Game Thread

September 3, 1920

Today wasn’t the best of days for First Lieutenant Thompson; word came down from on high regarding the future of the Massachusetts flight testing facility, or rather, the lack thereof. Budget concerns and logistics had the military consolidating, and he’d soon have to pack up his life here and move to either Virginia or land-locked Dayton, Ohio. He dwelled on this pending future. Was it time to pick another line of work, maybe set sail for a distant shore? He needed something to take his mind off the news, and Armstrong dragging him to another one of her social events this evening was probably just the thing he reluctantly needed. She might be using his status to get her into the right places and score an interview or a connection, but he definitely planned to score himself that night.

His mind focused on debauchery, it wasn’t until he reached it that Thompson noticed the Western Union envelope addressed to him jutting out from his locker. He opened it on instinct.



What comes around goes around. Pete Black had Daniel Thompson’s number, and Thompson knew he owed the man a good one for pulling his ass out of the fire more than once the last few years. His brother was in town, needing work? Fine, more responsibility to keep track of was nothing new. Daniel would think of something. He folded up the letter and put it in the pocket of the dinner jacket hanging inside his locker. Naked and exhausted, he headed off for a hot shower; it’ll prove to be a busy evening.

Normally, I'd have alerted the player to the existence of the envelope and let him make the decision regarding what to do with it.

-----

". . . and then she took off her knickers, turned around and asked, 'Where is my chocolate'!"

"Ahh ha ha ha ha!" Roger hadn't had a fare like this one in a long time. The two of them had been commiserating non-stop since he got in the cab. They'd bonded over the pulps Roger had lying on the passenger seat, then discussed their favorite authors and stories, and got into their own tales. He related the time he had to drive three nuns and a flatulent priest twenty miles in the summer heat, and his passenger just turned an ear with a ribald tale from the set of his latest film. Roger knew he'd seen the man somewhere before, but to actually have met Sir Henry Christian Slater was quite an uplifting experience. And it seemed Sir Henry, in his own way, had become quite taken with "his" new, gruff yet jocular driver. They pulled up towards the mansion, behind a series of cars, but Slater gestured to Roger to pull alongside the curve.

"I might be late, but I'm not yet fashionably late," he stated as he pulled two long, thin, rolled cigarettes from his jacket and offered one up to Roger, who took it. It wasn't tobacco. Lighting them both up, Slater raised an eyebrow at Roger, "Tell me, have you read Burroughs?"

Half an hour later, slightly bleary-eyed, they had exchanged contact information, Sir Henry having promised the driver he'd see if there was any proper work out in Hollywood for a cab driver tired of the usual run-around. With that in mind, he trotted up to the front door, fashionably late as ever, as Roger drove off back to his drudge of a life.

In-game, the two players would play this discussion out, but since (for game reasons), I need it to end in this fashion, I took certain liberties. You are welcome to embellish.

-----

O'tway checked his pocket watch again and paced from down the block. It was late and getting later. This was it tonight, the big score. He ran his hand through his slicked hair, and strode confidently towards the mansion. "Find a publisher," he thought to himself, "someone who can provide you with an advance. Charm him like you always do. Let him know how finished the manuscript is, the nuances of your script, the breadth and width of your knowledge, give him a taste, some flavor. Bait, hook, then reel in cautiously." A quick, nervous turn at the statue at the entrance, a brief swig from a forbidden flask, then it's up to the door, and into the fire. The cool night air helped him not sweat, but somehow it always got warmer when he got this close.

-----

September 4, 1920

Several hours later found a curious quintuple lounging by the hearth. The professor of literature, the studied actor, a quite comely young journalist, and her date the test pilot, all gathered, slightly stoned on a combination of the evening's activities, the late hour, and mature discretionary consumables, listening intently to the young, seemingly wealthy dilettante. Their hosts had gone elsewhere, maybe retired for the evening, but as customary, guests were welcome to stay as long as they wished, and Maurice Dubois took this situation to his advantage.

In the next section, I'll let you know what Maurice Dubois relates to you. Assume from the text that you've all become friendly and lit.

Notably, Obbi, durax, and Wildcat are absent from this section. I have provided hooks to allow the first two back in based on (potentially forced) decisions made after the second part of the narration. Wildcat will be handled in the second part of the narration.


"'Relax,' said the night man, 'We are programmed to receive. You can check out anytime you like... but you can never leave!'" The actor finished his macabre allegory to minor goose bumps and light applause as Maurice Dubois waited patiently. He had listened to the increasingly morbid tales ranging from base tentacular creatures of the deep, to the discussion of a colleague's apparent suicide from an over-analysis of Poe, and even through a lurid retelling of a thinly-disguised movie plot restocked with murder and blood-soaked entrails. His turn was next, and his anticipation was palpable.

Leaning forward in the easy chair, the firelight played across Maurice's face, "I have a story that is certainly truer to life than most, as I've lived it." The four others turned their full attention to the pudgy man, who eagerly began to tell them his story. "I'm originally from New Hampshire, just outside of Exeter. My great-great-grandfather was a sea captain who moved our family there around a century ago, and he had a great mansion built out in the woods on a large plot of Indian land. Many of the locals believe our land to be haunted, and after my mother passed almost ten years ago, I haven't since stepped foot in the house. As the sole-surviving heir of my family's fortune, I've left the estate and haven't ever been back. Due to the stigma of being haunted, I haven't been able to sell the mansion off to any prospective buyers." And on that note, Maurice tossed a small cigarette to his lips, lights it and inhales, waiting for your reaction.

His audience stared at one another in abject silence, till after several heartbeats Russel O'tway spoke, "Well, that was anticlimactic." Dubois' face sagged, unconsciously releasing the smoke from his lungs as the ensuing chuckles and snorts perforated him, deflating his already tiny ego like a balloon. This sort of impotence never happened at his poetry readings. His usual audiences tended to be less shallow than these folk; they'd close their eyes, obviously deep in thought, snapping their heads back up to rapt attention when he finished, applauding him off the stage.

Only Sir Henry stifled his laughter, as his curiosity had gotten the best of him. "Now, now, everyone," he said with a smile, "Quiet please. It obviously took a lot for Mr. Dubois to come forward about his family history like this. We shouldn't be so critical when it's apparent he simply isn't as forthcoming with details as we've experienced with our other stories this evening. I, for one," clapping a hand on Maurice's shoulder, "am intrigued, sir."

"And slightly inebriated," chimed in Thompson.

"Hush, Daniel!" whispered Elisha to her date, "I want to hear what he has to say!"

"Your fellow is somewhat incorrect, miss," countered Henry, "I am more than slightly inebriated," even Maurice snickered at this point, "but I am also a man who has little, if any, experience with the true nature of the universe, and if there really is a haunted house in the vicinity, I should like to have a go at it. Unlike the supposedly haunted sorority house of Seton Hall, where several friends and I physically exhausted some shrieking witches to silence, I suspect you probably just need a priest to exorcise the home."

Maurice's jaw dropped in amazement. "I actually had never thought of that."

Elisha was elated, "It's brilliant in the simplicity. Arrange an exorcism, and have it published in the newspapers, removing the home's notoriety while simultaneously increasing the publicity."

"I-I'm speechless. I certainly don't have the resources on hand to handle managing such a service, but. . ."

"Say no more, Maurice," interrupted Henry. "I have some time on my hands in the coming weeks, and I think rather than send a priest out immediately, we'd need to establish some evidence of a haunt. Maybe spend some time at the house."

"Well, I'm not so sure. The house is filled with family heirlooms and priceless antiques. I can't just send people there to run rampant. Plus, I would definitely need to compensate you for your time."

"Don't sweat the details, how about a cut of the home's sale price if we're successful in the exorcism? We'll hash out the details later, you can have your lawyer draft the papers this week, and we'll be there by next Friday."

"That sounds reasonable. . ."

"I'll lend you a hand, Henry," added O'tway suddenly. "I don't have any pressing matters, and the locale might prove ideal for story ideas."

"Yes, splendid!" proclaimed Elisha, "We should make a weekend of it, and I'll write up the article, oh!" She paused. "I just realized I'm going to Washington next week."

Henry shrugged. "Well, just the boys then. What say you, Daniel? Not tied to your lass, are you? A natural adventurer such as yourself shouldn't pass up an opportunity like this. Come, man. Travel with us."

Thompson had been watching the rapid-fire exchange flash past him, till he realized all eyes were upon him. "Fine, fine. I'll go. Now that I think about it, I could use the time away. Would it be alright if I brought along someone to do the heavy lifting?"

Henry smiled. "The more the merrier! In fact, I have someone in mind who shares our interests that might both take us all out there and join in the haunt hunt."

"That all works well for most of it," thought Elisha aloud, "but you'll still need a journalist to tag along from the beginning for a proper article. I'll get in touch with my contact at The New Hampshire Gazette and have him send you someone. Certainly he could spare one of his reporters for this jaunt."

And so it was that Maurice Dubois, formerly of Exeter, New Hampshire, found himself in the position to request papers from his lawyer, and a deal to be struck for a percentage of his sale to be given to this group of intrepid investigators, pending the evaluation and exorcism of his purportedly haunted family home.

-----

September 6, 1920

Fowler listened intently to the woman on the phone. "Yes, yes. Exeter. Dubois. Uh huh. Lawyer. Shouldn't be a problem. Give me the number and address." He stared out his office window at the young man from Wicksboro who had come seeking a job. Forget about his small town resume, turning a puff piece like this into a sensational story might just prove his mettle and make him a worthy hire. At worst, it'd be low-paying freelance work. "Alright, thanks for the tip. I have just the man for this story." He hung up the phone as he yelled out the door, "Miller, get in here, I've got something for you."

You now have approximately a game week for preparations. You may take this opportunity to pose questions to Maurice, arrange equipment, and handle anything else. Embarkation / durax, Obbi / B:L, you are welcome to play out your character's meeting(s) and arrangement(s), or I'll just assume they've been handled or handle them myself. Wildcat, assume you know any basic information about the house that Elisha might be privy to in the prior and resulting narratives.

Remember, you can control the actions of your character, but generally not that of others; assume natural reactions. Write with trepidation, assuming you might be interrupted or contradicted by another's action at any moment. If, at any time, I or another makes your character do something that he would not do (without letting you know beforehand), please let me know immediately so we can rectify the situation.

The next planned narrative session will take place at Maurice's lawyer in Boston on Wednesday, September 8th. All player characters should expect to be in attendance. Wildcat's character will be expected to travel south.

As stated in the narration, it's not necessary for you to hang around and Slater was set-up to contact you, so...

Roger's cab sat outside the estate for hours. Many party-goers left, but his entertaining patron was nowhere to be found. Realizing he might seem a bit like a stalker, and recognizing an excellent opportunity when he saw one, he instead picked up the heavy-set, and heavily inebriated gentleman wearing the tuxedo complete with top hat and drove him and what was apparently his very comely (and somewhat inebriated, but quite flirtatious and neglected) niece back to their hotel.

September 4, 1920

Around mid-morning, exhausted and spent from having helped the woman drag her companion up several flights to pass out on the bed, and then relaxing for some time while receiving a bonus tip on the couch, Roger drove the cab back to the taxi station and reported in a full night and morning's accounting; having pocketed the extremely generous tips from both prior evening's memorable fares.

"Hey Raj!" It was Barney, one of the other drivers. "De Palma says he was looking for you this morning. Wanted to tell you he's not your personal secretary. Seems some low-talking, husky-voiced man called earlier and left a message for you. It's over on the tackboard. You aren't cheatin' on me, are ya?"

"Never crossed my mind, Barn!" The words almost didn't come out of his mouth; Roger was so stunned. Just from the description, he knew exactly who had been on the other end of the receiver. Energy flowing back into his limbs, he made his way straight to the board.

Roger took the note from cluttered board, with a small smile. It's nice to know De Palma still cared enough to even bother making a note like this for him, albeit with his own pleasantries.

Roger took out Slater's contact information, and took a quick look around the station. De Palma wasn't around, and Barney had already taken off. If anybody else was around, they didn't seem to be within earshot.

After dialing in the numbers to Slater's telephone, he waited. And waited. The familiar husky-voice, though a bit fumbling, answered. Seemed to be a bit early for the Actor. Guess Hollywood's still sleeping, after all.

"I'll swing to your house near mid-day, Slater. Get yourself managed and we'll talk more about what we've chewed on. See you then."

Roger kept the message to him brief, without even waiting for Slater's reply, not even sure if Slater actually comprehended the message. Last thing he needs is De Palma catching him using the station phone for non-business purposes.

Roger went by his cab and got ready to head out, to be halted by a squawking stunted man in a booth.

"Where're you going, Roger?"

"I'm making a run, in case you haven't noticed" replied Roger with a stiff voice.

"You better be making a run for customers, you ain't got that thing to take a tour of the town whenever you damn well please!"

"A Tour implies there's things to see in this city. I'll return later." keeping his true sentiments to himself, Roger swiftly enters his cab and sets off for Slater's, hoping to figure out more about what they talked about last.

- - - -

Another term for a blackjack is a "sap". Any and all are welcome to continue your prior-round reveries, but I'm always of the "let's get moving" variety, so for the sake of expediency, I'll try to post a new major round every 4 days or so, pending other developments.

Inventory
Since this is a typical day and you intended to go to a lawyer's office, no one is "armed" (as in, carrying a pistol, shotgun, etc.), as that would be illogical. Even if you are dealing with a lawyer.


Wednesday, September 8, 1920, 9:45 AM

The eager reporter was first to arrive at the offices of Edgeworth Associates on Providence Street. Directed to wait by the receptionist as he was early, Ben Miller sat patiently in the lobby with his notepad on his lap and pondered punctuality. This was the first time he'd actually been early, rather than on time or late to an engagement. Certainly in the future it would help to arrive somewhat early and be there for a while to get a proper perspective on the situation rather than being his habitual late self. It would also help to actively participate, but that would come later, if at all.

Eventually, five other men filed into the office, three of them seemingly knowing each other. Brief introductions and light chatter were made among all, until the receptionist invited everyone into the meeting room.

Behind a large oaken table sits Maurice Dubois and his lawyer, Stone Edgeworth. "I'm going to need each of you to sign this contract before you go to my family's house." He pushes forward an eight page document. O'tway's jaw drops at the sheer complexity before him while David, fresh off the farm, squints, as he has never seen printing so fine in his life.

"Basically," explains Edgeworth, "it states if the so-called 'haunt' is removed from the house, you will receive your ten-percent share of the sale price of the home; this includes the home and all furnishings. You are not to engage in any malicious destruction, or remove from the property any item or items found in the house without the express approval of Mr. Dubois. You'll be held responsible for any damage deemed excessive that you may cause during the course of your investigation. A separate contract, devoid of the percentage award, has been made available to you," indicating reporter Ben Miller, "and any hired help." Edgeworth pushes forward a slightly smaller sheaf of paperwork.

"If it's alright with everyone," says the reporter, "for the purposes of my article, I'd like to review both documents."

Each person receives an opportunity to review the document, to make sure they aren't signing away their souls. At least the pen ink is black.

No one signs unless they state so.


Skill Checks:
The "rolls" mentioned in the other thread come into play at this point, as they are made against your Law Skill. This is referred to as a Skill Check.

Player Law Skill ratings are as follows:
Wildcat: 50%
Oatway: 15%
Everyone Else: 5%

That's the chance your character had to catch a loophole.

Ironically, the least active player has the best chance, but some other players might also succeed. Even if you don't make your roll, it should not stop you from participating. Essentially, you will not be privy to some knowledge that others (who succeeded) have access to.

If I rolled under your percentage, you caught a loophole and will be informed of it via PM. Edit: PMs have all been sent. If you did not receive a PM regarding this post, you failed to notice anything odd with the document(s) and are likely apt to sign.

I will not always be so blatant or informative when future Skill Checks are made so as to preserve the narrative.

Experience Checks:
In role-playing games, the more your character experiences, the better they develop, systems-wise. The same goes for BRP System. In BRP, if you succeed a necessary Skill Check, that skill gets flagged. At the end of the current adventure, all flagged skills have a chance to increase in % value. This is chance is referred to as an Experience Check. During an adventure, a skill may be used multiple times, but can only be flagged once for an Experience Check. All flags are cleared between adventures. If you look on your character sheet in the main section, a flagged skill will have a * next to it.

Next Step. . .
Please feel free to role-play at this point and I'll have Dubois or Edgeworth respond in kind, or go back and role-play anything bypassed earlier. This is probably going to be your last chance to chat-up Dubois before you head to the house (scheduled for in-game Friday). You can essentially do whatever you wish. I'll post the next session when discussion dies down.


Edits
Any edits I make are for the purposes of clarification or spelling / grammatical errors.

Edgeworth's left eyebrow lowers at O'tway, then he pulls out his own copy of the document (apparently his secretary/receptionist was quite busy) and checks the paragraph in question. "See here, you're mistaken. It's no less than three but no more than six." He points out the text in both copies, which is apparently correct.



Dubois's face turns a slight reddish hue. "My sincere apologies, but I've lived with this house, and honestly it's a proviso of my own request." Edgeworth looks up and glares at him. "You see, I truly plan to pay you all once I sell the house, but I certainly cannot pay you before that time. The market what it is, it might be a couple of years before it is sold, so I cannot pay you once we determine whether the haunt has been excised. I do realize we are speaking in the broadest of metaphysical terms here, and that to you all it's mostly to prove to be a weekend's amusement and you certainly don't stand to gain much from it except for some mosquito bits from the woods, but I'm certain we could devise some manner to decide whether the haunt is gone, once we establish there was one to begin with. Granted, I simply need the stigma of the house being 'haunted' to be removed, so I can move on it in a sales fashion, and once that sale is complete, I certainly can pay you then. Edgeworth, would it be possible to revise that accordingly?"

Edgeworth gives a quizzical look to his client. "Certainly Mr. Dubois," he takes a minute to write some text in-line, "initial here for agreement. Good. The rest of you will need to initial in this area," he points to the now-initialed change, " once you've decided to sign. He then pushes the papers forward.

His alteration appears to be in order.

"Excuse me sirs, but if I may speak to my colleagues for a second."

*I pull Sir Slater, the cabbie, the reporter, the soldier and the farmboy to a side of the room, and speak in a hushed tone*

"This document is not so airtight as they believe. I feel I should leave it at that."

Giving it some further thought, Charles added:

"They found the obvious loophole, but putting such a glaring flaw in the document to begin with leads me to believe the lawyer isn't all he's cracked up to be."

Stupid stupid stupid.

When will you learn to leave well enough alone!?

I don't know what you're talking about Squash

Roger glanced at the Professor, then back at Maurice. Business he understood well enough, but he just didn't see the problem with the contracts that the others have already pointed out.

Taking a step back, he turned his head to Charles, and whispered "Seems like the man's on the level, what's the problem here, O'tway?"

He didn't actually have any idea if the man was on the level or not, but loopholes or not, anything sounds better than his current employment predicament.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing. Just want to be sure we don't get railroaded."

Bloody fucking hell I blew that.

Well, may as well sign the damn thing.

*Charles grabs one of his pens, and signs the document.*

The easiest way to adjust stuff from earlier is to quote from the affected posts and make a new post with your additions. What you have down, while at the moment not 100% grammatically correct, is perfectly fine and is properly retroactive.

If you wanted to interject some earlier conversation that might have been missed, go right ahead and make a new post with your alterations/additions it'll be considered a part of the overall narrative. I won't change my earlier posts to reflect your future posts (unless I've made a grievous continuity error), but what you wrote above effectively alters the timeline without creating any glitches, and is now considered the de-facto series of events.

If you want to go backwards and handle something directly from the prior day, just preface your post with the appropriate date/time of the events as I've done with my own posts. Meanwhile, let me address your most current post.

Others are also welcome to chime in with words of encouragement or suggestions for process.




Dubois looks back, "Yes?"

Dubious looks back, "Yes"

Daniel stares at him for a moment longer. "I'm just wondering when we'll get to the meat and potatoes of this little adventure and if we should expect anymore misinformation or lack thereof."