[COC] Beyond the Mountains of Madness

[OOC Thought I'd let the padre get a question in here, but I guess he's not around....]

"Evil, eh?" Richard writes a few things down in his notebook. "Can you expand on that? I assume that this was a first impression upon seeing them- what were things like for you as time went on and the rescue got underway?"

Father Steele Pauses briefly, takes a seat, and listens with anticipation to Mr Mctighe's discourse.

Park Avenue Penthouse
New York City, New York

Roxie stands on the rooftop, gazing over her beautiful Central Park view. The air is chilly, but her fur coat over a silk robe keeps her reasonably comfortable, as does the healthy glass of illegal whiskey in one hand.

Over in one corner a grammophone could be heard playing music - her music - her voice drifting over the gorgeous New York night.

Perhaps she'll have visitors this night - would be swell to lesson the loneliness if for a bit. Certainly her dead husband's friends were quick to drop her as soon as he popped off. No need to be nice to a woman whose stepchildren were sure to strip of all that wealth and throw her back into the streets where good old Joey had found her.

Of course, the creme of society underestimated the determination of one Roxy Hart Rockefeller.

There is but a single small light burning in the room. Antonie is getting frustrated with himself, never having had to learn things from a text before. Still, the closer it gets to the departure date of the expedition, the more nervous he becomes.

Maybe Rayburn was right, and I'm not going to cut. But I'll be damned if I don't try. Not this time.

Antonie bends himself over the thick volume once more, studying the human physique and its response under conditions of extreme cold. The words just won't get absorded in his memories...

The big man finally admits to himself that he's just more of a do-and-learn type and gives up, closing the heavy tome. In the half-dark of the room he walks over to the cabinet, pouring himself a generous glass of gin.

RAyburn paced his room, his bed was pristine from non-use. He puffed a cigarette steadily. His eyes were heavy, but the thought of closing his eyes terrified him. That would mean sleeping, and sleeping lead to dreaming, and dreaming meant that he'd have to live Costa Rica all over again and he couldn't do that. Not if he could help it.

Still, he could only go so long without sleep. He realized that he was not thinking clearly after the events at the Speakeasy. What was he thinking heading for the back door? He knew cops would be waiting out there. Still, he almost lead the three of them into the arms of the police.

Thank god for Tony. At least he kept a clear head. Maybe he had the fellow all wrong. He certainly seemed capable after all, and he kept a clear head in the crisis.

So did the dame, dammit! She was cooler than most men he knew. Maybe Tony was right about her, too. Keeping cool was the first step in survival, everything else came second. All the skills in the world are worthless if you're too panicked to use them.

Obviously, he'd have to rethink his opinion of all of his team members.

Well, except for the priest and the reporter.

They still had to prove themselves.

Regardless, none of that really mattered if he didn't get rest.

He looked to the bed and felt the dread smother him. Maybe he could use the morphine one more time. . . .

No, he would try it without the drugs, no need to complicate matters. Rayburn climbed onto his bed. He felt under the pillow and found his blade where he had left it. He gripped the hilt in his hand, closed his eyes, and prayed that the nightmares would go easy one him tonight.

Park Avenue Penthouse
New York City, New York

It was swanky.

It was expensive.

And it was the perfect example of someone who definitely had more money than they knew what to do with.

Roxie Rockefeller knew how to throw one hell of a party and she did. As a farewell - have a blast - go slumber party go - for the antartic crew...she threw it big and wild. The whole place was filled with ice sculptures of all kinds, pretty fake snow with the real one not too far behind outside. Plenty of white flowers and fur everywhere.

The food tasted divine - as it should being catered by the finest restaurant in New York City. In one corner an jazz band complimented everythign with their swankiest sound. All around guests of all shapes, sizes, social strata mingled in ways that would have alarmed any true believer in the heirarchy of NYC's social scene.

The hostess herself was dressed in one of her more revealing and extremely wild getups. It hugged her curves enough to make them illegal, showed off her glorious gams, and shimmered with every shake of her hips as she walked.

Here a nod, there a nod. Roxie knew how to work it, and work it she did.

Rayburn put on his best tux, slipped a knife behind his back, and a razor in his sock. He then hailed a taxi, determined to have a good time if it killed him.

"God," he muttered to himself, "I hope that woman doesn't manage to get the police involved tonight."

Park Avenue Penthouse
New York City, New York

Antonie hangs by the door, getting away from the crowd for a moment. He had liked Roxie's idea of a party, a get-together for everyone on the expedition. He hadn't expected it to turn out like this... Of course, he should've known.

Antonie wasn't really interested in those present, the jetset of New York. He didn't know any of them and couldn't be bothered to. It was quite obvious for any who saw him that he wasn't really part of the night's events, dressed in one of his normal dark suits. He just wanted to get a feeling for those who would join them to the south. As such he hung back in the hall near the elevator, waiting for someone that he would recognize from their earlier meeting in the hotel.

St Patrick's Cathedral
Archdiocese
460 Madison Ave
NY NY 10022

Well this was the night, Father Steele thought as he glimpsed at the invitation for the party being thrown by Mrs. Rockefeller. Earlier in the day Father Steele had been summoned by the cardinal who suggested that he should attend this, this ......party. Well it was close enough to walk, being that the cathedral was near 51st.

Father Steele located his finest black suit and reached into the closest retrieving one of his black embriodered ceremonial cloaks. He paused in front of the mirror and thought, not bad, as his long red hair flowed past his shoulder. He grabed his cross and rosary and placed them carefully around his neck. He then turned to a Bureau and knocked on an undisclosed location which revealed a secret drawer. From there he retrieved his two beloved revolvers and placed them into his shoulder holster. The cardinal had reminded him that he was specifically chosen for this assignment and to be especially vigilant. For the hell-spawn which attacked the last expedition might try to infiltrate this expedition with a human agent.

As Father Steele left the cathedral and emerged on 51st, he toke the time to really take in his surroundings. Just then he thought of the final words the cardinal spoke, "Father Steele it is imperitive that you find ways to assist your group in preparing for the hell-spawn, without alarming or alerting them to what they are facing. If you are not successful I fear that I will never see you again my son."

Father Steele made the walk in little over an hour, and noticed the sudden increase in traffic and pomp. "This must be the Place", he replied. He greeted the doorman and gave his name. The doorman responded, Mrs Rockefeller is expecting you Father Steele. The ride on the elevator was uncomfortable, but the father pressed on to the swank quarters. As he entered the great room he was totally over taken by the gross morality of it all.

Park Avenue Penthouse
New York City, New York

Roxie swoops in to greet the incoming guests, alighting on both Rayburn and Steele at the same time. Jewels glittered on her fingers, her throat, hair and ears. Everything about her sparkled like a billion carat diamond, and she certainly did love her diamonds.

"Hello darlings!" she cooed grasping each by the hand and blowing air kisses at them. From the whiff of her breath, she had been availing herself liberally of the martinis. "Grab a drink and get yourself into the swing of things! I don't like sour looks at any of my parties!"