(I've decided to make this thread private.)

The man Harry bought a drink for wanders over to her, his fresh pint in hand. "Hello there... have we met...?" He says cautiously, looking her over...

His tone seems casual, but forced. It's also the tone a man might use with another man-- there's no indication that he's noticed Harry's true gender yet... but the way he's looking at Harry suggests that he suspects there's something more to her that he can't put his finger on... or is it that he suspects her motives, and is seeking confirmation of something as yet unknown...? Or is his curiosity a signal for some other train of thought entirely...?

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This message was last edited by the GM at 00:18, Thu 03 May 2018.

Harry lifts her chin in the direction of the Professor. "Professor said you were passing through and didn't get much of a welcome," she replies. "Locals are a mite jumpy. Woman was badly beaten last night by a stranger." She nods toward the unoccupied seat at her table. "Harry MacLeod. Arrived in town a short time ago myself. Take a seat or not, as you like. Habit of mine to keep an ear open for news from afar."

The man, still curious and not sure what to make of Harry exactly, sits. "Silas Rumson," he says. "Did-- do you know-- are you a friend of the professor's...?"

Harry grunts and downs a shot of whiskey. "Traveled a ways with him and the new doctor," she replies. "Don't know that makes us friends. Familiar faces is about it." She fixes the man with her gaze. "So, Mr. Rumson, what brings you to Collinsport? Brought any news with you, from whichever direction you came?"

Harry's words seem to decide Rumson about something... he clams up a bit. "Ah, no, not really, afraid not..." He takes a long draught of his beer, then seems to relax a little, perhaps deciding there's no harm in sitting and drinking a free beer for at least a little while longer. "...Strange town, Collinsport..." he muses absently.

Harry chuckles and gives the man a sidelong grin. "What makes you say that? Ain't disagreeing with you, just curious."

"Well... you must have noticed it... Collinsport feels... old. In the wrong way. Like... like this country must have used to feel, like Collinsport's not... part of the modern world. Like... I don't know. Like it must have felt back when the colonies first started. Like it's somehow cut off from what... the present feels like."

Harry nods, still grinning. "Ah... you must mean that feeling like, at any moment, someone could be dragged out and burnt as a witch?"

Rumson gives you a look. "...Well... yes... That's exactly what I mean... what an... interesting example to choose. Apt, though... There's a sense of... suspicion, like everyone's filled with both fear in the face of the unknown... and hate, as well. What... what makes this place like that...? Is it... is it something in their past, do you think...?" Now the searching look is back, like maybe Rumson thinks he dismissed Harry a little too quickly earlier...

Harry leans close to Rumson and lowers her voice. "Troubles rear their head every couple generations. Strange troubles. Bad troubles. All come at once, never one at a time. Folk fear the troubles have returned, seen signs of it. Means dark times ahead. Dark times."

"And... but... I mean... what signs? Do you mean this woman who was hurt last night...? That doesn't exactly seem... preternatural... Have there been other signs...?"

Harry shrugs. "Dunno, ain't asked. Would guess strange folk, strange weather, strange happenings."

In reply to Harriet MacLeod (aka 'Harry') (msg # 12):


"Mm. Maybe strange people in town, a--" He stops. "I'm probably talking too much." He takes another long draught of his beer. "I should probably go. I think this had better be my last drink for the evening..."

Harry leers. "Aye, don't want to be caught unawares by ghosties, ghoulies, or goblins," she says with a chuckle. "Or wander off the pier and drown, like my old man." She downs the last of her whiskey and eyes Rumson again. "Careful of the fog. Tends to roll in about this time every night. Queer things in the fog, sometimes."