Play@YSDC

The fog rolled in like a living entity until it swamped the lake and hung about the buildings like a death shroud, allowing only a wan light to filter through from the sun. Alex stood at the end of the jetty, the letter held in his hand to a 'darling' whom he had dared to think.... No. This letter was too familiar. The last one that he had found in his friend's bedroll on the front lines had been vague. And why had someone shoved it into his letter box? What did it mean? His gaze flicks across it once more.

My dear love,

Oh, how my heart has trembled with the chance to see you again. I had hoped and prayed that I might get back before the next great offensive but how could I be sure? There is a chance, perhaps, that I will reach you before this letter does! Such is the method and the madness of the Army Post. I have, unfortunately, had to cope with this for so long that it must be months since I have received any of your letters. Never fear. I await with bated breath for each letter and have faith that they Army hasn't lost them and that they are on their way.

When I see you again what shall I do? Shall I run to you and lift you into the air and spin you around? Shall I walk up behind you and sweetly nuzzle your neck and indulge in the scent of your hair until you turn to see me, smiling? Shall I walk to you plainly and then hold you close to me, safe and secure the knowledge that we are together again?

When I am once more on the American shore, I will wire at once to pay for tickets on the La Bella Sinclair so that we might spend a romantic evening upon the waters of Toluca Lake?

Regards,

Declan O'Connor.

The envelope is postmarked only a few weeks ago and he's meant to have been dead for a lot longer than that. What could it mean? It is his handwriting and his florid overly romantic style. There was a ticket to this Christmas paddle boat also pushed through his letter box. It isn't here yet but it should be soon. Is Declan here? How could that be possible? He'd heard a lot of things living in Silent Hill about ghostly visitations and strange letters that appeared years after a person's death but he'd likely dismissed them all as harmless superstition. Now in the midst of the fog awaiting the paddle steamer....

Everytime he looked back at the letter he made no more sense of it, it just leered back at him making his jaw clench. If this was a taunt he didn't want it, if this was a joke it wasn't funny. What if.......just mabye.....it was neither? He had to chuckle at that.
Stuffing the disturbing letter into his pants pocket Alex pulled out his cigerettes and lit one up, taking a long draw to calm his nerves. As he blew the smoke it was quickly eaten up by the oppresive fog that seemed to claw ay his worried mind.

Why are you here Alex? Even if he was alive and this wasn't just some sick joke, what would you say to him? Even if you should be sorry, would saying it be enough?

Flashing a nervous glance at his watch he started biting the inside of his lip, like he always did when he was thinking too much.

The letter was obviously ment for Lizzy. Does that mean she'll turn up here too? Christ, do I really want to be around for that?! I haven't seen her since.....we burried him.... Unconsiously his raised his hand to his cheek, the sharp smack of her hand still paining him.

He threw the cig infront of him and stamped it out in frustration.
"Ashes to ashes....or so I thought."
He stared off into the grey veil that lay across the lake and it's environs, wondering what answers waited for him out there. For a man who's keen mind loved knowledge and understanding, it made him shiver. When the night was through, would he want to know.

He hears it before he sees it. The sound of the paddles gently cutting through the water. Other than that all is silent.

There should be a queue. This is a popular ride especially so near Christmas. The local jazz band would've practised for months.

Where is everybody?

The muted sound of the boat through the fog only seemed to un-nerve him even more.
After checking his watch again to make sure he wasn't early he scanned around behind him to see if there were other passengers further back on the jetty.

It's hard to see anything through the fog but by squinting he can see a little further than he initially could. It really seems like he were alone on this jetty. At least the reassuring light of the lighthouse was still blinking overhead. If not for that it would seem that there were nothing in the world but him, the jetty, and the approaching paddle steamer.

A paddle steamer which seemed unusually quiet.

Where was the sound of the big band? Where was the babble of conversation? Perhaps everyone else had gotten on at the jetty behind the Lakeview Hotel - it was conceivable that it had been booked out back there - but there should still have been noise certainly. Perhaps this was the first pick up point and then they'd be heading to the hotel to pick everyone else up?

The eerie silence was like a weight, on his body and his thoughts. As the noiseless steamer loomed ever closer Alex could think of nothing but to wait and see what sights, and hopefully sounds, awaited him.
"Alex...there has to be an explanation. Don't wig yourself out without having all the information." Yeah, like talking to himself was ever a good sign of things to come.

The paddle boat glides into position although no one can be glimpsed upon its decks. The windows themselves are blacked out but surely the restrictions shouldn't cover the entire vessel. It takes him a moment to realise that the war is finished. Are they trying to bring back the vibe of WWII? Oh well. Perhaps a man with a torch will be out soon.

Chewing on his inner lip he gingerly covered the distance to where the boarding plank should be lowered. The silence pressing on him he felt the need to call out to someone, anyone that might be on this eerie and forboding craft.

"Ahoy! Anyone aboard?"

Ahoy?! Thats what you went for? Ahoy?! You really have lost it... His brow furrowed in self anoyance.
Peering through the fog laced blackness with only the stalwart lighthouse for company he waited for a responce.

The boat stands there silently. The gap doesn't look like a comfortable one to jump, although he could try it, but perhaps if he wants to board it this might be worth finding some sort of platform or some other plank to place across the gap.

If he was un-nerved before he was worried now.
Boats don't just glide into jetties by themselves, even though there's no noise there has to be someone steering it. Perhaps an accident injured most of the crew?!
The thought of people in need of help spurred him out of inaction, darting back towards the landward end he franticly searched the jetty for planks and boards to allow him egress onto the mysterious craft.

Moving back down the jetty, he spies a pine wood coffin with a tool box sitting on top of it that sits at the edge of the jetty. The lid would certainly be long enough to bridge the gap but it does seem strange that it's here. Furthermore, Alex doesn't remember passing the coffin on the way here. Thinking about it, his journey to this jetty is rather vague in his mind.

"We are here today to lay to rest the soul of the much loved Declan O'Conner, who was called suddenly to our Lord's grace whilst serving his country. A reliable friend to many here today, including his best friend Alex Corvin who was with him at the end, and a devoted husband to his darling wife Elizabeth."

The memory of that touching eulogy hit him hard as Alex stared at the coffin before him, similar to Declan's in it's simplicity. Who had placed it there on this jetty and how seemed irrelavent when compared to WHY it was here, with him, in this seemingly deserted place. When he thought back to how he got here Alex's mind drew a sickening blank, only images as vague and hazy as the foggy night air that clung to his suit. The last thing he could remember clearly was the hole in the ground. The hole surrounded by mourning black and sobs of lose, framing the box that had contained one of his longest friends.

He fought back the confusion, fought back the twin tears that threatend to break his composure. He had a purpose, he had questions that demanded answers!
Without a second thought he grabbed the tool box, determined to find something to dislodge the coffin lid.

{OOC},{Oh great, a coffin. This can't bode well no matter how you slice it...}

The tool box contains the usual selection of tools. Wrench, hammer, nails, screwdriver.... As his fingers wrap around the screwdriver, there's a sudden thump against the jetty boards beneath his feet and the sound of water sluicing about. Putting the toolbox on the ground, he takes a quick look for any nails to remove but there doesn't appear to be any. The coffin lid is loose and could be easily lifted.

The sudden thump and splash made Alex look down and around at his none too friendly looking environs.

"Steady, it's likely nothing. Just the atmosphere playing on your mind." His reasurances didn't help much but he always talked to himself in times like this, alone and worried out his mind.

Trying to focus on the task at hand he slowly reached out a hand to the un-nailed coffin lid and began to lift it off towards him, almost as if the coffin lid may act as a shield against the sights the may lay within. The cold handle of the screwdriver was still clutched in his right hand as one may clutch a cross.
Please let no nails mean it's empty...

The wood creaks as he slowly lifts it up and toward himself, pulling it loose to reveal the empty cavernous space within its pine interior. No corpses, no bloodstains, and certainly no bogeyman. Still, it is unusual to find a coffin on a jetty.

A breath he didn't know he was holding was let go with a sigh, white knuckles flushed with colour as his grip on the screwdriver slackend.
He didn't know what he expected to find in an open casket in a place like this, his imagination never normaly gripped him that way.

You know that's one of the reasons Lizzy left you, no imagination. A great mind but no sense of adventure.

"You feel so empty sometimes Alex, like your face is a mask and your hollow inside! I need more than that!"

"If she could see me now...she'd laugh. Out of my element and being scared by shadows. Hehaha!" He laughed but his face didn't smile along, leaving the false mirth hanging in the dead space and night air.
Remembering where he was he stuffed the screwdriver thoughtlessly into an empty pocket and hefted the pine lid over to the still silent steamer. Carefully positioning it he layed it across the gap and made sure it was stable. The liquid obsidian of the water below not looking too inviting.
After being satisfied with the make shift gang-plank he slowly made his way across and onto the hushed deck of the La Bella Sinclair.

His shoes echo against the wood, turning from the solid sound of the coffin lid to the hollow resounding thuds of the deck. The echoes only seem to intensify the silence that surrounds them. There's no traffic. No engine sounds. No barking dogs. Just him and this silent and sad vessel. He can make out a door through the wisps of fog or he could follow the deck around.

Taking in the apparent desertedness of the vessel did nothing to spur the good doctor on to investigate the blacked out interior, instead opting to circumnavigate the deck. Hopefully clues to explain this odd scene will present themselves in the comforting light of the moon and lighthouse instead than the, rather likely given the seeming lack of crew, ill lit bowls of the ship.

"Hello? Is anyone on board? Is anybody hurt?" He called out almost to the boat it self, if only to fill the silence broken only by his polished brogues

OOC,How many feet of visibility is there in this fog by the way?

The fog obscures anything over a few feet away. The outer deck encircles the vessel that has several life saving doughnuts around the railings with a set of stairs that lead up to the upper deck.

As he searched the main deck of the ship he noticed that the life rings arranged on the railings all seemed to be accounted for, as far as he could tell by the fairly regular spacing. The un-natural fog seemed to hang closer than ever as he peered through the soupy grey, making him quicken his pace as he searched.

It's just fog but why does it seem so....forboding and sinister....
It was then he realised he couldn't remember how long he'd waited on here for this ship, or when then fog had desended on him. In fact...he couldn't remember there NOT being fog here!
"Don't do this to yourself Alex. Your...having a minor memory lapse, with all the stress it's hardly surprising. You've seen this in enough patients to know it's temporary. Focus and concentrate, the letter, the tickets, this blasted boat. Deal with the other questions later." His calm bedside tone helped calm his nerves a little as he realised he was beside a set of stairs near where he started.

Gripping the cold steel rail he made his way to the upper deck.

His shoes echo against the wood in the stifling silence that presses down around him. The sounds he makes feels alien, wrong, like randomly singing in a funeral. How could everything be so quiet? Silent Hill is normally a bustling town filled with the sounds of people and animals. As he reaches the upper desk, he can make out the canvas shrouds that provide protection from sun and rain, and the several chairs arranged around round tables bolted to the deck boards. There's glasses up here and half empty bottles of alcohol and even cards still laid out in an unfinished poker game.

The feeling of isolation and apprihention grew as his eyes took in what should be a jovial and merry scene, turned upside down by the hushed silence and complete lack of people. For a moment postulated that the tables were left in the hurry of an emergancy but cut his train of thought grimly short, as he realised how neatly the cards were laided and how all the chairs were still upright.

When people panic they're sure to leave dissorder behind, people are sadly that predictable. The War prooved that much. Only differance is that in war it's people that are often the debris and detritus left behind.

He took a brief look at the poker game to see who was winning before scanning the other tables and chairs for any discarded items, anything that might tell him what happened and why.

Each chair has a name carved lightly into it in jagged lines. Sgt. Williamson. Pt. Donovan. Pt. Harper. Lt. Richards. Lt. Carey. Pt. Hauptmann. Pt. Winchester. It seems that most of the men who had been here had been to war. Either that or someone passed through here and noted down random names. Either is as likely as the other. There aren't too many young men in Silent Hill who didn't go off to war. This wasn't much of a farming community although it had been meant to be once upon a time.

There's a hand of cards laying face down on the table. Turning it right way up reveals five aces. Two are aces of spades.

The air is heavy and still. The only sound the glugging of gentle lake waves bumping up against the boat. Slowly the paddles come to life. He can hear the blades cut through the water and the boat begins to steadily yet so quietly move on.

Clicking his tongue in dissapointment he placed the cheating hand back on the table. Such base underhandedness anoyed him to no end, especialy considering he like a good game of Texas Hold'em.

Observing the names crudely carved in the seats sent his brain reaching for any recolection of them. He'd known a Pt. Williamson but he was too young and soft to have made it to Sgt in the intervening time. He recalled treating a Pt. Dean Winchester and a Lt. Robert Carey before they were sent home but neither of them lived anywhere near here.

You could be here all night trying to remember the names of all the men you met and treated in the last few years, most of the those names might end up as dead ends anyway...so to speak.

With one last look at vacant chairs he made his way to the stairs....and then he heard it. The steathy sound of turning paddles pushing through still water, he felt the faint motion of the boat slowly pushing off towards the centre of the dark and forboding lake! By the time he made it down the stairs he was just in time to see the coffin lid fall with a muted splash between the boat and the jetty.

Assuming no one else had come aboard it seemed Alex was a sad party of one, on the silent and grim steamer La Bella Sinclair...

The paddle steamer glided out across the still grey waters, leaving the docks receding gloomily in the distance.

Everything was so quiet.

So still.

It seemed so peaceful.

Within the depths of the paddle steamer came a sudden sharp cry.

The first human noise since he'd got here sent a shock through his spine, spinning round in the direction of the scream. There was no doubt about it, he was going to have to search the bowels of the ship.
Alex drew his Colt and checked all the chambers were loaded. He'd used this before but he never relished it, he'd seen the damage a stray bullet can inflict.

Whatever's going on here it doesn't look good, I can't let myself be caught off-guard.

Gathering his nerve he moved to the side of the door leading to the interior of the ship and opened it slowly, peering carefully inside with gun at the ready.

The door opens to reveal the gloomy interior of a compartment decked out with sofas and tables around the edges with a dance floor in the middle. A bar stands on the end closer to him. A band stand still containing dusty instruments stands on the other side. In fact, the whole gloomy interior is covered in dust with the etched out foot prints of dancers across the dance floor. There are bundles of cloth here and there, like rags, especially amongst the bags and cocktails of the booths.

The feel of this room was almost sepulchral, the dust and rags making it seem more like the interior of a tomb than a dance room.

"Why does everything in this town remind me of graves?"

Stepping further into the room he made a point of ignoring the empty bar and moved to examine the foot prints left in the room. Perhaps if they were recent then they might give him a clue as to how many people he should be looking for.

It looks like the footprints were left behind by male and female dancers. One set of footprints heads out toward a door beside where the short stage sits.

The dust in the room made is nose itch as his eyes followed the trail of prints towards the stage side door.

"How long would the ship need to be abandoned to look like this? The empty tables, these foot prints and the fact the paddles started with no warning at all, nothing seems to add up."
Feeling the weight of questions that seemed unanswerable he took a brief glimpse back at the bar...before thinking better of it. Now was the time for a clear head, especialy when everything else wasn't clear at all.
He posistioned himself between the stage and the door jamb and carefully opened the door.

Wan light weaks through a pair of round windows into a narrow room about eight feet across but only four feet deep, containing a cushioned bench, side table, little sink covered with make up items, a potted plant standing under the window, and a companionway heading down to the lower deck. This must be where the performers would get ready before going out on stage.

Finding more empty rooms only succeeded in hightening Alex's sense of dread. The conflicting signs of life and simulatanious dissuse made the steamer feel almost unreal in aspect, almost dream like.

Realising the lower levels of the ship could be even more poorly lit than the one he was on, Alex made a quick search of the green room for any flash lights.
I surpose I've always got my lighters but given the...interesting circumstance I'd rather no rely on their poor illumination.

There was a black-out flashlight of the kind frequently used in Great Britain during the war that sits on a shelf beside the sink, flanked by a few books on Shakespeare and a make up bag. There's also a half empty bottle of whiskey laying at an angle within the porcelain sink.

Alex's pale, slim hand came to a shuddering halt as he reached for the flashlight, the whiskey in the sink almost demanding attention. The familiar black lable held his gaze in a vice grip.

"What are the odds....a half of Johnnie Walker, sitting in a sink. It would be shame to...let this fine brand go to waste..."
All of a sudden his mouth was dry, his lips parting in antisipation of the golden water of life to pass between them. The flashlight all but forgoten his quivering hand wrapped round the neck of the bottle, eyes helping his mouth taste it already. It did look so good...
His hand was half way to putting down his gun when he saw his dim reflection in the mirror above the sink. A pale shade of a man who's eyes used to always burn with a mental acuity and sharpness of mind, now hazel spots full of desperation and melancholy.

"When did this happen? The funeral? The War? The....
Wedding. His head finishing what his mouth could not. She left you for him...Declan and Lizzy. The wedding was stunning, everyone was there. Her salon staff, the Philidelphia Eagles, all the friends and family they could muster. Everyone was so happy....except you. You didn't shout, didn't sulk, didn't cry. Just balled it all up in a pit in your gut. Happy....they were happy....so....
"Freaking HAPPY!"
The bottle shattered into whiskey soaked pieces as it hit the wall by the door. The sound snapped Alex to the boat to find himself tense, his left arm shaking and bottleless. It took a few seconds to register what had happened, forced deep breaths calming his pulse, free hand leaning on the sink.
The temptation gone, he tried to clear his mind an remembered why he was here.

"The letter, the boat, the cry from bellow deck. Someone could be hurt, or worse. Time could be a factor. Better move."
Focused again he snatched the flashlight and switched it on, readied his colt and headed down the companionway.

OOC,Damn, was wondering what would set him off first! That was fun.

The flashlight wobbles down the companionway as he starts down it into a cabin filled with bunks set into tight wooden frames with narrow steps that go up from one to the other. They are stacked in groups of three. Did people actually want to sleep on this thing? If so, why pack themselves in like that? Still, the room isn't very large. There's one set of bunks against each bulkhead (wall) and one down the middle. Beneath the bottom bunk are some cupboards. There's a door set on either side of it. A trail of clotted blood shines in the light as it flashes across it. The blood leads into one of the long drawers beneath the bunk in the central aisle.

The tight packing and spacing of the bunks surprised him, they looked similar to the bunks he slept in when being shipped off to great offensive. In those closed quarters it was comraderie that kept them sane and laughing.
Looking at the state of the blood trail he could tell it's been there for at least 2-5 mins, mabye long enough to be related to the scream he heard.

If the blood belongs to the screamer then there may me someone else here.

Tracking his torch across the deeper shadows of the room he followed the blood to the small floor cupboard, crouching down Alex holstered his colt so he could pull open the suspicious drawer.

The wood groans as the drawer slides out, revealing several folded shirts in three different piles with a small bloody bundle wrapped in another shirt.

Not someone easily repulsed by blood he lifted the soaking red bundle out of the draw and onto the bottom bed. With a doctors steady hands he carefully unwrapped it.

He unwraps the bundle to reveal a soggy dead kitten, quite possibly drowned, without a cut or injury upon it. The blood must have come from somewhere else. The kitten's body is so loose, the limbs so yielding, so different in death. It seems to be a pale cream-and-brown tabby kitten ... or so it was.

As he turned the kitten's lifeless body over to make certain the cause of death he found himself wondering aloud,
"Who would do this to a helpless kitten? Move over why place it in a draw, and what connection does the blood trail have?"

More questions, no answers. Seems to be the order of the day.
After checking over late tabbies corpse Alex looked again to the draw, moving the shirts aside incase there was something he missed.

The drawer is otherwise empty. Still, this is very strange indeed.

Finding nothing out of place Alex took a clean folded shirt from the draw, placed it on the bed and placed the kitten gently on top.
"This feels better than just leaving you in the draw."

With little else he could do, he drew his gun and headed toward the nearest unexplored door.

Pulling the door open reveals a large compartment that leads in to the engine room. There seem to be more crusty blood stains spattered across the floor that slowly rises along the wall and up to the ceiling before disappearing into a sooty pattern.

Of course, follow the drying blood into the dark bowels of a seemingly disserted ship....the answers must be there...

The fact that the trail streaked up the wall didn't help Alex's trepidation, neither did the odd sooty pattern on the ceiling. Using his torch he walked further into the compartment to take a closer look at it.

The soot almost seems to be a face. The whole thing is rather bizarre, almost like a surrealist painting. The rusty stains, however, do most assuredly appear to be blood.

The more he looked at the face the more uneasy he felt, like the blood was just a tool to lead him like an ass to certain peril. The soot seemed to resemble many faces and yet no-one at all, as if he were looking on all the faces he knew layered on top of one another.

There's only one face you want to see Alex...

Feeling his concentration slipping he bit his tongue lightly to remind him where he was. How long had he been like this, so disconected from the now?

"Let's see what the engine room tells us about what happened here."

The engine room seems otherwise empty. Who screamed? Where did they go? There seems no clues to their presence in here.

Footsteps thud across the deckboards overhead.

Turning and leaving the less than helpfull engine room the sudden footsteps from above halted him with a start.

"How in the...there was no sign of life on the deck a few minutes ago!"

Spurred into action Alex holstered the colt and ran full tilt back to the upper decks, flashlight beam shuddering ahead of him.

Alex rushes up into the ball room only to find a ghostly pale woman in a translucent, tattered white nightdress made of a sheer silk that partially reveals the long white knickers and slip that she wears underneath. Her hair and clothing drips with water and she is bare foot. She is staring at the counter in stark fascination as though it might hold the answer to life and everything in it.

Standing in the doorway Alex stares dumbfounded at the woman infront of him, appearing almost like a specter given how stark and pale she was aggainst the dim shadows.
"Eh...er...excuse me Miss, are you all right? What happened too you?" The words tumbled out of his mouth with little grace. "You must be chilled to the bone! We need to get you covered up quickly before you catch hypothermia!"
Cursing that he'd neglected to wear his, he searched the ball room frantically for any dicarded coats.

She startles and spins around, pressing the small of her delicate back against the bar. "N-no, I ... Please ... d-don't hurt me...." She stammers the words, eyes wide with fright.

Taken by surprise by the shear fear in her voice, he stops where he is. She's obviously been traumatised by something, he'd seen this kind of reaction before, though whether being soaking wet and in this state of undress had anything to do with it was uncertain. Alex felt the kind and gentle Doctor he was back on the wards take over.

"It's ok, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to make sure you're alright." His words took on that reasuring balm that used calm his patients, his softly spoken voice trying to ease the tension in the room.
"I didn't mean to alarm you. My name's Alex, what's yours?"

"No, you don't understand, I need to find the ... need to find the...." She pauses, water dripping down her legs. "Have you seen a little girl?" She shivers, hands clasped in front of her. "I can't ... I can't seem to find her. I can't remember where she...."

"A little girl? Until just now I thought I might be the only one on this ship. Is she your...daughter?"

What's with this place?! Fog everywhere, deserted ship, a dead kitten, blood stains and a drenched woman and a lost girl. What happened to this town?!

"Listen, I'm looking for someone too. His name is Declan and he's friend of mine. Why don't we help each other and find them both together?"

"Declan?" she asked, focus suddenly seeming to come into her eyes. "I don't know any Declans. Why would I know any Declans?" She takes a few rough steps toward him. "Wait, do you know him? He uses all kinds of names." She snorts. "Though you really wouldn't know, would you?"

"Declan and me have been friends since we were kids, of course I know him."

Alex's brow furrowed in confusion, the woman's sudden change in demeanor taking him a little off gaurd. She's adament she doesn't know Declan and then talks about him having aliases. Is her condition worse than he thought?

"What do you mean, 'uses all kinds of names', and why wouldn't I know?" Alex having to fight hard to keep his voice calm and under control.

"No, it's probably not the same man," she said shrewdly. "You'd know him if you met him." She sighed heavily and sank back against the counter. "Pour me a whiskey, will ya? I need to think." She lowers her gaze to the floor and no longer responds to his words.

Sighing heavily into his hand, he lifts his eyes to scan the dust covered bar. How many hours had he spent sitting at bars like this last year? Before he'd rarely see alcohol unless it was used to clean a wound, but since then he'd seen the bottom of so many bottles. So many mornings cursing the sun and the raging headaches. So many pitying looks from other bar patrons as he slumped over yet another table and wept quietly into his glass. It disgusted him, to think that he'd fallen so low.

You've been dry for months now...you're sure as hell not going to start now!

Bundling up his nerve Alex walked confidently behind the bar. Dusting off two glasses he took the nearest bottle of whiskey, not a bad brand as it happend, and poured shakingly a double measure for his new 'friend'. Before the neck of the bottle could hover temptingly over his glass he'd fitted the top and stowed the bottle back on the shelf. He breathed deep to steady his resolve.

"Sorry there's no Ice." Sliding the glass towards her on a coaster. Crouching behind the bar Alex rummaged through the lower cabinets and coolers for the juices and non-alcoholic drinks.
"You know, you never did tell me your name Miss...."

"Why do you need my....?" began the woman suspiciously as she held onto the glass, moments before she's interrupted by a familiar voice saying, "After you" and the door opening.

That voice. Declan?

The door opens, however, to reveal a young woman.

Show,describe yourselves.

There's a vague something about this woman that seems slightly off. It might be the camera-shutter motion of her too-big eyes, the darkness streaking down her ghastly pale face, or just the feeling that she doesn't belong here. Or anywhere. Her hands are curled tightly around things too small to see, and there's a mass of gauze and tape stuck to the side of her black-and-red dress.

Lily takes a step, heels echoing on the floor. This room is strangely lacking in people--it looks like a ballroom, so shouldn't all the dancers be here? No, there's just a man who looks like he's seen better days and a woman with... oh. Soaked to the skin and dressed in white, of all things.

It's impolite to stare, so she tries not to. Her words come out in a rush. "...Ahem. Hello. If I interrupted something I am terribly sorry, I'm just passing through."

The man behind the bar had seen better days to be sure, though his blue pin stripped suit and matching hat seemed well pressed and looked after. It was his overall appearance that showed the signs. Pale complection and a thin, clean shaven face with faint bags under the eyes showed how little sleep he'd been getting, and his slight frame, deliacte hands and way of holding himself revealed him to be none to strong. His soft hazel eyes held the strongest part of his character. Looking at them it seemed not quite like a light had gone out in them but rather had dimmed, waiting to shine bright again. The strangest thing was how he seemed, like her, to belong and not belong here.

Turning frantically to face the door Alex's eyes were shocked to find another pale and slightly dishevaled woman standing at the door.
Was that Declan's voice? I'm sure I...
Realising he was staring he briskly pulled himself together.
"No no, no appologies necessary. It's nice to know that we're not the only one's here after all."
Feeling the over-arching questions loom up again he pulled out his ciggarette carton and proceeded to light one up, calming his nerves.

"Well. We'll, ah, just be on our way, then." Lily steps a little further into the room and glances over her shoulder at her gentleman companion.

There's no one there. Simply the mist-shrouded edge of the boat.

Slightly confused Alex walked round the bar to take a look out the yawning door frame into the grey world outside the ballroom.

"You did say 'we' right? Was there someone here with you?" His voice accented with genuine concern.

"Why ask?" asks the woman in the wet dress. "It's likely just another ghost."

"This town is full of ghosts here."

Alex eyed the drenched woman with a raised eyebrow.

"Really now, that kind of talk is for backwards folk and grandmother's spinning tales." The incredulity in his voice not wholely convincing.
"Though I will admit Silent Hill seems rather abandoned, the perverbial 'Ghost Town' if you will. I do wonder what happened here..."

"The townsmen forgot their way," the woman in the wet dress says rather mournfully. Abruptly the tears begin to slide down her cheeks and she hurriedly tries to brush them away, giving a little nervous chuckle. "Oh, look at me! I must appear such a wreck, I just ... I just ... do you ever get that feeling that you're ... on the verge of finding something or ... or...." She subsides into little sobs, narrow shoulders shaking as she draws in little shuddering breaths.

Lily simply stares in the direction where her friend had been a moment ago, a little dumbfounded at his sudden disappearance and the woman's burst of emotion.

"Or on the verge of finding someone...I know that feeling..." Alex sighed almost with his whole body, "All I wanted to find here was Declan or who ever sent that blasted letter, yet so far all I've seen is fog, dust and blood. Excluding you ladies of course."
It seems we may be in the same boat after all, so to speak.

Stubbing his ciggarette in a dust filled ashtray he lay what he hoped was a reasuring hand on the shoulder of the sobbing woman.

She gives him an awkward feeling as he pats her shoulder as though it weren't the right thing to do or, perhaps, as though he was talking to himself in a room full of people. It just felt off, though he couldn't be sure why. "Are you ... from around here? Why don't I know who you are?"

The dissconcerting feeling took him by surprise, something in his gut twisted in disorrientation and uncertainty as his hand felt the slim damp shoulder beneath it. Out of instinct he pulled it away, looking jerkingly over his shoulder as if expecting many faces to be looking at him through the gloom and dust. The impression was gone in an instant, spiriting away the blank mannequin like faces into nothing via the corners of his eyes.

It must have only been a second or too Alex stood there before he realised he'd been spoken too.
"Ah..err..not at all. I'm from Phillidelphia, all my life. It was Declan's family who lived here...or here abouts. I just came here to...well to find him." He knew as he said it that it sounded rediculous. That no sane man would hope to find a dead friend, since buried, waiting for them in a sunny resort town. He could not, however, deny to himself that it was the truth. One he'd been avoiding since he got here.

Lily speaks, "Oh Declan? I was just talking to him outside. I don't know where he went, though. He didn't mention you. Does he know you were looking for him?"

The boat is moving through the water. Water can be heard lapping against the sides of the boat. There'd be no way off the boat except to dive over the side.

Fistfulls of words tried to make it out of Alex's mouth, the weight of them paralysing his ability to speak. The look of shock, frustration, joy and fear painted on the canvas of his pale face spoke volumes however. His eyes seemed to stare through Lily and into the miasmal fog that had begun creeping through the door as if it were an uninvited guest.

If he is here what then? What does one say to a dead man? Questions? Reminisce? Or is it forgiveness you want?

His right hand balled into a fist so hard his arm was shaking. The other hand snatched up the blackout torch as he walked purposfully towards the door.

He spoke with tremulous voice, "Did you see which way he went Miss? It's...very important that I find him."

Lily seems a little taken aback by the intensity in his gaze though she doesn't tear her naturally wide eyes away from his face. "He opened the door for me and when I looked back at him he was gone."

As her eyes gazed back at him, a touch of shock pooling in the depths, he knew they weren't judging him. That felt good. Too many eyes had looked on him with dissapointment and pity, where they used to smile with respect and admiration.

"I...I know I have no right to ask this of you but would you help me find him? The fog is so thick I thought I'd have a better chance of...of catching up to him with your help."

Lily pauses, regarding him with huge soulful eyes that seem both infinitely meaningful yet at the same time inscrutable and difficult to read. "If he's somewhere on this boat then it shouldn't be too difficult. It's just that this town is so ... strange. Have you noticed it?"

The other woman turns and walks toward the edge of the room, slowly settling down into a crouch, arms wrapped around her knees. "And then it comes ... da-dum da-dum ... and then he comes ... da-dum da-dum...." She repeats those words over and over in a hollow and unsettling voice.

"Is she okay?" asks Lily. "What do you suppose happened to her?"