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Dec. 6th, 2015



Christmas will be here soon, and that means you ought to buy something strange for a loved one. Featured items at the Repose Antique Store this week include:

A set of turn-of-the-century silver flatware that will cost you less to take home than its original owner paid her maid to polish it.

A very fine plique-à-jour enamel bottle.

A doll, as-is, with a bisque head I would very much not like to see looking at me from the shelf anymore, and will part with for an excellent price as a result.

Intrigued? We are open until 8 AM - 5 PM on weekdays, and 10 AM - 3 PM on Saturday. Appointments outside regular hours available by request. Get what you want now, or the next hipster girl in from the capitol will get to it first.

[OOC note regarding linked objects. More information on these two objects in that post. The other items on the 'For Sale' post are available by walk-in to the antique store.]

Nov. 28th, 2015


Leah & Hunter: Roadhouse

Who: Leah and Hunter
What: Family reunion. With liquor.
When: Immediately post-holiday
Where: The Roadhouse
Warnings: TBD - language, maybe

No one in the bar at the edge of town was pretending this was just a pause in the familial celebrations, that they would shortly return to a table wreathed in people: laughter and candlelight and food and behaving exactly the way Hollywood told them to do. Leah loved Hollywood for its simplicity: she liked silver and gray screen sirens, the ease with which men and women fell into roles as clear-cut as glass, the neat way the script ran along its track and beauty and wit always won out. But she didn't like Hollywood's template for holidays. It made it even less true than Hollywood was already - cellulose tissue, fragmented and easily torn.

What Leah liked most about cities was that they didn't sleep. They didn't drowse into evenings, the sky seeping into pitch and the heartbeat sluggish. They didn't care if it was Christmas or Easter, and they didn't give a damn about church. Holidays were easily avoided in the city, or enjoyed expensively: a silk gown, a clutch, drinking a martini alone at a bar where she knew she wouldn't have to buy another drink herself.

This one had almost gone completely before she had forgotten how to breathe: she'd drawn the swagged, flowered curtains tight across the window of the B and B's prim and proper bedroom and watched (with determination) the television set until the holiday took over that, too. The walls were closing in, their determined, cheerful sprigged-flower pattern designed to drive her demented, and Leah crammed a hat over loose hair, shrugged into her coat and fled, the holiday music by the front desk spurring her heels.

The men in the Roadhouse weren't her type. Not that her type was likely to turn up anyway in a small town that was too small to show up on a map, because Leah's type was carelessly wealthy in an Upper East Side way. But the men in the Roadhouse that night were here to drink because they didn't want to be with their small-town families and that was somehow all the more depressing when they lived somewhere you were supposed to want that kind of thing.

Leah ignored all of them, slid onto a seat at the bar, and ordered neat whiskey over ice, kid-gloved hands wrapped around her glass, with her thumbs crossed over one over the other. They were thin, those gloves and they were shell-pink and they were incongruous with charcoal thin cashmere worn loose over the kind of denim that cost three hundred dollars in tiny boutique stores with snotty assistants. It was about as far from silk dresses and unobtrusive jazz music as it was possible to get, and she contemplated her glass with a grim set to the curve of her jaw that was lost on most of the men loading up before they headed home to their wives, kids, and turkey entrails.

Nov. 27th, 2015


roadhouse: graham & leah

Who: Graham and Leah.
What: Stuff. Things
Where: The Roadhouse.
When: Nowish.
Warnings/Ratings: Uh probably none idk.

Graham worked nights, mostly. Dusk to dawn. More to secure the cemetery against then, people trying to sneak in, kids, ne'er-do-wells, sometimes he'd have a day shift every now and then but it wasn't very common. No, days he slept some or worked on fixing up his house. Went for walks in the woods. Or, like today, he found himself someplace quiet to drink.

Booze, he could take or leave. But when the living and the dead were real set on talking and existing in his space, well, he liked to clear it out. Recharge. Out at the Roadhouse he'd find himself a corner, and nobody bothered him much so long and he didn't bother nobody. Quiet, he was good at that. Too good, maybe, he knew looking too long and too hard without words could make people uncomfortable sometimes. Not that he meant to stare, yeah? But some folks had the dead at their shoulders and he couldn't help it. Ain't like he'd asked to see what most couldn't.

But yeah, a nice corner, a glass of watery whiskey, and Graham just watched. People came in, sat at the bar, played pool, and left. Sometimes he made eye contact, sometimes he tried to smile. Mostly, he just observed.

Nov. 19th, 2015


Eddie & Leah: I see dead people

Who: Eddie and Leah
What: Death touch. It's a thing.
When: Maybe day after ~introductions.
Warnings: Nada

The graveyard was exactly where she'd left it.

Leah thought of the town like a little girl might think of a long forgotten jewellery box, left behind in a closet in a house she'd outgrown. It had some things, buried deep within the lining that were worth memory and might, if it was simply a matter of moments or steps between door and closet, be worth going back for. But the rest of the clutter in the bottom of the box wasn't worth it and some of what was buried underneath that little girl preferred to leave locked and behind several sets of closed doors. Repose was very good at keeping secrets locked where they should be, by virtue of its isolation from anything resembling a metropolis within an hour's limit. But it was very bad, as Leah had learned as soon as she'd been old enough to put words and whispers together, at holding onto secrets within its streets.

She wasn't going back to the diner on Main, even if it had changed ownership. The blue paint and flowers out front was a gaudy memory of being stood at her mother's side, small (dirty) hand in hers and watching her mother's face slide from patience to bewilderment as the staff deliberately ignored her waiting for a table-top amid the whispers and faint, only half-hidden laughter of people let out after church. She skirted the church itself: it had faint glimmers of painted gilt in a memory. The music had been worth it. The coffee klatch afterward, not so much.

But no one in Repose, as far as Leah remembered, bothered with the graves. Beside the groundskeepers of the small cemetery. It wasn't reason enough to come to the plot bristling with headstones like lopsided, greying teeth in a gaping mouth on its own. She wasn't that far gone, even if her skin prickled as she walked down the center of town, certain it was too easy to peel off a little laquered polish acquired in ten years and find nothing but a Reed underneath.

No, she was looking for names on the stones. One, in particular. In the gloam of the evening slipping cleanly into night, she was a slim neat figure in good-quality clothes and shoes that didn't exactly go: they were neither high-heeled, nor fashionable but had the virtue of being soft-soled and quiet. She wore a jacket, and the fingertips that slid over stone after stone, were neatly gloved. Kid-leather, expensive and thin enough that no doubt whatever the gloved fingers ran over, it could be felt beneath, but a clear and discernible boundary between the wearer and the object.

She circled the plot at least twice, and in the absence of finding what she was clearly looking for, returned to a crop of stones that looked functional rather than expensive, and slid to her knees in front of the first and newest.

Nov. 18th, 2015



how come hot new sheriff didn't visit the b&b? we're a fine, upstanding establishment.

Nov. 17th, 2015



dead serious: first person to bring me a real cheeseburger (with mayo, you fuckin heathens) drinks free here for the rest of the night

not a joke

(don't tell my boss)



A scarf was lost last night, perhaps near the movie theatre.

Blue and grey. Wool.

If anyone has seen it, I would appreciate it being returned.

Thank you.

Nov. 16th, 2015



Stay far, far away from the lake.

Nov. 13th, 2015



Where's a good place to find something to eat that isn't pie?