silentspringlogs | (no subject)

Who: Norton Folgate and Open
When: February
Where: Various (Listed under the cut)
Open/Closed: Open
Applicable Warnings: TDM warnings apply

A. Smoke gets in your eyes: Haven Street

Norton lived through the Blitz, so smoke, checkpoints, and ~~Home Guard~~ civil defense out doesn't strike him as outrageously odd, but it does make him think there's probably something very interesting going on, especially since as far as he's aware, Sweetwater isn't being bombed or under imminent threat of invasion. He'll walk past the checkpoints daily, but doesn't try to cross. He'll strike up conversation with anyone else who might be lingering nearby, however.

And as the week goes on, with access to the market and, more importantly, the local diners cut off, Norton quickly starts to run out of food, or at least out of any food he's capable of making into something. He's never kept much on hand since his cooking skills are meagre at best. So he knocks on his neighbour's door, holding a small basket on his arm. When it opens, he doesn't waste time with pleasantries.

"I've a half cup of sugar, three tomatoes, and and a tin of condensed milk."

B. Everybody's somebody's fool: Marjorie's cocktail party

Norton knows how to dress for a cocktail party and he'll show up in a proper dinner jacket, his hair slicked with pomade. The suit he found in his closet isn't quite the cut he's used to--boxier than what he'd find at a London department store--but he thinks he makes it look good.

He smiles brightly and strikes up conversation with anyone nearby. After two cocktails, he starts to get a bit giggly besides, but his eyes stay sharp.

He's visibly a bit judgmental of people who aren't dressed well, looking them over with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips of disapproval. Just because they're trapped in a suburbia of evil, that's no good reason to be unfashionable. In fact, in a suburbia of evil where fitting in is essential to ones well-being, Norton thinks being fashionable is a survival skill.

C. Don't tell me why, kiss me goodbye: Norton's house

When the telly turns on by itself, Norton pays close attention to what's on the screen. Every strange occurrence is a clue and it's increasingly clear they aren't random. But then the woman's face shifts, becomes the face of a handsome Black man in a fedora and good suit. The sight of him makes Norton inhale sharply in surprise. After the initial shock, his lips thin and his jaw tightens and he refuses to have any further reaction than that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( following this exploration late in January... )

Player characters may notice, at various points in the party, that the town private practice doctor, Norman Pollock, is in attendance as well. He spends a notable amount of time interacting with Marjorie, laughing over cocktails–they certainly seem to know each other, and even appear to be friends. At some points, he can be overheard addressing her as Marge.

For all of the ominousness of his warnings to Norton, he does acknowledge his presence at the party with eye contact and a polite but not forced smile, lifting his drink slightly in greeting before returning to the conversation at hand.

Norton flashes a smile back and waits for Norman to be otherwise not engaged in conversation before approaching.

"Nice to see you again, Doctor Pollock. Mrs. Taylor's really outdone herself this time. Splendid party. And perfect timing, too. I was getting terribly lonely rattling around in my big house all alone."

"Nice to see you, too, Norton. She sure has. Marge has always been real... she was born to be a hostess or an entertainer of some kind. Larger than life." He shifts his weight to one hip, taking a drag from his cigarette and adding offhandedly, "—You know, a man like you could really benefit from the company of a dog. I know a guy whose beagle just had puppies, if you're interested."

"Sounds as if you and Mrs. Taylor go way back."

At the mention of beagle puppies, Norton lights up, temporarily distracted from strategic flirtation.

"I had a dachshund back--" Before he was kidnapped here. But he obviously can't say that to Norman's face in the middle of a party. "--back in London. Her owner tragically passed away so I took her in." Everything about those two sentences is technically true, while leaving out so many details as to be wildly misleading, but polite conversation is often like that.

"When I first acquired her I had a roommate to help me care for her, though." His boyfriend, but they did live together so calling him a roommate is yet another true but wildly misleading statement. "What about you, Doctor? Who do you have to keep you from being lonely? Wife? Dog? Roommate?"

"Dog." He says it conversationally: right you are, Norton. "His name is Clancy, he's a Welsh Springer Spaniel. —you know, even without a roommate, I think a dog would do fine. You set up a playpen for them when they're puppies, teach them what space is yours and what's theirs. Come home during lunch, change out the puppy pads, that sort of thing. What dois it that you do, Norton? I don't believe you've ever said."

He takes a delicate sip of his cocktail. "I recently got a job at the department store, but back in England I worked for the British government. Shop attendant is a bit of a downgrade, but worth it to live here in Sweetwater. London just isn't what it used to be ever since the war."

If pretending at happy community, pretending at perfect town is important, he'll show he can be obedient. At least publicly, which, for pretend, is all that really matters, in his opinion.

"The British government. You don't say. Some kind of secret agent?" He says it like a joke, eyes crinkling at the edges—but there's a look of genuine curiosity there too as he takes a sip of his gin and tonic.

"Like Double-oh-seven? Well, I do look amazing in a tuxedo."

It isn't a yes or a no, but Norman's curiosity is itself interesting. Norton had thought the people involved would know who they're kidnapping, but if they don't...then maybe they don't quite know what's going on either and are trying to manage something not entirely in their control.

"I'm inclined to agree. You do know how to dress, Mr. Folgate. You'll give Marge a run for her money at this rate. Best not to attract too much attention, though—although it sounds like you're pretty experienced yourself in that regard."

"Oh, I'd never dream of upstaging Mrs. Taylor, especially at her own party. That would be terribly rude." He sips his cocktail with a slight smile on the edge of his lips.

"But invite me to your place for drinks some time and I could tell you all about my well-dressed work back in England."

And possibly try to seduce him, if it seems there could be a chance of it working. But even if the atmosphere stays persistently, tragically platonic, Norton's also very seriously considering telling Pollock about his work back home--protecting Britain from strange phenomena and covering it up--and see if he can have a frank discussion about what's going on in Sweetwater. Typically appearance of propriety is more important than reality, so maybe behind closed doors, where the truth won't disturb the community, he can learn something.

After all, what's the worst that could happen? (Torture. Torture is the worst that could happen.)

Norman’s eyes crinkle at the edges with a polite, understated smile. “That’s very generous of you. I might just take you up on that offer - it’s not often a man gets a chance at hosting such a distinguished guest. Though I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed to find that I’m not much of a host compared to Marjorie. She sets the standard too high for everyone else.”

"I'm sure you'd be a perfectly delightful host, doctor. Don't sell your charms short. Besides, it needn't be anything so grand at this." He gestures loosely to the large party with its perfect canapes and expertly mixed cocktails. "Just a finger of whisky and good conversation in a quiet setting."

"I'd like that. Although I'm afraid I keep gin, not whisky. How does next Friday evening sound?"

"Gin and t, then, instead of whisky and s. A liquor and a letter. Sounds absolutely dolly."

[ Continued here that very Friday... ]

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