Horror's Heart (Call of Cthulhu) IC

[Xsesiv]

It's a motley group of friends that assembles at New York's Grand Central Station that morning. The largest is a local stockbroker, very clean-cut. Black-haired and -mustachioed and massively obese, he stands a clear fourteen inches taller than the smallest, a tiny, sallow, chinless young man with stick-out ears.

The ages range vastly as well. The small man is barely a man at all by the standards of legality, and the age bracket goes up to a tall, heftyish man in glasses with grey hair and a doctor's bag.

A fourth is very haggard-looking, pale and thin, drawn and red-headed, with an Irish accent, and a beard as well, which is rare in this day and age.

_______

The group received a letter just a few days ago, addressed to all of them care of Dr. Ian Winters, from someone they'd not counted themselves likely to meet again.

My Dear Friends, [it read]

Much time has passed since last we met. I have been able to follow a little of your careers from afar; but discreetly, I assure you!

My own career has doubtless been invisible to you. I have become a priest in the Catholic Church! Yes, I am now Father Philip! I know this must come as a surprise to you. I heartily acknowledge my multitude of sins, but we are all such sinners after all that my teachers and confessors alike find my faith and honesty much more interesting than my sins! I am now washed in forgiveness, and each day is precious to me.

I write to you now because I need your particular research skills, and am inviting you to Montréal. I dare to hope that you are free and will not mind a week's sojourn in this beautiful city? I have arranged that you stay in the parish house at our new Parish of St. Cutis, and I enclose your tickets by train.

The matter about which I write is confidential, so I may not indicate it here. The prize in view is of good value to the Parish of St. Cutis, to Catholicism, to Christianity, and to spirituality as a whole.

Need I add that the success of the venture might just bring the participants wealth, esoteric knowledge, and worldwide fame?

Your Good Friend,
Philip.

As he says, Philip McBride – well, Father Philip McBride, now – has been missing in action for ten years. Though he couldn't have died without there being some news, this dedicated academic has been completely out of the public eye, and the eyes of his friends, since about 1913. But when they knew him, he was intelligent and straightforward, with little time for fuss or impracticality. This mysterious, secretive request was uncharacteristic and intriguing.

_______

The Canadian Pacific Railway is renowned for the comfort, service and convenience of its trains, boasting of having 'the most substantial and perfectly-built railway on the continent of America'. So, at seven sharp the bizarre collection of McBride's friends boards the number 2212 train, the Great Northern. It's a fully equipped luxury train pulled by a speedy and powerful Pacific steam engine, and with the ring of a bell, a rumble and a whistle and a puff of mixed steam and smoke, the train is under way.

Inside, all the walls are finely panelled with polished walnut; the windows are small and sturdy, buffered against rattling and curtained with tasseled red damask.

The day coaches are lined with rugs and carpets, while rich upholstery decorates the seats. There is a sleeper car, with comfortable beds in curtained upper and lower berths, for those wishing to catch up on a little sleep (it was a very early morning, after all).

There is an elaborate club car with a chandelier and a luxurious dining car. The food is complementary and delicious, the mirrors are cut-glass and omnipresent, the china is fine, and the service is solid silver and crystal. The attendants are very competent; prompt, polite and precise, they make every effort to aid the passengers and to satisfy their needs and requests.

The eleven-hour trip passes through Buffalo, Niagara Falls and Toronto, with minor stops along the way. It allows the group, who have been ordered a row of seats next to each other, to take in the scenery, and to get reacquainted. Maybe they haven't seen each other for a while.

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Go on, get reacquainted, by which I mean introduce your characters and roleplay a little; I'll get on with plot stuff when everyone's posted.

[Civil War Man]

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Just a quick check on how comfortable people are with swearing before I say too much, because Neil is not a refined gentleman.

Neil was not looking forward to this trip. It was not the destination, and he did not dislike trains in general. This particular one just made him uneasy. The over the top amenities made him feel uncomfortable and out of place. The sheer opulence of it made his stomach turn. A British noble would have felt right at home there, and Neil hated it for that.

"A bloody priest," he said, apropos of nothing, filling the empty space with conversation just so he wouldn't have to think about his surroundings. "Wouldn't have pegged him as one of those."

[Voshkod]

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So long as it's in character, I don't care.

The young man takes out a silver flask and adds a shot of something to his coffee. "Thank God we're going somewhere civilized, where they realize the value of a good drink," he says, offering the flask around. "To hell with Volstead!"

He's certainly not an attractive youth. Not ugly, but just put together wrong. Ears that might look good on a larger man, a straight line from lips to neck, nary a chin in sight, like the good Lord forgot the design when making him.

His clothes are very nice, though, with expensive shoes (currently propped up on the seat across from him). "McBride a priest? Oh, I can see it. Also a hint of sanctimony around him. Good chap, though." He takes a careful look at his companions. "Averell Carmichael's the name, friends. Yes, from those Carmichaels, I'm afraid." He opens his bag and takes out a copy of an aged Latin text with the words "Cautio Criminalis" on the front.

[Civil War Man]

Neil shrugged, and took a quick drink from the offered flask before passing it on. "Haven't seen him since I was a lad," he said. "But I always figured he was too smart to buy into all that bollocks."

In contrast to the young man sitting with him, Neil was fairly well put together. There was a sense that he could have been quite the ladykiller, had he not been worn down by a million stresses and a few years living off of what little he could scrape together.

"Guess I shouldn't be that surprised, though. Lot of things can change in 10 years."

[Dark Seeker]

Dr. Ian Winters rereads the letter for the umpteenth time, still finding it hard to believe. He puts it down, scratching his head.

"What an odd request. And I must agree with you Neil. The Philip I've known was never that religious, and now he's a priest? I suppose the years do change a man."

"Nonetheless, I am glad to get away for a bit. It's been ages since I've allowed myself some leisure. It will be good to catch up with Philip. It has to have been... oh, since about 1913."

The doctor reaches for his bag, which carries his medical supplies as well as his rifle(One could never be too careful nowadays, and he was getting older) before turning to the rest of the group, a kind smile on his worn face.

"Montreal! I've not visited there before. Have any of you?"

[Voshkod]

"Oh, Montreal's great," Averell says. "Like Paris without the French. No Prohibition, great shows - a few a bit risque, if you know what I mean." A wink, another dash from his flask into his coffee. "Not like Boston. I'd swear that town still thinks it's run by Puritans."

[Civil War Man]

"I've not been to Montreal myself. I've barely been in the states two years, and have had little cause to cross the border. My French is not too good, anyway.

"By the way," Neil added, glancing at Averell. "You may want to spend some time in Providence. I've done a few odd jobs that have taken me down that way. The Rhode Islanders don't give a tinker's damn about prohibition. Not even the Feds assigned there."

[littlebottom]

Mortimer has just nodded and listened so far, his large frame taking up slightly more than a single seat. What could he say? life had been good to him, generally speaking, and he could never say no to just one more.

"I've personally not been bothered by the prohibition, I don't drink. But I have been doing well for myself of late i must admit, even when the stocks are bad, I've managed to turn a profit. Keen eye and good senses are the key." Mortimer frowns slightly "though, you never can tell when the market is about to go belly up even with good senses and keen eyes, sometimes the only sight thats any use is hindsight... and thats no good for making money."

[Xsesiv]

In the early afternoon, the train trundles into Canada and out of the Prohibition of which McBride's friends have talked. Alcoholic drinks are slyly integrated into the club car's bar and the dining car's meals. Nobody really gives any thought to the fact that the train must have been carrying these in America at some point.

As the afternoon shadows lengthen, everyone on the train is well settled into their seats; a few are dozing. The train begins to slow, preparing to change tracks, and amidst the normal clangs and rattles of the braking train suddenly can be heard a loud, flat bang. From the next car, a woman's high-pitched scream rises above a chorus of shouts and hubbub.

[Dark Seeker]

The scream jolts Ian out of a light sleep. Grabbing for his glasses and bag, he looks at the others, gauging their intentions.

"I don't like the sound of that! I'm going to investigate."

He runs out of the compartment, and towards the scream.

[Voshkod]

Averell was deep in his book - and at least two sheets to the wind - when the noise happened. He stumbled up, overcompensated, and almost fell. "Right behind you," he mumbled, following Ian.

[Xsesiv]

In the vestibule between the carriages, Ian almost runs right into an enormous man who blocks the passageway. Well over six feet tall with a square build and a square head, black hair, a big nose and a long salt-and-pepper beard, he is dressed in a Canadian Pacific Railway conductor's uniform, down to the hat monogrammed C.P.R. "Laissez-moi passer!" he roars at the people facing him down."Laissez-moi passer!"

With one huge hand he waves a small-calibre revolver, maybe a .25 or a .32, above his head. With the other hand, he grasps the waist of a small, short-haired young brunette with cool-green eyes with which she looks imploringly to Ian for help. The girl is dressed in a cream one-piece travelling dress and has the fashionable lithe, boyish build. A smooth layer of crimson lipstick on her perfect lips accents her strikingly beautiful face. The man fires a shot from his revolver through the ceiling with another ear-shattering bang, in an attempt to clear the way, prompting a second chorus of screams and shouting.

The man is half-carrying, half-dragging the girl towards the rear of the train, his legs moving in a way that looks somehow awkward, but it's hard to see exactly how. Would a conductor fire guns on a train and assault a passenger? It seems unlikely. He must be some sort of impostor. The other passengers, in general, seem happy to stay in their seats. Conductors advance from behind him, but very cautiously.

French:

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The False Conductor: "Let me pass! Let me pass!"

[Dark Seeker]

Upon seeing the false conductor, Ian freezes. He moves towards the man, but very slowly and keeps his distance, attempting to appear as less of a threat. The doctor debates going for his gun, but given the situation, it's too risky. He's just as likely to hit the hostage or one of the other passengers. Instead, he decides to reason with the stressed gunman.

"Personne n'a à se blesser ici," He tells the man, praying his French does not fail him. "Juste laisser aller."

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(hopefully) "Nobody has to get hurt here. Just let her go."

[Civil War Man]

Neil was half-dozing when the first gunshot startled him to consciousness, his hand unconsciously grasping for a rifle that he no longer possessed. He watched Ian and Averell head in the direction of the gunshot before they were interrupted by the gunman barging in from the next car.

By the time the second shot went off, Neil was awake enough to prepare himself, and so the noise prompted little more than an involuntary eye twitch from him. He watched the large man over the top of the seats, slowly clenching and unclenching his fist. There was some yelling in French, but the commotion and Neil's passing familiarity with the language did not allow him to parse what was being said. For the moment, he did not move from his seat, silently waiting for the group to move further back in the train.

[Voshkod]

"Looks like you have things under control," Averell whispers to Ian. He steps out of the line of fire after take a long appraising look at the woman. "Don't let her get shot. She's a work of art."

[Xsesiv]

"Monsieur, vous n'avez encore fait rien de grave..." supplies a small, bespectacled blond conductor from behind, in a quavering voice.

The false conductor falters at Ian's words, and then at the conductor's, but then roars and fires another two rounds; the first goes through the ceiling, the second is fired in the general direction of the conductor, prompting him to leap back. The girl at the false conductor's side screams. The conductor trips over a rug and were it not for the reflexes of a couple of others would have landed flat on his back.

The false conductor clutches the woman tighter to him and prepares to carry on down the train. He proceeds to point the pistol at the first thing in his way, which happens to be Ian. "Bouge-toi!" he shouts at him.

French:

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Conductor: "Sir, you haven't done anything serious yet..."
The False Conductor: "Move!"

[Dark Seeker]

Surprisingly, Ian does not enjoy having a gun pointed at him. The experience almost causes him to waver, but the doctor in him realizes that the man is very dangerous, and seems to be unraveling rapidly. He needs to be brought down now, before he hurts others or himself.
The doctor nods and moves a semi step to the side, hoping to relax the man's guard. Then he kicks him, aiming for the groin.

[Xsesiv]

As the kick is swung at the man, he squeezes the trigger accidentally in his effort to dodge and the bullet goes through the floor. He fires the last bullet through the ceiling in a last-ditch attempt to clear the way, then throws his pistol away and instead pulls a huge, unpleasant-looking knife from his belt. While he is thus engaged, the woman smashes her elbow hard into the place under his breastbone; he flinches and she twists away, catching the heel of her shoe with a snap on the edge of a carpet on the floor, stumbling and falling onto Ian, blocking the way for the others. The false conductor turns to the vestibule door. Wrenching it open, he leaps out into the forest.

The woman stands. Another conductor, a tall thin black-haired fellow, rushes up to her. "M-mademoiselle LaVoie," he stammers. "P-please accept my sincerest concerns for your health. I apologise a thousand times, from the bottom of my heart. I fear I cannot apologise enough, and I swear vengeance on the villain who attacked you, on behalf of the Canadian Pacific Railway. Of course, the police have been telegraphed, but we will not delay the train in the vicinity of such a thug."

Wait. LaVoie? With the name and the face together...yes, this is the Céline LaVoie!

Unshaken, she straightens her hair, nods to the conductor and turns to her rescuers. "I'm Céline," she says warmly with just a touch of a French in her accent. "Céline LaVoie. Thank you for the help, and sorry about the...inconvenience. I hope you're all alright?"

She turns back to the conductor. "I assure you, my father will be more than willing to pay for all the damages if we can keep the affair as quiet as possible. My father hates this sort of notoriety," she says winsomely.

The conductor tugs his cap respectfully, and mumbles "I will do my best to see to it that your family is kept out of the affair as much as possible, Mademoiselle LaVoie, but in the meantime your bodyguard is dead and there must be an inquiry."

"Yes, the poor man," she replies, unblinkingly. "I had only just hired him. He smelled dreadfully. I am sensitive to smells." She turns back to the men who had helped her against her kidnapper. "Well, brave people such as yourselves shouldn't have to sit around waiting for the damage and blood to be cleaned up. Please, come with me to my private coach at the back of the train. We'll have drinks."

[Voshkod]

"Drinks!," Averell says cheerfully. "No better way to celebrate the fact that you've come through this ordeal unharmed, ma'am."

[Dark Seeker]

"I only did what anyone would have done," Ian responds. "Drinks would be welcome, but please madam Lavoie, I am a doctor. Allow me to examine you and ensure the stress of this situation has not harmed your delicate constitution."

[littlebottom]

Mortimer hears this and sinks back slightly into his seat, if it were possible, guilty that he was of no use during this little incident. "the LaVoie family is a rich and influential family in business terms." He mutters to some of his friends that were in earshot but making sure that LaVoie herself was out of it.

[Civil War Man]

Neil glanced at Mortimer as he provided slight exposition. He, too, provided no help during the incident, mostly due to Ian's timely intervention. He had planned on blindsiding the assailant as he passed through the train car. Unlike Mortimer, Neil felt no guilt at his non-intervention, since the incident was resolved.

The Irishman made no indication of this, simply settling further into his seat in sullen silence.

[Xsesiv]

"Oh, no," Céline LaVoie answers Ian. "I've been through worse. I assure you, I'm fine." She pushes past the conductor who is morosely picking fragments of train out of a deep pile carpet and gently taps Neil and Mortimer on their shoulders. "Seeing as how the rest of the car's full, I suppose you're with these men you're sharing the row with? Please, come and have drinks with them. I wouldn't want your friends to become bored with only my company," and she smiles.

She progresses down the train backwards, asking questions to her new-found friends. "So, you may have heard of me. I won't pretend not to have a modicum of fame. If so, you have the advantage, I'm afraid. Tell me, what are your names, what do you do, why are you coming to Montréal?"

Her easy mood is striking after what must have been a terrifying ordeal.

[Voshkod]

"Averell Carmichael," he says. "Nice to meet you, Céline." I wonder what she's flying on, he thinks to himself. Too happy, not blinking. Opium? Heroin? She must be fun to party with.

[Civil War Man]

LaVoie was a name that Neil knew. Much in the same way he knew names like Wilson, Chaplin, or Ruth. He knew those name because those were names people knew. But they held little meaning beyond that, because as a member of the lower class he never associated with them.

He was dreading arriving at Céline's private car. The opulence of the one he was currently in was already putting him on edge. He was not looking forward to spending time in a car appointed for someone who probably spends more on a bottle of wine than he makes in a month. It would take a lot for McBride's venture to be worth the headache.

All Neil could hope for was that Céline was not one of those rich people who felt a "connection" to the "common folk."

"My name is Neil," he said in a low voice. "I am here merely because an old friend asked me to be here."

[Dark Seeker]

Ian raises an eyebrow in response to Céline's behavior, but says nothing. Some people have odd ways of dealing with stress.

"Dr. Ian Winters. It's a pleasure. As Neil said, we are traveling to Montreal to become reacquainted with an old friend of ours whom we've not seen in some time."

The doctor is aware of her reputation, but chooses not to comment on it. On a train this luxurious, he'd have been surprised not to run into any famous people.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer nods and stands up, following after her. "My name is Mortimer. I am greatly privilaged to be offered to spend time in your company." He adds somewhat charmingly if he can manage it.

[Xsesiv]

"Oh, which friend?" asks Céline. "Might I have heard of him?"

Céline reaches her private coach, which turns out to be less gaudily decorated in the developing Art Déco style (plain surfaces, rich materials, dramatic lines, indirect lighting, and stylised natural forms). A female secretary and a maid jump up as she enters with her guests, the secretary opening a bar cabinet and the maid scurrying to arrange seating for the guests. Céline herself sits on an oddly-designed chair, pulling her legs up underneath her.

"Drinks?" asks the secretary, who is young, blond and intelligent-looking, large and not particularly attractive. "Whiskey perhaps? Sherry? A cocktail?" She steps aside, revealing the bar cabinet to be full of row upon row of ryes, scotches and liqueurs, all bearing the characteristic crimson McT of the McTanish Distilling Company, mixers, sherry and fine French wines. "Mademoiselle LaVoie doesn't drink beer, I'm afraid."

[littlebottom]

Mortimer raises his hand politely to wave the offer away "No thank you, I appreciate the offer but I don't drink." He then decides to find somewhere to take his place in the carrage, taking an unoccupied seat (if there are any)

Mortimer turns to céline "I am amazed at your calm nature, given the events that have just passed, you must have such confidence and bravery."

[Dark Seeker]

Unlike Mortimer, Ian accepts the offer.

"A sherry, if you'd be so kind," He says, hopeful that the drink will steady his nerves.

Speaking of nerves, The doctor finds Mademoiselle LaVoie's behavior most unusual. He was rattled just from having a gun pointed at him. How, then, was she able to walk around so seemingly untroubled by her ordeal.

Either the actress was very brave, pretending to be very brave so as to repress her trauma, or she was not as concerned about her ordeal as anyone in their right mind should have been. Ian was no detective, but it was almost suspicious.

"I should doubt it," Ian responds to Céline's inquiry. "Our friend is a priest. I doubt the two of you would travel in the same circles." He smiles as he says this, but can't help but feel a bit wary around this woman.