strange-and-stranger-still

[strange-and-stranger-still]

[strange-and-stranger-still]

McKenna: You receive a letter in the mail. Which would seem mundane, of course, except for the fact that you are what your old guardians would call pointedly "in-between places" and what you call "living an adventure", meaning that mostly, your sleep, when you get any, happens in your RV. You have not gotten letters in - you have to pause to think about it: memories come so blurry these days - maybe thirteen years, back when you were a teenager and you would receive postcards from your friends’ holidays. What were their names again?

Truth be told, this is what you are wondering about as you rip the letter open, without much caring for the integrity of the old, ivory-colored paper. And seeing, in bold letters, the name of one of them, well, that is a sign if you have ever seen one, isn’t it? 

(You remember being the tallest of the group at ten - a privilege you would revel in for only one more year before they all outgrew your meager height - telling Otis that coincidences are a myth adults tell themselves because they’re afraid of asking the right questions. You also remember telling him all about Big Foot sightings. )

Rowan: You receive a letter in the mail. You don’t even notice it at first. They tend to pile up no matter how organized you try to be - bills, mostly, or worse, reminders of unpaid ones. Adult life, everyone! Living la vida loca! 

This one stands out, though - the ivory-colored, thick paper is unlike anything else on the pile. You look for scissors to open it for a handful of seconds before you give up and rip up the envelope with your hands, and after everything you are grateful that you did because the sight of your old friend’s name on the paper makes you let go of everything you were holding, paper fluttering away to the ground. Of course, you had never forgotten them, really, though sometimes you suspect they did forget about you - years went by without phonecalls, or really any contact apart from watching McKenna’s Youtube videos when they update - and having the confirmation, inked and embellished, that they didn’t, makes your heart fill with warmth.

(One late night in pajamas at his mother’s house Otis asked you, turning around on the mattress so he could face you on his bed, if you thought you’d always be friends, in spite of everything that happened that year. You had said you hoped so, and then his mother came in to shush you, 2 AM shadows under her eyes, and you giggled when you made him climb into the made with you rather than the deflating mattress.)

Ada: You receive a letter in the mail. It doesn’t matter. You’re a busy woman. 

Actually, it takes a while for you to open it - you throw away all the junk mail immediately and put the rest on your table, then you take time to shower your twenty-hours long shift out of you and fill your body with food instead, then you crash in front of television and ignore the Grey’s Anatomy reruns with determination, and then finally, getting up to brush your teeth before you crashed for twelve hours, you see it again. In the pile, this one stands out, ivory-colored, thick paper, and you open it with the kitchen knife you used for dinner, and- Oh. That’s a name you haven’t heard in a while. And a place you promised yourself never to return to. 

Even now, simply looking at it, you close your eyes against memories flooding back, incomplete and blurry, just the way you like them to remain. 

(Then again, you remember looking down at Otis in his yellow T-shirt from all the three years you had on him, that seemed like a decade when you were fifteen; maple stains all over his neckline somehow, his cheeks too, after he ate a ridiculous amount of pancakes with bacon - bacon - that you wiped energetically, muttering like a mother; him not shrugging you off the way the rest of your friends would have but enduring it, rolling his eyes but smiling. He was always such a good kid. He was- he was-)

This doesn’t feel right. You don’t know why, and you don’t believe in signs or intuitions, but- it doesn’t feel right. Before you call work, you already know you’re going to go back anyway.

Francis: You receive a letter in the mail. You think it’s a bill at first - no one sends letters these days, not even your boss, who is pretty much your only friend, or your cousin, who has heard of this thing called “the Internet” and hasn’t bothered with pen and paper in a while now. Yes, this is an ironic train of thought to have for an archivist, and you are aware of that. Being bothered in the comfort of your own New York place by other people, though, in the place where you are safe from social interaction, has that sort of effect on a person.

Then again, you don’t usually receive letters from the dead-

You frown. Where did that come from anyway? This is just Otis. An Otis you forgot about in the last dozen years - give or take - since you last saw him, maybe, just Otis. 

(He was slightly taller than you then, and faster too, with your diseases and your tiredness too deep for your own bones. Otis was not tired. Seemingly never. He was your first friend, actually, back when you were homeschooled and didn’t go out much. He used to mope his way into getting you to go out with him on sunny days when you were feeling well enough to walk, pull you out of your house by the hand to go see the puppies in the pet shop’s window display, or bring you back books from the library when the days were not so kind to you.)

Work and life in New York have been busy these days, in the way both always were, but you feel guilty about not being more present - and worried, for some weird, unknown reason, because if the invitation is any sign he must be doing quite well for himself. One of the advantages of your boss liking you is easy holidays, after all. 

Calypso: You receive a letter in the mail. Might be a private client. Your last few cases have been with the police, so it has been a while since you have had one of those, and they are always pleasing in their weirdness. No need to go look for a knife - nails do a sufficient job of ripping that letter apart. Only while doing it does it occur to you that you may want to be more careful around these now. Your profession does come with a number of enemies, after all. 

This, though, is not an enemy. It is just Otis. 

Otis? 

(You met everyone else that summer, but you had talked to Otis first, a month before. For some reason it made you feel more secure as if you already had a friend among them, which was silly since you only talked because you were in the same grade. You were both the youngest of the group, him only older than you by a few months. He wasn’t even in your class, but you had both been very competitive participants in the pie-eating contest your grade had at the end-of-the-school-year school fair. Neither of you had won, but yelling to distract each other and kicking under the table had been much more fun anyway. At the time, though, you had been bummed out, so he shrugged, and said something like: “Why are you so depressed? We won free pie.”)

Work and life in New York have been busy these days, in the way both always were, but somehow, this sounds weirder to you than most of your recent cases. You have no idea why. If anything, though, you know to trust your intuitions.

Alright. This sounds like it could be interesting.

[strange-and-stranger-still]

Act 1 Scene 1: The Tomfoolery Begins With Brunch, Beer, and Mothman

GM: The date is April 1rst 2012.

GM: Everyone is either freaking out about the end of the world in a handful of months or scolding those who do freak out over being so influenceable.

GM: The only people getting really excited about the upcoming Avengers movie are unredeemable nerds. Teenagers are debating whether Hunger Games was an accurate depiction of the books or beginning a very intense Les Mis phase.

GM: Call Me Maybe and Domino are stuck in everyone’s head, but truth be told, you keep hearing Somebody I Used to Know on the radio as you drive along lonely highways, or bob your head along the background music of your local grocery store, or lay in your bed, and remember for a fleeting moment your old friends from your middle school years, the best friends you’ve ever had. You consider finding them again, maybe sending them a message to reconnect - Youtube is not even ten years old yet and Facebook is still in full swing - and then the impulse passes and you go back to your daily life.

GM: And you all received a letter from an old friend inviting you to their play.

GM: And for brunch, because like. Breakfast food is the best food.

GM: This introduction takes place in a café. You are sitting down to have breakfast - or, as Otis called it in his message, brunch - in the restaurant you always went to as a teenager. The red, crackling vinyl chairs, your booth near the bay window with a view on the seaside and its thrumming rhythm of waves crashing, everything is exactly the same and it only helps you feel so different from who you used to be.

McKenna Prettygood, upon arriving: SUPP NERDS!! LONG TIME NO SEE!!

Francis Weissman: McKenna. 

McKenna Prettygood: Hey Frank

McKenna Prettygood: You’re here first?

Francis Weissman: It's Francis.

Rowan Durnin: Well you two haven't changed a bit.

Francis Weissman: I like to be on time, sue me.

Ada Noboa: Hey everyone!

Francis Weissman: Ada! Good to see you

Ada Noboa: This so weird, I literally thought Otis was dead and now he's inviting us to a play?

McKenna Prettygood: He was dead?

Francis Weissman: I...

McKenna Prettygood: I thought Frank was dead

Francis Weissman: Sometimes I wish, yes

Ada Noboa: I mean it’s been so long I thought all of you would be dead by now

McKenna Prettygood: Is Cal dead?

Rowan Durnin: Honestly, yeah probably

Ada Noboa: Wouldn't surprise me

Francis Weissman: I don't think the dead get mail

Francis Weissman: They don't tend to send it either

McKenna Prettygood: “Don't tend to send it either”

McKenna Prettygood: Jesus Christ Frank, this is not some dead old novel

Mrs Knott: Hi, what can I get for you-oh, Francis?

McKenna Prettygood: Who are you?

GM: For a second, it is almost as if you were about to remember something, but you are snapped back into reality when the waitress arrives for your order. You know her too - Mrs. Knott, a bit greyer around the edges, too tired for forty-three, but smiling when she recognizes you anyway.

Mrs Knott: And McKenna. Still as rude as ever then.

Francis Weissman: Hi, Mrs Knott. You look well.

McKenna Prettygood: You weren't so grey before so

McKenna Prettygood: Looking different

Francis Weissman: McKenna!

Mrs Knott: I wish I could say you weren't so rude before.

Mrs Knott: Tragically, I can't :)

Ada Noboa: Stop it, McKenna

McKenna Prettygood: Where is Cal?

Francis Weissman: I'm sorry about her

Ada Noboa: I'm so sorry about her Mrs Knott

Rowan Durnin: Good evening, Mrs Knott. Excuse our friend

Mrs Knott: Aww Ada, Rowan, nice to see you!

Mrs Knott: The usual then?

Ada Noboa: I don't think I even remember what the usual is

Rowan Durnin: No idea what our usual was, but sure

Francis Weissman: You remember our usual?

McKenna Prettygood: Beer

McKenna Prettygood: It was beer

Francis Weissman, ignoring McKenna: I'm a creature of habit. The usual, thanks

Mrs Knott, also ignoring McKenna: Of course! You know how it is in here, things never change.

Mrs Knott: Apart from McKenna's antics.

McKenna Prettygood: Other than people, people get old

Ada Noboa: McKenna, stop it!

Ada Noboa: Just ignore her, Mrs Knott

Ada Noboa: She's probably just hungry

Calypso "Cal" Triggs: No McKenna keep going, keep going!

Francis Weissman: Oh Jesus Christ

McKenna Prettygood: Hi Cal!

Ada Noboa: Cal, you're alive!

Calypso "Cal" Triggs: No I'm a ghost, idiot

Ada Noboa: And even ruder than any of us remember

McKenna Prettygood: That’s cool, wanna tell me about that, Cal?

Mrs Knott: Table for seven then?

Mrs Knott: I guess your little blonde friend will be joining you?

McKenna Prettygood: He's dead, apparently!

Francis Weissman, sighing: I wish the chemo hadn't worked

McKenna Prettygood: You had cancer?

Francis Weissman: Do you have the memory of a goldfish?

McKenna Prettygood: No

Mrs Knott: Uh... Dead. OK. I'll just... Go... To the kitchen then.

Mrs Knott: Pancakes for everyone.

Ada Noboa: Thank you Mrs Knott!!

McKenna Prettygood: Oh, thanks

Francis Weissman: Thank you!

McKenna Prettygood: Did anyone call Otis?

McKenna Prettygood: It's 2012, we can call Otis

Rowan Durnin: Does anyone have his phone number?

Francis Weissman: I don't have his number

McKenna Prettygood: Oh I have this friend...

Ada Noboa: Just google it or something

Mrs Knott: Hi! Coffee with milk for Francis, black for Ada, decaffeinated for McKenna, hot chocolate for Cal and Rowan, and I made tea for your other friend

Francis Weissman: Ah, thank you. They had coffee on the train but I never trust it

McKenna Prettygood: I'm like really sorry to be rude, but I ordered a beer

Ada Noboa: Please don't bring her a beer!

Ada Noboa: We're good with this, thanks!!

Rowan Durnin smiles politely, kind of overwhelmed by everything that's going on.

McKenna rolls dexterity to not-to-subtly switch coffee with Ada, who tries to punch her in retaliation and fails miserably, accidentally knocking over the table instead. Mrs Knott does not look happy.

McKenna Prettygood: Ada, are you drunk?

McKenna Prettygood: I ordered a beer

Ada Noboa: Sorry Mrs Knott!

Rowan rushes to help Ada out.

Ada Noboa: It’s actually McKenna's fault to be fair

Mrs Knott: Come on, you may look like it, but you're not kids anymore.

Francis rolls their eyes and takes two painkillers.

McKenna Prettygood: HOW IS THIS MY FAULT??

Mrs Knott: When is it not?

Calypso "Cal" Triggs: I think Ada's the one who should lay off the beers

McKenna Prettygood: Thanks Cal

McKenna Prettygood: How are y’all doing beer and drugs now?

Ada Noboa: "Doing beer"

McKenna Prettygood: and I can’t even get a beer

Mrs Knott: God, what are you kids even doing back home?

Mrs Knott: I thought we were rid of you all - no offense, Francis and Rowan

Francis Weissman: We'll be out of your hair again soon, this is a short visit

Francis Weissman: Is Otis coming or not?

McKenna Prettygood: Is he alive?

Rowan Durnin: Yes McKenna he is dead. My condolences

Ada Noboa: McKenna stop saying he's dead!

McKenna Prettygood: YOU SAID IT FIRST

Ada Noboa: I didn't say he was dead, I said I THOUGHT he was dead

Francis Weissman: He's not dead. I think

Calypso "Cal" Triggs: Yeah I saw him walking down the street before I got here

McKenna Prettygood: Oh! Is he a ghost?

McKenna Prettygood: Is he like very pale?

McKenna Prettygood: Deadly pale?

Calypso "Cal" Triggs: Yes

Mrs Knott: Otis? Isn't he rehearsing?

Ada Noboa: Oh, do you know where we could find him, Mrs Knott?

Mrs Knott: Of course! I think his family still owns that house down the street, but he is probably at the Theatre right now.

McKenna Prettygood: Hmmm

McKenna Prettygood: Does he sparkle?

Ada Noboa: We should probably go find him at the theater then

Mrs Knott: The Err Playhouse? Of course you have never been there yet.

McKenna Prettygood: Did you forget the name?

McKenna Prettygood: Err?

Mrs Knott: No, it's their name.

McKenna Prettygood: That's a weird name

Mrs Knott: McKenna Prettygood.

McKenna Prettygood: Yes?

Mrs Knott: Van Reichass.

Mrs Knott: No, nothing, I just wanted to call for your order :)

McKenna Prettygood: How do you know my full name?

McKenna Prettygood: I didn't tell you

Francis Weissman: She has a point!

McKenna Prettygood: Thanks Frank

Francis Weissman: Quit calling me Frank, you make me sound like a guy

Calypso "Cal" Triggs: Maybe she's psychic

Ada Noboa, who owns all the brain cells: Maybe we've just lived here for our entire childhoods

Mrs Knott: Anyway, I hear them calling for your order!

Mrs Knott: I'll be back in a minute!

McKenna rolls a perception check on Mrs Knott, somehow, not remembering that she has known that woman since she was a toddler, and starts being suspicious of her. Is she secretly Mothman?

McKenna Prettygood: Miss

McKenna Prettygood: Are you a Mothman?

Mrs Knott: What's a motorman?

McKenna Prettygood: Mothman?

Mrs Knott: I can't keep up with all these new genders now

Rowan just sighs.

Francis Weissman: Is everyone here very stoned?

Rowan Durnin: God I wish

McKenna Prettygood, to Mrs Knott: Are you,,, part moth?

Ada Noboa: I'm starting to get worried about McKenna's mental state

McKenna Prettygood: I’m the same as ever

Ada Noboa: Yeah, that's what worries me

McKenna Prettygood: I'm not the one being suspicious

Mrs Knott: I... I think you should leave now

Mrs Knott: You're disturbing the other customers

Mrs Knott: Do you want your pancakes to go?

McKenna Prettygood, slipping her a hundred dollar bill: We were never here

Mrs Knott takes the money.

McKenna Prettygood: Sorry about the trouble (wink)

Mrs Knott: Honestly, I almost missed you.

Mrs Knott: Goodbye now, please don't come back!

Mrs Knott: And go to the library once in a while!

McKenna Prettygood: Sure!

Ada Noboa: Let's go guys, we gotta check the theater. I'm so sorry about all of this, Mrs Knott

Francis Weissman: Let's go, see Otis, and then get out of here and pretend we don't know each other for another decade