Summer in the Southlands pt 1
Washington, DC. September 1925.
Tuesday, 8 September 1925. The Day after Labor Day.
Captain Christopher Nolan arrived at 8:31 am, 29 minutes early for his appointment to meet with the Director of the BPRD, for his final interview. He was standing along a gravelled unnamed road, outside the city, near what looked like a pine forest. There was no sign of a building, or anything, just some ruts in the gravel that suggested there had been vehicles on it now and then. He'd had to use his compass to find the spot, but there it was; a single quartz block carved with a simple eye symbol, the etched lines filled with what looked like ink. Birds were calling in the trees. A warm breeze riffled the weeds in the field he was standing near.
There had been two other interviews; one in which he had met with an older woman with a sweet manner, who'd introduced herself as Edith Moore, and they had met in a diner downtown. She'd chatted pleasantly about his work experience, his time in the Army, but had seemed somewhat distracted; she also had been carrying several very full files in a large leather satchel. "Oh, my yes, we do have to ask about that time in...the Hundred Days Offensive. Late in the war....Yes, yes. Bit lucky, weren't you, at St. Quentin. Well then, that's all I need to know for now; thank you all so much."
The second interview had been with a tall, spare, silver-haired Scottish man, who had simply starting walking besides him as he went along the Park heading home. The man's suit was well-cut but an older style. "Angus McCrae Duncan, Agent, BPRD." the man had said, in a heavy accent, flashing a badge and identification. "I'm to conduct your second interview. Take a card and show it to me ?" As Nolan considered this odd query, eventually selecting one from the well-worn deck of cards the man offered him, and studied it briefly. "Three of Coins," he muttered. "All righty then; I'll pass the word along. You'll be told where to go and wait."
It seemed as if he was the only interviewee, but a few minutes later an absolutely gorgeous woman came walking along the road, clad in a dark green, draped dress and wearing a matching cloche hat. She looked like a bronze-skinned Venus with straight black hair cut in a perfect bob, and had huge dark eyes. "Oh ! Hello," she said, with just a trace of accent. "I didn't know anyone else would be waiting." She offered up a sweet smile.
The rattle of gravel signalled that a car was approaching; it turned out to be a sleek new silver Mercedes, gleaming with chrome. The car slowed and eased to a stop; behind the wheel was a thin blonde man in a light grey suit. "Nolan, and Ginny, please get in, I'll take you into the Grey Building," he said, in crisp English with just a hint of German to it. "I am Agent Trachenberg. Do not be alarmed by anything you see, you are completely safe." There was something about the man's bearing that Nolan immediately pegged as ex-military, though the bespoke suit and haircut were civilian. It was a strange request, but the pay was reputed to be better than most government jobs. The woman happily settled into the back seat of the car, leaving Nolan the shotgun seat. The Mercedes shot forward, and into a thick bank of fog, in which odd shapes were swirling....then into very plain grey office building, where the parking garage was located on the lower level. The Mercedes was expertly parked next to a very fancy red Auburn roadster and a rattletrap Model T. The German got out, held the door for Ginny, and very politely escorted her from the car. An older man in a security guard's uniform was standing by the elevator, with a look on his face that implied he hated the whole world and his job in particular. Trachenberg showed his badge, and the guard stepped away from the elevator, giving all three of the visitors a gloomy scowl. Ginny got into the elevator first, and Trachenberg held the doors for Nolan. The elevator was large and seemed well kept, with brass railings and wood panelling. Trachenberg tapped the button for the third floor. They exited into a boring looking corridor with bad lighting and concrete flooring, painted dull grey. "The Director will see you in the conference room - this way. To your left, there is the Break Room. Past that is the conference room, the big doors."
There was a sound of voices, male and female, from the so-called Break Room; as Nolan passed by he saw a black woman in a grey dress chatting with a young caucasian man in a black suit; the woman was laughing and the man fussing with some kind of complex coffee-making machine. Ginny sashayed off towards the next room, which was sealed off with an imposing set of double wooden doors; she went in as Trachenberg opened one of the doors for her, and he motioned for Nolan to follow her. Nolan entered the room - carpeted, with a big oblong wood table with ten chairs, to find that he was alone in the room with a fortyish Caucasian man, thinning white hair in need of a cut, spectacled and idling shuffling papers with his right hand; his left hand was out of sight, tucked into his grey coat pocket. His tie was striped in purple and green but it didn't contrast too much against his suit. Trachenberg shut the door, quietly leaving. The man stood, holding out his right hand to shake Nolan's. "Captain Nolan, welcome, please sit down," the man said, voice heavily with a New England accent. "I'm Ben Weintraub, Director of BPRD. Tell me why you want to work here."
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Meanwhile; in the offices. Everybody Else.
Spider and Jack had just seen Fritz walk in, heard Edith call out a Hello to him. "Well, we may have new one," the German said, "Military; probably Army. The shipment from Minnesota is on the way - custom mukluks."
"Icebreaker has reported that we have our first two supply drops ready." Thorne stopped typing for a minute and accepted a small note from one of the green mice. "Thanks Jane. Jane says we need to fill out more forms for the bills of lading for our sleds and gear, something about port - " he handed the note back and the mouse scribbled some more on it - "Port fees and grease money. Honestly, grease money ?" The mouse shrugged, hard to do with no shoulders, and scampered away.
"I'm not sure we will have enough time to train the new agents if we're leaving in November." Trevor Bruttenholm said, carrying a load of books towards his lab.
"What could be easier, shoot at the monster until it - explodes, melts, or otherwise ruins your day - and your clothes ?" Thorne asked, crabbily. "Not like they have to go across a frozen wasteland to do that."
"It will be summer down there," Fritz said, taking the files off his 'in' basket and dumping them into Thorne's, and taking the files out of Thorne's 'out' basket to go and file them away.
"Ladies, Gents," Edith rushed into the room. "We have a special request. Who can go and spend the afternoon with the Serbian ambassador at their consulate ? They said something about strange things happening."
"I do not speak Serbian," Thorne grumped.
"They speak English. What's your beef today, Tommy ?"
"Nothing," Thorne said, and began typing again.
"Serbians, anybody ?" Edith asked. "Or you can stay here and help me inventory the office closets and fix the frother on the Brewmaster machine."
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GM: Please post with responses for the next half hour of game time, by Saturday, 24 July, next post Sunday. Hope you are all well and coping. Welcome, Nolan !
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