lights-switched

[lights-switched]

"i'm not usually so jumpy," alan tries to regain even a shred of his dignity back. "i think it's something about being back in a school. it's bringing back some eerie sense of nostalgia. what's it like working in this place? is there a boiler room ghost or a nefarious principal?"

alan couldn't say that the titles were very intriguing to him, either. honestly, seems like they would be a snooze-fest. "thanks, i am definitely lacking one of those," he points with a freehand to the key card. "i just came with the books, no access to secret rooms." the staff room is much less secret than it is inaccessible without the help dylan provides. alan steps inside and sets the stack of scientific literature on the table.

"so, if not a STEM subject, what do you teach, mr. lenivy?"

"oh god, i didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry," dylan rushed, attempting to hide his slight laughter as he crouched down to help the other gather the stack of books, though admittedly, he wasn't much help. "how riveting," he spoke, unable to hide the look of disgust on his face at the academic drivel he had somehow ended up surrounded in. it was times like these he was grateful the most taxing part of his career was listening to his students be unapologetically out of tune. "I hate to disappoint, but I am unfortunately a dylan lenivy instead. however, I do have an access card for the staff room!" he grinned, pulling his keycard from his lanyard and swiping it over the door, holding it open for the other to enter. "you can pop them down on the table over there, I'll let him know they've arrived."

[lights-switched]

OPEN STARTER — the books & the bees, right before closing

"i hear you, i hear you," alan whisper-shouts into the phone, trying to get a book order figured out between the small town bookstore and a publishing house in the u.k. "will you please just put me through to the big boss, i am sure that he'll recognize my number when he sees- oh! and... they've hung up on me..." he turns his attention back to a lingering customer, his lips turning up into his best customer service grin. "hi, sorry about that... how can i help you?"

[lights-switched]

alan leans closer to hear what this supposed "secret" is. he nods along to each twist and turn in her description. "who said that the theft was for money?" honestly, whoever she was she already had a better story idea than alan could muster in the small coal of creativity still burning somewhere in his brain. "i think the main suspect may be trying to pin the theft on their victim. they'd make it look like the murder they committed was just an accident from their victim trying to steal a taxidermy bear," he formulates the twist in his head. "do you think the claws of that thing are still sharp?" he motions to the paws of the gargantuan creature.

"and, before i get kicked out of the museum for speculating on taxidermy-inflicted murders; i would just like to reiterate i am a published mystery author," he would hate for one of his first trips to the litwick museum to become his last. "this is all research. plus, i can write off the cost of entry on my taxes as a business purchase."

it's been a relatively peaceful day for helena, one she truly appreciates. it had given her time to work on her own writing while evaluating whether certain displays should be moved for maximum appreciation from visitors. she turns with a carefully fixed smile at the voice and mentally steels herself for the question coming ( she's heard just about everything by that point including things she'd rather not recall ), but laughs when she hears it.

"i'll let you in on a little secret," she begins, "place like this? could go either way." the admission may not have been the best idea, but she highly doubts anyone would actually attempt to take something from the small town museum. "on the one hand, security isn't the best on all of the taxidermy displays, but it's also a small town with everyone watching so..." she trails off with a shrug. "with very careful planning it could probably happen, but probably wouldn't be worth the money in the end."

[lights-switched]

"i'm just..." he finally settles on, "skeptical." there were plenty of ufo sightings and media depicting little green men. yet, where was the solid proof? alan even considers himself a fan of the x-files and the twilight zone, but he didn't know if he could say with absolute certainty that there was intelligent life out there. "don't you think if aliens were really out there we'd have already made contact with them, or they would have made contact with us? plus, earth seems to be a cosmic miracle with the biodiversity we've got going on here. my mind is open, but i need more definitive proof than a guy with wild hair being the talking head on what's supposed to be the history channel."

he nods at his own alias, the sound of it feeling like a warm blanket he could wrap up in. honestly, vincent scratch was a lot like a stephen king alter ego to him. someone just as enveloped in the oddities of life, who may or may not have struggled with substance abuse. struggled being past tense of course. who was a good author without their vice? "i wouldn't say favorite, but he's like an old friend," alan runs his thumb along the ridge of the punch cup, the condensation seeping through the pores of his finger pad. "i always know what to expect with one of his books, but never in a bad way. it's like a grown-up nancy drew series, or a way better patterson."

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🦇 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎” ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎for cassie, aliens were as normal as the weather. her head cocked at alan's reaction. “is that so hard to believe ? ” she asked, taking the bait like a slice of cake to a cowplant, “you should know by now that i don't tend to close doors for myself. you'd be surprised what you can experience when you keep your mind open to it.” but there was such a thing as being too susceptible. she remembered how green - tinged johnny smith had looked back in nevada; cassandra never asked about his complexion, she felt it was somehow rude. like when someone has lipstick on their teeth. “i'm more of a stephen king kind of girl, but i suppose i could give this guy a try. scratch, was it ? ” since the dissolution of her relationship, the hole in her heart that felt like a death, cassandra had been looking to fill her spare time with something. it had been so easy with don, going for romantic walks around graveyards, peeping through the doors of mausoleums, trying to find the oldest stones. it felt emptier without him, and even the most grandiose of statues appeared mundane to the eldest goth. tucking herself up in her all - black home beneath the lamplight glow, a hot cup of chai in one hand and a book in the other, didn't heal her heartbreak, but it certainly didn't make it worse. “would you say he's your favorite author, then ? you sound pretty passionate.”

[lights-switched]

"well, good luck to you," alan raises his fist up in a little cheering motion. "i'll be sure to go to the cherry tree clinic for my next check-up, should they take my insurance. maybe i can give you a good review for your supervisors." it was terrible, but he hadn't actually been to the doctor since they first moved to litwick. consistent medical appointments had ended in alan's childhood, once the responsibility to schedule them fell on him. the only thing he really ever got done consistently was eye exams. a bad case of hyperopia kept him from reading and writing without his own pair of spectacles. he couldn't say they were even half as magnifying and disconcerting as harvey's frames.

"if you do end up travelling, i've got a few recommendations," before settling in litwick, the wake's had used alan's royalties to travel across europe and southeast asia. it felt like a lifetime ago, and alan still didn't have another book to make up for all the money they spent. the books & the bees certainly didn't pay him enough to resume his international travels and royalties had run fairly dry. "well, you've still got time to suss it out. two whole years. i'm sure you'll find the right path." says the man who can't write to save his family's lives.

"you're a fan?" alan thought that the young doctor seemed familiar, but most of the time he was too busy at work setting the playlist for the store or ordering new releases that he didn't spend much time memorizing customers' faces. it was a bad habit. alice always told him he should be more cognizant of other people, but his head was constantly in the clouds. speaking of, his head eyes "lighthouse" their way through the crowd, searching out a tuft of blonde hair or a canon camera being raised to an eye. "we've got some great used stock out today."

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🩺 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎”‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ “two years,” harvey replied proudly, although the follow - up question had them wavering. there had once been a time where they were convinced of seeing the world, of marking off each country and continent with a neat little red pin. now, above his desk, strewn with medical textbook and supplies, was an unmarked map. the only proof it had ever been touched was a little hole, about the size of a pin, through litwick. with his bad eyesight, it was as though there had never been a hole at all. “i'm not sure. maybe i'll travel. i never took a year to myself after i finished school. i don't know whether i want to go into general practice, consultancy . . . ” was it against some kind of moral code to admit that he wasn't sure he wanted to be a doctor at all ? “ah, yes, that makes sense.” harvey wasn't sure what it would be like to have a wife. he wasn't overly keen on the idea for himself. was it like having a pet that wandered off every now and again, or more like when they sat on their phone at a funny angle and it started speaking aloud ? relationships and medicine didn't mix. how was he ever meant to maintain something romantic when he stayed at the clinic until the early hours, muttered the names of viruses in his sleep, and avoided cheese out of fear of carcinogens. “that's funny. i was going to come and look at your stall when i was done.”

[lights-switched]

alan writes dark stuff, so getting scared isn't usually his forte. the scaring part is. even with his nerves of steel, when the door opens somewhere behind him and he hears a voice that isn't his own, it makes him jump; the stack of books in his hands clumsily dropping to the ground. "sorry, my bad," he apologizes, leaning to the ground the collect the stack.

"it looks like we've got..." he swivels his wrist to get a look at the book spines, "fundamentals of chemistry and a pearson biology book. either of them happen to be yours? you wouldn't happen to be an albert wesker, would you?" alan peeks at the sticky note that had been placed on top of the books to designate who the delivery was for.

dylan had a free period, and for once in his career, chose to use his time wisely planning for the classes he had later on in the day, rather than slacking off and making the most of the extra hour or so in bed. he was tucked away in his room, feet kicked up onto the desk as he played music through his laptop, attempting to make a start on the lesson plan he had been struggling to focus on for days. he welcomed the distraction of a noise in the hallway outside of the room, pausing his music and getting up from his desk, opening the door to see what the cause of the disruption was. he smiled as his eyes landed on the culprit; a man adorning a stack of books, who quite simply looked just as out of place as he did himself. "hey! book delivery?" dylan asked, making his way into the corridor to inspect the delivery. "whatcha got? anything interesting?"

[lights-switched]

"the community room! that seems like as good a start as any," he knows it's likely alice would be found with her camera out and her eye through the viewfinder. alan struts towards the building, but stops in his tracks when he realizes he has no idea where exactly he's headed. "do you know where it is? i actually haven't been inside yet... we were too busy investigating the stalls out here."

she lets out a hum, biting her bottom lip as she thinks. "hmm. maybe she went to the end of all the stalls? or she's inside the community room, taking pictures of what it looks like?" she's not sure, but she's hoping one of them will be right. she really wants to help the man find his wife.

[lights-switched]

"big joanie," alan repeats rifling through his music knowledge to see if anything rings a bell in his brain. "are they newer? they've got that nineties riot grrrl sound, but i can't recall hearing them before!" he taps his foot along with the hypnotic pulse of the backing synths and the vocal rounds. "my mom was really into early riot grrrl; i'm from olympia—so, she would go to shows and get records from all the bands she saw. every morning we would listen to KAOS on the way to school," he remembers early mornings in the fog and drear of the pacific northwest, imprinted with the sounds of tobi vail and her early collaborators.

"no need to brainwash me. i'm already an old fan," he smirks, knocking his pointer finger's knuckle against the checkout counter. "yeah, i would appreciate a copy, if it's not a hassle to get it from the back."

entering inventory was more or less steph's least favorite part of the job, the laptop that sat next to her at the register was too old. asking it to run both spotify for the store's music, and the inventory spreadsheet seemed a harsh expectation at this point. still, the music had kept her at least entertained while the computer chugged alone. Her own air drumming had all but taken her into her own little world. only tethered to reality by the couple of customers still rifling through the vinyls and casettes.

she looked up at the question, doing her best to stifle her own eagerness to answer. "'fall asleep' by big joanie," she answered quickly. "they're dope. i've been on a huge kick lately. i'm glad my attempts to brainwash this town into feminist punk is finally starting to actually work." she paused, and checked her list of inventory. "if you're seriously interested, they're still in the back. i haven't had a chance to put them out on the shelves. say the word, i can pull a copy for you."

[lights-switched]

CLOSED STARTER (@pixelatcd) — litwick central museum, late afternoon

alan makes the calculated decision to visit the museum right before closing. he’s hopeful that all the families have headed home to get dinner ready before the early bedtimes of their kids. unlike those families, alan can make dinner as late as he needs or wants to. it’s one of the perks of not having children, he thinks. he paces the exhibits at his leisure, scenes of his books’ characters tracing the same steps writing themselves in his mind. he sees another passerby, and turns to them with his hands folded behind his back.

“this is going to be a strange question, but stick with me—i’m writing a book,” he prefaces, turning back to the exhibit’s display. “do you think it would be possible for someone to steal one of these giant taxidermy pieces without being caught?”

[lights-switched]

CLOSED STARTER (@quarri3d) — cypress high school, monday morning

“knock, knock,” alan didn’t know exactly who or what he was looking for when the bookstore owner sent him to the high school to deliver a stack of books. he is in the main office expecting to see someone at the front desk, but all he sees are empty hallways and unmanned desks. he’s sure all the students were in their classrooms along with their teachers. first period, right? alan hadn’t stepped foot in a school of any sort since he’d graduated college; being here hits him with a wave of nostalgia. he feels out of place.

“i’ve got a book delivery here… anyone around?” he calls out to seemingly empty air.

[lights-switched]

alan wouldn't know a childhood without his mother in the picture. she was just as much of a comforting presence as "the clicker" she had given to him. he reaches into his pocket at the thought, and gives the light switch a flick to remind him it's still there. "so, you believe in alien life, then?" it's a conversational redirection he hopes will avoid any further mentions of moms or where they've gone.

"we've got a whole host of pulp horror mags that were donated after an estate sale. their owner, olive specter, had a specific draw towards the 'weird menace' genre," alan could talk books all day, all night, even all year, if he had to. "seems right up your dark and dreary alley, if you ask me."

cassandra's lack of knowledge about the alex casey novels is only slightly perturbing to alan. okay, "slightly" is an understatement. he is more than mildly perturbed, after all, it's his life's work; maybe he really has lost his foot-hold in the literary community. he clears his throat of any tangy residue from the punch, "it's a mystery series by a very private author, vincent scratch. it's said to have twists and turns that take you down a dark and delicious rabbit hole," yes, he is almost verbatim quoting the new york times review for the second in his series. "i won't try to force-fun you into reading, but those two options may be worth a shot. or you could always get a reliable poetry collection."

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🦇 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎” ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎what hadn't she tried ? seances, ouija boards, all manner of strange and unusual hobbies just to pass the time. the goth family had too much money and nothing to do with it ; no wonder they had gravestones littering the backyard for aesthetics alone. “it's easy to get bored when your mom is away.” cassandra responded diplomatically, tapping the ash from her cigarette and raising it for another long drag. “i could have been worse. it's not like i have an alien life - form trapped in my basement.” her jokes were dry, humorless, said as though she was dealing bad news. cassandra goth was an acquired taste—much like the punch—and she wondered whether there was a correlation between alan putting up with her antics, and swallowing down the fermented mixture as though it were cough syrup. “if you have any horror, i might stop by. or poetry.” her head tipped, black tendrils cascading over one shoulder. “what are those about ? ” cassie remained nonchalant and uncaring when she took another drag. the filter was dotted with red lipstick. “forced fun is never really my thing, especially when it involves other people.”

[lights-switched]

"how much longer do you have in residency?" alan asks. "any plans to leave litwick once you're done?" when alice and him had come out to this small town, in hopes it would bring back the muse for the latter, they hadn't intended on staying so long. something about litwick drew them in, kept them at ease, told them to stay and relax awhile. alan still hadn't found a reason to write again, but he'd settled in. he wasn't sure he'd ever move on from this place. "i don't need to see your degree, i trust that the clinic wouldn't have just anyone doing general check-ups for their booth."

alan lifts an eyebrow, "misplaced?" he's trying to imagine alice as a wallet or a set of keys that he put down in the wrong spot. the thought itself makes him laugh. "more like, 'walked away from.' we both have our own interests, and i'm sure that some kind of artsy stall caught her eye, while the food caught mine." alan hadn't seen any photography booths yet, and he was sure that's where he'd find her if she were anyplace. "i am supposed to take up a shift at the books and the bees booth in just a bit. thought i'd explore this whole thing with alice a bit before i got to work."

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🩺 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎”‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“i'm a trainee.” harvey was used to the comments, patients idly wondering why there was such a young person checking them over. they were fresh out of college, returning to litwick for three years of hands - on experience before the next chapter. “but i've been to medical school and can show you my degree if that makes you feel more confident. i'm not some sort of prodigy,” it had never been his plan, just a convenient back - up. his huge, slightly unnerving, zoomed - in eyes scanned the crowd for anybody blonde. harvey was so preoccupied with his mission that he almost ignored allen entirely. “the other . . . ? oh, no.” one finger pushed his glasses a little further up. “i've been at my stall the whole time. have you ? is that how you . . . misplaced her ? ”

[lights-switched]

CLOSED STARTER (@plasticbcnes) — magical melody, sunday afternoon

alan had been sorting through box after box of vinyl in magical melody, he thought treating himself to a new (or used) record would bring him some kind of clarity for writing the next installment of the alex casey series. or, if not a full book maybe just a chapter. so far, the records he'd come across had left him uninspired, but the music blasting from the wall speakers had him bobbing his head a bit. maybe he could type along to a beat like this. he gives up his search among the vinyl, and heads to the counter.

"do you know what's playing?" he asks, pointing up in the air like the music is a tangible object. "i think this might just inspire me enough to warrant buying the whole record."

[lights-switched]

"harvey, then," alan does his best not to comment on the bug-eyed frames poised on harvey's nose. the young doctor was nothing but helpful to the author, it wouldn't be polite for alan to remark on them. "don't mind me saying, but you seem a bit young to have your medical license. maybe i should call you dougie houser m.d."

alan begins the walk back to the food stalls, and while his mind should be on alice he wonders for just a second if they still have any of that delicious stew for sale still. "have you gotten to explore the other stalls, yet?"

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🩺 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎”‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎there was never any other option. of course he was going to help, it was his job after all. harvey was burdened with the health of the entire town, and that included keeping everybody together, united. if he didn't help—if he couldn't—he would have failed. they could sense the other's unease, as though harvey was a walking blood - pressure machine. this was serious, and serious moments meant desperate measures. harvey sighed at their inability to see and pulled his glasses case out of the top pocket of their shirt. the thick, square - lenses balanced on the ridge of their nose. faces were instantly sharper, and he could recognize the other as that dark - haired salesman at the bookstore that always stamped his loyalty card. “i'm doctor lancaster—” stuck in patient mode. they tutted, then corrected, “—harvey. you can call me harvey.”

[lights-switched]

"i wasn't going to say disgusting, or even repulsive," the writer takes another sip and swishes the liquid around in his mouth. his brain sorts through all the synonyms for "good" and "gross." finally he settles on, "it's like a hot dog. you know it's probably terrible for you, and you don't want to know what's in it; nonetheless, you can't get enough of that umami taste."

he gestures his cup to her, his eyebrows raised, "i know i shouldn't be shocked, knowing you, but color me shocked. you've tried black magic?" it really wasn't hard to imagine litwick's resident spirit of doom and gloom participating in hocus pocus. alan thought cassandra could easily fit into one of his mystery books as red-herring character with a fascination of all things morbid.

"i'm finding them very... festive," he shrugs. "most of my time, thus far, has been spent at the books & the bees booth trying to sell some used books that have been on our shelves for too long. any chance you're interested in a box set of the alex casey series?" alan welcomes another sip of the purple punch. "how about you, miss goth?"

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🦇 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎” ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“isn't it disgusting ? ” cassandra replied gleefully. bitter, tangy, sweet but awful, like belladonna. she wondered whether there were chips for abstaining from teasing people and causing intentional misfortune. if there were, cassie wouldn't get to the end of the week without relapse. “if anyone knew black magic, i'm sure they wouldn't be spending their energy fucking with the punch. it's not easy, you know, not like how the movies make it look.” she tried, down in the basement of her parents' house with her chemistry set, to no avail. cassandra certainly looked like a witch, but the skills hadn't transferred. “how are you finding the festivities, mister wake ? ”

[lights-switched]

"you're a LIFESAVER!" he claps his hands together, his mouth widening into a grateful grin. "i was hoping she would have wandered back to one of the stalls we'd gone to together, but it seems she is M.I.A." alan tries to trace his steps back in his mind. "any ideas of where a photographer would flock to, in or outside of the community center?"

isabel frowns, watching as person after person walks away without speaking to the man. she wants to go after them, chastising them for not being friendly, but she doesn't. she can't save the entire world, no matter how hard she tries. but she can go up to the man and help him, which is what she does. she heads to him, and her eyebrows furrow when she hears his words. "your wife?" she looks around, and then shakes her head. "i don't think i have. but i can help you look for her!"

[lights-switched]

"then, cheers," he slips the sobriety coin back in his pocket with ease. alan takes a plastic cup and uses the ladle in the punch bowl to fill it to the top. "can't be any worse than the jungle juice i once had at the kappa alpha theta 2004 black and white party." he takes a sip, puckering his lips at the tart taste. he has never had anything like it to compare it to. it's not bad. "never in my life have i had something that tastes like christmas cheer and a dog day in summer in one sip. who is doing black magic around here to conjure up such a thing?"

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🦇 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎” ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎cassandra smirked. cute, she thought, that there was someone out there that cared for their life enough to fight for it. she had given up on that long ago, when the curtains had been pulled on her future, when the only light had been shrouded with darkness. instead she toed the line of death, like tip - toeing around the perimeter of a swimming pool. close enough to smell the chlorine, hoping to slip. “i don't think so. not with all these children around.” kids chasing balloons and sporting questionable face - paint. before she left, cassie made a note to ask for a skeleton painted on her skin. “i'd give it a try for yourself. who knows, you might like it. tastes festive.”