Play@YSDC

Brewster notes the names and faces of the academics present. Someone round here knows what's going on and he means to get to the bottom of it. That done, he starts to clean up after the blind/not blind nutcase.

Tell me if you find something!
Peter, the librarian, tells the others as he heads back to the library.
He will look at the library records to see if Mr. Farr is among them.

"Thank you, Miss Ross," says Henry. "If you can find out the name of the star or its position in the sky, I can then discover more about it. If you'll excuse me..." He hurries back inside, gathers his notes, and rushes to the classroom to deliver his lecture.

Once the crowd has dispersed, Brewster shields his eyes from the Sun with his hand and squints into the sky. He spends a good few minutes scanning for stars because he read somewhere that you can see really bright ones even in daylight sometimes. He should probably be more careful about what he reads.

Peter,Return to your own thread: [url=http://www.callofcthulhu.org.uk/viewtopic.php?f=224&t=3186]In Crumbling Pages[/url]

Henry,Return to your own thread: [url=http://www.callofcthulhu.org.uk/viewtopic.php?f=224&t=3183]The Halls of Academia[/url]

The only things present in the sky are the occasional rolling cloud, a few birds, and the ever-bright sun.

That sad patch of purple flowers won't look right for a while. Mr. Farr doesn't look remotely ashamed as the ambulance drives away.

"Once again, apologies for the disturbance." The Sergeant nods to Brewster and Jean, then turns and motions for the other officers to follow.

Brewster takes a last look at the sky, shrugs, and returns to his work. When he sees any of his work colleagues, he asks the name Farr rings a bell for any of them.

"Oh, Sergeant, Mr. Farr . . . did he indicate where his 'star' is, whereabouts in the sky? or anything else?--I know an astronomer, you see."

"No clue," Sergeant Willem says over his shoulder. "Stay safe, have fun with your astrono-whatsit."

A few young men from Professor Witherspoon's class come up to the window from inside, staring at the red smear. They don't seem to notice Brewster at all.

"Thank you, Sergeant."

"No trouble, no trouble."

The young men settle back into their seats.

It's quiet here, save for the birds and Professor Witherspoon's ongoing lecture. A little window washing, a new patch of flowers, and no one will know anything happened here.

Except for Brewster.

That man shouldn't have been able to see anything--his eyes were gone. The doctor said so himself.

What is going on here?

Jean speaks up suddenly. "Do you think this will be in the papers? That reminds me--that detective was going to talk to the newsboy. The newsboy who delivers to my apartment; he saw the whole thing. At least he didn't seem disturbed. I suppose he didn't see Mr. Farr's eyes."

Brewster scratches his scraggly chin with a hand of questionable cleanliness. Years of maintenance and janitorial work had made him immune to such cares, and he was far too distracted by the morning's events anyway.

"I guess it depends on what the detective has to say to the boy. There's not a newspaper in the world wouldn't print a story like that." Brewster's face remained twisted in the confused scowl he'd been wearing all morning. He wanted to add a quip about 'juicy details,' but the fresh horror of the scene compelled him not to. He could tell Jean could be easily offended by a man like him.

"Also strange he wasn't disturbed by it. So damned strange, all of it." He narrowed his eyes at Jean, crows feet appearing at their corners. "You say he delivers to your apartment, eh? Think you could talk to him, next time he makes a delivery?"

"Yes, probably." Jean casts her eyes toward the sky, as though she's searching for that mysterious "star" again. "I don't know when his next delivery will be, but I'll keep an eye out in the mornings. If nothing else, I can speak to that detective about him."

She folds her arms and turns back to Brewster. "He owes me a chat about the things that go on in this city."

At first glance, nothing seems strange to Genevieve about this area, save for perhaps the woman idly chatting with the janitor. However, a second look reveals that the window the janitor is scrubbing has been smeared with something that looks an awful lot like blood, and a clump of purple flowers and grass has been torn roughly out of the ground.

Genevieve looks about in confusion before chewing her thumb nail and pausing to eavesdrop on the idle chit chat. It all seemed so very strange. Surely these sorts of things didn't occur in real life.

Brewster continues to scrub at the window as he listens to Jean, wiping lazy crimson circles with a rag. His bucket of water is already tinted pink, and he scowls at the mess.

As he rinses the rag again, his eyes catch the slender figure of one of the students nearby. She's young, wide-eyed, and has obviously been eavesdropping on their conversation. Brewster can't remember her name.

"Help you with something, ma'am?" He barks impatiently.

"J-just enjoying the sunshine," says Genevieve helplessly.

"That's not a very safe activity, apparently." Jean fixes Genevieve with a curious stare. "But I suspect you've already heard what happened?"

"No," says Genevieve, honestly confused. "Why? What happened?"

Brewster pauses in his scrubbing and glances at Jean, brow furrowed in indecision. After a moment, he sighs and resigns himself to telling the nervous girl. He figures once word gets around campus, he'll be asked more anyway. Might as well make sure his story's straight.

"Well, a man escaped from an ambulance near campus and had a little.. run in with the window," Brewster said with a humorless tone. "He most certainly wasn't right in the head, and had some pretty terrible wounds to his eyes." He wondered how much farther to go, but looking at Jean, decided he might as well tell her the truth, see what she makes of it. "There's no way he could see, but most peculiar thing, he kept, well, lookin at things." He was glad he had another witness, not thinking about how crazy the events sounded outside of the situation. "He was infatuated with things, a butterfly, and he tore up these flowers here real good," Brewster gestured, awkwardly.

"Anyway, some orderlies and a cop came and rounded him up, and no one was hurt," he collected himself. "That's the important thing," Brewster said weakly, not really believing his own words as he continued scrubbing the window.