Professor Bill Johns is inexplicably transported from 2009 back to 1969, where he finds himself enmeshed in a mystery that is intimately connected to his own past. As he struggles to adjust, he must discover why he is in 1969, what is going on, and how to find his way home. Others in 1969 find themselves mixed up in the same odd events as well.
Professor Johns's Office, Claudia Cohen Hall, University of Pennsylvania - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 4:30 PM - Thursday, July 16th, 2009 Professor Bill Johns returned to his office in Claudia Cohen Hall after his final lecture for the day. There were fewer lectures in the summer session than in the fall and spring semesters, but there was still plenty to do. Even so, it was less busy, and he had more time for research and for himself these days. The office was just as he had left it. On his desk sat his computer and digital telephone, as well as a copy of the latest issue of the university's own Expedition Magazine. The display on the phone showed that he had two messages in his voicemail.
OOC,Feel free to further describe your office. I've specifically left out the details so that you can decide what it's like.
Bill looked around his office for a space to dump the pile of papers he was carrying and sighed. Bonnie, his secretary, had taken a week off to visit her sick mother and already things were getting on top of him. He hooked a foot around the visitor's chair and pulled it out from under the spare desk far enough to drop the papers.
Promising himself to deal with those later (and to speak to Bonnie and see how things were) he sat down at his desk and tapped the keyboard to bring the screen to life. He quickly scanned the list of emails - requests from students for clarification of assignments, requests for more time and an update from Barbara about events she had planned for the weekend - before turning his attention to the phone.
He picked up his phone and keyed the voicemail. He cradled it against his shoulder, shuffling the speaker so it sat snugly against his ear, and started replying to his emails as he listened for his messages.
The emails were just routine business, and Bill was easily able to respond to them while listening to his phone messages. The first one was from his son, Fred, and it had come in at 12:15 PM. He recognized the phone number on Caller ID even before he heard him speak: "Yo, Dad, it's Freddie. How are things going? Listen, I managed to score two tickets to a Phillies game next week, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. Give me a call when you get a chance. Bye." Fred was a die-hard Phillies fan, and nobody had rejoiced more exuberantly than he had when the Phillies finally won the World Series last fall for the first time since 1980, ending the city's drought of professional sports championships that had lasted a quarter-century - unless one counted the Philadelphia Soul, which had won the Arena League Football championship earlier last year. Fred had just been a boy the last time the Phillies had claimed the pennant, and his excitement at it happening again made it seem as though he had recaptured his childhood. They had been at the victory parade on Broad Street together at the end of October, which had been packed with cheering fans lining the route.
The second call's number was unavailable, and it had been received at 3:40 PM, less than an hour ago. "Professor Bill Johns," said an unfamiliar voice. It sounded like that of an older man, close to his own age or maybe a little older. "We need to talk. We need to talk about what you did back in the day. Meet me in the men's room at Lenny's Bar on South Street tonight at 7:00. You know the place." Then the call disconnected.
Lenny's Bar was familiar, but Bill hadn't thought about it in many years. It was located downtown, a couple of miles east of the campus. Back in the 1960s and 70s, it had been a gathering place for the counterculture, and he had been there on a number of occasions back then. All sorts of people had hung out at Lenny's: hippies, anti-war activists, drunks, druggies, radicals, and anyone who had an axe to grind with the Establishment. Lenny, the owner of the place, had catered to the young and rebellious crowd.
OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Psychology to see what you can determine about the man who left the second message.
Bill could tell from the strange man's tone of voice that he seemed somewhat nervous and agitated, but he couldn't learn anything beyond that without being in the man's physical presence and being able to read his body language.
The smile on Bill's face brought on by the news of the Phillies tickets faded as he listened to the second call. Who the hell was that? he thought to himself, and what does he mean by 'back in the day?'
Bill sat back in his chair and wracked his brains. He couldn't think what the caller meant - he'd joined a couple of protest marches and helped to hand out flyers for some fundraising gigs but that was it. As for Lenny's Bar, he'd not been there since the night Herbie Yates' girlfriend had been hitting on him...
He smiled wistfully. Herbie was one of the kids who'd hung out at Lenny's - a bored, middle-class white kid looking for some action - huh, weren't they all - and he turned up with this cute Chinese girl one night. Herbie was a dweeb so she'd soon lost interest and latched onto Bill. Herb had taken it badly and tried to punch him out. Bill wasn't having any of it and decked him. Some of the vegan-pacifist types had taken it badly so Bill told them exactly what he thought about them and their ideals before he left. He hadn't been back since.
Bill's thoughts drifted back to the message. He played it again. There was something in the speaker's tone that got to him, it didn't sound like someone was going for a wind-up. He glanced at the clock - 4.50pm. Barbara was out with a girlfriend tonight so he was getting his own supper anyway, so he decided to run down to South Street, grab a bite to eat and visit Lenny's.
Last edited by Philulhu on Mon Apr 06, 2009 11:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
OOC,The reason I said you could describe your office was because it's yours, and your character could have decorated and arranged it however he wanted. The same would apply to his home. However, I didn't mean that you could describe every location. I'll describe other locations you visit in the game, especially places that I introduce that are significant to the plot like Lenny's Bar. There's no harm done, but please remember this from now on.
Lenny's Bar, South Street 7:00 PM - Thursday, July 16, 2009
With the nearest bridge across the Schuylkill River closed down, it took a little longer than it otherwise would have to get downtown. Finding parking on South Street was even worse than usual. Lenny's Bar had taken a turn for the worse since the last time Bill had seen it. The storefronts on either side were vacant, victims of the lousy economy. The bar itself was still open, but it had become somewhat of a dive. When he pushed open the door, he could see and smell the decay even in the dimly lit interior. There was a faint odor of mold mixed with the scent of liquor. The bartender was young and unfamiliar, and there was no sign of Lenny himself. The guy would have to be in his seventies by now, if he was even still alive. There were a few people sitting on stools with peeling fake leather in front of the bar or in booths getting an early start on getting drunk. Most of the crowd looked to be unemployed, though some of them were probably only recently so judging by their relatively decent attire. The TV up in a corner behind the bar was an old model from the early 1990s, and it was showing a baseball game. Sunlight filtered in through the dirt-encrusted front windows. At the height of summer, there was still some time before it would get dark.
Time seemed to pass with inexorable slowness as Bill waited for the appointed hour. A few people came, a few others left. At 7:00, Bill stood up and went down the hall at the back to the bathrooms. A payphone rested against the left wall, with a post-it note saying it was out of order. There was a back door at the rear of the narrow hallway, which was closed. On the right were two doors with faded signs, one that said "Ladies" and one that said "Gentlemen." Bill went into the men's room.
The bathroom was grimy and not very clean. A mirror along the right-hand wall was smeared with dirt and other unidentifiable substances. A row of dingy sinks was beneath it, along with soap dispensers that likely didn't see much use. On the left were a few urinals in equally unsavory condition, and beyond them were a row of four open toilet stalls. If Licenses and Inspections ever set foot in this place, they could certainly find numerous health code violations and impose a heavy fine. Nobody else was in the men's room.
Bill turned to face the door leading back out when he heard it open, and a tall white-haired man about sixty years old slipped inside, closing the door behind him. His face was wrinkled and pale, and his brown eyes darted around the room. He wore a rumpled brown jacket and faded blue jeans, and he had his hands in his pockets. He stood in front of the door, glancing nervously from side to side and refusing to make eye contact. He seemed even more anxious than he had over the phone. Bill recognized him from earlier this evening. The man had entered the bar at 6:45 and sat in a booth by himself. He didn't recall ever having seen him before this evening, however.
"It is you," he said, nodding to himself. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
OOC,OK - no probs. Just got carried away! ;) Do you want me to edit the post?
"You've got me at bit of a disadavantage," said Bill. "You seem to know who I am, but I don't know who the hell you are." The nerves he'd been feeling were giving way to anger and he took a step forward, "So why don't you tell me who you are buddy, and why you've got me meeting you in this dive?"
OOC,You can edit it if you want, but it's not necessary. Good writing, by the way! Sorry for the confusion. It varies from Keeper to Keeper how much leeway players have to describe things, and it's good to get it straightened out early.
"Maybe you don't know who I am," said the stranger, "but I remember you, Willie." Nobody had called Bill by that name in decades. "My name is Brian Anderson. Your wife, Mary - she knows who I am. My father was a big shot way back when, and everything was looking good for me too, but then it all fell apart." He looked down at his shoes, which were black and scuffed. Bill couldn't remember Brian, nor did his name ring a bell.
Brian glared back at Bill, meeting his gaze for the first time. "Don't you point your finger at me!" he growled. "I don't like that!" He averted his eyes again. "You haven't changed, you haven't changed a bit. You really don't know why I'm talking to you? Ground Control to Major Tom!" He started to shake a little. "I'm not talking to Mary because she doesn't want to talk to me any more, not after what happened. And it was your fault!"
Bill had no idea what he was talking about. He'd never even met this man before as far as he could recall.
"I don't like being hauled halfway across the city to meet some jerk in a men's room who's talking about stuff I know nothing about!" snarled Bill in return. "Now you either tell me what this is all about or I'm outa here."
Something in Brian seemed to snap. "You've got it all, and I've got nothing!" he growled, twitching. "Everything you have should have been mine, but my life is ruined. I've got nothing left to lose!" With that, he withdrew his hands from his pockets. In his left hand he clutched a round object which he held behind his back, but Bill didn't get a good look at it. His attention was fully captured by the object Brian had in his right hand - a .38 revolver. He pointed it at Bill with a trembling hand, and Bill found himself staring down its barrel.
"Woah!" Bill stepped back quickly, his hands raised to show he meant no harm. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding. "Just take it easy," he spluttered, "I really don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you calm down and tell me what it is you came here to tell me?"
Brian relaxed a little, though he remained jittery. "You don't even remember, do you?" he said. "Maybe you didn't even realize what you did. I lost everything. I lost Mary. Funny how she never even told you about me. Maybe I still mean something to her. I wish...I wish I could go back and change it..." He closed his eyes, lost in thought for a moment, though he remained blocking the exit and grasping his gun in his quivering hand.
Brian took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. "Help me?" he said. "You didn't help me then, why would you help now?" He stared at the gun in his quivering hand. "I'm finished anyway. You still don't get it, do you?" He began to sing. "Ground Control to Major Tom. Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong. Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you..." His arms sagged and his muscles unclenched. Then the object he was holding in his left hand dropped to the floor, bouncing and rolling under the barrier into the first toilet stall in a flash of green. A look of abject horror crossed Brian's face, and he turned and bolted from the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Spot Hidden. If you succeed, wait until I describe what you noticed before acting. If you fail, go ahead and act.
OOC,[url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2019379/]Spot Hidden roll. (1d100=84) against Bill's skill of 25.[/url]
Bill shook his head. "What a dick," he muttered to himself as he pushed open the exit door carefully to make sure Brian wasn't there and made to leave the building.
The warped wooden bathroom door had gotten stuck in the frame when Brian had slammed it shut, and Bill's gentle push was not enough to force it open. Just as he was about to put his shoulder into it, there was a loud explosion from behind him. The shock wave slammed him hard against the door and the wall adjacent to it, and he fell to the tiled bathroom floor. Everything went black.
Strangely, Bill felt no pain. He could feel his ears ringing from the blast, and a jumble of images flashed before his eyes.
OOC,Crap - thought it was a grenade but obviously I couldn't do anything in context :(
Anyway, on to my idea roll - [url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2022277/]Hmm, what was that bang? (1d100=19)[/url] - yup, got it.
