Piece of Mind: Thin Air

The rain starts falling shortly after the ferry leaves Anacortes, fat droplets that pound against the windows of the M/V Sealth’s passenger deck, a restless staccato over the thrumming diesel engines. Outside the glass the clouds and sky and sea blend into a sodden grayness.

Inside the ferry is barely half-full. The other passengers are subdued, mostly commuters returning to the island from jobs in Anacortes, Burlington, and Mount Vernon. Some watch the evening news on televisions in the cabin: another roadside bombing in Iraq...rain through the weekend...three-car collision causing delays on the Viaduct...Seattle Aquarium hosting a special overnight program for kids...Mariners trailing the Blue Jays in Toronto. Others read the Post-Intelligencer or the Puget Sound Business Journal, or chat on cell phones. A boy in his late teens plays with a GameBoy; a girl in a dark blue Western Washington University hoody types on a laptop. Two rough-looking men in well-worn work clothes sit in a corner conversing in Spanish. A few passengers slump down in their seats with arms crossed and eyes closed. There’s no galley on the Sealth, only a few vending machines and newspaper racks.

From your pocket you pull the letter again. The letterhead reads, “Donald J. Slocum, Attorney-at-Law,” with an address in downtown Seattle, embossed on thick linen paper. The letter is terse: “I’m contacting you regarding an urgent business matter for which I hope to obtain your immediate assistance.

“I respectfully request your attendance at a meeting on San Juan Island at 7:00 p.m. on Friday, May 20th to discuss the details of this matter. Please contact my office at (206) 555-4965 for assistance in travel arrangements – overnight accommodations will be arranged for you on the island. Sincerely, Donald Slocum.”

You slip the letter back in your pocket and listen to the rain, and the engines.

Make a Listen check.

Kristen sits with legs crossed on, her laptop bag and purse beside her on the bench to take up an extra seat. She taps her fingers impatiently, watching the news; at first with interest, then with boredom as it reveals the same old stories the media reports everyday.

What am I doing this for? This is so unlike me. I don't even know who this guy is. She sighs and starts unpacking her laptop and cellular phone to connect to the internet. Might as well make use of this time to do a bit of searching on this guy. Let's see... Donald J. Slocum...

OOC: Start searching the internet for info about the lawyer. I'm not certain what you want me to roll, so if you could roll for me that would be great.

Computer Use +9
Research +9

Edit: Oops, forgot that Listen check... 19!

http://krisinchico.brinkster.net/searchroll.asp?username=Kristen#158023

Samuel tucked his sunglasses into his pocket, as he leaned back in his chair and watched the latest news. Same ol', same ol' he thought to himself, and pulled out the letter again.

Hawk had no idea what this was about, though he figured that, like all of his contracts within the United States, it would involve a form of courier work, or being a glorified chaffeur. He doubted there would be much excitement, when the possibility of such a thing existed (especially when your view of excitement generally required violating various laws), it usually wasn't a lawyer who would hire you. Still, he couldn't turn it down, money was tight lately.

Listen: 8

As the rain pelts the windows of the ferry, Kristen types the attorney's name into the search engine of her laptop...[sblock]Research: 27 - Research +9 with +2 skill synergy bonus for Computer Use...and finds a few references to Donald Slocum - small business, probate, and estate planning firm in Seattle, member of the Washington State and Oregon Bar Associations, past president of the King County Bar Association. Testimonials from some of his clients attest to the nature of his practice: a flower shop, a building contractor, a gym, the executrix of an estate.[/sblock]

The trip from Chicago was unpleasant, wet and bumpy. For the fifth time Brandon tried to reach his mother to tell her that he was out of town and failed. He let it ring until the voice mail clicked on, noting with a sneer the final words of her message "...and Brandon, if that's you, then leave a message! You never call me, your own mother!" He clicked his cell phone shut quickly and stretched, pulling his Nikon out of its travel case in the backpack.

"Travel light. Travel quick. Stay low," he thought to himself. Just the sort of mantra you'd expect from a person in the middle of one of the safest countries in the world. He clicked a few idle pictures of the vista and the passengers, forcing a smile and polite wave to the ones who might object. Pretty country up here in Seattle, but too rainy.

Again, he looked at the letter. No fee listed, no referral. Just what had he gotten himself into? Caroline had been adamant though, "Brandon, you've got to stop all this knocking around the world. What would Jessica and Camille do without their Uncle Brandon?" More jobs in country, check. Less travelling, check. He sighed and put it away. "No adventures here Caroline, "he murmured, looking out through the rainswept glass of the ferry.

Having nothing better to do, Brandon picks up his camera and wanders a bit. If the opportunity presents itself he makes idle chit-chat with anyone who seems interested, including the men speaking Spanish. He's honestly interested, his time in Columbia and Brazil has reinforced the notion that he has more in common with with the workers than the students now. I'm going to do a Sense Motive check first though, because I really don't need to be beaten up for trying to make small talk just now. If I need to make a Diplomacy check somewhere in there it's +4, and probably still going to be better than that crummy Sense Motive I just did.

Listen: 11
Sense Motive: 9

Decker slouched in his chair. Paying slight attention to the TV as his head pounded with last nights binge still working its way out of his system. Surely one more bottled water will end this head ache.

Shuffling to the vending machine he glanced at the other passengers making sure there was no spark of recognition on any of their faces as he passed.

Returning to his seat, bottle of water half gone, he slumped back down closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall, a passing thought runs through his mind... hey the Jays might win one.

Brandon wanders idly about the passenger compartment. Few of the passengers take notice of him, their faces those of tired commuters heading home at the end of a long week with the prospect of a wet and dreary weekend ahead.

Standing near a column, Brandon can overhear the conversation between the two Spanish-speakers. Both are on the maintenance staff of someplace called the Hotel de Haro – Saturday morning marks the beginning of their work week, and the men are commiserating over their impending "Monday.”

After nearly an hour and a half, the ferry slows as it enters Friday Harbor. The lights of the small town twinkle in the rainy darkness as the Sealth comes to a stop at Cannery Landing. You grab your bags and debark the ferry. Near the top of the gangway stands a tall man wearing a dark green hooded Gore-Tex jacket over a charcoal business suit; he holds a small flashlight and a waterlogged cardboard sign that reads “D. SLOCUM” in block letters.

When you approach he smiles and introduces himself. “Good evening, I’m Don Slocum. We’re in the SUV over there.” He points toward a red Range Rover parked at the curb with hazard lights flashing.

After your bags are loaded and everyone is in the car, the attorney wheels the Range Rover through the town. “It’s about twenty minutes to our destination, on the other side of the island,” he says as he drives through the darkness beyond Friday Harbor. The windshield wipers can barely keep up with the pouring rain. “I’m sure you have a number of questions, but it would be best if you can hold onto them until we arrive. Perhaps you could introduce yourselves in the meantime?”

Sirk Decker

Wiping the rain from his hair and face Decker smiles, “Sirk Decker, Archo-Tech Securities consultant, nice to meet everyone.” With that, Sirk sits back calmly as the rest of the group introduces themselves. Trying as best he can to keep tabs on the route back to harbor.

"Samuel Hawkins," stated Sam, as he brushed a lock of wet, red hair out of his face, as he studied the faces of the others in the car with him. "Just call me Hawk, everybody else does. I'm a, ah, private contractor, he shrugged. "Cars, trucks, planes, helicopters, if it's got an engine and moves, I can drive it.

Brandon winces inwardly as he steps off the ferry platform shouldering his luggage. Unbidden, his eyes scan the lights and the scene around him as he approaches the man holding the sign.

"Man... what sort of middle of the mole of nowhere did I just sign up on. I bet there are more people living in my apartment building than in the whole town," he thought. He chuckled to himself as he walked past the tourist trap boutiques and tossed his bags into the back of the Range Rover.

As the various other people from the ferry begin to separate themselves from one another and others load up the Rover, his face slips on his "meet and greet" mask and he exchanges pleasantries with the other people getting into the vehicle.

"Brandon, Brandon Sharpe," he explains with a smile and a perfunctory shake of everyone's hand. He very obviously intentionally makes eye-contact with everyone, and when given a name he tends to repeat it back when replying.

Once everyone is in the car Brandon continues as if silences were a disease that he could single-handedly cure. Careful to obey the client's wishes, his curiosity is instead deflected to the other passengers. How was everyone's flight? Has anyone ever been here? Did anyone see any whales? Where is everyone from? Does anyone like football? The list goes on. It's just the sort of thing that should be annoying, but he's charming enough that it tends to be more amusing than anything else because he's so obviously nervous.