Log:Meeting Clarice

Meeting Clarice
Participants Bronwyn, Clarice	13 April, 2018 Bronwyn meets Clarice and offers her a place to stay.
Location Lethbridge Library
Bronwyn is back to her daily ritual of burying herself in books in the library. She has, finally, managed to make some friends but her weekdays are still spent poring over old tomes and trying to figure out the secrets of this quiet part of Vermont. Her hair tied back in a ponytail, huge glasses perched on the end of her nose, she tilts her head from side to side and stretches out to yawn. It's been a long day. It's towards the end of library hours. That's when Clarice walks in like someone's who's never been. She has that wide-eyed look to her. Hands in her jean pockets. Blazer scrunched up between her arms. Once through the doors, she takes a few moments to peer around. Is she in the right place? Maybe, maybe not. She's here, at least. Sigh. She wanders to the information desk, which, coincidentally, is fairly close to where Bronwyn is doing her research. That means her question to the information desk attendant can be overheard easily in the quiet sanctity. "Do you have anything on the -- the Vernon family?" It's not a common name in these parts, so the attendant gives Clarice a blank look, a shrug, and a suggestion. Which is taken, not knowing any better. The small woman turns and starts to head in the direction indicated. Bronwyn looks up from her studies at the sound of voices. It's usually so quiet she's convinced the attendant has stopped breathing. A smile for the other woman before she interrupts the silence once more. "Excuse me. I couldn't help but overhear. Did you say you were looking for information on the Vernons? I was just reading something about them..." She gestures at the pile of books near her. "In...um...one of these." Clarice stops in her tracks and nods her head in the affirmative. "Yes." Eyes shift over to the books for a moment. "You've heard of them?" And then, she proceeds to study Bronwyn. She heard her, so she knows that one of those books may have information, buuuuuuut, no, right now, the small woman contentedly looks the other woman over. Like she's sizing her up, or trying to figure out her aura. It's a bit odd. This persists until she talks again. "Would you mind if I have a look through your books, then?" "They're not my books, so please, look away" Bronwyn smiles, gesturing to a chair opposite her. "Have a seat. I'm Doctor Bronwyn Gallagher but, please, call me Bron. You're a local?" She starts to sift through the books. "It /may/ have been in this one" she muses, offering over a copy of 'Families of Iron'. In response to the direct question, Clarice shakes her head. Then, she explains. "Came looking for my family, actually. I -- " Beat. " -- I don't remember them." Oh! Amnesia. Might be weirdly common around here. "Met a man in Detroit that thought I looked related to some fellow named Michael Vernon. Something like that." She takes the copy of 'Families of Iron' and opens it up to the front. Clarice's hands are wrapped up, her fingers taped, as if she had just come from a boxing match. That's odd too. Small, almost-miniature woman. Boxing? Those sorts of leagues are supposed to be illegal, right? Little people boxing? "It's good to meet you, Doctor," says the pixie-haired younger woman, as her gaze falls to the pages. "I'm Clarice." "Michael Vernon? Sounds like an actor. What was the name of the person that told you that? And a pleasure to meet you, Clarice." Bronwyn's brows furrow a little. "You don't remember them? Amnesia? Umm...how can you be sure Clarice is your name?" The signs of Clarice being a boxer are certainly noticed...and more cause for concern. Amnesiacs should be under medical care, not wandering the country looking for strangers. "Do you know how you lost your memory?" That question is met with a guarded expression. "Not precisely." It's an evasive answer. "And, I'm not really sure, but -- " The small woman shrugs her shoulders. " -- the name seems right. I like it well enough, and that's what matters at the moment." She explains. "Presuming my family //is// here, perhaps they could tell me who I am, right?" Makes some sense. "That's why I'm looking." All of this is said in a dull, absent murmur; her eyes don't leave the book. "You, ah -- you a researcher, Bron?" And then Clarice looks up from the book. "You seem to be one. Sound like one." She cants her head a little to one side. "Knowledgeable about local families, it seems." That seems to pique her interest. "I'm an anthropologist" Bronwyn explains. "I investigate societies and the people inside them. How they function. The tales they tell. Usually I would be in the wilds of Africa or South-East Asia but I heard about this place and thought it sounded interesting. Lots of fairy tales here that are still held as truth. Superstitions still enacted by everyone. And the tales are from all over the place. Some have no equivalent anywhere else in Vermont. So how did they get here and..." Bronwyn smiles and shakes her head. "Sorry, I'm babbling. I don't know if I'm an expert on local families, not yet at least, but I'm getting there. Someone you could try is the local gossip columnist in the newspaper. She seems to know an /awful/ lot about this place. Wish I could organise a time to talk with her." A nod to the bandaged fingers. "Is that how you're earning money to live? Fighting? " Clarice's fingertips curl against the pages of the book. "No, actually." She shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant. "I fight only to protect myself. Otherwise, I avoid trouble." She explains. "I sort of go from place to place. I'm following a lead right now." It doesn't sound like the whole truth. "I work at a local restaurant for a bit of cash, and so that I can take whatever food's leftover at the end of the night. Then I find a place to stay." So, she's a bum, basically. "Otherwise, I, ah -- train, I guess you could say. Keep my eyes and ears open for opportunities, information." She closes the book, and slides it aside. That way, she can rest her forearms on the table, and slump/relax a little. "And, if I figure there's no more leads here, or it has dried up, I'll go back to looking. Might mean I leave town." So, she's a //hobo// bum. "Can I ask some pretty basic questions and they're not meant to insult you in any way. To find these Vernons...have you checked directory? Or is there no one called Vernon in this town? In fact..." Bronwyn glances around before spotting the antiquated computer that is hooked up to the internet - it's a library, at least she hopes it is. "Why don't we go on that computer and do some searches for this Michael Vernon and the Vernon family?" "I'm glad that you're getting some work though. At least the cops around here don't seem to hate travelers like some I've seen" Bronwyn notes. "If you need a place to stay..." She rummages around in her pockets for some paper and a pen before scribbling an address down. "I've rented this place. It's a bit out of the way but I don't use anywhere near all of it. I'm sure we could find you a couch." Clarice seems like a very patient young woman. She first responds to the questions. "I haven't checked yet. You intercepted me before I could." Which is sort of true. "And we could look at the computer, but I don't want to do that right now. I'd rather talk with you." Which also seems sort of true ... for whatever reason. She shifts gears. "I appreciate the offer." Clarice reaches out for the piece of paper. "But, it leads me to a question." Beat. "If you know that I fight and train, why would you invite me into a place that you stay and sleep?" She frowns in a concerned way. "That doesn't seem like a wise decision to me. We just met." She holds up a wrapped-up hand. "And I'm clearly on the wrong side of dangerous." But, she's so small and quiet; what harm could she pose? "I don't have anything worth stealing I assure you" Bronwyn replies with a snort of amusement. "I study people. I study how they work together...or not work together. I'd rather a world where we help each other than one where we're worried about what it means for me." A shrug. "Maybe I'm crazy too? You don't know me either. I could be a serial killer cannibal who lures young women to their death. We both have to trust each other for life to work." Clarice smiles a little at the suggestion. "I suppose that's true." She isn't convinced. "And I suppose the offer is yours to make." The little woman takes the paper and puts it into her blazer. She says no more on the peculiarity of opening one's doors so easily. Then again, she sounds like the kind of woman who's sure of herself, and who might want a night on a couch over wherever she normally crashes. "So, do you know how to use the computer directory?" Since the computer is elsewhere, Clarice gets up to her feet briskly. "Maybe we can find something out before the library closes." Beat. "Do you want me to carry some of your books back to where you're staying? Do you walk there, or take a car?" Because, apparently, she //is// coming with. Adventures can be had anywhere, after all. Hobos do like to travel. "These are all the library's books. We can leave them on the table and the attendant can put them away. I think he's a bit mad at me for making him earn his pay" Bronwyn smirks. "I usually walk back to the house. This place is pretty quiet at night. And if I have a fighter with me, I'll be even safer." Packing up her laptop, she makes her way over to the computer and sits down. "I think we can make this work. We just need to get on Google." She turns it on and laughs. "Ask Jeeves? This boots to Ask Jeeves?" Bronwyn peers over at the attendant before returning to the computer. "Let's find Google. I should get a car though."