[IC]Pickman's Model Revisited[CoC]

[bruin]

Pickman's Model Revisited--Call of Cthulhu

Being a short adventure in modern day Boston...

OOC
Props
Cast

OODM: Short comments and stats (for attack, skills, etc.) are fine here as long as you indicate that they're OOC. Longer questions should go in the OOC thread itself. I prefer italics for thoughts and quotes to indicate speech, rather than colored text.

IDM: It’s a busy day in downtown Boston as you head back to the lawyer’s office. Fighting your way through congested traffic or sidewalks, you try to ignore the summer heat and the noise of the blaring horns. Things have been normal, or at least as normal as they get around here. In the paper this morning, you might have noticed a story about the young boy, age 10, who disappeared up around the North End several months ago; they’ve been looking everywhere but still can’t find him, much to despair of his parents and the locals.

As you get to the lobby and the elevator, your mind strains for a moment. Now what floor was that office on? At the beginning of the previous week you saw an ad in the Globe: “Freelance investigators needed. Flexible hours. Require a variety of experience and expertise. Willing to work with a group. Inquire at Thurber and Associates xxx-xxx-xxxx.” You called the number and spoke with a man named Gaines, who interviewed you here at the end of last week. A small, nervous man, he conducted the interviews professionally but seemed irritated that he was being put in that position; apparently he was not part of human resources but somebody’s personal aide.

On Monday, that is, yesterday, he called you back and set up an appointment for this afternoon. He called it a briefing, so it looks like you’ve been hired. The money’s excellent; Gaines said you’d receive several thousand for a week’s work of investigation, but didn’t go into the details much. You finally press the right button and the elevator ascends 25 floors.

You check in with the receptionist and you're directed to a small conference room. Gaines appears again, offering you something to drink, and tells you that Thurber himself, head of the firm, will be briefing you on your assignment as soon as everyone arrives. Everyone? you wonder, I guess there’s some others, like it said in the ad.

You make yourself cozy in one of the chairs, waiting for the briefing to begin.

OODM: Make yourselves comfy and chat as we wait for everyone to arrive.

 

[apocalypstick]

"Can I get you anything to drink?" asks Gaines.

Yeah, thought Chris; a double shot of bourbon neat'd hit the spot.

"No... no thanks," is what he says.

The aide nodded and left the conference room, shutting the door behind him. Chris drummed his fingers nervously atop the polished conference table, stood up and paced a bit, adjusted his tie - the only one he owned - and sat back down.

Yeah, he was nervous. And early; perhaps the first time in his life that he had ever been early for anything. But the rent on his s**tty little apartment was two months overdue, Jennifer was four months pregnant and talking about marriage - marriage! - and things hadn't gone right for Chris Vandal in a long, long time.

He needed this job. Several thousand dollars would be like a straight-up gift from God right about now.

Ok, Chris, don't screw this one up.

 

[Dakkareth]

With a slightly shaking hand Jens presses the elevator button.

Maybe it wasn't the best of ideas to come here ...

As the elevator ascends he examines his clothes - again.

Not too casual, not too formal. It's not like I depend on this, is it?

Finally it is the 25th floor. Gripping his umbrella tighter Jens approaches the counter and checks in with the receptionist. Now that there's no turning back anymore he's more confident.

Well, let's see, what this is about.

As Gaines offers him something to drink he asks for a glass of water and sits down in one of the chairs greeting the young man already sitting next to him.

"Good day. Also here for the investigator job I suppose?"

His umbrella deposited beside him Jens proceeds to make himself comfortable in the chair looking at the nervous man and trying to guess, what made him come here.

 

[apocalypstick]

Chris turns to Jens, discreetly wiping his sweaty palms upon the leg of his slacks, and offers him the charming, crooked half-smile that has served him so well over the years.

Okay, another person - he settles back into his chair, slipping into 'Chris-Mode' (play it cool, make him your friend, and see what you can get out of him), and offers the newcomer his hand - this, I know how to deal with.

"Christopher Vandal," he says. "You got it in one, sir; I'm here for the job." He holds out his hand.

 

[Vorlon Space]

As John road the elevator up to the lawyer's office, he had to laugh at himself. If his ex-wife Lydia knew what he was doing she would call him crazy. And he would have to agree with her. It was his vacation. And what was he doing? Laying on a beach in the Carbibean? No! He was answering some ad for a investigator for hire. Sure it paid very well but really he didn't need the money. I guess it was a chance to solve a puzzle and not have to look at dead bodies from 9-5.

The doors opened and he found the office and entered. Ushered into the small conference room with two other people. Well here we go. John brushed nonexisistant lint from his sports jacket and found a seat.

"Hello, I guess you two are in on this too. My name is John Tweed. Pleased to meet you."

 

[Dakkareth]

Jens takes the offered hand and shakes it.

"Jens Hombridge my name. Nice to meet you. I take it we will be working together on whatever it is."

He smiles with slight irony at his ignorance of the exact subject of this gathering.

Then turning to the newcomer he introduces himself again.

*

"So, apparently we aren't complete, yet."

He gestures to the fourth, still empty chair facing the head of the table, then turns back to the others.

"Any idea, what this is about?"

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

The door opens and in walks - no, stumbles - a gawky-looking kid (he's little more than that) with brown hair. He looks like he needed a shave two weeks ago. He peers around at John, Chris and Jens from behind thick glasses as he introduces himself. "I'm Neal, Neal McGavin. I guess you're all here to check out this little mystery, too." Neal flops himself down in the empty seat after prompted by Gaines to have a seat. When offered a drink, he declines.

"Have one, thanks," he says, gesturing to his store-bought coffee. "Hope you don't mind if I drink this in here."

 

[apocalypstick]

"No, not really, Mr. Hornbridge," Chris shrugs. "Though for the amount of money Thurber's offering, I figure it's not likely to be a market-research survey.

"John, Neal," he continues, greeting them each with a nod of the head, "good to meet you.

"So... any of you guys know do they do here, anyway? Joint's pretty swank. Whatever it is, I guess it pays well."

 

[bruin]

Gaines pops his head in, looking slightly annoyed. “Mr. Thurber will be with you in just one moment,” he says.

A few minutes later, a tall, slightly graying man walks into the room and introduces himself as James Thurber. “Thank you all for agreeing to come in so quickly. Time is of the essence for this … assignment. Please don’t mind Gaines, he’s a very valuable aide and I think he somewhat resents being tasked with such an …” he stops for a moment, looking for the right words, “unorthodox set of duties. As well he should.”

“You see, you aren’t being employed here by my law firm. I’m hiring you on a personal matter… Well personal isn’t quite right. I suppose I should just start at the beginning.”

“A few days before I placed the ad in the Globe, I was accosted by a very strange fellow as I was leaving the building, a man calling himself Renard. He was seeking information about a friend of my grandfather’s, a man named Richard Upton Pickman. You see, my grandfather used to associate with a group of dilettantes who frequented Boston’s art scene. Some, like Pickman, were artists themselves; though the ghastly abominations of that horrible fellow hardly deserve to be called art in my opinion.”

“Apparently, Renard’s employer is desperate to acquire a rare book that was known to be in Pickman’s possession. All of their other leads proved to be dead ends, so I was apparently the last relative of Pickman’s known associates that they questioned.”

“I was rather shocked at the mention of Pickman. You see, my grandfather suffered a history of mental problems subsequent to his last contact with the man. When my father was only ten, my grandfather committed suicide, apparently driven to the edge by something that had happened. My dad kept one of his old diaries; in them, my grandfather raved all about all manners of monstrosities; he was quite mad to be sure. Looking at Pickman’s trash, it’s no wonder he went batty; Pickman used to draw these grotesque, horrible creatures, you see, enough to make you feel a little crazy yourself. An art collector I know has one of his paintings, and it’s quite ghastly I assure you.”

“Anyway, in one of his diary entries he mentioned a rather bizarre encounter he had with Pickman one night. It was the last time he, or anyone else, ever saw him. I told Renard about this and he was quite anxious to see the diary. I let him borrow it, and the next day he called me back, asking if I would be willing to serve as an intermediary to hire a team of local investigators to follow up on some of the leads they’ve uncovered in the diary. Apparently since they don’t know Boston well enough, and the clues are somewhat related to local history, they wanted people with a variety of skills who know the area well enough to follow up on the leads they’ve discovered. Why they didn’t just contact a private investigation agency is beyond me; they insisted on freelancers for some reason.”

“So the assignment is this: on successfully acquiring the book and delivering it directly to Renard’s employer, you will each receive a deposit of $3000 to your bank accounts. They will forward me the money and I will disburse it to each of you, getting a similar cut for myself for administering the process.”

“In addition, according to the diary, Pickman also had quite a few of those awful paintings in his possession when my grandfather last saw him. You know I don’t think much of his painting, but the art collector I mentioned is willing to pay a modest sum of $2000 for each painting you acquire. You can deliver any that you may find to me here, and I’ll handle it like the other payments. That's $2000 total, split 5 ways, for $400 each, for each painting.”

“Of course, you’ll need to visit Renard and his employer as soon as you can, so that they can familiarize you with the clues they want followed up on, as well as to familiarize yourself with a description of the book in question. Apparently they have another copy already; I didn’t ask why they want a second copy, but I suppose they want one in better condition or something.”

“Of course, if your investigation is unsuccessful,” Thurber pauses for emphasis, “Neither you nor I will receive any payment at all,” he concluded. “When you find something, get in touch with me again and let me know. Here is the address and phone number of Renard. He and his employer are renting a place in Arkham somewhere, up the coast a bit by the Miskatonic, before you reach Innsmouth. Shouldn’t be too bad of a drive.”

“Are there any questions?”

 

[apocalypstick]

"So... we're paying our own expenses?" Chris asks.

Well, that sucks.