johtaja | [CLOSED PSL] Come away, little lamb, come away to the water....

An innocent little vhs tape, picked up from the back of a New York City bodega. A faded cardboard sleeve, open on one end. So easy for someone wandering through to grab from someone's basket and replace with a different tape, breezing past with brim of hat pulled low and a murmured "you dropped this, boss."

The first domino to nudge over in the pattern of a greater scheme.

Now, far, far away from that bodega, from that interaction, a television set plays static into a darkened room. There are no windows - perhaps a basement - but it's not dingy, either. The floor is covered in lavish pillows of silk and brocade...or, at least, the part of the floor right in front of the television stand.

There are no lights on, only the screen, but that's enough to see the borders of the space are lined with couches and seats, mismatched but well-appointed. The air smells overwhelmingly of incense and smoke, cigarette and otherwise....

And in the corner, there is a staircase leading up, with an envelope sitting on the bottom step.

This is not a good start to his vacation.

His forced vacation, at that. Director Faden had asked for a meeting with him the other day, which had felt awkward, as their meetings tend to. Moreso that she'd called him out on his drinking, which had gotten worse since everything that had happened with the Hiss. Which he can't deny that it had, but he'd thought he was at least functioning well enough. Working long hours, certainly, but he was... fine.

Apparently not as fine as he'd tried to make himself appear, however, if the Director is giving him an order to take at least a week to get himself back together. To rest, she'd said.

So he'd stopped by the bodega near his neighbourhood on the way home to pick up something to eat, since there was very little food in his house. There were some old VHS tapes in a clearance bin, so he'd grabbed one of those, too. Something by Hitchcock. He thought little of the stranger who bumped into him, thanking him distractedly.

He'd settled in for the evening with his sandwich and a drink, popping the tape in and trying to just... relax.

Except he must have dozed off, because now he's waking up on a pile of pillows, static playing on the TV screen. He rubs at his eyes under his glasses, trying to pull himself back together to assess his surroundings. Certainly not his house, and not the Oldest House either. Not the Oceanview, or at least not any part that he's seen.

Still, the envelope is piquing his curiosity, and he makes his way over the pillows and things to see what the envelope has to tell him.

The envelope is simple - the message inside equally so. A typewritten note on clean white paper...well, clean save for a coffee ring in the lower right corner.

Doctor Casper Darling,

Hello. =)

I hope you can excuse your temporary accommodations. I couldn't be quite sure when you would drop in.

I'm sure you have questions. I have answers.

Come upstairs and find me, and let's chat.

--C.B.

(If anyone can appreciate a coffee mug circle, it's Darling.)

Curiouser and curiouser... He can't recall a C.B., off the top of his head. And he's still not sure how he got here, which bothers him. Even on days with heavy drinking, he tended to remember how he got from one place to another.

But he supposes there's only really one way to get his answers, and so he makes his way upstairs, note in hand.

The stairs are short - clearly something more residential than industrial - and at the top, the door is unlocked, allowing Darling through.

Beyond the door...is what seems to be a short hallway in a cabin, decorated in a cheerful Bohemian style. Wooden walls are hung with tapestries and artwork of all kinds in dizzying array, the air thick with that same melange of incense and smoke from downstairs.

Just around the corner, kitchen sounds can be heard - and if followed, their source can be traced to a figure with his back to the entryway, busy with a French press. The scent of coffee permeates the smoke, joined by something sweet-smelling coming from the oven.

The man himself is barefoot, dressed in drapey, dated clothes in dizzying patterns. His face can't yet be seen - a mass of dark curls streaked here and there with silver all but curtains his features from all directions but forward.

He's humming. He doesn't seem to notice his guest just yet - or at the least, he doesn't make it clear that he does.

There are several options as to why he might be where. He has, perhaps, traveled to this place through paranatural means on accident. But that doesn't quite pan out, does it? No, his -- host, for lack of a better word, knows him and was expecting him, if the note is anything to go by.

So his second theory is that he was brought here for some purpose. Which -- if that is the case, it's definitely the most laid-back kidnapping he could think of. No being held at gunpoint or bundled off in the back of an unmarked van. Just... placed gently on a pile of pillows in a strange house.

Darling clears his throat, keeping his distance for now. Lingering by the doorway into the kitchen. "It seems you have me at a disadvantage. Since you know who I am, but I'm not sure yet who you are."

"Oh, good. You're here, and you're up. I thought I heard static down there, but it was really only a guess." Casual. He continues making coffee, not yet bothering to turn around. His voice is tilted at the edges with an accent, but his tone is sure, smooth. Controlled.

"And you're right. Being at an advantage is how I like things, Doctor Casper Darling, head of Research at the Federal Bureau of Control. I know a lot about you. I even know how you take your coffee."

The man turns, mug in glittering, ring-encrusted hand to offer it out. He looks to be an older fellow, somewhere in his mid to late sixties, perhaps...but very fit and well-kept all the same. His eyes, bright, clear, and blue, are fixed upon his hapless guest. They sparkle like that of a much younger man, but that spark isn't coming from that eerie, broad grin. No, that doesn't warm his expression whatsoever.

Madness and authority seem to drip from him in tandem, seeping into his voice in amounts that brew danger when combined. He taps a black-lacquered nail against the mug.

"But - fair is fair.

My name is Chester. Pleasure to meet you."

Edited 2024-09-03 11:06 (UTC)

"I am both here and awake, it would seem." He takes the coffee, a little warily, as he tries to size up his host. His smile a little too wide, eyes a little to bright. All over a bit disconcerting, despite his flashy outfit and easy air.

"Lovely to meet you, Chester. I think, at least. That depends entirely on why and how I'm here, doesn't it?"

Darling sniffs a little at the coffee, and blinks in surprise as the strong scent of whiskey comes out of the mug. "You certainly do know how I like my coffee, don't you?"

"Of course I do. It also happens to be how I like my coffee." That grin broadens all the more - those are some sharp canine teeth, aren't they?

He picks up his own mug and takes a sip, gesturing with a tilt of his chin towards a nearby dining table.

"Have a seat, Doctor. I have an oven pancake in I'll need to pull in a minute or two. I suspected you didn't get to eat that sandwich you picked up."

Maddeningly casual, given the implications at play here. His smile turns wry as he leans back against the counter.

"You might be the only one at your organization who could say it's lovely to meet me with a straight face, actually.

We've killed a few of you, after all."

"Ah." Then the name Chester bothering something in Darling's brain was putting him on the right path, after all. He'll have to tread carefully, here. Especially since he has no idea where here actually is.

"You were successful then. At least a little, with your altered item. The tape?" he ventures, sitting at the table but not touching his coffee yet. "I assume that's how you got me here.

Congratulations on that, anyway. And the murder, I'm sure."

"Oh, well. Only sort of. The tape transported people into the basement of this cabin when I found it, actually.

So, naturally, I built a compound around it."

A timer dings - and Chester turns, grabbing an oven mitt and pulling the steaming confection out of the heat. He wastes no time cutting a couple of slices, plating them, and sprinkling them with preserves before setting them both on the table.

He takes a seat opposite Casper, taking another sip of his coffee.

"And I don't know that I would call it murder. Dangerous line of work you're all in. Handling dangerous things." Another too-sharp smile.

"But back to the altered item...I didn't create that one. But I have been trying to replicate it."

He takes a bite of pancake.

"I'm more artist than scientist, I'm afraid."

Edited 2024-09-04 08:18 (UTC)

"Naturally," is the rather dry response. Darling toys with the coffee mug but leaves his slice of pancake alone. Chester seems to be eating it just fine, but Darling still doesn't know who or what he's dealing with, here.

"Are you a dangerous thing, then? Since we've been attempting to handle you. Without too much success, I'll give you that, anyway."

He taps his fork against the table, keeping his eyes on Bless's face. Trying to read him, but people were never his strong suit. He works better with date, people are... temperamental. "So you need a scientist, that's why I'm here."

Chester had fully expected Darling to be hesitant to eat, of course. But hey. He tried.

Setting down his fork for a moment, he takes up his mug in both hands, smiling over it. It's still hot, and it steams against the skin of his palms. "I'm sure some would call me dangerous," he purrs, in just the way someone dangerous might. "But I like to think I'm a nice enough man. I take care of my own. And was giving people confidence really such a bad thing?"

Bless is... difficult to read, with that Cheshire grin and those glittering blue eyes that don't seem to blink often enough.

"To borrow a phrase...'bingo bango.'"

"A nice enough man, willing to destroy the lives of people in order to get what he wants," Darling counters. The whiskey coffee is more and more tempting by the moment, and he sighs, tapping his fingers against the mug.

His lips press in a thin, displeased line at the use of his own phrasing. "So I'm a hostage, then. I work for you, you spare my life. Is that more or less how this shakes out? Or are you aiming higher. Holding me for ransom, trading me for company secrets?"

"Hello, pot? Yes, this is the kettle calling," the man purrs, lips still near enough to the rim of his mug that the steam from his coffee distorts under his breath. There's something dark in his expression, an edge barely concealed. A colorful old hippie with a knife held in his shadow.

Delicately, he sets his mug down.

"No need for hostility. Hostage? Come on, Darling, you're really more of a guest. You would KNOW if you were my hostage. I'm just looking for some...insight. And in return, I'll share some of my own with you, to do with as you will. Don't think of it as working for me...think of it as...a collaboration.

Besides - it's bound to be a better vacation than the one you were about to take. And if I wanted company secrets, I would just get ahold of my moles, anyway."

The fingers against the mug stop abruptly at the comment. It's not wrong, and he hates that it's not wrong. That, yes, Darling has been willing to step over people, or put them aside in order reach his end goal. Never with malicious intent, just... collateral damage.

His jaw tightens and he picks up the mug to sip at it. Not because he trusts Chester any more than he did before, but because he doesn't care and he needs the whiskey. "And if I decide I don't want to collaborate with you?" he asks, tense.

Ah, good. The remark landed.

Chester just smiles, watching him sip the coffee. It's good coffee, at least. Good whiskey, too, not some rotgut.

"Then...you're free to leave. Or try to, anyway. It's a loooong walk back to New York City from here, and...well, you wouldn't want to be caught in the woods at night. Much scarier things than me out there."

Sorta.

"And if you try to do that, you're going to miss out on seeing some of my...collection. I'm a generous host, Doctor. Surely you're curious about the opportunity to play with my toys." There is, briefly, a flicking up and down of his gaze. Scanning over Darling, with something a little predatory in those bright blue eyes.

"You're not my prisoner. Why not enjoy a little Finnish hospitality, huh?"

"I'm not a prisoner, but you won't take me back. Certainly an interesting definition of free to leave."

There's something unsettling about Chester's gaze. A weight to it that Darling doesn't feel comfortable under. It almost feels like a dare, and he's not sure how to react to it.

"You want me to test your potential altered items, you mean. Which means either you were successful and you want to show off, or you've been too scared to try them yourself."

"It's not like I drove you here, you know." A very chilly smile as he takes a sip of his coffee. "And I said you were free to leave, not that I was sure you could leave safely. I would advise against it, in fact. But I won't stop you, either."

That gaze doesn't budge, either. Doesn't waver. It seems like he blinks less than he should, too.

"Neither of those are true. I have FOUND a number of items I would like for you to look at. Is it really so hard to believe I'm seeking your professional opinion? Save for perhaps Frederick Langston, you know more on these topics than anyone living.

And frankly, I think Langston would have pissed his pants by now worrying about his friends back in the Panopticon."

The comparison to Langston stings, a little. As he's sure it's meant to. As though Langston's handful of years as Panopticon Supervisor could compare to Darling's thirty years of research on the subject. The man does have a few novel ideas about containment, to be sure, and Director Faden seems more receptive to implementing them than Trench was. But the idea that Langston is some sort of expert because of that rankles him.

Though Bless's final comment does help soothe his ruffled feathers a little. The implication that Darling is handling this situation better than Langston would have at least alleviates some of the damaged caused.

"So your attempts to create your own do remain unsuccessful, but you've found some naturally occurring ones you'd like me to look at. Why not turn them over, where they can be properly, safely contained and studied? I have none of my equipment here, I can't promise my best results."

If there's one thing Bless knows how to do, it's kneecapping an ego and then soothing the fall. He smirks, setting his cup down on the table and tenting his slender fingers.

"Because if I do that, Doctor, I won't get to learn anything. I don't think you're willing to be a mole for me, and you'll know where they are coming from. Too many obstacles. I could get through them, but - why should I?

I have some equipment here. Higher tech than the Oldest House allows for, too. And I have a bunker for containment.

I ask only for your opinion. The effort you put forth is up to you...but something tells me you won't be satisfied with phoning it in."

Chester's comments hit like skillfully thrown darts. One bullseye after another, landing on Darling's weak points and sore spots. No, of course the scientist's work ethic, much less his pride wouldn't let him put forth less than his best effort.

It bothers him that Chester knows that about him, knows him well enough, it seems, to use that against him. Moreso than the man knowing about things like what tech is and isn't allowed in the Oldest House.

"And, what. If you're pleased with my work, when my assessment is done, we part ways? Since I'm not being kept here."

It feels as though he's got Darling on the ropes - and the wicked edge to the smile on his face makes that very, very clear.

He leans forward, nesting his chin on laced fingers. It's funny, but his demeanor doesn't really match his apparent age. Perhaps to be expected from a man known to run seminars for wellness and self-confidence.

"Yes. Exactly. Is that so hard for you to believe? It's not like there's anything you could do to come after me upon your return."

"I suppose not. You've evaded us thus far, and I have no real reason to believe you'll give me any new information that I could use, when I get back."

Another sip of his whiskey coffee, and he leans back in the chair, trying to appear more relaxed than he feels. "Is the basement with all the pillows my new home, then? Or just a landing pad for that particular altered item."

"See? I knew you were a bright guy."

Satisfied for now, Chester leans back in turn, watching Darling oh-so-closely.

"The latter. I'm getting a house ready for you, but it's not quite done yet. So for tonight, you can still have one of the bedrooms in my home here. They're very comfortable. Promise."

Edited 2024-09-15 08:06 (UTC)

[CLOSED PSL] Come away, little lamb, come away to the water....

Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste....

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