the struggling mass of suit and man pinned beneath him, fighting and wriggling and flailing against Mark's other hefty mitt that currently held his head in the water of the overflowing toilet.

The flash was brighter still. Sure, the picture would come out blurry, but they'd be able to see what they needed to see. Mark, quite frankly, was more impressed with the quality of the phone. He'd pulled it out of the man's pocket a moment ago, turned it over in his hand against the sound of splashing water, and then the idea had occurred to him. But he'd need something more to actually send it, as well as the accompanying message of 'Try harder next time, fuckwads.'

His hand grabbed the man's collar, pulling him from the water and summoning a good long bout of gasping and retching that's swiftly interrupted by a quick arc of knuckles to the back of the skull.

"Hey. Vinnie. What's your PIN?"

05/14/2019 - (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/87)

H. Everly Sutton is tipped back in a swivel chair, yawning with a little headset mic. Her feet are up on a desk terminal, a large monitor in front of her. Her keyboard rests in her lap, a mouse balanced on her chair arm, a powdered sugar donut on her knee, leaving a ring on her dark blue cargo pants.

Fire & Police Dispatch share a room, and across a partition the call-takers are a filter through which all 911 calls come. Sometimes it’s just a lonely old lady needing reassurance, and sometimes it’s someone bitching their drive-thru order is wrong. Much of the time the calls get kicked over to Sutton or a fellow dispatchers to send some poor uniform to investigate, like one PO HAVEN, Unit 42. Beloved Tommy missing & Tommy turns up to be a house cat up a tree (not an amber alert), knifing, domestic, person DOA, gun run, etc.

Tonight, a little something different:

Dispatch: Unit 42, what is your 20?

Unit 42: (no response)

Dispatch: Unit 42.

Unit 42: (no response)

Dispatch: Unit 42, please respond.

Unit 42: (no response)

Dispatch: The unicorns are all on fire, love, and every rainbow is dead.

Unit 42: Why do you sit on a throne of lies?

Dispatch: Unit 42, there's a report of a car fire on the highway outside mile marker 6. Lunch is late, please be sure it's not our pizza delivery boy.

Unit 42: By Your Command.

Dispatch: Stop that.

09/26/2019 - (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1815)

Daisy crept up onto the roof and let herself into the little shed that she'd repurposed into a greenhouse, most of the supplies that had been stored there having been shoved into the front half, the rear now containing a large greenhouse window area and a small hydroponic setup that she had been perfecting for some time. The small shoots of several plants had already begun to sprout and were reaching for the light, crawling along the lines that they could cling to, guiding their path. She let her fingertips trail over their tiny leaves and hummed softly to herself, coaxing them with her words, and reaching out with that energy that she had discovered within herself so many years ago, only to watch those tiny shoots begin to visibly grow. Softly, she sang to them as they curled upward, outward, leaves fanning and reaching out to drink up the light, the spray of water and nutrients nourishing their roots.

Afterward, she curled up in the old papasan chair stuffed into the corner, like an oversized cat bed, and wrapped her arms around her knees. This was her quiet place, the place she would come to think after having another nightmare, another one of those dreams that left her shaking with no real understanding why. This time, she'd seen a face looking back at her when she woke. This time, great hollow pits where eyes should have been threatened to swallow her up. But they hadn't. It had just sat there on the end of her bed and stared at her, long enough for her blood to turn to ice and her heart to freeze. Then it was gone. She tried to push the memory of it out of her mind.

Pulling out a joint, she lit it up, and put it to her lips, taking a long drag and letting the smoke curl up and away toward the ceiling. Her phone buzzed and she glanced down at the text from Grant. Tapping out a response, she sent it off and then let her head fall back. She'd meet up with them later. For right now, she just needed to be alone.

Years Now.
It's amazing how well they did keeping from crossing paths when they lived on the same street and his shop was right there.
Of course it was deliberate on her part and more than likely on his too. She got to church late and left before the final prayer just to avoid crossing his path.
It hurt to see him. Far more than it should after these.. was it three years?
How had she lost track?
What did that make her?
The absolute worst.

How could she face him when she'd failed so badly?
Turning from the mirror she hadn't realized she'd been standing there facing, she crouches down and in the far recesses of the back drawer she draws out an album.
Printed on the front.. Baby's First Photos
Inhaling sharply she feels it like a punch to the gut.
Without even realizing it, tears start to fall.
It's when one splatters down on the word baby that she lifts her hand and, using the back of it, wipes away the signs of weakness.
Maybe she could peek again.
Maybe she should.
Reaching with her left hand she holds the album in her right and slowly opens it.
There she was.
Their daughter.
Still in an ultrasound picture but almost 7 months along.
She could see the little fingers, the little fists, the feet.
Her head and eyes and mouth and nose.
Every little toe she'd counted and gushed over to Jack.
Every broken piece of her heart after she had lost the baby.

The tears continue and eventually she just quits wiping them away.
She'd closed Jack out afterwards.
Guilt was a strong emotion even though she'd been assured it was nothing she had done to cause it.
She couldn't help but wonder what she could have done different?
What had she done to cause it?

Beneath it was the only picture they'd taken of her belly with it gently rounded with the pregnancy.
Out at the pond by the church when they'd taken the picnic there instead of going out for fast food after services.

Maybe she should go to the pond again.
Maybe that would help her in her healing, to go to happy places.
Tomorrow she would do that.
She'd go and she'd just love her little angel from afar.

Little did she know Jack had the same thoughts and their long years of avoiding each other would end that very next day.

Sparrow - 07/22/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/825)

"How about that one?" Zelie pointed to a listing for a big house on Oak Avenue with a neatly manicured lawn and well-trimmed hedges out front, a gorgeous place on the nice side of town meant for a growing family.

Sparrow scrolled back up to check out her search terms, to make sure she was looking at rentals. "That can't be right. Maybe someone listed it wrong?" Her sister took control of the mouse and clicked into it, letting the slideshow of interior pictures flip past. "Look at that kitchen!" Zelie crooned. "Corey will love it."

"Yeah." It was impossible to disagree with that assessment, but Sparrow wasn't really looking. She was scanning the listing for details. No price listed. Only the date and time for the next open house. Tomorrow. A bit less distracted, she looked to her younger sibling and offered, "Tomorrow afternoon. Wanna go look with me? We can make a whole day of it, get lunch, go shopping..."

Zelie scrunched her nose, a habit she picked up from Sparrow or Sparrow picked up from her. Or they both got from their mom. "I've got a date." She tried not to smile, tried to sell it as a terrible burden keeping her from what she really wanted to do as if roaming around half-empty houses was gonna be more fun than movies and make-outs, but she couldn't keep a straight face when Sparrow's eyes went wide. "Oh my gods, Zelie Dove! How could you keep this vital information from me?" Sparrow pressed her hands to her chest melodramatically. "I am wounded. Wounded!"

But not so wounded as to shirk her sisterly duty of picking out just the right outfit to suit the occasion. The girls giggled and gossiped all afternoon, giddy right up until Zelie rested her head against Sparrow's shoulder and lamented, "I'mma miss you." Though Sparrow promised, "I'm not going far," they both knew it would be just far enough to be inconvenient, so that this sort of thing would happen less and less often, a simple truth lending a somber cast to the rest of their otherwise enjoyable day.

09/12/1029 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1568)

"My best friend died a lonely man
In some Palm Springs hotel room
I got the call last Christmas Eve
And they told me the news-"

The music he sang along to cut short, replaced by the soft chirp of a ringtone and a buzzing noise as the phone vibrated along the desk. The sharp change knocked Viktor out of his reverie. He straightened in his chair, casting his eyes aside to check the caller ID. It was a lovely day, and the sunlight that slipped through the canopy above cast a giraffe-skin pattern across the sizable amount of forest that technically counted as his 'Back Yard.' Placing the partially dismantled pistol down on the bench, he reached out a now-free hand to scoop up the phone, hitting 'accept' and tucking it up against his shoulder. Phone call or not, the firearm wasn't going to maintain itself.

Maybe one day they would, but then what would he do with his afternoons?

"Afternoon, Brother." Casual tone. Family was important, and while he wasn't entirely sure which brother this would be, he liked most of them well enough.

He'd pulled the slide from the 😆, finished clearing it out, checking for burrs or pockmarks in the removed barrel, and was currently in the process of what he liked to call 'Lubricating the shit out of it.' The slide had actually tapped out recently, failing to feed the next round. Springs replaced, mechanisms checked, and feed ramp thoroughly inspected, he was down to the old standby of 'As much ballistol as you think it can take' for his last marker on the list of quick fixes.

"Not yet. This place is teeming, but there's definitely a time and a place. Season's opening soon." Forever casual. His head shifted to adjust the phone, as he felt it slipping with the movements he'd made.

His hand grabbed a dish cloth. Normally, he'd just wipe the residue off on his shirt, but he really liked this one. It was a tourist piece from Beaver Creek, and... Well, the jokes made themselves. He meticulously wiped each finger, working the cloth and being especially fastidious with his nails. The pistol slowly returned to its completed form, although the disassembly lever always needed a little extra motivation to set in place.

"I wouldn't be the least surprised if one of them just wandered through my ba-" wham "-ck yard. I'm tripping over them, from what I can tell."

He dry fired. Once. Downrange. Might be a little wearing on a few of the mechanisms, but with that lever as it is, it was still the best way to make sure it had set properly. If it hadn't, the slide would have slipped off the body like a slightly lazy eel. Satisfied, Viktor gave it a nod, and nearly lost the phone in the process.

"I'll be sure to let the family know all about it. Yes. Of course. I'll call this weekend."

He racked the slide a few times. It felt better than it had before. He'd have to put more than a few magazine's worth through it to feel comfortable with it at his side, but his afternoon was open. The slide went back one more time, bringing a round up from the now-inserted magazine.

"And may he be with you, Brother."

<FS3> Viktor rolls Firearms-5: Good Success (8 8 6 2 2 2)

He pulled the phone from his shoulder, hit 'Disconnect' on the screen, placed the phone down to one side of the workbench he sat at, and then pulled the thin plastic loop that held his ear protection up and in. The forest went quiet. He aimed. Exhaled. Fired. He didn't stand. He didn't need do. He'd set the bench up on his deck so that the running line of steel targets that littered the berm running off into the distance were directly in front of him.

There was a noticeable gap between the burst of noise from the firearm and the soft 'clong of a 2.5ft circular steel plate.

Exactly 232 yards away.

Jonathan - June 8 2019

The alarm clock rang, and Jonathan instantly regretted it. Because right as he opened his eyes, that old familiar feeling as if someone was stabbing his head with sharp objects repeatedly was back. Closing his eyes again he fumbled around a bit, before he managed to silence the alarm. He took a few deep breaths, while curling up with a whimper.

It was all so frustrating that it brought tears to his eyes. Most times he thought he had gotten through this, that he had recovered, some days pass when everything is well, and then these days come again, showing him how wrong he is. What... what if he would never be able to shake it? How could he even go on? The dark in the room suddenly seemed so much darker...

Tyler opens his refrigerator door. The light flickered and popped dark just as the door opened all the way.

There was nothing in the refrigerator except an expired carton of milk and far too many cans of Diet Coke. Taking a moment to look around the now dark space, he sighed, and closed the door once more.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he opened up the notepad app. There was his grocery list. For as empty as his fridge was, the list wasn't very large. He added to it, typing, 'milk. ham. bread.' Leaning against the counter, he looked around his bare apartment, trying to think if there was anything else he needed to get. There was.

He looked back at the screen and typed, 'a life.'

Rick - July 22 2019:

Stepping into his rather simple home, Rick looks around a bit. Some hours to kill before he needs to call it a night. What should he do?

After a few moments of thinking, he grabs his fishing gear, and heads out into the garage to get his motorcycle ready. He drives off out of town, finding a place where he can spend a few hours fishing and relaxing. Relaxing is important, who knows what will happen tomorrow. In his line of work, he might even get shot...

Aidan - 05/07/2019 (https://www.gray-harbor.com/scene/63)

...162, 163, 164. Well, they got the number of stairs right!

Or else they got it wrong and he did too. Technically also possible. Either way, the Astoria Column had a hell of a view from up here, and Aidan leaned far enough out over the railing to look at it that the little old lady who was the only other one braving it up there in the drizzle looked as though she were debating whether she ought to be trying to hold him back. He gave her a bright don't-worry-I'm-not-gonna-jump grin, which somehow didn't seem to entirely allay her concerns, but did convince her not to try grabbing on to him. So more or less a success.

The town looked like a scale model from up here. The river still looked massive, which Aidan figured was fair enough. It was pretty massive. He walked around the edge of the platform until he was looking in what he was pretty sure was the direction of Portland, and considered the space where it wasn't. Ninety miles away. Good start. He'd only been driving two hours, but he could feel the grip of it loosening.

It felt good.

He was alone up there, now, looking out over the river toward Washington, and he found his fingers absently toying with the shell necklace around his neck. The realisation made him pause. He'd been wearing it months, now. Both hands moved back to find the clasp, but it was a moment of sharp focus from his mind that had the grip of the necklace loosening as well. He yanked one end, arm scribing a dramatic arc, and watched the beads fly off the freshly cut cord and out into space, tumbling the hundred-some feet along with the increasing rain.

That felt good too.

Aidan closed his eyes and turned his face up to the clouds, smiling. When his curls started to feel soggy, he tied the denuded cord into a neat bow around a corner of the railing, and started down the 164 (he was pretty sure) stairs, down toward the gift shop.

Maybe he'd buy those commemorative socks.

The hot dog goes down in two bites. Convenience store hot dogs aren't the greatest, but one doesn't always have a lot of choice on the road. She'll find a hotel to stay at soon, then a warm meal that isn't convenience store food is first on the list of things to do.

She doesn't know much about Gray Harbor, but at least she'll be near the ocean.

Trailer Park, Winslow Lot 5/16/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/98)

BEEEEEEEP!! Honk honk honk!!

Goddamnit, Hank. Lilith has been sitting outside the trailer honking for about ten minutes now and it's taking him forever to get outside. She's come to pick her father up to go pay a debt for gambling worth thousands a few towns over before he finds his legs or worse broken by Russians that run an underground gambling club. She's really not sure how he finds these people or these troubles, it's honestly like he tries to fuck up. Which... considering how little he has tried to do anything else in life, especially where his daughter is concerned...

BEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!

Shit. There's Geoff outside his trailer wondering what all the honking is about. It'd been so long, the past couple of weeks or so Lilith had been back, she'd been quite dodgy about going in and out of Hank's trailer next door. Awkwardly, she waves a little at the tatted guy. Maybe she really should just go say 'hi' and bite the bullet, everything was so long ago and they were really just kids. Kids fuck up and do things during adolescence, right? Right. It's fine. See, he waved back and grinned in that Geoff way of his. Yeah. Tomorrow. She'll start nipping these old wounds she made in the bud... tomorrow. She needs to, if only for herself. Miami taught her a lot of things that are bad for her in life and she needed to learn how to reach for good things again.

This place was home, there's old comforts here, even if...

Hank finally comes out of the trailer with a local newspaper tucked under his arm and gets in the rental SUV that Lilith is driving. She side eyes the paper he's unfolding in the passenger seat after making an agitated noise at his general entry and lack of buckling up in the seat. Maybe he'll fly out of the fucking windshield during the drive and save her some trouble in the long run. She just lets him stay unbuckled and turns off the seatbelt alert that's going off before pulling out in a bit of a hurry to get on the road.

"Reading now, are you?" Hank doesn't read the damn paper unless he's in the bathroom or looking for classified ads about junk for sale to turn into treasure. Does she even want to know why he has the damn paper? He's so annoying and loud while flipping and crinkling it around and she turns up some Queens of the Stone Age song.

I can't make you hang around, I can't wash you off my skin...

I want a new mistake, lose is more than hesitate. Do you believe it in your head?

Hank makes a noise at the rock song just as Lilith's eyes catch on an ad on the paper that he's holding up her way. It's for the Bayside Apartments and there's a flash of a name at glance that makes her do a bit of a double take before she looks at the road again. She didn't see the name she thinks she did, surely. He's long gone from here, isn't he? He was always going to be something bigger than this place. Hank's explaining something about wanting to look for a motor or old car to piece out for this guy because he swears he can make double piecing these things out if he gets them on the cheap, "... you don't even know how to take apart a car, Hank. You aren't a one-man chop shop and you don't even have money to buy beer unless I give it to you, let alone... you know what? Nevermind."

Hank flips the paper over again with annoying fold and noisy shake, then makes a whistle noise through his teeth, seeing the Bayside ad as well, ignoring the part about the flaw in his salvage-cheap-cars-for-parts-money plan, "Lily, you need to learn to think bigger. Look at Byron. He's a rich bastard now, don'tcha know." She does do a double take then to stare at Hank and almost swerves as he shakes the paper admonishing at her, "Moneybags came back into town all fancy pants a while back, won't ever give me a loan. Pretty son of a bitch can afford it." The man grumbles, like this is the greatest offense in life, someone not loaning him money to waste. His head shakes some, "I let that kiddo have free run with you, boy can give me a twenty spot here and there."

Okay, Lilith takes ISSUE with that statement because Hank's fathering style was entirely negligence, not FREE RUN, but okay. Okay. Byron's here? Hank's pulling out a flask to get three quick nips from because he's far too sober to deal with this gambling den they're driving to. Guys might beat him on entry, afterall, but Lily's made this pretty non-negotiable. He wonders if he can sneak a game in and profit off of some of what's owed before handing it over.

Lilith stares at the road and ignores Hank because her mind is suddenly lost in Byron and what she did and... how to try and fix it. They're both here, running into each other will be inevitable at some point, she should do it right. She owes him... so much in life, apologies for hurt and damages aside. More than anything, she owes him an explanation. Her heart slams in her chest and she hands the phone over to Hank, "Save that number in my phone, please, and STOP FLIPPING that damned paper around like it owes YOU money. Jesus."

Hank looks over at Lily all contemplative and carefully controlled with her expression. Then he just sloppily grins and saves the number in her phone under the header name FUTURE HUSBAND for her to find later. He always wanted her to marry a man with money and this boy was good to her, too. It's win-win, in his eyes. Meant to be. Hank really was a romantic at heart sometimes when he wasn't blotto. He loved a woman desperately, once. But she was gone now. Lilith shouldn't live her life alone. But he doesn't say anything about it because it'll make her clam up quicker than lightning or yell about it.

Instead, he turns on a Journey song while he has her phone to connect to the bluetooth in the car and the look she gives him is positively withering and pointed. She knows what he's trying to push without him saying a thing, especially after all that talk about Byron being rich. The man probably won't even want to talk to her, yet here's her father with that stupid grin playing some hope anthem at her.

Don't stop... believing... hold on to the feeling, yeeeeah.

Hank sings along loudly and Lilith threatens to ram the car into a tree if he doesn't STOP.

Scott - September 8 2019

He knew his family wasn't home right now as he went to their place, since he had a few things he had promised to take care of there. Having taken care of those things, he decides to spend some time with an old friend, the family piano. Sitting down, he moves his hands over the keys, expression rather peaceful as he sits there. Without him realizing it at first, there's the start of a piano riff he knows quite well, and soon he finds himself singing along with the words.

"On a morning from a Bogart movie
In a country where they turn back time
You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre
Contemplating a crime."

He keeps on singing along with the song, feeling how all the stress from the start of the academic year, and all other things bothering him., leaves through the hands on the piano keys. Letting it all wash away, he continues singing along with the song.

"But the drum-beat strains of the night remain
In the rhythm of the new-born day
You know sometime you're bound to leave her
But for now you're going to stay
In the year of the cat
Year of the cat"

As he finishes, he can't help holding back a smile, as he begins on another one, one that his father made him learn at some point.

"It's quarter to three
There's no one in the place 'cept you and me
So set 'em' up, Joe
I got a little story I think you oughta know
We're drinking my friend
To the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road"

As he keeps on singing, he can hear the sound of the door opening. Seems like they have returned. So he doesn't start singing right away as he reaches the chorus, which is where an older man's voice starts singing as Carl Hamilton, Scott's father enters the room.

"You'd never know it
But buddy I'm a kind of poet
And I've got a lot of things I want to say"

Grinning, he lets Scott continue now.

"And if I'm gloomy, please listen to me
'Til it's all, all talked away"

They continue singing one part each as they get to the end of the song. "Well done, son," Carl offers, after the sound fades away,, and Scott stands up to greet his family, before staying there for dinner.

Vyv - 5/26/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/179)

All in all, it was actually a reasonable day. The renovations were complete. Nearly all the kitchen was installed, the ovens just that morning, and the pair of workmen doing the job today had been not only competent but also appealing to watch, which made actually watching them a much more pleasant proposition. One wasn't even a bad conversationalist, and the time had gone much more swiftly than when the refrigeration had gone in the other day. And now it was lunchtime, the park was near-empty, and the sun was out.

Definitely a reasonable day, even if Vyv was still un-Assisted. Which reminded him he had another tedious counter-position interview to conduct the next day-- but never mind. That was tomorrow, and today was a pond and a sandwich and a bench beneath a spreading shade tree.

He settled on the bench, crossing his legs comfortably, and began to unwrap the sandwich. Birds twittered in the branches of the trees around him.

Mew...

He paused, head tilting. That hadn't sounded like a bird.

Mew!

No. Definitely not a bird. A glance around showed nothing; he set both feet on the ground again and leaned over to check beneath the bench.

Myowww... A leaf drifted down, landing on his shoulder. Vyv brushed it off, looking up, and met a pair of big yellow-green eyes too many feet up. As he looked, the shapes around them resolved into a brown tabby cat, adolescent-lanky and with something matting down much of her fur. The cat seemed to brighten, extending her head toward him, a glint of metal at her throat. Prrt? It sounded hopeful.

Vyv stared up for a moment. "What?" Another mew, plaintive, and he sighed, rising to his feet and turning to better regard the cat. It wanted help. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he was as certain of it as if he spoke feline. He could feel it. It wanted down. "Well, climb down, then," he said, hands settling at his hips.

The cat stared, silent this time.

"Look, I can't reach that high -- and what IS that on your fur? You're a cat, aren't you supposed to take better care of those things?" He shook his head. "-- and I'm not about to try to climb a tree in this suit."

A feline blink.

Vyv's eyes traced what looked like the cat's route down, settling on the trunk. "No. It's covered in sap, that's never going to come out. And Rebecca isn't here, I keep having to do my own dry cleaning! Are those ants? Sap AND ants." He looked up to the cat again. "No. I'm not climbing up there. Where's your people, why aren't they doing it?"

The cat was not forthcoming with an explanation, or at least Vyv was fairly sure the reproachful-sounding meow didn't count.

"This is not my problem."

Silence.

"Stop looking at me like that. It isn't. If you don't know enough not to climb up anything you don't know how to get back down, that doesn't make it my emergency. Do I look like Gray Harbor Fur and Rescue to you?"

He was fairly sure the cat couldn't actually understand, but she made a mew that sounded enough like it meant 'maybe' to narrow Vyv's eyes.

"No, I do not. ...oh, god, they'd have purramedics, this is your fault, you know." He tapped a foot, considering. Another glance around showed no potential saviours, but did fall on the half-unwrapped sandwich he'd left on the bench. A thought began to form.

He finished the unwrapping and broke it open, then took one more quick look about before he caught one of the slices of chicken with his mind, and guided it up into the tree, toward the cat. Just close enough to catch the creature's attention -- to see her nose twitch and neck stretch toward the food. "Right," he said, bringing it tantalizingly near, "this way." The meat zipped behind the cat, lingering there while the feline turned precariously on the branch. It led the way along the branch, down to another, then another, onward until the cat was balanced on the lowest limb. Down the trunk, then, and to the back of the bench, dancing there while the kitten shifted her head to judge the distance -- then jumped.

It wasn't a perfect jump. The cat's forepaws hit the plank, but the balance was off, and her hind paws coming to join them threw her forward, skittering down over the seat until she ended up on the ground in front of it. A blink, and she took a moment to groom a paw in best I Meant To Do That feline fashion. The corner of Vyv's mouth quirked up, and he dropped the bit of meat in front of her, then sat to start in on the rest of his sandwich himself.

The cat wolfed down the chicken, then sidled over toward his leg. "No," Vyv said firmly, pointing to the ground about a foot from his shoe, "you're still covered in sap." He eyed her a bit more closely. "And ants." She eyed him back for a few moments, then seemed to decide no more was forthcoming, and began grooming herself properly.

They sat quietly until they were both done, stretching as they got to their feet. This time it was him looking down, and her looking up. "I won't do it another time, you know," he informed her, and dropped the last of the chicken in front of her, leaning down to scratch once behind her now-cleaned ear before he turned to make his way back out of the park.

All in all, it was actually a reasonable day.

Elise - 04/26/19 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/50)

"See you in the morning, Ellybean."

Elise sets her phone down on the kitchen table and sinks into the chair, her lips curving into a thin frown. G was in trouble; he could spin all the bullshit he wanted, but she knew he'd done something stupid. What was it this time? Did he mess with the wrong mark, find somebody who actually knew the difference between a Rolox and a replica? Was it girl trouble? The thought makes her cringe, and she pushes the phone away with her fingertips, leaning back into her chair with a huff. Maybe she should call him back, tell him there's no room at the Elise inn. Maybe she shouldn't be inviting trouble to her doorstep. Besides, she had a date tonight and she didn't have time for Graham Stewart's nonsense. She didn't have time for him to blow back through her life, make her heart feel the way it did, and then blow right back out.

She drags the phone back towards her and swipes through her contacts, hovering her finger across Graham's icon, with his pretty smile. She rolls her eyes, sets her jaw, determined. And yet..

(TXT to Graham) Elise: Here's the address <link to google maps>. See you soon, G.

Beneath her message, the phone displays the classic '...' that suggests someone is typing a response. But nothing comes. She gets out of her chair and heads out of the kitchen; she should get ready for her date. Instead? She sends another text message.

(TXT to Chad) Elise: Hey, I'm so sorry, but something unexpectedly came up. Have a good night!

Should she have asked for a raincheck? The phone buzzes back a response and she looks down to see Graham's reply instead of Chad's. Just a simple 'omw', but it makes her heart do that weird flutter thing. Nah, she didn't need a raincheck. She just needs to go upstairs to fix up Graham's room, so that's exactly what she does.

Harvey - 08/13/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/1151)

The email was written from his phone while sitting on a bench just outside of Addington Memorial Hospital. People were too easy to find, really, and this girl was no exception. Harvey had a little bit of guilt gnawing at the pit of his gut, but what did his father always say? 'The best stories are built on tiny little lies, Harv, you just have to make sure you're the liar and not the one being lied to. You gotta control the narrative, kid.' He breathes out, hits 'send' on the virtual mail, and shoots it out into the ether. At the same time, he watches the 'STAFF' door swing open and allow one five foot-something brunette doctor out. She matched her picture from her social media - she was cute. More than cute, actually, but, no. No getting ahead of yourself, Harv.

She stops on the sidewalk and checks her phone. Harvey pretends to be interested in the cluster of pigeons nearby, cooing while they scrabble over a few crusts of bread. She walks right past him, probably doesn't even notice him sitting there, and he watches to see which direction she's headed. She definitely wasn't staying at the B&B, and sure enough, it looked like her destination was towards this crappy city's crappy motel. She disappears into the distance, and Harvey gets off the bench, pocketing his phone.

The best stories are built on tiny little lies, Harvey reminds himself as he heads off towards the B&B. You gotta control the narrative, kid. And that's exactly what he intends to do.

Andre - 05/04/19 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/56)

Andre's got his face smooshed up against the passenger side window of Graham's tiny little sedan. The car's too small for him, so he has to lean real low in the seat. But how exciting - they are going on a road trip! On the speakers, Taylor Swift's "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" is playing at maximum level, Graham was so nice to let Andre pick the music for their ride. And look at that, they are at the best part.

"Sing with me, G!" Andre says with such enthusiasm, Graham will have no choice but to sing along. Too bad Andre's voice is louder than the music pouring out of the speakers. He's completely off-beat, but who could deny a guy that sings with such GUSTO? "But we-EEEEEEEEEE! ARE NEVER EVER EVER getting back TOGETHERRR!" He fingerguns at Graham, pew-pew, then chuckles a belly laugh. He has every intention of continuing to sing, but out the window, he sees:

"DICKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Yes, it was time to stop and eat some Dicks. After all, you can't do a job properly on an empty stomach.

Tobin - 05/12/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/70)

Another morning, another tour. Today, Dawn was giving the tour because his voice was going and Tobin just wasn't up for it. The night had been dark and filled with night terrors. Unfortunately, work waits for no man, and being one's own boss when there isn't anyone else available to run the boat means needing to get out on the water whether one feels up to it or not. Mercifully, Dawn is a good deal cheerier, and she starts things off with a cheerful greeting to the guests, signalling that it's time to depart.

Turning to look out on the water, Tobin takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, a little smile on his lips. At least the view was nice. There was that consolation.

Cole - 05/24/2019 (https://gray-harbor.com/scene/169)

The noise from the other guests at the motel kept him company. The sounds of arguments a couple of rooms down, the sounds of frantic thumping of a headboard way too close for comfort, even the baying of a dog, who he assumed wasn't actually in the motel, but couldn't be certain, all formed a kind of endless cacophony. The room itself was stark, but mostly clean-ish. It wasn't any worse than anywhere else he'd stayed on the long drive from Boston with everything he'd decided to bring with him packed into the back of his car.

He could have stayed there. He could have gotten back up on stage and tried to reclaim the life that had been his not so long ago. But everything had changed. And now, here he was on the opposite coast, in a tiny little town that certainly didn't have a ballet, and he wasn't even sure had a dance studio. Maybe he'd start his own. Or maybe he'd just do odd jobs until he figured out what he was going to do with this new life. Either way, all he knew was that he was supposed to be here. He just didn't really know /why/.

Sitting on white, new chairs in the empty ice cream parlor, Everett sat, staring vacantly at the paper in front of him. His eyes lifted to look across the table to the bearded man seated opposite, dressed for. Well, dressed for an interview. Everett went back to reading, his brows beginning to furrow.

She was supposed to be handling people things.

"Says here," Everett murmurs after another moment of staring at the resume, "that you've cooked before."

"Yes, sir."

"Uh huh. But you don't have any experience with staff?", Everett asked, putting the paper down. Ian shook his head solemnly before he added, "But I'm willing to learn."

"You and me both, pal,'' muttered the giant's reply before he got up and went past the double swinging doors into the back and came back with two beers. He set one down before the other man who took it with happiness, squishing the can open before Everett even sat down and opened his own. The large man rose his, "Do right by me, and I'll do right by you and yours. Loyalty. Do your best. That's all I can ask of you."

Two full beer cans kiss.

Quizitively Ian asks while bringing the can to his lips, "You're not going to ask about my record?" then took a drink before the beer and the offer was rescinded.

"Fuck no", replies Everett after swallowing to his own toast. "A guy's allowed to make a mistake or two. You paid your dime. Just remember what I said and be here tomorrow evening." The two shook and when the ex-co left, taking his open container of alcohol with him, Everett pushed the resume back on top with the others. He knew she'd have done a better job. But finally, everything was done.

He's a carb dealer. Selling to the masses their confection addiction.
He could have been so much more proud.