Play@YSDC

Pierre and Fabrice are up early to head down to Pointe Pierre to prepare the boat to pick George Benson up from Cap Matelot.

Florence is already awake, spending a restless few hours worrying about Marise and the events of last night. Unable to get back to sleep with the roosters crowing she creeps into the room where Marise is sleeping along with the little ones and she examines the golden hairclip. In the blackness, tinged with the slightest red glow of dawn, it doesn't seem so extraordinary, just a bad depiction of a sea creature. She pulls it out and tosses it into the patch of vegetable waste out the back window, it slowly sinks into the filth.

OOC,You can recover Insight by destroying mythos objects but not until your Insight is at 5

Tired and with a nagging headache, Florence returns later to wake Marise and finds her lying on her side, awake and staring blankly at the wall. She is no more forthcoming about what happened last night.

Florence busies herself getting the children up and breakfasted. Marise hardly eats anything, listlessly spooning the cornmeal around the bowl. Ginette starts to tease her older sister about the fuss in the night but when she sees Marise's lethargic demeanour she thinks better of it. Young Rosalie remains her usual, irrepressible self, tearing around the confines of the small house.

Not able to trust Marise in charge of the younger ones, Florence walks a few doors down and reluctantly wakes her sister Lusette, asking her to watch the children.

-----

Waking in the one room shack he shares with his father, Laurent stretches and looks out at the sun rising over the blue waters of the Caribbean. Despite his late night he's slept well and feels rested. After checking his feet for chigres, nasty little insects that lay eggs under the nails, he breakfasts and hurries over to the Lavigne house. He intends to meet with Florence Lavigne, mother to his close friend Pierre. He's not entirely sure what Florence intends to do about last night's events but he wants to help his friend's family and if that helps Pierre's pretty sister Marise, well all the better.

-----

By the time Laurent arrives it is still fairly early in the morning, but the freshness of the dawn is already giving way to the heat and the humidity of a St Joe day. A few roosters still crow here and there, but nowhere near as many as at dawn.

Florence is expecting Laurent, and makes some extra breakfast - she lets the girls know he's coming, hoping that it will get some sign of animation from Marise (but not much hope).

She doesn't really know what to do about last night either. What she can think of is searching beach near where Etienne found Marise, to see if anything more is visible in the daylight - or going to the Azagon to speak with Lindo again - or going to the Anse Douse, since both of them seemed to be going there. She could try to find someone from the Voudun procession, but she doesn't know what they could have to do with this:

OOC,Roll to recognise any of them or to know if they were stangers to the town 3, and 4 if a second die is available for being a resident; not risking any more insight over it.

"Merci beaucoup!" says Laurent when he arrives and sees the food. He tells Florence and her family what he knows about George Benson.

"He lends his boat out sometimes? Let us see if anyone was borrowing it last night. No, let us see if someone has been borrowing it often."

"Good idea," says Laurent.

Florence is wearing red today, perhaps with a desire for a ferocity. She head's for Benson's Dame Marie office.

Laurent accompanies her, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt.

Talking about last night's ceremony, neither Florence nor Laurent can recall seeing any Vodou priests they knew, no houngans or mambos, but they aren't completely au fait with the Hounfor part of town and all the people and goings on there. But they're both sure they recognised people from Dame Marie in the crowd, these were definitely locals.

Laurent mentions that he did see one person he knew, Pierre Labas, standing under a sacred malou tree, drumming on his guitar.

Pierre is often seen about town, with his guitar and little dog. Laurent likes him because he often plays American songs, usually the blues but jazz as well. Florence knows him well from the Sharktooth Bar. He's of indeterminate age, maybe his sixties, but probably the oldest person in Dame Marie and the source of a lot of rumours and folklore. People say he's from the original village, the only surviving resident. They say it was a hurricane, washed away the village and everyone in it. That’s what they say.

-----



Benson's office is on the ground floor of a house on the main street down towards the waterfront. When Laurent and Florence arrive it seems to be shut. A woman leans over the balcony above and shouts, 'Try the door.' When Laurent turns the door handle it doesn't seem to be locked.

Stepping inside the cramped office they can see a few chairs, a bureau scattered with papers and with a telephone on top, a rare sight in Dame Marie. On the walls are tacked various charts of the north coast of St. Joe.

While waiting for the woman to come down, Florence looks at the maps to see what points are prominently marked (she presumes she won't have time to make anything of the papers, even if they happen to be in Creole in the first place).

Laurent, who does know some English, looks at the papers without touching them.

The charts have various markings and notations, the most obvious, at least to Florence's eye, are various areas of sea circled around the old buccaneer island of Ile du Vent just off the coast. Further areas are circled between Ile du Vent and the disputed island of St Albin to the west, where the US maintains a lighthouse. She isn't able to decipher the labels scrawled beside the circles.

The papers themselves are scattered across Benson's desk. Laurent can't make anything of them, they seem to be hand written summaries of fishing catches, assessments of what areas of the sea give the highest yields, and requests to St Joe City to fund more fishing equipment among other things. He does notice, just poking out from under another letter, a thick cream coloured notelet, with something written in a neat feminine hand quite different to Benson's scrawl.

Before he can look any closer the lady from the balcony emerges from the stairs. She's a cheerful woman in her fifties, moving unhurriedly and a bit stiffly. 'Bonjou, I'm afraid m'sié Benson isn't here right now, if you can find something to write on you could leave him a message.'

Glancing at the photo on Benson's desk would be enough to confirm that this St Joe commère is not Benson's wife, probably his landlady. But Laurent already knows that, this isn't Alice Benson.

The photo shows a young white man, ruddy faced, chisel jawed, handsome like the American film stars. He's wearing a helmet and padding that Laurent recognises as American football gear. The man is clearly a young George Benson. And beside him the pale teenage girl is his now wife Alice, even in black and white he can see the large dark green eyes, wide mouth, and full lips. She's beautiful, as Laurent knows, because she teaches English part-time at the École Dame Marie.

"We came to pick him up in our boat, Madame," says Laurent.

"And I was curious about his own boat," Florence adds. "I understand he sometimes allows its use by guests?"

The woman looks puzzled, 'Dezole, mwen pa konprann, m'sie Benson already left this morning, taking his boat to Cap Matelot, some politician from St Joe City is taking it out for a pleasure cruise this weekend. He said one of the fishermen will pick him up from there.'

She sees the confusion in their faces, You see, George doesn't own the boat, it's owned by the government, they bought it for him to do his job, with the fishermen. And all that was available at the time was that big cruiser, so the politicians want to have their fun with it, with Ti Maman, hah, a suitable name I think, with all the girlfriends who get taken out on it.'

"We're the ones who are going to pick him up from Cap Matelot," says Laurent.

"Was anyone aboard it last night?" Florence asks. (if the woman wants to know why she's asking, she'll say she saw someone messing around with the fishing boats, and since M'sieur Benton's is so much grander feared the same thing might have happened with it).

'Well you should get going if you don't want him to have to wait around for hours in Cap Matelot!'

She looks at them suspiciously, 'I expect the Ti Maman was tied up in Pointe Pierre last night, like it always is...who did you say you were again? Kijan ou rele?'

OOC,Do you want to be going with Fabrice and Pierre to pick up Benson or is that just a ruse to pump the lady for information?

Mephistophilis wrote: ↑Wed Apr 21, 2021 10:01 pm She looks at them suspiciously, 'I expect the Ti Maman was tied up in Pointe Pierre last night, like it always is...who did you say you were again? Kijan ou rele?'

"Florence Lavigne," Florence answers before wondering if it might have been better to give a false one. But she has no real reason to suspect anything sinister of the woman, so she adds, "Fabrice Lavigne is my husband. Something happened by the water last night. I was hoping, if there had been someone aboard, they might have seen something."

OOC,Florence would rather follow up one of the other possibilities and ask Fabrice and Pierre about Benson later. However Laurent has already said he's going, and she doesn't want to make a liar out of him, so if he'd prefer to go, she won't ask him to remain with her.

"And I'm Laurent," says Laurent. "I'm a friend of their children. I've come along to help."

Mollified by their apparent readiness to give their names the woman loosens up. 'Lavigne, yes, I think that's who George said was picking him up. I don't think there was anyone on the boat last night. Look, you do need to get going. George set off hours ago and I doubt your boat has the speed of his cruiser, even with those new outboard motors of his.'

"Merci," says Laurent. "We'll be on our way, then."

"Merci," Florence says too. Outside, she says, "I'm going to try to find Pierre Labas, I think, but if you want to go out on the boat with Pierre and Fabrice, that's fine."

"D'accord, let's do that," says Laurent, looking forward to meeting George Benson.

Florence,Can you roll 2d6 for knowing where Pierre Labas might be found, extra die for being Dame Marie resident and barmaid

Laurent,Hmm, not sure they won't have left by now, you roll 2d6, first 1d6 for getting to the boat before it leaves, second 1d6 is me opposing that roll, you can add a third 1d6 if you want to risk Insight

Laurent is not quite fast enough.

By the time Laurent arrives down in Pointe Pierre they have left. The Lavigne boat is one of the biggest in Dame Marie, which is probably why Benson asked them to pick him up. Rather than a traditional ceiba-tree dugout it is a 21ft wooden boat, now with an outboard motor. He remembers Pierre telling him it was handbuilt by his father and grandfather when they still lived in Port Roche. Laurent can just about make out the boat, out towards Ile du Vent, but they're too far for him to be able to pick out Fabrice or Pierre individually.

Florence knows Labas lives in the Hounfor district, but she's not sure where. In the afternoon and evening he's usually to be found in one of the bars of Dame Marie. She doesn't know what he does to make money, although he's a skilled musician. This early in the day she isn't sure where he might be found but suspects her best chance would be one of the cafés in Pointe Pierre, they tend to open early for the fishermen although it is Sunday today they won't all be trading.

Florence makes her way to Point Pierre, reasoning that some of the fisherman may want a charm from M. Labas for their next voyage out.

Having missed the boat, Laurent goes to catch up to Florence.

Laurent sees Florence as she walks down to the row of shops along the shore of Pointe Pierre. Half of them are shut up as it is early on Sunday, and many of the fishermen will be having a rest day or going to church. A few stores are already open however, including Old Man Samuel’s shop. 'Early to open and late to close' they say about Samuel, although as they get a bit closer they see that it is one of his daughters or nieces who has opened up this morning.

At this time of day they serve coffee and other beverages inside the store while customers sit outside on various stools and benches. A couple of weatherbeaten fishermen are sipping coffees and smoking cigarettes. Perched on a stool is old Pierre Labas. He's strumming his battered guitar in the traditional méringue style, a wooden pipe clenched between his teeth. Seeing Florence and Laurent approach he tips his straw hat.

"Bonjour!" calls Laurent, smiling and waving to Pierre Labas. He lets Florence do the talking at first.

Florence leads with some pleasantries, asking and answering questions about how things are (that's not a feigned tactic - he's a regular at the Sharktooth and someone to respect). Then she asks he saw her and Laurent pass by the vodun procession last evening - she doesn't bring up the state Marise was in unless he does first - "I wondered whether I should take part and pay respects to the loa, but I've not seen anything like it before, and thought it might be private."

Labas's thin, leathery face splits to reveal a wide yellowed smile. ‘Bonjou, commère. Kijan ou ye?’

After some small talk he answer's Florence's question, 'All welcome to celebrate the loa commère, that's how Bondye made it. Maybe you're asking which of the mystères we was celebrating? That be Agoué, and we took his offering down to the sea for him.'

He takes out his pipe, taps out the tobacco and slowly refills it from a little tin, leaning on his bamboo cane.

'We got a special place for Agoué in Dame Marie. Need to keep him sweet, keep him smiling on us.'

"That must be why the fishing is so good lately," says Laurent.

"Can you tell me more about Agoué'?" Florence asks. "I have a shrine to Badessy, but I can never ask for too much help for Fabrice when he's at sea."

Labas laughs heartily, 'Yeah, see, Laurent gets it, but Agoué ain't just about messing with the fish. Badessy, he of the wind and the sky, a good loa for the fisherman. But in Dame Marie you gotta pray to Agoué, koki lanmè, the shell of the sea. Not just for the fishing, more than that. Agoué, he married to Lasirenn, keeps her and her children away from Dame Marie, from the boats, some things you don't wanna meet in the sea.'

They both notice, maybe for the first time, that Labas has a slightly odd way of talking, the rhythm or accent maybe, a bit old fashioned anyway, and not like anyone else in the village.

OOC,You want to pump Labas for more info I'd like some rolls - I'd say Florence gets 2d6 due to being a barmaid, Laurent gets 1d6 unless you want to add in the Insight die

"What things are those?" asks Laurent, his curiosity encouraging Labas to show off his knowledge.

Labas cackles, 'Don't be too curious ti gason. Agoué, he keeps away the sirèn, mermaids, they ain't all pretty like you heard. Seen one washed up in Anse Douce one day, all bloated and ugly, maybe it was just cos it was dead and swollen with water, maybe. The white men say they're lamanten, manatees, but what do they know? I ain't never seen manatees wearing gold jewellery like the sirèn does.'

He drops his voice and leans forward conspiratorially, his breath carries a strong odour, garlic. 'Last time people forgot about Agoué the sirèn rose up out of the water and took the village with 'em. Back twenty five year it was. They say it was a hurricane, washed away the village and everyone in it. That’s what they say…But people still lock up their doors at night in Dame Marie. They remember even if they don't remember, konprann sa mwen di? You gotta keep Agoué sweet so he tells his madmwazèl Lasirenn, "keep them ugly babies under control".'

'Only me an' Louis Clermont left from old Dame Marie, but we not gonna forget. Don't mess with the loa, they is deserving of your respect.'

He sits back, a more thoughtful look on his face, his brow slightly furrowed. He scratches his little black and white potcake dog behind the ears. It stops running around and turns to Laurent, it seems to be staring straight at him.

Strumming his steel strung guitar, Labas starts singing in English, Laurent recognises it as an old Delta Blues number, he can just about follow the words in English.

• 'I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
  I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
  Asked the Lord above, "Have mercy, now, save poor Bob if you please"'

He stops singing and strums away rhythmically for a few more bars and then ceases altogether. His face now looks troubled.

'You don't mess with Vodou, it no game for playing. You don't laugh at the loa, you don't take the Gede name in vain. Look at the stupid Americans with their 'Azagon Hotel'. You don't wanna call up Azagon Lacroix unless you know what you doing. A bocor, a witch doctor, a black magician, looking to make a zombi, not no pretty name for rich white men to have their arses wiped for them.'

He starts playing and singing again.

• 'Standin' at the crossroad, baby, risin' sun goin' down
  Standin' at the crossroad, baby, eee-eee, risin' sun goin' down
  I believe to my soul, now, poor Bob is sinkin' down'

Laurent applauds for the song. "The sirèn, do they leave people on the beach without their clothes?" he asks.

"And do they give people gold?" Florence adds.

OOC,I rolled 2 and 6 for getting information.

After a few more bars Labas stops. 'Naked on the beach?' He gives a wheezing laugh. 'Getting friendly with the fishermen?' He looks more serious, 'Well, they use ta say. And this is old old tales, even for an old man like me. They use ta say Lasirenn need somethink from the men to make the sirèn'. You know what I mean? But most men not desperate enough for that. Most men.'

At Florence's question his face turns dark, 'Why you gonna go ask me that? Somethink give you gold? Throw it back in the sea, commère and don't be asking any more questions about it.'

The little black and white dog starts barking at Florence.

'Labas's face twists into a grimace. For a moment, as the sun catches his face full on and reflects off it, she sees his thin, shrivelled face with the pale skin pulled tight across, his eyes dark and shadowed, like a skull. Leering at her. ----- Roll the Insight die.

• 'And I went to the crossroad, mama, I looked east and west
  I went to the crossroad, baby, I looked East and West
  Lord, I didn't have no sweet woman, ooh well, babe, in my distress.'

" Are all the sirèn women, or are there men among them?" asks Laurent.

Labas shrugs, 'I ain't never seen a man sirèn, but I ain't seen many ladies either.'

"But you have seen some?" asks Laurent.

Labas starts laughing but it soon turns into a fit of coughing. He clears his throat and spits on the ground. 'Well, now you make me think about it, I only seen the one for sure, bloated swollen thing washed up in Anse Douce. Was it a man, was it a woman? I can't rightly say, but it was ugly. The fishermen say the sirèn is women, ugly women in gold jewellery, but fishermen say a lot of things after a few glasses of rum. Out towards Ile du Vent they say, that's where you'll find 'em.'

"I'd rather not find them," says Laurent.

Giving a kind of low growl Labas says 'Ain't that the truth.'

Have you guys finished with Labas? What do you want to do now?

Florence still needs to roll her Insight die

Finally made it back. Sorry for the absence - computer issues turned into other issues.

Her insight's 3, and I rolled a 4. So I guess that means her insight is 4 now.

"Do you know of any men who were desperate enough?" Florence asks.

No problem, yep, Insight now 4

Labas shrugs at Florence's question. Then he smiles, 'Fishing been good recently?'

"What about during times when the fishing wasn't so good?" asks Laurent.

"Or when there was a bad storm?" Florence adds.

Labas shrugs again. 'Fishing was good before too. Twenty five year ago.'

He stops talking and begins to play a song on his guitar, it's Blues but Laurent doesn't recognise it.

• 'The things that I used to do
  Lord, I won't do no more
  The things that I used to do
  Lord, I won't do no more
  I used to sit and hold your hand, baby
  Crying, begging you not to go.'

He shows no sign he's interested in talking any further.

"Merci beaucoup," says Laurent, applauding the song.

Florence applauds the song too, and thanks Labas before leaving.

Once they're a short distance away, she says, "That last verse he sang. He may be warning us of something. Is the "baby" one of these sirèns, do you think?"

"Could be," says Laurent. "In American music, a girlfriend is often called baby. What should we do next?"

"We could look at the Anse Douse, to see if we can find anything in the daylight. Both Marise and that American seemed to be going there. Or we could go to the Azagon and talk to him again. I don't know what else to do except wait for Fabrice to come back with Benson."

Do we know who is this Louis Clermont that Labas mentioned?

For the moment, she doesn't want to tell Laurent the strange impression she got of M. Labas's face - not until she's more clear on what it means.

"D'accord, let's examine the Anse Douce," says Laurent.

Mephistophilis wrote: ↑Mon May 31, 2021 6:58 pm

OOC:   Louis Clermont is the local doctor

And M. Labas said he's from the old town as well. Florence finds it interesting that he doesn't seem to want that known.

She adds visiting him to her to-do list (though she wants him to check on Marise anyway, so it can wait until then). She makes her way to Anse Douce.

Laurent accompanies her.

Florence and Laurent stroll down to Anse Douce. The sun bright in the sky and the day becoming humid and sweaty. Anse Douce, 'peaceful cove', unspoiled half-mile crescent of tangled sea-grape bushes, sweeping white sand beach washed by clear blue waters. A scattering of fairy-world rocks terminating in a gully filled with huge chunks of coral like a castle.

No one except seekers of privacy went down to Anse Douce and certainly no one swam there, which was a pity as it had a certain beauty.

The air smelled fresh, salty, that faint odour of fish that clung to everything in Pointe Pierre washed away.

Laurent looks around for tracks in the sand and other signs of someone's recent presence on the beach - human or otherwise.

Florence does the same. It's curious that no one comes here - has that been the case as long as she can remember?

Any tracks from last night have been washed away by the tide. Walking the shore Laurent sees one clump of seaweed that seems suspicious, he pushes it apart with a foot but it's only a ragged T-shirt left by some youngster, or perhaps dropped off a boat and washed ashore.

Further along there is a bulky amorphous shape lying at the edge of the sand with the water lapping against it and towards the end of the bay there is a rocky gully and Florence can just make out a flash of red.

Florence tries to think back, as long as she's lived in Dame Marie she can't remember anyone swimming in Anse Douce, young lovers coming down for a few hours of privacy, but no one swims. She's not sure why, they just don't. Maybe something to do with the currents, or the lack of waves. Certainly the beach up past Pointe Pierre is much more popular, that's where she'd go

Florence approaches the shape cautiously, trying to make out what it is, images of Labas's stories running through her mind.

Laurent, who has gone swimming and surfing past Pointe Pierre, goes with Florence to check out the shape.

At first the bloated shape at the shore reminds Florence and Laurent of a human body, but looking closer it is the remains of some kind of animal. They're not too sure what it is but there's a chunk taken out of its side, like something has bitten it, something big.

Laurent looks around where the carcass was found to see if there are any trails of blood leading away from it.

There's no trail of blood that he can see. From the state of the body Laurent thinks it probably died out at sea and washed up here. It seems at least partially decomposed.

Laurent tells Florence his deductions.

"Very likely," Florence agrees. "It looks a bit like a pig. Do these sirèns keep them for food?" She shivers slightly as she realises her question just assumed the sirèns are real.

How large is the bite on its side?

"Yes, it does look like a pig," says Laurent. "I wonder how it ended up in the sea. Did someone give it as an offering?"

"Maybe so. I've lived on St Joseph my whole life, and never heard of anything like this."

"Shall we try the hotel next?" asks Laurent.

The bite on the side of this creature is pretty big, maybe a large shark.

If you want to know what this is you could roll 1d6. By the way, the flash of red they saw was further down the shore, by a rocky gully

Laurent takes another look at the bite.

Roll to identify the creature:
1d6

Florence wants to take a look at where the flash of red was before leaving (but otherwise, agrees with Laurent about the hotel).

Rolled a 3 for telling anything about the bite.

Thinking back to Labas and his talk of sirèn they look a bit closer at the body. It does look rather like a pig, or a cow, and they realise it is probably a manatee. Maybe the white men aren't too far from the truth.

Although the bite mark looks old they can still discern some features. It is a large, single bite, the edges of the wound suggest many small, sharp teeth. Larger than a reef shark, and they don't usually attack anything this big, maybe a bull shark. It's strange, Laurent can't really recall having ever heard of shark attacks on manatees before.

Florence can't have lived in Dame Marie her whole life since the town was destroyed and resettled 25yrs ago.

Walking further up the beach there is a wide gully of coral boulders running down from the seagrape bushes to the water's edge. At the near end of the gully there is a tree lying in the water, a whole rose apple tree — a big one — obviously washed ashore.

Laurent examines the tree. "Could it have been blown out to sea in a storm and then washed back ashore?" he wonders aloud.

"It must have," Florence agrees.

Changed to "on St Joseph."

Although not a native species these rose apple trees are quite common in the gardens of St Joe's elite, it is entirely conceivable it was blown out to see in a storm and then washed up here. As far as Laurent and Florence can see there's nothing remarkable about the tree, other than how unusual it is to see a whole tree like this washed up on the beach.

What's more interesting is that beyond the gully, there is a tumble of boulders that marks the end of the cove. Chunks of coral in all shapes and sizes, resting every which way, and seeming to form pockets, tunnels, fissures, crevices, and even maybe some small, dark caves.

""Let's go take a look over there, suggests Laurent, pointing to the end of the cove.

Florence nods and joins him.

The blocks of coral form a series of small caves running up to the naked rock. No rain could fall here, nor would any seawater come this far up the gully unless driven by a storm more severe than Anse Douce has known in recent months. The sand therefore is soft, and there are many blurry footprints visible.

Towards the end of the caves, where they were more rock than coral, a great crack zigzags through the rock face. Nothing is visible in the darkness and it is too small to climb through. On the ground nearby there is a layer of fine brown particulate matter and a distinctive but indescribable smell, ammonia-like but more organic and fleshy, like rotting fish.

Roll 1d6 to search the cave

Laurent takes a thorough look inside the caves.

Roll to search the caves:
1d6

Rolled 1D6: 6

Florence must have caught the right angle for the light.

Looking over the fissure and the detritus on the floor, Laurent thinks it is probably bat guano, suggesting the hole in the rock leads to another cave beyond. It's about half a metre across and then narrows, too narrow for him to get any further in. It slopes sharply down and the sun catches something within the crack, reflecting the light, balanced on a little ridge of rock. He leans in and with some stretching manages to retrieve it, it looks like a brooch. He holds it up to Florence, the burnished gold metal is familiar to them both from last night. The shape is bizarre, like a bloated fish but with legs underneath the body, and a short lure dangling in front of the mouth. The workmanship is exquisite but it has an unpleasant look to it.

While Florence studies the brooch Laurent steps back and looks at the cave floor. In the soft sand there are many footprints, the few distinct ones are of different sizes, both men and women, or maybe children. Some barefoot and some wearing shoes. While he studies the floor he notices the sand is disturbed around a large stone, with something poking out underneath. Crouching down he rolls away the stone and sees there are clothes buried, under the rock. Digging into the soft sand he draws out a pair of khaki trousers and a shabby green shirt, beneath them he digs out a pair of sandals.

Over his shoulder Florence sees something that catches her attention. Where the sand has been disturbed by Laurent there is more fabric visible, something blue. Florence rushes over and pulls on the fabric, uncovering a large piece of clothing. She shakes the sand off, it is a blue karabela dress with white lacing, just like the one Marise was wearing last night.

With the commotion caused by Florence pulling out the dress Laurent notices something falling to the floor. A silver pin, it looks like a cheap name badge like they sell in Le Cap, probably dropped by some kid while they were having a party. Finishes with the brooch, Florence takes the pin from Laurent and holds it up to the sunlight, looking more closely, turning it over and peering at the back of it. This isn't a cheap trinket, it's sterling silver and would have cost a lot of money. And there's a name engraved on it, 'Alice'.

Florence feels light headed, she hears the seagulls crying overhead, there's something about their cry, almost like a voice, the voice of Badessy perhaps... And another sound, a high pitched tinkling, coming from the direction of the fissure in the rock.

I can't decide if Florence is really lucky or really unlucky! Roll Insight again

Well, this time I rolled a 2, so I at least don't get another point.

Florence looks aghast between the clothing and the cave. "Marise must have come here with... what were they doing in that cave? And without clothes. There must be another way in, somehow."

The brooch fills her with distaste as she associates it with the changes in her daughter. Unless Laurent stops her she takes M. Labas's advice and throws it into the sea.

Looking at the pin, she says, "Alice is the name of George Benson's wife, non?"

And when the tinkling starts, she looks at the cave in terror. "Laurent, get away from there!"

Laurent backs away from the cave. "Oui, that's his wife's name," he says. "I wonder if the clothes I found belong to the American we met last night."

"If he's touched her..." Florence growls, before the situation at hand recaptures her attention.

Laurent shakes out the clothes and looks at them more carefully, the trousers could belong to anyone, but the shirt, it's shabby but stylish, American maybe. The dress, that's just like something Marise has.

Florence flings the golden brooch into the sea and watches it disappear under the water. She feels oddly reassured by the action. Turning back to look at the crack in the rock the tinkling sound abruptly stops and the seagulls go silent.

There's something about the cave, it's like the moth and the flame, although this moth senses the danger and can't resist. Florence finds herself fascinated by the dark recess in the rock wall, but she's getting some nasty vibes as well. Tilting her head, it's like a crooked smile, like the cave is smiling at her, like it knows something that she doesn't. Florence pulls herself together and backs further away, this place isn't right, it's like...it's like some kind of time bomb that might go off at any minute.

OOC:   Alice is indeed the name of George Benson's wife, and it's a relatively unusual name for St Joe

"I think we should go," Florence says in a trembling voice. "Something is wrong here. This is a bad place."

"Agreed," says Laurent, feeiing more than a little nervous.

Laurent and Florence back out of the cave onto the beach. The sun is getting higher in the sky and it is becoming hotter, muggier.

Looking out to sea, over towards the old pirate island of Ile du Vent they can see a boat, but it's too far off to identify.

Where do they want to go?

Florence agrees with Laurent's suggestion.

Laurent is very familiar with the St Joe camions, spending much if his time fixing the unreliable beasts. They walk back up into Dame Marie and find one idling on the main stretch. Brightly coloured and crammed with passengers.

The driver indicates he is heading back towards Cap Matelot so will be passing near enough to the Azagon Hotel. The camion hangs around for another twenty minutes until it is full and begins the bone jangling journey over the dirt roads.

Belching diesel fumes it is crowded with stems of bananas, sacks of produce, and unwashed passengers. Trussed-up chickens squawking incessantly. Almost unbearably hot and stinking both Laurent and Florence are nursing aching backs and upset stomachs before they have even passed the sisal plantation outside Dame Marie.

Looking out they can see several half naked men working the fields.

If you roll me 1d6 I can tell you what you know about the Azagon Hotel - I'd say Laurent can have 2d6 as he services their vehicles

Laurent knows all about the hotel.

Roll to see what I know about the Azagon Hotel (human die, occupation die):
2d6

Florence knows a bit, but not much.

Rolled a 4.

Laurent looks at the men working among the tall sisal plants. They're near naked, with grey skin and empty eyes. Mechanically going through the motions of cutting down the leaves, no sign of comprehension behind their eyes. Like they're drunk, or drugged, or something. Like their ti bon ange, their spirit, has gone, and all that is left is their gros bon ange, the basic biological functions, like the old stories of the zombi.

OOC:   Test Insight

The Azagon Hotel is something of a white elephant. It was built by a rich American architect as a resort hotel and initially reinvigorated the town, providing extra work with the building and then running the place. But it never attracted many guests, and why would it? Named after the Gede Azagon, loa of death and cemeteries, and without even a proper paved road to get there from St Joe City.

A few years ago it foundered and closed down, sat there empty in the middle of nowhere. Then in the last year it reopened, this time as some sort of hospital. It is said the millionaire owner had built it here because his beautiful new actress wife thought it would be a nice place to relax when she wasn't making pictures. Well, the beautiful wife becomes an alcoholic and gets saved by an American doctor, when the place closes down he gives it to the doctor, a nice quiet place where rich white people can come and get away from the stress among the poor of St Joseph Island.

No one knows much about what goes on there but a few people from Dame Marie have managed to obtain employment as cleaners and servants and the like.

-----



Approaching the Azagon Hotel, it looks out of place in the surroundings. Three stories tall, it looks vaguely like pictures of the Palais National in St Joe City. Like the National Palace it is painted white, a new coat since Laurent and Florence last saw it. A broad front lawn and an elaborate entrance with wide steps, double front doors, and a bell.

"Zombi," gasps Laurent when he sees the workers in the fields. He has heard of them, of course, but it's quite something else to see them.

Insight roll (current level 1):
1d6
Insight (finally) increases to 2.

Florence looks where Laurent is pointing and gasps. "How much evil do we face?"

"More than I thought," says Laurent. "Old Pierre probably knows about this already, but we should ask him the next time we see him."

"There was something about him, when we spoke. For a second, I thought he looked like a dead man. I wasn't sure I was really seeing it."

"Maybe you had a premonition," says Laurent. "He could be in danger."

The grounds of the hotel are pretty deserted but they see a middle aged man in black trousers and a white shirt walking along a path beside the lawns.

"Let's go talk to him," says Laurent. "We can ask him if he's seen that American."

"Wait a moment," Florence says - "is he controlling the zombis?"

"We have no reason to think he is their controller more than anyone else," says Laurent, "and they are far away from here."

Laurent and Florence walk up to the man and get his attention. He turns and gives them a smile. He's dressed in black trousers and a spotless white chef's jacket and looks to be in his early forties, a slight waft of garlic comes off him. 'Bonjou compères, can I help you?'

"Bonjour," says Laurent. "We're looking for an American we believe is staying at the hotel." He describes the man they saw on the beach the other night. "Have you seen him?"

The man introduces himself as Ti-Jean Lazaire, one of the chefs at the Azagon. At your description of a naked white man running along the beach he raises his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. When you say the man was fat but athletic his look changes, more pensive perhaps, but he says he still doesn't know who it could be.

At the mention of Lawton Lindo he says, 'Oui, Mr Lindo is one of our...guests. Dr Driscoll takes their privacy very seriously, why are you asking about him?'

Roll to see if he's telling the truth and for how much he wants to help you

"We found some clothes in the area, and we were wondering if they belonged to him," says Laurent.

Roll to see what I can tell about the chef:
1d6

"We met him briefly last night, and they seemed as if they might fit him," Florence adds.

Rolled 4 to read M. Lazaire.

Lazaire laughs at Laurent's suggestion, 'Non, I do not think Mr Lindo has lost any clothes.'

At the mention of these clothes Lazaire looked surprised, or maybe frightened or worried, but he seems genuine when he says he doesn't think they belong to Mr Lindo

'Where did you find these clothes?'

"They were in one of the caves at the end of Anse Douce," says Laurent.

"Has anyone else misplaced anything from here?" Florence asks.

'Ah, non, I do not think that any of our guests have lost anything. Now, maybe it is time for you to go, eske se pa vre?' As he says this they hear a vehicle crunch up the hotel drive, it is jeep being driven by a white man.

When Laurent says 'Anse Douce', Lazaire startles, almost like an involuntary twitch or spasm

"Merci beaucoup," says Laurent, turning to see who is arriving.

"D'Accord," Florence says. "Merci."

Out of the jeep leaps a striking man. He's tall, with the physique of a professional athlete or a ballet dancer. He has raven hair and large near black eyes in a tanned face with a large flat nose. He flashes Laurent and Florence a smile with the whitest of teeth between full lips. There is an overpowering smell of cologne.

'Hola mis amigos, bonjour mes amis, welcome to the Azagon Hotel. Are you new staff to join our little family?' He talks in French with a deep, booming voice. His intonation suggests he's normally a Spanish speaker, although his French is impeccable.

'Juan Mendoza, doctor...patient, well doctor and patient I suppose.'

Gripping Laurent and Florence's hands in his giant fists he gives a handclasp that echoes the vigour in his voice. Those fingers could probably break rocks without a hammer.

While Mendoza is introducing himself Lazaire makes himself scarce.

"Non, Doctor," says Laurent. "We are just visiting. I am Laurent Toussaint."

"Oui, that's right," says Laurent. "I hope the vehicles are running smoothly, but I'd be happy to take a look at them if there's a problem."

"I work at the Sharktooth in town," Florence adds.

'All running smoothly as far as I know, you're doing a great job Laurent,' says Dr Mendoza. In response to Florence he gives her a wicked smile, 'Of course you do. I've heard of the Sharktooth but I would be a very naughty boy if I went there, Dr Driscoll's orders.'

"Thank you, Dr. Mendoza," says Laurent. "Dr. Driscoll sounds very strict. Why doesn't he want you going to the Sharktooth?"

"It's not a rough or unsavoury place," Florence says. (In spite of herself, she's finding herself slightly attracted to Dr Mendoza).

Mendoza's attention seems entirely directed to Florence, 'I am quite sure the Sharktooth is an upstanding establishment. Unfortunately Dr Driscoll doesn't want me going near anywhere serving alcohol. That's partly why I'm here.' He gives an oily smile, 'But maybe I could make an exception.'

"It should be okay, as long as you don't actually have anything to drink," says Laurent. He knows some people would be tempted to drink simply by being in a bar, which is probably why Dr. Driscoll doesn't want him going there.

'If it were that easy, my young friend, I wouldn't be here,' says Mendoza genially, but with perhaps a hint of irritation.

"Ah, I'm sorry," says Laurent. "I am too young to know much of such things. Do you know the other patients well?"

"Je comprende," Florence says to Mendoza's confession. "Is Dr Driscoll a good doctor?"

Mendoza seems to think for a few second. 'Si, Tom Driscoll is a good man, a good doctor. But an enterprise like the Azagon is a lot of work. And since his illness, well, it is a lot of work.'

'As for the other patients, well, I'm in something of an in-between position. I came here to tackle my own demons but I'm also earning my keep by working as a doctor so they're my fellow patients but also my patients. There are twenty to thirty patients at any one time. Most people have problems with alcohol or other addictions but some have mental illness and a few are recovering from chronic physical conditions.'

"What can you tell us about Lawton Lindo?" asks Laurent.

"We mt him last night by the water," Florence adds. "At first we thought these clothes might have been his, but it seems not."

'Ah, Lawton, he's a good man. Successful attorney I understand, from somewhere in the US, Baltimore I think. Maybe he can be a successful attorney again, when he learns that alcoholics can't drink - ever' says Mendoza. 'Nervous sort, walks in his sleep...' he peers at the clothes, 'I can't see Lawton in these but they do look familiar...' He seems to hesitate.

"Do you know whose they are?" asks Laurent. "We'd like to return them to their rightful owner."

Mendoza seems to squirm, 'I'm not sure I should really tell you this, the Azagon manager, Paul Henninger, he's been having some problems recently, another sleepwalker actually. Anyway, these clothes do look a lot like the sort of thing he'd wear. In fact that shirt's a lot like what he was wearing last night when I saw him go out into Dame Marie. I followed him for a bit, I was worried about him, but he wasn't sleep walking. He went to the Hounfor district. You know as well as I do that it isn't just voodoo they get up to there, it's also the red light district, so I left him to it. I heard that he returned in the early hours soaking wet and naked with some story about waking up in the ocean.'

"That explains it," says Laurent. "We found the clothes in one of the caves at Anse Douce. There were other clothes there too. It looks like he's not the only one."

Florence physically flinches as this news (as she imagines Marise caught up in the image Mendoza has just painted). "Do you know where we might speak to M. Henniger?" she asks. Thinking that she should suggest some more reason for it, she adds, "If they are his, we may be able to return them with less embarrassment to him than if someone at the hospital did."

'Didn't you meet Paul when you were hired?' he asks, becoming more suspicious.

Whoever wants to Pursuade him to take you to Henninger roll an opposed check - first 1d6 is my roll opposing you, second 1d6 is the human roll since it is definitely within human limits, I don't think your career die fit here, and finally you can add in an Insight roll if you want to risk more Insight/insanity

"I just come in sometimes to work on the vehicles," says Laurent. "I'm not the hotel's exclusive employee."

Mendoza's roll:
1d6
Laurent's human roll:
1d6

'Ah, of course, of course, forgive me' he says. 'I'll take you to see Paul. He's an interesting guy, came from a hotel in St Joe City. From Belgium originally, used to be a world class soccer player, though you wouldn't guess now. Came over to St Joe to take up a post with the Centre d'Art in the capital but it didn't work out. A painter I think.'

'And you, my dear' he says to Florence. 'What will you be doing at the Azagon?'

"I... am curious about what it can do to help those with problems," Florence says (this is true inasmuch as she's curious about anything that might have a bearing on Marise or be able to tell Florence what is wrong with her - though she is also deeply suspicious of the place and afraid someone there has hurt her daughter). "And Laurent was kind enough to keep me company while I was so far from home."

"Merci, Doctor," says Laurent.

'Ah, I see, I misunderstood, I thought you had come to the Azagon to work. If you have a need for a doctor perhaps you would be better off seeing old Dr Clermont in Dame Marie. He's actually very good, most of the staff here would see him, keep their health and their work at the Azagon separate.'

He seems caught in two minds for a moment, then continues.

'But I'll take you to see Paul, and give him back his clothes.'

-----

Mendoza leads Florence and Laurent up the wide steps and through the double front doors. Inside the lobby is expensively furnished and almost indecently large, even for a resort hotel. The staircase could have been half as wide and still have been adequate. To Florence and Laurent, who have only ever seen pictures of such grand buildings, such as the Palais National, it is like a fairytale castle.

Still, there were some signs of its change in function, no carpets for a start. And the corridors were quite deserted, although they thought they might have seen a glimpse of Ti-Jean down a side passage. After several twists and turns Mendoza brings them to the door of an office with a nameplate saying 'Manager' in English. He knocks and then enters without waiting for a response.

-----



Inside the office is sitting an overweight man in an ill-fitting, sweat stained suit. He has a receding forehead and greasy skin. His sad grey eyes fill with alarm at the intrusion and he struggles to his feet putting out a hand with short, fat fingers.

Mendoza introduces them and he shakes their hands with a clammy grip. In the overly formal French of the European he says, 'Bonjour, bienvenue à l'Azagon. Je m'appelle Paul Henninger. Je suis le gérant.'

'Hello, welcome to Azagon. My name is Paul Henninger. I am the manager.'

"Bonjour, Monsieur Henninger," says Laurent, shaking his hand firmly. "Je m'appelle Laurent Toussaint."

"Et je m'appelle Florence Lavigne. We hoped to speak with you."

'Bonjour, bonjour. Welcome welcome. How can I help?' says Henninger.

Mendoza mentions they may have found something of his on the beach and he immediately colours up.

He gabbles, 'No need to detain you Dr Mendoza, I'll deal with this' and he hurries Mendoza out the door.

When it is shut he turns back to them, 'You have something of mine?'

"We found some clothes we thought might belong to someone here," Florence says, showing them to Henninger.

Laurent watches Paul for any reaction that shows recognition.

Looking over the shirt and trousers Henninger shakes them out and colours a deeper shade of red. 'Ah, yes yes. These do look like mine. I must have...um...forgotten them.'

"It has happened to others as well, so do not feel too ashamed," says Laurent. "Yours were not the only clothes we found. What were you doing there, and who was with you? We'd like to return their clothes too."

Florence's hands tighten as she thinks about Marise, but she realises she needs to let Laurent's question stand by itself.

Folding his clothes and placing them on the desk Henninger says, 'I'm um, well. I have been having some difficulties at night, sleep walking. But there was no one with me, no, not at all.' While he remains flushed and embarrassed it seems like he has more he could say. Then he adds, 'As a matter purely of interest, what other clothes did you find?'

Suggest a roll here to encourage him to share a bit more

"They were a girl's clothes," says Laurent, hoping to get him to open up to them.

Roll (human die) to get Paul to share more:
1d6

"My daughter's," Florence decides to add. "So you can understand why I hope you or another here might have seen something to help me understand what happened on the beach."

What time is it? How long before Fabrice and Pierre return?

When he hears about the girl from Laurent he looks alarmed and seems to clam up, 'I don't know anything about a girl, I didn't see any girl there.'

He starts to get up, looking like the meeting is over. But when Florence mentions her daughter his sad grey eyes soften in sympathy. 'Look, I'm sorry to hear about your daughter, but I didn't see her. I said I've been suffering from sleepwalking, but that's not the half of it. I've been sleepwalking out of the Azagon, waking up a mile or more away, it's happened nearly ten times now. Dr Clermont says, well he says I need to learn to unwind.'

He shudders, 'Last night, last night was the worst. I woke up in the sea, far out in the sea...'

"Do you remember any dreams you may have had?" asks Laurent.

Florence will need to return home after this interview to start preparing the midday meal for the family (Laurent is welcome to come too of course).

"That must have been terrifying," she says to the comment about having woken up in the sea.

Asked about his dreams Henninger gives Laurent a strange look. 'Well yes, yes, I have had dreams, to be honest they're worse than the sleepwalking. Fantastic nightmares. In the water, always in the water, swimming like a fish through an undersea forest of monstrous coral formations.' He is sweating now and breathing raggedly.

To Florence he says 'You have no idea. I was there, in my room, in bed, settling down to sleep and then suddenly, I'm in the dark sea, no lights, no shore visible, swimming like I had to swim, like something was forcing me, swimming out into the sea, away from land.' His face is feverish, like he's reliving something traumatic, like he's there in the moment. 'Then something bit me, a fish I suppose, and I stopped swimming, confused, treading water, not knowing what to do. And I heard drumming, voodoo drums, and that told me where the land was, I swam to it like a madman. I was so far out I thought I'd never get back. When I pulled myself onto the beach at Anse Douce I was exhausted. I just lay there. Then I walked up and down looking for my clothes, I couldn't find them, but there was no one else there I swear. Eventually I saw a crowd gathering, heard the voodoo drums again, and I ran back to the Azagon Hotel along the shore.'

"What did you have to eat or drink before this happened?" asks Laurent.

'Eat or drink?' he repeats, looking puzzled. 'I mean, I might, um, I think I ate here, at the hotel. Tell you the truth it's not great, too much garlic for one thing, I must have a word with Ti-Jean.'

"We spoke to him on the way in," says Laurent. "It probably wasn't the garlic that caused those dreams. But maybe there's another explanation. Have you learned anything about Voudoun during your time on the island?"

Now that he mentions it, there is a slightly unpleasant waft coming off Henninger, garlic definitely, and something underneath it, a sort of sour odour.

'Ha ha, Voodoo, you sound like Tom Driscoll! No, I don't set much store in superstition' he says. 'I'm sure Dr Clermont is right, it is just stress. And maybe bad cooking.'

"Tom Driscoll sounds interesting," says Laurent. "I'd like to hear more about him."

Florence tries to place the odour.

Only rolled 2 - not using insight for it.

The smell is definitely garlic, perhaps some onion as well. Beneath that there is a sour odour that could be gone-off milk or cheese, Europeans and Americans tend to smell a bit like that anyway, and finally there's something slightly alcoholic with a sort of unsubtle fragrance that Florence associates with the colognes and aftershaves used by some of the richer white men she's seen visit the Sharktooth Bar on occasion.

Henninger says, 'Dr Driscoll is the director here at the Azagon. It is his baby. He thinks the Voodoo people resent him being here, resent us being here.'

"Why does he think so?" asks Laurent. "Have they said anything?"

He shakes his head, 'You'd have to ask Dr Driscoll himself. Personally I've not had any trouble with them, in fact, well, if you can keep this between ourselves and not mention it to anyone, particularly not Tom Driscoll, well, they've been helpful in a way. If you're interested in Voodoo you could do worse than talk to Ti-Jean Lazaire, that's all I'm saying.'

"They've been helpful?" Florence asks. "In what way?"

"Thank you," says Laurent. "We'll keep it hush-hush."

Henninger colours up again, 'Like I say, I don't really buy into this stuff, but Ti-Jean has suggested someone in the Hounfor district who might be able to help me, I suspect that he's some kind of Voodoo witch doctor. But at this point I'm willing to try anything and Dr Clermont didn't exactly say not too.'

"It could help," says Laurent. "Do you know who he suggested you see?"

'All I know is the name, Auxian Ramses.'

Both Laurent and Florence know the name. He's a carpenter, in particular he makes most of the coffins used in Dame Marie.

"I've heard of him," says Laurent. "It might help if you see him. We could go with you if you like."

Henninger shakes his head, 'I'm afraid I'm not in a position to do that right now. But Ti-Jean described the place, a hounfor, with a big mapou tree in the yard.'

A hounfor is a sort of Vodou temple, after which the Hounfor district is named because so many are found there.

"Merci, we'll be sure to pay him a visit," says Laurent.

"Et moi aussi, merci," Florence says. Hesitantly, she asks, "Are your nightmares and sleepwalking new, since you came here, or have you had them before?" (She knows she doesn't really have the right to ask something so personal, and tries to convey in her tone that she understands that).

Henninger looks down. 'This is new for me. I know you can't see it now but I used to be the very picture of health, hell, I played football, soccer for my country, for Belgium in the World Cup! That all seems so long ago now. I can't say that St Joseph made me like this...' he gestures to his ample gut, 'But I didn't have the nightmares or the sleepwalking, that's for sure.'

Anything else you want to do here at the Azagon Hotel or does Florence want to head back into Dame Marie to prepare lunch and see how her husband and son got on?

Agreed.

Florence will invite Laurent to lunch with the Lavignes.