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World of Darkness: Glimpses of Darkness - Chapter One: A Mysterious Summons [Complete]


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To: [insert Character Name Here]

From: Mr. C. Robillard, III

Subject: Specialized Employment Opportunity

Dear [Character]:

I am writing you in regards to a unique employment opportunity that you may qualify for. I have come across your name during my research as a person of interest, who may possess skills and/or other qualifications related to my current predicament. Henceforth, I am offering you the option of meeting with me in order to further discuss employment and compensation for your services. A meeting will be held at my place of business on Monday, November the Sixteenth at eleven-thirty a.m. The address is as follows:

3645 Highway 18 (Great River Road)

Vacherie, Louisiana

70090

Travel expenses as well as a small retainer will be paid for your attendance at the meeting, whether you decide to accept this opportunity or not. I look forward to making your acquaintance and hope that our possible future endeavors together may prove successful.

Sincerely,

Mr. Charles A. Robillard, III

It took an hour coming from either Baton Rouge or New Orleans to make it to the sleepy Bayou town of Vacherie, Louisiana - population twenty-four hundred and eleven. There was almost nothing of consequence in the small town, save a few grocery stores, a small library, and other normal-looking southern small town trappings. No matter what each person may have expected by the phrase "place of business" in the letter they had been sent, the grand, expansive southern manor home they approached hadn't been it. It was white with a gray roof and brick chimneys, and black wrought-iron railings circling the second-floor balcony that wrapped around the house. The path leading up to the front entrance was lined with large, overhanging oak trees that gave the plantation it's name, displayed on a rather new-looking sign outside the plantation gate that read "Welcome to the Historic Oak Alley Plantation".

On a good day it might have been stunningly beautiful. But on the morning of Monday, November 16th of 2009 it was more creepy than elegant, with the steady mist and the gray skies lending the historic manor an air of eeriness that it might not otherwise have possessed.. at least from the outside. The driveway, however, led not to the main building but around the primary house to the back, where what appeared to be a similarly old but somewhat better renovated building stood. It looked like it had served as a carriage house once upon a time, and unlike the large building, this one possessed an electronic outdoor light that was on, and shining through the grayness of of the Louisiana rain.

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Originally Posted By: Letter
To: Romeo St. Claire
From: Mr. C. Robillard, III

Subject: Specialized Employment Opportunity

Dear Mr. St. Claire:

I am writing you in regards to a unique employment opportunity that you may qualify for. I have come across your name during my research as a person of interest, who may possess skills and/or other qualifications related to my current predicament. Henceforth, I am offering you the option of meeting with me in order to further discuss employment and compensation for your services. A meeting will be held at my place of business on Monday, November the Sixteenth at eleven-thirty a.m. The address is as follows:

3645 Highway 18 (Great River Road)
Vacherie, Louisiana
70090

Travel expenses as well as a small retainer will be paid for your attendance at the meeting, whether you decide to accept this opportunity or not. I look forward to making your acquaintance and hope that our possible future endeavors together may prove successful.

Sincerely,

Mr. Charles A. Robillard, III



Deep South? That's risky. This is definitely a form letter, either I'll be competing or he is forming a team for a project. Getting paid either way, for basically nothing. And no one without some kind of money signs their name, 'the third'.

A quick Google Earth search later had Romeo staring at the plantation on his screen.

Hot, fucking, damn! Wire that place and I could take a year off. Sorta creepy that there is no phone number or email address. I hope this guy is alive. Remodeling from beyond the grave is freaking creepy.

Some well-placed clicks later, Romeo had booked travel arrangements from his current location to make the drive down there.

Better start packing.

Originally Posted By: Boris Karloff
It took an hour coming from either Baton Rouge or New Orleans to make it to the sleepy Bayou town of Vacherie, Louisiana - population twenty-four hundred and eleven. There was almost nothing of consequence in the small town, save a few grocery stores, a small library, and other normal-looking southern small town trappings. No matter what each person may have expected by the phrase "place of business" in the letter they had been sent, the grand, expansive southern manor home they approached hadn't been it. It was white with a gray roof and brick chimneys, and black wrought-iron railings circling the second-floor balcony that wrapped around the house. The path leading up to the front entrance was lined with large, overhanging oak trees that gave the plantation it's name, displayed on a rather new-looking sign outside the plantation gate that read "Welcome to the Historic Oak Alley Plantation".

On a good day it might have been stunningly beautiful. But on the morning of Monday, November 16th of 2009 it was more creepy than elegant, with the steady mist and the gray skies lending the historic manor an air of eeriness that it might not otherwise have possessed.. at least from the outside. The driveway, however, led not to the main building but around the primary house to the back, where what appeared to be a similarly old but somewhat better renovated building stood. It looked like it had served as a carriage house once upon a time, and unlike the large building, this one possessed an electronic outdoor light that was on, and shining through the grayness of of the Louisiana rain.


Romeo's bike cruised down the long driveway of the plantation, variegated twilight playing over the leather-clad form straddling it. He coasted it up to the old carriage house and killed the engine before slowly getting off and stretching as he started to unstrap his Gortex bags from the back. Wet weather was nothing new to the year-round rider and he was more than pleased that it wasn't raining harder. He was early, but not by much. A client could hate you being early as much as being late. A quick glance at his head's up display told him there was still twenty minutes until the meeting, which would give him more than enough time to prepare himself and a rudimentary pitch for whatever he was vying for.

Please be a real person...please.

That thought running a hamster wheel in his head, Romeo knocked on the front door.
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"Vacherie, finally!" Krystal groaned, climbing out of the crap-mobile, after Ian drove it to a stop behind the motorcycle parked behind the old, if well maintained, manor house.

One hand gripped the edge of the car's roof, the other rubbed at her tired eyes, as she arched her back, trying to stretch the kinks out from the thirty hour drive, her cut-off clad hips shifting side-to-side as she worked feeling back into her numb ass. The damp mist made her knotted UCLA shirt cling to her curves, and her auburn pigtails hang limp.

She leaned over, reaching in the back seat for her purse, computer bag, and a light jacket, giving Fawkes a chance to get out of the car. She shrugged into the jacket, zipping it halfway, glancing at Ian out of the corner her bright, green eyes, a slight curve to her lips.

They had been together, sitting side-by-side, working on the set-up of AlienHunter.org, when they had both looked at their e-mails and had pulled up the letter from Robillard at the same time - purely by coincidence, despite what Ian believed. They were both cash-strapped and it only made sense to share travel expenses. Besides, if this job paid well enough - Hell, if it barely qualified as decent - Ian might finally pay her for the work she did on his site.

She had thought the trip would be hellacious, but it turned out to be rather pleasant, if exhaustively long. Ian was on his best behaviour, barely mentioning aliens or conspiracy theories at all, though he was anal about his bottled water, and that damned longcoat made her hot just looking at it. He appreciated the cooler she had packed with drinks and home-made sandwiches and did more than his fair share of the driving, giving her some extra time to work a little on a school assignment. He even played with Fawkes when they stopped for his smoke breaks, since he was kind enough not to smoke in the car with her.

Well, that wasn't bad, wasn't bad at all. Fawkes likes him too. He is cute, especially when he isn't speaking the crazy. Maybe a date when we get back to Vegas... and maybe do something about an itch...

The sexy co-ed turned from her contemplation of her traveling companion and gazed at the manor, the grey gloom making it look like a set from a thousand and one horror movies. She managed to work with Ian, so she'd be able to work with this guy, regardless how eccentric he was... she hoped. At least, it looked like he would actually be able to pay. If the door is answered by a guy in a black cloak and a plastic mask, I am so outta here.

"Well, Ian, guess we should go and introduce ourselves to Mr. Charles A. Robillard, the third, huh?" Krystal said, closing the car door and glancing at her watch. She scratched Fawkes behind the ears, then straightening up as she began making her way to the front door, her high, thick heeled sandals sinking slightly in the damp earth.

The large husky-shepherd followed his mistress, blue eyes bright in mist.

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Lillian glanced again at the well-creased sheet of paper perched on the dash behind the steering wheel, where it blocked the speedometer, odometer, tachometer, and any other 'ometers' that the car might have possessed. The paper had her directions, scrawled hastily down from Yahoo Maps on one of New Orleans International Airport's pay internet terminals.

She was pretty sure she was going the right way.

The hybrid engine on her metallic blue rentacar purred infuriatingly quietly as she turned onto the driveway and followed its victory lap around the ginormous house around to where the predictably oversized garage lurked like a sleeping dragon.

And whaddya know? She wasn't the first to arrive.

In fact...

Lily came to an abrupt halt, startled. She -knew- that car. The last time she'd seen it, it had been on the side of some godforsaken highway in the middle of New Mexico.

You've got to be KIDDING me. Is he behind this?

But then the other door on Ian's car opened, and some gorgeous young thang got out and checked her watch. Lily lifted an eyebrow, wondering how a kid like Ian had managed to score a girlfriend like that. He seemed okay, maybe even a little cute in a gothy kind of way, but she was clearly out of his league.

Oh well.

She popped an unlit cigarette into her mouth and opened her door. Just standing up after an hour of driving was a welcome relief, and she couldn't help but stretch out and groan. Then she pushed her sunglasses up her nose and went over to get a look at the driver of that car to see if it was who she thought it was.

"Ian?"

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Ian was about ready to explode. Close proximity to Krystal for an extended drive as well as being on his absolute best 'trying to get laid' behavior had worn his nerves to nothing. The only thing that hadn't been unbearable had been Fawkes. The dog had not only been a buffer, but he'd been stress relief; when Ian stopped to smoke, he'd played fetch with the over-sized dog. Fawkes liked him, which wasn't a surprise; Ian had always had a way with animals even back-

He stopped that thought before it finished, before it made him sad or angry or whatever other bullshit emotion it pulled up in him. He sat in the silent car, watching Krystal and Fawkes walk up to the house; with a sigh, he pulled his coat around himself and put his hand on the door to open it.

"Ian?"

That single word made the young man jump; he was halfway into the passenger seat before his forebrain caught up and overrode his hindbrain. He turned back, his face surprised, as he said, "Um, Lily?"

The tough beauty nodded, and Ian both relaxed and tensed up more. Foremost, he was pleased he hadn't forgotten her name, since women tended to like to be treated like individual people rather than interchangeable sex toys. On the other hand, this was a fucking huge coincidence. Was there some kind of conspiracy between the two women? It was Krystal that had prompted him to leave Vegas for a few days, so that he ran into Lily. On the other hand, it was never a problem to see a beautiful woman, and the smokin' squaw was totally rockin' the primal woman look.

He started to ask her a retarded 'so what brings you here' but managed to sidetrack his brain into a more suave, "Lemme guess, you have a job offer? Perhaps even from a mysterious benefactor?" Ian gave her his most charming smile; she was definitely on his second string if things fell through with Krystal.

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Romeo could hear someone speaking behind the door - the voice sounded male, and aggravated - but after a moment no one answered, and the other arrivals had started to.. well, arrive. So he rapped sharply at the door again, and this time was answered with a brief but frustrated sounding response.

"Yes - I'll be right there, one moment! I don't care, Marcus, deal with it! I'm trying to get it taken care of now!"

He heard the distinct sound of a phone being slammed back into it's cradle before everything on the other side of the door went silent for a few moments. Then the door opened, and a polished-looking gentleman wearing a pinstriped suit and smoothing out his tie stood in the doorway. He had neatly cut brown hair and was cleanly shaven, although fashionably he looked about forty years behind the times. While not Civil War era by any stretch the apparel seemed to suit the aged quality of the location they'd found themselves in better than what they were wearing, and it almost gave one the impression of being out of place or time.

He smiled warmly at Romeo first, holding out a hand to shake and motioning him inside the carriage house. Once inside they could see that for now, it was serving as an office, and if there was any renovation to be done in this room it would be to renovate it out of the upper-class 1970's, which is when it appeared to have been converted to use as an office, wood paneling and all.

"Please, come on in. Have a seat if you'd like, my name is Charles Robillard - ah, not that you wouldn't know that and all. Or perhaps not, I s'pose I didn't exactly send any pictures, now did I?"

Aside from the normal trappings of an office.. a large wooden desk, a comfortable-looking office chair, and several built-in bookshelves and filing cabinets, it also had a conference-style table and chairs that appeared to have been set up hastily, and not matching to the rest of the room. There were several stacks of papers messily spread out across it, but Charles gathered those up and dropped them on his desk as the rest of them came in.

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Bruce turned smoothly into the driveway, none of the irritation of the past week showing in his handling of the pristine 1984 burgundy Oldsmobile. He lived out his car too often to abuse it just because he'd had a bad couple of days. His cell was on vibrate only now, and the office wasn't likely to call him unless they got another vampire-wannabe serial killing cult springing up. He'd been planning on taking a vacation after that gem of an assignment, but then the letter had come. It hadn't even been hard to get Carl to let him check it out on government time; he wasn't sure if he should be happy about that, or depressed.

He pulled in behind the others, noting the variation in the cars and the Sleepy Hollow feel of the locale. Nothing new so far. I wonder who else he's trying to rope into this? Know what this is wouldn't hurt either. He stepped out of the car, brushing off invisible dust and the wrinkles of a long car drive and pulled his jacket on. No need to spook the spooks.

He made his way up to the carriage house and knocked on the door frame, leaning in to get a look at those that had managed to show up on time. "Hello?"

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Krystal watched the bronze-skinned woman talking to Ian with narrowed eyes, feeling a trace of unease with the coincidence. What are the chances that two women Ian knows both got invited to this.. job opportunity. Whatev, he can talk to whoever he wants.

She turned back to the carriage house, straining for every iota of height and noticed another car had pulled up while she was distracted. Seeing the well-dressed man leaning in the door and glancing at the manor again, she felt under-dressed. She zipped her jacket up a little higher, then undid her pigtails, restyling her hair into a simple pony-tail.

"Fawkes, wait out here and try not to get dirty, 'kay?" she said walking up to the carriage house and pointing next to the door. Fawkes whuffed and settled with his head resting on his front paws, not bothered in the least by the mist that made his coat glisten. She gave the man at the door a nod and a polite smile, then squeezed pass him into the converted carriage house.

Looking around the classy, if somewhat retro, office, and the distinguished man behind the desk, Krystal felt horribly out of place. But she hadn't driven thirty hours to turn back now. Besides, she couldn't afford it.

"Mr. Robillard, I presume," she said stretching out a small hand to the man behind the desk. Her eyes flicked to the other man in the room, dressed in motorcycle leathers, a quirk to her lips. Considering what's been happening lately, it almost wouldn't surprise me if he's Mr. Robillard.

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"Something like that." Lily's smile faded as she looked up at the carriage house and the people wandering past them up to its door. She didn't recognize any of the others, but she wondered if any of the others recognized each other.

She and Ian had as much in common as two names picked at random out of a phone book. The smart money was on 'wild but true coincidence.' Only the paranoid saw patterns where there were none.

Still. It was weird.

"Did you find what you were looking for in Roswell?" Lily asked, glancing back at Ian.

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Ian noticed the arrival of the competition with a practiced eye. It wasn’t that the guy was cruising for ass, but he was tall, handsome and nicely dressed. Regardless of whether he was looking for tail or not was irrelevant; the ladies were going to compare him to Ian, and he’d lose.

He caught the tail of Lily’s last comment and nodded. “Yeah, I found it,” he said, not mentioning that ‘it’ was crash space and some ego-stroking. Though right now, it wasn’t his ego that needed stroking; he wished that Jolene would have fit in his suitcase. He gave her a smile. “Thanks for asking.” It was the little touches that girls found thoughtful that would put him ahead. God, he wanted to curse. And fuck. Maybe curse while fucking.

He climbed out of the car, tugging his coat shut in a well-practiced movement as he straightened. “Well, since we’re here, let’s go,” he said, looking at the carriage house. “Ready to see what’s going on?”

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Still wearing that damn coat, Lily thought, and shook her head with a lopsided smile.

"You go ahead," she replied. "I want to see something real quick."

She pulled out of her vest pocket a folded, battered sheet of paper. On it was a list of numbers of letters, arranged in rows of six or seven characters each. There were many, many crossed out, or imperfectly erased, or scribbled over and rewritten. It was her hot list. License tags of interest.

Each car that had pulled up except her own and Ian's...she'd checked his way back in New Mexico where they'd first met...was scrutinized to see if it held anyone she was looking for. Not all of them were bounties...in fact, only a few were. Most of them would be people she hoped to find to get leads. And most were old enough to be cold by now...but it never hurt to keep checking.

Nothing though. Huh. After the inexplicably odd coincidence of encountering Ian here, she'd thought maybe someone was messing with her. But so far, it was looking like no one else here had connections to her. Maybe it really -was- just coincidence.

With nothing further to do, Lily headed to the carriage house to hear from the man who'd brought everyone here, like a character in a campy mystery novel.

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Ian watched as she started to examine license plates. He wondered if she really thought she'd find a bounty amongst this lot, then considered that she'd found him here. Shrugging, he went up to the small side house and entered, noting that the good-looking guy was here. Scowling at him briefly, he went and sat down by Krystal. After a moment, he gave her a smile, unaware of how unsure and hesitant it was.

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As people entered, Charles finished up his straightening and motioned towards the chairs surrounding the table for those who wished to take a seat. Once everyone had made their way in, he cleared his throat a bit nervously and motioned for someone near it to close the door. He waved a hand in gratitude at whoever was kind enough to do so, and then smiled at everyone present, if a bit weakly.

"I would like ta' thank y'all for makin' it here ta' speak with me. I know it was a long trip for most a'ya, an' I appreciate it."

The southern drawl he spoke with was faint but present, as if the man standing in front of them had grown up in the South but perhaps spent a fair amount of time away from it as well. He smoothed his tie out in a nervous gesture, and then finally seemed to come to an abrupt decision, picking up a stack of papers and rifling through them before glancing around at them all again, this time seeming to measure them each up for a long moment before continuing.

"But I don't suppose it'd be fair ta' waste y'all's time with small talk. I imagine ya'd like ta' know why I asked ya' down here ta' the middle a'nowhere, Louisiana. Well.. ta' be truthful, ya'll are my last hope."

With that, he dropped the stack of papers in the middle of the table where everyone would be able to look them over. Upon closer inspection, they were incident reports - everything from lawsuits to insurance claims to police reports regarding accidents that had all happened at the historical mansion, dated within the last several years.

"Ah only recently came inta' possession of this here plantation. It's been in mah family fo' a long time, since the early 1800's as a matter ah' fact. I grew up heah, in that very buildin', an' I love it with mah heart an' soul. But I always thought it was a waste that we were th' only ones gettin' ta' enjoy such a beautiful piece ah' history. So when my Ma passed away three years ago, I decided ta' turn the place around. I hired ah designer an' a historical architect, an' several contractors. We went through and gutted all the renovations, the additions.. except for this heah carriage house - figured it could serve as an' office a'sorts, at least for now. Well, there were accidents, y'know.. but it's construction work, accidents happen, right? After several of 'em, I figured maybe it was a bad crew, an' I paid off their contract an' hired another group. They had the same problem, so I figured maybe it just came with the territory on these old houses. I was on mah third crew - the second crew quit - by th' time we got it all finished."

He was quiet for a moment, watching as they flipped through the documents and picking up a cup of what looked like lukewarm coffee to take a sip before continuing.

"Well, I figured I was glad ta' be done with that, an' I opened the place up. We were open a week before the first guest incident. We hung signs advisin' people ta' watch their step, we laid rugs for people to walk along. But still.. people were gettin' hurt. Madeline Fields - seven year old little girl who fell down the main staircase an' ended up breakin' her wrist. A gentleman by the name ah' Jacob Browning had one ah'the light fixtures fall on him. Another lady by the name ah Nancy Greer put her hand on one ah' the display stoves in the kitchen, an' ended up with third-degree burns. Those things ain't been fired up since they were brought in. They're antiques - ain't none of us stupid enough to try and fire up an' antique wood-burnin' Civil War stove."

As he spoke, he picked up the stack and pulled the corresponding files out of it, tossing them onto the table.

"Ah started by hirin' inspectors. They gave the place a clean bill ah' health, an' a week later someone put their foot through the floor like it was half-rotten. Ah hired differen' ones, but the same kinda thing happened. Now.. I'm not a superstitious man. But once all the logical steps had been taken.. I started ta' get a little illogical, if ya' know what I mean. An' that's.. where y'all come in."

He looked around the room quietly, studying each one of them intently and waiting for initial reactions.

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Conner stepped forward and began sifting through the papers with a crisp, professional exactness. His expression was pensive and neutral; most of these scenarios were either fraud or overactive imaginations, and Charles Rollibard III certainly had enough wealth to indulge any of his flights of fancy. The renovation of the plantation was proof of that in and of itself.

His eyes slid over at the young woman's outburst, noting both her words and her looks with the same cool professionalism that he'd been rifling through the papars with. His put his eyes back on Mr. Rollibard's evidence and said midly, "It's far more likely to be people than ghosts, miss." He flicked his attention up to the man himself, "Would there be anyone who would profit in some way if this venture of yours were to fail?"

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Charles regarded Lily briefly, and his lips curved up at the corners with a touch of amusement, mixed with a brief flash of annoyance.

"Indeed - you're makin' assumptions, Miss Lily. I didn't say a thing about ghosts - you did. So do a lot ah' other people, a'course.. ever since the first construction crew. In fact, ah've been wonderin' the same thing as Mr. Wells heah.. but that ain' logical either. Ah've racked my brain, an' I can't think of anyone who could profit by it.. at least financially. I ain' got no relatives left to be angry about it. An' most of the businesses heah in town were gettin' a bit of a boost from the tourism. So I ain't got a clue who could be tryin' ta' sabotage me, if that is the case. Then again, "ghosts" ain't soundin' as stupid as it used to either."

His gaze had rested on Connor for much of the conversation, but finally he turned back to Lily, and crossed his arms as he tilted his head a little, studying her pensively.

"An' besides.. it was your uncle who referred you, Miss. Thought you might be able ta' help an' old friend ah' his out."

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One of these days, I'll think -before- I start talking, Lily reflected, and then I'll rule the world instead of getting owned by it.

"Okay...never said I was turning you down," she hedged, trying to backtrack while still retaining some shred of dignity. "I'm just not...I mean, a job's a job. If you're paying, I'm listening. It's just not my usual thing."

She sat back down, rubbing her cheeks to try to work the red out.

"I mean, usually I know who I'm after is all."

Then, way too late to help her much, something Charles said penetrated.

"Wait, how do you know my uncle?"

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Krystal rolled her eyes, then rubbed her temples, nearly too tired to deal with this. A thirty hour drive, for what? A string of bad - 'kay, rotten coincidence, and superstitious bullshit? And he seems that think that it makes perfectly illogical sense that we're here - a student artist, somebody who runs an AlienHunter website, a chick bounty hunter or cop or something, and a better dressed, more handsome Mulder. Oh, and silent motorcycle guy, who probably thinks Supernatural is real. Sigh... Mom would love this.

Krystal got up, and looked through documents, but shook her head, clearly puzzled. Sure, some of the photos seemed vaguely familiar, but plantations all looked pretty much alike to her. If you can draw one of them, you can draw any of them.

"Erm, excuse me, Mr. Robillard, but I'm sure I don't know what you mean. She may have been referred to you and he seems to know what he is doing," Krystal said, gesturing to Lily and Conner, "but I'm just a student and struggling commercial artist. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to get the work, but to tell you honest, I not sure how I can help you. I don't usually do wall art, though I'm willing to try, and about some bad luck, man-made or... uh... otherwise..." Krystal shrugged, raising her hands, obviously at a lost.

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"You have a good eye for things," Ian spoke up, as he stood and shifted around the table, sharing in the perusal of documents that was happening between Lily and the I'm-so-government-I-shit-bureaucracy man. "You might see something that others would miss, just because you aren't trained to look for set patterns. Means something that we might dismiss leaps out at you." He gave Krystal a reassuring smile; even if she didn't think she belonged her, he loved having her here. She gave great scenery.

"Speaking of patterns, what else is going on locally that's unusual?" Ian asked, pausing to look at Robillard. He idly checked the buttons on his coat to make sure they were closed as he clarified, "Any crop circles, other mysterious happenings, anyone else in the area having 'ghost' issues?"

He didn't believe in ghosts, necessarily; there were lots of energy fluctuations that could explain a lot of the hauntings. But you couldn't delve into the world of the bizarre much without learning some things about other types of threats. He had seen and heard enough that he was willing to concede the possibility of life beyond death. It still seemed far-fetched and not at all a science, and you didn't see the government racing to cover up hauntings. But Ian could be a generous skeptic; he was a giving kind of guy, after all.

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Charles nodded slightly at Ian, giving the young conspiracy theorist an appraising glance before he turned to Krystal. He studied her quietly for a moment and then took a deep breath before speaking, as if he somehow he was working on convincing not only her but himself as well.

"Yes, well.. as a matter ah' fact, Miz Johannson, ah'm less certain of why you're heah than I am the others, specifically."

He held up a hand to stave of her reaction, nodding faintly with the knowledge that such a statement probably made him sound crazier than believing he had a ghost problem.

"Ah know how that must sound. Ah should explain. Ah'm a.. well-connected man. Ah know a great many people from many walks ah' life, and fo' this particular venture ah did my best to exercise those types of contacts for useful information. Like Miz Archer here, you were also referred t' me by a common acquaintance. However, ah deeply trust the person who referred you to me. I was told that you can, as Mr. Goldberg here suggests, be a very.. perceptive young lady. For now, let us assume that you are here as an observer. If you are willin' to do that, you will be as well-compensated as the others."

He turned to Ian then and shrugged slightly in response to the other man's question with a slight shake of the head.

"As to your question, ah'm not aware of any other odd happenin's in the area. Ah' course, ah've been a bit distracted with my own issues, but ah'm sure if there'd been any, um.. crop circle instances or.. other significant events, I would have heard about them. And as to how I know your uncle, Ms. Archer..."

His gaze flickered to Lily then, and he smiled a bit wryly.

"Let us say that it's a long story, and ah'd be happy ta' tell ya' about it.. some other time."

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A curious expression crossed Krystal's face. She was both flattered by Ian's and Mr. Robillard's compliments and stubbornly reluctant to accept any seeming charity. She was willing and able to work for what she earned. Who could he know that I know? Is he in Mom's black book? Thing must be the size of the damn telephone book.

"I - thank-you for that, Mr. Robillard - Ian - but I don't need-" you feeling obligated to do me a favour because you fucked my slut of a mother? Yeah, I want everyone to hear that. I'll just accept for now, and talk to him privately later. "- that is, I just want to contribute as much as anyone else. If you want me here to observe, I can do that." Krystal finished with a firm nod of acceptance.

Krystal recrossed her legs and straightened her shoulders, her green eyes intent as she met Charles Robillard's gaze. "I must admit, I am curious as to who our common acquaintance is."

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His gaze was steady, though he didn't seem bothered by the question, as if he was harboring any sort of guilty secret about his relations with whomever their "common acquaintance" happened to be.

"Certainly, Miz Johansson - I happen to know your great-aunt, Mrs. Irene Johansson? She and my Momma knew each other from when they were both much younger. She was kinda like a distant auntie t'me growin' up, an' ah've kept in contact with her all these years. Ah assure you, Krystal, keeping your eyes an' ears open.. an' your mind, if you think you can manage that in regards ta' this particular situation, is all that ah'm askin of ya' fo' your part. In truth, ah' don' know how much help any of ya' might end up bein', if at all. But that don' mean I ain't willin' ta' pay fo' your best shot at it - an' if we can get this taken care of, whatever it is.. then that'll be even better for y'all.. financially, anyway."

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"You know aunt Irene?" Krystal said in surprise. Thank God! I was afraid I was just a charity case for one of Mom's boy-toys. Aunt Irene might be a little too intent, but she's the most sensible of Mom's folks, and wouldn't have recommended me if she didn't think I had something to offer.

"Well, since I wouldn't want to make a liar out of aunt Irene, I guess there's nothing to it but to stay and prove to you that she was right to recommend me." Her smile was warmly assenting, with a trace of relief. "I graciously accept your offer, Mr. Robillard. And please, call me Krystal."

Krystal settled back in her chair, more relaxed than she had been since hearing why she was here. She took out a pen and a palm-sized pad of paper, and idly began to doodle while she waited for the others to say their piece or for Mr. Robillard to continue.

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Romeo had clammed up at the mention of hauntings, looking nervously around the table over his glasses as his hands froze in mid-stroke on his laptop. However, he slowly relaxed as the conversation took the more serious probability of a saboteur. His fingers continued typing as he pulled up a floor plan of the mansion on the internet and started to sketch out in his head a viable security web that could be put in place temporarily...or permanently...to ensnare any would-be imps.

"Indeed, sir." Romeo said, looking up from his screen, "The details of the contract is where we should start...Agreed?"

He looked around the table, gathering assent with a questioning look.

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Charles circled back around to his desk, and sat down, leaning back in his chair. His gaze flickered over each of their faces briefly, then he addressed them all.

"Ah, yes.. terms, of course. Well, ah understand ah'm askin' for a certain amount of time out ah y'all's life. So here's what ah'm willin' ta' do. First, there's a thousand t'all of ya' for comin' here an' listenin' t'mah situation. Ah'll start by givin' ya' ten thousand up front, if ye're willin' ta' take th' job. After that, assumin' you're all keepin' your part of the bargain and doin' what you can ta' try and find out what's goin' on, mah rate of pay'll be a thousand a day. I'll expect progress updates, o'course.. an' if any of ya' try ta' drag me along, the deal's off. Ah might be desperate but ah ain't a fool, so don't take me for one. An' if y'can figure it out - whatever it is - then anyone who stayed t'see the whole thing through will receive another ten thousand dollars.. call it a "completion bonus".

He waited for a moment, studying each of their expressions and reactions to see what they thought of the proposal.

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Lily put her hand to her chin, as if to stroke it thoughtfully. Really it was just to keep her mouth from falling open like some cornfed yokel.

A second later she nodded. Goofy the situation may be, but she was here, and the pay was -good-.

"Eleven thousand now, plus a thousand a day, plus ten grand on success to find out who's sabotaging your operation here and put a stop to it. Sounds like you have a deal to me."

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With the sound of ripping paper, Krystal's hand slid off her sketchpad, tearing the sheet as she pressed too hard with her pen. One Thousand for showing up, ten thousand for signing on, a thousand a day, and another ten thousand for success?! Surreptitiously, as she bent over to pick up her pen and the torn off piece of paper, Krystal looked around, trying to spot any cameras, wondering if she was being punk'd.

Almost, she turned the deal down, sure there was going to be a nasty, unmentioned catch somewhere that was going to bit her on the ass. But she had just agreed to Mr. Robillard's offer a second ago and didn't want to looked insanely stupid for turning it down after hearing the more than generous terms.

"Uh, sorry 'bout that, my pen - it caught on the - nevermind. I said I accepted your offer, Mr. Robillard and the terms are... very fair."

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When Charles made his offer, Ian missed it. His mind was elsewhere; he was watching Krystal's talented fingers draw. The fact that his angle also allowed him to peek down her shirt didn't hurt his feelings. He was indulging in a fantasy where she used those fingers to slowly peel her shirt off those breasts. It was rudely interrupted by Krystal's pen skittering over the paper and hitting the floor.

Ian pretended that he'd been paying attention the whole time. He listened to Krystal's stammering acceptance and realized she'd just accepted for the both of them - not that he minded, terribly. Nodding, he said, "Yep, me too. Those terms sound fine. Very, ah, reasonable."

He'd find out what the terms were later, when he could do so without looking like a fool.

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Conner glanced up from where he'd been texting on his phone while finishing his perusal of the paperwork and simply nodded at Charles. "I can be available for a limited amount of time, Mr. Rollibard. With these conditions, however, I would like to know the general timeline of events you expect of us."

He gave Romeo an appreciative look, "Yes, and if there is a formal contract to this arrangement, I would like to go over it in detail before signing." He checked his watch, which was currently showing a digital read-out of 17:08, and gave the group a friendly smile. "Perhaps we could do so over lunch and use the opportunity to get to know each other, if we're going to work together for a while? I saw a couple of different restaurants on the way in here, and I'm sure Mr. Rollibard could give us a good recommendation."

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"Certainly, sir. And an excellent idea, it'll give me a bit ah' time around here to get things ready for y'all too."

He opened through a door and rifled through a stack of papers before pulling out a manila envelope. From the envelope, he pulled several copies of a contract, and held one out to each of the individuals present. On it, it detailed compensation including the initial employment bonus, and outlined what he expected of them in more legal terms. It also included an estimated final employment date, at which point future employment would be open to negotiation if it was still required. That date was three weeks out from the current date. If the situation was solved, anyone who stayed until it was taken care of would receive the full amount of daily pay through the estimated final employment date, plus the ten thousand bonus that the obviously affluent Southern gentleman was willing to fork over for actually fixing the problem.

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Lily took her copy of the contract and paged through it quickly, then nodded and looked over at the others. "Okay, so we go hit up some poor diner, look over the paperwork, shoot the shit, then come back here and sign up or sign out...sounds like a plan."

She glanced at their prospective employer. "Where's a good place to eat? Nothing fancy...just a regular place."

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"Well.. there's only a couple places here in town anyway, y'have ta' drive halfway t' N'awlins or Baton Rouge before ya' hit anything else 'sides a truck stop, really. I'd say Ruthie's is your best bet, she serves pretty good country food, all that southern fried and gravy-smothered stuff. But she cooks it pretty good, she inherited that restaurant from her Grandmomma but she had to earn it first. And she makes a hell of chocolate cream pie."

He gave them directions, and unlike his office, the directions were fairly straightforward. It led them straight to a little diner in the town proper, complete with old-fashioned awnings and the name of the restaurant (and therefore, it's owner) painted in cursive on the picture window that overlooked the main stretch of town.

The smell of country cooking filled the air as the five mismatched strangers were seated by a waitress at one of the two tables in the restaurant set up to seat more than four people at a time. She looked to be the only one on duty other than the cook, and after she took their drink orders she headed back into the kitchen, leaving them alone in the front part of the diner, save a couple older gentlemen sitting at separate tables, looking bored and drinking coffee, half-eaten plates of an early lunch in front of them.

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Ian slipped into a seat next to Krystal and across from Lily, checking out the waitress as he did - he was nothing if not multi-talented. Despite the heat outside, he remained in his jacket after eying the windows.

"So," he said when everyone had settled, "is this weird or what?" He seemed calmer than Krystal would have expected after having been given such an odd and lucrative job. He looked around the table as if to say, 'I've broken the ice, now the rest of you do your part.'

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Before heading in the dinner, Krystal tied Fawkes up outside, giving him a bone she had brought to gnaw on. Sitting down at the table, she rolled her eyes in what was becoming an habitual response at seeing Ian keeping his damn coat on. She pointed emphatically to the contract he had thrown negligently on the table, adding a whispered, "Read it."

Taking her own advice, Krystal quickly began reading her own copy of the contract, often looking up at the rest of the group. She raised an eyebrow at Ian's comment - considering what he was involved in - but still had to agree. It was weird.

"It certainly wasn't what I was expecting after more than a thirty hour drive." Krystal looked around the table, looking to see if anyone seemed inclined to agree, but continued on anyway.

"Maybe we should at least introduce ourselves, huh? I'm Krystal and he's Ian," Krystal said, elbowing Ian in the ribs when she noticed him staring a little too much. She nodded at Lilian, then smiled at the two other men. "You're... Lily? I don't think I caught your names, guys?"

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The tanned woman nodded and lifted her glass in a sort of mock toast before taking a drink from it.

"Lilian Archer, of Archer Fugitive Recovery Services," she introduced herself. "Our overly rich, underly sensical benefactor apparently knows my uncle...which is weird since to my knowledge he's never been off the reservation. But that's an ice cube of weird next to a sinking Titanic at this point."

She glanced around the table and nodded again. "Nice to meetch'all."

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Sighing from Krystal's abuse - she really needed to start putting out soon, if she was going to nag like that - Ian picked up his contract and started to skim it. Lilian's statement pulled his head up before he'd gotten too far into it. He chuckled at her joke - if only she knew how weird things could and would get.

"Nice to meetcha again," Ian corrected her with a wink. Turning to the rest of the table, he added, "Yes, I'm Ian, as my friend here has told you. Though we probably shouldn't use full names," he finished. "No reason to get too cozy."

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Connor quirked an eyebrow at 'Ian' and seemed about to say something, then caught himself and simply offered a hand to those that would take it. "I'm Connor, then."

He glanced around the table and leaned back. "Well, 'not getting cozy' withstanding, we heard how and why Mr. Robillard got in contact with the ladies, so how about you gents? Any particular skills you have that might be helpful ferreting out what exactly is going on at the plantation?"

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  • 2 weeks later...

Lily took a drink from the glass of water the waitress brought and looked around expectantly. Ian's admonition about names struck her as a bit weird, but it probably wasn't the weirdest thing he'd ever said so...hey. Whatever.

On the other hand, the paranoia was spreading like the flu. No one was talking!

"Guys, look," she said, "We're going to have to work together if we want this money, right? I think it's pretty safe to say no one here's out to get anyone else here, so what's the federal case? Lets get this thing moving."

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  • 2 weeks later...

"Right on, sister! Amen to that!" Krystal said with a grin, raising her glass of coke in a toast of agreement before taking a sip. The curvaceous young woman glanced at Ian, her grin shifting into a teasing smirk.

"Relax Ian, everybody is not out to get you." Krystal languidly dipped one of her fries through some ketchup, then slid into mouth, and after a contemplative chew and swallow, added, "only most of them." Her wink took most of the sting out of her mockery. Then her nose crinkled up in puzzlement. "What is your last name anyway?"

Shrugging, she picked up her burger, looking enormous in her small hands, and opening her mouth impressively wide, took a big bite. As she savoured the delicious burger, she eyed Ian, who seemed more interested in watching her and Lily, rather than reading the contract. Struggling to swallow her mouthful of meat and bun, Krystal pointed at the contract laying neglected on the table with emphatic meaning.

"Mmmph, mmmm, that's a helluva good burger, hard to find these family dinners in Vegas - Ian, Sign the contract! You need a job that actually pays you for once." She kept her vivid green eyes steady on him for a moment longer, willing him to sign the contract, so he would actually be flush enough to pay her back.

With a satisfied nod, she tuned to Connor with an interested smile. "So, what do you do, Connor? I'm sure it's much more interesting, then... let's say... managing an obscure, esoteric website?" Full of conspiracy theories and half-baked nonsense.

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