Jack lives twenty or so minutes from Tamarack Falls, on the road to Fort Brunsett. It's not totally out in nowhere, as the main road is rather close to his cabin, about half a mile up a dirt road which will make every car muddy and dirty this time of year. The yard is cleared and mostly dry as he's strewn chips of wood to keep most of the mud at bay out there. The horse is outside and watches the visitors curiously while munching on some hay.
The cabin is warm and cozy, they'll be given a loud COME IN when knocking. He'd have asked they bring their own snacks or food, cause all he has is beer and frozen pizza, unless they feel like barbecuing in the snow.
Avalon's ride is a decade-old Jeep Wrangler, black with signs of rust from all those winters of having to deal with salt on the roads. She hops on out, her duckboots keeping feet dry in the muddy conditions she was expecting. But, hey, wood chips. That's handy. Jeans, a peacoat, and a warm woolen sweater round it all off, as she comes a-knocking. But not empty handed, oh no. That would never do. There's a brown paper bag in hand, that looks stuffed full, with the logo of her cafe stamped on the front of it. She pulllls her feet out of those loosely-laced boots, by the door.
Some time after Avalon's arrival, someone's ye olde Bronco pulls up front. Out pop some people: Franklyn is just about finishing a cigarette with C.B. when the 'COME IN' sees the duo, well, heading in. The Mortal girl is dressed semi-sensibly - fur gilet, red-and-black wool coat, jeans, boots, whatever. In spite of the woodchips, her duck boots are covered in a bit of slushy mud which is just about kicked off at the door, although she's bound to drag some muck inside.
Also C.B., whom Frank nudges with her shoulder for some reason, then turns and gives a wave to the cabin. Where's Jack? There's Jack!
"Ranger Rick." She says, with a whimsical hand gesture to tip an invisible hat-- she stops abruptly as she notices Avalon. Oh! Oh. Oh? The cigarette is puffed on hastily, as Franky looks to those gathered, attempts a smile, then raises her eyebrows. "...Soooo." A beat where Frank looks to C.B., then she snaps her fingers and points at the other two perfectly normal Mortals. "What's been happening?"
C.B. is here -- the driver and owner of the Bronco, a black 1969 number with bumper stickers like 'I THINK -- THEREFORE I'M DANGEROUS.' He's wearing his brown leather bomber jacket and newish Red Sox cap, hands slung deep in said jacket, shoulders hunched, also smoking. Pale and tired-looking. The one Lost amongst the three mortals. Funnily enough, this isn't an entirely unusual situation for the likes of C.B.
The fire is crackling cheerfully. The cabin is cleaned up and tidy. There's mud at the entrance though, cause you just can't avoid it. Some more rugs strewn out than from when Frank was here last, to allow for shoe-less walking about more comfortably and keeping feet warm.
Jack nods at the trio, waving them in. "Hi all. Sorry about the lack of seating, this it the most crowded this place has ever been." But there's an armchair and two chairs by a table, and a seat at the kitchen counter, a high bar stool. Just enough room for everyone to sit on something.
Goblin bounces over to meet and greet; two new people to sniff today, C.B. and Avalon, but he's not barking nor jumping. "Alright to smoke in here, but I'd appreciate it if you left your boots by the door. I got enough mud from Goblin." Said with warmth however, a glance at the happy big German Shepherd. "Coffee?"
Avalon’s normalcy is debatable. She is one of those Lefevres, after all. “Good afternoon,” she offers with a warm smile. “I brought snacks. I hope that chicken wraps are workable.” The bag is offered towards Jack, who will surely know better than she where to put them. “Franklyn, good to see you again. C.B..” There’s a small upnod, before…
Puppy! Avalon crouches down to get more on level with Goblin, to let him sniff her hand before she offers him a good petting. “Hey there, handsome,” she croons to the dog, as she shakes her head in offer to the coffee. “Oh,” she says, reaching into her coat pocket, to withdraw a diary. “Thank you, for the loan,” is aimed to Jack.
The perpetually grumpy C.B. seems even grumpier than usual lately. He neither says hello to Jack or Avalon, nor greets the 'puppy' with coos and pets. He has not brought libations nor good wishes. He just skulks there, not taking a seat, not speaking, only smoking. I mean, he has to open his mouth eventually. Right?
"Thanks Avalon, you are the best," Jack says, accepting the food bag and the diary, the latter placed on the table by the fireplace for now, very carefully. The food is put on a plate, he pours hot water into mugs for everyone - there's instant coffee, a fresh carton of milk and sugar. Self-serving here, if they want to have some.
"So... what's going on is that Avalon did some work on Suzie Whyte's diary. You managed to find anything?" Hopeful look at the good witch.
Goblin is super happy with pettings from Avalon, but he has to try to charm C.B. He sits in front of the man, staring up with tongue lolling out and puppy dog eyes.
"Please, it's entirely selfish of me," Avalon muses, a little white lie. "I work better when I'm not hungry, and last night took a bit out of me." Those parts are truth, at least. And while the witch does take a mug of hot water after she's finished giving Goblin some adoration, she doesn't add coffee. Oh no. She withdraws a little hand-tied pouch from another pocket, and dunks it on into that hot water, before taking a seat at the table. Legs cross, and she lets out a sigh as she settles in, before she starts to speak. "I did manage to get some information, but not as much as I hoped. As of last night, Suzie was in a white room, immaculate save for the remains of a few animals on what seemed like examination tables, in varied states of decay. The white is perfectly so. They brought her into a small cell, empty but for a pallet on the floor. I saw them give her food and drink, so they don't intend to kill her that way."
If the Good Witch got the diary, what did the Bad Witch get?
Franklyn moves -- giving the grumpy C.B. a careful glance before she's en route to the coffee. Two mugs of terrible black stuff are poured, and the Mortal girl looks from Jack to Avalon and listens, nodding in acknowledgement if not agreement. The cigarette she was smoking gets tossed into the fire - then Frank's on the move again, going to hand C.B. a cup of coffee wordlessly - her hip leaning against the back of the chair he sits in.
Then she blinks. Her head tilts. She watches Avalon as the story continues. Franky? Looks... Well she's looking away, chewing on her thumb nail, murmuring as she gnaws; "No. I don't believe they do."
A beat.
"She can talk to ghosts - I bet, I bet she can-- like a Medium. Suzie--- can you /imagine/? Sharing a cell with a ghost-cat?" Franklyn looks over to Goblin, the back to each of the group in turn. "...Why would they need to have someone who--- I mean, unless they wanted to start conversatio--- /picture it/, right? Like why keep a person around, if you can just kill them and grill their ghost. Essence. Shade? What are they called? The memory, the..." Franky fidgets. Then she clears her throat, and tries to puff from a cigarette that does not exist in her hand - blinking as she looks to the group again. "...Avalon, what do -you- think they're doing?"
Goblin finally gets an open palm from the grumpy Author, if only so the dog can smell his hand. Still no scritches or pet names. He puts out his cigarette as well, in the same manner as Frank. Squints as he listens to Avalon speak. Perhaps trying to put some pieces together.
He accepts the coffee from Frank, though he doesn't look pleased to have it in hand, and doesn't drink from it. He remains silent as his red-snapped blue eyes fall on Frank next, listening to her.
"They're experimenting," Jack says grimly. "They're forcing her to call on the dead, talk to them. Testing her, and her powers. She's a lab rat. Least, that's how I interpret it all." He drinks his hot black strong coffee intently and his hand grips that mug so hard, cold rage hinting in his eyes. "But, maybe I misunderstand it - what /is/ your thinking?" He raises an eyebrow at Avalon, and at Franklyn, eyeing the two women curiously. They're the ones who saw it, not him. "I wonder if she's held in Fort Brunsett somewhere."
Goblin gets all excited and licks C.B.s hand like he's his best friend already, but then goes to to the kitchen island, begging for food.
"From the glances I took at the actual diary, it does seem like the girl could communicate with ghosts. I'm...not sure what the story with the animal remains is. Perhaps trying to see if her powers go beyond just being able to speak with the dead? Unfortunately, I didn't get a clear vision of what they were doing to Suzie herself. I have a few more tricks up my sleeves, but unfortunately none of them will let me actually /communicate/ with her." Avalon lets out another small sigh, looking down into that brewing cup of tea. "But they've got her under constant surveillance. People, and cameras. They’re definitely trying to figure out what she’s capable of, but I don’t know what their end game is.” Mis-matched eyes lift up, and sweep over the other three present. Gaze lingering on C.B. for a moment, with one arched brow. “And what do you think?”
'They're experimenting'. Franklyn swallows at Jack's assessment - no coffee, just air. Her empty hand twitches a few times, then she moves - gently placing it on C.B's shoulder, while she tips her head back-and-forth like she was trying to work out a knot in her neck. No immediate answer. Even when Jack questions her, Franklyn's just watching Avalon. Has she zoned out?
Franklyn must be listening, because she's nodding now and then. Girl probably should have taken her winterwear off, since there's a certain warmth about her cheeks; red, like the heat from the fire was making her uncomfortable. "Y-yeah. That sounds..." No conclusion on what that sounds like, Franky just nods.
And falls silent. For like two beats. Then Franklyn looks down at the deep dark black of her coffee cup, and frowns. "Fort Brunsett, or Florida."
C.B. wipes his dog-wet hand on his jeans, making a face. Then he stares at Avalon, after she questions him. "What am I supposed to think? I don't know anything about anything." There's a beat. "Though I could find at least a few things out." Clearly he hasn't, not yet, anyway. He glances over at Frank, looking into her face, but doesn't say anything else.
"They got resources. A facility, equipment. Organised. They followed her first, studied her." Jack lists things, staring out into the air, drumming fingers against the mug as he leans against the counter. Idly he takes one of those chicken wraps, feets a bit to Goblin, and eats some himself. He blinks suddenly, refocusing. "...Florida? Why do you think that?"
Goblin takes his treat and lies down to munch it, but lifts his ears and stares at Franklyn too when Jack does. As if he's wondering the same.
The bag is plucked out from the mug, placed neatly on a napkin. She watches Franklyn, listening with little nods. But when C.B. stares at her, she looks to the author, staring right back. "If you could, that would be helpful. I don't think any of us quite know what the other is capable of, save for perhaps yourself and Franklyn." Avalon brings her tea up for a slow sip, thoughtful. "Jack's right - they've definitely got some financial backing. This isn't the first time that they've done this, surely. Sadly." Her lips purse, and she looks back into the tea. Like it might hold some sort of answers. "Yes, why Florida?"
Franklyn's hand on C.B's shoulder moves - nudging him a bit, after he speaks with Avalon. Encouragement, maybe? She looks back at the author with a serious and uncharacteristically reserved expression - what a weirdo duo, but it's strange enough for Alexanders and Garreaus to mix at all. Finally, Frank looks back at Jack and Avalon.
She seems nervous.
"...There is an organisation," Franklyn says - the coffee mug is still held, but the liquid is being jostled slightly. "The Feldmann Institute - they... It is suspected that they have a facility in Arcadia, Florida -- don't let the name distract you." Why would it distract anybody? Franklyn swallows and continues, "They held a gala last year - I won a prize, after correctly guessing the, uh, patterns of some cards -- that's not relevant!" She insists, the blathers onwards; "I was supposed to go there, but I never did; Be-- C.B. stopped me, because it seemed weird -- look, /look/, they have a lot of money and connections in the phar-pha, in the pharm-- the pharmaceutical industries. I think. Jesus. I think that's what it--- I have, there's my research--- I, they're testi--- like lab rats-- but I don't, I mean, I don't know /how/ one, one blows up-- one blows open a story like--- it..."
Some coffee spills, hitting the floor with a 'splat!', but Franky doesn't notice. She might just ramble on for a while, if not stopped.
C.B. lets a breath out his nose as Jack asks about Florida, like that's a subject of some frustration to him, but he doesn't jump in and cut Frank off. He /does/ squint at Avalon at some point, though. "Wait -- what?" Squint. Squint. "What are you talking about? Frank and I know what each other can do, but no one else does?" That part is true, at least. He stares at his boots as Frank describes the Feldmann Institute, brooding to himself. For whatever reason, he eventually glances up at Frank and gives her a mildly inquisitive look.
Jack sets his mug down, slowly and deliberately, listening to Franklyn's information. At the tail end he digs out a bottle of whiskey from a cupboard and takes glasses out; he pours one for himself and drinks it all down in one go. "Anyone else wants a drink, badly?" he asks coarsely, moving to fill up for those that want. "Frankie - we need all your research. That's just awesome, what you've done."
He broods, filling up another drink for himself. "I know what Frankie can do, a little. I know a little about Avalon. Me? I'm a cop. And the rumors about my abilities are more or less true. If you hear about me making a circus elephant go bersekr though, that is /not/ true." He smiles mirthlessly, then focuses on C.B. "You're the wild card, to be honest, but I figure you're not making up that you can figure out shit. So, what do you need?"
Avalon’s silent as she listens to Franky ramble on, a few furrows of her brow and a look of mild concern shot the other woman’s way. Because this is not the smoothly talking woman that the good witch met at her café a while back. “Do you have a name for this organization, Franklyn?” Her tone is gentle, without being degradingly so. “Arcadia.” She repeats that word, and there’s a quirk of her lips that’s halfway between amusement and disgust. “How…well. Yes.” Looking back up to C.B., watching him for a moment, before answering. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. You two are familiar with each other, clearly. And while I know Jack from when I was a kid – vaguely – I’ve only met the two of you a handful of times. So…yes. What Jack said. We’ll have to let each other know what we need, to help each other out.” A pause. “I’ll take that whiskey, yes.”
No. Franklyn is not being smooth -- hell, it's like her composure is shook and spilling off around her, really - like back coffee from her cup. Isn't she usually confident? When C.B. speaks about what they 'know' about each other, Frank just looks sheepish - embarrassed or put on the spot, maybe. But it's when Jack gets out the bottle of whiskey, that there's an audible sigh -- not exasperated, only relieved.
After another sheepish beat, she's holding her mug out to be doctored.
"Research. I can get copies -- I'll... Ceebs, can you help me copy-- some can be printed, but I don't want my handwri-- we can transcribe-- I mean, it's all mostly..." Franklyn clears her throat, and adds in a hushed murmur to the author, "Coded." The fingers on C.B's shoulders seem to flex, but Franky hasn't really let go of him in a while.
Nervous mortal. Looking back to Avalon, she gnaws on her lip and nods her head. "Feldman Institute. Yes -- yes, Arcadia." A deeper frown. Franklyn doesn't immediately clarify her position as Avalon speaks about who knows what about who, although after a moment she clears her throat. "...I don't effect anything that isn't already there - I'm just a conduit." Oh now delightfully vague. "Cerise Hogkin is also aware of what the Institute do. She's sensitive to, things. You can speak to her, as well. She spends a lot of time at Homepage books, in Tamarack Falls, I think."
It's funny. Most people around town probably know C.B. is a boozehound, but he doesn't reach out for one of those whiskey glasses. Seems a little out of character, even. His denim-blue eyes study Jack sullenly. "I don't need anything. What are you asking me?" He glances to Avalon again, frowning a touch. "Look, lady, I don't know you two and I don't trust you. And I don't know how that's going to change any time soon."
But he nods when Frank says the bit about copying. "I can type shit up for you, Frank, yes. I'll be your fucking secretary." But there's a little bit of fondness there, perhaps. The mention of Cerise has him adding, "She also works at Cat-22. Cerise isn't hard to find."
Jack pours up generous amounts for Avalon and Franklyn, and leaves the bottle on the table for them to top up if they want. "How far have you gotten, in this research? Anything I can add on to it?" With his police contacts, perhaps there's something he can find that is harder for them, but he wants to be sure, obviously. "I'm still waiting for information about whether other psychics have gone missing in the area. Or died mysteriously." Sip of the whiskey, drumming fingers against glass thoughtfully. "And we don't know, Alexander - that's why we ask. I'm not assuming anything, I'm just asking if you need something from us. But, if you're going to be typing - want to make copies of the diary?" he says, making a friendly gesture. "You two want to talk to Cerise then? I did meet her once..." He did, didn't he. Inside the burning bowling alley.
That quiet concern for Franklyn certainly isn’t going anywhere, as the other woman carries on. Avalon’s fingers on her free hand move in little, slow motions. A tic? Maybe. “And I don’t trust you,” she replies curtly back to the Alexander in the room. “And you’ve not given me much reason to. But all four of us want – apparently – to find Suzie and stop these people from doing whatever they’re doing to her, and quite likely others. And that means working together. Maybe even being civil. Gods forbid.” She takes the glass of whiskey, and downs it like a champ. But doesn’t go for seconds, at least not yet. “I’ve reached out to some contacts in the area. If I hear anything there, I’ll let you know.”
Franklyn fidgets, looking distracted for a moment, "...If we could speak to ghosts -- it felt like that space, that space was protected; I can't, get on the astral plane..." What is she even going on about? Franky chatters onwards; "But if someone who -could- speak with ghosts, could entice... I mean, they're like spirits, no? Someone could request that they go to Suzie, couldn't they? /We/ can't get in there, because we have corporeal forms - but... Maybe if..."
Not confident, no. Franklyn sighs, and gives C.B. a look -- concerned, curious. She nudges his shoulder a bit, head tilted - mime speak for 'what the fuck, guy?' - but in a nice way. A fond way. Really. If he answers or not, Franky waits for a reply before looking back to Jack and Avalon; "I got far enough along with it, before I hit a dead end."
Before any protest by C.B. can be made re: typing requests or his name of -anything-, Franky interrupts and nods to Jack. "Hand the diary over, I can do it -- and nah, we're already in contact with her. I'm the reason she knows anything about the Institute at all; she has copies of my research. You and Avalon give it a go, see how you jibe; like Ceebs said - Cerise is super easy. Just be careful not to give more than you receive; of all of her qualities, 'sharing' is not something that was prioritised during her development."
Look! There's whiskey in her cup now! But Franklyn is just staring down at the black, but not taking any drink yet. What, is she avoiding Avalon's eye? There is a smile, though. About being civil. It widens as Franky bows her head - twisting into a little grin.
Almost out of spite, it seems, C.B. takes a battered flask out of his jean pocket and helps himself to /that/ instead. And yeah, he's definitely going to protest being /Jack's/ secretary, so it's a good thing Frank offers to step in there. He snorts at Avalon. "Great. Then don't fucking trust me. See if I care. No one else does; it doesn't make you special. I'm just here to make sure she -- " He jerks his thumb at Frank. "-- doesn't get herself killed, okay? Otherwise, I could give two shits about Little Suzie Whats-Her-Name." He could be bluffing about all of this, who knows? Big eyeroll when Frank throws Cerise under the bus, and he shakes his head, but doesn't add anything else to all that.
"I could... kind of go in there. Depending on what sort of, uh, openings there are." Jack eyes the bottle, but decides not to have any more either. Instead, he finishes his chicken wrap and lets Goblin have the last bits; the dog has been quiet and watched the four with intelligent eyes. Too intelligent for a dog, if they notice it. "But first we need to know where it is, and if it's in Florida, that's a fucking long way away." He squints at Alexander, snorts a little, and grabs the bottle for a refill after all. Third glass - he might be aiming to get drunk. "Diary is over there, take it. It makes me miserable having it around."
“Talking with ghosts is, unfortunately, outside of my personal wheelhouse. And no, ghosts and sprits aren’t the same thing. Spirits are more... complex. It’s..” Avalon waves her hand, a small gesture. “That’s probably a talk for a different time. But. I’ve got a contact that I can ask. See if they know someone that works with ghosts.”
Something about Avalon's features sharpens a bit, as she looks to C.B. after he speaks. “You’re the one that brought up trust. Unsurprising that supposedly no one else does, if you’re this much of an asshole with everyone. What? Is it supposed to be cool or edgy that you seethe with contempt for everything? Because honestly, it’s boring.” She had put her whiskey glass down. She hadn’t picked it up. But it’s shaking, a little. Hovering just barely off the table, before it resettles. “Was there anything else, Jack?”
Franklyn gnaws on her lip as C.B. starts showing everyone how much of an Alexander he is. Did he fingers just dig in his shoulders a bit? Maybe. But she's giving him a pat, while turning to look at Avalon -- for a second, Franklyn looks embarrassed. Like just straight up embarrassed. Then tired. Then annoyed. Then-- well, Frank's expressive. Double take on that whiskey flask -- it settles her expression into a look of exasperation, followed by a sigh. "Isn't it boring? It's painful too -- and for him, the most of both I imagine. Ceebs, what's worse -- being in pain, or barking loud enough that everybody runs off?"
Moving now, Franklyn sets the untouched coffee down and starts towards where the diary is - going to grab the diary, giving Jack a nod. "He and I will try and get a lock on the location, right?" Book in hand, Franklyn moves back towards the grouchy author, head tilted - curious. Then over to Avalon - who she gives a nod to, but there's not much... Maybe Franky doesn't know /that/ much about ghosts and spirits. What a Bad Witch.
"Okay, I know someone too - discreet - I'll get in touch. I mean... If I could, I'd just visit her in dreams -- wouldn't that be marvellous? Give her a message that way; have hope. Dreams, or that strange space - the in-between space, you know? Silvery world. I don't think I could effect the world on the other side, though, even if..." Franklyn fades out, and sighs. Avalon is asking Jack if there's anything else. Suddenly Franky is looking very tired. Diary is tucked into her bag, and she moves to grab C.B's hand. No words, just a look.
"No. I seethe with contempt for everything because I seethe with contempt for everything, not because it's 'cool' or 'edgy.' Go fuck yourself," C.B. tells Avalon, brow furrowed hard.
His head whips to Frank as she throws him under the bus. "Fuck you too, Frank." He's not yelling, at least. If anything, his voice is kind of quiet. He doesn't let her take his hand, because he's putting his hands on his hips. "The Feldmann Institute is, without a doubt, closely involved in what is being done to Suzie Whyte. Okay? There. I'm not useless. You're fucking welcome." He heads towards the door.
"No, nothing else." Jack seems tired too, moving to sit on that armchair, grabbing the bottle and his glass. He doesn't go after C.B. - he just studies the man thoughtfully, perhaps annoyingly calm about it. Or, it just made him tired. Goblin is watching Jack now and he pads over to sit by the ranger, Jack scritching behind his ear. "For now, we investigate and dig around. Get me that research later in the week?" he asks of Frankie and C.B. "Thanks for coming, I appreciate you all driving out here."
Avalon gives a completely unapologetic roll of her eyes as C.B. tells her to go fuck herself, but she doesn't say anything else on the subject. Or stand, just yet. The witch might have initiated the Leaving Protocol, but she's apparently about to linger for a moment longer. "Twilight, Franklyn," she offers helpfully. "You really should come by, sometime, and we can talk shop." The smile for the other practitioner is warm, even if there's still something of a spark in those eyes, unmatching. "Thank you for having us, Jack."
Franklyn sighs. So there will be no hand holding. When C.B. snaps at Avalon, the Garreau girl merely winces and pinches the bridge of her nose -- head leaning back as she gets a 'fuck you' for good measure. Does she seem offended? Not /really/ -- but at the hands-on-his hips... Franklyn's expression sharpens, and she spends a moment examining, what, the area around C.B.?
Seems like it. It has her distracted, but so does Jack and Avalon -- with some hesitation Franklyn looks over to them, "We'll see what we can do; sometimes things take, uh, longer." Guess how often these two fight - just guess, really, it's not hard. Frank pushes her hair behind her ear, looking to Avalon sheepishly. "Twilight." She echoes, looking at those two-toned eyes, but before she can confirm anything else...
Oh. There goes her ride. Franklyn gives a quick upnod to Jack and Avalon, then scuttles off after C.B., looking... Well, it's complicated.
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