go aѕĸ нoѕѕ!

one day, the woods will come to swallow me whole. / i dread the day they whisper, call and coax. henrietta o. sohn, 44, private investigator.

[hsohn]

sheriffq​: >

“I know, Ducky - an’ it’s somethin’ I knew I was gonna have to talk to her about anyway,” he admitted. With the grip she had on Everett, trying to help her could be seen as saying she wasn’t doing a good job. It didn’t matter that she was in her seventies and had her own health concerns. “An, yeah - pizza sounds great.”

The good part about not really being part of the Sohn family is that Mrs. Sohn wouldn’t ask him to leave out of fear of being seen as impolite. Instead, she’d get angry at him, maybe serve him a smaller piece of pie, and then slowly come around through conversation. He had it easier than Henrietta would, especially since she was planning a vacation for her mother.

After he and Everett caught up, he moved to the couch and sat down, picked up Hogan and set him on the floor where he determined that the dog would stay for the evening just to save Mrs. Sohn from having to vacuum more than she already did. “You found yourself a pretty lady, huh?” he asked, stretching one arm over the back of the couch and giving his full atention to his friend. “You gonna ask her out proper or just make moon eyes?” he asked, a true smile lighting his face. “I know, you grew out of that stage, but it was funny when you were younger. You’d get the softest look to your face when you were sweet on somebody… an’ hell, looks like you still got that look.” ---

--

In the kitchen, Henrietta took a moment to herself. To bury her face between her fingers, nose bumped into the v-shape of her indexes, her eyes roaming around the tile and cabinets and countertops heavy with all sorts of cooking utensils. A woman’s place, where woman’s work was done, her mother had always thought proudly of it. Henrietta had felt the strain there, to learn things that didn’t interest her and services to her family she never saw the fairness in. 

Her mom was a proud, classic woman. She had rural bones and ‘orderly’ ways. And she’d never sacrifice a child, even if that child was long gone; not even if another one was in need. She wouldn’t leave, not without making a fight out of it - especially because it was her only daughter who’d make the suggestion. You know better, she could hear her mother saying. Even now, briefly hiding in the kitchen in order to sort out her own head and push aside the thoughts of her mother and Everett, in the hopes that maybe in this house, she and Quincey could have a fun night like they would anywhere else, her mother’s voice was around.

Back out in the living room, she threw herself onto the couch with a little ‘whuff’, and set about to engage him in a different topic. One that wasn’t as rough and deep as the matter of the Sohn family, which he was and wasn’t a part of, for years. “She’s recently come to town, I mean. Not too recent, but she’s pretty and tall n’ has those pleading eyes that make me want to jump through a hoop on fire just to rescue her.” Henrietta groaned, and slouched, further down, into her seat.

“Man, E. Don’t go bringing up my embarrassing youth, especially to her! But, listen. She’s this super gorgeous woman, she’s got a bike -- not a pedal one, but like a full-speed rocket and I’m trying real hard not to get the UHaul after she invited me to her place once.”

[hsohn]

chasexhawthorne·:

-

“I mean, you did answer yourself before.” Chase shrugged softly, continuing to glance at her son. He was clearly enjoying himself, and despite the way she was feeling, it warmed her heart to know that at least her son was learning how to fit in this place really well. “It’s Halloween time. Kids are bound to come up with crazy things to do, don’t they? Especially when there are so many places around that could have stories written about them.” At least, when she was a child, she really did like to come up with various stories. And with technology improving this much over the recent years, what was stopping the kids from coming up with more creative pranks?

Not to mention, she was simply unwilling to really believe anything else, despite the obvious.

“I don’t blame you.” It used to be one of her favourite spots as well, until her family’s visits were cut shorts and she was no longer allowed here. “It’s like the whole place is frozen in time, isn’t it? It’s fascinating.” Her eyes shifted to her son once more, a light smile appearing on her face. She would’ve loved to bring her husband here as well, to visit her summer home as a family. Now, with just her and their son left, it was bittersweet, living here. “It’s a good way to release all of the energy, isn’t it? Especially with the game that you were playing.” Granted, Chase probably could have offered for the woman to just go to the gym, but in a way, she understood it; this way about a hundred times more fun.

“He seems to have a thing for Galaga.” The young woman smiled once more, before the smile went away once more. “I think it might be better for him to make some friends first. He’s at that age where it’s important.”

---

Henrietta had given an answer, one that was no more or less likely true than any other one. What it all came down to, no matter how many stories or answers came out of the strange events that lived alongside everyone in this town, was the facts that supported one answer over the other. Her contribution was worth just as much as Chase’s, as Madam Darnell’s from two streets over - who swore it was her son’s voice on the telephone line, calling to her for help from wherever he’d gone when he’d left town.

“If he wants any recommendations, I’ve played just about every single one of these games. I’m always looking for fresh competition as well,” a wry smile creased her face, and she stepped a mite closer to the other woman. “I’m Henrietta, Sohn. I do private work around town, investigation into this n’ that. I’d like to apologize for how abrupt my question was, but it’s important to me that I do my best by everyone who lives here.”

Which meant Chase as well.

The redhead did tilt her head, quizzical and curious: “You - new in town? You’ve got this face like I ought to know you.”

[phqmysteries]

NOVEMBER 11, 2021. 8.41pm.

several households report dark water coming out of their faucets. it is yet to be confirmed whether the substance is toxic or not.

Keep reading

[hsohn]

nishawestley·:

> STATUS: open, phqstarter.

WHEN: november first, 10 am.**WHERE: **next page bookstore.

The keys were heavier than they remembered, considering there really should’ve only been three — one for the front door, one for the back, and one for the safe hid underneath his old desk in the back. But flipping through them, Nisha counted until they could find the one with a barely visible book engraved on it. Eight keys. Eight. Why the hell did he have eight keys?

If he really wanted her to take over the shop he could have at least left behind better instructions. Like what each of these damn keys were for.

Click.

The sound of the door unlocking brought them back to the present, and they used their shoulder to push the old thing open. It took more to open than it should have and the sound it caused was like nails on a chalkboard. Tossing their keys onto the counter, Nisha pulled out their phone and wrote out ‘fix front door’ in their notes app — adding another item on the ever growing to do list.

They already needed a cigarette.

The bookstore was -- open?

Seeing the person struggling to shoulder open the door, Henrietta thought to herself that either they were attempting to open a difficult door after a long time, or they were - perhaps - attempting to bully their way into the store. Perhaps a thief? Couldn't be, though. Not in a town like this, where even petty theft wasn't entirely necessary (not that it was unheard of, as she well-knew). It was what she gave pause, and caught at the difficult door with a hand.

Her head peering inside, she called out: " -- well, hey there stranger." A friendly enough tone, to indicate she was at the door. "Haven't seen this place open in a while, is this a twist of good fortune? I used to get all my favorite pulp fiction here when I was little. My momma got all her Nora Roberts here too, she'll be so happy if you're fixing to pick up the inventory."

[hsohn]

sheriffq​:

—

His shoulders fell when she said that he would have to be the one to talk to Mrs. Sohn. He’d have to use the Everett and I were in a relationship card without specifically saying it. He’d have to navigate the murky waters of being like family without actually being family. The simple gold ring that was kept in the drawer next to Everett’s bed matched the ring that Q wore on a necklace around his neck. It had been one of the reasons why his past relationships didn’t work out. He never fully moved on from Everett. None of the remaining Sohns had.

In the kitchen, the dog’s activity drew his attention. He would talk to Mrs. Sohn because it was for Everett’s care and for Mrs. Sohn’s safety. “I’ll talk to her on Sunday - see if she might be agreeable as long as she knows that it’s to help her an’ not replace her,” he conceded. Henriette’s similar line of thinking made him snort. “I think I’ll let you tell her about the trip first…” he said, pulling up a kitchen chair so he could sit at the table but didn’t sit yet. Instead, he started the process of making them a pot of coffee and finding the drawer where the family kept their menus. “You thinkin’ pizza or take-out burgers?” he asked, holding up one of two menus.

They had done this growing up - though she was always the youngest, and the Sohn parents had always left money for them to order. Now, the age difference between them meant nothing. He picked up his pie and poured himself a large mug of coffee. His doctor said one cup of decaf a day so Q compromised with three cups of regular coffee a day. And today was a special occasion. “You order, I’ll go make sure Evvie’s okay.”

He left his wallet on the table, and trusted that Kane would follow him while Hogan would do whatever he wanted to do. In the living room, he greeted Everett with a kiss to the forehead before he went through the steps of checking for new skin tears or pressure ulcers. He checked the machines keeping him alive and then went back to the man himself, sitting down in the comfortable chair that was now used simply to keep vigil next to Everett, and he told him about his week. The strange phone calls, how Jax came to the department, the return of the sisters, all of his adventures…. His misadventures. Then, he laughed. “An’ Ducky and I decided to watch old movies and see who could quote ‘em better. So, make sure you call foul when she gets a word wrong,” he murmured, picking up Everett’s hand to hold it. He kissed the back and then held his hand to his cheek, taking this time to spend with him before Everett became the man attached to machines again - as he and Henrietta would watch movies.

Her own relationship with her mother, her last truly living family, wasn't any better than Quincey's. Caught out as the only daughter, the youngest child and potentially the next one threatened by the strange malady that plagued the Sohn line, Henrietta was as much babied by her mother as she was estranged from the woman. In one breath, she could be told not to stray far, and in the next, she was invisible to her - Mrs. Sohn focused instead on her Everett, breathing artificially in the room. Maybe it was a little cruel of her to tell Quincey that he had to be the one to talk to Mrs. Sohn; Henrietta had a talk that she had to have as well, though. Doubling down would only make that woman feel like she was backed into a corner.

Then, she and Quincey would lose.

"I won't make you do it alone, you know." Reminding him, that she had his back. As best as she could, in this house where every breath felt stagnant and somber, she'd have his back. Lightly, she traipsed around the kitchen and prepared some food and drink for the two of them, falling into a role as if imagining her mother's voice in the back of her head: Henrietta, sweetheart. Go get the boys some drinks and a sandwich. Even if Quincey was helping himself to the coffee, giving her pause - abruptly bereft, before she slid their plates onto the table and flopped herself into a seat too.

"I'm thinking," and she thumbed her bottom lip, "pizza, with movies. Something about food you can fold. Plus, leaving some for later n' shoving it in the fridge means cold pizza for desserts." Henrietta had no trouble deciding that, and placed the order. It was the least she could do, to give Quincey some time with her brother.

Once she'd waited for the coffee to brew, once she'd done the dishes and located where her mother had hidden the dog food away in the cabinets over the fridge (because, of course Mrs. Sohn would keep food for Quincey's dogs --), she gave Kane and Hogan a little treat (or three), and went to see where her not-brother was. The last of her brothers, and not a brother, in whole. Standing in the doorway, she listened to him. Him talking to Everett, the way she'd look in and see the two of them chatting in bed - their fingers held together and some hopeful thing in their smiles.

She stepped back, out of the doorway, to give them some privacy. And then she'd come in, announcing her tread with a racause sound: "You know," she declared, "they really don't make women like they do outside a' Pleasance. There's this lady that came to town, and my good God Almighty in Heaven -- E, she is something."

[hsohn]

marionlost·:

Title: The Gentle ReminderLocation: The Museum of Small Wonders For: Henrietta | @hsohn**Time: Weekday Afternoon **

The door to the house-turned-museum remained open to the chilly autumn air. The wind blowing in dead leaves which swirled down the hallway. The proprietor of the museum of strange things stood in the room immediately to the left where normally there would be an assortment of taxidermied animals dressed in various clothes - there was now glass scattered across the floor and a few of the well-dressed foxes had fallen over, their fragile bodies broken.

It wasn’t the first time that his museum had been vandalized. The museum - located just outside of the southwoods, immediately south from Vinny’s deli, hadn’t been a welcome addition by the town board, but it brought in steady revenue. More than he had thought. It might have been better had he been well-known and liked within the town borders, but outside of working in the museum, he rarely spoke to anyone.

Instead of calling the police, he placed an order for a new window and then started to sweep up the glass. He’d have to ask if the taxidermied animals could be fixed, and he’d have to call his insurance company. Then, he’d cover the window. Herne nudged against his leg, warning him to a person entering the museum. He slipped on the sound processor and grimaced but re-adapted. “I’m sorry - we’re closed today,” he said, turning around - but paused when he saw Henrietta. “Oh…” he cleared his throat. “No, you can stay.”

---

When she was young, she had always enjoyed visiting the library. Be it the local aisles or the one at her school, the selection of books had always served to scintillate and urge her to learn something more; it was no wonder, then, that she had grown up yearning to learn. She liked to learn about people, about their lives, about their secrets and their struggles. She liked to read more, assess with fresh eyes, and possess a wide variety of awarenesses that would allow her to view anything and everything with some measure of interest.

She had always remembered, from her time in the library, holding the massive cover of the annual edition of Ripley's and Guiness flat against her palms. Ripley's, especially, had always been of interest. Growing up in a town like Pleasance meant that oddities to some were daily occurances to others; everyone had a ghost story, a two-headed farm animal, a distant relative that had come to the town from an old cirque and never left. Casey and Everett had always asked her about Ripley's, always shown some sort of amused interest in the way she'd regurgitate what odd facts she'd learned and the stories within.

It was no wonder then, that on that cool, fall day, she found herself at the steps of the Museum of Small Wonders. Pleasance's very own Ripley's-adjacent feature.

Most of the time, she heard about it from the tourists. Today though, she thought to begin her annual walk - the urge always possessed her in the fall to reacquaint herself with her town, to stroll north to south and east to west and account for everything and everyone. She might have been a good cop, once. Now, she could only bear to work independent of others. Setting her own hours, endangering only herself in the field. In the Museum, she could hear the sound of glass being swept. The broken window outside catching her eye on the way in. The destruction of local property piqued her interest, and made her heart ache.

Bundled up to her chin in a peacoat and a patterned scarf, she looked in upon Marion Rhodes. The child of the sequoias. The same child that had appeared in the wake of her brother's blood being spilled in that grove. She never knew what to make of him, nor had she ever interacted much with him. The Museum had been around for over a decade, and she'd never been able to set food inside of it. It was time, she thought, to change that.

"Good afternoon to you, Mister Rhodes." She said, when he allowed her to stay. Whatever'd gone through his mind, she wouldn't pretend to know. "I saw you were having trouble with the window. Could I help?" Because regardless of her fears and her concerns, he was a resident of her beloved town. That meant she'd do whatever it took, to do right.

[hsohn]

xslater​:

A lazy shrug decorates his shoulders. “I wouldn’t take my word for it if I were you. I wasn’t here. But a friend told me about it. Seems oddly suspicious these things should happen at the same time.” Or his training had just led him to be suspicious of everything. He’s not sure if that’s supposed to be a good thing. “But if it was loud and in the middle of the night, it probably was.”

He eyes the very professional-looking notebook in the other’s hands; another thing he should probably find suspicious. Who still writes with a pen and paper? “You a reporter or something?”

“What would you friend’s name be?” With a quirk to her lips, she worked to put the ball back in his court. Questions were her forte, both because she could learn a bit about the person she was talking with, and also because they’d further her work. They were important, no matter if they made people uncomfortable and suspicious or not. Besides, wasn't it only suspicious people who'd grow resistant?

Her notebook, or more to the truth, her digital tablet and accompanying pen, was given a wiggle before his eyes. The screen clicked off, audibly, and she grinned a bit. Pen and paper? Not when she could condense it all onto a cloud system and not have to worry too much about having anything destroyed or immediately stolen. "Detective," she replied, with a measure of pride.

"Not with the station, I'm a private investigator. I'm on my own dime for what's going on, mostly because I'm worried about folks. Believe me, I'm not being paid to poke into everyone's business -- this time."

[hsohn]

chasexhawthorne​:

-

“It should have been the first guess on everyone’s minds.” Chase agreed. Maybe she was fed up of hearing the theories from her coworkers, or maybe she was genuinely worried about the origin of the calls. Maybe she refused to admit that to herself. Either way, it wasn’t something that was always on her mind, especially when she had her son to focus on. “Otherwise, the kids in this town are really missing out on freaking everyone out.”

The other’s actions, however, brought curiosity to Chase, and she raised her brows, finally shifting her focus onto the woman and further away from her son. For those few brief moments, at least. “If anyone had stood me up, I would no longer be here.” And it was a pathetic argument; she used to love arcades, the date nights with her husband were always the best in here. Pushing those thoughts away, however, the redhead glanced back at her son, still completely focused on the game he was playing. “My son’s out there, playing. I just figured I’ll keep him company without being too overbearing.” She shrugged. “And you? Don’t tell me a shitty date’s what happened to you.”

What Chase said was, definitely, of interest to her. Though Henrietta had grown up in Pleasance for all but a few years of her life, it never paid to pretend like she knew everything about the town. Instead, she listened to what natives and visitors and new blood alike had to say about it. With Chase, she gestured with the end of her pen: "What makes you think that, miss?" By her tone, she wasn't just asking to seek some idle answer. There was a genuine desire to know what experiences had lead the young woman to decide that it was more viable for the calls to be a prank, rather than a haunting of some kind.

Still, with her question resting between them, Henrietta was as much interested in the other woman's well-being as she was seeking information.

Henrietta found her eyes following Chase's gaze, towards the boy playing the game. A brief smile creased her own face, as kids had always been endearing to her. Maybe because she'd babysat for nearly everyone younger than her at least once or twice in her youth, and maybe because kids were just - unique, in every way. "Nah, I love the arcade. I've come to Z's ever since I was seven years old, trying to sort out the ugly mess of my thoughts and all that business. There's something about getting into a good pinball game that strips it all away, let's you relax for a moment."

The games, to her, were an escape. Her peaceful place. "Your little guy got a favorite game? You ever tried playing with him? There's plenty of two-players."

[hsohn]

aundertakerxsonny​:

x

Sonny did not often hang around Z’s. The place, with its blinking lights and its empty promises, made him think of Coney Island, and Coney Island had broken his heart. Or something. That was one of those things he made up in his head, a nonsensical turn of phrase muttered aloud with a cigarette dangling from his lip. He would have to plug in the other bits of the story later, he decided. But now, now was not the time for fancy or play or whatever. And Sonny already spent too much time on whatever. He was standing now at the counter, and reaching into his pant pocket, he fished out a faded brown wallet. “Yeah, I think the kid who owns this works here maybe? Left it at my place few days back. Someone turned it in. Think you could give it to ‘em for me?”

The billfold’s owner had been at the funeral home for a viewing over the weekend, but Sonny had never met the red-faced teenager himself. He had recalled, though, that the kid had wandered in late with his nametag on and sat glumly with an older couple, perhaps, his parents for most of the night, as if the mere task of being there had drained every ounce of life out of him. But then again, most people did not actually want to spend time in a funeral home. “And everythin’s still in there, okay? In case someone asks,” Sonny added as something of an unfunny joke. But really, he had no idea if everything was intact; someone had discovered it in the bathroom stall where the employee had obviously retreated that night.

Nevertheless, as he turned to leave, Sonny paused when he heard a voice speak up. And meeting Henrietta’s eye, he managed something of a weak half-smile. He raised an eyebrow. “I, uh…I mean, I run a funeral parlor. Some lady called to ask if we could cremate her husband while he was still alive. So, yeah, sure?” He rolled his shoulders, though, brow furrowing as some of the light vanished from his face. “Yeah, but you mean, like the…scary _voice _ones. No. I didn’t get any of those. And it’s a damn good thing too. We got enough randos on our lines. How many folks you spoken to, huh?”

"You know," she said, at the mention of the lady calling to cremate her husband, "I think that counts as pretty bizarre, too." Call it what it was, but even when Henrietta didn't receive information directly pertaining to what she was asking about, the fact that people were open enough to giving her any information at all was a good sign. Plus, business like a woman trying to cremate her husband alive? Could turn out to involve her, at one point or another.

At the counter, Z's current desk attendant could be seen peering into the wallet for the identification. Judging by the way said attendant's mouth thinned and head bobbed, the owner of the wallet was someone they knew. Henrietta watched them pick up the phone receive and dial, each number requiring a spin on the ol' rotary to plug it in. That whole thing being not her immediate business meant she could turn her attention on to Sonny.

"So, no spooky calls in the last few for you. Where do you live out of?" She asked him, marking the notation down on her piece of digital scrap paper, the light click of her pen kept as brief as possible to better allow her to keep her attention and personal focus on him. "I've managed to get to everyone in the south, 'round abouts where I live. Neighbors and the like. THey're usually easiest to chat with. I'm making my way around the east side of town and main street before heading north. Typical wiggly search patterns, you know."

Maybe??

[hsohn]

saarvos​:

《✿✿✿》

Her face crumpled the moment Henrietta offered to come to her house and have a look around. Two days without sleep had left her bereft of her natural coping skills. Her nerves flayed, body exhausted, mind racing - the only respite she thought she was going to be able to receive was a cup of coffee, some kind conversation, and maybe permission to stay in a different place. She was a grown adult, but she didn’t want people in town thinking that she was over-dramatic and would run away from some silly prank calls. Had she thought that her brothers knew where she was, she would have blamed them. Though, if she wasn’t so tired, she would have found a way to blame them regardless.

”I’m sorry - it’s been a lot.” She took Henrietta’s hand, not to shake but to hold onto, lacing their fingers together without thinking because she was past the point where she could determine that Henrietta might have meant something else like a greeting. Instead, Sa’ar took it as a lifeline and held fast to her new anchor. “Do you have a vehicle? I rode my motorbike. I have an extra helmet. Or I can meet you there… I live at …” she gave her address. “It’s the soft lavender victorian.” She loved her house, and it was the reason why she wouldn’t leave Pleasance. The three story home had charm and heart – and was probably haunted. “The door is unlocked, so if I meet you there - you can go in first. I’ll have to stop and get more tea, so I can meet you there.” Sa’ar didn’t want to be at her house alone, she didn’t even want to arrive at her house alone.

The woman looked exhausted, on her last legs, and the expression upon her face was enough to yank brutally at Henrietta's heartstrings. She'd always been a fairly empathetic person, especially towards people with tears in their eyes. A pretty woman, however, was an entirely different weightclass. It was easy, for her, to want to help. To want to help because someone was experiencing difficulty was one of the reasons she'd ended up getting into the work; while it had mainly been investigating employees and employers, a periodic look into potential arsons and looking for a presumably stolen sheep or two, the small town atmosphere had allowed her to be closer with everyone. To find a way into their homes and lives, and to offer her aid.

So, when Sa'ar took her hand, Henrietta held onto it.

"I have an old Jeep," she assured the other woman. "How about you pick up your tea and anything else you might need for the coming few days, and I'll go get my equipment and meet you there, yeah? Take some time out of the house, and while you're out - I'll get there first, and take a look around the outside. Wouldn't be proper to go into a lady's home without her there to keep an eye on things."

Still, she wouldn't let go of Sa'ar's hand for the moment, adding an alternative idea: "Or," it was a gentle thing, "I'll accompany you around town, you look ready to collapse, you poor thing." Just in case Sa'ar didn't want to let go. Or couldn't. "You look new around here. Well, new-er. Not from these parts, so I'm wondering if you've even gotten to feel the small-town love Pleasance has to offer."

[hsohn]

sheriffq​:

“I’ve got your momma some caretakers comin’ in twice a day, seven days a week,” he said to her, removing his hat to worry at the brim, turning it in his hands. He knew that Mrs. Sohn was a proud woman who had raised proud children, but like Henrietta, he worried that she was going to overwork herself. Yet, instead of thinking that she’d die, he was worried that she’d hurt herself and it would be a day or so until someone thought it was strange that Mrs. Sohn hadn’t been seen at her mailbox or sitting on her porch hand-sewing a quilt. “I know she wouldn’t be inclined to acceptin’ help, so I talked to the agency and they said that while they normally wouldn’t, they know about Evvie’s story an’ how hard your momma’s been workin’. Now, they’re only here for an hour each time, thereabouts, but they can help with him, or give your momma a bit of a break.”

Now for the crux of the problem. “She’s not gonna accept them easily. Evvie is her boy. This is her house. She doesn’t need any strangers comin’ in thinkin’ that they can do better, an’ I don’t know your momma as well as you, Ducky. So I was kinda hopin’ that you might sit with me at Sunday dinner an’ help me explain to her that this is a good thing. It’ll mean she can go to bridge club again… she won’t have to worry.”

He looked into the living room where Evvie, thirty-four years later, continued to depend on machinery to breathe … for his body to be kept alive while all doctors said there was no hope of him coming back. Then, Henrietta was in his arms, and he steadied himself. For a moment, they became a collapsing structure only held up by the weight of the other. When he came into the house, grief always hit him first.

But he was an Attaway, and she was a Sohn. Neither had the luxury to wallow in their negative emotions. So, he cleared his throat when they separated and gave her a smile. “Hot chocolate - an’ if you could make it with some of that sweetened milk your momma likes to make it with…” Regardless, he’ll follow her into the kitchen, taking his bag he had slung on his shoulder to put it down. He unzipped it and took out the dog bowls and their food, so he could feed them before turning them out to run in Mrs. Sohn’s backyard.

”She’d feel better if we stayed over the weekend,” he said as an aside to Henrietta. “Give her some living comfort.” Mrs. Sohn would never ask, but at least once a month, Q would be a guest in her house, sleeping upstairs in Everett’s room just like he had growing up only to be woken up with Mrs. Sohn calling him for breakfast. “What do you think, Ducky? Wanna see how well we can take care of your momma this weekend? At the end of the weekend, how well we did quotin’ will translate into – somethin’ involvin’ drinkin’ next weekend, sure as not.”

The news that he gave her was, in fact, news to her. Since returning to Pleasance, Henrietta had come to understand that her mother wasn't going to allow anyone, nor anything, to come in between her and her son. She was a woman of the old earth, salted and sturdy in ways that weren't seen outside of tight-knit communities with an emphasis on family being the most important thing in the world. For Quincey to bring up the matter of caretakers, that he was worried about being able to get them to come on and - more importantly - being able to convince her mother to accept them in her home, tending to her child, was nothing short of close to a miracle. One that she knew that only Quincey, who had always been sweet with Everett, was the only one who could have manfested.

Lightly, she ran her hands over his arms, giving them a friendly rub accompanied by a quick smile. That flash-in-the-pan expression of hers both too skittish around hard emotions and too honest to resist showing them.

"I'll help," she promised him, "you already worked them over good, I think if anything - I can tell you all the secrets I know of my momma, and you're just going to have to be the one to deliver the news. I'm not saying that because I don't want to do it myself, but because of how important you are to Ev. How much you matter to momma, when it comes to him." There was no doubt in her mind that if she tried, her mother would resist. And Mrs. Sohn would have a far easier time resisting the only daughter, a fellow woman, moreso than the man, who had once been a boy, that Everett had loved.

Shuffling on her feet, she followed his eye to Everett in the living room - and her mouth frowned for a moment, sadness pouring in. And then, it was pushed aside, in favor of her drawing him deeper into the house, towards the kitchen where the good scents and the majority of business was conducted. There really was no sitting room, other than her mother's small study where she kept all her books, her movies and other storage materials, and the room where Everett stayed. She pulled him back there, and set to locating a knife as she trusted him to find himself a comfortable spot.

"I went looking around Bon Voyage for a good trip for her too," she told him, "she hasn't left Pleasance ever, especially not after Casey. Then nana, then papa. I thought maybe I could put in some legwork to get her something easy and special, and take care of Everett while she was gone. I think using this weekend as a testrun, and getting her on board with the caretakers would go a long way towards making that a reality too. Here, E. Eat some pie and let's agree on things going forward. You know I'm in your corner, always to the best as I can."

[hsohn]

bishan-chanda:

Bishan grinned, and shook his head. “I have to put it some way. And well, I’m not everyone else, am I? That would be a waste, if everyone had the same responses to questions, you’d have nothing to write about.” He raised an eyebrow at her cutting off the conversation, then only to make a pull back, making some strange comment about being unfair. “Hmm, I simply asked for clarification, I think that’s a fair question this day and age, for all you know, I’m being haunted by a ghost twenty-four seven, and that’s my most recent experience.”

“You’re not much of anything, just yet.” The flash of her grin had gone crooked in the interim, while she made every attempt to bite back on her irritation and continue on (for a least a little while longer -) with an open mind. After all, some people responded poorly to stress, or the supernatural. At least her tone would betray her pass at humor, before she flattened her hand again - giving it to him. He wasn’t wrong, even if he struck her as abrasive. And also, not someone who’s business she appreciated tangling up in her own favorite business!!

“Which ghost?” She asked, without missing a beat. “Let’s hear about that, then. I’m all ears.”

[hsohn]

chasexhawthorne​:

The reason why Chase had made her way back to Pleasance was simple; a need for normal life. Maybe, to some, it didn’t seem like the smartest choice, yet the town was a happy place for the young woman; her siblings were there, her grandpa was there, and her happy childhood memories still had made them very much so present. Trying to get Desmond build up his own good memories here was what she wanted, even more often than not, Chase simply wanted to stay on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket.

It seemed only but natural that the arcade would become one of Des’ most favorite places. The boy was quick to make friends- he was a carbon copy of his father, after all- and so Chase was simply left with watching him interact and play one of the many games that were present. She preferred it that way, really; as much as her son was her beacon of support after everything that had happened to his father, he was still just a child at the end of the day. He needed to be a child, he needed to heal himself, and that was all that Chase wanted.

Her attention, however, shifted quickly as a person nearby spoke up, pulling Chase out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry?” She frowned a little, before the woman’s question finally clicked. “Oh, uh-” She’d heard plenty of whispers about the odd phone call, and in a way, it was a relief that her phone hadn’t been spammed in a similar fashion. “I haven’t, no. Wasn’t that just some odd prank?”

"Could be," the telephone calls, she meant. "I wouldn't want to rule anything out, and prank calls during the month of spooks? That wouldn't be out of question." Still, Henrietta was not the kind of investigator who started drawing conclusions before she'd gathered her information; that was a great way of missing the little things, even if every inch of her sang that harassing calls stunk of capitalistic harassment.

Back to the point.

The young woman had one of those faces, Henrietta thought to herself. Familiar bone structure, resembled someone - and with such a thing being fairly commonplace in a small town where nearly everyone knew everyone (if they didn't know of everyone --), that didn't strike her. Not just yet, maybe. Instead, she shuffled her things around to leave one hand open. An inviting gesture, as she lifted it and held it palm-up before her; the way one might, when trying to let a shy animal get the scent before trying to scritch under it jaw.

"More important," she uttered, electing to forego the information-seeking first, "are you okay? I don't usually see people hanging around Z's without anything to do. Someone stand you up?"

[hsohn]

saarvos​:

《✿✿✿》 _A former blockbuster…_

It took her a moment to understand the small town joke. “Oh…” she said, a dejected sniffle truly pathetic. “I have internet at my house, and a home phone because cell service can be spotty out that way.” She reached into her halloween designed purse that she always pulled out at the start of October and removed the cellphone. She held it in her hand, as she weighed her options before she quickly stepped forward, her heels tapping against the floor and she carefully set the phone on the pin ball machine. “That phone also rang when my home phone did. That one might have a caller ID or numbers saved in the record. Easier than phone records.

Not having at least one of the phones in her possession alleviated some of her burden, and she exhaled hard, drew her shoulders back, and attempted to make herself more or less presentable. “There is no passcode,” she said, speaking of the flip phone that refused to die and thus, she refused to get a new one. She liked that the flip phone allowed her to have a cute little kitten charm. “I can only guess at how busy you are, so I won’t ask you for updates.” Back into her purse she dug, this time to remove her business card holder and remove a card. It had her name, address and home phone number. Underneath read secretary. She flipped the card over and wrote her email. “Here… you can come by my house or call my home phone if you have any information. Or want to return my phone…” A fleeting little smile, “or if you want to visit. Share your favorite borrowed Netflix DVD.”

As the woman drew near to her, Henrietta tucked her notes up under an armpit in order to lean in close and examine what she was trying to reveal. Internet connection, home phone, cell service - three factors to include in her notes, she knew. If the phone calls across the town had any such things in common, it could help her rule out which service was the primary carrier of what was either a telephonic haunting, or a really nasty prank. Henrietta wasn't going to draw a conclusion, not just yet, as badly as she wanted to pin it on the Institute already.

The phone charm was, without a doubt, the cutest thing she'd seen. It made her want to find a case that would allow her to have one as well, as her own phone was a rather up-to-date model.

"Oh, please." She held up a hand in the hopes of gently dismissing the concern that she was oft busy, before accepting the card. Sa'ar Vos, what an ethereal name. "I'm never so busy that I can't spare time for someone who needs me. I don't have my business card on me, but if you - actually, if you have some time now... could I come by and check out your phone lines? And your internet provider, for that matter."

With a smile, she tucked the card away, throwing pale red hair back over one shoulder to clear up a hand - offered to Sa'ar. "I'm Henrietta, by the way."

[hsohn]

xslater​:

Very few things tend to hold Jordan’s attention as well as games do. Video games, board games, arcade games… He likes to think he’s pretty good at them, too, if the stack of tickets he proudly has sticking out of his backpack ( on purpose ) are anything to go by.

But when he hears the conversation from behind him, he’s quick to abandon the game, head nearly doing a 180-degree turn like a raccoon caught nibbling a discarded chicken leg from the trash bin.

“I’d like to wager that it has something to do with that big explosion near Death Ranch the same night,” he chimes in with a smirk. The person the ginger was interviewing rolls their eyes and turns to leave, pegging the conversation to not be of _that _much importance to stick around. “You got that in your notes?” Jordan pointedly brings his gaze downwards to the little pad she has in her hands.

"Is that what that was?" She wondered, putting the end of her stylus to the corner of her mouth. It wasn't like she hadn't heard the explosion, more like she was still doing the legwork in asking locals about their experiences, before she'd head out to poke around the area and see what was what.

"Neat. The only explosion I've ever experienced was when my roommate's old scrap-heap of a car went nuclear in the parking lot at three in the morning during finals."

( It had been, the worst night imaginable. )

Henrietta did take down the tip offered to her, reaching out to pat her hand against the arm of the person leaving; she'd offer them a quick, polite thank you for your time, to keep up with the small-town manners that had been bred and born into her. And, sometimes remembered. To the guy speaking to her now, she drew closer. " - you get a look at the explosion yourself? Or someone tell you about it?"

[hsohn]

bishan-chanda​:

Bishan walked out of the back office a little bit annoyed, sure, he hadn’t thought he could take over the business just like that: after all, George Alby had tried too. He had simply started with the offer of a cooperation. His bar did well around town, the arcade and dinner did well too, how about they exchanged some goods, organised some events, the whole family would be represented: the overly-excited kids, and the parents desperately in need for a drink. 

But the owner had called him a shark and sent him to the door, not even willing to listen to even a single word Bishan had to say. He had shrugged and allowed for the annoyance to settle. 

“Abnormal?” He asked, one eyebrow raised. “I think if you are referring to phone calls of a certain nature, especially surrounding a particular event, you might have to be more specific. After all, this place is as abnormal as they come and abnormal phone calls are very much the norm if you want to believe all the ghost stories shared among the locals.”

Her brows rose at the response, momentarily capturing her absolute irritation at being spoken to in such a way. However, in the following few moments, her expression evened out and she parted her hands - still clutching tablet and stylus - in acceptance of what he was saying. He wasn't wrong, after all; with the town full of people discussing strange happenings throughout her entire life, why be combative with him about the need to be specific? It'd not get her anywhere.

Good cop, bad cop, she thought. Be good, then bad as a last resort.

"Needn't put it that way," she let him know, peaceably putting up her hands before returning them to a writers position. Stylus briefly wiggling, as she wrote down a note upon the digital paper. "But, here's the thing - if I were to ask someone else, I'd get an immediate answer about whatever the most recent issue was. The one affecting people right here and now, that they need someone to hear them out on. So, with that said - if you're not having any issues, we're good here."

A pause, and she murmured: "But, if you are, and you're just taking the piss outta' me for being inviting? That's not real fair of you, sir."

[sheriffq]

Blanket Permission:  Everyone can freely know the following about Q:  1) His mother, Doretha, is often seen at the bar, drinking heavily, and has been since she was in her late teens.  2) He’s Q, not Quincey – Quinn to current lovers, which he doesn’t have one right now..  3) For people not from Pleasance - he would have shown up to introduce himself when they moved in.  4) For people from Pleasance - you’ve seen him around. He’s been in law enforcement since he was just out of high school. He’s always been a lawman.  5) He’s a good & fair man.  6) He is openly pansexual. He doesn’t hide when he is dating someone and never has.