|
Post by Beanybag on Nov 19, 2008 20:37:17 GMT -5
It had only just struck high noon but an hour ago and was already nearing dusk. Townspeople began to scurry about faster than they were before, preparing for the long night ahead of them. Late September, and the tress were barren, devoid of the beautiful orange and red leaves that should have ornamented them. In a house by a rather busy cobble stone road lived a man with black hair covered in a thin layer of dust. He looked deathly skinny, however he didn't appear unhealthy of devoid of any vitality in the least except in his pale coloration of his skin (which most everyone in the town had since the sun seemed to avoid Lively Grove out of superstition, passing over only when it had to). His eyes shown of an auburn color that would have matched the leaves on the trees surround Lively Grove had there been any. This man, Arthur, had gained respect in the town as one of the only townspeople to leave for an education. Even more rare was that he actually returned to Lively Grove after receiving his education from Boston College, as people rarely revisited the town.
Arthur sat by the round window of his second story, looking up occasionally from his old book to look down at the townspeople walking about below him. He sat hunched forward on a wooden chest, supporting the bridge of his book with one hand, and a stiff and yellowed page with his other hand. He'd occasionally bring his hand from the book to the side of his head, pressing one of his unnaturally long and bony fingers against his temple, and intently focus on someone outside the window, and then return his focus to his book. Of what purpose, people generally had no idea, as they usual when it came to the affairs of Arthur Kendalman. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- (Alright, my first RP is up and running. ^_^
Try to start in the town, and if you have any questions don't hesitate to ask.)
|
|
|
Post by Ninmast on Nov 19, 2008 23:14:45 GMT -5
A blue light, not bright enough and out of direct verifiable sight to be spotted from outside, lit up behind the book-reading man and a refined, polite voice addressed him, originating from a blue-haired girl in her teens in an ornate blue gown.
"Arthur Kendalman, I presume?"
|
|
|
Post by Beanybag on Nov 19, 2008 23:30:19 GMT -5
Arthur dropped his book, and nearly fell off his dresser. Then, in a mix of thoughts, he bit his lip, wondering if he should shout in surprise or continue with his train of thought that he'd been working on so hard. He decided to suppress his amazement for a short moment, since he felt what he was thinking about would warrant just as much awe as the girl appearing before him. He quickly scampered and picked up his book, telling her, "Yes, you're just in time! Quickly, pick a number between one and..." Arthur scrambled to think of the correct interval, "and a hundred!"
Arthur pressed his now trembling right hand up to his temple again, trying without success to flip his book open to a page with just the aid of his left hand. The book was brown and worn, not unlike Arthur's attire, and had gray faded lettering on the bridge that read PARAPSYCHOLOGY. After a short pause, Arthur quickly added, "And be sure not to tell me the number!"
|
|
zandyne
Full Member
This is NOT Zetsu. DX
Posts: 1,037
|
Post by zandyne on Nov 20, 2008 0:18:07 GMT -5
A shabbily bundled up figure with light cargo was examining the door with great vigor and comparing it to a piece of paper in his hand with various chicken-scratch on it. Jack wasn't exactly sure if he was supposed to knock on the door or try some other method, he wasn't even sure it was the right location, so he shuffled backwards a little from the house, cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a good, healthy bellow, "MR. KENDALMAN?!"
|
|
|
Post by Ninmast on Nov 20, 2008 10:21:14 GMT -5
The girl nodded, having already selected a number of 42. She took note of the worn title on the book, however. In fact, she seemed to take greater notice of it than of the question, though she was fully capable of addressing both at the same time.
The wear and yellowing of the book suggested it was at least an overly-worn book of fifty years, but likely much, much more, perhaps even a century, but the topic of psychology and parapsychology, or indeed, the very words, wouldn't be coined for another fifty years or more. While she awaited the man's attempt at telepathy, as she fully expected was his intent to judge from the question, his behavior and the book in his hands, and she kept that number of 42 in her mind, she also ran through her head what might be the levels of temporal radiation still on the books and how she might be able to find the origin point that these were introduced into this time stream.
It didn't worry her overmuch, however. Whatever anomaly was produced by those books was very minor. The temporal anomaly that had drawn Nayra Sturiesk to the late nineteenth century had been much, much larger.
|
|
|
Post by Beanybag on Nov 20, 2008 22:30:48 GMT -5
Arthur temporarily ignored the shouting man outside, as well as his loaded arsenal of questions he had for the peculiar blue-haired girl, to quickly ask "It was sixty three, yes?" with some anticipation. From what he understood of the reading, the technique he was hopefully performing would increase his odds of having the other person choose his number to a point that he couldn't be wrong. He only had to mentally suggest the number to the person, which he had been intently doing.
Arthur pursed his lips slightly, exhaling slowly. Arthur's mind was a bramble of stress, amazement, and excitement, all of which he was trying to suppress for his thought experiment he was trying to focus on. Oh, what a turn of events. His book, published in 1885 wasn't a widely circulated nor respected one, and was the first of its kind to use the name Parapsychology. It was only 7 years old, but things in this town aged quickly, or at least created an illusion to that effect.
|
|
|
Post by Ninmast on Nov 20, 2008 22:39:27 GMT -5
"Fourty-two," she corrected with a sincerely apologetic look on her face. "My apologies."
|
|
|
Post by Beanybag on Nov 20, 2008 22:53:38 GMT -5
If Arthur was dissapointed, he didn't have time enough to show it. He closed his book, throwing his index finger in between to mark his page. "I suppose it takes a bit more practice then." He opened his mouth with a look of wonder and of utmost curiosity, and was about to unleash his wave of questioning upon his interesting intruder, when he realized he was keeping company outside. He balled his fists tightly, and flitted to his stairway, before turning back to the girl. "I'm sorry, please make yourself at home, dear, I shall return in but a moment."
And just after he finished the last word, he raced down his stairwell, which was more akin to a wood ladder with its steep and shallow steps. However, they posed no more trouble to him than would a easy, simple set of steps with his quick, thin legs, and small, agile feet, and within a few seconds or so, he was before his front door, opening it up to greet whomever had called for his attention.
|
|
|
Post by Ninmast on Nov 20, 2008 23:15:37 GMT -5
(Did he leave the book?)
|
|
|
Post by Beanybag on Nov 20, 2008 23:17:26 GMT -5
(No, it's still in his hands, added that in for you)
|
|
|
Post by Ninmast on Nov 20, 2008 23:29:12 GMT -5
The girl, the room to herself, made her way about it, taking in the details with an eye keen enough that only one sweep of any particular was required. She hoped to find a similar book, or perhaps some note or something similar that might have answered her question about the book, but it was largely to pass the time and didn't really matter overmuch in the grand scheme.
|
|
|
Post by Beanybag on Nov 22, 2008 12:36:02 GMT -5
In his room was a well made bed that had been sat on, possibly stepped on, ruffling the blanket a tiny bit. A few novels sat scattered around the room, mostly history books that were likely not very accurate. The majority of his books were amidst his shelves downstairs. However, there were a few notes scattered about as well with random quibbles of writing and information written in an incoherent and haphazard manor, unintelligible to most observers. They only contained a thought or observation here and there, with no overlying organization. A small lamp was burning on a mahogany nightstand on one side of the bed, and on the other side against the wall, was the dresser that Arthur had just been sitting on.
|
|
zandyne
Full Member
This is NOT Zetsu. DX
Posts: 1,037
|
Post by zandyne on Dec 2, 2008 4:00:33 GMT -5
He nervously shuffled in place as he had waited, coming all this way had taken quite some time and a bit of money that he otherwise couldn't have been spared if he'd wasted it with being absent-minded. But sounds from within the house quashed that fear mildly. His soul was hoping it wasn't just the resident running down to scold him for disturbing the peace.
He licked his dry lips, and suddenly wanted to smooth back his badly-kept hair for some reason. Things were a lot different and darker here than back in Southern Hill. Jack had to remind himself of that constantly, regardless of this though, he was still going to be nervous as hell.
He'd heard very few but enticing things about Mr. Kendalman and Lively Grove in general. Jack was fearful yet ecstatic about confirming the scant rumors surrounding it from his limited time being there. He didn't enjoy the feeling his gut was screaming at him, but yet he craved this sort of adventure and wonder.
The door opened and his thoughts derailed as did his grip around his precious scrap of paper for the location. He managed to recover from the shock and haphazardly straighten his posture again.
"MR. KENDALMEN?" He managed to still shout at an impressive volume to his face despite the now closed distance.
|
|
|
Post by Ninmast on Dec 2, 2008 7:03:28 GMT -5
Nayra moved over to the scraps of notes scattered about. They may have seemed unintelligible and haphazard to most people, but she was not most people. Indeed, the odder the notes might have seemed, the more important they were to discovering the nature of the man she had used for her temporal anchor. Even if they were naught but incoherent babblings - though she doubted this; the man was reading what seemed to be overly advanced concepts for the time period - that would perhaps be an even more important fact than if it had been something more mundane. There was a feeling in the air, however, that laid over the entire village, and she severely doubted there was anything mundane in the entire area.
|
|
Red14
Full Member
Cwonowopowis?
Posts: 341
|
Post by Red14 on Dec 2, 2008 19:29:11 GMT -5
Some of the townsfolk outside were gathering around someone, either that or they were crowding around the local bar both of which the people had been known to do. If someone was outside they would clearly hear the gentle hum of a Cello being played quite elegantly. The attitude sported by this lofty tune was rather sad and foreboding, it seemed to tell a tale of things to come, things that would not be good for the people of this town. Such was the Music of Alexander Lloyd, it seemed to peak to the very soul with it's sounds. Some people even claimed that they could hear the music speak to them just as if it were another person. Those people however, were few and far between, most people listening to this tune only could grasp it's deep tone of sadness.
As for Alexander's thoughts on the current choice of song, he had none, In fact his body was more of on "auto pilot" since even beginning to play the tune. This was how he thought to himself, most times. It certainly would not be the first time that he has thought intensively about something, opening his eyes to find a small mound of change in front of him. He was only passing through the town currently, he was hoping to rest for a day or so,, then continue his wandering. This time he at leas had a destination, he was going to Connecticut.
|
|