silentspringlogs | open — an inspector calls.

Entry tags:

open — an inspector calls.

Who: Helly and YOU!
When: Last week of Christmas
Where: Your very home...
Open/Closed: Open
Applicable Warnings: n/a, will update as necessary!

You open your door to find a cheery redhead standing on your doorstep with a plate of cookies resting in the palm of her hand. If you look closely at the cookies, it's pretty obvious that they're shortbread from the store and definitely not homemade – but it's rude to stare, so don't scrutinise too closely.

"Hi!" Helly says brightly. "I'm Helly. I live on this street. I just moved here." A meaningful pause, with some deliberate emphasis on that phrase that hopefully makes sense, before she adds, "I was wondering if you wanted a cookie."

Maybe this is a little too close to the memory of the salesman for anyone's comfort, but Helly's thought about this. The only way to go door to door asking questions of people without rousing too much suspicion is to lace it thickly in the false pearly-white cheer of Sweetwater, until she can get some privacy. She rustles the cookies on the plate a little insistently, and lifts her eyebrows in what she hopes is an understandably meaningful way.

OOC — as I said in the CR meme, Helly is going door-to-door to introduce herself and try to suss out who here is in a similar boat to her. You can tag in if you'd like to meet her and thread out a conversation, OR we can just handwave that our characters have met in advance of the event!

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Norton opens the door with a bit of trepidation since everything about this town has been absolutely eerie so far. But he plasters on a bright, neighbourly smile despite his concerns.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Helly. I'm Norton Folgate." He catches the emphasis she places on certain words, the hints that she wants to talk about more than just bickies. "Also new to the neighbourhood. Oo, are those shortbread? They'd be lovely with a pot of tea. Care to pop in for a visit while I put the kettle on?" And if she tries to murder him with a kitchen knife, he has a pistol in his closet.

This is going well. Okay, it's going – fine. Helly's guard is up, since she knows for a fact that if it was her and some stranger appeared on her doorstep grinning ear-to-ear, she'd be more than incidentally suspicious. But there's only so much you can do when you don't want to arouse suspicion but you want to talk to people about... things. Certain things.

So she smiles right back, and steps into the house, carefully closing the door behind her. Still can't be absolutely certain that she's not trapped in here with one of the local bootlickers, so she eyes Norton carefully between glancing politely around his home.

"So when did you move here?"

"I...relocated here just this last month. It all came as a bit of a surprise. I'd only been to America once before, and that was many years ago, for a work trip. So this has all been a big change for me."

He keeps a bright smile on his face as he gestures for her to take a seat on the sofa.

"What about you? Where are you from, Miss Helly?"

It takes her a good few seconds to think about all that, which pass in stilted silence. He got here the same time as her; it was a bit of a surprise... All signs point to another ally, or at the very least someone who's as unfamiliar to this town as she is.

"I'm from..." A beat, as the realisation settles that she isn't sure how to answer that. "Y'know, I actually don't know. I guess America, but beyond that I have no idea. It's a long story."

Norton's eyebrows rise at her 'I don't know' to what he thought was a straight-forward question. There's a story there, he thinks.

"Do you find this place a bit odd? I mean, not like home." Odd is an understatement, but he'll couch the words in the terms of a normal, ordinary culture shock for now.

Helly's metric for odd is a little bit busted, but even she can tell that this place isn't normal. She knows what normal is because she's used to the exact opposite. And maybe that's why she feels herself talking before she's had time to couch it all in double entendre and suggestion. "It's batshit crazy here, but sure. Odd works too."

Helly's comment pulls a loud, surprised laugh out of Norton.

"So I take it you've also been forcibly pulled out of time and space to come play house in-" He twirls his hand around. "-whatever this is?"

The woman who opens the door doesn't fill the frame by half, but she nonetheless seems to block out all the light from inside the house as she scowls blandly at Helly. Her gaze cuts from the woman's face to the plate of cookies and back, clearly mistrusting what's on offer, but not yet overtly hostile.

"No, thank you," she says in a low, thickly-accented voice, but catches that pause, and meets Helly's eyes directly.

"I have also recently arrived."

Promising. She reminds Helly a little of Ms Cobel, which is certainly ominous, but maybe that's only because she seems very severe, pulled taut. Helly shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "What a coincidence," she says, her lips pressing flat in an almost-grimace. "When did you... move in?"

The redheaded woman at the door is clearly young, unsure, and-- if she is to be believed-- dealing with rather a similar situation to Agathe herself. She also, blessedly, seems to have enough sense not to say it outright.

"Recently," Agathe replies flatly, her meaning difficult to miss. "Yourself?"

"Last month. Pretty suddenly." That could mean anything, she hopes, but to aid the implication a little, she raises her eyebrows very deliberately.

The hint is taken, even if Agathe's expression doesn't change a whit.

"Would you like to come inside," she asks, with zero inflection.

"Sure," Helly says, but she isn't actually certain if she does, mostly because this lady is giving her the creeps. It's the authority figure vibe. She wouldn't be out of place on the severed floor, for sure.

"I'm Helly, by the way," she says. It's the second time she's introduced herself, but she wouldn't be getting very far in this whole 'get the lay of the land' thing if she didn't at least get everyone's names.

"Agathe," comes the stoic reply, and the woman steps back to admit Helly with a cursory glance out the front window. Once they're both inside, she closes the door carefully and turns to look at the younger woman, her face still frozen in its perpetual scowl, but with a little additional tension at the corners of her eyes.

"Are you from," she chooses her words delicately, "somewhere very different?"

Helly's shoulders sag a little with relief, if only because she knows Agathe isn't from here. They don't ask questions like that. They don't want to know.

"Very different." It feels like enough has been said that they understand each other, so Helly continues, only a little hesitantly, "I just wanted to know how many more of us there are."

Carefully watching Helly's reaction, a bit of tension leaves Agathe's shoulders as well, though it's barely perceptible.

"A fair few," she says in a low, conversational voice, "from what I have seen. And I believe we all arrived at once."

Numbers certainly isn't expecting any visitors. Well--perhaps not entirely the truth. Ever since finding Wrench in this God forsaken place, he's been hoping and waiting for Wrench to tell him it's go time, that there was some sort of plan in place to escape from this stupid suburban hell. So when the doorbell rings and Numbers peers out the peephole, he's surprised to see someone new. Was this another assassin, like the salesman, sent to kill him? His pistol is currently holstered at his side, hidden beneath a sports jacket. If things escalate, he at least knows now to aim for the head.

Helly can hear the shuffling of someone behind the door as Numbers debates whether to answer. Then, after a solid two minutes of silence, he opens the door, a blank expression on his face.

"A new neighbor, huh? Seems as though there's a lot of people moving into town nowadays." he says, smoothly. He glances down at the cookies, then back up at the stranger. "Why don't you come in? Maybe we could do a cookie swap. Gossip about the recent changes in the neighborhood."

After a beat, a pleasant grin stretches across his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Two minutes is a long time to be standing outside someone's door with a plate of cookies, but Helly's nothing if not determined. She can hear someone deciding on the other side of the door, which is enough to keep her rooted to the front step – she never actually considers leaving, but it does cross her mind fleetingly that she's maybe putting a target on her back with this tactic, showing her face to so many people.

He opens the door, anyway, and Helly puts her paranoia aside. Mostly. "Sure. That sounds great." It kind of does. Helly's palate is quite limited – the shortbread, she's gathered, is quite a bland cookie all told, but it's sweet and crunchy and far more interesting to her than Pretzels (Buttered) or Raisins (Shriveled). A small part of her is just curious to see what other kinds of cookies there are. "Love to gossip."

Numbers inclines his head slightly to indicate for her to enter the house. When she does, he closes the door behind him and strolls into the living room. It occurs to him that he's never actually had the experience of having people over--first, because he hasn't actually owned a house before, and second, because the only time he really lived in this kind of suburban normalcy was when he was a child. Once he was introduced to the world of crime, he was always on the move with Wrench, only staying long enough to wrap up business and return to Fargo for the next job.

The house is a bit of a mess, given that Numbers is the only person living here. Crusty bowls, plates, and half-filled cups are scattered about on any available surface. He regards Helly, smile still plastered across his face. He doesn't sit. He just stands in the middle of the living room, waiting for her to make a move.

"So," Numbers starts, "you'll have to forgive me, but I don't actually have any cookies for you. But I assume you aren't knocking on people's doors just to spread out holiday cheer."

"Oh, definitely not. I don't think I could spread holiday cheer if I tried." She sets the plate of cookies down on the nearest surface, where it's at least in friendly company. "I'm..." It has occurred to her that maybe these people are adept at pretending, at giving off the energy of someone she can trust when the reality couldn't be further from the truth. But they're just not subtle enough – at least, they haven't seemed that way to her yet. "I'm trying to scope the place out. Get a grip on who's here, who came here from... somewhere else."

That puts Numbers on alert. If she was someone from the local housing authority, surely she'd know who was new in the neighborhood, right? His eyes narrow ever so slightly. It's very likely that she's another person unsure of why or how she arrived in Sweetwater--out of time, and out of place. He's not one to elect information about himself if he can help it--not without scoping out the other party's intentions. And not until the other party has divulged what they know.

He decides to test the waters.

"Somewhere else," he repeats in an unaffected tone. "Where are you from, if I may ask?"

Helly waits a moment, letting the silence hang between them. He's said nothing that avails himself to her so far, but his casual tone is nothing like the beaming naïveté of the native townspeople. He's not looking at her like she's stupid, he's looking at her like he's trying to work her out, figure out where she stands. And honestly, she gets it. She's the one who came here, into his house, and started asking questions. If he wants to be on his guard, then that's only fair.

"Somewhere called Lumon," she says eventually. It's easier to say that than explaining any more – and anyone who recognises the name will recognise it whether she explains it or not. A beat, and then she ventures to add, "Most people haven't heard of it. But it's a long way from here. I wouldn't be able to get back there if I tried."

Numbers raises a single eyebrow when she says the name "Lumon". A town, maybe? He's been through places with stranger names. He contextualizes it with something he's familiar with, and pictures a lonely, snow-covered town in the backwoods of North Dakota. This information seems to demonstrate that she's someone from outside of this place--but is she trustworthy? That depends. Trust is a valuable resource in his line of business, one that Numbers doesn't give so easily to strangers.

His reply a simple, noncommittal "Hm." There's a brief pause as he considers what he should tell her. For a few moments, it seems as though he might not reply.

"I'm from Minnesota." Not technically a lie. He was finishing up a job before he found himself here. It's stated nonchalantly enough that anyone overhearing might be forgiven in thinking he was making light conversation. "Wasn't exactly looking to move to a different state, but sometimes, these things just happen. Not sure if I like the neighborhood, either."

The door's answered by a young woman in a plaid skirt and a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a few delicate buttons at the top, hair pulled back in a ponytail too messy to pass muster among the cheerleading set at the local high school. (All the kids here - and they are kids somehow, even the ones who're basically her age - brush their hair back until it's smooth. Beth's wisps and waves around her bangless face.) Red lipstick and two arched scars around her eyes complete the look.

Well, red lipstick, scars, and a guarded expression. She doesn't open the door any more than the width of her body. After having to take a knife to a traveling salesman, Beth's disinclined to let anyone into the house ever again.

"Right before Christmas?" is what she asks, without making room for the woman to come in.

Helly can't help but stare at the scars, with the intensity of a child who hasn't yet been told by their mother not to stare at people who look different. She doesn't mean badly by it, but there's a certain lack of self-consciousness that might be extremely uncomfortable.

She'd expected resistance, though, and doesn't mind standing out on the doorstep, at least for now. "Yep," she says, with a shrug and a self-depracating grin. "I guess it's a bad time for it, but... it wasn't exactly my decision."

It's one of those moments when Beth's glad she has long sleeves on, with cuffs that cover the scar on her wrist. She's going to have to find some bracelets for when the weather turns nicer. And maybe concealer for everything on her face - but God, how did everyone just wear that much makeup, back before the turn? Just having lipstick on is distracting, these days.

"You just...came here," she murmurs, taking in the cookies and the woman's smile and the sound of her voice. Something about her seems more connected than their neighbors - or maybe she's just hoping that's the case. Either way, it's freezing out, and in the hand hidden by the door, Beth's holding a knife. She moves out of the way to let her in. "Me, too."

As soon as Helly's over the threshold, she casts a look back over her shoulder to make sure nobody else is peering in. She shifts the plate from one hand to the other, heading a little further inside, with a look of grim apprehension on her face. She hasn't seen anyone in the town injured, and she certainly hasn't seen any of them emanating this level of caution either.

"So, feel free to tell me if I'm wrong," Helly says in a low voice. "But you were somewhere totally different before you were here, right?"

Once the woman's in the door, Beth closes it tight - God, it's cold out there. She doesn't bother hiding the knife or putting it away, letting it hang at her side like it's an extension of her hand; some part of her thinks, maybe it's better if people know she has it. (Which is crazy, you know - but then, so is getting attacked by a vacuum cleaner guy.)

Her eyes grow more intent at the question. "Atlanta. You can come in, if you're not one of them."

She's already in, technically, but Beth's walking toward the kitchen, where they can sit at the table and talk.

"Whoa." That's Helly just now noticing the knife, which freezes her in place for a moment. But she figures if she was gonna get stabbed, it would've happened already – unless Miss Atlanta is waiting to be provoked.

Helly swallows a little, and draws herself up straighter, figuring that she's just going to have to be extra careful about what she does and says going forward. She heads further inside, casting enough of a look around the place to determine that this house is pretty similar to her own – to the one she woke up in. It doesn't entirely feel like her house.

"I'm not one of them. And I think if I was, I would've dismissed you by now, right? You know how they do that? Whenever you say something weird or talk about how this place is fucked up, they ignore you, and then they talk to you like you've lost your mind?"

"Yeah." She's been cautious, talking to them, but she'd had to ask the inevitable question, where are we? to someone. Beth jerks her head toward the kitchen, waiting for the woman - not old, but solidly an adult in a way even Maggie wasn't - to go first. There's no reason to stand out here in the front hallway, if she's normal. "It's like they're looking right through you."

To what, she's not sure, but that vacuum cleaner salesman who wouldn't take no for an answer had done the same thing. "What's your name?"

"Helly." It's not the first time she's said it since she got here, but something about this situation makes her feel a little irritated by the sound of it, almost childish in its inflection. But she's not a Helena, couldn't possibly be, doesn't want to be. So Helly it is.

She heads into the kitchen, peering around again, but the layout is just as similar to the one she's used to that she figures there's nothing much worth looking at, and she doesn't actually want to snoop.

"You?"

"Beth." That "Helly" doesn't really sound like a name is something she knows better than to say, but it is weird. Maybe it's short for something embarrassing. "Are the cookies okay to eat?"

They might as well get comfortable, right?

The doorbell's answered immediately, in a series of high-pitched barks with some growling thrown in for good measure—like a miniature buzzsaw. This goes on for a minute or so, then another voice joins in, negotiating: “Hey, hey, c'mon girl.” It's smooth and pleasant, but with a desperate undercurrent that grows more pronounced the longer the barking goes on.

Finally, the barking fades and the door swings open. “Hi.” Jupe's appearance gives no hint of the commotion that preceded it: he wears a cardigan over a crisp dress shirt and slacks, along with a well-cared-for wristwatch and an easy smile. If his gaze settles on her a little longer than usual—well, who's to say? “Wow, those look good,” he says, every bit the friendly neighbor. “Why don't you come in, warm up? It's freezing out there.”

Helly grins, although there's a look of mild panic on her face that came to her at the sound of the barking and hasn't really left. She's never met a dog before. "It really is," she says agreeably, though she can't help standing up on her toes a little to look over his shoulder, as if she's going to spot a wolfhound or something blocking the space behind him. "Um, but – sorry. Is that dog... friendly, or...?"

“Possessed?” Jupe suggests with a laugh—a little more natural than his initial greeting. His gaze shifts briefly down the hall. “Nah, she's too friendly, is the problem. We're still training her.” What with waking up with a dog in the house like a week ago, and all.

“But I put her in the guest room, so the coast is clear.” Said with an inviting flourish, though he doesn't actually make an accompanying gesture.

"Okay," Helly says, and although she makes an effort to sound breezy and unaffected, she's quite relieved. The idea of her first exposure to a dog being here, right now, while it's barking? No thank you.

"So – cookie?" She offers the plate out to him. "I just got them from the store, but they're not bad."

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open — an inspector calls.

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my VERY HOME??

INDEED

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