Horror's Heart (Call of Cthulhu) IC

[littlebottom]

"i think it best if we fetch philip." Mortimer suggests. "anyone know how to get to the bookshop?" he asks slightly hopefully but knowing the likely answer

[Voshkod]

Averell follows behind the others. "I may have something that would calm him down," he says. "It's . . . ah . . . recreational, but I'm sure it would help."

[Dark Seeker]

Ian contemplates Averell's suggestion. "It's worth a try I suppose. But before we do that, my medical bag should be upstairs. Perhaps I can fetch something out of it to aid the poor soul?" Ian asks, before venturing off.

Returning within a few moments, Ian searches for anything he has that could potentially assist the man.

[Xsesiv]

Ian's got a variety of sedatives, but given the man's self-imposed nil-by-mouth policy some are ruled out, and of the rest few would be strong enough to have much effect when he's in such a chronic state of nervous anxiety. Opiates like morphine might work, but the overpowering amount needed to overcome his fright might result in knocking him unconscious or causing a deadly overdose rather than just calming him down. It's up to Ian whether he tries anything, but it would probably be best to get him to hospital.

The man continues to blubber and wail.

Nobody was told where the bookshop was, nobody knows its name, and Mortimer soon finds out that Robert Lowell is ex-directory.

[Dark Seeker]

"Damn it, I don't have anything that I'd feel comfortable giving him." Ian says. "There are a few things that would relax him, but with his current condition they might cause an overdose. The best thing we can do is get him some more intensive care at a hospital."

If no one objects, the doctor will look for a phone and a number for the nearest hospital. He'll explain the situation and ask them to send an ambulance.

[Xsesiv]

Before too long, an ambulance turns up outside and two burly men step out. Knowing the situation, they don't bother to ask stupid questions. Lifting the nigh-catatonic man and dumping him into the back of it, they give all the necessary hellos and goodbyes, but seem somewhat less interested than they could be.

_______

The telephone rings about nine that evening.

[littlebottom]

In the vain hoping that the person at the other end may speak English, Mortimer picks up the phone "Hello, who's calling?"

[Xsesiv]

"Me, Céline LaVoie," is the answer.

"We're all going out this evening, as a thank-you for the train incident," says Céline, laughingly. "We're going to my favourite nightspot, le Bistro d'Or. I'm not listening to any argument. I don't care what you say, it's too late to say no; the limousine's already on its way. My brother Stéphane will be there too, in case you're interested in meeting him. Oh, and there's a dress code. Tuxedos and evening gowns. If you don't have anything, tell the driver, and he'll swing by one of my father's clothing stores for something to throw on."

[littlebottom]

"Why, that would be most wonderful! Thank you very much, We look forward to seeing you again, I will just relay the message to everybody, We will see you later tonight." Mortimer smiles to himself somewhat as he puts the phone down "Celine LaVoie just called. Were all going out. Get your tux's on... or evening gowns... and if you havnt got any, the limo driver will take us to get some."

[Dark Seeker]

"After the stressful day we've had, a night on the town would be most welcome." Says Ian. "Let me get my suit, and I'll be ready to go."

He returns a few moments later, looking dapper and dignified. At least he hopes so.

[Civil War Man]

"I'll get right on that," said Neil, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "I never go anywhere without making sure I have my nicest evening gown packed."

[Voshkod]

"And I bet you look cute in it too," Averell says to Neil. "I, on the other hand, brought a white tux that should work just fine." He heads off to change.

[Xsesiv]

The limousine arrives some five minutes after Mortimer's hung up. The driver, when prompted, pulls into a clothier's, franchised by McTanish. After a quick spot of emergency tailoring, the limousine races off to le Bistro d'Or to make up for lost time.

A group of newly-suited visitors from America motors up ritzy Crescent Street to the club, where the limo brakes to a halt. The driver gets out, opens the doors for his charges and escorts the group up to the door, past a short queue of complaining would-be patrons, and exchanges a few French words with a large man with gleaming epaulettes, who looks the party over, salutes and opens the oak door.

The foyer is simply decorated with a strip of scarlet carpet leading to a coat check. To the right, a set of double doors leads to the main hall, from which emanates a din of voices and jazz. Stairs lead up on the left, but today that has been closed off by a red velvet barricade hooked in front of it. "If you've got anything you shouldn't, this is your last chance to say so," drawls one of two men performing a frisk search.

[Dark Seeker]

As Ian had not brought his rifle, he says nothing. He dislikes being frisked, but is hardly going to argue over it.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer hasnt brought any kind of weapon or such with him at all, although he suspects that a thorough frisk would take longer on himself than his other companions.

[Voshkod]

"Surely Ms. LaVoie's guests don't need to undergo such an indignity," Averell says. "We saved her life today, after all. I'm sure she hasn't forgotten it."

Spoiler

Show

Persuade 45 = (1d100)[86]

[Xsesiv]

"Mademoiselle LaVoie doesn't run this place, and everyone gets checked," says the frisker, unfazed. "I distinctly recall checking her for guns earlier this evening, too. Please hand over whatever it is you've got and raise your arms like so, sir."

[littlebottom]

"I would be careful what you say "distincly remember frisking her" could sound something like "enjoyed fondling her earlier" just some friendly advice" Mortimer slightly annoyed at the guard, Mortimer knows he is only doing his job, but the way he says it is like he does more than his job entails (or the law allows)

[Voshkod]

"I'm not hiding anything," Averell says, stepping forward. "And don't enjoy yourself too much, OK?"

[Civil War Man]

Neil raised him arms without protest, and for the first time in the entire trip had an amused smirk on his face. "No point in fighting it, boyos," he said. "Many people attempt to raise themselves above everyone else, using any excuse from money to heredity to some divine mandate. But the fact that they require this shows that no matter how meticulously they construct their bubble, they still know fear. And there is nothing they fear more than one angry person or group of people, destroying in an instant the power they foolishly believe is theirs by right."

[Xsesiv]

The bouncer doesn't appear offended in the least, having recieved the same argument in less articulate terms many times before.

Before too long, a slender, red-haired waiter arrives. "Allow me to escort you to your table," he mumbles. "Mademoiselle LaVoie is waiting." As he pushes open the double doors, the music, conversation and chatter wash out once again, like a wave. The main hall is packed to bursting, the bar and dance floor thronged with affluent businesspeople and young dilettantes, the people who put the roar into the Twenties. The war long past, they are living in a present so satisfying that nobody can imagine that the future can ever be as important.

With a crash, the big band on the right of the stage finishes a syncopated number. The crowd does not clear from the floor, instead they stand there and applaud. The Golden Five-Star Band rewards them with a trendy song, and the dancers hop on it.

Women enjoy their postwar independence, dancing up and down the floor with free-flowing flourish. The length of evening gown is short, just below the knee, to go with bobbed hair and Parisian cigarette cases. Young men slide along with them, collars open and hair slicked back. It's a typical wild night at le Bistro.

The waiter ushers his group up a short flight of stairs to the upper deck. To the right, the whole horseshoe-shaped bar can be taken in, to the left is the stage, band on the right and piano on the left, and right ahead is the dance floor and a number of stage-side tables with green velvet tablecloths, crowded by dynamic-looking people, all smoking and drinking away.

Front and centre, Céline LaVoie sits at a large table alone, except for several bottles of fine champagne in the middle of the table. "Welcome," she says, a huge and distinctly non-feminine grin cracking her face. "Have a drink," and she rotates the bottles of champagne so that everyone can see the labels and choose the one they prefer.

"You're here as my guests tonight. Are you hungry? Would you like to dance? Everything here is yours. That's my brother, Stéphane, over there, by the way," she continues, pointing at the bar, where stand a group of three men, two older and short with their faces away from the table, wearing rented tuxedos, one younger, tallish and thinnish, wearing a finely-tailored olive Italian suit, thick black hair cut close to his head and with fine cheekbones. "The young one," and she waves to him.

[Civil War Man]

Neil was slightly disappointed that the bouncer didn't take the bait. A good brawl would have gotten the blood pumping, and that one in particular looked like he might have been a fun challenge.

"I probably could have told you that," he said to Céline as he tilted one of the bottles to inspect the label. "I haven't met too many people who would wear clothes cheaper than what they give a random Mick thug they pick up off the street.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian clears his throat nervously.

"Thank you for the invitation, Madam LaVoie. I trust you've had no other probelms since the train?" It concerned Ian that the perpetrator was still out there. He'd not feel truly secure until the man was caught.

[Xsesiv]

"Oh, no, I've been quite alright," she says, smiling. "I can't see anyone with any sense at all trying to attack me at home."

Stéphane is now walking towards the table casually, having broken off from a conversation that looked to have been turning dull and handed a note to the band leader. "Hello, all," he says, casually, and unlike his sister, his accent has no touch of French in it. He pours himself a glass of champagne. "Thank you for helping Céline on the train."

The band comes to a stop, the dancers applaud, and the band leader shouts out "The next song will be a waltz," which effectively changes the dancers from younger to older, quieting the din of voices, syncopated music and stamping feet.

"So, what do you all do, and why are you here in Montréal?" continues Stéphane.

[Voshkod]

Averell settles into his chair, orders "one of everything" just to see what shows up. "Ms. LaVoie, you make us feel welcome in Canada. Quite a night, from tomb tourism to this fine club."

"What do I do, sir?" he replies to Stephane. "I, sir, am a professional wastral, part-time dabbler in dark magic, and a casual expert in the admiration of beautiful women."

[Dark Seeker]

"Ian Winters. A pleasure to meet you," the doctor replies to Stéphane.

"I'm a doctor. My friends and I are visiting our dear friend, Father Philip Mcbridge. Perhaps you've heard of him? He does seem to have garnered some local interest."

[Xsesiv]

"I see," says Stéphane, glancing over at the dance floor every now and again. "Unfortunately, I've not had the pleasure."

[littlebottom]

"I'm Mortimer. I am a highly successful stock broker. By highly successful, i mean i havn't gone out of business yet, and ive been doing it for quite a long time, most people dont even last a week playing the stock market."

[Xsesiv]

"Oh, yes, certainly. It's a case of education, if you ask me. People don't fully understand what they are getting into."

The band slows its waltz, which has been very brief, down to a stop. The dancers change over again, and waiters rush in towards the tables, creating further congestion. A saxophone player wipes his brow, then looks intently to the floor. "Un couteau!" he shouts, pointing, but nobody acts in time as a nondescript man pulls out a fighting knife from his cummerbund and shoves it into the lower back of a big, fat anglophone. The anglophone, middle-aged, hugely tall and in a white suit and with white hair and moustache, looks disturbingly like a photo-negative of Mortimer. The fat man's scream is lost in the panic, as the assailant grabs his hair, rips out the knife and stabs at him again. The foyer doors burst open as Montréal's élite burst forth, tripping over each other in their haste to escape.

Stéphane, not evidencing any alarm, stands and takes Céline by the arm, saying calmly but loudly, "I think we should leave." The LaVoies walk over to the bar, avoiding the dance floor, where an enormous mêlée has erupted. Four large bouncers with similarly large clubs emerge from behind the stage and wade in, swinging left and right. It's hard to tell sides, but two groups are definitely fighting – and it's not distinctly francophones versus anglophones.

French:

Spoiler

Show

The Saxophonist: "Knife!"

[littlebottom]

Mortimer nods, and files out after celine and stephane staying out of the fights if possible.