2019-09-13 - The Perfect Kind of Tenant...For Now

It's not surprising for Byron Thorne in most recent days to be asked by a tenant if he could meet with them. A few have already threatened to move out due to the murders and now this new situation and there's very little that he can do about it. Yet, when he receives word that his latest tenant, the visiting writer, now wishes to speak with him, Byron is preparing himself to do just that. Rather than drowning himself in liquor, he makes himself a nice cup of cappuccino, more of a pick-me-up than something to soothe his nerves.

With the elevator allowing access to the penthouse apartment for the next half hour, once he hears the sound of the elevator ding, he's already at the door to greet his visiting guest, wearing in a sharp business suit and tie, grey colors despite the red and black striped tie, the smile that he offers is a restrained one, their topic of discussion somewhat grim. Or so he'll assume. "Mister Taylor, please come inside. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea perhaps? I have some water boiled." And he also has an espresso machine. "If you'd prefer something harder, my bar is always open."

The tone of Dante's request to meet was curious rather than angry. More, 'I say, what's all the bother' and less 'I thought this was a high-end secure building!' But that might just be the English.

When the elevator dings and permits access, the tall man who is also in a suit steps out into the penthouse. He's also wearing a suit, but his isn't one anyone would consider conservative. It's a deep, rich teal with a bit of a sheen to it, over a button-up in soft pink with the faintest of patterns. He's not wearing a tie, but he doesn't tend to. His pocket square is a deeper shade of pink than his shirt, and contrasting beautifully with the deep tone of the suit. His shoes are, well, they're flashy. Sleek, white brogued Oxfords with black threading. They look brand new. Either that, or he keeps impeccable care of them. Both are entirely possible.

"Mister Thorne. Thank you for seeing me. Well, and I thought the view from my flat was impressive. Very nice." He smiles. "Oh, what time is it? I shouldn't have caffeine unless I plan to stay up tonight and write." He checks his watch, which, like the rest of his wardrobe just barely avoids being loud and stays on the side of 'eccentrically fashionable.'

"It's past 2pm by a good five minutes." Byron relays what Dante probably already knows as he'd looked as his own watch. "I can't say that I know exactly when this Tea-Time occurs, but funny thing that," When he speaks, his tone is lightly amused, "A month or so back, I needed to make an appointment with someone at City Hall in regards to some town history and no matter how often I called, they'd make excuse after excuse as to why they couldn't take my call at that moment. One of those excuses made was that it was tea time. Curious that."

He'll linger in the main living space for a time to allow for the man to make his decision.

"Coffee, then. It's early enough. And I'm not enough of a walking stereotype to prefer tea. Although, yes, it does make an excellent excuse." Dante inclines his head. "And I take it every which-way, so no need to go to much trouble on the accoutrements."

Byron is like a barista in his own home, opening up one of the upper cabinets to obtain a coffee mug which he sets down within the espresso machine. A quiet smile on his lips, though one can hear it in his voice, he asks, "So I don't have to bring out the soy milk and the caramel drizzle then?" Once the cup is filled to precise measurement, he'll add the milk and foam. Unlike an actual barista, he does't cut pretty designs into that foam, he's not /that/ talented. Though he practices sometimes!

With the machine all set up, it really doesn't take that long to make a nice up of cappuccino to mirror his own. This he hands over to Dante, while retrieving his own cup o' Joe. "Let's proceed to my office." A pause, "I'm not going to feign ignorance on what's most likely on your mind today."

Leaving the kitchen, he passes by the bar to get to his office. With a free hand he gestures to one of two empty seats near his desk, "Please, have a seat." He then settles into his own seat across from the ones offered, leaning over to set his cup down upon his desk.

"Oh, sometimes. When it tickles my fancy. I'm indiscriminate, though. Unless I'm craving something particularly sweet. I'm just fond of caffeine. In whatever form it presents itself." Dante grins wryly, then accepts the cup when it's presented to him. "Lovely. Cheers. You know, I had one of those machines at my flat in London. I was so terrible at it. Perhaps that's why I'm not fussy about my coffee."

He follows Byron into his office, taking in his surroundings with quiet attention. "The fuss in the lobby, yes. I've heard a lot of very strange rumours. And it's let me know that I really am in the right place for my work." He undoes the button of his jacket before sitting.

"It does take some practice." Byron remarks about how one can fail at espresso. "But this is why most will leave it the task to professional baristas. Actually, I tend to do that sometimes as well. It's a craft that some have mastered."

Once the lobby is mentioned, the building owner keeps to this pleasant expression and there this spark of 'I knew it was coming to this' within his dark eyes. "I hope that it didn't inconvenience you in any way, especially once the elevator stopped working." Rumors spread, so he's trying to gauge exactly how much Taylor had heard thus far, "You've probably already heard that there something strange going on in this town," He may have hinted as much before, "I mean, who am I to discount poltergeist? But every single lightbulb in the lobby went out one after the other that day. Maintenance was being done at that time, so a power surge isn't out of the ordinary."

"And that's precisely why I know I've come to the right place." Dante sips his coffee, then leans forward with a smile. "Some strange, supernatural explanation is almost always in the top five explanations when something happens. Top three, even. I've spent a lot of time in towns who consider that they have reputations. But you know what the difference between those places and Gray Harbor are?" He looks positively engaged, rather than frightened or put off.

Thorne looks both relieved and intrigued by his tenant's odd curiosity regarding the incident. Especially with what he's had to put up with ever since. "I'm expecting you to enlighten me on the correct response to that question." He says, his own gaze lowering to drift idly towards his own coffee, but this is more interesting, "I have a few guesses of my own, however, but you are the expert, so I'll let you pass on your knowledge before I make a fool of myself."

"Well, I've only been here a short time, so I bet you'd have greater insight into what makes this town tick. But!" Dante holds up a finger, "There's a few things that have struck me. One, being the aforementioned addition of a supernatural explanation in nearly any happening, with varying degrees of prominence depending on the person and the company. The second is the reticenct behavior when it comes to telling stories of the supernatural."

He sits back and picks up his coffee, sipping it appreciatively and pursing a bit of foam from his lips. "Normally when I come to a town that has tales but isn't particularly known for it, everyone and their great aunt is positively dying to tell me about the one time they saw a blurry figure on a dark road. Here? I get dire warnings of death and destruction the moment I mention anything beyond the mundane. There is a distinct aversion to talking about things that go bump in the night, yet things that go bump are so at the forefront of everyone's mind that it's on the list of explanations for strange situations."

"And here I am, openly inviting curious minds and not-so-curious minds to our sleepy harbor town." Byron says all grin. One of his arms is outstretched, a finger tracing the smooth surface of the mug's handle in a lazy gesture. "Admittedly, there are many things that are difficult to explain that happens in our town." If anything, the grin only slowly begins to fade. "But I'm pleased to know that we all aren't attention-whores and that some of us take our town's history rather seriously."

He looks thoughtful now, eyes staring down at the foam that tops his coffee. Then his gaze lifts. "These other towns that you've visited, even the ones that you've written about, do you get a similar feeling or sensation in those other locations that you do here. IF you experience anything at all here. I won't lie and say that our town is entirely safe," The death count as of late, speaks volumes about that, "But you find dangers in any place, large or small."

"Well, true enough. But the difference is, most terrible things have a mundane explanation. That's why I have a job. People want the terrible things to have uncommon or even fantastical explanations. Because it removes things from us, you see. Puts it..." Dante flicks his wrist, "...over there. With the improbable. The unbelievable. The beyond human."

He sips his coffee again, then, "There is something altogether different about this place. Which is perhaps why I linger, despite finding very little material for my book. Tell me, Mister Thorne, what do you think happened in your lobby?"

Byron is often careful about providing details on the oddities surrounding Gray Harbor to strangers, especially those who seem ignorant of what's going on. There's this moment where he finally reaches for his mug for a little taste, all the while studying the writer from across his desk, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. A second sip soon follows.

"I was present at the time, so I'm a reliable eyewitness-" He can't help but laugh now, "Which we know that there is no such thing. Reliable eye witnesses don't exist." His coffee mug set down again, he comes out to say, "One of our maintenance workers was inspecting the lights and something there must have been a loose or weakened wire or some power surge that created this domino effect with all of the lights. Even powering down the elevator at the same time."

"That in itself is a simple enough explanation. The disappearance of the delivery boy." While he may not be forthcoming with some information, this is something incredibly difficult to explain, "That's being looked into, I'm afraid."

"The best horror lives alongside the mundane, a half a toe into the shadows," says Dante. "It's almost more terrifying when there is a potential rational explanation, but it doesn't entirely fit. But the alternative is unthinkable, so you shove that square peg into its rectangular hole. And bits begin to splinter."

And here he is, a horror writer in a flashy teal suit and white shoes. But he knows his genre. He watches Byron, curiously, but not adversarial. It's his intention to hold the other man's gaze, until he inhales and sits back. "But. I'm not an investigator. I'm just a nosy writer." A grin, sharkish around the edges.

"So with these rumors going around, what do you believe happened?" Byron is curious to ask. The man wasn't there, but he has a sharp mind. "You've probably heard everything from imps, to ghosts to shadow creatures. How panic ensued once we lost all of the lights. So much that one of our guests panicked and fired a shot off at something he perceived to have seen."

"I don't presume to know, Mister Thorne. As I said, I'm not an investigator. I'm a gatherer of stories. And weaver, but in this case, a gatherer." Dante laces his fingers together and cups them around his knee. "I've been researching the paranormal for a decade. First, as a source of material for my fiction, and then...when I discovered I had enough for a volume of folklore and true crime. I've seen and heard many things I can't quite explain."

This thoughtful look remains on Thorne's features, his eyes quietly studying the writer's expression, his body language. And yet, he can't help but take notice of that inner light still, no matter how faint. "Have you spoken to any other witnesses of the event in the lobby? I'm more asking on whether you plan to do so? I won't frown upon your efforts if you do, of course, but there are those who remain a bit skittish and who still suffer emotional distress due to it, so I only ask that take care with whom you decide to gain information from."

At this moment, even if he believes he knows the answer, he asks, "Have you not experienced anything odd here since your arrival?" Quickly adding, "Not in the apartment building, but the town in itself?" The other man has spent enough time in Gray Harbor that he must have witnessed something. Then again, there are those who seem blind to it all, but this one has a light. Something catches his attention, however, "Now you've got me curious, Mister Taylor. Which location, from everywhere that you've visited, do you believe contains the highest level of possibly supernatural or unexplained activities?"

"I'm interested in the event more of a marker of a larger story at play in this town. I remain sensitive to true suffering that people recently underwent or are still ongoing. It's not usually my modus operandi to poke at fresh wounds. If I investigate, it will be..." Dante waggles a finger, "...around the edges, rather than hounding the delivery boy's family. Of that, you have my word." Which is not a full answer, but it is a partial one.

As for the rest? "I've heard of plenty of odd things. Had people tell me of odd things. But I haven't seen anything myself, no. Other than a vague feeling. I'm usually a man who loves nature, but your Firefly Forest doesn't feel very inviting. But perhaps that's the superstitious Englishman in me. Our folklore is full of tales of forests and glens that don't belong to us, and where it's dangerous to tread uninvited."

Byron is playing around with a few thoughts in mind, when he decides to ask after shifting in his seat to pull himself into a more upright position, "Of everyone you've met in Gray Harbor so far, who have been the most interesting? You can give me a list of names, if they are a local, I probably have heard of them. This is more to sate my curiosity, because I have my own ideas on who some of the most colorful.. characters in town tend to be."

However when the Firefly Forest is brought up, Thorne holds this quiet gaze on the other man. "The Forest was never inviting. Though I'd recall playing there as a child. Now, I won't warn you about venturing there yourself, but like with most things, especially when entering unknown territory, always bring a friend or two. Even better, a guide."

Dante chuckles softly. "Ah, well, you can imagine who I might have encountered already. Mister Alexander...well, I don't know his family name. He's a curious sort. But I'm rather used to dealing with curious sorts. They tend to have the best stories. I always tend to approach those people with an open mind, and with the understanding that they believe everything they're saying, even if it might be suspect. That basic respect is the least I can do, especially since my work deals with the macabre. But..." he cants his head. "...given the context of the town, he seems rather a bit more significant than your usual town colour."

He looks at Byron when he speaks of the forest, eyes wrinkling a touch at the corner. "I've received a lot of warnings from long-time residents of this town. Not to ask questions. Not to venture too far, at least without backup. Not to stare too long into the shadows."

There's this lift to Byron's brows at the very mention of Alexander. "Figured he'd be part of your welcome wagon into town." Taking ahold of his coffee mug again, he downs another sip, before offering some advice, "Clayton. Alexander Clayton. If you want to learn about what make Gray Harbor ticks, he's definitely one to inquire. I'm sure he has notebooks upon notebooks of everything going on in town, whether they have some truth to them or not. However, with these rash of murders going on." Yes, there were five of them reporter in the news today, "I believe he might be kept busy with information chasing."

"As for these warnings, some of it is ludicrous. I mean, it never hurts to ask--" Byron start, then stops himself, "Okay, that's not completely true. There are things that probably shouldn't be poked at, but every town has a dark underbelly." And he's not talking about the supernatural. "That aside, you'll never learn, if you don't ask questions."

"I'm here for folklore and mysteries. I frankly, don't want to know if the town founders have deep, dark secrets. Not unless they manifest in a good yarn that sells books." Dante chuckles and motions with his hands. "So my question-asking is to learning more about that particular corner of this town."

He picks at a nonexistant thread on his pantleg. "I've also noticed a distinct distrust of outsiders, especially those asking after anything supernatural. I've had people look at me like I might mean them harm."

"Oh? So it was fear and not hostility that you encountered?" Byron asks, his head cants to the side, "The older generation might take offense to your questions, perhaps due to town pride or," He shrugs, "Having their own experiences. But if you're ever faced with hostility due to asking questions, you should inform the GHPD. Or let me know and I can pass the message along. Our town won't flourish if we treat those who show interest in it with scrutiny and distrust." Here he has to laugh, "It definitely won't do my festival any good. Thank you for the brochure though. It was very informative and gives me a lot to think on."

Settling back into his seat, his posture more relaxed, he brings up, "If you'd like me to give you a list of interesting people in town that I believe that you should meet, then I can create one for you as well. It must be difficult for you being alone here in a small town."

"It read to me as a general leeriness of strangers asking questions about their town's dark underbelly. It's understandable, and I've encountered it before with true crime cases. Not so much when I ask about things that go bump in the night, though. Hardly something to call the police about." Dante sips his coffee, finishing off the rest of it. He sets the mug aside.

"Oh, you got it. Yes, I was unpacking my suitcase and I found it shoved in a pocket. It was a fairly successful event." Then, "I've found people friendly enough. But as it goes in small towns, people have found their enclaves, their circles. It can be difficult for an outsider to break in, especially one who sounds funny and dresses in bright suits." He grins, "But I've also found more readers than I've been expecting. And I would, yes, appreciate some good old fashioned introductions if you'd be willing."

"Good, once I have a few things sorted away," Byron says, straightening up in his seat once more, "I was thinking of holding a small get-together. Possibly here in my apartment, unless I can convince a friend to let us use his dinner boat. I'm sure that I'm not the only one who recognizes your name or who had read any of your books. But there's a few people that I'm sure you'll find of some interest, whether they have tales of the unexplained or something more mundane yet fascinating. One of my invites is a real Indiana Jones. She's back in Gray Harbor looking into something of interest of her own. I'll let you know when I get this arranged," A pause, "And I hope that your stay here in the Bayside Apartments is less... exciting? Alarming? as it has been in recent weeks," Make that months. "But then again, you're a horror writer and I'm sure you relish in these things."

"I relish in fiction, Mister Thorne. I'd prefer it if most of these myths turned out to be untrue, as most involve human suffering. But I do love a good yarn, and a good mystery. Though I'd be happier if this boy was found unharmed, having just snuck out in a joke in poor taste." Dante shifts a little, then inclines his head. "Happy to meet more people. I am a people person. And I am interested to know who you think I would find interesting."

Then his tone drops a bit. He glances off to one side, then back to Byron. "There is...nothing for me to be concerned about, is there? In these flats, or in the town? I've heard of a serial killer on the loose."

While the man may seem curious, fascinated even, by the stories associated with this town, this concern that he holds in the fact that he hoped that most of it were myth isn't lost on Byron. There's this brief moment when he allows his gaze to meet with Dantes, his mind pondering on a few things, when he adds, "Untrue or not, Mister Taylor, whether these are unexplained happenings or something far more mundane, people are suffering."

Then he is asked if there's anything that he truly should be concerned about, that gaze holds once more. "A serial killer is loose," He'll give off this tidbit, but it's not as if it's not a rumor going around town right about now, even if Mayor Addington discounts it, "Some believe it to be the ghost of one William Gohl AKA Billy the Ghoul. A prominent enough serial killer in the Pacific Northwest dating back to, maybe 1910? History wasn't my best subject. As a full disclaimer, two of his victims were murdered in this apartment building." This exact building, not the complex as a whole, "Another was attacked just recently. I have added additional security to do patrols, but I'm afraid that nothing is stopping this murderer from getting in." He tries to keep his voice level and calm, though there is a slight strain that can be heard in his tone as he's been dealing with this for quite a while now! "While I cannot one hundred percent guarantee your safety, there's a pattern to be found in these murders and I do not believe that you fit that pattern. But I am doing all that I can to try and prevent any further attacks." A pause, "Some believe that these murders were done remotely. Psychically." He then comes out to say, "Do you know anything about that sort of thing in all of your research?"

Dante may seem an open, affable sort of guy, but it seems he can hold his cards close to his chest when the situation calls for it. It's hard to say what his reaction is to everything Byron is saying, partially because he holds his hand up over his mouth in ostensibly a thoughtful posture. It hahs the effect of obscuring his face, and the small microexpressions. "How do you secure against psychic attacks?" he says, mostly rhetorically.

"Forgive me if I'm not totally put at-ease. Two people in a single building is a relatively high ratio for a town this size. What is the profile, praytell?" And as for research? "Oh, well, dozens of supposed cases. Some of whom had a flesh and blood perpetrator, in some cases who was tried and arrested, but the killer claimed his innocence. In the cases where there wasn't a clear human killer, well, the deaths could be attributed to natural causes. Not any so-called locked room killings, except a few historical ones that are too vague and contradictory to be relied upon."

"That's just the thing Mister Taylor, there are particular families being targeted and so far only members of those few families were affected." He means killed. Byron's brow knits, his eyes looking to Dante with curiosity, "As you may have heard, if the news report ever leaked out, because I know that sometimes they try to suppress this information due to the family involved, one of these families is the Addington family. They are the most prominent of all of the families and the ones pi--" He was about to say picked off, but that's pretty rude, "They are the killer's chosen victims. From what I've been told a Sheriff Addington back in the day was the person to capture Billy the Ghoul, so his spirit might be out for vengeance."

There's this almost droll tone to his voice, "Please tell me that you're not in any way related to the Addingtons by blood? Or to any of the old families here." Byron has to add that last part on.

"That is the pattern. You're either of Addington blood or one of a small handful of old families which stem from a sole family, supposedly, driven out of Gray Harbor for just as long, perhaps even longer than when William Gohl was alive." He then turns his face to the side to idly scratch at a spot just below his chin, at his neck, when he responds, "How would you handle a ghost? Exorcism and any manner of occult involvement. But that is not my expertise."

"Interesting," says Dante. And he seems to mean that. "That's a proper macabre legend and cycle of violence." He says that with all due respect to the real victims, but this stuff is his bread and butter. It's easy to see the wheels turning.

"Unless these Addingtons are also related to the Queen, I highly doubt it. I've got some relatives in British Columbia, but that's as close as they come, and they've only been here for a generation."

As for what to do about it? He puffs up his cheeks. "There's a lot of lore on the topic, certainly. About how one would put a deadly spirit to rest, or ward against it. That is, if this really is a spirit and not some Scooby Doo-ish scenario where an enemy of the family is using the legend for cover. If that's the case, I suggest you find some meddling kids with a stoner van." He grins.

"We've spoken to the Addingtons, the heads of the household." Byron says, his brow lifted now, before he asks, "None of this will be written in your book without permission, I'll assume? The last thing that I need is for the Addingtons to put blame on me for revealing the types of things they are involved in." He stops himself almost abruptly, but was able to finish his sentence, following up with laughter in his tone, "Not that most would believe it anyway, but they are wealthy and powerful enough within this city to crush anyone who opposes them, or so I've been told." A pause, "Anyone alive anyway, they are still trying to get a handle of William Gohl, but what they've informed me is that they've been keeping the ghost asleep for years. Only recently has something or someone awoken him and that's when the murders started."

Dante lifts a hand. "You don't have to worry, Mister Thorne. I write books for the tourist trade, for people interested in local history. I'm not here to write an expose'. I'm not a journalist." Then he listens to what Byron has to say, "...and it's unlikely many people would believe that, in any event." Though he doesn't look like he's dismissing it out of hand. But he did mention he tends to listen to people without judgment.

"Very good then." Byron says, seemingly content by those words. Though even he's wary about what people say and what they actually do. Still, he rises to his feet, "I have a friend in the hospital currently," That's not ominous at all, "And she needed me to bring some things over to her during visiting hours, so I'm afraid I will need to cut this discussion short." A pause, "From what I've said, I don't believe you will be targeted by Gohl." There's no 'If you believe in any of that' said, it's almost as if he, himself, believes in it in full. Though he was dancing around the whole supernatural thing earlier. "There are other things to be made aware of. Things that have a few people concerned, but right now, I'm not even certain as to what they may be. I'll send you a message about the dinner that I'm throwing and don't be afraid to leave me a message or contact me in any way if you need any help or have questions about anything further."