# [D20 CoC] Beyond the Mountains of Madness Campaign - Prologue



## jdeleski (Jul 8, 2005)

"Little by little they rose grimly into the western sky; allowing us to witness various bare,
bleak and blackened summits...in the reddish Antarctic light against the provocative
background of iridescent ice-dust clouds. In the whole spectacle there was a persistent,
pervasive hint of stupendous secrecy and potential revelation...I could not help feeling
that they were evil things--mountains of madness whose farther slopes looked out over
some accursed ultimate abyss."
--H.P. Lovecraft

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~
In September of 1930, researchers from Arkham’s Miskatonic University, led by
Professors Dyer and Lake, set sail for the Antarctic continent on a bold venture of
exploration and discovery. Two months later they landed in Antarctica near Ross Island;
twenty men, fifty-five dogs, and five large Dornier aeroplanes were set upon the ice.
Their mission was to survey a geologic history of the Earth’s last frontier, to chart from
the air where no human foot had stepped, and to determine at last, once and for all,
whether Antarctica was indeed one land mass or several.

In much of this they were successful. From November of 1930 until mid-January of 1931,
the expedition achieved goal after goal, milestone after milestone. Aerial explorations
flew over and mapped thousands of square miles of previously unexplored territory. Sled
teams took core samples from scattered spots over nearly a quarter of the continent.
However, history does not remember the Miskatonic Expedition for its successes, but for
its final tragic failure.

The end of the expedition came just as the team seemed on the brink of their most
spectacular triumph. On January 23rd, a large party led by Professor Lake, broke through
into an unbelievable treasure-trove of ancient bones and fossils in a series of caverns at
the foot of a hitherto-unknown mountain range. For 2 days, they explored the caves,
bringing up specimen after specimen, some utterly unlike any living things that have ever
been studied by science. Then they were never heard from again; all were believed killed
by a tremendous Antarctic gale that swept the campsite on January 24th. A rescue
mission the following day found only silence and a few pathetic remains of the tragedy. 

Now, in March 1933, a new expedition is forming, intent upon a return to that forbidding
Antarctic plateau and Lake’s campsight. British world explorer James Starkweather and
American geologist William Moore have joined forces to attack the Antarctic. The two
men have experience with harsh environments, both having traveled in the Himalayas, and
Starkweather on the Arctic ice cap as well. Their stated goal is to return to the high, cold
interior of the Antarctic continent and to finish the work that Lake and the other began
three years ago. The two are gathering a team of scientists and technical experts whom 
they believe will allow them to succeed despite the dangers.

Thus begins the next chapter in those Mountains of Madness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Recruiting Office can be found here.
A history of our events and evidence can be found here 

To read the attached newspaper clippings, you may need to first save them on your hard drive.


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## The Shaman (Jul 8, 2005)

March 2, 1933

Mr. James Starkweather
Amherst Hotel
New York City, New York
USA

Sir:

Please allow this letter to serve as an introduction to your acquaintance.

My name is Fráncisco Guerini and I am writing to you regarding your exploration of the Antarctic interior. I wish to offer my service to your fine expedition.

I have spent recent years in the service of Señor Reichert and Padre De Agostini in the exploration of the Hielo Patagonico Sur, including the first ascent of Cerro Mayo and the reconnaissance of the Upsala and Bertacchi glaciers and the Fitz Roy group. I have demonstrated my skills as a mountaineer and guide and have rendered my best service to each great man.

I am a member of the Club Andino de Chile and can offer many fine references of my skill as requested. I speak most excellent English as taught by my British mother.

I look forward to the honour of your reply.

With sincerity,

Fráncisco Guerini

Fráncisco Guerini
Hosteria Las Torres
Punta Arenas
Chile


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## jdeleski (Jul 9, 2005)

*Francisco Guerini Invite*

May 30, 1933​






​​​​My dear Fráncisco Guerini,​ 
Thank you for your letter of the 28th. It gives me great pleasure in accepting your application to become a team member of the Starkweather—Moore Expedition of 1933. 

You have been among rare company indeed, Mr. Guerini! As you might expect, I am very familiar with the Patagonian explorations of Dr. Frederico Reichert, known warmly as the Father of climbing, and also of Father Alberto. In the land Magellan named after the mythical, giant-sized men that once roamed there, none stood taller than Padre de Agostini! I eagerly look forward to our coming discussions of your exploits on those famous glaciers.

Your amazing accomplishments in the field with these fine leaders would have guaranteed you a place in any case, but your historic induction into the Club Andino de Chile has marked you as but one of a select few men whom Dame Nature, in all her mysterious wisdom, has chosen as the templates upon which a new breed of explorers will be formed. Mark my words, Sir! No normal man would tempt the frozen bleaks of the South in the manner that we do, for a normal man would surely perish in the attempt. You and I are not normal men, Sir, and afterwards the whole world shall know it. Shackleton failed to land on the South Continent and spent a long, cold, frozen year on the ice, and he was feted as a hero. Think what the world will think of us, for surely we will outdo him!

Please be so kind as to join us at our suite here at the Amherst on September 1st.

Sincerely,

*James Starkweather*

Expedition Leader









Amherst HoteL​

8th Avenue and 44th STreeT​New York City, New York​


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## Morpheus (Jul 9, 2005)

March 2, 1933

Mr. James Starkweather
Amherst Hotel
New York City, New York
USA


Dear Mr. Starkweather,

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. My name is Martin LeBlanc and I am writing to offer my services to your expedition in the primary role of photographer. I also have some talent as a journalist and I would be willing to do either of these tasks (or both) as the situation required. Enclosed are several articles and pictures that I have done.
I have been published in several periodicals-the most recent being the September issue of _National Geographic_. The article is entitled _The Lost Incas_ and was the centerpiece of that issue. I spent several months in the Andes for that article and acquired some acclimation to hostile environments. I believe that you wil find me to be the calibre of man you are seeking.
I have several references as needed. I look forward to your reply.

Sincerely,

Martin LeBlanc
27 Imperial Place
Montreal, Quebec
Canada


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## jdeleski (Jul 9, 2005)

*Martin LeBlanc Invite*

May 30, 1933​






Martin LeBlanc
27 Imperial Place
Montreal, Quebec
Canada

Dear Marin LeBlanc

Thank you for your letter of the 28th. It is indeed a pleasure to accept your application to become a team member of the Starkweather—Moore Expedition of 1933. 

I must say, Mr. LeBlanc, that after perusing your submitted photographs and writings, I was awestruck at the magnificence and grandeur of the environments and achievements which you expertly captured on film and in writing! 

At the moment, we do have a vacancy for a photographer and journalist of your talents on our expedition, a vacancy which I am certain you will fill with fortitude, determination, and courage to shame the heart of the even the most Herculean of Heroes! Your desire to catalogue in pictures and writings the accomplishments of myself and the other members of the expedition is one which I heartily admire. I daresay that our coming exploits on the crystalline fields of Antarctica will make history, and you are just the man to enshrine our astounding achievements for all of the world to admire.

Please be so kind as to join us at our suite here at the Amherst on September 1st.

Sincerely,

*James Starkweather*

Expedition Leader








*Amherst Hotel​*
​8th Avenue and 44th Street
New York City, New York​​​​​


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## Bobitron (Jul 10, 2005)

March 2, 1933

Mr. James Starkweather
Amherst Hotel
New York City, New York
USA

Dear Sir;

Buon giorno. I hope this letter finds you in excellent health.

My name is Vittorio Liuzzi of Modena, Italy. A colleague has referred me to your regarding an upcoming expedition to the Antarctic. 

I am certain my skills as a Mechanical Engineer and expert with demolitions will be valued during your expedition. I have just finished a term of lengthly employ in the service of the Alaska Railroad Company, helping to extend the portions of the line to the Kennecott Copper Mine. I was in command of a crew of three engineers responsible for creating shelter, clearing obstacles, and erecting temporary bridges. Our work was concentrated in barren and rugged areas; therefore, I have recent experience in artic weather conditions.

Some of my past employments have included the position of Chief Engineer on the Norwegian cruise yacht 'Stella Polaris' from 1927-1930, helping assemble a munitions factory at the edge of the Amazon in Brazil, clearing a mountain pass in Switzerland for a new railroad through the Alps. I also was a young engineer on E. H. Harriman's lavishly-outfitted _George W. Elder_ as it made the famous voyage through the Inside Passage, the Gulf of Alaska, the Aleutian Archipelago, and northward through the Bering Sea, all practically uncharted at the time.

For references, please contact the following people;

Naturalist George Bird Grinnell of New York
Captain Anders Bergström of the Bergen Line, CO of the Stella Polaris
Niklaus Blattner, Financier of the Alpine Railroad Endeavor
General Tiamo de Almeida Neves, Head of Expansion and Development for Os Braços e o Munition Companhia de Brasil
George D. Franklin, Alaska Railroad Company

I will wait for your reply here in Chicago where I am taking holiday. It will take me no more than a few days to reach you in New York to prepare for the expedition.

Sincerely,

* Vittorio Liuzzi*

Vittorio Liuzzi
The Drake Hotel
140 East Walton Place, Chicago
USA


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## jdeleski (Jul 11, 2005)

*Approval of Vittorio Liuzzi Application*

June 1, 1933​




Vittorio Liuzzi​The Drake Hotel
140 East Walton Place, Chicago
USA

Dear Vittorio Liuzzi,

Thank you for your letter of the 30th. It is an extraordinary pleasure for me to approve your application to become a team member of the Starkweather—Moore Expedition of 1933. 

I must admit, Mr. Luizzi, that your credentials and stellar experience have impressed me greatly! Since I was only passingly familiar with the explorations of E.H. Harriman Jr., I took the liberty of contacting one of his colleagues to confirm your background, and I am absolutely thrilled to report that you received nothing but glowing references as to your determination, courage, and expertise. He even mentioned an incident where you saved Edward Henry Jr.'s life during one of his frequent polar bear hunts in the uncharted fiords! Bravo, Mr. Liuzzi, bravo!

Sir, you should know that as noteworthy as your experiences were with E.H. Harriman, for ever after our historic undertaking to Antarctica, you will be regarded as legend! The Starkweather-Moore Antarctic Expedition of 1933 will be one that will shake the very foundations of science, leaving all mankind in our debt for furthering the boundaries of human endeavour. We will be mentioned by historians of the future in the same breath as Magellan, Columbus and Cooke! I salute your spirit, Sir!

Please be so kind as to join us at our suite here at the Amherst on September 1st.

Sincerely,

*James Starkweather*

Expedition Leader


*Amherst Hotel*​8th Avenue and 44th Street​New York City, New York​


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## taitzu52 (Jul 12, 2005)

March 8, 1933

Mr. James Starkweather
Amherst Hotel
New York City, New York
USA


Dear Mr. Starkweather,

I have been referred to you by my esteemed colleagues in the field.  Having had the pleasure of hearing Professor Moore's lectures at Northwestern some time ago, I am now contacting you as a petition for a place on your expedition.

I have been working with the Wyoming Lode Silver Corporation for the last several years as a surveyor and prospector.  My skills with state-of-the-art electrical equipment have been furnished under their training.  This includes surface observation, as well as the use of sonic and radio technology.  As I mentioned, my background is in Geology, and have received my letters at Univ. of Wisconsin, Anne Arbor.  I am also certified as an expert instructor in mountain climbing.

My current contract is presently under negotiation, and I am free to travel to New York to discuss the details of this expedition further.  Please feel free to contact WLS Co., as I am sure that they will furnish the highest of recommendations to choose my services for this endeavor.

Sincerely yours,

James R. Poole
1600 17th St.
Denver, Colorado
USA

(OOC- hebrewnational *at* hotmail *dot* com  ....for email & IM)


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## eabha (Jul 12, 2005)

March 10, 1933

Mr. James Starkweather
Amherst Hotel
New York City, New York
USA

Dear Mr. Starkweather:

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Annie Mahoney, and I am pleased to offer my services as a physician on your planned expedition to Antarctica.

I received full medical training at the University of Toronto School of Medicine and am now a member of the faculty at St. Michael’s Hospital. I have included for your examination two letters of recommendation: one from Surgeon-in-Chief, Dr. R. T. Christensen, and another from the Head of General Surgery, Dr. K. P. Lupton. I am sure these letters speak for themselves regarding my abilities as a surgeon. However, should you require it, a complete curriculum vitae – which also outlines the many articles I have had published in the _Canadian Medical Association Journal_ – can be provided as well. 

My time at St. Michael’s has been invaluable to me and the development of my skills. However, I fear that academia is not for me and am currently looking for a more suitable opportunity to use my talents.

I grew up in a variety of northern communities both here in Ontario and in Manitoba, and I am quite used to the rigours of life in cold climates. My own father, the eminent geologist Dr. James J. Mahoney, was a member of the Canadian Arctic Expedition of 1913 – 1918 (northern party) and I like to think some of his wanderlust and vigour have been passed on to me.

Thank you for your consideration. I am looking forward to your reply.

Sincerely,

*Annie K. Mahoney*

Dr. Annie K. Mahoney
Associate Professor, Division of General Surgery
St. Michael’s Hospital
Toronto, Ontario


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## jdeleski (Jul 13, 2005)

*Approval of Poole Application*

June 3, 1933

​


Dear James R. Poole,

Thank you for your letter of the 1st. It is indeed a great pleasure to approve your application to become a team member of the Starkweather—Moore Expedition of 1933. 

First, let me congratulate you on rising so far in your chosen field. Your academic credentials are most impressive, and I’m sure that you will prove to be a veritable asset to the geological department of the expedition. Add to that your expertise in cartography and mountain climbing, and I cannot help but feel that we are assured of glory and accolades! 

This is a noble thing that you have surrendered yourself to, Sir! Even Angels would fear to tread where we dare. I can say without worry of contradiction that Marco Polo himself could never have conceived of such a voyage, and you will never attempt the like after it. You will never forget this, Sir. At the end of your days, the last thing you will see is the vast snowy plains of the Antarctic, and the cold white peaks of the Miskatonic Mountains!

Please be so kind as to join us at our suite here at the Amherst on September 1st.

Sincerely,

*James Starkweather*

Expedition Leader








*Amherst Hotel​*

*8th Avenue and 44th Street*
*New York City, New York*





*
*​*
*


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## jdeleski (Jul 13, 2005)

*Rejection of Miss Mahoney's Application*

June 3, 1933



​


Dr. Annie K. Mahoney
Associate Professor, Division of General Surgery
St. Michael’s Hospital
Toronto, Ontario

Dear Miss Mahoney,


Thank you for your letter of the 1st, which expressed your wish to join my upcoming venture to the icy wastes of the South. Your eloquently written missive displayed all the elegance and craft that our Creator has blessed the gentle sex with. I am certain that your youthful years in Ontario and Manitoba were a delight to your father and that your admiration of his accomplishments in the Canadian Arctic was inspirational and cheered him on through the long darkness , providing great incentive for him to return home safely.

I congratulate you, if I may, in having the courage to beg of me the chance to visit an area of such inhospitable and comfortless peril. It would take a woman of singular characteristics to view the hardships suffered by we Men of The Ice and ask to enter into this world. I am sure that your father would be proud.

However, this expedition is no sightseeing tour, and the company already assembled I fear would be a little rough for one such as yourself. Do you really fancy changing your linens every day in a room with thirty unwashed men, Ha ha?

Please know that I mean no disrespect. I understand you are an experienced Northerner, accustomed to intemperate climes, but I am afraid that I must respectfully refuse your request. The South Pole is a hard place for hardy men, and we cannot afford to chaperone. 


Sincerely,

*James Starkweather*

Expedition Leader







*​*


*Amherst Hotel*
*8th Avenue and 44th Street*
*New York City, New York*
*
*​*
*


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## eabha (Jul 13, 2005)

The letter was waiting for her when she arrived back at her office at midday. For weeks she had thought of little else, so eager was she to escape the world of operating rooms and equally sterile offices and lecture halls. She ripped the envelope open and began to read, her expression changing almost immediately from one of excitement to one of disappointment and then anger.



> Dear Miss Mahoney,
> 
> 
> Thank you for your letter of the 1st, which expressed your wish to join my upcoming venture to the icy wastes of the South. Your eloquently written missive displayed all the elegance and craft that our Creator has blessed the gentle sex with. I am certain that your youthful years in Ontario and Manitoba were a delight to your father and that your admiration of his accomplishments in the Canadian Arctic was inspirational and cheered him on through the long darkness , providing great incentive for him to return home safely.
> ...



_Condescending, ignorant bastard!_ Annie thought, dropping the letter to her desk in disgust. _Chaperone, indeed! Gentle sex!_

With a sigh of resignation, she leaned back in her chair and looked at the cramped office she had kept at the university for the last several years. It was the worst office in the department and yet she'd had to fight for even _that_ much. All because she was a woman. She'd be damned if she would keep fighting the same battles her entire life.

_“I congratulate you, if I may, in having the courage to beg of me the chance to visit an area of such inhospitable and comfortless peril…”_

Snatching the letter off her desk, Annie darted out the door and headed to the secretary's office down the hall.

“Carol, do you have a moment?” she asked, breathlessly.

The frumpy middle-aged woman behind the desk looked up through thick, round spectacles. “A moment? For what?”

“A letter. I need to dictate a letter. It must be sent immediately.”

Carol pursed her lips and shook her head as if wondering what the rush could be, but stopped what she was doing to place a sheet of paper into her typewriter.

“To whom?”

“Mr. James Starkweather. Here's his address.” She passed the letter to Carol who dutifully copied out the relevant information.

Annie began to dictate, all the while pacing back and forth in front of Carol's desk.

“Dear Mr. Starkweather:

“I am writing to express my disappointment with your decision to exclude me from your expedition. Perhaps I did not adequately outline for you my qualifications.

“For example, my letter may have lead you to believe that I spent my youth frolicking across the Canadian shield and arctic tundra – in a tidy pinafore and with ribbons in my hair – for the amusement of my parents. I did not. In fact, I was taught from an early age to hunt and fish, to climb and ski, and to respect the many perils of the North while defending myself against them as well as any human can.

“In university, I excelled in sport as well as academics. I participated in archery, tennis, track and field, and downhill and cross-country skiing and won several awards for my accomplishments in athletics.

“However, these accomplishments – as well as my medical ones –  are beside the point, especially as I suspect the reason you have rejected my application has nothing to do with my credentials or skills. You seem to be of the opinion that my being a woman – and therefore inherently frail and fragile –  is a liability to your expedition. 

“Have you ever been in a modern surgery, Mr. Starkweather? Have you ever looked at a man cut open before you, his organs in your hands? His very _life_ in your hands? Do you imagine it to be a place for the dainty or weak? 

“You suggest that I would be a mere sightseer on your expedition, but I assure you I would not. I am not used to a life of comfort. Rather, I am accustomed to 72-hour shifts on little or no rest and nutrition, up to my neck in gore and blood – ”

Annie stopped herself when she saw the look of alarm on the secretary’s face. She realized that her voice had been rising in pitch and volume and that she was now fairly close to shouting.

“Oh, I’m sorry Carol,” she apologized, bringing one hand up to her forehead. “You’re absolutely right. This is inappropriate.”

From the doorway both women heard the sound of barely contained laughter and turned to see a couple of faculty members who had stopped to listen. Annie felt her rage grow as her colleagues chuckled.

“I’m sure you all find this _quite_ amusing,” she said sharply, tearing the sheet from Carol's typewriter and striding past them back to her office.

There, she shut the door and leaned against it, breathing hard and trying to recover her thoughts. She shredded the letter she had been dictating and let the pieces fall to the floor. It was no good getting defensive. It would only prove his point. In the back of her mind she could hear her mother imploring her to act like a lady.

“You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar,” she'd always said.

_Well, you are mistaken, Mother. You catch more flies with sh**. And Mr. Starkweather might just be about to get some._

When she was certain she was calm, Annie once again left her office and returned to Carol, who looked at her warily.

“Carol, see what you can do about booking me a train ticket to New York City.”

“For when?” the secretary asked, her eyes narrowing.

“As soon as possible.”


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## jdeleski (Jul 14, 2005)

*Initiation*

The jagged streak of twisting, blue-white lightning lit the night, rising from the ground near the towering canyon walls to unite the deep, brooding earthworks with the pent-up energy of the dark, roiling clouds above. Briefly lit in stark, contrasting blacks and whites, the tall striated peaks were plunged into blackness in the next moment, as if hidden, looming behind a curtain. A monstrous explosion of thunder crackled and crashed amidst the giant forms, reverberating on and on, buffeted and borne on by strong winds weaving through the canyon.

But not all of the bolt’s force was harmlessly transferred between earth and sky, or transmuted into flash or echo. Far below the shoulders of the giant stone guardians, deep in the cavernous space at their feet, a portion of the blast had been diverted through an unfortunate creature who happened to be directly at its origin, and was now nothing more than a charred, smoking mass.

As it is wherever one observes it, this display of raw power was overwhelmingly and utterly violent. Some minds ascribe a godlike whimsy to Mother Nature’s works; considerably alien, unblinking, and inscrutable in purpose.

The fast-moving clouds moved past the towers, dragging their lights and deafening sound along, leaving behind the warm, smothering stickiness of the humidity. At the base of the walls, deep in the canyons, small, palid beings cautiously emerged from dark openings. They gathered, milling about, zig-zagging around large pools of water and hopping over rushing flows. The electricity in the city would probably not return for hours. Their small, squalid lives lived within the stone towers could now return to their rituals of vanity and deceit.

Soon, a tiny cluster of these beings would travel to the dark ice at the end of the earth to observe similar forces of Nature; unfeeling, capricious and ancient. Their destiny would be complete. Towering egos would soon confront doubt. But for now, the questioning, curious, and quarrelous will be busily organizing.

So begins our return voyage of humanity into the depths of the unyielding unknown.


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## jdeleski (Jul 18, 2005)

*The Daily Tribune 3-Jun-33*

The Starkweather-Moore Expedition continues to draw attention.


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## Bobitron (Jul 20, 2005)

_June 16th, 1933
Drake Hotel, Chicago, USA_

Vittorio leaves the Drake Hotel's lavishly furnished bar for the last time, walking slowly towards the elevator. The short-sighted bellhop turns his nose up at first, his eyes sweeping over the short Italian's simple clothing and slouched posture, but his demeanor changes instantly as he recognizes the man.

"Mr. Liuzzi! Good day, sir. I have your bags ready and a secretary waiting in your room to transcribe the letter, as you requested."

Vittorio slips the man a small handful of change from his woolen trousers and steps intot he elevator. "Thank you. My train leaves tomorrow at 3pm. I would appreciate if you had a taxi cab waiting for me."

Reaching his room, he greets the young woman sitting patiently at the desk before a typewriter. "Good afternoon, Miss. Are you ready to take this down?" As she nods her agreement, he speaks. Once the letter is complete, he sends her off to mail it. Stretching out in the vast feather bed, he falls into a deep sleep.

_June 17th, 1933
Drake Hotel, Chicago, USA_

"Mama! I already explained, it will be some months before I am able to speak to you again! Do not worry for me, Mama. Yes, yes, I will wear the long underwear. Mama, don't be silly, now. Yes, Mama. I will write as soon as I can." Hanging up the phone with a deep sigh, Vittorio makes his way to the waiting cab and onto the train for New York. Arriving in the metropolis, he soon finds himself staring up at the fascia of the Amherst Hotel, clutching a pair of well-worn travel bags and flanked by a pair of boys carrying the remainer of his luggage.


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## Bobitron (Jul 20, 2005)

June 16, 1933

Mr. James Starkweather
Amherst Hotel
New York City, New York
USA

Dear Sir;

Buon giorno. I am pleased to accept you offer of a position on your brave journey into the pages of history. I am certain you will find my experience and particular skills to be of great use.

I have a request that I have been considering for some time. I have been in contact with Mr. Carl Eliason of Wisconsin, who has patented an invention that I am sure we will find to be of vast use on the ice plains of the Antarctic. The Eliason Motor Toboggan will carry a team of 2 researchers and nearly 300 pounds of gear in speed and reliability over snow and ice. It utilizes a four cylinder Indian 45 CID 25 HP engine that has proven very reliable with a minimum of upkeep to drive a track positioned at the back of the sled. The Motor Toboggan has been proven to reach speeds of twenty miles per hour with a full load, and considerably faster with a lighter complement. It can be configured to hold up to four crew if needed. My team in Alaska used one of these machines and found it to be an excellent form of transportation. The benefits over traditional, dog-pulled sleds are obvious. They need no food, operate in extremely low temperatures, and can be operated easily by novice drivers. 

While Mr. Eliason is under great pressure to produce a number of these transports, I have managed to make available a set of four Motor Toboggans for our journey. They can be in New York within 2 weeks. 

I can understand if you are reluctant to use such new technology on a vital journey. If you will not consider bringing a full complement of Motor Toboggans, I strongly urge that you consider equipping us with one of the machines to prove its usefulness to future expeditions. If funds are growing tight due to the strenuous preperations, I will pay for the Toboggans out of my own savings. The price for each is $550.


Sincerely,

* Vittorio Liuzzi*

Vittorio Liuzzi
The Drake Hotel
140 East Walton Place, Chicago
USA


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## jdeleski (Jul 20, 2005)

*Accosted in Chicago*

Before Vittorio was able to climb into his cab on the way to the train station in Chicago, he was approached by two individuals; one was a middle-aged gent in a short-sleeved shirt, tie, and dark slacks, carrying a large, complicated-looking camera. The other was an attractive young brunette wearing a grey skirt, matching blouse, and a brilliant smile. The woman quickly stepped in front of Vittorio and asked “Mr Liuzzi?”, pronouncing the last name perfectly, then waited attentively.

Vittorio, caught off-guard, nodded and responded “Yes?” He noticed that the woman was carrying a small notepad and pen.

The young lady then touched his arm, smiled, and said “Oh, I am so glad that we were able to find you, Mr. Liuizzi! My name is Amanda Wilson and I’m from the Chicago Tribune. Would you be willing to make a few statements for our readers? Our contacts in New York mentioned that you were staying here at the Drake Hotel and that you were handpicked by James Starkweather as one of a select group of courageous explorers who are departing for Antarctica! How absolutely thrilling!”

“Smile for the Tribune!” said the kneeling cameraman who had worked his way opposite the reporter, and quickly snapped a picture of you just as you turned your head towards him with a quizzical look.


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## Morpheus (Jul 21, 2005)

June 20th, 1933

Martin stepped off the train from Track 27, Montreal-to-New York. Grand Central Station was always busy-even at 2 am. He hurried from the platform and up the steps carrying his 2 suitcases. He wanted to surprise Erica and he knew just how to do it.
Knock, knock. 
A minute passed before Martin heard footsteps behind the door. The door opened slowly and...
"Who the hell are you?"
"Pardon moi, I seem to be lost. I was looking for Madam Erica LaMontaigne."
"This is her apartment. I'm her husband, Bob."
"Her husband?!? Here, give her these." and Martin shoved the dozen roses into his hand and walked away at a brisk pace.
This trip was not starting out well. Not well at all...


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## The Shaman (Jul 21, 2005)

June 21st.

It is cold at the end of the world.

The fishing and whaling fleets are gone from the harbor, sailing north over the steel gray ocean. Under drifts of snow dormant turf waits for the return of the sun to send out green shoots, and shepherds struggle to feed their flocks through the dark, raw austral winter. The streams are low in their banks, the spring flood stored in the dense blanket of snow that covers the jagged mountains that form the skyline around the small town.

Sitting in a small shed surrounded by nets and ropes hanging from the roof beams, Paco re-reads Starkweather’s letter a third time before folding it and tucking it into the pocket of his shirt. He picks up the marlinspike and deftly resumes mending a hawser left to him by one of the captains of the fishing fleet. Fixing nets and ropes was a way to pass the time in winter, to keep the nimbleness in his fingers and to endure the long dark winter hours. It also gave him the freedom to put on his skis and enjoy the brief hours of daylight, to keep the tension in the muscles of his legs and arms, to glide over the snowy landscape, to push into the foothills and feel the pull of gravity balanced by the exhilaration of the skies.

The wind shakes the little shack, and whistles through the cracks – the kerosene lamp flickers, but Paco doesn’t feel the chill as he patiently mends the frayed strands of hemp.

Later, at the _hosteria_, he sits down at the small table in his flat, and pulls out a paper and pen. Chela, the clerk at the _clinica familiar_, would type the letters for Paco later, in exchange for the bundles of wildflowers wrapped with string he carried back from the mountain meadows during the spring and summer. In his plain hand, Paco began to write.

21 June 1933

Padre De Agostino,

I hope this letter finds you well.

It is with much regret that I must tell you that I will be unable to join your expedition this season. I have been invited to participate in an expedition to Antarctica, an American expedition. I plan to leave for New York City in August and I do not expect to return before the following fall.

Please accept my sincerest gratitude for the opportunities you have extended to me, and I hope that I may join you again in future expeditions. May God keep you until we meet again.

Sincerely

Fráncisco​
Paco re-reads the letter. His mother had been very particular that he should learn to write well, practicing with the boy in their home in Valdivia while his father clanged his tools in the workshop. _Whatever you do in life, Paco,_ she said, _you will need to express yourself._ Then she would patiently watch as he wrote his letters again and again.

Unconsciously he fingered the St. Christopher medal around his neck before picking up the next sheet of paper. The next letter was to José Monrovia, the secretary of the _Club Andino de Chile._

21 June 1933

Dear José,

I have received exciting news today – I am going to Antarctica! I have been invited to join an expedition – I leave for America, for New York City, in August.

José, my friend, have you any maps you can spare of the southern continent? I should like to study them on my journey. I will of course reimburse you and the Club for any expenses. Also, if you have any guidebooks or maps of the Shawangunks of the United States, I should like copies of these as well – I read about the climbing here in one of the journals you so thoughtfully sent me last fall. Anything in English is fine.

Wish me luck, my friend, and thank you for your help as always.

Your good friend,

Paco​
The mountaineer folded both letters and placed them on the table under his pocket knife. He would leave them at the clinic in the morning, and Chela would have them ready for him at the end of the day.

The wind rattles the windows as Paco lies back on his bed and drifts off to sleep.


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## Bobitron (Jul 22, 2005)

photographer said:
			
		

> “Smile for the Tribune!” said the kneeling cameraman who had worked his way opposite the reporter, and quickly snapped a picture of you just as you turned your head towards him with a quizzical look.





Vittorio smiles weakly long after the flash goes off, then turns back to Ms. Wilson. "Ahhh... yes, I am pleased that I have been chosen to journey into such an incredible place with such a distinguished group of explorers. Mr. Starkweather has an excellent reputation, and I'm sure we will provide plenty of exciting news for your readers. Right now, however, I'm sure you understand that I have a cab waiting. Good day, Ms. Wilson." He nods to the photographer and rushes into the waiting cab.

Once safely inside, he lets out a deep breath of relief. _That could have gone worse. I practiced those lines nearly two hours to get them right. It has been a long time since I have had to practice anything!_

"Driver, to the train station."


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## Taokan (Jul 23, 2005)

March 10, 1933

Mr. James Starkweather
Amherst Hotel
New York City, New York
USA

Dear Monsieur Starkweather:

Bonjour, Monsieur Starkweather. I do hope that you are enjoying yourself before the expedition.

My name is Camille Claud Bardier. A fellow pilot in Rotterdam recently revealed to me an article that contained information relating to your fast-approaching expedition to the Antarctic. 

I believe that I am not being prideful when I say that my piloting skills would be of great value to your team. Several of my experiences with flight and driving ground based explorations include the first contact in the New Guinea highlands several months ago, several air races, and several trips to Africa, India, the South Pole, and Peru within the last ten years. I also speak excellant English, French, and Russian as well, so that I will be understood in all but the most trying of times

I can reasonably assure you I am experienced in the area of enduring harsh climes as within the past eight years I have had the pleasure of working with Admiral Byrd himself during which we followed the historic trail of Admiral Perry. All of this trips lasted six months or more. 

My past employment includes a brief time serving in the French Air Force, and as I mentioned, two trips to the northern and Southern Poles. I was also offered a teaching position at Nancy Harkness Love’s flight school, but I unfortunately turned that post down, as that school year would start in the middle of a trip to Chile. 


For references, please contact the following people;

Nancy Harkness Love – Houghton Michigan
Amelia Earhart – New York, New York

Captain Roland de la Poype - Champigné, France 

The Boston Chapter of the National Aeronautic Association – Boston, Massachusetts

I shall eagerly await your reply here in Rotterdam where I am visiting a family friend. If I am accepted, it shall take me no more than three days to reach you in New York to aid in the preparation for our fascinating trip to Antartica.

Sincerely,

Camille Claud Bardier 

Camille Claud Bardier
Victoria Hotel
1012 LG, City Centre, 

Rotterdam

*Edited- packed a wee bit much in- Well, you can't say she didn't live a full life....*


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## jdeleski (Jul 23, 2005)

*Response to Motorized Sled Proposal from Vittorio*

June 21, 1933​ 


Vittorio Liuzzi

The Drake Hotel
140 East Walton Place, Chicago
USA

Dear Vittorio Liuzzi,

Thank you not only for eagerly volunteering to accompany us on this voyage, but also your proposal of June 16th regarding the Eliason Motor Toboggan. Sir, you must know that you’ve brought a smile to my face, and also that of Dr. Moore! 

We’ve discussed your proposal at length and are mightily impressed with the speed and capacity of these units but, as you might expect, we have some concerns about their reliability and application. When questioning Mr. Eliason via telephone about his manufacturing practices, he confessed that each unit is handcrafted and of “no three being exactly alike,” which does not bode well for repairs, particularly in a geographic area to which replacement parts could not even be shipped. Dr. Moore was able to confirm that the toboggans weigh approximately 500 pounds each and are of a size which is within our range for stowing and transporting additional equipment aboard our vessel. I must question whether this weight might be sufficient to break through an ice layer to a dark crevasse below, therefore I will ask for the ultimate caution before using these machines in newly explored areas. 

Dr. Moore and I agree, however, that they may prove useful to our expedition and are willing to add them to our expedition’s equipment list. That having been said, it is indeed unfortunate that I must inform you that there is an obstacle to this purchase. My accountants have informed me that I have run dangerously low in funds for our voyage and I am therefore unable to approve their purchase using S-ME finances. As you may have noted, I have funded the lion’s share of this expedition from my own personal estate so that we do not find our objectives at the mercy of the whims of an institution or shareholder, but now those resources run low.

Your offer to pay for this equipment is most generous. I wholeheartedly accept it and I have identified a few areas of the ship where you might secure the transport of these items. I will review these areas with you upon your arrival in New York City. Even should you bring these motorized toboggans, however, I’ve decided that it would be prudent to bring our full complement of sled dogs, as originally planned, to ensure that no mechanical failure would threaten the success of our mission.

Your planning and extra attention to detail has ably met the gauntlet that has been thrown down before you sir! I see that I’ve gained the services of not only a crack engineer and explorer, but also a leader of men! Your own actions as part of this expedition have now put us at the forefront of the application of engineering sciences, perhaps some day rivaling those of the great Henry Ford! Well done!

I look forward to seeing you at the Amherst Hotel on September 1st.

Sincerely,
*James Starkweather*
Expedition Leader



*Amherst Hotel*​8th Avenue and 44th Street​New York City, New York​


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## jdeleski (Jul 23, 2005)

*Martin's Arrival*

Martin stepped from his train and ran from the platform up the stairway into the vast cavern that is Grand Central Station. Beneath its vaulted roof of metal and glass looming over 100 feet above, the main councourse extends 400 feet in width, nearly each inch of which is seemingly filled with a body that Martin dodged with his two suitcases. Illuminated in the massive domed ceiling is an eliptic of the zodiac, a curious reference to stars and unseen forces.

But Martin was a man on a mission and having been through Grand Central many times in the past, he barely noticed its tremendous, multi-storied entrance of arches flanked by massive columns as he quickly moved under it. Or the extraordinary sculpture mounted above that archway depicting Mercury, Hercules, and Minerva with a 13-foot clock face beneath the powerful gods of myth. 

Martin emerged from the cavern into a simmering wave of heavy wet heat under the bright, blinding sun.


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## jdeleski (Jul 25, 2005)

*Rejection of Camille Bardier's Application*

June 23, 1933​




Camille Claud Bardier
Victoria Hotel
1012 LG, City Centre, 
Rotterdam


Dear Miss Bardier,


Thank you for your letter of the 21st, which expressed your wish to join my upcoming venture to the icy wastes of the South. Your list of accomplishments and experiences was most interesting. You point out in your letter your undeniable expertise in traveling to a variety of geographic locations and to engage in sport flying against, most likely, a number of other members of your gentle race. 

I admire your spirit of adventure and must admit that your desire to join my team on our expedition is noteworthy. It is quite obvious that you are a woman to be reckoned with, one who enjoys traveling to exotic locales as she does an outing with her companions, and I’m sure that your parents supported your endeavors and nurtured you along with thoughts of your future marriage to a talented officer in the French Air Force. 

However, this expedition is no shopping trip to the French Riviera. A woman of delicate nature such as yourself is likely to find the cold rigors of the south to be somewhat adverse, particularly as our team voyages well beyond the areas that Admiral Byrd chose to venture. To ask men of physical courage and bold endeavor to journey in the company of individuals who might shriek at the sight of a fieldmouse, or cry when confronted with adversity, would be to mock the very spirit in which this great quest is being undertaken, and so it is with regret that I must decline your request. 

The South Pole is a dangerous and unforgiving land, and I am afraid that I cannot afford to hold anyone’s hand on this journey.

Sincerely,
*James Starkweather*
Expedition Leader





*Amherst HoteL​​**8th Avenue and 44th StreeT*​*New York City, New York*​


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## Taokan (Jul 25, 2005)

*Response to Camille's rejection*

Turiau Allvoz eagerly hurried into the small field behind the Victoria Hotel. Every day for several weeks Camille -the daughter of his best friend- has pestered him over whether a letter had come for her. Today, at last, her mysterious letter had indeed arrived, much to his relief. Now if he could only get her to fix his broken-down carriage in the bargain…

However, as he stepped into the center of the field, all he saw was a single small plane amid the abundant foliage; no oil-covered Frenchwoman in sight. "Camille, où êtes-vous?" He called out. Immediately a muffled, "I’m in America, Turiau, can’t you tell?" answered peevishly from the bowels of the plane. Raising an eyebrow, the Holland native waved an envelope stamped with the bright red *Aérer le Courrier – Air Mail *in the general direction of the half-muted voice and answered in heavily accented English. "Then I suppose I’ll read this letter from a Monsieur Starkweather uninterrupted. Hmmm… ‘Dear Miss Bardier…"

Instantly a tiny Frenchwoman covered in oil and grease popped out from under the plane and snatched the letter, tearing it open. Finally she would have a chance to show her skills, other than at monotonous explorations to places she’s already seen. Instead, to her great irritation and hidden amusement, the letter did not enthusiastically accept her experienced-self along, or, at the very least, let her off graciously with an apology. This letter, starting from the first sentence, insinuated with barely disguised insults that at the first setback –or, apparently, fieldmouse- she would shriek and faint in a maidenly swoon. Hmph. If anyone dared called her maidenly, they would soon learn their mistake.

"…I’m sure that your parents supported your endeavors and nurtured you along with thoughts of your future marriage to a talented officer in the French Air Force."

"A woman of delicate nature such as yourself is likely to find the cold rigors of the south to be somewhat adverse"

Turiau cringed away from the woman whose nappies he had changed on occasion; the sudden smirk creeping across Camille’s face never boded well. "Turiau! Start the plane! I need you to drive for me. I’ll repay you later. Glad I fixed that flying rust-bucket…" Nervously heading for the vehicle, he asked over his shoulder, "Why? And where are we going?" Chuckling low in her throat, Camille smoothly slid in the co-pilot seat, removing a tablet of paper and a pencil from under the seat and scribbling away furiously. "The Amherst Hôtel in New York. I have a feeling this Monsieur Starkweather will need the benefit of receiving my response in person." 

_Dear Monsieur Starkweather,_

_Perhaps your American, male insight has somehow obscured your vision, so you could not properly read my last postage; fear not, however, I shall endeavor to repeat myself, so you can understand. I shall begin my rebuttal of your views one at a time for your convenience._


_I did not, as you cleverly and subtly implied, travel to sunny, enjoyable ‘geographic locations’ or ‘_exotic locales’ _for holidays or to laze about in the sun. I traveled on hazardous, life-threatening missions for the French and American governments. No offense at all intended, but I apologize if I have not heard of you needing to make any recent, emergency refuelings in the middle of the Pacific. Please correct me if , as I suspect, I am indeed gravely mistaken._
_I most certainly did not engage in races only against my fellow Frenchman –or even Frenchwomen- Monsieur. I raced against highly talented men across Europe and America and -wait for the shock Monsieur- I indeed did win._
_I don’t know what you are implying, most-respected Monsieur, but my father did not ‘nurture me along’ with the idea to marry me off to an officer of our Nation’s Air Force at first opportunity like a brood mare. For one, I can distinctly recall him telling me himself that I was become a famous pilot by my own skills – also informing me that if I married before I retired, he would disown me. For another, I most-likely would not have done so in either case. I never listened to my father. Authority needs to be proven, and frankly, he did not prove himself._
_As a side note, I can assure you that I most certainly did not join the French air force simply because my father told me to; or indeed, out of a misguided and bizarre attempt at finding an Air Force husband (which, if I may say so, I still do not sport, even after my service?): I joined for two reasons, I assume the same reasons that anyone would. (1) I was needed. (2) My beloved country was currently encouraging -no, more like recruiting- only those female pilots of respectable skill, and all others were weeded out. Need I say that because I was indeed in the Air Force to begin with proves my skill beyond a reasonable doubt?_
_Disregarding your humorous opening to this statement, I am most certainly not in possession of a ‘delicate nature’ by any definition of the phrase, nor –as I have already pointed out- am I unused to arduous conditions such as I faced with Admiral Byrd._
_On that note, you seem vaguely disdainful of the Admiral’s efforts in addition to my own. As I am quite sure this is not the case, let me clarify: Admiral Byrd himself received international recognition, several rather nice awards and/or grants from the American government for his future trips, as well as being instrumental in future explorations to the Poles. There were several firsts on this expedition as well, including (but not limited to) being organized and financed by Admiral Byrd with financial aid and supplies contributed by a number of other individuals. Even if you overlook our success, you seemed to have taken this lesson to heart yourself, did you not, Honored-Monsieur?_
_On one of my travels to Africa, during my brief stay in a village, a pair of hyenas -rather larger and more ferocious than the common fieldmouse- came into my room while I was sleeping and proceeded to attempt to drag away my pack. I still have a scar from that incident in a most inconvenient place if you require proof. (On a mostly-unrelated note, I have removed mice barehanded from my bureau without a twitch)_
_To continue, while I certainly could ‘mock the spirit’ of this venture (which, you may note, I have admirably resisted), I have never ‘cried in the face of adversity’. Not once. No offense meant Most-Heroic Monsieur, but since I have not yet had the pleasure of your company, I cannot say with certainty if you can make the same claim. If you wish to prove your "courage in the face of adversity", I recommend marooning yourself in the South Pole during a blizzard –without benefit of much food, numerous blankets, or communication- for two weeks. I myself find that burning rejection letters creates an enjoyable warmth._
_If those are all of the objections, you will undoubtedly be pleased to note that I have chosen to take this resistance as a test of my credentials –nay, acceptance- in the form of a jest on your part, which you obviously intended. If it is not, you shall be relieved to know that not only am I on my way to you as this is being written, I shall be happy to present more of my credentials face-to-face, which shall happen following the posting of my acceptance to the Times. I myself would check either the first several pages or the Sports section._

_Vous voir bientôt,_
_Camille Claud Bardier__
_
_Camille Claud Bardier_

_P.S. If you become frightened, I shall hold your hand_

"There!" Camille said with satisfaction, dotting the last "I". "Now to see the fireworks, I suppose…"


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## jdeleski (Jul 26, 2005)

*The Fundraiser*

Each of you (with the exception of Annie and Camille) has received the below invitation, by whatever means available, and is requested in a handwritten note from James Starkweather to attend as a member of the staff who will mingle with local dignitaries and socialites.

Bibliography Reference 4


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## Morpheus (Jul 26, 2005)

July 8th, 1933

Martin LeBlanc
The Pierre
Fifth Ave. at 61st St.
New York City, NY



Dear Mr. Starkweather,

  Thank you for the invitation to the gala event on August 13th. I look forward to meeting you and the esteemed Dr. Moore as well as the other members of our expedition. The event promises to be grand, indeed!

  If you have need to contact me between now and then, please leave a message with the concierge (Mr. Alfred Riddins) at the Pierre (my preferred residence when I am in New York) as I am currently on assignment in Cuba and will not be back until the first week in August. I will be able to cable a message once or twice while I am on assignment.

  Thank you once again for allowing me the opportunity to join the expedition and secure our place in the annals of history.



 At Your Service,

  Martin LeBlanc


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## taitzu52 (Jul 26, 2005)

*Telegrapgh for Cecelia Poole*

Telegraph
From: The Oxford Hotel, Denver, CO
To:  Cecilia Poole, c/o #10 General Store, Colorado Springs, CO

DEAR CECIE STOP.  RECIEVED ACCEPTANCE LETTER FOR SOUTH POLE JOB STOP.  LEAVING DENVER FOR NYC STOP.  GONE FOR 6 TO 9 MONTHS STOP.  NEIGHBOR BILL COMING BY ON SUNDAYS STOP.  LOVE YOU VERY MUCH STOP. JIM


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## jdeleski (Jul 30, 2005)

*Response from José (Club Andino) to Paco*

14 July 1933




Dear Paco,

That is wonderful news about your trip to Antarctica! I have always wanted to travel to that icy continent myself, but you know that Maria would not hear of it.

Enclosed you will find a copy of Admiral Byrd's latest map of Antarctica from his publication of 1930. It may prove useful if you venture near the areas where he landed, made camp, and flew. For a guide to his findings, you should consult the August 1930 issue of National Geographic. Unfortunately for me, it was in English, but you are fluent in that language.

I also found this 1894 topographical map of the Shawnagunk mountains that should help you considerably if you intend to do a little recreational climbing while you are in America near New York City.

Do not worry about expenses for these items. You have repaid Club Andino many times over with your daring rescue missions. 

​



Godspeed, my friend!



José

Secretary
_Club Andino de Chile._

​


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## Bobitron (Jul 30, 2005)

*Telegraph to Starkweather*

Telegraph
From: Vittorio Liuzzi, Cleaveland, Ohio, Rutgers Train Station 
To:  James Starkweather, c/o Amherst Hotel, 8th Avenue and 44th Street, New York City, USA

MR. STARKWEATHER STOP. RECIEVED CORRESPONDANCE REGARDING ELIASON MOTOR TOBOGGANS STOP.  LEAVING FOR WISCONSIN RATHER THAN CONTINUING TO NYC STOP. WILL RETURN TO NYC WITH TOBOGGANS IN TIME FOR FUNDRAISING DINNER STOP. REGARDS VITTORIO LIUZZI STOP.


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## jdeleski (Aug 3, 2005)

*S-ME Fundraiser Master of Ceremonies*

Mr. Starkweather has been working hard to gain publicity and attention.


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## Taokan (Aug 4, 2005)

*intelligence expert*

It was a quiet day at the Amherst Hotel and everything was going precisely according to schedule; the cooks cooked, the housekeepers left out chocolates, and the customers were content.

Down in the main entryway of the hotel, in the middle of his annoyingly perky introduction, the desk clerk's face abruptly froze in a curious mixture of horror and disapproval. A disprepuably dirty and wind-swept woman in a scruffy pilot's outfit had confidently swept into the hotel, leaving oily footsteps in her wake on the white marble. 

Striding up to the counter, Camille nonchalantly rang the bell - when the clerk ignored her in favor of cleaner guests, she called out somewhat louder than neccessary, "M'excuser, monsieur?" When she finally had his (albeit not respectful) attention, Camille inquired what Mr. Starkweather's room number was, as she urgently had to speak with him. She was informed in return that Mr. Starkweather was out on business for the day, and would she care for a refreshment in the nearby bar and salon?

Deciding that yes, she did, within the next five minutes Camille found herself nursing a single glass of gin on the rocks (hold the gin) and glaring at the response letter to the odious expedition leader. If giving her less sarcasm-filled version to the Times hadn't gone off so smoothly, she'd be well on her way to joining the enebriated fellow to her left. Glancing over at the snoring sod slumped over his glass and that day's paper, she wondered if he'd notice if she did his crossword.

Hold on a tic... Snatching the paper out from under the man's beefy arm, Camille's eyes's excidedly scanned the headline and following words. "_Mayor to deliver opening words at S-ME Fundraiser... ...to be held on August 14 at the Amherst Hotel ballroom_." "Well well, Monsieur Starkweather. I think I found my invitation." Now to see about getting a room...


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## jdeleski (Aug 5, 2005)

As Camille flew into New York, New York, she was greeted with her first view of the majestic, sprawling city. The Statue of Liberty welcomed her to the harbor, numerous large ships were moving amongst their docks, and the island towers beckoned. Passing over the city, she saw the flow of civilization through its arteries and many connecting bridges.  The dark green of Central Park stood in stark contrast to its surrounding concrete barriers. 

After landing and shutting down her craft, she collected her things and opened the hatch, immediately finding herself assaulted by a wave of simmering, heavy July heat. She was expecting some relief after many hours in the hot, stale confines of the plane's cabin, but instead found it difficult to breath and extremely uncomfortable. 

But, as one who enjoyed a challenge, she quickly shouldered her gear, climbed down the short ladder to the runway, and began the remainder of her journey to the Amherst Hotel.


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## jdeleski (Aug 5, 2005)

*The Amherst Hotel*

Departing from your transport in front of the Amherst Hotel, one block from Times Square, you stand, sweating in the sticky heat, staring at the large, stately edifice. Despite being dwarfed by the many new skyrakers in the city, it possesses an impressive charm and elegance. As the buses, automobiles, and pedestrians swarm around it through the streets, you gaze at the granite arches rising up to meet story upon story of the deep-red brick exterior with tan edging. Terraces of greenery are perched at the upper levels.

You move towards the massive entranceway and a doorman, outfitted in deep burgundy trousers and blazer trimmed with gold, opens the door for you while smiling and pleasantly announces "Welcome to the Amherst Hotel."

The hotel lounge is expansive, inviting, and the smell of fresh-cut flowers wafts past you on a slight breeze. Deep burgundy rugs, ornamental gold trim, and an amazing white marble lobby desk catch your eye.


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## The Shaman (Aug 6, 2005)

The coral-colored clouds in the azure sky herald the rising sun as the _Hidatsu Maru_ sails up the East River, the twin-red-striped white flag of the NYK Line snapping in the breeze. The change in the pitch of the engines as the pilot boat came alongside the passenger-freighter woke Paco in his stateroom, and he made his way on deck to stand in the moist, warm morning air to watch the ship’s arrival. Across the Lower Bay he can make out the Statue of Liberty, to the northeast the skyline of Manhattan.

- / -​
The announcement of the gala celebration for the expedition caught Paco by surprise. He quickly dashed off a note to Starkweather indicating that he would do his best to be in New York City at the appointed time, followed by a feverish request to the American consulate in Santiago for the necessary visa. Next came arranging passage on a ship from Valpariso to New York. What seemed like many weeks suddenly seemed like only a moment as Paco hastily made his preparations.

- / -​
The South Street Seaport is rousing along with the rest of the city as Paco walks down the gangplank, carrying his trunk on his back, the orange-and-green NYK luggage tag dangling as he steps onto land. Inside was his clothing and gear, save for his skis and snowshoes – there was simply no way to fit them efficiently into the trunk, and the experienced mountaineer knew that the sea voyage could be unkind to the polished wood. Wagering that he could purchase a new pair in America, Paco stripped off his bindings and straps and packed the hardware for the trip, leaving the boards with the _matron_ at the _hosteria_ for his return.

- / -​
The _Hidatsu Maru_ traveled the west coast of South America, passing through the Panama Canal, then crossing the Caribbean before striking the east coast of North America. By day Paco spent his time on deck, weather permitting, watching the restless sea, the passing shore, the dolphins that congregated at the bow, the birds that tailed along behind. To keep fit he performed calisthenics, chinning himself on overhead pipes in the passageways, chimneying the space between bulkheads, stretching his muscles to keep limber. At night he would practice his English with one of the stewards, a young fellow named Kogi from Yokohama, or study the map of Antarctica that José has so thoughtfully sent to him.

- / -​
The port official studies the passport and visa carefully – apparently something about a Chilean arriving on a Japanese passenger-cargo ship doesn’t sit right with him, or perhaps the novelty sparks his interest. Paco shifts uncomfortably in his shoes. He considers showing the little man the copy of Starkweather’s letter – _that may only confuse things further_, he decides at last, and continues to wait as the official considers the documents. Finally he stamps the passport and the visa and hands them back to Paco, a hint suspicion at the corners of his eyes – the date on the stamp reads 10 August 1933. _I have three days_, Paco thinks, pleased at the timing. 

Exiting the terminal at last, Paco finds a taxi. “Grand Central Station, _por favor_,” he says, a bit nervously.

- / -​
The city was overwhelming.

Nothing in Paco’s experience prepared him for the looming skyscrapers, the throngs of cars and people, the rush and bustle of activity that seemed to be carrying him along like a stick in a mountain freshet. The cabby was surly but efficient, delivering the mountaineer before the impressive portico of the railway terminal.

A burly police officer twirling a baton on a lanyard watched Paco closely as he waited in line at the ticket counter. Reaching the window at last, a pretty girl in a print dress gave him a business-like smile as he pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket and slides it across the counter. “New Paltz, _por favor, señorita_,” he says with a shy smile.

- / -​
The Wallkill Valley line of the New York Central follows the winding path of the Wallkill River on its way to New Paltz. The trip takes more than an hour, but Paco is relieved to be out of the city and among the hills and forests of the Shawangunk Mountains.

The humid air is thick and warm as Paco finally reaches his destination in the late afternoon. Stepping onto the platform of the tiny rural rail station, he gazes past the town at the rocky ridge beyond. It is as he pictured it from the descriptions from Franz Weissner quoted in the _Club Andino Bariloche_ newsletter that José forwarded before he left Valdivia.

Paco arranges to leave his trunk at the railway station, shouldering only his rucksack containing his climbing and camping gear as he sets off to explore the crags a few miles distant. _Saturday I am yours, Señor Starkweather, but until then, I climb for me_.


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## Taokan (Aug 8, 2005)

_Several hours later...

_"Room service! I have the information you requested," Piped an irritating, nasal voice through the door of the suite. Without waiting for a response, a rotund, graying housekeeper shoved the door open, triumphantly brandishing a stack of paper. The poor housekeeper's face twisted in confusion at the perplexing sight he saw.

A miniscule French woman dresssed in a pilot's uniform was curled on top of a nearby footrest, tugging on a pair of steel-tipped boots using her mouth and right hand and attempting to spray what smelled like aftershave on herself with the other hand. The reason why the bed wasn't used instead was immedietally apparent: the entire surface of the bed was covered but numerous pamphlets and flyers as well as various pieces of her flight ensemble. 

The portly housekeeper nervously edged into the room, looking ready to bolt. He cautiously asked where he should put these new papers down, as they would topple the already-untidy stacks on the bed.

Jerking her head in the general direction of the bed, the tiny pilot spewed muffled blasphemies in a mix of French and Russian as whatever was in the spritzer bottle caught her full in the face. 

The bi-lingual cuss did the poor cleaner in: pratically throwing the papers at the bed, the corpulent housekeeper fled out the door. 

Giving an irritated sigh, Camille finished tying off her footwear and commenced gathering up the discarded paper and adding it to the pile on the bed. Camille sank down on the bed and started sifting through the piled up agglomeration. 

*-*-*-*

Camille had gotten her idea by studying the article about the gala even further; there had been mention of the fundraiser being open to university students. Thus, the idea: disguise herself and/or pull enough strings to do the equivalent.

The multitude was mostly made up of college flyers and applications; names such as the Columbia Institute of the Chiropractic and St. Joseph's College and were quickly replaced with such things as the New York University College of Dentistry. She eventually decided on a physic's student from St. Joseph's College. 

All she had to do now was look like a student and act like one, as well as convincing the universities' scholars to go along with whatever she did. Luckily, she had an advantage in this area: her mother's best friend, Turiau Allvoz, (he whom had driven her to New York) had connections in just this college, which was why she had chosen it. She just had to find Turiau at wherever he was staying, chum up with him while he chatted about the old days, then dress the part. Easy as pie.

Quickly running over to the adjoining lavatory, Camille ran water over her face to dilute the overpowering funk of the remaining aftershave. That done, she pulled on her pilot's jacket (with her response to Starkweather in the pocket) and sprung out the door, leaving swirling letters in her wake.


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## Bobitron (Aug 8, 2005)

Vittorio stretches his limbs as he exits from the passenger car, the long trip from Chicago finally over. The Wisconsin air is fresh and mild, and he easily finds a cab driver willing to make the four hour journey to Sayner. Vittorio reads over the short response from Eliason regarding his visit once on the road. Its tone was very positive, and Vittorio had a suspicion that he might be the most important client the inventor had received yet. Pulling into the small town, the Italian easily found Eliason’s General Store and Supply. Entering the small but well-equipped establishment, he found an uninterested clerk who pointed him around back.

The workshop was obviously tacked on to the back of the larger building, but it was well-kept and clean, even though if one looked carefully one could see the cracks in the walls where the structure was less than perfect. A slender man stood working over a welder, mounting a subframe to a bulky metal lattice. When Vittorio approached, he whipped off the face shield and introduced himself with vigor. “Carl Eliason at your service, sir!”

The next three hours were spent in conversation regarding the capabilities of the motor toboggan. Vittorio came away from the experience confident that the sleds could be of use in the harsh terrain of the Antarctic, but relieved that Starkweather had agreed to bring a full set of dogs as well. While Eliason obviously put his heart and mind fully into each of the creations, every sled was in practice a prototype, with improvements made to each one as it left the shop. Eliason had already taken the time to contact former buyers and found three persons willing to sell their sleds during these summer months. 

It took over a month to complete the construction, but Vittorio learned quite a bit regarding the construction and upkeep of the sleds during his stay. Come August 7th, five Eliason Motor Toboggans stood packed in travel crates at the train station in Green Bay, with a third crate full of maintenance supplies and extra parts, including two extra complete engines. The trip back to New York went without drama, and come August 14th, Vittorio was standing at the entryway of the Amherst Hotel’s luxurious ballroom, tugging at the tails of his tuxedo and straightening his bowtie in a vain effort to look comfortable in the formal clothing. Finally giving up with a harrumph, he strides into the room with the gait of a mechanic, a sore thumb among the social elite of the scientific strata of New York. 

ooc: My roll was a three  which means two new and three used toboggans, right? I’ll edit if need be.


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## eabha (Aug 8, 2005)

Annie is sitting on the sofa in her living room, a glass of dry white wine in her hand. A breeze that falls just short of being cool comes in through the wide open windows, stirring the curtains. 

Her friends are here now. They have come to say goodbye on this, the night before her departure. By the fireplace stands her best friend and tennis partner, Louise, a statuesque blond; she has brought along her bland husband, Kenneth. Also in attendance are fellow faculty members Gary McDonald and Geoffrey Cancilla. It was Geoffrey who had come to her and prevented her hasty departure last month. Stay and finish your contract, he'd pleaded. And she had listened.

Now she glances uneasily at the trunk and assorted bags at the front door. _What am I heading into? What can I say to Mr. Starkweather to ensure a spot on the expedition?_

"Well," she says at last, smiling and turning back to her friends. "I'm currently trying to choose between seduction and blackmail."

Louise laughs loudly, tossing back her head. "That's my girl!" Her husband looks mortified.

Gary smirks and sits on the arm of the chair opposite Annie. "I don't see why you should have to choose. Do both!"

Annie shakes her head, laughing. "Seriously, though. I don’t think Mr. Starkweather is the type to toy with. He strikes me as powerful and dangerous. I’m sure I’ll come up with something once I’m there."

"If he doesn't take you, then it's his loss. There's no one better," says Gary, refilling her wine glass. "You can always come back to the hospital anyways."

Annie grimaces. "I think I'm through with the hospital. I want more, and while I'm still young."

She gets up from the sofa and walks over to one of the windows. She will miss, she realizes, this little apartment and the scents rising up from the surrounding gardens on these perfect summer evenings. 

"Well, I for one have no idea what I'll do without you around, Annie," announces Louise. "Where will I find such a good tennis partner?"

"And with whom will I share brunch and faculty gossip on Saturday mornings?" asks Geoffrey. "You always seem to know what's really going on."

"I say we all have a drink to the lady of the hour!" says Gary, lifting his glass. "To Annie!"

"To Annie!"

Annie blushes, raises her glass with the rest of them and drinks, but then turns her back once more to look out the window. Then Geoffrey is next to her, bumping her gently with his shoulder. 

"It's not too late to back out. Are you _really_ sure about this?" he asks quietly.

She nods. "I've never been more sure."

*   *   *​
The following afternoon, Annie has left it all behind and is aboard a train travelling across the lush green landscape of New York, but thinking about the barren ice plains of the Antarctic.


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## jdeleski (Aug 9, 2005)

*SETPIECE EVENT: Player Rooms*

“Ah, Mr. Starkweather’s Expedition. And your name?” asked the smartly-dressed manager behind the lobby desk. Receiving your response, he expertly thumbed through a leather portfolio of 5” X 7” cards and crisply snapped a blue one from the pack.

“Please verify this information for our hotel and sign the bottom,” he requested, handing you the card along with a stylish black-and-gold fountain pen.

While you looked over your card and added your signature, the clerk pulled a keyring from his pocket, selected one key from among many, and used it to open a cabinet behind the desk. A shiny bronze roomkey attached to a leather keyring was produced and he immediately relocked the cabinet. The clerk turned and signaled a bellhop, who quickly moved behind the desk and received instructions. 

The bellhop then retrieved a small cart and asked you to point out which luggage items were yours. He carefully placed each item on the cart as if it contained fine, crystalline glassware, then snapped to attention, looking back to the manager.

The manager smiled and briefed you about the hotel itself, where you could find the dining room and Amherst ballroom, mentioned their new elevator systems and trained operators, and provided instructions about how to reach the switchboard operator from your room if you needed anything. He then checked to see if you had any messages waiting for you (none were found), gave you your key, and pleasantly said “Our bellboy will now escort you to your room with your luggage. Please let us know if we can do anything to improve your stay.”

***************************************
INITIAL PLAYER ROOM ASSIGNMENTS

6th Floor – Room 621 (double occupancy room, paid by S-ME)
Vittorio Liuzzi
*Fráncisco “Paco” Guerini*

6th Floor – Room 623 (double occupancy room, paid by S-ME)
Martin Leblanc
James Poole

3rd Floor – Room 305 (single occupancy room, $10 per night, personally paid by Camille)
Camille Bardier

4th Floor – Room 414 (single occupancy room, $10 per night, personally paid by Annie)
Annie Mahoney

OOC - This is what I term a "setpiece event", an event in which all characters will essentially be presented with the same sequence of activities and/or interactions. There will be a number of these as we begin our campaign. Although it seems like I'm playing your character for you, you actually have the option of deviating from this script if you so desire. Simply describe in a post how your character reacts differently from the described event and we'll work through how your unique actions change the script for you. Be careful not to describe how the NPC's react since they may have objectives and motives that you are unaware of.


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## taitzu52 (Aug 10, 2005)

Jim Poole steps off of the train into the bustle of Grand Central Station, not for the first time.  It has been quite a while since he has come to New York, and as before things change quickly in this town.  He collects his trunk from the baggage car, and calls over a valet.  "I'm headed to the Amherst hotel." he says straight to the man, his Midwest accent coming through all too easily.  The colored man replies that there are cabs on the ground level, and proceeds to wheel Jim's trunk up the platform, and out to the main plaza.  Again, it is a throng of people, each with their own agenda, each with a meeting to get to, a lover to greet, or a train to catch.  Jim Poole just smiles a bit and follows the man out onto the street.

New York has changed a bit.  A lot more automobiles are on the street now.  So many in fact, that they rent themselves out as taxi services, like the coaches a few years back.  Some are so bold as to advertise their services in bold colors emblazoned on the side of their autos.  _Henry Ford must be bendin' his britches over this_, Jim thinks, seeing cars that are a color other than black for the first time.  The valet loads his trunk in an auto, and he tips the man some coin.  In a thick Eastern European, perhaps Jewish accent, the cabbie turns and asks, "Where to, buddy?"  Jim smiles as he sits back, and says, "Amherst Hotel."  He cab takes off like a bat out of hell, and after one of the wildest rides in Jim Poole's life, he pulls up outside the Hotel lobby.

A bellhop retrieves the trunk engraved *J.R.P.* from the back, and with the clink of some coins, the taxi tears off again.  Jim steps into the grand lobby, and approaches the front desk.  "Afternoon." he says, taking off his hat.  "My name's James Poole.  I believe I'm expected?"


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## jdeleski (Aug 11, 2005)

*SETPIECE EVENT: Entering the Fundraiser*

At the appointed time, you check your appearance in the deskside mirror one last time before leaving your room. You pull the door tightly closed behind you and lock it with your key, then walk down the hall into a small anteroom and press a metal button on the wall to call the elevator. Looking through a small glass window in the elevator door, you initially see only darkness, then the lighted interior of the elevator cabin descends into view and stops. You hear the elevator’s metal gate pulled back, then the elevator door is slid open by the operator.

“Good evening!” the operator says with a broad smile. He is wearing the standard, deep burgundy uniform with gold trim, but also sports a small black cap. “To which floor would you like to go?”

You enter the elevator, asking him to take you to the Amherst Ballroom level.

“Very good!” he says, and reaches up to grab a handle and pull the the outer door closed. Once satisfied that the outer door is secured, he grasps the collapsed metal gate and pulls it across the elevator entrance. Next he rotates a circular metal disk on the wall to point its embossed arrow downwards and pulls a floor lever in the corner towards him, whereupon the cabin begins to slowly move downwards. You descend past a number of levels and eventually the operator slows and stops the elevator in front of a door bearing a large numeral “2”. The operator gently taps the lever to align the cabin floor with the bottom of the doorway, then finally pulls both the gate and the door open for you as he professionally announces “Second floor, Amherst Ballroom.”

As you exit the elevator, you spot a gleaming brass sign on the wall directing you to the right towards the ballroom and walk down the hallway. At the far end, you see a pair of dark brown, polished wooden doors, above which is a large, burnished bronze metal plate declaring “Amherst Ballroom”. Directly in front of the doors is a matching pair of large, somber-looking gentlemen in dark suits, each with a trim haircut and arms clasped behind him.

As you approach nearer, you hear muffled talking, laughter, and the tinkling of a piano from beyond the doors. Along the right hand wall is a brass-and-glass-encased sign, hand-lettered in perfect calligraphy, proudly stating “Starkweather-Moore Expedition Fundraiser”. There is also a long, low, black wooden cabinet with a few folding cards atop it.

The large man on your left asks to see your invitation. The large man on your right looks on impassively.

OOC - If you tell the man that you left your invitation in your room, you are politely asked to return to your room and retrieve it before you will be allowed in. If you tell the man that you did not bring your invitation with you to New York, he politely asks you to go to the hotel lobby desk to verify that your name is on the list and please return with a letter of confirmation. If you were hoping to crash the party, then you will surely test his manners.

Once he has seen your invitation or a letter of confirmation, the gentleman on the left who is apparently willing to speak allows the barest hint of a smile to cross his face and asks you to look on the nearby cabinet to find your namecard. After briefly scanning the cards, you locate one that is printed with your name and “Table Number 35”. The large gentleman on the left then turns and opens the door for you, and the ballroom’s loud chatter and music spill through the doorway, filling the hallway. He sweeps his free hand towards the doorway, gesturing you to enter.


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## Taokan (Aug 11, 2005)

"Sorry, I can't help you..", "Sorry, it's by invitation only...", "Why don't you just read the article on it in the paper?" 

Those were the typical responses she recieved not only from Turiau (after she had found him) but from St. Joseph's University as well. 

How completely unlike herself to forget that this sort of fancy hullabaloo required an invitation or two. Normally her mind excellantly stored such minor details while glossing over major ones. Hmm. Well, on to next idea. Perhaps if she hid herself in the room beforehand...

She sat herself down with a sigh outside Le Bernardin, the closest French restauraunt she had been able to find. Surrounded by the comfortable, homey music and language, she was content- and better focused. Camille always thought better when surrounded with a familiar atmosphere, and she certainly needed it now, if she wanted any hope of outwitting the horrid guest list. 

Chewing on a thumb in thought, Camille absently ordered a baguette and tea. Perhaps if... No, that plan needed an invitation. But what if... No, so did that plan. How about if she... Wait! That DID require an invitation, or at least the closest thing to it. 

Those dignitaries going to the fundraiser had invitations, didn't they? So what was stopping her from claiming theirs? All she had to do was say her name and that she was on the guest list; and since the name she'd be using would be some sort of politicians, her name *would* be!

Pleased with her own idea Camille took a final gulp of tea, paid for her meal, then hurried to the hotel to check the guestlist.


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## The Shaman (Aug 12, 2005)

The taxi discharges Paco in front of the Amherst Hotel. The mountaineer gazes up at the impressive building for a moment as the driver, sweating and swearing in the noontime heat, wrestles Paco’s trunk to the sidewalk.

Paco fumbles with the money in his pocket, selects what he hopes is the right amount for the fare and a tip, and hefts the trunk over his shoulder in one fluid motion before walking through the grand doors of Amherst.

The three days in the Shawangunks had been pleasant indeed, despite the oppressive heat and humidity. The crags lived up to Weissner’s description in every way, and Paco was glad to feel the stone beneath his calloused hands, let the summer warmth drive the winter’s tightness from his muscles, to sleep beneath the night sky and enjoy the freedom of the hills. Catching the one and only daily train to the city, Paco arrived at Grand Central Station rested and happy, ready to face the responsibilities of the expedition.

Entering the sumptuous lobby with its thick maroon velvet curtains, polished wood trim, and glistening marble floors, Paco can only gape for a moment before a rotund woman in a dark blue dress harrumphs at him for standing in the doorway. The Amherst is every bit the equal of the Hotel Carrera in Santiago, the climber decides, and maybe a bit more grand at that. _Perhaps this is a good omen for the expedition_, he thinks as he strides across the lobby, _that Señor Starkweather is a man of such means_.

The desk clerk is polite and efficient, directing Paco to his room, handing over the room key with a flourish, and gesturing to the bellboy to carry the mountaineer’s trunk. Paco looks over the slender young man in his crisp uniform and smiling, picks up the trunk himself. “_Muchas gracias, señor_,” he says with a smile to the desk clerk, and nods to the gawking bellboy, who recovers and leads Paco to room 621.

Inside Paco sees sign of the second occupant, clothing carefully hung in the closet or folded neatly in the dresser drawers. A meticulous man, he decides. Tipping the bellboy a dime, he settles in to unpacking his own trunk. On seeing his suit, stowed away in the trunk for more than three weeks, he blanches slightly beneath his tan face – no amount of smoothing takes away the wrinkles. _Padre_ Juan was never particular about how Paco appeared for Mass, but the priest himself had grown up in a small village, the son of a shepherd, and he was unlikely to consider such niceties among his humble parishioners. _Señor_ Starkweather must be an influential man accustomed to the social graces, Paco decides, and this worn suit with its deep wrinkles simply will not do.

The Chilean hesitates a moment, then reaches for the phone. Explaining his plight to the switchboard operator, he is surprised when a bellboy knocks at the door a few minutes later. “To pick up your suit, sir. To be pressed,” he says, holding out his hand. Paco hands him the rumpled wool garment and his equally wrinkled dress shirt, tentative. “Back in a jiffy, sir,” the bellhop says, and Paco closes the door. With nothing else to be done for the moment, he draws himself a hot bath and washes away the grime of three hot, sticky days in the hills. He is barely out of the tub when a knock comes at the door – the bellboy with his suit, smartly pressed. Paco thanks the young man profusely, staring at the suit and the shirt for a moment after the door is closed – _it looks better than the day I bought it_, he thinks, amazed at the transformation.

Glancing at his pocket watch, he dresses quickly, admiring the look of the suit in the mirror. It’s then that he notices his hair, several weeks of brushy growth protruding from his scalp, a scruffy wreath of whiskers gathered about his face Again the phone rings at the hotel switchboard.

“Mr. Guerini in room 621 needs assistance with a haircut,” the operator tells the concierge. Sending a bellboy to retrieve Paco, he alerts the doorman to summon a cab, which whisks the bemused Chilean off to a barber’s shop a few blocks away.

It’s a few minutes past 6:00 p.m. when Paco is let off in front of the Amherst again. His hair has been thoroughly clipped and combed back with a touch of Brylcreem, his face lathered and whisked clean with a straight razor, then patted with Burma-Shave after-shave, his shoes shined and his black suit brushed for lint. Feeling quite grand and very self-conscious, he asks for directions to the ballroom.

Fumbling with his pockets, Paco retrieves his invitation, as well as the letter from Starkweather – a stranger in a strange land can’t have too many references – and offers them to the dark-suited man at the entrance to the ballroom. Beyond the doorway are the sounds of music accompanied by the bubbling murmur of conversation. The man hands the invitation and the letter back to Paco, a ghost of a smile crossing his stony visage, and motions to the cabinet. Confused, Paco simply stares for a moment.

“Your name, buddy. Find your name and your table number,”, the burly sentinel offers in a deep voice, nodding toward the cabinet. Paco runs through the list of cards, finding himself at last. _Table number 35_, it reads. He tucks it in his pocket along with the invitation and the letter, and walks through the open door into the ballroom.

Piano music wafts in and around the conversations and laughter of the fashionable crowd. Paco stands quietly for a moment, his reverie interrupted by a smiling waiter offering a glass of something fizzy and tart to the mountaineer. Paco takes the flute absently as he studies the party-goers – though feeling self-conscious about his unaccustomed sprucing, Paco remains blissfully unaware that though clean and pressed, his suit is some ten years out of style for a gala in New York City.

One man seems to be drawing a disproportionate share of attention, Paco decides, and glass still in hand he approaches the figure, navigating among the milling guests. The guide waits for a brief pause in the conversation, then clears his throat. “_Señor_ Starkweather, I presume?” he asks. “_Mucho gusto, señor_. I am Fráncisco Guerini.”


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## Morpheus (Aug 13, 2005)

A tanned and lean Martin stepped out of the taxi and walked into the foyer of the Amherst.  Dressed in a tuxedo, he was the epitome of the dashing journalist that lead a life of adventure. The ride up the elevator was brief and he soon found himself at the doors to the ballroom. Without missing a beat, Martin handed his invitation to the big brute at the door and strode into the ballroom. Surveying the room, he thought to himself, "This is going to be one, interesting evening."

Walking towards a distinguished gentleman in the center of the room, Martin extended his hand and said, "Mr. Starkweather, I presume?"


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## taitzu52 (Aug 15, 2005)

Jim follows the bellhop to the room.  He hands him his tuxedo and shoes, and asks that they be pressed and shined as soon as they can.  Tipping him well, Jim turns and enters the room.  Seeing evidence of another guest in his room, Jim moves his bags in and tries to make as light of a footprint as possible.  

He quickly and quietly unpacks some essentials into a lower dresser drawer, and retrieves his dob kit.   A quick look through the closet as he hangs his jackets and suit, he grabs a robe and proceeds to shave and shower.  _This is one heck of a nice room,_ he thinks to himself as he puts on his robe and dries his hair while he walks back to the bed.  Finding his tux and shoes waiting for him, he immediately gets dressed, slicking his hair back with a health glob of pomade.  Looking one last time in the mirror, he sigh, thinking to himself, _Cessie always did say that you cleaned up well, James, my boy._  With that, he straightens his tie, takes his keys, as well as the invitation, and heads downstairs.  "Bawlroom, please." he says with his western accent, his nervousness bringing it out all the more.

The doors open and Jim steps out to the landing, and quickly turns to the ballroom doors.  He is early as usual.  He approaches the doormen, saying, "Yes.  I'm here for the fundraiser."  He presents his invitation, and nods and thanks the man as he heads over to table number 35.  

He walks slowly, as he looks around at the well appointed surroundings of the Amherst Ballroom.  He lets out a sigh, _ahh...the Mrs. would just kill me for not inviting her along on this one._.  He strolls along, nodding to any and all that make eye contact.  Upon reaching Table 35, he stands behind an empty chair. He tries to drop his accent, but still sounds a bit simple.  Tying to sound simple, but not foolish, he says to the gathering crowd, "Good Evening.  I'm James Poole.  I'm guessing that we're all here for the same reason, right?  Mr......?"


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## jdeleski (Aug 17, 2005)

*Mr. Starkweather, I presume?*

Upon entering the doorway, your senses are initially overwhelmed. Moving amidst a layer of shifting smoke are dark-clothed shapes and those in glittering colors. Bright lights above cast shadows between the mingling forms to the deep red at your feet. The room is filled with sound, a cacophony of male and female voices, laughter, coughing, hurrahs and soft moans. An ethereal fluting reverberates, lightly dancing within your mind and then overcome by the voices.

Those shapes nearest you come willed into focus. Faces turn; eyes alight on yours, a nod occasionally accompanied by a smile. Groups of men in ties and somber formalwear are gathered in tight groups and contrast with dazzlingly-arrayed, radiant ladies who sparkle and exclaim.

The room is large and well lit; you estimate approximately 40-feet wide by over 100-feet long. Pairs of huge, white pillars march down the room, white walls are trimmed in gold, and a plush red rug soothes your feet. The room is filled with dozens of tables covered in white linen; each is set with 4 dark wood chairs. Uniformed serving staff mill about the room delivering beverages and an assortment of Hors d'oeuveres. Near the doorway, off to your right, you locate your table.

At the far end of the room, beyond the bodies and your field of vision, the band plays a low, haunting melody, a prominent flute marks time with a piano, string bass, and violin.



			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> One man seems to be drawing a disproportionate share of attention, Paco decides, and glass still in hand he approaches the figure, navigating among the milling guests. The guide waits for a brief pause in the conversation, then clears his throat. “_Señor_ Starkweather, I presume?” he asks. “_Mucho gusto, señor_. I am Fráncisco Guerini.”






			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> Walking towards a distinguished gentleman in the center of the room, Martin extended his hand and said, "Mr. Starkweather, I presume?"




The silver-haired gentleman turns and smiles, warmly extending his hand, saying “Ah, if only I were so adventurous and successful! Mr. Starkweather has not yet blessed us with his presence. I’m afraid that my occupation is much more pedestrian; I’m John O’brien, mayor of this fair city.  How do you do?”

OOC – Picture attached

The mayor introduces you to a number of men surrounding him and politely inquires about your involvement with the expedition. He seems genuinely curious about what drove you to join such an adventure and how you came to know “Commander Starkweather”. Many of the group also join in the discussion, drawing you in with questions, making you feel quite at ease.


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## Taokan (Aug 17, 2005)

*Camille's fourth attempt*


Calling herself irritated would be an understatement. Not only did she have to flit around all of the day researching American politicians (whom she did not have much respect for), Camille had had to sink to the lowest depths possible: buying an evening gown from a Madame Margaret Hefti of Fashion Field Fabrics as well as a curly blond wig, assorted facepaints, and the accompanying nicnacks, a ritual that thoroughly stamped out any remaing pride from the heinous afternoon.

Finally Camille found herself standing in front of the desk clerk of the Amherst again, this time outfitted in the whole hideous ensemble, which American women seemed so fond of.

She was counting on the clerk being fooled by a typical female question into complacency. Attempting to smother her accent, Camille politely asked the clerk, "Excuse me, Sir. I was wondering what other women were going to the fundraiser aside from myself?" Saying that small phrase in itself was an ongoing battle against her habitual sarcasm. "You see, I expect I would soon grow bored of men's talk and would wish to talk to other women." Saying that had made her wince internally. 'Men's talk', her foot! Hopefully the man would respond like any typical desk clerk and forget that she had talked with him a scant six hours earlier.


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## jdeleski (Aug 18, 2005)

*James Poole's Entrance*




			
				taitzu52 said:
			
		

> He walks slowly, as he looks around at the well appointed surroundings of the Amherst Ballroom. He lets out a sigh, _ahh...the Mrs. would just kill me for not inviting her along on this one._. He strolls along, nodding to any and all that make eye contact. Upon reaching Table 35, he stands behind an empty chair. He tries to drop his accent, but still sounds a bit simple. Trying to sound simple, but not foolish, he says to the gathering crowd, "Good Evening. I'm James Poole. I'm guessing that we're all here for the same reason, right? Mr......?"



 
A number of nearby guests turn and smile, extending their hands, and offering introductions. Amongst dozens of handclaspings and shared Hello’s, a few are more memorable than others.

Adjacent to your table, you meet Hubert Broughton, a retired newspaper executive and fellow of the American Geographic society, along with his wife, Amanda. Hubert has a strong handshake and a sharp wit. He is keenly interested in the expedition and very forthright about his hopes for your trip; his wife listens intently and asks a few pointed questions about what might motivate someone to “climb the Himalayas, or travel to Antarctica.”


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## jdeleski (Aug 18, 2005)

*Douglas Halperin*

You also meet Douglas “I prefer Douglas, not Doug” Halperin, a fellow crewmember. Douglas is quietly good-natured, appears bookish with his round glasses, and is a one of the expedition pilots. After getting to know each other a bit, he declares somewhat jokingly that “I sure hope that a certain geologist will ensure that my landing strip is based on a solid rock foundation!”


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## jdeleski (Aug 18, 2005)

*Camille's Ruse*



			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> Attempting to smother her accent, Camille politely asked the clerk, "Excuse me, Sir. I was wondering what other women were going to the fundraiser aside from myself?" Saying that small phrase in itself was an ongoing battle against her habitual sarcasm. "You see, I expect I would soon grow bored of men's talk and would wish to talk to other women." Saying that had made her wince internally. 'Men's talk', her foot! Hopefully the man would respond like any typical desk clerk and forget that she had talked with him a scant six hours earlier.




Camille's Bluff Attempt
[SBLOCK]Camille's charisma bonus (+0) for her bluff check, along with a +1 for her expensive disguise, was opposed by the Desk Clerk's wisdom bonus (+0) for his Sense Motive check. I decided to be nice and not to assign a penalty for Camille's attempt to disguise herself as a polite lady.  This time, Camille succeeded.[/SBLOCK]

The desk clerk, having been approached by a lady of obvious means and high station, was initially unsure of what to do and decided to err on the side of well-delivered service. He looked over the guest list, saying “Hmm. I see that the ladies are far outnumbered by the men at this event, but we have Mrs. Morganstern, Mrs. Lockhart, Susan Fitzgerald, Mrs. Whitford…” he trailed off, looking up at Camille. I’m sorry, and you are?”


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## Taokan (Aug 19, 2005)

Painting a disgustingly cheerful smile on her face, she chirped, "Oh, I'm sorry; I haven't introduced myself yet! I am Mrs. Lockhart. I was simply wondering what other ladies were going to come as well. I have my invitation right here..." Camille pretended to search her person for the invite. She then searched again, with false urgency. 

Under the cover of the pretend search, Camille swiftly used the sleight of hand tricks she had learned from a friendly chap in a cafe to place a forged invitation -that she had hidden under the ridiculously large bow on the front of her dress- to a musical to herself with the name, of course, "accidentally" made illegible by constant reading in her hand. Screwing up her face into false panic, she looked up, hiccupping in distress. "Oh dear! I brought my invitation to tonight's musical by mistake! Now I c-can't go! My husband will b-be so upset!" 

Crumpling her face up in dispair, Camille wrung her hands and looked with desperation at the clerk. "Do you know if I c-could I have another made?" _I hope this works. This is more humiliating than having my father show me off to his pilot friends!_


----------



## The Shaman (Aug 22, 2005)

It takes a moment for the elegant man’s words to register for Paco. _Mayor_.

“_Señor alcalde_,” he says as the light breaks through, “Please excuse my mistake. _Mucho gusto_. It is a great honor to visit your beautiful city.”

Fresh from his _faux pas_ with the mayor, pressed with polite but persistent questions from the dignified gentlemen and ladies, unaccustomed to being at the center of attention, Paco struggles to overcome his reticence by sharing a few anecdotes of Patagonia, of climbing _Cerro Eléctrico_, named by _Padre_ Agostini for the great lightning storm that broke upon the summit after their assault in the shadow of the mighty Fitzroy, of skiing across slender ice bridges arcing over yawning crevasses while traversing the _Hielo Patagonico Sur_, of boating in the glacial fjords between the rugged _cordilleras_. “I am honored to join _Señor_ Starkweather’s expedition to Antarctica,” he repeats several times to the gathered guests.

Able to make his escape at last, Paco searches for table 35 in the crowded ballroom. When he arrives he finds that several guests have already arrived – “_Buenos tardes, señors y señora_” he says, “I am Fráncisco Guerini,” seating himself as introductions are made. The lone woman at the table, introduced as Mrs. Broughton, immediately asks Paco about his reasons for joining the expedition.

Tired from his exertions of the past days, lost in the strangeness of the massive city, adrift in the glib chatter of the banquet guests, Paco’s shy reserve slips for a moment. “To see the hand of God, _señora_,” he replies earnestly. “To feel His grace and to fear His majesty.”

He smiles shyly as he glances down, fumbles with his napkin for a moment, and takes a nervous sip from his drink.


----------



## taitzu52 (Aug 22, 2005)

Jim approaches his fellow guests with that square look in the eye and firm handshake that defines a man of solid character in the working West.  "Mr. Broughton, very nice to meet you." Jim says to Hubert.  Both men have solid grips, and Jim's shake is quite vigorous, if not held too long, but very friendly.  "Charmed." he says as Amanda Broughton is introduced.  "American Geographic society, eh?"  Jim says, "Well, I can certainly see why you've taken such an interest in this expedition.  Oh, oh than you for your kind wishes." he responds to Hubert's expression of his high hopes, "Tell me.  Have you covered any of Mr. Starkweather's previous exploits before?" he asks the venerable newspaper man, of course, hoping for a story.  His attention turns to Amanda Broughton, an engaging lady herself.



			
				jdeleski said:
			
		

> what might motivate someone to “climb the Himalayas, or travel to Antarctica."



"Well, ma'am, I'm not so sure that I'm the man who is trying to climb the highest, or run the fastest."   Jim (or James, at the moment) says, "I simply feel that if a mission like this is to be successful, Mr. Starkweather's going to need the best.  And I've never lost a crewman."   he says.  Jim is not a man of pride, but this is one point he doesn't mind sharing.  He chuckles for a second, seeing that it's not the heroic answer she expected, and adds, "Well, to be honest, it's a bit of a rush, ma'am.  Kind of like being Lindbergh at least, or at least some glorified cowboy at best."  He laughs again at his own humor, as he chooses not to discuss his personal philosophies with the gentler sex.



			
				jdeleski said:
			
		

> “I prefer Douglas, not Doug” Halperin, a fellow crewmember.



"Sure thing, Douglas.  But hell, I'll let you call me Jim."  he says with a warm smile and a handshake, pretending that he's extending the young man some exclusive right to shorten his own name.


			
				jdeleski said:
			
		

> “I sure hope that a certain geologist will ensure that my landing strip is based on a solid rock foundation!”



"Well Douglas, I just pick the spot, it's somebody else's job to make it flapjack flat for you."  he says, letting his western accent come out a bit for 'Douglas'.  "So can I assume that you're a pilot, or part of the air crew in some fashion?"

Seeing the Hispanic man join the table, James offers his hand, "Mr. Guerini.  I'm James Poole.  Pleasure to meet you."  He says, as he finally takes his seat.  Hearing his response to Mrs. Broughton, Jim says, "Good.  I think on a trip like this one, one has to have a healthy respect for things that one cannot control.  If you don't mind my saying."


----------



## Dallas4lr (Aug 22, 2005)

July 12, 1933

Mr. James Starkweather
Amherst Hotel
New York City, New York
USA

Greetings,

I am pleasesd to see that you are continuing with this proposed endeavor.

I am the former Dr.  J.P. Rucker, former head of the Department of Paleobiology at Miskatonic University.  Early last year I took an indefinite leave of absence form the University so I could become the priest of a small local parish.  I must admit that I Have an extreme level of interest regarding your proposed expedition and wish to offer my services to you and your team of explorers.  I have PHD's in the fields of Paleobiology and Chemistry, and a Masters of Divinity - so I can function both as a scientist and priest/spiritual counsel for your team.

I have already submitted a letter of resignation to Cardinal Mahoney, and will be in New York city by the time you recieve this letter.  I will look you up upon my arrival.  

I look forward to meeting you in person, and would love to accompany your team if I meet your approval.

Respectfully,

Father J.P. Rucker


----------



## jdeleski (Aug 23, 2005)

*Camille's Desperate Ruse*



			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> I have my invitation right here..." Camille pretended to search her person for the invite. She then searched again, with false urgency.
> 
> Under the cover of the pretend search, Camille swiftly used the sleight of hand tricks she had learned from a friendly chap in a cafe to place a forged invitation -that she had hidden under the ridiculously large bow on the front of her dress- to a musical to herself with the name, of course, "accidentally" made illegible by constant reading in her hand. Screwing up her face into false panic, she looked up, hiccupping in distress. "Oh dear! I brought my invitation to tonight's musical by mistake! Now I c-can't go! My husband will b-be so upset!"
> 
> Crumpling her face up in dispair, Camille wrung her hands and looked with desperation at the clerk. "Do you know if I c-could I have another made?"




Camille's Follow-up Attempt to Bluff
[sblock]Camille's very good Sleight of Hand skill (+7) and Forgery skill (+4), coupled with her earlier success at bluffing (and fretting), overwhelms the poor 24-year old desk clerk.[/sblock]

The desk clerk, even though a bit taken aback by Camille's overdramatizing, sees nothing suspicious in her movements whatsoever. His fervent desire is to finish helping this emotional woman and ensure that she finds her way to some other location. Any other location! He dons a smile and reaches into a drawer for a sheet of hotel stationary, while saying “No need to worry yourself, Mrs. Lockhart. I'll fill out a letter to confirm your invitation, and you'll be allowed to join your husband at the event." 

He handwrites a note for Camille and signs it with a flourish, then hands it to her. “Here you are. Just hand this to one of the gentlemen at the entrance to the ballroom, and they'll allow you in. And do let me know if there's anything else that I can do!"


----------



## Taokan (Aug 23, 2005)

Not bothering to hide her beaming smile of success, Camille took the little note and profusely thanked the clerk. 

As she headed in the direction of the fundraiser, she absently wondered if she had laid her story on a bit thick. Mentally shrugging her shoulders, Camille handed the note to the doorman at the ballroom entrance, and took the oportunity to ask him, "Excuse me, but has either the Antartica expedition team or Mr. Starkweather himself arrived? I have become quite fascinated with travel, you see."

Before the man could answer, Camille peeked over his shoulders, hoping to catch a glimse of the team or, preferably, the infamous Starkweather himself. If worse came to worse, she could still give Starkweather her response and watch the resulting chaos.


----------



## The Shaman (Aug 23, 2005)

“Good.  I think on a trip like this one, one has to have a healthy respect for things that one cannot control.  If you don't mind my saying,” says the geologist – _Poole_. Paco commits the name to memory.

“_Si, si_,” Paco replies softly. The Chilean turns to Hubert Broughton – on his lapel is the round pin of the American Geographical Society. “It appears that _Señor_ Starkweather has not yet arrived,” Paco continues. “Are you familiar with him, _Señor_ Broughton? Perhaps you could tell us something of the great man himself.”


----------



## Bobitron (Aug 24, 2005)

Vittorio makes his way through the crowd, nodding at those who look to him in a silent greeting but keeping his eyes focused on his destination; table 35. 

Joining the group, he introduces himself with a round of firm handshakes.

"Pleased to meet you all at last. My name is Vittorio Liuzzi, and I will serve as engineer and mechanical specialist on this endeavor."

A short man balding with age, Vittorio looks more like a mechanic than a renowned technical expert. He has the wide shoulders, weathered skin, and thick, hairy forearms of a working man, coupled with a slightly out-of-place feeling about him, probably directly related to being in a tuxedo at such an exclusive event. His eyes, however, gleam with curiousity and determination. 

"I hope you all had a pleasant journey to the Americas."


----------



## Morpheus (Aug 24, 2005)

Martin surveys the room slowly after some idle chitchat with someone-or-other; spying some rather attractive ladies in a group, he heads over to them with a bright smile upon his face.
"Good evening, ladies. Would any of you care to dance?"


----------



## jdeleski (Aug 25, 2005)

The Shaman said:
			
		

> Paco struggles to overcome his reticence by sharing a few anecdotes of Patagonia, of climbing _Cerro Eléctrico_, named by _Padre_ Agostini for the great lightning storm that broke upon the summit after their assault in the shadow of the mighty Fitzroy



This anecdote from Paco prompts Mayor O'Brien to comment on the freak thunder and lightning storms that have been ravaging his city. The city has lost power on a number of occasions and a few citizens have died in related accidents, including one who was unfortunate enough to be struck directly by a bolt from the sky.




			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> Tired from his exertions of the past days, lost in the strangeness of the massive city, adrift in the glib chatter of the banquet guests, Paco’s shy reserve slips for a moment. “To see the hand of God, _señora_,” he replies earnestly. “To feel His grace and to fear His majesty.”
> 
> He smiles shyly as he glances down, fumbles with his napkin for a moment, and takes a nervous sip from his drink.



Mrs. Broughton double-blinked at Paco's comment, smiled and touched Paco's arm, and said “My, My, Mr. Guerini, that is a very profound statement! I am intrigued! Most adventurers that I’ve met have been thrill-seekers with overinflated egos and a death wish. You seem quite different!”

Mrs. Broughton then moves in closer and, in a more quiet, intimate conversation, asks Paco more about his experiences and what his feelings are about his upcoming adventure to Antarctica.


----------



## jdeleski (Aug 25, 2005)

taitzu52 said:
			
		

> "Tell me. Have you covered any of Mr. Starkweather's previous exploits before?" he asks the venerable newspaper man, of course, hoping for a story.



Hubert stops and thinks for a moment, then responds "I'm very sure that my newspapers did indeed cover some of Commander Starkweather's past exploits, but I can't recall the exact details. He's always been known to be a bold leader, particularly during The War, and his men followed him without reservation! I'm sure that a few of my old colleagues at the Tribune could provide you with more details."



			
				taitzu52 said:
			
		

> "I simply feel that if a mission like this is to be successful, Mr. Starkweather's going to need the best. And I've never lost a crewman." he says.



Mrs. Broughton grimaces at this comment and says "Hmpf! You've certainly stated the truth, Mr. Poole! That man will surely need the best! And your record may be at risk!" She then stops herself, looks down at the floor for a moment, then returns her gaze to Jim and says "I'm sorry, that was very rude of me and I apologize. I hardly know the man, but he is one of the most arrogant, boorish...", and she stops herself again and simply smiles, attempting to bite her tongue in half.


----------



## taitzu52 (Aug 25, 2005)

Jim nods to Hubert, responding, "Well, best I could muster was the Corps of engineers.  I'm no war hero, but I did my part like everybody else.  And you know, that would be great if your gents could send me some clippings, or at least lemme come down to their office.  I do love a good story."  Jim's curiosity is getting the better of him as was his drawl.  Being in the field at the time of receiving the invitation, he had little time to do any research on the man that Starkweather was.

But soon, a much different version of things comes to light.  The charming Mrs. Broughton lets her guard down, for some reason or another.  Jim very quietly responds, "Forgive me for asking, but if you barely know him, how...."  Jim is used to working for oil tycoons and other self made men, i.e. glorified thieves.  He is simply curious as to what would make a proper lady risk so much in conversation.


----------



## jdeleski (Aug 27, 2005)

*Engaging Douglas*



			
				taitzu52 said:
			
		

> "Sure thing, Douglas.  But hell, I'll let you call me Jim."  he says with a warm smile and a handshake, pretending that he's extending the young man some exclusive right to shorten his own name.
> "Well Douglas, I just pick the spot, it's somebody else's job to make it flapjack flat for you."  he says, letting his western accent come out a bit for 'Douglas'.  "So can I assume that you're a pilot, or part of the air crew in some fashion?"



Jim manages to elicit a smile from Douglas, his first of the evening that Jim has noticed. 

Douglas responds to Jim “Yes, you are correct, Jim.  I’m one of two pilots who are currently assigned to this expedition, and we could use another.  Mr. Starkweather has purchased 4 airplanes for our adventure, and I’m very familiar with the Boeing 247’s that we have.”  Douglas then launches into a 10-minute dissertation on the merits of the Boeing 247, and you become very sure that this young man knows every screw, cable, and fuel line in that airplane.  

Eventually, Douglas stops talking about his true love and asks a Jim a few questions about his geological background and past projects, seeming to memorize and catalog Jim's every response for future reference.


----------



## jdeleski (Aug 27, 2005)

*Camille's Entrance*



			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> Mentally shrugging her shoulders, Camille handed the note to the doorman at the ballroom entrance, and took the oportunity to ask him, "Excuse me, but has either the Antartica expedition team or Mr. Starkweather himself arrived? I have become quite fascinated with travel, you see."
> 
> Before the man could answer, Camille peeked over his shoulders, hoping to catch a glimse of the team or, preferably, the infamous Starkweather himself. If worse came to worse, she could still give Starkweather her response and watch the resulting chaos.



The large man in the dark suit standing on the left examines Camille from her shoes to the top of her head, apparently looking for something, then flatly states that "The expedition team has arrived...", he then glances down at the letter from the lobby desk, "...Mrs. Lockhart.  But we haven't yet seen your husband or Mr. Starkweather.  If you'd care to take your placecard from the cabinet along the wall on your right, then we'll tell your husband, when he arrives, that you are already seated."

He then hands you back your letter and returns to his statue-still stance, hands clasped behind his back, carefully scrutinizing every detail of the empty hallway.

OOC – The placecard for Mr. and Mrs. Watson lists Table 21.


----------



## jdeleski (Aug 27, 2005)

August 1, 1933

​Father J. P. Rucker 


Dear Father Rucker, 

	Thank you for your letter of July 12th which expressed your desire to 
join my expedition to the South Pole.  I found your recent experience in the 
priesthood to be very interesting and your inclination to focus on religion and 
faith-based improvements for society is most admirable.   

	However, this venture is primarily a scientific and archeological 
endeavor, and we do not have the space nor resources to waste on such abstract 
and theological concepts as those related to a priest.  To ask stalwart 
men of physical courage and bold adventure to engage in religious 
exercises or to cry like women in a confessional would be to mock the very 
spirit in which this great quest is being undertook., and so it is with 
great regret that I must decline your request.  

A man with such delicate and socially-conscious aspirations is not likely to find 
the cold, harsh  and lonely environment of Antarctica to be very amenable, 
but I would be happy to share with you any findings that we discover so that you 
may study them at your leisure in more commodious surroundings after the hard 
work has been done. 


Sincerely, 
*James Starkweather*
Expedition Leader




*Amherst Hotel​*
*8th Avenue and 44th Street*
*New York City, New York*
*
*​*
*


----------



## Morpheus (Aug 27, 2005)

jdeleski said:
			
		

> August 1, 1933
> 
> ​Father J. P. Rucker
> 
> ...




OOC: It's nice to know that Starkweather isn't a misogynist-he treats everyone badly!


----------



## jdeleski (Aug 27, 2005)

The Shaman said:
			
		

> The Chilean turns to Hubert Broughton – on his lapel is the round pin of the American Geographical Society. “It appears that _Señor_ Starkweather has not yet arrived,” Paco continues. “Are you familiar with him, _Señor_ Broughton? Perhaps you could tell us something of the great man himself.”




Mr. Broughton quickly extends his hand and, with a hearty shake, says “It’s a great pleasure to meeting you, Señor Guerini!  I’ve heard many good things about your work with Padre Agostini, especially your successful summit attempts at the Patagonia Ice Cap.  And you led an especially-courageous rescue mission, if I recall?”

He then smiles and says “I’ve known James Starkweather now for, oh, about ten years.  He’s a great leader of men and his bravery is unquestioned.  As with many great leaders, I’ve found him to be confident, quick to make decisions, and,” he laughs, “perhaps a trifle overbearing at times.  But there are many experienced adventurers, Professor Moore included, who have expressed their willingness to travel to the ends of the earth with him.”


----------



## jdeleski (Aug 29, 2005)

*Vittorio's Introduction*



			
				Bobitron said:
			
		

> Joining the group, he introduces himself with a round of firm handshakes.
> 
> "Pleased to meet you all at last. My name is Vittorio Liuzzi, and I will serve as engineer and mechanical specialist on this endeavor."



After you greet Douglas Halperin, who strikes you as a bit quiet but seems nonetheless very pleased to meet a fellow team member, a gentleman from a nearby table walks over and introduces himself.  "Hello Mr. Liuzzi, my name is Frank Pabodie.  I'm one of the professors of engineering from Miskatonic University and I overheard you introduce yourself as an engineer and mechanical specialist of the Starkweather-Moore Expedition.  It's a pleasure to meet you!  I invented the core drilling apparatus that your team will be using in Antarctica"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).

NOTE:  Frank Pabodie's image in this post is out of date (as many who know Frank can attest).  This image was from approximately 1929, 4 years prior to this fundraising event.  I have attached an updated image of Frank in my follow-up to this encounter here: http://www.enworld.org/showpost.php?p=2538620&postcount=83.


----------



## jdeleski (Aug 29, 2005)

*The First Dance*



			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> Martin surveys the room slowly after some idle chitchat with someone-or-other; spying some rather attractive ladies in a group, he heads over to them with a bright smile upon his face.
> "Good evening, ladies. Would any of you care to dance?"




The group of three ladies all look up from their conversation and smile at you.  

"Well, hello there!" immediately responds a dark-haired young lady in a sultry voice, her red glittering dress attracting your attention, "I would love to!"  You notice the other two women pass each other a conspiritorial look, and then return their gazes and their smiles to you and your new companion, who extends her hand to encircle your arm. As she moves near, the smell of her perfume, an earthy intoxicating fragrance, envelops you.

The two of you make your way to the dance area which, as of yet, is somewhat dead, but the quartet of musicians see you approach and welcome you by playing a livelier tune.  The piano player kicks it up a notch.

"My name is Susan," says your partner as she sinuously follows your lead, "and who might you be, handsome?"


----------



## jdeleski (Aug 29, 2005)

*The Arrival*

A commotion begins at the rear doorway as two gentlemen, resplendent in black tuxedos, enter the room.  One of the pair, a tall, striking, brown-haired individual with a mustache is mingling loudly with all of the guests in that general area;  laughing, shaking hands, slapping the backs of the men and politely kissing the cheeks of all of the ladies.  The other gentleman, a few inches shorter with dark brown hair and wearing a pair of round glasses, seems a bit more reserved but is also greeting guests at a frenetic pace.

The majority of guests are apparently on a first-name basis with the tall man, hailing him as “James” while respectfully greeting his bespectacled partner as “Professor Moore”.  Obviously, your expedition leaders have arrived.

The two quickly work their way over to the mayor’s group and begin exchanging greetings and laughs.


----------



## Morpheus (Aug 29, 2005)

jdeleski said:
			
		

> "My name is Susan," says your partner as she sinuously follows your lead, "and who might you be, handsome?"




"Mon cheri, I am Martin LeBlanc and I am most definitely pleased to make your acquaintance."


----------



## Bobitron (Aug 29, 2005)

jdeleski said:
			
		

> "Hello Mr. Liuzzi, my name is Frank Pabodie.  I'm one of the professors of engineering from Miskatonic University and I overheard you introduce yourself as an engineer and mechanical specialist of the Starkweather-Moore Expedition.  It's a pleasure to meet you!  I invented the core drilling apparatus that your team will be using in Antarctica"




"Good evening, Professor Pabodie. Core drilling machinery, eh? I would be most interested in seeing the concept of how your machine operates. Does it use a counter-bearing apparatus, such as Miller's, or a dove-tail kickback pendulum, such as Polaski's?" He removes a pen and hands it to the Professor, lifting a glass of water off a nearby cocktail napkin to give him a drawing surface.

ooc: How's that for some BS about machinery? Laying it on too thick?


----------



## Dallas4lr (Aug 29, 2005)

Father Rucker reread the letter he recently drafted to James Starkweather.  After checking it for typos, he sealed the envelope, and called for his secretary.  As Mrs. James entered the study Father Rucker replied:

“Mrs. James can you have a seat please.  Mrs. James, I must inform you that the church has approved my leave of absence and I will be leaving for New York City this evening.  I wanted to take the opportunity to thank you for all of your hard work and your dedication.”

Mrs. James replied,

“Father you speak as if you won’t be returning?”

Father Rucker replies,

“If things go as planned, I will not be returning.  I am hoping to accompany a team of explorers on an expedition to Antarctica.  Since the announcement of this expedition the nightmares have returned.  I have been convinced that for better or worse I have some part to play in this thing.”

Mrs. James begins sobbing and continues to stare at Father Rucker as he states,

“I have a sense of dread growing inside of me concerning this trip, and the events that befell the previous expedition.  I feel the weight of Satan himself mounting against this expedition, and I would not be able to live with myself if another tragedy occurred.”

Mrs James began shaking.

“But Father you have risen to such prominence so quickly, and you are now viewed as the foremost authority on exorcism in the country, and maybe the entire Jesuit order.  We need you here; I cannot bear the thought of you leaving.  All of our members from the surrounding villages will be very disappointed at this news.  Who will they now call when the demons and the possessed haunt them?  And if Satan has cursed this new expedition why can’t you combat him through prayer.  Father I don’t like the sound of this not one bit, what if something happens to you.”

The Fathers comforts Mrs. James and says,

“Child this is my destiny, it is the church’s wish that I accompany the expedition.  For my part I do not expect to return.  You must not repeat what I have shared with you this evening to no one.  Mrs. James I have two final requests:  the first is to insure that this letter is delivered to this gentleman in New York City special delivery; the second is that you and Father Brown must accompany the crate setting in the foyer to Boston.  The Diocese was informed that I would be sending all of my notes on the exorcisms and strange occurrences in this region prior to my departure.  The head of the Jesuit order has also deemed that the crate will only be opened in the event of my death.  The two of you will be departing the train station for Boston one hour before I leave for New York City.   We do not have much time.”


Mrs. James heads to the post office to mail the letter, and then home to pack her baggage as Father Rucker makes his final preparations for departure.  At  4PM a carriage arrives, the crate, numerous trunks, Mrs. James, and Father Brown board the carriage, as father Rucker approaches the locked doors of the church.  A small boy standing nearby hands the Father two sets of chains and a massive lock.  The Father threads the massive chains around the hardware attached to both doors and applies the massive locks.  He then begins to chant a prayer in Latin.  After completing his prayer the Father bends down and hugs the young boy with tears in eyes and states:

“Lad you have been a great help to me, but now it is time for you to return home to your parents.  Do not fear lad, my prays will always be with you and the spirits will not return to plague you or your family.”

The father reaches into his pocket and gives the boy a sizeable amount of money and says,

“Put this away, go straight home, and give your parents the money.  Informed them that I have departed and at sundown they should begin burning the candles for the next seven days as we discussed.  No one in your family should be outdoors after sunset for the next seven days.”

“Do you understand?”

The boy replies, “yes”.

As Father Rucker boards the carriage his heart feels so heavy, but he reins in enough of his emotions to tell the boy,

“May the power of God be with you”

Then the carriage pulls off.


----------



## Taokan (Aug 31, 2005)

Pasting a smile on her face, Camille nodded agreeably to the door guard and added her little card to the large filing cabinet along the large wall; doing that, she attempted to copy a nearby fancy lady's glide into the ball room.

From what the guard had said, she had roughly half an hour befour the real Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart arrived. Hopefully she wouldn't need all of that time.

Now that she had finished the first part of her goal, she just had to find to find the expedition team, or preferably, that chauvinistic _child_. Peering about the room, she saw no one really standing out, but then again, she didn't expect anyone to. 

She saw people flirting, or attempting to anyway, eating, drinking, chatting, dancing (ugh! Camille _loathed_ dancing!), and turning her way... Camille froze. That had to be Monsieur Starkweather! He was exactly like she pictured him.

It was the bushy moustache, the smug look, his hair was even slightly thinning. Granted, he was kissing women on the hand, but smiling politely at them. He was too much of a politician to do otherwise. (Must... resist being sarcastic.)

Now, how to get over to him with her letter... Ah! Rushing over to the man through the thick crowd and pulling her duplicated letter out from her concealed hiding spot, she handed the destestable man her letter. "Excuse me, sir, I have a letter for you. Here you are."

Camille's lips faintly twitched in the effort not to let lose some kind of remark. In her mind, she was resisting fairly well. However, if she said something now, she saw fairly certain the secousse would not allow her on the team. Oh well.


----------



## Taokan (Aug 31, 2005)

/ooc Made it twice... Whoops...


----------



## The Shaman (Aug 31, 2005)

“You are much too kind, _Señor y Señora_ Broughton,” Paco replies, tugging slightly at his collar, then the sleeves of his suit, his discomfiture obvious.

The rest of the conversation around the table is lost on the mountaineer as he shares stories of his Patagonian adventures with the inquisitive Mrs. Broughton. Paco is thoughtful as he contemplates the journey ahead.

“There are still many mysteries in Patagonia, _señora_,” he begins, “so much that is unknown. So far it has been God’s plan for me to spend my time among the mountains of my homeland. But I believe that it is His plan that I should seek His hand elsewhere for a time.” He smiles. “Antarctica holds mysteries that are beyond what the mind of man can imagine. By His tidings I have been blessed to seek them out. I hope to honor God in the service of this journey to the great unknown.”

Paco is interrupted by the commotion at the door. He cannot help but stare as Starkweather and Moore, the figures who have so far been no more than names in news clippings, enter the room - a rush of anticipation flows through him like an electric current, but the vision is dimmed by a slight cloud. The mountaineer leans close to Mrs. Broughton, speaking as softly as he can amid the hubbub of the guests.

“_Señora_ Broughton, I do not wish to pry, but your opinion of _Señor_ Starkweather...” He hesitates for a moment, unsure of how to continue. “You do not seem to think very highly of him,” he says directly. “If I am not being rude, may I ask why?”


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 1, 2005)

*Hubert Broughton's Insight*



			
				taitzu52 said:
			
		

> Jim nods to Hubert, responding, "Well, best I could muster was the Corps of engineers.  I'm no war hero, but I did my part like everybody else.  And you know, that would be great if your gents could send me some clippings, or at least lemme come down to their office.  I do love a good story."  Jim's curiosity is getting the better of him as was his drawl.  Being in the field at the time of receiving the invitation, he had little time to do any research on the man that Starkweather was.



Hurbert paused.  "Story...  Yes, if I remember correctly, our Commander Starkweather actually wrote a couple of books.  When I get back to my office, I'll contact my friends at the Tribune and ask them to look through their files.  If they find anything, I'll have them contact your hotel.  In the meantime, you might want to pay a visit to the library." Hubert reached into his jacket, retrieved a well-worn pocket notepad and fountain pen, wrote himself a reminder, then said with a wink and a smile, "Just be sure to keep me in mind if you find something interesting in your travels."


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 1, 2005)

*Mrs. Broughton's Response*



			
				taitzu52 said:
			
		

> The charming Mrs. Broughton lets her guard down, for some reason or another.  Jim very quietly responds, "Forgive me for asking, but if you barely know him, how...."  Jim is used to working for oil tycoons and other self made men, i.e. glorified thieves.  He is simply curious as to what would make a proper lady risk so much in conversation.





			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> The mountaineer leans close to Mrs. Broughton, speaking as softly as he can amid the hubbub of the guests.
> 
> “Señora Broughton, I do not wish to pry, but your opinion of Señor Starkweather...” He hesitates for a moment, unsure of how to continue. “You do not seem to think very highly of him,” he says directly. “If I am not being rude, may I ask why?”



Amanda Broughton looked decidedly uncomfortable for a moment, then flushed scarlet in deep contrast to the white pearls at her neck. "I...," she began, looked away, then returned her gaze to your eyes, "I honestly cannot speak more of the Captain.  I'm afraid that he and I do not see eye to eye on many things."  Then she brightened, "But enough of me and my trivial concerns!  Are you planning to visit any sights in our city before you depart?"


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 1, 2005)

*Susan's Dance*



			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> "Mon cheri, I am Martin LeBlanc and I am most definitely pleased to make your acquaintance."



"Ooh!", Susan purred as she spun away to dance at arm's length, the two of you linked only by your fingertips, then asked with a smirk "So are you here to spend money?  Or are you planning to jilt me after we've only just met and go join those madmen on the ice?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## The Shaman (Sep 1, 2005)

“But enough of me and my trivial concerns!  Are you planning to visit any sights in our city before you depart?” asks Mrs. Broughton, quickly changing the subject.

“That will depend on _Señor_ Starkweather and the needs of the expedition,” the mountaineer replies. “I will have much preparation to make before we leave. I will spend time with maps and stories from _Almirante_ Byrd and _Capitán_ Wilkins, and the Lake expedition, _ciertamente_. I hope to visit your American Museum of Natural History, to learn more about our destination.” Paco smiles broadly. “I would like to return to your Shawangunks – ” he says the word slowly, transforming “-gunks” into “–hunks” following the pronunciation of his native Spanish “ – to climb and keep fit for the expedition, and perhaps to visit _los cerros_ Adirondacks if time permits.” He glances about the table, and leaning in toward the _señora_, whispers conspiratorially, “And I would like to visit your Empire State Building before we leave.”


----------



## Morpheus (Sep 1, 2005)

jdeleski said:
			
		

> "Ooh!", Susan purred as she spun away to dance at arm's length, the two of you linked only by your fingertips, then asked with a smirk "So are you here to spend money?  Or are you planning to jilt me after we've only just met and go join those madmen on the ice?"
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> Job (the tortured one).



"I am here to do both."
Martin then smiled the smile that melted a thousand hearts.


----------



## taitzu52 (Sep 1, 2005)

Jim thanks Hubert, and tells him that he will be in touch before he leaves New York.  

Not being the kind of man to pry, Jim allows Amanda to back gracefully out of the conversation.  Though she has certainly presented some major misgivings, he allows her to simply make pleasant conversation.  "Where am I going to go?  Why the Empire State Building, of course.  Marvelous feat of engineering it is.  Boy, I wish I could have seen the holes they blasted to mount that baby into the ground."  Realizing that he's being a dry expert again, he quickly back peddles, "I can't imagine the view they have up there.  Must be breathtaking.  I hear there's even a cafe at the top."

Seeing the men approach, Jim excuses himself and breaks off from the conversation.  "Professor Moore." he says, approaching the man, "James Poole.  I remember you from your lecture series at Northwestern some years ago.  I just wanted to say what an honor it is to have this opportunity, sir."  Jim says, shaking the man's hand vigorously, as if he had just met Babe Ruth or the like.  "I was always quite fond of your papers questioning Alfred Wegener's continental drift theories, being quite opposite the data that Arthur Holmes collected.  I mean, aside from problems such as specimen selection and lead isotopes, I still feel that radioactive dating was the only reliable geologic timescale.  And I quite agree with you on your points."  Again, the ever inquisitive geologist in James Poole comes out, even in theses somewhat inappropriate social settings.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 2, 2005)

*Science!  (a quote from Thomas Dolby)*



			
				Bobitron said:
			
		

> "Good evening, Professor Pabodie. Core drilling machinery, eh? I would be most interested in seeing the concept of how your machine operates. Does it use a counter-bearing apparatus, such as Miller's, or a dove-tail kickback pendulum, such as Polaski's?" He removes a pen and hands it to the Professor, lifting a glass of water off a nearby cocktail napkin to give him a drawing surface.



Professor Pabodie immediately appears to get excited, reaches into his vest and produces an already-prepared diagram.  He shows it to Vittorio, leaning close and using a Vittorio's pen as a pointer, saying "As you've guessed, my astute friend, the original drill did indeed use a counter-bearing apparatus to dampen vibrations, but I've now perfected the design for your upcoming expedition!  The motor itself is now counterweighted with a gyroscope and has been better insulated from the drill pipe and bit.  You are, no doubt, also aware that our primary concern is to withdraw a clean core sample, and I've made great progress in this regard by improving the drillbit teeth patterns, not to mention adding improved protection from the elements at the drillhead cover.  Professor Dyer suggested some of these changes during our earlier expedition..."

Frank Pabodie is in his element, providing scientific information to an interested peer, and continues for as long as Vittorio is willing to listen.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 2, 2005)

*Camille's Delivery*



			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> Rushing over to the man [James Starkweather] through the thick crowd and pulling her duplicated letter out from her concealed hiding spot, she handed the destestable man her letter. "Excuse me, sir, I have a letter for you. Here you are."
> 
> Camille's lips faintly twitched in the effort not to let lose some kind of remark. In her mind, she was resisting fairly well. However, if she said something now, she saw fairly certain the secousse would not allow her on the team. Oh well.




"...and, oh Jim, you should have seen the look on the face of the tribal chief!  I... James Starkweather stops midsentence at the interruption, looking down at the letter pushed in front of him, and then turns to look at Camille.  He notices Camille's fashionable evening dress, makeup, and styled hair, and makes the assumption that she is a guest of this affair, not a hotel staff member.  He smiles with a slightly perplexed look and without yet accepting the letter, says to Camille "I'm sorry miss.  It's probably my fault and would be terribly rude of me to have forgotten, but have we met?"


----------



## Taokan (Sep 3, 2005)

~~~~~~~~~~


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 3, 2005)

*Mrs. Broughton Continues Mingling*



			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> “I will have much preparation to make before we leave. I will spend time with maps and stories from _Almirante_ Byrd and _Capitán_ Wilkins, and the Lake expedition, _ciertamente_. I hope to visit your American Museum of Natural History, to learn more about our destination.” Paco smiles broadly. “I would like to return to your Shawangunks – ” he says the word slowly, transforming “-gunks” into “–hunks” following the pronunciation of his native Spanish “ – to climb and keep fit for the expedition, and perhaps to visit _los cerros_ Adirondacks if time permits.” He glances about the table, and leaning in toward the _señora_, whispers conspiratorially, “And I would like to visit your Empire State Building before we leave.”



Mrs Broughton continues a lively discussion with Paco about his plans and follows up with a few more questions about his experiences in the U.S.  After about 10 minutes of earnest discussion, Hubert Broughton comes to get his wife, asking if she would mind joining him to meet an old friend.  Mrs Broughton smiles at Paco, and says "Please forgive me, Mr. Guerini, but I must join my husband.  And please don't hesitate to contact me, or my husband, if you need anything while you are in the city.  Godspeed, Mr. Guerini." 

With that, she disappears into the crowd with her husband.


----------



## Taokan (Sep 3, 2005)

*Lockhart. Mrs. Lockhart*

_Zut_! That was probably the one thing she was expecting him to ask and hoping he would not. Camille was a dreadful liar, and assuming Starkweather knew Mrs. Lockhart, which was a fair assurmtion, she would be instantly discovered if this charade continued. Plus, lying rankled at her honor, and sooner or later said honor would force her to do something very stupid. 

Fingers twitching slightly, Camille smiled sweetly at him. "Oh, I don't think so. I was brought along as a guest by one of the others. However, I can't stay and will be leaving for my rooms fairly soon. Do you think I could speak with you after the fundraiser? I am very interested in the expedition and I might not have time to speak with you about it here."

Allowing the hand holding her letter to drop back to her right side, she smiled at Monsieur Starkweather. "I'll give this to you later then, won't I?" Inclining her head slightly in leavetaking, she drifted into the crowds toward the bustling throng.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 3, 2005)

*The Mayor's Address*

Ten minutes after James Starkweather and Professor Moore arrive, the hotel waiters and waitresses begin moving through the crowd asking everyone to please be seated so that the event may begin.  The music dies down and the crowd of well over one hundred guests begin to disperse to all ends of the room, settling into their chairs and politely greeting newly-noticed tablemates.  

The Mayor walks down an aisle to the front of the room, waving to a number of guests and stopping momentarily to say a few words to folks who say hello to him along his way. Upon reaching the front, he steps onto a slightly raised platform to the left of the band and takes his place at a podium outfitted with a Western Electric microphone. James Starkweather and Professor Moore are finding their seats at a table close to the podium area.  “Testing…  Testing… ” booms the Mayor’s voice from the public address system, followed by an earsplitting, discordant shriek.  The mayor winces and looks over in the corner at an attendant who is busily adjusting knobs on a large metal box.  After a short time, the shriek subsides.

“Good Evening!” the Mayor announces, smiling broadly, this time his voice is at a tolerable volume and without the accompaniment of the unearthly screech.  He gives a nod of thanks to the gentleman working the knobs.  “Ladies and gentleman, thank you all for joining me tonight, here at the magnificent Amherst Hotel, to hear from the leaders of the Starkweather-Moore Expedition.  Let me first thank Misters Starkweather and Moore for allowing me the priviledge of providing a few opening remarks at this august event, in such admirable company.  I’m surrounded by captains of industry, elite members of academia, and intrepid explorers, one and all;  truly a wondrous gathering!"

“I first met James Starkweather long ago in England while he was attending Oxford University.  One day I joined a colleague to watch a rugby game and spied one particular player who stood out, seeming to blast through his opposition over and over.  Here was a player who excelled at a tough, brutal game, and I decided to talk to him afterwards.  When he had showered and dressed, I asked him why he would choose to play such a vicious game and why he thought that he was so good at it.  His face and hands were covered with bandages, and he responded in trademark Starkweather fashion:  while wiping a spot of blood from his nose, he stared at me for a moment with his blue-grey eyes, and said that he “loved a challenge and would go to hell itself before he’d let anyone keep him from his goal!” 

The Mayor gave the crowd a few moments to quiet down.  

“I’m sure that our expedition leaders will regale us with tales of courage and bravery in the face of terrible danger, and of the extent of monumental risks and challenges that they will face.  What you won’t hear from them is talk of failure.  Or excuses.  Or of a lack of will or confidence.  We are amongst giants, ladies and gentleman, giants of science and exploration.”

Here the mayor here diverges into political rhetoric about his opponents and their lack of courage and foresight …blah, blah, blah…

At one point, you tune back in to hear him say “And this is not just a daring undertaking, but also a magnificent accomplishment of engineering.  This effort can be compared to building our incredible Empire State Building … at the top of Mount Kilimanjaro!  And the pay is terrible!”  

Here the Mayor launches into fairly detailed descriptions of the expedition costs and the fact that most of the team members are volunteers, then his tone of voice signals that he’s getting ready to wrap up his speech.

“It’s up to we in this room to ensure that this expedition has the opportunity to make history.  Up until this point, both James Starkweather and Doctor Moore have shouldered the burden of collecting and paying for this expedition from their own resources.  It is now time for us, the community, to show our support.  I ask that you dig deep and provide them with whatever means you are able.  This is surely a worthy endeavor, one which won’t soon be forgotten.

Thank you."


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 3, 2005)

*The Dance Ends*



			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> "I am here to do both."
> Martin then smiled the smile that melted a thousand hearts.



"Oh, my darling Martin!  You _are_ a charming soul."  Susan contentedly dances with Martin for long, luxurious minutes, smiling and laughing at Martin's creativity on the floor, occasionally cooing in delight.  Unfortunately, a hotel staff member interrupts their spontaneity and informs them that they must take their seats.  The pair giggle and ignore the waiter, but moments later, the band brings their lively tune to an abrupt end.

Susan purses her lips in a pouting expression and says "Dear Martin," running her hand down his neck and settling on his shoulder, "I do hope that we'll see each other again after the boring lectures are complete?"  Susan leans forward and upward to give Martin a kiss on the cheek, her perfume flowing with her to surround him, and then turns and merges into the crowd, as a swaying, glittering red cloth might sink and disappear into a dark pool.


----------



## Bobitron (Sep 4, 2005)

VIttorio stands and applauds with the rest of the guests after the Mayor finishes, then turns back to Pabodie's description of the gear. Looking across the table, he sees that Paco's conversation has finished and politely excuses himself from the engineer. "Not due, of course, to any lack of interest. I am proud to associated with your fine equipment."

Turning to Paco, he smiles and extends a hand. "You must be our guide. Mr. Guerini, correct? I am Vittorio Liuzzi of Modena. I am very pleased to meet you. I noticed we are bunked together in the hotel." The use of the term 'bunked' seems rather out of place amidst these opulent surroundings, but gives insight into the man's nature. Luxury has little place in his life. 

"Have you met Mr. Starkweather yet? I thought I saw him enter before the speech."


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 6, 2005)

*Dr. Moore Pontificates*

Before leaving the podium, the Mayor waits for the polite clapping to die down and makes one more announcement.  ”I am afraid that I must now depart to attend yet another event, but I leave you in good hands.  It is my great pleasure to introduce to you a man who has dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge.  A man who’s studies have taken him to nearly all corners of the globe: to the Himalayas, to the Arctic, to Africa, to South America, and now to Antarctica.  I present to you our reknowned geologist, paleontologist, and explorer from Miskatonic University, Dr. William Hannibal Moore!”

Amidst rousing applause, Dr. Moore rises from his chair, shakes hands with Mayor O’Brien, nods to James Starkweather, then steps upon the platform.  As Dr. Moore approaches the podium to begin his speech, Mayor O’Brien walks down the aisle towards the exit in the rear, stopping momentarily for a few personal goodbyes.  Trailing behind the Mayor are two large, solemn bodyguards whom you remember seeing at his side all evening.

Dr. Moore raises his hand to quiet the audience, smiles, and says ”Thank you.  Thank you, and good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”  Looking to the rear of the room, Dr. Moore says ”Before he sneaks away, I’d like to give a special thanks to Mayor O’Brien, for joining us this evening, for providing me with such a kind introduction and also for his excellent summary of our plans for the Starkweather-Moore Expedition.”  Mayor O’Brien turns, laughing, and waves goodbye before slipping through the rear doors.

Dr. Moore returns his gaze to the audience seated before him. ”James asked me to come before you tonight to give you a taste of the many preparations underway for this monumental undertaking, and also to describe for you some of the unique challenges that are set before us. I will do my best to avoid putting you to sleep,” here there are a few chuckles from the audience, “but there are many aspects of this voyage that are not just difficult, but also dangerous, and these will require great fortitude and precise execution of our planning to overcome.

Take, for example, the location.  As we sit here in Manhattan, we are nearly 10,000 miles away from our planned Antarctic base, and that base will be more than 2,000 miles from the nearest human dwellings.  For nine months out of every twelve, we would be shut off even from these closest neighbors by an impenetrable pack ice.  If we should forget some item which seems trivial, there will be no opportunity to purchase one and have it delivered.  Through my mind runs a provoking rhyme… “For want of a nail, the shoe was lost.  For want of a shoe, the horse was lost…”  I seem to have forgotten the rest, but the moral is clear anyway.  

But we have done our best;  if something is forgotten, then it will have to be one of those things with which Providence bedevils humans who reach out for too much.  For we have estimated, calculated and considered until our heads whirled;  we have divided and sub-divided to the nth degree;  we have laid out our plans on a cosmic order, setting up, as it were, an ideal scheme—an expedition equipped with the most nearly perfect instruments for gathering information.  

Here, as Dr. Moore relates further intricacies of his plans, some nonscientific members of the team may find their minds and eyes beginning to wander…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).

Bibliography Reference 5.


----------



## The Shaman (Sep 6, 2005)

Paco stands and smiles at Mrs. Broughton. “It has been a pleasure, _Señora_ Broughton, thank you.”

The mountaineer sits back and looks around the room for Starkweather, but at the urging of the wait-staff the guests begins to take their seats and the conversations bubbling around the room grow hushed. The _alcalde_, _Señor_ O’Brien, takes the floor and addresses the gathering.

At a break in the oration Paco sees a rough hand extended his way. “You must be our guide. Mr. Guerini, correct? I am Vittorio Liuzzi of Modena. I am very pleased to meet you. I noticed we are bunked together in the hotel.” The Chilean reaches for the engineer’s hand, gives it a firm grip.

“_Mucho gusto, Señor_ Liuzzi,” he replies softly, only loud enough to be heard over the applause. “It is a pleasure to meet you. No, I have not yet met _Señor_ Starkweather.” About to say more, Paco settles back as the speeches resume, listening carefully to Professor Moore.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 6, 2005)

*Martin's Spot*

Martin glances about the room during Professor Moore's speech, looking to see if he can locate a certain table occupied by a certain lady in a glittering red gown.  As he scans the crowd, he momentarily spots an odd stare from across the room, but then loses sight of it.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 6, 2005)

Before the Mayor began his speech, James Poole managed to find a few moments with Dr. Moore.



			
				taitzu52 said:
			
		

> "Professor Moore." he says, approaching the man, "James Poole.  I remember you from your lecture series at Northwestern some years ago.  I just wanted to say what an honor it is to have this opportunity, sir."  Jim says, shaking the man's hand vigorously, as if he had just met Babe Ruth or the like.  "I was always quite fond of your papers questioning Alfred Wegener's continental drift theories, being quite opposite the data that Arthur Holmes collected.  I mean, aside from problems such as specimen selection and lead isotopes, I still feel that radioactive dating was the only reliable geologic timescale.  And I quite agree with you on your points."  Again, the ever inquisitive geologist in James Poole comes out, even in these somewhat inappropriate social settings.



"Why thank you, Mr. Poole.  Northwestern, eh? I remember that visit to the Chicago area quite well, especially the snowstorm which forced me to stay an extra week!" Dr. Moore chuckled at that thought and followed by saying "But I won't hold it against you, I did get a nice steak or two out of the deal!"

"You should also know that after our initial disagreements, Alfred Wegener and I actually became quite good friends.  We both shared a keen interest in weather patterns and we were collaborating on a paper before his death during his Greenland expedition.  Pity, I would've enjoyed having him along on this voyage."  

"But I assume, Mr. Poole, that your very presence here indicates that you will be taking up the gauntlet and joining me in my experiments in Antarctica!  We'll settle that dispute with Wegener once and for all!  Together!"


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 6, 2005)

*Dr. Moore's Closing*

Dr. Moore continues with a discussion of the use of airplanes in the Antarctic.

"I'd now like to mention a few facts regarding the use of airplanes on our expedition.  The use of airplanes in the Antarctic is still very much experimental, and it's success upredictable.  

Sir Douglas Mawson, perhaps the greatest living authority on the Antarctic, proposed to use an airplane in the field as early as 1911.  He instead discovered in Antarctica the windiest country in the world, and likely kept his craft permanently under cover.  He measured the average wind velocity for the year at 50 miles per hour;  for hours on end blizzards persisted at velocities greatly in excess of the maximum on the Beaufort Scale, reaching a velocity of 116 miles per hour on July 5, 1913, and maintaining an average velocity of 107 miles per hour for eight hours, jarring even the tightly-bolted timbers of their huts.  Gusts approaching 200 miles per hour were reported.  Such conditions must beggar the mightiest flying efforts of man.

Of course, we should have no problem at our proposed base which is in a relative place of calm on the continent.  The principle risks, as we see them, will arise from storms or from the impossible conditions of visibility met unexpectedly in flight, in landings away from the base, upon unknown ice terrain, and from the difficulty in properly securing the ship against the wind in connection with such landings.  A wind velocity in excess of 60 miles per hour is sufficient to give a staionary airplane a true flying speed and at 100 miles per hour, a terrific lift; unless securely anchored against that wind speed, a plane would be instantly hurled aloft and destroyed.  This challenge, I believe, can be readily overcome and our pilot, Douglas Halperin, is currently designing a new system of anchor lines and ice anchors.

At this point, Dr. Moore's face and voice become deadly serious.

What uncertainty of the future I share centers principally about the matter of attempting landings away from the main base.  Our program demands several such landings.  Each of these landings must be attended with great risk, for conditions of visibility in the Antarctic are notoriously bad, ice surfaces are extremely difficult to judge from the air and there will be the constant threat of unseen crevasses.  Even less attractive is the possibility of a forced landing.

After a brief pause for emphasis, Dr. Moore smiles and continues.

"But there are reasons for optimism in our expedition.  The Byrd Expedition proved that the use of airplanes is feasible in Antarctica and, beyond even the advantages that they enjoyed, we possess three of the most efficient instruments given to the explorer: 1. an improved radio, 2. airplanes with improved capabilities for distance, altitude, and speed, bringing an independence of surface obstructions that vex the foot traveller, and 3. a number of motorized toboggans that were proposed and paid for by our own engineer, Vittorio Liuzzi, and which promise to greatly extend our capabilities on land, perhaps reducing our dependance on dogs and airplanes.

We have reason to hope that we might accomplish much.  

These then, ladies and gentleman, are some of the challenges that we have accepted.  I hope that I have given you enough information to now better understand the nature of our task, and to perhaps convince you to help us on this historic endeavor.

Thank you."


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 8, 2005)

*A Slightly Stunned Starkweather*

And we now continue Camille's conversation with James Starkweather prior to the start of the evening's speeches...


			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> "I was brought along as a guest by one of the others. However, I can't stay and will be leaving for my rooms fairly soon. Do you think I could speak with you after the fundraiser? I am very interested in the expedition and I might not have time to speak with you about it here."
> 
> Allowing the hand holding her letter to drop back to her right side, she smiled at Monsieur Starkweather. "I'll give this to you later then, won't I?" Inclining her head slightly in leavetaking, she drifted into the crowds toward the bustling throng.



James Starkweather, looking puzzled, watched the woman turn to depart, then called out to her. 
"Miss?  One moment please."


----------



## Taokan (Sep 10, 2005)

*Ah, guilt: the miracle worker*

Camille cursed inwardly. As polite as he seemed in public, this man seemed intent on not allowing her to make her disappearance. Then again, she supposed it would be pretty odd if a strange woman popped up, garbled strrange things at her, then left. Not that Camille thought that was how Starkweather's mind worked, mind you.

Turning around, Camille bobbed an half-wobbly cursty in Starkweather's general direction. "I'm terribly sorry, but I don't have the time to talk right now. I must hurry and finish some things up before the speeches are over, and as I said, I can meet you later, after the fundraiser. Good Evening."  Finally escaping from the the honored M. Starkweather, the supposed Mrs. Lockhart started the search for the other members of the expedition.

Actually, she hadn't been *entirely* lying to Monsieur Stakweather; Camille did want to find the other members of the expedition. It was just mostly everything else that was false. Camille winced. Even when she rationalized lying to that chauvinistic bully, she felt lower than a parasite. The pilot supposed that was one of his insidious ways of gaining loyaly: guilt. Well, as irritating as he was, it did work.


----------



## The Shaman (Sep 10, 2005)

Paco listens intently to Professor Moore, a bit awed. Airplanes and motorized toboggans are as far removed from his experience as the surface of the moon. There is a moment’s hesitation in Paco’s heart – indeed, the thought of an airplane falling into a crevasse, of being trapped inside...

_A plane cannot land on a mountain summit_, he thinks, _nor a toboggan cross a crevasse_. There will be rock and ice to traverse, he decides at last, airplanes and motor-sleds notwithstanding.

He leans over to Vittorio. “I have much to learn before we leave, _señor_,” Paco says quietly to the engineer. “I hope you will help me.”


----------



## Dallas4lr (Sep 11, 2005)

Father Rucker takes one last look at the small boy, as the small town begins to fade into the horizon.  After taking his seat he can’t help but realize what a beautiful day it is.   As the carriage passes one small house, he admires the tranquility of the countryside while the faint smell of freshly baked bread tantalizes his nostrils.   Then as they make their way around another bend they descend into a valley that is covered with the greenest corn, all slightly waving gently in the afternoon breeze, for as long as the eye can see.  The harvest would soon be approaching and the eating is always grand during this time of year.  Father Rucker had a habit of spending Sunday Dinner with a different family every weekend; “Oh how I will miss those Sunday engagements”,  he thought.  “What fool would trade all of this, for that God forsaken island of ice” just the thought was enough for Father Rucker to hug himself in an attempt to brace himself from the cold.


“Excuse me Father Rucker” Mrs. James politely interrupted; “Are you okay”? 

Father Rucker chuckles, “Oh yes my child, I am doing just fine.  Just taking in the warmth and tranquility of this lovely summer day”.

”Hmmm, I thought you may have been concerned about the young lad and his family” Mrs. James responds as she attempts to get comfortable in the worn seat of the carriage.

“Not at all”, Father Rucker responds.  “What’s done is done, they will be quite fine my child”.

“Oh”, Mrs. James responds with a puzzled look: “Well what about the candles they are suppose to burn at sunset each day”?

Father Rucker smiles and looks the young troubled woman in the eye as he states, “The candles are only to increase their faith, as I stated earlier what’s done is done.  The human mind is a strange contraption, until now their faith has been in me.  So with my departure it would only be natural for them to be concerned.  Concern is the breeding ground of fear, fear can attract and predisposition the human spirit for further attacks.  The candles will give them something to focus on and believe in, as they settle into their daily routines.”

As Father Rucker attempts to get into a more comfortable position, he is troubled by some of his own words.  He begins to quickly glance about as the words he just spoke continue to pepper his mind, but from a strange screeching voice he hears  “Remember Father, Concern is the breeding ground of Fear; Remember Father, Concern is the breeding ground of Fear; Remember Father, Concern is the breeding ground of Fear”   

Mrs. James startles Dr. Rucker as she reaches over and touches him; “Father what is it???”

Father Rucker momentarily jumps in his seat and finds both Mrs. James and Father Brown intently watching him.  Father Rucker commonly reaches into his coat and begins caressing the cross about his neck and replies; “It is nothing, I am fine, it is nothing.”   Father Rucker quickly regains his composure and eventually allows the rattling of the wheels and tackle to lull him off to sleep.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 15, 2005)

*Brief Intermission*

As he completed his speech, Dr. Moore was approached by a hotel staff member.  The two briefly talked, he nodded, then turned and announced over the PA system, "Our gracious hosts have alerted me that our meal is now ready to be served and we will take a short intermission in our program.  Mr. Starkweather will begin his presentation after we've enjoyed a little music and a little food."

Dr. Moore then walked off the platform to his table while the band struck up a lively tune.  People stood and began moving about the room.  Conversations arose. 

As a number of individuals left the room through the rear doors, on the opposite side of the room near the stage, a hidden panel in the wall opened and an army of waitresses poured forth with carts loaded with fresh pitchers of ice water, baskets of bread, and bowls of salad.  Enticing aromas came with them.

Interlude.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 15, 2005)

*A Benefactor*

During the intermission, while you are eating dinner and casually chatting, an elderly gentleman with white hair and an angular face walks up to your table, extends his hand, and says "Hello, I looked over at your table and noticed that the four of you seem to be fit and tanned and I've deduced that you are all explorers and will be soon traveling to the far south.  My name is John Rockefeller and it's a pleasure to meet you!

If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss with you your plans for the expedition.  I'm considering whether to provide support to Mr. Starkweather and I'm not one to invest money without first investigating each opportunity.  You have my word that I'll keep any comments of yours in the strictest of confidence.

After introductions are made, he asks with a wry smile "So gentlemen, if you don't mind my asking, how well do you feel this expedition is being organized?  And, if you had your way, what suggestions would you make to our fearless leader?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## Morpheus (Sep 16, 2005)

Martin looks up at Mr. Rockefeller and then stands and extends his hand.
"Mr. Rockefeller, it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I have followed your business leadership for some time and I find you a gentleman of the finest quality."


----------



## taitzu52 (Sep 16, 2005)

"Mr. Rockefeller," says Jim, nearly _shooting_ up to his feet, "Poole.  James Poole.  I'm a geological surveyor, surely I'm not the first prospector you've met in your day.  Heheh." he goes on, chuckling at his own joke.  "I myself am curious as to what mineral deposits exist in the untapped wastes of the South Polar region.  Surely you and Mr. Starkwether would have much to discuss."   He purposefully withholds his opinions on the trip's organization, still being fairly ignorant of the logistical facts.  He subtly leans to the side, to follow Professor Moore's movements, eager to talk to him once more.


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## jdeleski (Sep 17, 2005)

*Another Team Member*

As you're relaxing and chatting, enjoying the intermission, you see a man of medium size and build and dark hair coming towards your table.  Although he carries himself with the grace and confidence of youth, his face is deeply lined.  He smiles and reaches out to shake hands, grasping yours in a strong and callused grip, saying  "Hello, I'm Peter Sykes.  I'm pleased to meet you."

After introductions are completed and you've eased past the small talk, you learn that Peter is one of the polar guides on the expedition, a seasoned veteran brought in by James Starkweather and Dr. Moore to assist in organizing and coordinating the expedition.

Peter's eyes light up when he learns that you will all be teammates of his, eagerly asking questions regarding your backgrounds and expertise.  

He shares a story of how he first met Dr. Moore 10 years earlier during the summer, teaming up with him on a trip to the Arctic.  "He's a cautious man, Dr. Moore, and sometimes a real pain in the keister!  But if anyone will make sure that we're fully supplied on this trip, it will be him."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).

Bibliography Reference 6.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 17, 2005)

*James and Camille Finish Their First Dance*

Concluding the first interaction between James Starkweather and Camille Bardier...


			
				jdeleski said:
			
		

> James Starkweather, looking puzzled, watched the woman turn to depart, then called out to her. "Miss? One moment please."





			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> Turning around, Camille bobbed a half-wobbly curtsy in Starkweather's general direction. "I'm terribly sorry, but I don't have the time to talk right now. I must hurry and finish some things up before the speeches are over, and as I said, I can meet you later, after the fundraiser. Good Evening."  Finally escaping from the the honored M. Starkweather, the supposed Mrs. Lockhart started the search for the other members of the expedition.



James Starkweather stared after the strange woman for a few moments, shrugged, and then turned back to his companions.  "Now where was I?  Oh yes!  The tribal chieftain!  Well, once I gave him the photograph..."

OOC - Taokan, where will Camille be searching in the room?  Will she stay for James Starkweather's address?  If so, as you wander around, you'll notice that there are a number of tables in the middle of the room that have open seats with untouched dinners.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## jdeleski (Sep 17, 2005)

*John D*



			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> Martin looks up at Mr. Rockefeller and then stands and extends his hand.
> "Mr. Rockefeller, it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I have followed your business leadership for some time and I find you a gentleman of the finest quality."



John Rockefeller locks grips and eyes with Martin for a full five seconds, then smiles and says "Obviously my biographers are doing a good job, Mr. LeBlanc!  Not everyone shares that opinion, I'm afraid.  In the oil business, lives and livelihoods are at stake every day and decisions are not always well received.  I expect you'll find that the same is true in your upcoming expedition."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 17, 2005)

*John D (cont'd)*



			
				taitzu52 said:
			
		

> "Mr. Rockefeller," says Jim, nearly _shooting_ up to his feet, "Poole.  James Poole.  I'm a geological surveyor, surely I'm not the first prospector you've met in your day.  Heheh." he goes on, chuckling at his own joke.  "I myself am curious as to what mineral deposits exist in the untapped wastes of the South Polar region.  Surely you and Mr. Starkwether would have much to discuss."



 Mr. Rockefeller chuckles and says "No, you're right, I've certainly met my share, Mr. Poole, but I'm of the opinion that everyone is a prospector and is looking for something.  Most people don't go as far as the Antarctic in their search, but those that do...are very special indeed.  James has already briefed me on the potential that exists under the ice, but I'll be very interested to read your reports.  Be sure to stop by and see me upon your return."



			
				taitzu52 said:
			
		

> He purposefully withholds his opinions on the trip's organization, still being fairly ignorant of the logistical facts.  He subtly leans to the side, to follow Professor Moore's movements, eager to talk to him once more.



Professor Moore remains in the front of the room, seated at his table.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 17, 2005)

*James Starkweather Steps Up*

After you have finished dining on your choice of roast duck with orange sauce, Beef Wellington, or broiled salmon filet, all accompanied by tender asparagus with almonds and a helping of thin slices of garlic-spiced potatoes, the serving staff then delivers flaming Bananas Foster and offers you either a wonderfully-fragrant coffee, potent tea, or a citrus tonic.  While sipping your beverage, you hear the tapping of a crystal glass over the PA system, “Ting, ting, ting…”.

You see that Dr. Moore is standing once again at the microphone and the conversations begin quieting down.  

Dr. Moore begins:  “It is now my great honor to present to you an individual who has left large and deep footprints in the annals of exploration.  After earning the rank of Captain during the Great War for his valiant action and leadership, he established himself as _*the*_ premier safari guide in Africa.  His expeditions discovered large numbers of important artifacts that are being studied by archeologists even today.  He later led successful expeditions to the Australian desert, and to the Himalayan Plateau which he wrote of in his published book “Survival at the World’s Roof”.  After returning for a period of time to his work in Africa, he once again answered the call and led teams to the North Pole and to the jungles of Costa Rica.  And now, to our great benefit, he has agreed to lead our expedition to the Antarctic.  I am proud and honored to present to you tonight, Captain James Starkweather."

James Starkweather rises from his chair to a loud standing ovation and briskly strides up to the platform, pausing with a broad smile to vigorously shake Dr. Moore’s hand.  After the two exchange a few words and laugh together, he turns and steps up to the podium.  The applause continues as he raises his hands to the audience, saying “Thank you,” and he waits.  After the applause continues on for another ten seconds or so, he laughs and again raises his hands, saying “Thank you,”  and he waits.  This time, the audience begins quieting down and returning to their seats.  

OOC - If you have any actions that you'd like to take prior to the start of this speech, be sure to let me know in a post.  If you do not state otherwise, I assume that everyone is seated at their table and that Camille has found an empty seat in the middle of the ballroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## Bobitron (Sep 17, 2005)

jdeleski said:
			
		

> After introductions are made, he asks with a wry smile "So gentlemen, if you don't mind my asking, how well do you feel this expedition is being organized?  And, if you had your way, what suggestions would you make to our fearless leader?"




VIttorio shakes the man's hand respectfully. "Sir, I have nothing negative to report about the organization. It appears that Mr. Starkweather and Dr. Moore have done all with an attention to detail missing in many expeditions, and an open ear to the opinions of the team members. While I have not been dealing directly with Dr. Moore, Mr. Starkweather has been  a consumate professional. I would heartily give my recommendation to the funding of the expedition, even if I were not partaking in it." 

At Mr. Sykes arrives, Vittorio recognizes in his weathered face another professional. Shaking his hand with vigor, he greets the guide warmly. "Pleased to meet you, sir. Have you met Mr. Guerini? He is a guide, as well. Experienced men like you should find plenty to discuss," he said with a smile.

He bows slightly to Rockefeller and returns to his seat as Dr. Moore begins to speak.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 18, 2005)

****


----------



## Taokan (Sep 18, 2005)

As it turned out, Camille didn't have much time to scan the room either case. Roughly six minutes after leaving Mr. Starkweather's company, the signal to sit down for the next speech was tapped out on a glass. Mentally shrugging her shoulders, she sat down in the nearest available empty seat and started munching on the uneaten dinner resting in front of her. 

Perhaps there was still time before she made a subtle exit to hear another speech or two. If the rest of the speeches were about airplanes as well, she could be persuaded to at least pay some sort of attention to the speaker. Thought there was some irony in a half-heard tidbit from a previous speech. "...And the pay is terrible!” That figured. It wasn't like she was doing this for the money anyway...


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 20, 2005)

*James Starkweather's Opening*

“Good Evening!”,  said James Starkweather begins with a smile, "Good evening and welcome.  Thank you for such a warm reception." 

Gesturing towards Dr. Moore, who is now seated at his table in the front, he says "And thank you, Professor Moore, for your extremely kind words.  I couldn’t think of a better leader, or a more distinguished colleague, or a more loyal friend, to accompany me—and to help lead our team—on this expedition.”  

Spreading his arms wide and looking out into the audience, he continues “And to all of you, my guests, it is indeed a great pleasure, and a humbling experience, for me to be here in such grand company.  Tonight I am surrounded by leaders.  Each of you have earned titles, and respect, and in some cases fame, in the conquest of new frontiers.  Each of you has planted your flag in new territory, whether in business, or in science, or on a snow-covered mountaintop.  You have each confronted the challenge of the unknown and have overcome it.  Our expedition, with your help, will do likewise. 

"Many of my expedition team are here tonight.  To you, my team members, I'd like to now take a few moments and extend my warm welcome and hospitality.  You've earned it!  And," He winks and laughs, "you'd better enjoy it because this is as warm as it gets considering where we're headed!  And to all of you who will *not* be joining us on this journey, but will instead remain behind in this warm... comfortable... pleasant... did I say warm?...  city of New York, I urge you to take some time to chat with these individuals.  They are truly the best of the best.  And they have remarkable tales to tell. 

"And now that the introductions are out of the way," he says with a grin, "it's time for me to provide a bit of information.  Tonight I will first answer a question--*the * question as far as I'm concerned.  Second, I will describe the challenge.  Not just any challenge, but what I consider to be *the* major challenge of this journey."

First, the question.  The question, very simply, is “Why?”.  Any discussion of the Antarctic problem, except perhaps in scientific circles, soon comes up hard on the question:  “…but what’s the use of it?  What’s the value of snow and ice so many miles away?”  It is sometimes difficult to answer that question, and it's not because the answer is necessarily lacking in logic or conviction, but more often it is that the asking mind has not turned its thought in that direction.  As is natural in our own crowded affairs, we see things narrowly, especially in a matter such as this, in trite, personal and commercial terms of worth.  Antarctica, a vast wonderland laid out on a giant scale, in which littleness has no place, cannot be judged or appraised according to limited values.  When I speak to certain businessmen, they often reply “But where’s the money in it?  Where’s the profit?”

"Candidly, at this moment the Antarctic is sleeping, so far as we can calculate its value to modern civilization.  No one, except God, can tell how long it will remain sleeping.  However, even with the little we do know of Antarctica, we know of vast treasures.  Now, for example, in summertime, the southern continents waters swarm with Norwegian whalers who annually harvest a revenue of $15 million from their catch.  On the continent itself, immense beds of coal were hinted at by Shackleton’s discoveries.  Scott found copper.  Economic minerals were found by Mawson’s party at Adelie Land, and Scott’s Northern Party found titanium.  And these treasures pale in comparison to those that will reward the diligent scientist and observer who will add precious pieces of knowledge to the puzzle that we consider to be our world.  Our expedition in the coming months will address all of these areas.  And more!"

We will also seek to travel back to the campsight and last resting place of our colleagues from Miskatonic University, led by professor Charles Lake, some two years ago.  We intend to confirm their amazing discoveries and to map and climb the Miskatonic Mountain range, reported to be the highest peaks in the world.  Once we've reached those peaks, we will continue further.  We will continue beyond the mountains.  Beyond those mountains where we intend to perform an aerial survey of the lands on the far side of that range, into uncharted territory that has never before seen by the human eye.  To uncover the secrets…  

Starkweather stops midsentence.   He stands staring towards the rear of the room; towards something, or someone, that has arrested his attention.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bibliography Reference 5.


----------



## taitzu52 (Sep 20, 2005)

Jim, smiling along though the whole speech, nodding his head in agreement, suddenly spots Starkweather's concern.  He eases himself back in his chair, and turns his shoulders to look back at what has caught the explorer's attention.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 22, 2005)

*The Curious Guest*



			
				taitzu52 said:
			
		

> Jim, smiling along though the whole speech, nodding his head in agreement, suddenly spots Starkweather's concern. He eases himself back in his chair, and turns his shoulders to look back at what has caught the explorer's attention.




At the start of James Starkweather's speech, numerous guests continued returning to their seats through the rear doors, many of whom you assume were visiting the washrooms.  

You turn and look to where James Starkweather's vision is focused, and you notice one lone guest who is late getting back to his seat and seems a little odd.  This slightly pudgy, grey-haired individual, while dressed in a suit, is disheveled and is shambling towards the front of the room.

OOC - Starkweather noticed him when he was approximately at point X on the attached diagram.  You get a better look at this individual when he is approximately at point Y.  
Paco, James, Vittorio, and Martin are seated at table 35, and Camille is seated at table 14.


James recovers himself and says “Lawrence?  Lawrence, you look ill.  Are you OK?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## The Shaman (Sep 22, 2005)

Paco politely nods and smiles as Mr. Rockefeller is introduced. He vaguely recalls a connection between the name and West Indian Oil Company, something overheard perhaps in Santiago or Valparaiso – he remains blissfully ignorant of the unimaginable wealth of the man before him, however, dismissing the connection as coincidence. He focuses instead on the broiled salmon – despite long hours in the cannery, the mountaineer never lost his taste for the flaky pink flesh.

The introduction of Peters Sykes gets Paco’s full attention. The Chilean introduces himself immediately to the man, noting the weathered man’s countenance. “_Mucho gusto, Señor_ Sykes,” he says earnestly, gripping the guide’s hand firmly. After Sykes is seated, Paco says “I am very interested in your experiences, _señor_. Are you as familiar with airplanes and motor sleds as Doctor Moore?” He smiles broadly. “My own experience is limited to _llamas_ and dogs, I am afraid...”

After learning more about Sykes’ background – where he’s climbed, with whom – Paco is pleased at last to hear Starkweather introduced. He studies the man closely, his curiosity piqued by the man, his expedition, and the strong feelings he seems to arouse in others. The mountaineer continues to watch the expedition leader even after Starkweather’s abrupt pause.


----------



## Morpheus (Sep 22, 2005)

Martin turns around and looks at the individual that is the cause of the disturbance.

OOC: Could we be any further back from the stage?


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 23, 2005)

taitzu52 said:
			
		

> Jim, smiling along though the whole speech, nodding his head in agreement, suddenly spots Starkweather's concern.  He eases himself back in his chair, and turns his shoulders to look back at what has caught the explorer's attention.





			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> Martin turns around and looks at the individual that is the cause of the disturbance.



Result of Jim's observation
[sblock]Successful Spot Hidden roll:  The individual who is making his way to the stage area is carrying something in his hand, but you are unable to determine what it is.[/sblock]
Result of Martin's observation
[sblock]Very Successful Spot Hidden roll:  See the personal message that I sent.[/sblock]


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## Taokan (Sep 23, 2005)

Drawn into the speech despite herself, Camille listens intently, occasionally shaking her head or making various sounds of agreement. She was paying enough attention that as soon as it was noticed that Starkweather's attention had wavered, Camille shifted around in her seat to see the problem.


----------



## Morpheus (Sep 23, 2005)

Martin jumps from his seat-knocking his chair over. He starts to run towards the strange individual making his way towards the stage.
"He's got a gun!"


----------



## The Shaman (Sep 23, 2005)

Paco doesn’t see the man at first, but the journalist – Martin? – leaping up from the table, shouting about a gun, snaps the mountaineer’s reverie.

Growing up among the working class of Valdivia, the Chilean encountered his fair share of tough characters. While never a troublemaker himself, living and working among fishermen and the cannery workers exposed him to a rough-and-tumble crowd.

The powerful mountaineer doesn’t hesitate, leaping from his seat and following Martin, his calloused hands balled into fists.


----------



## Taokan (Sep 23, 2005)

Camille often compared this episode afterwards to the various dramatic happenings during the French Revolution; not neccesarrily needed, or useful, but noteworthy nonetheless.

In hindsight, it was a good thing that part of her misspent youth was spent brawling with the neighborhood boys in whatever country she happened to be in at the time. Usually she was soundly defeated, (as even then Camille had been tiny and undermuscled) but it did teach her a few things.

Springing out of her chair moments after the shout, "He's got a gun!", Camille grabbed the nearest weapon -a butter knife- and peered about the ballroom, searching for whomever supposedly had a gun.


----------



## taitzu52 (Sep 23, 2005)

Seeing the man over thirty feet away from him, Jim does what he can to ensure the safety of the most vulnerable folk around him.  He turns to the gentry (especially the ladies), and curtly says, "Get down.  Kneel behind the table."  The last thing he wants is a stampede.  Jim ducks behind his chair, a glass still in hand.


----------



## Bobitron (Sep 23, 2005)

Vittorio's eyes grow wide at the mention of a gun. While he had spent some time around the hunters and soldiers that often accompany an expedition, he had never had any direct experience with firearms. Ducking down next to his chair, he couches and stays still, peeking over the table at the interloper. If one took the time amidst the chaos to look in his eyes, they would see no fear, but simply a calculated effort to stay out of harm's way.


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## jdeleski (Sep 24, 2005)

*Chaos Ensues*



			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> Martin jumps from his seat-knocking his chair over. He starts to run towards the strange individual making his way towards the stage.
> "He's got a gun!"



As Martin and Paco spring to action, time seems to slow; each heartbeat, each pump of legs and arms, each breath stretching to eternity. In that crystalline moment of eerie stillness, memories are indelibly etched.  Over one hundred heads slowly rotate in unison, ballet-like, towards Martin, mouths uniformly agape and eyes wide with fear.  Lawrence, as named by James Starkweather, begins a slow twisting motion of his upper torso to the right, arms extended, upraising, blue-black pistol at their extremity; his head turning, straining to look over his shoulder to see his accoster, revealing a look of astonishment and pain.  

The moment shatters and a wave of madness sweeps the room.  A great cry of alarm erupts and nearly the entire room seems to jump from their seats, attempting to scramble directly away from Lawrence, some fleeing directly into the path of Martin and Paco.  Chairs tumble, dishes and glasses crash, men and women push and stumble over each other, crying out in pain.  Groups of individuals nearest the rear doors race from the room, yelling loudly.

Martin, with Paco following, runs as fast as possible while dodging chairs and pushing past a few patrons, attempting to close the gap with his target.  Lawrence completes his spin to face them, slightly out of balance, both arms raised towards his onrushing opponents.  His expression changes to one of utter sadness as his lips can be seen enunciating the word "No!" amid the din.

You hear James Starkweather yell "Lawrence, get down on the floor!" into the microphone, his voice booming across the room like a roll of thunder above the cacaphony, but his command is ignored.  James leaps from the stage to race towards Lawrence, but he is quickly cut off and swallowed by a wave of guests scrambling in his direction to escape the alleged attacker.

One brave man directly opposite the aisle from Lawrence can be seen crouching, apparently coiling to spring across the gap in an attempt to tackle him.



			
				taokan said:
			
		

> Camille grabbed the nearest weapon -a butter knife- and peered about the ballroom, searching for whomever supposedly had a gun.



Camille admirably defends her space, approximately 25 feet from the nexus of trouble.

Game information
[sblock]OOC - At this point in the action, Martin, is approximately at the X on the map while Lawrence remains positioned at the Y, 10 feet away.  Paco is 10 feet behind Martin.

Both Martin and Paco will need to push past 2 fleeing partygoers remaining in their path, and avoid a fallen chair, to cross the remaining ten foot gap to reach Lawrence.  Their options include, but are not limited to a) moving and attacking, b) charging and attacking, c) moving and grappling, or d) charging and bum rushing.

How the next round of action plays out, of course, will be subject to the initiative rolls (which have already been rolled but may not be obvious from the posts).
[/sblock]


----------



## Taokan (Sep 25, 2005)

Hearing the yell, "Lawrence, get down on the floor!" Camille sat herself unconcernedly on the edge of her table, spearing a sliver of roast duck with the butter knife. Her thinking was that if Starkweather was shouting orders to the gunman without worry, then Lawrence obviously couldn't be too much of a threat; otherwise, Starkweather would undoubedly be doing something impressive or stupid. Or both.

Casually munching on her duck, Camille adjusted her seat imperceptibly on the table so her legs wouldn't be bumped by fleeing guests. Cooly washing down the duck with a glass of water, Camile absently wondered how many guests would return later; then, upon deciding it wasn't too important, gingerly rooted through the ramains of her dinner, avoiding the asparagus like the proverbial plague.


----------



## Morpheus (Sep 26, 2005)

Pushing past the panicked guests, Martin tries to close the distance between the attacker and him. I must get that gun out of his hands, Martin's brain screams to him.

OOC: Charge and grapple the hand with the pistol.


----------



## jdeleski (Sep 27, 2005)

*COMBAT HAS ERUPTED!  
All players, please consult the OOC thread to help work through the actions.* 



			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> Pushing past the panicked guests, Martin tries to close the distance between the attacker and him. I must get that gun out of his hands, Martin's brain screams to him.
> 
> OOC: Charge and grapple the hand with the pistol.



With Paco following, Martin ran full speed toward the gun-wielding individual, adrenaline flooding his system.  In an impressive display of dexterity, he brushed past one tuxedoed guest and knocked a second, who shouted his surprise, off to the side, then leaped a chair to reach the attacker.  

Martin lowered his torso at the last moment before contact, burying his shoulder deep into the man's stomach, encircling his left arm around the man's waist and using his right to force the assailant's arms and gun toward the ceiling.  The man's breath smelled of the grave, nearly gagging Martin, as the force of his hit drove the air with a loud groan from the man's lungs.  Martin's forward momentum completely lifted the man off his feet and sent both men flying backwards, locked together, legs and arms outstretched, to crash to the floor some 5 feet behind.   

Martin's landing was cushioned by the gunman's body beneath him, but the gunman somehow managed to keep a grip on his weapon.  A furious struggle began and Martin lunged forward, attempting to grab the gun, but only managed to grasp the man's wrist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## Bobitron (Sep 27, 2005)

Vittorio holds his ground. He decided long ago that jumping in front of a man with a gun when others are perfectly willing to do it is just foolish. _Let the heroic Americans dodge the bullets of this madman,_ he reasoned. _I am staying right here._


----------



## The Shaman (Sep 29, 2005)

Martin bears the gunman to the floor with a thud as Paco wends his way through the crowd, brushing aside the panicked party-goers. As the mysterious figure struggles with Martin, the mountaineer lets his weight fall on the gunman’s arm and shoulder. Paco reaches for the gun and attempts to twist it from the struggling man’s grasp.


----------



## Morpheus (Sep 30, 2005)

"Gimme the gun before you hurt yourself."


----------



## Bobitron (Sep 30, 2005)

Vittorio watches wide-eyed as Martin and Paco struggle with the gunman, but makes no move to leave his position.


----------



## jdeleski (Oct 1, 2005)

*Lawrence Loses It*

With two rather determined individuals attempting to hold him down, Lawrence begins violently thrashing about, sobbing "No!  No!  You...Don't...UNDERSTAND!",  yanking his arms from the grips of both Paco and Martin.  He then uses what seems to be superhuman strength to pull his pistol arm down, tucking the barrel under his jawline, and then ceases his struggles and becomes perfectly still.

Looking directly into the gaze of Martin through bloodshot, pained eyes, he says in a low voice "You're going to die down there.  All of you."

"But not ME!", he blurts out, the look on his face changing to one of grim determination, and Martin feels his gun hand move ever so slightly...


----------



## Taokan (Oct 1, 2005)

Camille stared in shock, fork frozen halfway to her mouth; that had indeed been unexpected. Though her earlier thinking HAD been correct, in a way; he wasn't exactly a threat if the only thing he was threatening was himself.

Shaking her head slightly to clear it, Camille gazed with a mixture of sorrow and anger at Lawrence; even if he permitted her help, (which was doubtful, considering that he had just proclaimed her own early and tragic demise) she was too far away to do any good, so she imagined Lawrence's life now lay in the hands of those who started the riot. Pefect. But how dare he give up on everything, regardless of the circumstances?

Camille cursed softly under her breath in a mixture of French and badly pronounced Russian, then sighed and resignedly tried to remember the half-forgotten Buddhist funeral rights just in case (Camille didn't believe in Buddhism, or any other religions for that matter, but it was the only funeral service that was even faintly recalled). Something about picking the bones out of the cremated ashes with chopsticks...


----------



## The Shaman (Oct 1, 2005)

It all seems to happen in slow motion.

A fine spray of blood splatters across Paco’s face. The mountaineer can only mutter a shocked, “_Madre_...” as he stares at the dead man on the carpet.

He’d seen men die before. But nothing like this. Never like this.


----------



## Job (Oct 2, 2005)

*Disbelief*

The echo reverberated in the temporary absence of all other sound, open-mouthed guests staring mutely in disbelief at the scene, then the first of many screams pierced the night.  

Martin and Paco could not hear the echo, deafened by their close proximity to the gunshot, but sensed the ripple of horror that followed it throughout the room.

The right side of Lawrence's face was gone, replaced with a mass of bloody pulp and bone and only the vague outline of his left side remaining;  an empty eye socket next to the sharp-edged fragment of his nosebone, the shell of his forehead half-empty, rimmed with patches of wet, matted hair.  A pool of blood expanded rapidly from the skullcap across the burgundy carpet towards the feet of guests who were attempting to move back from the fluid.

As Martin and Paco looked up from Lawrence's remains, they viewed a room transformed.  The stage area was sprayed red, many guests only now registering the horror of the moment and beginning to frantically scramble, yelling.  A gentleman had collapsed to the floor clutching his shoulder, his face speckled and white shirt soaked red, a number of people now attempting to help him.  

At the forefront of a grouping of guests to Martin's right stood James Starkweather, some spatterings of crimson on his tuxedo, his face displaying aguish.  He yelled "Someone get help!",  then dropped to his knees, repeating "Oh Lawrence.  Oh Lawrence." over and over, shaking his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Bobitron (Oct 4, 2005)

Vittorio happens to be ducked behind the table when the clearly insane man frees the gun and fires, but the results are obvious when he rises after the shot echoes through the hall. The man lies in a rapidly growing pool of blood and those nearby are all in varying degrees of anguish. Vittorio turns toward the stage and notes Starkweather has approached the scene. Walking towards the group of people Vittorio takes out a pair on handkerchiefs and hands one to the young woman who had somehow managed to eat her dinner throughout the event.

"For the blood..." he explains weakly, motioning a hand toward her dress.


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## Job (Oct 4, 2005)

*Dr. Moore Acts*

Dr. Moore rushed up to Paco and Martin and asked “Misters LeBlanc and Guerini?  Are either of you hurt?”  After they assured him that they were OK, he motioned for them to move away from Lawrence's grisly remains and then, snatching a white tablecloth from a fallen table, draped it over Lawrence’s body.  

"Gentlemen, that was a remarkable attempt to stop Lawrence from achieving his horrible purpose!"  exclaimed the Professor.  "I can only guess at what might have driven him to this sad end, but you should not feel as though you've failed.  You managed to keep him from hurting others, if nothing else.  And now, if you're up to it, I suppose that we should help our guests collect themselves."   

He then turned and began making his way over to the gentleman who had collapsed near the stage, quietly suggesting to guests that they go to the lobby, or to the restrooms if needed.   

Shortly afterwards, a hotel manager arrived on the scene and announced that the police were on their way.  He asked everyone to report to the lobby and that the hotel would provide quiet areas for everyone to gather and await the police, who had asked that everyone remain at the hotel for some brief questioning.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Taokan (Oct 5, 2005)

Camille sat uneasily in a leather chair in the front lobby among the crowd of others, still holding the unused handkerchief that nice man had given her; since she had only planned on wearing the dress for one night regardless, it wasn't seen as a great loss when the front of her dress was liberally splattered with quickly-congealing blood. She did, however, attempt to clean up her face a bit with her fingertips, as a few far-flung drops had splashed her face- she succeeeded in smearing it spectacuarly, however.

Still in a state of quasi-shock, Camille spent some of the time waiting for the police stamping down on any feelings of grief, confusion, or shock, burying them liberally in a healthy dose of sarcasm, exasperation, and false naivity; she had found that it was better to react to such things later, when one was alone, in comparison to an emotional reaction in front of, say, the police coming.

Seizing on the next stray thought to occur to her with grim desperation, she wondered for the next ten minutes whether this would impact her meeting with Starkweather in any serious way.


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## Job (Oct 5, 2005)

*Damage Control*

The Amherst Hotel was quick to act.  As Fundraiser guests entered the lobby, their names were checked off at the front desk and they were asked if there was anything they needed;  in most cases, they received it.  All guests were escorted away from the lobby to comfortable lounges, to suites of rooms, to medical areas, to the Amherst restaurant, or even to private rooms if the need appeared urgent;  food and drinks and washcloths and changes of clothing were all arranged.  All guests who were staying at the hotel were allowed to return to their rooms if they so desired.  

All managers were called in;  dozens of hotel staff members were called in--cooks, waitresses, waiters, bellhops, laundrymen, cleaners, aides, and drivers.  The list of names of Fundraiser attendees was being checked and crosschecked against lists that were kept at the front desk.

Other, somewhat less noticeable security measures were also taken, as requested by New York City's Chief of Police.  All exterior doors were locked tight and large, athletic Hotel staff members were posted at each until the police arrived.  The doormen cleared the sidewalks and waved taxis away.  All incoming and outgoing calls were screened and restricted. 

The wail of sirens filled the night air.


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## The Shaman (Oct 8, 2005)

Paco sat back on the floor in stunned disbelief, a ringing in his ears. It took a moment for Dr. Moore’s words to cut through the white noise. “I am not hurt, Doctor Moore,” the mountaineer replies at last. “_Por favor_, a napkin...”

Wiping the blood and tissue from his face and hands, he rises and offers what aid he can to the others, willing himself to focus on the task at hand and pushing the horror of the sudden, violent death deep into a remote corner of his conscious mind.

Soon the hotel staff begins to arrive and instructions are given. At an opportune moment, Paco excuses himself and returns to his room. Fumbling with the key in the lock, he enters and closes the door, taking a deep breath as he sits on the edge of his bed, then looking himself over.

His rough ablutions with the dinner napkin and a glass of ice water had succeeded more in turning the drips of blood and bits of grey matter into reddish streaks than it had in removing them from his skin. His once-clean and neatly-pressed suit is stained, his freshly shaved face smeared crimson, his trimmed hair filled with flecks of tissue. He strips away his jacket and shirt and tie, and looks to the claw-footed porcelain tub in the bathroom. Before he can begin to wash away the marks on his body, however, there is another cleansing that must come first.

From his trunk Paco removes his rosary and kneels beside his bed. “_Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui Iesus. Sancta Maria mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae..._”


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## Job (Oct 9, 2005)

Beacons of light swung across the roadway, chasing shadows from hotel exterior, as a black automobile with “PD” lettered on its side skidded to the curb.  Before it had even stopped, the doors swung open and two patrolmen leapt from its interior and ran up to the front doors of the Amherst Hotel.  The doorman, hands shaking, fumbled with his keys then recovered and managed to unlock the door.  The two police hustled through the lobby to the front desk area where they met with the manager on duty.  

After a brief  exchange with the manager, one policemen nodded and moved quickly in the direction of the Amherst Ballroom; the other policeman stayed with the manager, discussing the night’s events, hastily scribbling notes.  

Minutes passed.


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## Job (Oct 9, 2005)

*Brightness and Blindness*

Suddenly, flashes of bright light strobed the lobby interior, blinding the doorman who belatedly covered his eyes in response and leaving ghostly trails in your own field of vision.  

OOC - Anyone remaining in the lobby should tell me their actions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Bobitron (Oct 9, 2005)

Vittorio makes his way to his room shortly after he notices Paco has left. _No need for an old man here,_ he reasons. _I'll just be in the way._ He takes the stairs rather than wait for the crowded elevator, and is breathing rather hard by the time he reaches the room. Taking a moment to collect his breath in the hallway and wipe his last handkerchief over his brow, he opens the door to find Paco kneeling in prayer. 

"Excusa, señor. I did not mean to interrupt." He continues into the room, closing the door quietly behind him, then walks straight to the wash room, running the water until it reaches a warm temprature and splashing it over his face. He pours himself a glass of water and sits in the bathroom with the door closed until he hears Paco finish, drinking the entire glass in one long swallow. When the room goes quiet, he carefully counts off two minutes with his watch then enters the bedroom.

"If these sort of things keep happening, señor, we may need to take a priest with us to the frozen wastes!" His smile is weak, though, and he collapses into a chair wearily.

"I did not witness the event, thanks be to God, but I saw the aftermath, of course. I pray that I never have to witness such an event again." He crunches up his face in concentration. "Strange that the man would choose such a way to die. Suicide is normally a private event, unless a man wishes to be stopped or wants to make a statement, no? What did he mean to tell us?" His eyes meet Paco's for a moment, and he quickly realizes this may not be the best time to speak. "I apologize, señor. These matters are best not spoken of right now."


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## Taokan (Oct 9, 2005)

*I can see clearly now...*

Eyes blinking furiously to adjust to the unexpected glaring light, Camille growled in exhasperation and squinted around the room, one hand held protectively in front of her eyes. Apparently she hadn't been the only one flash-blinded either; the bellman was muttering words under his breath in English that Camilly highly suspected were impolite, and the few people left in the main lobbey were yelling and doing various half-blind things she wasn't paying attention to regardless.

Getting up from her chair near the desk, Camille carefully made her way towards the main doors, where she suspected the light had come from, palming a sharpened pencil from the desk along the way. Holding it point downwards, pencils could be almost-passable weapons if the situation called for it. (And the near-riot in the ballroom made the situation somehow need it. On another note, she had seemed to need nonlethal weapons a lot tonight...) If only these ridiculous black streaks obscuring her vision would go away. She *hated* being flash blinded.


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## Job (Oct 9, 2005)

Taokan said:
			
		

> ...the few people left in the main lobby were yelling and doing various half-blind things she wasn't paying attention to regardless.
> 
> Getting up from her chair near the desk, Camille carefully made her way towards the main doors, where she suspected the light had come from...



The policeman at the lobby desk charged past Camille to the doors and grabbed the keys from the blinking doorman’s hand.  He unlocked the door, dashed outside and angrily confronted two individuals in rumpled suits who could be seen manipulating cameras.  The officer shouted and gestured for them to move away, but the cameramen had just finished replacing their flashbulbs and responded by backing up and immediately snapping wonderful pictures of a redfaced, boiling-mad, screaming representative of New York City's Police Department.

At that point, two other policemen raced into view from down the street and clashed with the cameramen, trying to grab their equipment, but the policemen appeared winded from their run and the cameramen easily avoided their attempts.   The officer from the hotel lobby shouted again at the cameramen while drawing forth a set of handcuffs from his belt, and this time the cameramen held up their hands while backing up, smiling, and beginning to walk away down the street. 

The two newly-arrived policemen both leaned over, hands on knees, openmouthed and breathing heavily, while the officer from the lobby conferred with them at the curb for a minute, then turned to reenter the hotel.  One officer accompanied him while the other remained behind to guard the front entrance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Job (Oct 10, 2005)

*The Force*

Having taken care of the pesky cameramen, the two policeman walked back through the entrance and across the lobby to resume discussions with the manager.  Some minutes later, the shrieking of another siren arose, announcing the approach of additional emergency personnel.   Eventually a large, black, open-bed truck loaded with a dozen policemen carrying rifles pulled up to the front of the Amherst Hotel.  All of the police quickly jumped from their vehicle.  Four policemen split off from the main group, two walking in one direction up the street and two in the opposite direction;  the remainder of the group entered the lobby and gathered at the front desk for their briefing. 

After receiving instructions in the hotel, a number of policemen moved towards the Ballroom and others soon departed to begin patrolling the maze of corridors, ostensibly seeking clues or persons of interest.  Still others remained behind examining lists and floor plans.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## The Shaman (Oct 10, 2005)

“...Amen.”

Paco remains on his knees beside the bed for a moment, the rises and returns the rosary to his trunk. Pulling out clean clothes, he lays them out on his bed as the Italian engineer – _Liuzzi_ – leaves the bathroom and takes a seat. Paco listens to his fellow explorer wearily. At the Italian’s apology he shakes his head slightly.

“No, no need to apologize, _señor_,” the mountaineer replies as he sits on the end of his bed to remove his shoes and socks. “I do not understand this,” he continues, pensive. “I have seen men die before, but this is...” He stops and runs his fingers through his hair. A bit of what was once Lawrence’s parietal lobe falls onto his pant leg.

“No! No! You...don't...UNDERSTAND!” The words echo in his mind.

Paco takes a deep breath. “The...man...and _Señor_ Starkweather...they knew each other.” He wants to say more, but he sees blood on his hands, in the skin around his nails and the creases in his knuckles. “_Señor_, if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I would like to take a bath.” The Chilean nods to the engineer and pulls a bathrobe from the closet, and walks into the bathroom.

Hot water fills the tub as Paco first scrubs himself at the sink, digging the washcloth into the skin of his hands, his face. He wipes the mirror every few seconds as the condensation fogs its glass surface. The tub full, he strips down and gingerly lowers himself in the steaming water. He ignores the soap and washcloth for a moment, letting the heat soak into his limbs. Even as the water turns his skin pink, however, there is a chill in his heart that the bathwater cannot reach. And again Paco hears the man’s voice.

“You're going to die down there. All of you.”


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## Job (Oct 11, 2005)

*The Investigation Begins*

Approximately 10 minutes later, a nondescript grey car quietly arrived at the Amherst Hotel and slowly eased up to park alongside the emergency vehicle.  The doors opened and out climbed a trim, elderly policeman in full uniform and a younger man in a hat and rumpled overcoat.  Both men walked into hotel, up to the lobby desk, and began to engage in discussions with the hotel manager and policemen.

After a few minutes, the elderly policeman made a few phone calls at the desk while the younger man headed towards the Ballroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Job (Oct 11, 2005)

*Reinforcements*

Over the span of a half hour, another emergency poice truck arrived carrying a dozen additional armed officers as well as two patrol car units, two motorcycle units, and a Cadillac ambulance.

Some hotel staff members could be heard mumbling amongst themselves that it was beginning to look like a police convention.


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## Job (Oct 15, 2005)

*Three Summonings*

An anxious hour passes, then three separate individuals experience the same event.   

A sharp rap on your hotel room door intrudes on your thoughts, followed by a forceful voice commanding "This is the police.  Please open up."

Three hotel room doors are all opened to the full extent of their chain locks and each occupant peers out to see a dark blue-suited, very serious policeman peering in.  

"Hello, Mr. LeBlanc?" ... "Hello, Mr. Guerini?" ... "Hello, Ms. Bardier?"

"Would you come with me please?  Our Detective has a few questions that he'd like to ask you."

He waits, stone-faced and stone still, at your door while you collect yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Job (Oct 15, 2005)

*The Ballroom*

Once the police arrived, the ballroom was sealed.  Any guests who had not departed the ballroom by that time received a brief questioning by the police, their names and pertinent information written down, and one by one they were escorted to the lobby desk where further information was collected by another uniformed officer.  

James Starkweather, William Moore, and a few other individuals were each led from the ballroom by armed policemen.

Anyone caring to later revisit and search the ballroom on their own would see armed guards posted at each entrance and numerous officers milling about in the corridors.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Dallas4lr (Oct 16, 2005)

double post, sorry


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## Dallas4lr (Oct 16, 2005)

did it again


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## Dallas4lr (Oct 16, 2005)

As the fog of sleep begins to fade, the swaying motion of the carriage gently rouses Father Rucker as they depart Salem.   The driver gives a few quick shakes of the reins and steers the horses south to Arkham, their final destination.  With the driver quickening the pace the ride has become a bit bumpy helping Father Rucker in shaking off the last remnants of sleep.  At that moment Father Rucker noticed his two colleagues fast a sleep.  Almost instinctively he reached for the handbag that has been at has side since boarding the carriage.  While watching both Mrs. James and Father Brown out the corner of his eye, Father Rucker carefully opens the clasp and slowly opens the bag ever so slightly.  He gingerly slides his hand inside the bag, carefully confirming that nothing is missing.  Once he is satisfied that all is well, Father Rucker carefully closes the bag and becomes engaged in some deep thought.

Father Rucker ponders his future meeting with his dear friend Dr. Moore, and considers how jubilant he will be to discover that he intends to accompany Dr. Moore to the Antarctic.  With the duties of the parish far behind him, Father Rucker realizes how much of his time will be free during the long journey.  

 “That will be the perfect opportunity for me to further my studies, I am determined to crack these ciphers”  he thought hardly containing his excitement.

As evening took hold and the sun began to abate, the carriage arrives at the Arkham train station.  As the driver dismounts a bunch of porters rush over to the carriage to assist the passengers with their crates and baggage.  As the removal of these items come to a close Father Rucker realizes the mood of the group becoming more somber, as they realize this may be their last moments together.


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## The Shaman (Oct 16, 2005)

Emerging from the bathroom with the traces of the madman scrubbed away from his skin and hair, Paco exchanges a bathrobe for a pair of longjohns. The bloody suit is hung from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, to be dealt with later.

Paco looks to his roommate. “_Señor_ Liuzzi...” he begins, then stops. “_Señor_, it appears we may be traveling to the end of the world together, if the...” he pauses, choosing his words carefully, “if tonight did not jeopardize our chances, that is. I am Fráncisco, or Paco, if you prefer.” The Chilean offers the engineer a wan smile.

Before he continues there is a loud knock at the door. The policeman in the hall looks at Paco with the intense diffidence of the keepers of the peace. “Certainly, _señor_,” Paco replies. “One moment.” From his trunk he hurriedly pulls a pair of trousers and a shirt and slips them on over his union suit, followed by socks and boots. He picks up his passport and the letter from Starkweather and slips them into his pocket, then slides the chain from the door.


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## Taokan (Oct 17, 2005)

A sudden knock on the door of her room interrupted Camille's half-hearted focus on the exciting world of a French to English dictionary that had been mistakenly packed with her clothes. It was a lucky find, as she tended to lapse into French as her sketchy knowledge of English simply could not cover complex situations or, indeed, frustrating ones. May all the dearly departed Kings help her if she ever had to explain the inner workings of an engine.

Warily peeking through the tiny opening the locking chain permitted, Camille was extremely glad that she had cleaned herself up. The dour-looking policeman (or what the Americans passed off as such) peering back at her would decidedly not have been impressed by a gore-splattered Frenchwoman. "Hello, Ms. Bardier? Would you come with me, please? Our detective has a few questions he'd like to ask you." 

Once again, Camille's survival instincts restrained undue sarcasm. Barely. "I am only too eager to...," here she quickly glanced at the dictionary she still held, "facilitate the proceedings. If you'll _m'excuser_..." Hurriedly stuffing the dictionary, her international passport, and her letter to _Monsieur_ Starkweather into her travel carry-on bag with one hand, and grabbing her flight jacket with the other, Camille spun back around to the policeman. 

"_La police_ shall question at will, sir." Unhurriedly exiting her room and heading to the hotel lobby, where Camille presumed the interrogation would take place. It would most likely be a mass questioning of the hotel, too. Bloody Americans...


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## Job (Oct 29, 2005)

*To the waiting*

Each policeman separately leads Paco, Martin, and Camille from their rooms to the elevator down the hall, descending to the basement level.  

OOC - None of the characters see each during this trip.

You follow your escort through a maze of service corridors, stopping at one of a number of doors along the way.  The policeman opens the door and motions for you to enter.  The room appears to be a small conference room decorated with wood paneling and gold rug, comfortably furnished with a 5-foot round wooden table in the center surrounded by four dark brown leather chairs, a matching leather couch against the wall, and a small buffet table with a pitcher of ice water and glasses.  

The policeman tells you to make yourself comfortable and that a detective would be arriving soon to ask you a few questions.  He leaves and closes the door.


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## Job (Oct 31, 2005)

*Questioning Paco*

Here follows some descriptions of the private questioning of Paco.
[sblock]
After you waited a fair period of time in the small room, you heard a soft knock on the door just before it opened.  An elderly uniformed policeman entered your room followed by a man in a rumpled shirt, slacks, and overcoat.  The detective seated himself in the leather couch without saying a word.  The policeman, standing ramrod straight with a crisp, military-like bearing, remained standing and began the questioning.

“Good evening Mr. Guerini.  Thank you for joining us to answer a few questions.  I am Supervisor Mills of the New York City Police Department and with me is Detective Hansen.”

OOC – To speed things up, I’m skipping some of the opening questions that we already know the answers to;  for example, I’ll not trouble you to write an answer to Supervisor Mills’ general questions asking for your character’s descriptions about what happened.  We now rejoin the questioning in progress.

Supervisor Mills continues:  “Mr. Guerini, please tell me what prompted you to follow Mr. LeBlanc and run towards the individual who was approaching the stage.”

Supervisor Mills immediately follows your answer with this question:  “Did you actually see the gun in the hand of the individual who was approaching the stage?”

Then another:  “Mr. Guerini, now that you’ve told me what happened and how you came to be here this evening, I’d like to ask a few questions about some of the other guests at the banquet.  What do you know of Mr. Martin LeBlanc?"

And another:  “Perhaps, Mr. Guerini, you noticed a woman who appeared to be calmly sitting, and eating, at a table near the struggle?  Do you know her?”
[/sblock]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Job (Oct 31, 2005)

*Questioning Martin*

Here follows some descriptions of the private questioning of Martin.
[sblock]
After you waited a fairly long period of time in the small room--you would guess at least an hour or more--you heard a single sharp rap on the door just before it opened.  An elderly uniformed policeman briskly walked into your room followed by a man in a rumpled shirt, slacks, and overcoat.  The detective seated himself in the leather couch without saying a word, looking disinterested.  The policeman, standing ramrod straight with a crisp, military-like bearing, remained standing and began the questioning.

“Good evening Mr. LeBlanc.  I am Supervisor Mills of the New York City Police Department.  I need your help, Mr. LeBlanc, and I trust that you'll answer my questions truthfully and to the best of your ability?”  As the policeman speaks, you become aware that he is carefully studying you, searching your face and taking notice of any body movements.

Apparently waiting for an acknowledgement from you, Supervisor Mills pauses and fishes in his jacket pocket to retrieve a cigarette case and box of matches, then puts a cigarette in his mouth, lights it while taking a deep pull, then forcefully blows the smoke towards the ceiling.  After he puts the cigarette case and matches back in his pocket, he returns his attention to you.

OOC – To speed things up, I’m skipping some of the opening questions that we already know the answers to;  for example, I’ll not trouble you to write an answer to Supervisor Mills’ general questions asking for your character’s descriptions about what happened.  We now rejoin the questioning in progress.

Supervisor Mills continues his questioning:  "Mr. LeBlanc, had you ever met Lawrence Longfellow, the individual who was walking towards the stage, before tonight?"

He follows that question with another:  “And Mr. LeBlanc, how do you suppose that you were the only one in a crowd of well over 100 guests--the only one--to see a gun in the hand of Mr. Longfellow as he approached the stage?”

Then he asks another:  “Mr. LeBlanc, after you noticed the gun and yelled, why would you risk your life to chase down an individual who you knew had a gun?"

And another:  “Mr. LeBlanc, do you know the woman who appeared to be calmly sitting, and eating, at a table near your struggle?”
[/sblock]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Job (Oct 31, 2005)

*Questioning Camille*

Here follows some descriptions of the private questioning of Camille.
[sblock]
After you waited a long, long period of time in the small room--you would guess at least two hours--you hear a soft knock on your door just before it opens.  A man in a rumpled shirt, slacks, and overcoat--the same man you had seen enter the hotel lobby earlier that evening with an elderly policeman--walks into your room, leaving the door partially open.  He nods to you and says "Hello Ms. Bardier.  I am Detective Hansen and this gentleman...",  his voice trails off and he waves in someone who's standing outside the room.  His partner, the elderly cop, walks in, smiling, and the Detective continues, "This gentleman is Supervisor Mills.  We have a few questions that we need to ask you about tonight."

Detective Hansen closes the door and both policemen take seats around the table.  

In a low voice, Detective Hansen begins speaking, “Ms Bardier, please accept my apology for keeping you waiting so long, and for asking you to come out to talk to us after such a difficult evening."

OOC – To speed things up, I’m skipping some of the opening questions that we already know the answers to;  for example, I’ll not trouble you to write an answer to Supervisor Mills’ general questions asking for your character’s descriptions about what happened.  We now rejoin the questioning in progress.

After some leisurely questioning during what can best be described as a friendly chat, Detective Hansen asks:  "Ms. Bardier, had you ever met Lawrence Longfellow, the individual who was walking towards the stage, before tonight?"

After your response, he immediately follows that question with another:  "And what of Mr. LeBlanc and Mr. Guerini, the two guests who ran up and struggled with Mr. Longfellow?"

And then another:  "Ms Bardier, this is very important.  Before Mr. LeBlanc knocked Lawrence Longfellow to the floor, did you actually see which individual had the gun?"

After a few follow-up questions, Detective Hansen then gets a very serious look on his face and says  “Ms. Bardier, I need your help.  I'm hoping that you can clear up some confusion for me.  You see, I've checked the guest listing and it's not there.  I've looked the guest list over a couple of times now, but can't seem to find your name anywhere.  I'm sure that there's probably some simple explanation, but for the life of me, I can't figure it out.  Who invited you to this dinner, Ms. Bardier?
[/sblock]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## The Shaman (Oct 31, 2005)

Paco...[sblock]“However I may of service, _policía_,” Paco replies to Supervisor Mills. On the table in front of the mountaineer are his passport and Starkweather’s letter, along with a glass of water he poured before he sat down. Paco listens attentively to the supervisor’s questions and responds truthfully.

“I was concerned for _Señor_ Starkweather,” Paco answers Mills as the questions become more pointed. “I heard the other man - _Señor_ LeBlanc, yes - call out and I tried to help as best I could.”

“I did not see the pistol in the man’s hand until we came upon him, me and _Señor_ LeBlanc,” the Chilean continues. “We tried to pull it away. But we could not stop him.” His hands rest on the top of the table, palms down, as he looks to the questioner.

His brow furrows as he tries to recall when he first was introduced to the journalist. “I believe that _Señor_ LeBlanc joined us at our table when the speeches began,” he replies thoughtfully. “I was speaking with a lady, _Señora_ Broughton,” Paco continues, “and another of the expedition members, Peter Sykes. There were introductions,” he says, lightly tapping a finger absently on the tabletop, “but there were many people talking, many conversations. I don’t believe that _Señor_ LeBlanc and I spoke.”

Paco shakes his head at the last question. “After...after the pistol went off, I...I helped Doctor Moore, assisting the other guests, and then excused myself to my room.” He pauses. “To clean off the blood.” This triggers a memory. “There was a young woman, with blood on her dress. I did not speak with her however.”

The mountaineer leans forward slightly, looking first at Mills and then at Hansen. “Please, if I may ask a question – who was that man?” Paco asks. “He was known of _Señor_ Starkweather?”[/sblock]


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## Taokan (Oct 31, 2005)

[sBlock]I hate dealing with _la police_. They always think I'm some sort mad-ax murderer.

Briefly weighing the pros and cons of telling the truth, Camille opted for truth, having no desire to be deported before she spoke with Starkweather.

Pensively replaying the events of the night, Camille spoke slowly at first as things occurred to her, "I had not met either M. LeBlanc or M. Guerini, though I can assume by their actions that they are to be part of the expedition, correct? I had also never met Monsieur Longfellow before, either. And no, I did not see which of these persons had the gun, though I suspect it was _Monsieur_ Longfellow. After all, one of the men fighting with him, er, M. Leblank, was it, said he did. Why would he lie?" 

Blinking in puzzlement, Camille returned to the questions, "That is because I was not invited, monsieur. You see, I had applied to the expedition going to Antartica, but _Monsieur_ Starkweather had denied my application on the basis that I was I woman. So, naturally, I wanted still desired to be a part of it, I just had to persuade him otherwise; thus, here I am. If you are wondering how I knew about this fundraiser if I was not invited..." Here Camille snorted in amusment. "It was in the paper." 

"Now, keep in mind, M., I was at the ball for the express purpose of speaking with Starkweather. When the time wasn't right to offer my rebuttal letter, I simply waited to give it to him later."

Camille tries to recall more. "I myself did not help in the ensuing scuffle afterwards because Monsieur Starkweather was shouting orders M. Longfellow without worry of being shot, so I had concluded M. Longfellow wasn't a threat. If he was otherwise, Starkweather would undoubedly be doing something impressive or stupid, would he not? I believe that is why I was eating my dinner at that point. It was a decent selection, by the way."[/sblock]


----------



## Bobitron (Oct 31, 2005)

Vittorio listens to the radio for an hour or so and heads to bed after a short bath.


----------



## Job (Nov 1, 2005)

*Additional Questions for Paco*

The questioning of Paco contininues...[sblock]


			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> “I heard the other man - _Señor_ LeBlanc, yes - call out and I tried to help as best I could.”
> 
> “I did not see the pistol in the man’s hand until we came upon him, me and _Señor_ LeBlanc,” the Chilean continues. “We tried to pull it away. But we could not stop him.” His hands rest on the top of the table, palms down, as he looks to the questioner.



Supervisor Mills studies Paco for a long moment after this response, his eyes briefly taking note of Paco's hands resting on the table, then he asks "Are you absolutely certain, Mr. Guerini, that Mr. Longfellow had the gun to begin with?  We've heard conflicting reports from a number of individuals about this."




			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> His brow furrows as he tries to recall when he first was introduced to the journalist. “I believe that _Señor_ LeBlanc joined us at our table when the speeches began,” he replies thoughtfully.
> ...
> "There were introductions,” he says, lightly tapping a finger absently on the tabletop, “but there were many people talking, many conversations. I don’t believe that _Señor_ LeBlanc and I spoke.”



Supervisor Mills responds by sharply turning and leaning over the table towards Paco, forcefully asking, "So, Mr. Guerini, you'd never met Mr. LeBlanc prior to this evening, yet you follow the man into combat--UNARMED!--against another man who supposedly wields a gun?  *Is that normal behavior for people who attend dinner parties in South America?*"




			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> The mountaineer leans forward slightly, looking first at Mills and then at Hansen. “Please, if I may ask a question – who was that man?” Paco asks. “He was known of _Señor_ Starkweather?”[/sblock]



Detective Hansen takes this opportunity to speak his first words of the session, saying "Lawrence Longfellow was to be a teammate of yours on the expedition.  A mechanic.  According to Mr. Starkweather, he was a quiet individual, very loyal, and his actions tonight were extremely out of character."


----------



## Job (Nov 2, 2005)

*Additional Questions for Camille*

The questioning of Camille continues...
[sblock]


			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> Pensively replaying the events of the night, Camille spoke slowly at first as things occurred to her, "I had not met either M. LeBlanc or M. Guerini, though I can assume by their actions that they are to be part of the expedition, correct? I had also never met Monsieur Longfellow before, either. And no, I did not see which of these persons had the gun, though I suspect it was _Monsieur_ Longfellow. After all, one of the men fighting with him, er, M. LeBlanc, was it, said he did. Why would he lie?"



Detective Hansen smiled and said, "I don't know why he would lie.  I never hinted that he would lie.  I'm simply attempting to determine exactly what happened and in what order.  I'm hoping that you can help me do that."




			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> "...I was not invited, monsieur. You see, I had applied to the expedition going to Antartica, but _Monsieur_ Starkweather had denied my application on the basis that I was I woman. So, naturally, I still desired to be a part of it, I just had to persuade him otherwise; thus, here I am."
> ...
> "...I was at the ball for the express purpose of speaking with Starkweather. When the time wasn't right to offer my rebuttal letter, I simply waited to give it to him later."



The Detective looked puzzled for a moment, then said, "I'm still a bit confused Miss Bardier, so please be patient with me and help me to understand this.  James Starkweather reviewed your application and turned you down.  That must have upset you greatly, yes?  In fact, it sounds as though you were downright angry.  Angry enough that you would travel all the way from France to New York City?" 




			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> "...I myself did not help in the ensuing scuffle afterwards because Monsieur Starkweather was shouting orders to M. Longfellow without worry of being shot, so I had concluded M. Longfellow wasn't a threat. If he was otherwise, Starkweather would undoubedly be doing something impressive or stupid, would he not? I believe that is why I was eating my dinner at that point. It was a decent selection, by the way."



"Mister Starkweather happened to be at the front of the room on the stage,"  said the Detective, "about 50 feet from Mr. Longfellow.  But you, Miss Bardier, were within 15 feet of a man with a gun;  a man who not only had a gun, but was violently struggling with two other men who obviously believed that the man would use it.  It strikes me as very odd that you would not only ignore all of this, and not run for cover, but also that you would remain at your table eating your meal when the entire room of over 100 people were panicked!

Miss Bardier, your life was in danger, yet you remained calmly at your table.  For someone who did not put much faith in Mr. Starkweather's decision making ability--and traveled over five thousand miles to tell him so--it seems especially odd to me that you'd assume he was making a correct decision in this life-threatening situation!  Or am I missing something?"[/sblock]


----------



## Taokan (Nov 2, 2005)

[sblock] "I'm still a bit confused Miss Bardier, so please be patient with me and help me to understand this. James Starkweather reviewed your application and turned you down. That must have upset you greatly, yes? In fact, it sounds as though you were downright angry. Angry enough that you would travel all the way from France to New York City?"  

Pausing briefly to put her thoughts together, Camille tried to word her thoughts in a way that would be understood. "I was not angry, as you put it, _Monsieur_. I was more... Wearied, perhaps, and frustrated. I am used to this sort of behavior from male pilots, so it wasn't enough to anger me; not much does." Tapping her front teeth pensively, an old habit of hers, the pilot continued, "I suppose, if I had to pinpoint why I came... It was to prove him wrong. After all, I know my capabilities, as well as my limits, which he does not. But the flying to America itself was not a problem; I have done it often enough."

"-It strikes me as very odd that you would not only ignore all of this, and not run for cover, but also that you would remain at your table eating your meal when the entire room of over 100 people were panicked! Miss Bardier, your life was in danger, yet you remained calmly at your table. For someone who did not put much faith in Mr. Starkweather's decision making ability--and traveled over five thousand miles to tell him so--it seems especially odd to me that you'd assume he was making a correct decision in this life-threatening situation! Or am I missing something?"  

Camille smiled self-depracatingly at this. "I have never been a person to blindly follow panicked mobs. I do not trust what other people tell me I ought to feel, as I have always reacted on my... Gut instincts, you call them? I trust my own instincts more than the blind terror of approximately one hundred people."

"I had decided that my life was in no danger, so I stayed where I was. If I had gone with the mob, I could not have reacted quickly to any changes. If I had joined in the fight for the gun, there was a greater risk of someone being hurt." 

Truly smiling for the first time she had crossed into that time zone, flashing a lone dimple, she added, "And I never said I did not trust his decision-making capabilities. I simply said that he is a sexist, bigoted pig. He has long since proven his worth as a leader. He has not and will not need to prove that worth to me. So as long as _Monsieur_ Starkweather makes a decision that regards my welfare or that of others, I will trust it is the right one." 

Placing her chin in a tiny palm, Camille finished drolly, "I trust you will not tell him I said such things. When he truly sees me as I am later, I want him to regard me as honestly as possible, if that is indeed possible for him. Is that all,  _messieurs_, or do you require more? I did wish to find the honored Starkweather before the night is done."[/sblock]


----------



## Job (Nov 3, 2005)

*One Last Question for Camille*

[sblock]







			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> Placing her chin in a tiny palm, Camille finished drolly, "I trust you will not tell him I said such things. When he truly sees me as I am later, I want him to regard me as honestly as possible, if that is indeed possible for him. Is that all,  _messieurs_, or do you require more? I did wish to find the honored Starkweather before the night is done."



Detective Hansen smiled and said, "What you've said to me, Miss Bardier, will remain in strict confidence as Supervisor Mills and I continue our investigations.  I do have one last question to ask of you:  Is there anything that you can remember about Lawrence Longfellow that could explain what he did?  Was there anything that he said, or any unusual quirks that stand out in your mind, that might give us a clue as to what might have motivated him to take his own life?"  

OOC - From Camille's position in the room, and the bedlam which surrounded her, she could not hear Lawrence's last words to Paco and Martin.
[/sblock]


----------



## Morpheus (Nov 3, 2005)

Here we go...



			
				Job said:
			
		

> Here follows some descriptions of the private questioning of Martin.
> [sblock]
> After you waited a fairly long period of time in the small room--you would guess at least an hour or more--you heard a single sharp rap on the door just before it opened.  An elderly uniformed policeman briskly walked into your room followed by a man in a rumpled shirt, slacks, and overcoat.  The detective seated himself in the leather couch without saying a word, looking disinterested.  The policeman, standing ramrod straight with a crisp, military-like bearing, remained standing and began the questioning.
> 
> ...


----------



## Taokan (Nov 4, 2005)

[sblock]"Is there anything that you can remember about Lawrence Longfellow that could explain what he did? Was there anything that he said, or any unusual quirks that stand out in your mind, that might give us a clue as to what might have motivated him to take his own life?"  

Casting back her thoughts to the period right before Longfellow's death, she found she could not recall any actual words spoken by him. The crowd had swallowed up anything he could have been saying. "No, _Monsieur_. I was not close enough to hear anything that was said by him. In fact, I only actually saw him briefly right before the gun episode. As I recall, he had looked ill, perhaps, and wobbly on his feet, as well. But he did not seem distressed, at least from my position. _Pardonnez-moi_ for not being more helpful."[/sblock]


----------



## Job (Nov 5, 2005)

*Continued Questioning of Martin...*

Continuing Questions...
[sblock]


			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> Supervisor Mills follows that question with another: “And Mr. LeBlanc, how do you suppose that you were the only one in a crowd of well over 100 guests--the only one--to see a gun in the hand of Mr. Longfellow as he approached the stage?”
> 
> (Martin responds) "I am a photographer, sir, and as such, I have trained myself to notice small details that others would miss. It's my job."



Detective Mills responds, "And I assume that you'd be more than willing to show us the photos that you took this evening, Mr. LeBlanc?"



			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> And (Supervisor Mills then asks) another: “Mr. LeBlanc, do you know the woman who appeared to be calmly sitting, and eating, at a table near your struggle?"
> 
> (Martin responds) "I've seen her before at some of the Expedition's meetings. Her name is....ummm..Camille something-or-other I believe. Sorry I couldn't be more helpful."



Supervisor Mills then asks, "Are you sure of this, Mr. LeBlanc?  I assumed that Camille Bardier knew you since she put enough faith in your abilities that she could continue eating during a dangerous situation.  And we can't seem to find her on any of the guest lists, or on the Expedition roster, so it would be important information for us if you could remember exactly where you've seen her."


When Supervisor Mills appears to be finished with his questions, the other plainclothes policeman who's been sitting quietly and patiently observing and listening, leans forward and asks, "Mr. LeBlanc, is there anything that you can remember about Lawrence Longfellow that could explain what he did? Was there anything that he said, or any unusual quirks that stand out in your mind, that might give us a clue as to what might have motivated him to take his own life?" [/sblock]


----------



## Job (Nov 5, 2005)

*The End of Questions for Camille*

Detective Hansen finishes up...
[sblock]


			
				Taokan said:
			
		

> "Is there anything that you can remember about Lawrence Longfellow that could explain what he did? Was there anything that he said, or any unusual quirks that stand out in your mind, that might give us a clue as to what might have motivated him to take his own life?"
> 
> Casting back her thoughts to the period right before Longfellow's death, she found she could not recall any actual words spoken by him. The crowd had swallowed up anything he could have been saying. "No, _Monsieur_. I was not close enough to hear anything that was said by him. In fact, I only actually saw him briefly right before the gun episode. As I recall, he had looked ill, perhaps, and wobbly on his feet, as well. But he did not seem distressed, at least from my position. _Pardonnez-moi_ for not being more helpful."



The Detective responds, "Very well, Ms. Bardier.  Thank you for agreeing to talk to us.  Because our investigations are not yet complete, please do not leave New York City until I get back in touch with you.  I will need some time to study the results of our investigations and I may have additional questions.  You are free to go."

With that, the Detective opens the door and gestures for you to leave.
[/sblock]


----------



## Job (Nov 5, 2005)

*The Week Following the Fundraiser*

OOC - A week in gametime passes between the fundraiser and the event at the start of this new thread: Chapter 1 of the BtMoM Campaign.  

Characters are free to take any actions during this week of gametime that seem reasonable, and we'll play those closing actions out here in this thread over the next two or three weeks of realtime.  You are also free to begin actions within the Chapter 1 thread.

I may also have one or two final events of this prologue, so please continue to check this thread until I post a final closure note. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks!  And Good Work to One and All!!
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## Morpheus (Nov 6, 2005)

Job said:
			
		

> Continuing Questions...
> [sblock]
> Detective Mills responds, "And I assume that you'd be more than willing to show us the photos that you took this evening, Mr. LeBlanc?"
> 
> ...




"He mentioned that we were all going to die down there, but that he wasn't. He seemed quite adamant about that. I hope this information will prove to be of some help to you."


----------



## The Shaman (Nov 7, 2005)

Paco...[sblock]“I am certain that this man had the gun in his hand when I reached him,” Paco replies with conviction.

Compared to the events of earlier in the evening, the stress questioning by the supervisor doesn’t phase the mountaineer. “I have not attended a dinner party in Chile where someone attempted to shoot the host, _policía_,” he replies, his face composed. _Punch? Yes. Stab? Once. Shoot? Never_.

“A member of our expedition was in danger, and I followed another member to help. I did not know,” he continues, his tone frank, “that such a thing would be so - ” he searches for the word “ - unexpected, in America, _señor_.”

The news that Longfellow was to be a member of the expedition hits Paco like a sledgehammer, his composure lost for a brief moment. “I did not know this. This is bad, very bad.”[/sblock]


----------



## Job (Nov 9, 2005)

Final Questions with Martin LeBlanc[sblock]


			
				Morpheus said:
			
		

> "He mentioned that we were all going to die down there, but that he wasn't. He seemed quite adamant about that. I hope this information will prove to be of some help to you."



The policeman looked puzzled, and said nothing for a moment.  He then looked down and wrote in a small notepad that he was holding, saying, "But that makes no sense.  Why didn't he simply quit the expedition?"   From the tone of his voice, you got the impression that he wasn't really asking you to answer his question.  When he finished writing, he looked up, frowned, and shook his head.  "Strange, wouldn't you say, Mr. LeBlanc?  If you remember anything else, anything else at all, even if it seems trivial, please contact me.  I'm Detective Hansen and I can be reached just by calling the station."

Finally, Supervisor Mills stepped forward, saying, "Thank you, Mr. LeBlanc.  Please remain in New York City until further notice from our department.  We may have additional questions."  With that, he turned and opened the door, gesturing for you to leave.[/sblock]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## Job (Nov 9, 2005)

Follow-up Questions for Paco...[sblock]


			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> Compared to the events of earlier in the evening, the stress questioning by the supervisor doesn’t phase the mountaineer. “I have not attended a dinner party in Chile where someone attempted to shoot the host, _policía_,” he replies, his face composed. _Punch? Yes. Stab? Once. Shoot? Never_.



This comment elicits a quickly-stifled chuckle from the detective in the corner.




			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> “A member of our expedition was in danger, and I followed another member to help. I did not know,” he continues, his tone frank, “that such a thing would be so - ” he searches for the word “ - unexpected, in America, _señor_.”



Immediately after this additional comment from Paco, Supervisor Mills turned his head and glared at his partner who was looking at the floor with his hand covering his mouth, shoulders shaking.




			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> The news that Longfellow was to be a member of the expedition hits Paco like a sledgehammer, his composure lost for a brief moment. “I did not know this. This is bad, very bad.”[/sblock]



"Yes,"  responded Supervisor Mills, "it's quite bad and it's quite puzzling.  Do you remember anything about Mr. Longfellow--something he may have said or did--that might explain his strange behavior?"


----------



## The Shaman (Nov 9, 2005)

[sblock]The memory of the dying man’s words runs like a cold chill across Paco’s neck, and he shivers slightly at the sound of Longfellow’s voice in his head.

“He said we are all going to die down there.” The words hang in the air. “I do not know why. He sounded so - ” the mountaineer looks straight into Mills’ eyes “ - so certain, almost as if he had foreseen it.”[/sblock]


----------



## Morpheus (Nov 9, 2005)

Martin walks out the door-puzzled as to why the police would want him to remain in New York until further notice.


----------



## Job (Nov 11, 2005)

Another question for Paco...
[sblock]







			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> The memory of the dying man’s words runs like a cold chill across Paco’s neck, and he shivers slightly at the sound of Longfellow’s voice in his head.
> 
> “He said we are all going to die down there.” The words hang in the air. “I do not know why. He sounded so - ” the mountaineer looks straight into Mills’ eyes “ - so certain, almost as if he had foreseen it.”



Upon hearing Paco's words, Detective Hansen stood and walked to the table, mouth slightly open, staring at Paco.  After a few seconds, he said, "Mr. Guerini, I believe that Lawrence knew something, but I don't know exactly what it means and I don't know where it came from.  In his jacket we found..."

"J.J.!", interrupted Supervisor Mills, stepping directly in front of the Detective.  "What are you doing?  We can't yet divulge any..."

"Yes, John," said the Detective in a raised voice, coldly staring at the policeman, "I absolutely can if I think that it will help this case!  And *DAMN* it, we're getting nowhere right now!"   

The two men stared at each other for a few long moments, then Detective Hansen finally turned, looked at Paco, and began speaking again in a much lower and calmer voice.  "In Lawrence's jacket we found a piece of paper.  This one," he said as he gingerly retrieved a folded note from his jacket pocket.  He carefully unfolded the paper and looked at it, saying "Scrawled on the paper is this strange, incomplete poem:"  

"Deep in my dream the great bird whispered queerly 
Of the black cone amid the polar waste;
Pushing above the ice-sheet lone and drearly,
By storm-crazed aeons battered and defaced.
Hither no living earth-shapes take their courses,
And only pale auroras and faint suns
Glow on that pitted rock, whose primal sources
Are guessed at dimly by the..."

"And it just ends there.  The writer's shaky handwriting trails off, never to finish the verse,"   said the Detective as he returned his gaze back up into Paco's eyes.  "Is there anything in that writing that means anything at all to you, Mr. Guerini?  If so, please tell me."[/sblock]


----------



## Taokan (Nov 13, 2005)

Once again Camille was in the line for the front desk, though hopefully in the intervening hours the last clerk had left; although she had removed any and all remains from dinner, (including all doodads/makeup and the hideous dress) there was a chance she's still be recognized. "Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, but I am looking for Monsieur Starkweather; I need to speak with him. Is he still around this area, or must I go to his room?" 

This would only work if Starkweather was still in the general area, or if the clerk finally gave out Starkweather's room number. Camille snorted derisively. What were they expecting, an assassination attempt? In any case, if this truly didn't work, she could always scour the hotel for him, though knocking on every door didn't sound appealing.


----------



## The Shaman (Nov 14, 2005)

*The interrogation continues...*

Paco...[sblock]Paco reaches for the slip of paper tentatively, dreading what he will find scribbled in the dead man’s hand. The words stab at his soul.

Taking a deep breath, Paco hands the page back to Hansen. “I do not know what it means, _señors_,” the mountaineer replies quietly. “A dark cone in a frozen waste could be a volcano perhaps, or simply a mountain. Had the man - ” he hesitates to say the name of the deceased “ - had _Señor_ Longfellow been on another expedition with _Señor_ Starkweather?”

Paco takes a sip of water from the sweating glass on the table. “It has been a difficult evening, and I have preparations to make for our journey, maps to study, supplies to order.” He picks up his passport and letter and stuffs them in a pocket. When he is finally excused, he heads for the door, then looks at Detective Hansen. “If I find anything - ” he chooses his words carefully “odd, I may call you?”

Once back in his room, Paco slips in as quietly as possible to avoid disturbing Vittorio and crawls into bed.[/sblock]


----------



## The Shaman (Nov 14, 2005)

*The next day...*

The morning sun is a relief to Paco as he hastily dons his clothing and catches a cab outside the hotel. “American Museum of Natural History, _por favor, señor_” he says. His wonder at the immensity of the city is dulled this new day as the taxi turns up Central Park West on its way to 77th Street. Even the greenery of the verdant park doesn’t tempt the Chilean’s eye.

The imposing pale gray edifice of the museum comes into view and the cab deposits the mountaineer before the steps of the learned institution. Walking through the high archway, Paco searches for an information desk. Introducing himself, he asks if he may speak with a geographer or geologist.


----------



## Job (Nov 16, 2005)

Taokan said:
			
		

> "Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, but I am looking for Monsieur Starkweather; I need to speak with him. Is he still around this area, or must I go to his room?"
> 
> This would only work if Starkweather was still in the general area, or if the clerk finally gave out Starkweather's room number. Camille snorted derisively. What were they expecting, an assassination attempt? In any case, if this truly didn't work, she could always scour the hotel for him, though knocking on every door didn't sound appealing.



A young desk clerk, bedecked in burgundy, smiled and responded, "Mr. Starkweather?  I'm afraid that I don't know, Ma'am.  Would you like me to ring his room for you?"  The clerk, and his smile, patiently waited for your answer.


----------



## Job (Nov 16, 2005)

Paco recieves an answer.[sblock]







			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> Taking a deep breath, Paco hands the page back to Hansen. “I do not know what it means, _señors_,” the mountaineer replies quietly. “A dark cone in a frozen waste could be a volcano perhaps, or simply a mountain. Had the man - ” he hesitates to say the name of the deceased “ - had _Señor_ Longfellow been on another expedition with _Señor_ Starkweather?”



Supervisor Mills clears his throat, then answers "According to Starkweather, Mr. Longfellow accompanied him on one other expedition.  In 1928, Longfellow served as mechanic on the _Italia _ expedition to the Arctic Circle."



			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> When [Paco] is finally excused, he heads for the door, then looks at Detective Hansen. “If I find anything - ” he chooses his words carefully “odd, I may call you?”



"Yes, Mr. Guerini, I would appreciate hearing back from you," Detective Hansen said.  He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a handful of items, fumbling and dropping some of them to the floor.  He squatted and retrieved his pen and a pack of matches, then stood and smiled, handing you a printed card...


J.J. HANSEN
Detective
New York Police Department​
"On the back is my phone number if you need to reach me, Mr. Guerini,"  he said as he reached out to shake your hand.  "Thank you."[/sblock]


----------



## Bobitron (Nov 16, 2005)

Vittorio spends the majority of his time in his room, scrutinizing the blueprints of whatever gear the expedition intends to bring he can get his hands on. He contacts shops in the area to see if additional spare parts can be found for any of the tool kits and equipment the team will take.


----------



## Taokan (Nov 16, 2005)

"Mr. Starkweather? I'm afraid that I don't know, Ma'am. Would you like me to ring his room for you?" 

Well, that was easier than I expected. At least one thing was going according to plan tonight. "Oui, vous remercier monsi- Er, thank you, sir. That would be fine. Please tell him that I wish to give him his letter now." 

Sitting herself down on one of the nearby lounge chairs, Camille readied herself for a long wait; Starkweather might not be finished with own interrogation, afterall.


----------



## Job (Nov 17, 2005)

The Newspapers Report the News!


----------



## Job (Nov 19, 2005)

The Shaman said:
			
		

> The morning sun is a relief to Paco as he hastily dons his clothing and catches a cab outside the hotel.



Paco emerges from the front entrance of the Amherst Hotel, raising his face to enjoy the sun...
...and is immediately surrounded by reporters and cameramen, all shouting and vying for his attention.  "Mr. Guerini, can we get a few words?"   "Mr. Guerini, Mr. Guerini!  What happened last night?"   "Mr. Guerini, where were you when the gunman rushed the stage?"

When Paco opens his mouth, intending to ask them to allow him to pass, he sees a forest of pencils positioned over notepads, ready to write.  With every change of expression or turn of his head, a cluster of camera shutters snap.  When Paco moves three paces, the mob moves with him.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## Job (Nov 19, 2005)

Taokan said:
			
		

> The lobby clerk responds "Mr. Starkweather? I'm afraid that I don't know, Ma'am. Would you like me to ring his room for you?"
> 
> Well, that was easier than I expected. At least one thing was going according to plan tonight. "Oui, vous remercier monsi- Er, thank you, sir. That would be fine. Please tell him that I wish to give him his letter now."



The desk clerk picks up the telephone receiver, identifies himself to the hotel switchboard operator, and waits.  After about ten seconds, he speaks into the telephone while looking at Camillle, "Yes, Mr. Starkweather?  This is Daniel at the lobby desk.  I am sorry to interrupt you, but I have a young woman in the lobby who would like to speak with you."  He listens for a moment, then says, "Yes.  Certainly, Mr. Starkweather."

The desk clerk then asks Camille, "Madame?  Could I please have your name?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


----------



## Taokan (Nov 19, 2005)

Of course the clerk would ask her name. Deciding that the night was finally going well was synonymous with flashing a rude gesture at the universe and questioning its relationship with it's mother; it was expected that fate would immediately retaliate for it.

Briefly weighing the pros and cons of saying that her name was either Mrs. Lockhart or her true name, Camille figured that it couldn't be tany more disastrous either way, so why not? "Je suis Camille Claud Bardier, monsieur." Grinning cheekily, Camille repeated, "Inform him that I wish to give him my letter now."


----------



## The Shaman (Nov 19, 2005)

Paco’s eyes widen at the mob of reporters and photographers outside the hotel. He glances about for a taxi, then hustles his way through the throng, ignoring the insistent questions.

Once safely inside the cab, he takes a deep breath before giving the driver his destination. _How did they know who I was?_ he wonders.


----------



## Job (Nov 21, 2005)

Taokan said:
			
		

> Briefly weighing the pros and cons of saying that her name was either Mrs. Lockhart or her true name, Camille figured that it couldn't be tany more disastrous either way, so why not? "Je suis Camille Claud Bardier, monsieur." Grinning cheekily, Camille repeated, "Inform him that I wish to give him my letter now."



Daniel, the lobby desk clerk, speaks into the telephone for a moment, then turns and offers the telephone to Camille, saying, "Mr. Starkweather would like to speak with you, mademoiselle."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Job (Nov 22, 2005)

The Shaman said:
			
		

> The morning sun is a relief to Paco as he hastily dons his clothing and catches a cab outside the hotel. “American Museum of Natural History, _por favor, señor_” he says.
> ...
> The imposing pale gray edifice of the museum comes into view and the cab deposits the mountaineer before the steps of the learned institution.



While Paco exits his cab, he notices another cab arriving just behind his.  As he walks towards the museum, the door of that cab opens and out steps a reporter and photographer that he recognizes from earlier that morning at the hotel.



			
				The Shaman said:
			
		

> Walking through the high archway, Paco searches for an information desk. Introducing himself, he asks if he may speak with a geographer or geologist.



After the clerk learns of Paco's involvement with the Starkweather-Moore Expedition, she uses her telephone and, a minute later, informs Paco that "Dr. Wingate will be down momentarily to see you."   

A few minutes later, an elderly bespectacled gentleman in a grey, tweed suit arrives at the desk and introduces himself as Dr. Charles Wingate, the director of the geology department at the museum.  He leads Paco towards his office, away from the interruptions of the reporter in the museum lobby, and says "This is an extraordinary pleasure, Mr. Guerini!  How may I help?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Taokan (Nov 22, 2005)

"Mr. Starkweather would like to speak with you, mademoiselle."

Taking the phone with a murmered "Merci," Camille smirked as she placed the earpiece at her ear. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Starkweather. I did not wish to disturb you before the morning, but.. I trust you remember me? Or perhaps you remember me from the party?"


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## Job (Nov 24, 2005)

Bobitron said:
			
		

> Vittorio spends the majority of his time in his room, scrutinizing the blueprints of whatever gear the expedition intends to bring he can get his hands on. He contacts shops in the area to see if additional spare parts can be found for any of the tool kits and equipment the team will take.



After studying all documentation that was sent with his acceptance package, it becomes clear to Vittorio that he needs more.  He needs equipment manifests, inventories, and brand and model numbers.  He needs to examine the unique equipment that was developed specifically for the expedition.  He must visit the docks and get a look at the ship itself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Job (Nov 24, 2005)

Taokan said:
			
		

> "Mr. Starkweather would like to speak with you, mademoiselle."
> 
> Taking the phone with a murmered "Merci," Camille smirked as she placed the earpiece at her ear. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Starkweather. I did not wish to disturb you before the morning, but.. I trust you remember me? Or perhaps you remember me from the party?"



"Hello Miss Bardier.  Yes, I recall our brief meeting the other night very well.  Very well indeed.  The lobby clerk said that you'd like to speak with me?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Taokan (Nov 24, 2005)

"Very good. I was hoping that you would recall me." Clutching the straps of her bag in one white-knuckled hand, Camille casually remarked, "If you recall our first meeting face-to-face, I might call to mind the first time I spoke with you via post? If you do not, perhaps this will refresh your memory, Monsieur..."

Swiftly rummaging through the well-worn leather bag, Starkweather's rejection letter was removed from the depths of cracked cow-hide. "Ah, here we are. I believe you referred to me as 'a woman to be reckoned with'? Surely you recognize your own rejection letter?"

"Well, I had come to conclusion after perusing that truly inspirational piece of literature that perhaps you did not properly grasp my skills (understandable, I'm sure). And drawing from that conclusion, I decided to present myself to you, so that you might be able to come to well-informed decision based upon personal facts and evidence."

Pausing thoughtfully, Camille reluctantly added, "...Perhaps I should tell you the rest this in private, Monsieur. I wouldn't wish this fine desk clerk to be hanging unto my every word when I could tell you alone. I could also take that opportuninty to show you my own response to your truly motivating letter, Monsieur."


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## Job (Nov 24, 2005)

Taokan said:
			
		

> "...I decided to present myself to you, so that you might be able to come to well-informed decision based upon personal facts and evidence."
> 
> Pausing thoughtfully, Camille reluctantly added, "...Perhaps I should tell you the rest this in private, Monsieur. I wouldn't wish this fine desk clerk to be hanging unto my every word when I could tell you alone. I could also take that opportuninty to show you my own response to your truly motivating letter, Monsieur."



As tinny as the sound emitted from the telephone was, a soft chuckle could clearly be discerned.  "Oh Miss Bardier, I must admit that you have not disappointed me!  Tonight however, I must ask your pardon, Miss Bardier.  It has been a very trying evening and I'm afraid that I would not be pleasant company.  I also have an early morning appointment with two very determined police detectives.

"If you would indulge me, I ask that you join me for dinner tomorrow evening.  Say, at 6pm?  I'll have some food brought up to my room and at that time, I'd be more than happy to discuss your finer talents.  Will you join me?  Room 1450."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Taokan (Nov 24, 2005)

"If you would indulge me, I ask that you join me for dinner tomorrow evening. Say, at 6pm? I'll have some food brought up to my room and at that time, I'd be more than happy to discuss your finer talents. Will you join me? Room 1450."

"Of course I will come. I shall wait with bated breath, I assure you. Bonsoir, Monsieur." Handing the phone back to the clerk with a beaming grin, Camille headed upstairs to relax in a warm bath with a fine magazine article discussing the finer points of airplanes and derigibles.


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## Taokan (Nov 24, 2005)

****Six PM the next evening at room 1450****

Well, this was different. Camille had hoped to get her meeting with Starkweather over as soon as possible so there was more time to purchase supplies, but obviously the man was dead set on delaying her. Hopefully this would be a fairly short meeting. But that was most likely a vain hope. With her luck, the ceiling would fall in on Starkweather's head, causing the police to arrest her on assault charges.

Tap tap. "Monsieur Starkweather? Monsieur?" Knocking slightly harder, the pilot rasised her voice, "Am I on time, Monsieur?"


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## Morpheus (Nov 24, 2005)

Martin outside the hotel and hails a cab. 
"To the docks please."


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## Job (Nov 26, 2005)

Morpheus said:
			
		

> Martin outside the hotel and hails a cab.
> "To the docks please."



OOC - Martin's exploits are to be continued in the Chapter 1 thread.


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## Job (Nov 26, 2005)

Taokan said:
			
		

> ****Six PM the next evening at room 1450****
> ...
> Tap tap. "Monsieur Starkweather? Monsieur?" Knocking slightly harder, the pilot rasised her voice, "Am I on time, Monsieur?"



Moments later the door opens and reveals a smiling James Starkweather, casually dressed in dark brown slacks, a beige collared shirt, and brown loafers.  "Ah, the mysterious Miss Bardier.  You do look a bit different this evening.  Have you changed your hair?  But, my manners!  Please!  Do come in!"

James leads Camille into a spacious suite of rooms that are literally crammed with printed information.  Most of the surfaces in his sitting room are covered with newspapers, telegrams, and other bits of paper, while photographs in frames on cork boards lean against the walls.  All of these feature the expedition, including one board with dozens of small photos of men;  most of the information, however, appears to focus on Starkweather himself.

"Please excuse my stacks of research.  I'm afraid that my preparations for the expedition don't leave me much time for putting it all out of sight."   James transfers the piles of typed papers adorning the sitting room table and chairs to a nearby couch.  "I hope that you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty of ordering us a bit of food.  It should be here momentarily."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Taokan (Nov 27, 2005)

Pasting her patented Prospective-Employer(tm) smile on her face, Camille refrained from any habitual urge for European greetings (they usually dismayed foreigners) "Ah, the mysterious Miss Bardier. You do look a bit different this evening. Have you changed your hair? But, my manners! Please! Do come in!"

Momentarily confused at the mention of her hair, Camille almost raised a hand to check to see if she still *had* hair, but stilled it before the appendage even twitched at the completion of that thought: she wasn't wearing the wig anymore. Shaking her head in the negative, the pilot hastily ad-libbed a half-truth. "No, no, Monsieur. It most likely looked different under the lighting." Well, the wig *had* looked different from her natural hair under the light.

Obedientally following the expedition leader into the suite, Camille curiously eyed the stacks of paper scattered about until Starkweather busied himself sweeping them onto the nearby sofa. "Please excuse my stacks of research. I'm afraid that my preparations for the expedition don't leave me much time for putting it all out of sight." "No, it is quite alright. I usually end up sleeping on the floor as my own bed is covered with research.

After completing rearaging the piles to the couch, Starkweather returns his attention to Camille, who hastily reapplied her polite smile. "I hope that you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty of ordering us a bit of food. It should be here momentarily."  Absently shaking her head as she sat herself down on the edge of one of chairs, Camille responded, "Not at all. Whatever you ordered is fine. I didn't eat dinner yet anyway; I have a small appetite in the evenings and I didn't want to spoil it."

"So ah, Mon- Mr. Starkweather," Pausing momentarilly in mid sentence, Camille silently cursed the unwritten rules of engagement: Never mix business with pleasure; if you must, do it subtly. Why oh why, did Turiau demand she take a six week course on etiquette? So, raggedly picking up the sentence where she left it, Camille finished, "how is the preparation going for the expedition? I'm understandably interested."


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## Job (Dec 4, 2005)

Taokan said:
			
		

> "So ah, Mon- Mr. Starkweather," Pausing momentarilly in mid sentence, Camille silently cursed the unwritten rules of engagement: Never mix business with pleasure; if you must, do it subtly. Why oh why, did Turiau demand she take a six week course on etiquette? So, raggedly picking up the sentence where she left it, Camille finished, "how is the preparation going for the expedition? I'm understandably interested."



"Preparations are proceeding nicely, Miss Bardier,"" said James Starkweather.  "Thank you for asking.  Dr. Moore has been meticulously organizing the materials at the dock and most crates have arrived.  We're on track for our departure on September 14th."

There is a knock at the door and James brightened, saying "Ah!  That must be our food!  Excuse me for a moment."   He disappeared down his hallway and, moments later, a hotel waiter entered pushing in a cart laden with numerous covered dishes, a bottle of white wine resting in ice, wine glasses and a small box.  An enticing aroma filled the room and made your mouth water.  James tipped the waiter as he departed, then uncovered two plates of sizzling steaks, baked potatoes, and asparagus, carefully setting each plate on the table in front of a chair.  

He pulled a chair from the table and said "For you, Madame,"  as motioned for you to be seated.  He awaited you to move to your place, then gently pushed your chair in and circled around the table and sat down.  "Bon appetite!"  he said with a smile as he uncorked and poured the Chardonney.  He then lifted his glass with a twinkle in his eye, and said "A toast!  To the mysteries and challenges that lie ahead of us!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Job (the tortured one).


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## Taokan (Dec 9, 2005)

Eyes sparkiling in delight, Camille raised her glass as well, completing the toast. She had not had a good chance opportunity to enjoy a good glass of Chardonnay since her last visit to the Burgundy region in France. Though it was a bit confusing how nice Starkweather was being. Perhaps he was only insufferable at long range. Though this had better not be an attempt to get her drunk and boot her out of the room. Camille had a good tolerance for alcohol and could, under the right conditions, drink a sailor under the table. Granted, the sailor had to be partially drunk already, but the metaphore still stands.

While passing part of the dinner in an approximation of idle conversation, Camille's mind whirred, trying to locate a diplomatic way to broach the topic of joining the expedition. Oh, to hades with etiquette. 

Unconsiously leaning forward slightly, Camille launched into the topic with enthusiasm. "Monsieur, I imagine you've been waiting for me to broach this topic... I know you refused my application when I submitted it, but with all due respect, you could not have properly perused it. I am better qualified than many male pilots, and I have been to Antartica already, for months at a time; you can't argue that I don't properly grasp the situation. My being a woman isn't even part of the equation; I've never, barring present company, been treated as such, nor do I think of myself as one during trips."

Taking a sustaining sip of wine, Camille barreled on, "In all humility, I simply don't understand how you could reject me without weakening your team."


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## Job (Dec 22, 2005)

Taokan said:
			
		

> Unconsiously leaning forward slightly, Camille launched into the topic with enthusiasm. "Monsieur, I imagine you've been waiting for me to broach this topic... I know you refused my application when I submitted it, but with all due respect, you could not have properly perused it. I am better qualified than many male pilots, and I have been to Antartica already, for months at a time; you can't argue that I don't properly grasp the situation. My being a woman isn't even part of the equation; I've never, barring present company, been treated as such, nor do I think of myself as one during trips."
> 
> Taking a sustaining sip of wine, Camille barreled on, "In all humility, I simply don't understand how you could reject me without weakening your team."



James Starkweather quietly chewed his bite of food while watching Camille, letting the silence hang in the room.  When he had finished swallowing, he slowly reached for his glass of wine, swirled the amber liquid and took a sip, then returned the glass to the table.  

He finally gazed back at Camille and calmly said "Miss Bardier, I do believe that you've misinterpreted my response.  Please allow me to clarify my position.  An expedition to the Antarctic is a deadly serious undertaking.  I go there not to satisfy my ego",  he said with a perfect look of sincerity, "nor to prove the dominance of the male species, but rather to extend the knowledge of humankind.  To answer the gauntlet thrown down by a harsh and unforgiving Mother Nature and to succeed where others have failed.   

"As the originator and commander of this expedition, I have the full burden of responsibility for the lives of every individual who sets foot on that ship and who later dares tread the treacherous ice at the dark end of the earth.  I take that responsibility very seriously indeed, Miss Bardier.  

"My decision to reject your noteworthy application had as much to do with maintaining order amongst a crew of over fifty hardened men on a extended, cold journey as it did with the considerations of the toll that the elements and stresses would place upon a woman's biological and psychological makeup.  I have journeyed alongside determined women in the past, Miss Bardier.  You would not be the first.  And while those expeditions ended in success, I'm afraid that they were always fraught with the tension that develops between the sexes. 

James stared unflinchlingly into Camille's eyes and said "I'm afraid that I cannot introduce such risks on this adventure;  an adventure to an admitted deathtrap.  Too many men have already died on that godforsaken continent and I cannot willingly subject my crew to any additional uncontrollable forces or stresses.  I hope you can appreciate my concerns, and my decision."

He then paused and waited for Camille's response.


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## Taokan (Dec 23, 2005)

Camille raised a dark eyebrow. “So you’re saying your entire argument against my going is because I might create some sort of… sexual tension? Like in those stuffy romantic novels ma Tante Aimee read?”

Camille resisted the urge to snicker. "My dear monsieur, you must be laboring under a false conclusion. With all due modesty, I am not a raving beauty comparable to Aphrodite, nor do I have any of the undoubtedly sterling qualities that generally attract the male species, whatever those may be.”

“I am not some sort of delicate, willing maid waiting for courting so I can breed a gaggle of subserviant children. I am caustic, pessimistic, cynical, and focused primarily on my job. I never have and never will encourage romantic relationships or the equivalent. I leave that sort of thing for vacations in the southern United States, not Antarctica."

“I may not know much about the male psychology, but what could possibly be the motivation for falling in lust with a woman who not only is at best moderately attractive, but could really care less about the contents of your trousers as long as you can work well? In the Arctic, no less?”

This time the corners of her mouth couldn’t resist crinkling in a smirk. “Besides… I am not above a swift kick to the groin to get my point across in such situations, Monsieur. I understand it is quite effective for dulling any amorous feelings.”


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