Let's Start With Your Name

[»Blake Roberts]

Blake was feeling more than a little restless, shuffling around on her bar stool a lot. Sitting still had never been one of her strong suits, neither in her personal or professional life. But sitting still and waiting? Oooooh boy. At least when she was working or otherwise involved she didn’t so much notice that she was sitting still. But when she was waiting, all she could do was glance at her watch and count the minutes she had been sitting still for no apparent reason.

Talk about frustrating

The woman she had got to agree to an interview with was running late. And such a shame too; Blake had really been looking forward to it. This was a hard investigation to hit off on, most of the town’s folk didn’t really seem that eager to talk about the events that they’d been dealing with for a while now. Blake had managed to learn quite a bit from old paper clips and texts she’d borrowed form the library, but there was nothing like some good, old fashioned experiences. Indeed, she’d considered herself quite lucky that she’d found someone that had been willing to discuss it with her (although she couldn’t be sure if her interviewee knew exactly what she had in mind; Blake had made sure to be pretty damn vague over the phone).

However, as blessed as she had felt in the morning that feeling was starting to waver now; she disliked waiting that much.

She drained the last few drops of her beer and put the glass down on the counter right in front of her. She was wondering whether or not she should give the other woman a call, or would that seem too pushy? She didn’t want to blow the only change she’d been presented with for a while now but her only other options were waiting or leaving, and neither of them were very appealing. She sighed and raised her hand to wave over the bartender. A compromise then; she’d have another beer and if the woman still hadn’t arrived at that point she’d go back to her hotel and give her a ring.

Maybe.

Probably.

[Brynja Palasdottir]

Brynja had never been good at time-keeping, and usually it wasn't too much of a problem. After all it was only her own time she usually ended up wasting, and she had more than enough to spare. But this evening really took the biscuit, and just when she had to meet someone too.

She'd woke up about an hour ago, sprawled out against a canvas she'd been working on, and then spent the next half an hour trying to wash oil paint from her hair and off her face. By the time she had left her house and headed off into town she was already late, and without a number to ring the woman she was supposed to meet, she just had to hope the woman was still at the meeting place.

After 20 minutes walking, she had finally reached the right side-road and could see the bar insight. It was only the last few moments before she reached the door that she really got a sudden sense of doubt. What was she doing? Meeting up with some stranger from out of town, who wanted to talk to her about a few things. She'd had interviews before, but Brynja knew that this woman wasn't an art critic. She should have really asked for more details when they spoke on the phone, but she'd been caught on an off-moment, and had pretty much agreed to everything the woman had asked.

Damn her lack of sleeping pattern.

She was still wiping the sleep out of her eyes as she pushed through the door and into the warmth of the bar. Looking around for any likely suspects that matched the small description the woman had given, she noticed there was a post-it-note stuck to the bottom of her right sleeve. She pulled it off as she walked through the inside, looking at the little coded note she had left herself.

In the crook. Midnight.

Brynja cursed under her breath, and shoved the note into the black satchel she had brought with her. She was more scatter-brained than she realised. And now she was on a time limit. She flicked her hair out of her face, looking around her. There was a woman at the bar who she didn't recognise as a regular. Curiousity still aroused, and doubts put aside for the moment, she approached.

"Miss Roberts?"

[»Blake Roberts]

The bottom of that particular beer was becoming visible all to soon, at least to Blake’s liking. Setting the bottle back down on the bar she measured the remaining liquid with the fingers of her left hand. Only a index and middle finger left. Tucking her hands into the back pockets of her hands, she fought the urge to take the last gulp. You see, when Blake made a promise to herself, she made sure she stuck to that promise. She didn’t like locking herself onto a time from and so she never told herself to ‘get going in a hour’. Instead she made herself stick to otherwise related promises, like this one.

Meaning that if she didn’t finish the beer she’d never have to leave. Blake was good in cheating on herself like that. It made her life that much more flexible, and she liked flexible very much. Still, there was a problem with the fact that the beer was just really good, and she urged to finish it just because of the taste. And she couldn’t actually finish it, and that move that promise on to the next beer. No, she liked cheating on herself but she could never do the down-right betrayal thing. It was one beer, and one beer only!

Feeling more than a little bored, Blake looked her eyes on the floor below her, taking a moment to appreciate the hardwood texture and its fine mahogany colors. The thin strip of red carpet underneath the barstools was a nice touch; it made it feel very homey. One had to appreciate the finer sense of detail the people in this town seemed to share. You couldn’t go anywhere without being able to recognize a little bit of home. Good thing too. Blake probably would’ve gone mad with homesickness by now if that wasn’t the case.

"Miss Roberts?"

Blake nearly toppled off her barstool at that. Note to self; waiting for someone and then getting so caught up in your own thoughts so that that someone’s announcement nearly causes you to fall down is not the way to make a good impression. She flung out her arms to balance herself and stay up right, and then turned around in her seat to face the woman standing behind her.

“Yeah, that’d be me.” Blake replied, sizing the woman up as best as she could. “But call me Blake; miss Roberts’ my mother.” Blake dropped off her barstool and held her hand out in the woman’s direction. “You would be Brynja? Pleasure. Can I get you a drink?”

[Brynja Palasdottir]

“Yeah, that’d be me. But call me Blake; miss Roberts’ my mother. You would be Brynja? Pleasure. Can I get you a drink?”

Brynja smiled as best she could, that was at least required at these type of things surely? And taking her hand she shook it, but not with any real vigor- she was still quite wary of what was going on. She saw Blake look her up and down very quickly before going into her professional manner, and found it quite amusing but it never really registered on her face.

"I'll take a water. Still. I'm not much of a drinker." Brynja looked away and pulled herself up onto the bar stool next to Blake's. She liked drinking, especially whisky, but she pretty much kept that to herself. After all she really didn't need 'drunk' added to her 'crazy artist' title in the village. She had her vices, but drink was excluded.

Blake was most definitely an outsider, she seemed to have a vibrancy and a confidence about her that many in the village would find threatening simply because...well....they were simple. Brynja wondered, what must they look like to the other villagers here. She didn't care what they actually thought, but the perception itself was interesting if not hilarious. Here she was, quiet, fairly black-sheepish, but not afraid to go where she wanted to go- courageous perhaps? Brave? And she was next to a woman who practically oozed interest in others, and a whole different kind of bravery.

"So... you were curiously vague on the phone... what can I do for you?"

[»Blake Roberts]

"I'll take a water. Still. I'm not much of a drinker."

“Water! Righto.” Blake replied with a polite little nod and turned around to the bar, having her hand to get the bartenders attention. She’d been a little turned off by the less then enthusiastic handshake she received. Blake had found that a handshake was a really good way for her to assess others. Like, she usually only got along with people who’s handshake felt as if they were trying to crush her bones. She preferred he firm ones, not the half-assed polite ones.

When she managed to wave the bartender down to her end of the bar, she quickly ordered a still water and another beer and then turned her attention back to Brynja. She adjusted herself into a bit of a better position on top of the stool, pulling her coat out from under her bum and smoothing the front of it. Reaching down, she patted the pocket that had a notebook and a chewed-on pencil inside, making sure they were still there.

"So... you were curiously vague on the phone... what can I do for you?"

“Oh yeah, right. I guess I was,” Blake replied, and sniggered a little. “I did that on purpose, sorry. People tend to freak out when I tell them what I’m after and either slam the door in my face or hang up on me. So..” She cleared her throat a little before continuing. “What I’m really interested in is this village and it’s questionable history. I was kinda hopin’ you’d grace me with an interview; I’d really like to hear from someone who’s lived here her entire life.”

[Brynja Palasdottir]

“What I’m really interested in is this village and it’s questionable history. I was kinda hopin’ you’d grace me with an interview; I’d really like to hear from someone who’s lived here her entire life.”

Brynja didn't really know what to say at first. So many people here 'pussy-footed' around the subject, that to have a complete stranger come up to you with a confident 'I'd like to talk to you about it' attitude kind of threw her. It was so much a part of her life that to be confronted with this kind of situation was a total eye opener.

She found herself taking a deep breath; what should she say to her? Should she even say anything at all? But Brynja reasonned that she didn't care about her reputation, nor what others thought of her, so why should she be hesitant? Brynja wondered, did she know about her mother?

Her hesitation highlighted how personal it had all really become. She didn't know if she was fully prepared to give it all up to a complete stranger. But then, she didn't have to reveal anything she didn't want to. She had some interests of her own.

"You can ask me whatever you want, and... I'll answer to the best of my ability... but why the interest?"

[»Blake Roberts]

"You can ask me whatever you want, and... I'll answer to the best of my ability... but why the interest?"

It took all Blake had not to nearly topple of her barstool again. She prepared herself for all kinds of answers. The answer that contained proper outrage or disgust, both of which seemed to be quite popular with most of the villagers. Then there were the answers that we accompanied with lots of tears and mutter apologies, she’d had quite a few of those as well. And of course, there were the answers that weren’t really answers at all, they usually were people walking out on her in a silent huff. Blake might not have been around in these parts for very long, but she’d surely been here long enough to have encountered all of these. But she’d never ran into any native who agreed to answer her questions so readily.

A little unexpected, Blake felt a rush of both gratitude and guilt. Maybe she hadn’t explained it properly. However, the guilt was most likely just a reaction to this unknown situation. People had been turning her interviews down for quite a while now, Blake herself had started to convince herself that talking about these happenings was like.. a crime.

“That’s really great, I’m glad you’re willing to do that,” she replied, after a few moments of silence. “My interest is purely professional I’m afraid. I’m a reporter, and I enjoy reporting mysteries. I have this thing, my parents call it my defect, which causes me to want to know everything about anything; the harder it gets, the more motivated I become. Though,” and she interrupted herself with a little chuckle. “Lately I’ve been getting more frustrated than motivated. There’s not a lot to uncover when no one is willing to talk to you about it. That’s why I’m really very pleased that you will.”

Blake fished her notebook and pencil out of her pocket, and flipped the notebook open to the first empty page. “I’m just going to hop right to it then. I know that said I can ask you anything, but if any question I ask makes you uncomfortable, just say so and I’ll move on to the next.” Blake wasn’t about to ruin this one shot by asking something that would totally rub this woman the wrong way. “So, first of all; do you have any personal experience with the strange occurrences around this part? I know it affects life in this village in general, but has it ever affected you in a personal way?”

[Brynja Palasdottir]

“Lately I’ve been getting more frustrated than motivated. There’s not a lot to uncover when no one is willing to talk to you about it. That’s why I’m really very pleased that you will.”

Brynja nodded; she understood the frustration atleast. She had spent alot of her time literally running into 'brick walls' just because people weren't willing to discuss things that they couldn't believe. The fear of giving in to the unbelievable was just too great for a lot of people. Sometimes she just couldn't feel so understanding though. Ignorance wasn't always so blissful.

“So, first of all; do you have any personal experience with the strange occurrences around this part? I know it affects life in this village in general, but has it ever affected you in a personal way?”

Brynja looked at Blake, and tilted her head slightly with a small smile, pointing to her notebook. "Let's put it this way... you're gonna' need a bigger notebook." It was her attempt at humour which not many people appreciated since she was usually so passive looking- it made them a little uneasy. But Brynja was fairly at ease around this woman, she must have had a natural talent with people- her opposite.

She pawed at her glass, trying to consider her actual response. In a sense it had always been her against the world, and the townspeople. Now this woman had come into their lives and wanted to actually know things. But she was a journalist and they didn't exactly have a good reputation on the whole. Brynja was all up for exposure, she wanted to know things, and wanted others to know too. She still believed things could change- she might even be able to find her mother!- but she didn't want it to be at the expense of the town. Brynja didn't want people banging on her door day and night, harassing her over something they thought was an elaborate joke. This was serious to her.

"I have been personally affected by the 'strange occurrences' since I was a small child. My whole life is touched by it- I didn't become the black sheep of the town by choice..." She looked at the water in her glass. "A lot of people just choose to ignore it all, but I embrace it every day. I suppose that's what you and me have in common. The need to find out the truth... The trouble is, what I have experienced is not acceptable to most people, so I could tell you what I've seen, but you'll have no way of knowing if I'm telling the truth, unless you see it for yourself. And then of course, you have to wonder, is it all an elaborate hoax?" Brynja leant on her hand and peered over at Blake. "You sure this is all worth the effort?"