Walk: By the Tavern

"Sol give you the hot tip?" wondered Anthony. He leaned against the side of the tavern, trying to peer through the early morning mist and guess what color would appear next. He missed the pockets in his regular jacket. They were the perfect height for casual lounging. Sticking his hands in the bag pockets of his trousers didn't give the same effect. "You know what bothers me the most? I never did get to hear Grace play Jingle Bells. I was looking forward to that, and then y'all turned on me like a pack of lizards."

Walk: By the Tavern

“Hey, I’m just doin’ my best to not get shot myself,” Harry chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, there ain’t a nicer, friendlier group of people. They’d give you the shirt right off their backs. But by golly, don’t try an’ corner ‘em. Nobody’s as scary as some of them, not even Sol or Pat. Pat’s done his best to get to know them, and they tolerate him some. Sol on the other hand, well, if I was in his shoes, I’dda shut the project down months ago, cut my losses, and left. Most of the time, people think the sheriff is there to protect the good people from the bad. In this town, though, it’s the opposite. Someone needs to keep the bad people safe from the good ‘uns.”

Walk: By the Tavern

Anthony frowned, puzzling over what he'd just heard. "How'd you figure the difference between the bad un's and the good?"

Walk: By the Tavern

“Well....” Harry frowned—this was an odd question. “The good ones are good an’ the bad ones are bad.”

He paused, then laughed.

“I guess I’ve been here so long I’ve been countrified. Grace would say the only good people are kids and folks like Miz Babbit, and it’s the job of the bad people to keep them safe from the worst people. Let me put it to ya this way. If ya decided to go rustlin’ and grab some calves from the herd Benjamin’s watchin’ over, he’d shoot ya. Wouldn’t matter if you were a boy or a man, if it was day or night, if you were far or close enough to put a hand on. He’d shoot ya, and no one’d bat an eye, cause it was just desserts. That was they way this town was afore Sheriff Milner came in—before there was a jail. Folks say it was a real wild place back then, but everyone trusts him to be fair and just. Nobody pays more for their wrongs than they ought, and nobody gets away with sins unduly. He’s probably the one person keepin’ the re-zort builders alive, else they’d have been run off long ago, people here are so hurt about it.”

Walk: By the Tavern

"Sounds like there's probably a story about when Sheriff Milner arrived," said Anthony. "Or maybe a song?"

He stared out into the fog. It'd be a pretty picture, right out of the movies, a lawman arriving at dawn, on a big white horse, dispensing justice with a fair and even hand. It wasn't quite the life the doctor had described in his lecture, but so far, Anthony's experience was more flare than hard work.

Walk: A Dark and Foggy Night

Dan Baxter gradually came awake and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He looked down to see he’d fallen asleep in a hard wooden chair, still dressed Old West-style. Ugh, it wasn’t a nightmare.

It might have been fun if things had gone a little differently. He knew his wife and older daughter enjoyed dressing up all fancy-like, though modern fabrics were much more comfortable than what he had on now.

“I’m glad we left the kids at home,” he muttered under his breath, glad they didn’t have to worry about them as they had on the earlier adventure on the Titan IC. “I hope Angie’s all right.”

He got up, splashed some cold water on his face, and decided he looked good enough to go find his wife.

“And once I find her, we’re just going to walk out of town until we're out.” There wasn’t much to lose by trying, he reckoned.

---

Angie, meanwhile, had a somewhat more restful night. She’d found sleepwear in her room and managed to change. Now she donned another of the old-style dresses and was ready to find her husband and face the day.

She smiled as she heard a bird call coming from outside, and pushed the curtain aside to see him grinning at her. He gestured for her to join him.

“What’s up?” she whispered once they had met. It just seemed natural to speak softly in the early morning light.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this and I’m ready to go home.”

“Okay, but how do we do that?”

“Maybe we just walk out. Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and led her away from the small cluster of buildings.

Unfortunately, they didn’t know that Molly and Faye had already unsuccessfully tried something similar. They could have saved some trouble if they had, though Dan probably would have wanted to try anyway.

Morning fog was common where they came from so they had no worries when they ran into it here. But it didn’t take long for them to realize this was no ordinary fog as it got thicker and thicker.

“I can’t see a thing,” Angie said, taking some comfort from her husband’s touch as she gripped his hand even tighter.

“I can’t either. Wait, I think it’s thinning out a little.”

“How can that be the boarding house? Did we get turned around?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve heard of people going in circles when they’re lost in the woods or something, so that could be it.”

“I think I see Molly and Faye over there.” Angie pointed. “Let’s see what they have to say.”

‘Great idea,” Dan said. He began humming a familiar tune until he got to the passage he wanted. Then he cleared his throat and did a terrible Don Henley impersonation:

“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

Walk: by the Tavern

((OOC: you’re not going to make me write poetry now, are you?? ))

“Now, The Ballad of Sheriff Milner doesn’t sound like a half bad idea,” Harry said thoughtfully, pulling his harmonica out of his pocket and fiddling with it. He lifted it to his lips to play, then caught himself. “Nah, I don’t know the story. That was before my time, but I hear it was pretty rough. The only bit of order there was was from our retired marshal, and I don’t think anyone was happier when the sheriff stepped up to the plate. Milner’s a good egg: he always seems to know just what to say to convince people to resolve their differences, and you can’t help but respect a man of his learnin’. Nothing ruffles his feathers. He’ll work things out between the hot springs folks and the townspeople; you’ll see.”

Harry’s stomach rumbled. He looked down and laughed.

“I hope they unlock soon; Ms Nora was fixin’ to make up some chicken an’ waffles for you folks, and I’m hopin’ she might have an extra plate. You haven’t had good chicken unless you’ve had hers.”

Walk: In a Fog

Faye stared at the boarding house. She had to admit, the fog was so thick that she couldn't be sure, but.... "I... suppose we might have gotten ourselves turned around, but to pull a complete 180 like this?" She shook her head. "I don't like it. Something's wrong here, but I can't put my finger on what."

It didn't help when she heard a voice softly singing in the morning quiet. She turned sharply, startled, and only realized as she did that she recognized the voice. She relaxed, and felt quite foolish, when she recognized the Baxters. She waved them over, and as soon as they were at a reasonable distance, she commented, "So, it seems like an early morning walk was a popular idea." She paused, then cautiously asked, "You didn't happen to go out into the fog, did you?"

Walking out of the fog

"Oh, good morning, Faye," Angie replied. "Yes, we went into the fog, and somehow got turned around or something, so here we are."

"Or something," Dan said with a grunt. "We intended to leave but couldn't. We could have got turned around but I'm willing to believe there's something else going on."

"Anyway, now that we know we just can't walk away from this, what do you think we should do next? Maybe we should find that sheriff or someone who can explain what's going on."

Walking out of the fog

Faye frowned. "I'm inclined to agree with Dan. Molly and I tried to do a bit of hiking, and I'll admit the fog is thick, but two different groups of people? Turning around in the exact same way and coming back to the same spot?" She shook her head. "Nothing about this place is normal or natural."

"I agree, we should find the sheriff. Preferably before the other townsfolk wake up. I'd prefer to only have to deal with one of them at a time...."

Walking out of the fog

"Might be too late for that," Molly grimaced comically. "Isn't that one of them with that musician fellow down by the saloon? Anthony, I think--the violinist. His hair is rather notable--stands out like a beacon. Maybe we should have asked him to guide us through the fog. Not that it seemed to help much, if our recent experience counts for anything," fingering her own fiery locks. "Then again, maybe we could get to the jail, or wherever the sheriff hangs out, without them seeing us. If that's what you'd like."

Walking out of the fog

"True. Hopefully he's just an early riser, and Anthony'll keep him distracted for a little while longer." She pondered what Molly said about the fog, and said hesitantly, "I'm hoping the fog'll dissipate as we get further into the morning, but... honestly, I'm not going to get my hopes up."

"The jail seems like as good a place as any to find the sheriff, assuming he's not in bed. Now, how to get there without walking in front of the tavern and being seen?"

Walk: By the Tavern

((OOC: I assumed all poetry would be implied, but if it happens otherwise... ))

Anthony hoped Harry's hopeful prognosis was correct, and that the sheriff would soon solve the town's problems--whatever they were. He bounced on his heels. "When did you say someone was coming by?"

"Oh, any time now," Harry said, clearly far more focused on thoughts of breakfast than anything else.

Storytime was over, and Anthony paced back and forth from the corner of the tavern to the door. He glimpsed others in the fog--yes, there was Molly's red hair--but it swirled again and obscured his view.

Back at the door, Anthony found Harry had been joined by another man, this one jiggling a key in the lock. Harry probably made an introduction, but Anthony was focused on exactly one thing: the violin case still sitting on the bar in the quiet front room.

The chairs were stacked neatly on top of the tables, the upright piano sat silent, and glasses lined the shelves like pale, gleaming, icicles. Without a crowd, the whole scene felt wrong, like a picture frozen just before the action.

Anthony strode through, almost impervious to the atmosphere. He grabbed for the strap, and fumbled a bit when his fingers hit old wood instead of nylon webbing. Still, despite the local flavor, it was his violin case and it meant the world to him. Clutching it tightly, lest it escape again, grounded by the familiar weight, Anthony headed back outside.

The kid--teacher--young man--stood back by the door. Anthony waved jauntily to him. "Thank you, kind sir!"

It was a beautiful morning. Music was at his fingertips again, and all was well--at least in Anthony's world.

Walking in a fog to the jail

"Hey, it looks like they've gone into the building, so maybe now's the time to make a dash for the jail." Molly rubbed her chin contemplatively, looking first at Faye, and then at the Baxters. "Are we all going to go? If I remember correctly, it's this way," and she pointed into the fog. "Wish this beastly fog would clear. It seems to be getting worse, not better."

There were no strange anomalies this time, and before long they had found the jail. Molly curtseyed on the steps, and waved her hand. "Well, here we are. Welcome to the shrievalty of Original. Any ideas on the proper protocol for addressing His Reverence? In other words, do we just knock and hope someone answers, or what?"

Walking in a fog to the jail

Faye hesitated. Walking right into the jail seemed like a bad idea, but did they want to stand around and wait for someone to open up? What was the protocol here? Would the door even be unlocked? Come to think of it, why would the door to the jail be unlocked?

Faye shook her head. No point debating it endlessly. "Well, I guess I'd rather knock and look silly than wander into the town lockup without permission." She reached up and knocked on the door, first an hesitant soft tap, followed by two louder raps.