The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Keswick is a small, ancient market town sitting in the grim and isolated countryside of England's Lake District. At its heart is the marketplace around which the town grew. Twice a week it is a hive of activity, full of folk from the town and surrounding countryside keen to do business with the sheep and cattle merchants auctioning their beasts, hawkers and food vendors, and travelling tinkers and tradesmen.

Tonight though, it is virtually empty. Autumnal rain is lashing the cobbles, washing the remaining detritus and filth from yesterday's market into gutters and drains. An icy north westerly wind is driving the rain against the granite frontages of the shops, banks and houses facing onto the marketplace, and those few townspeople still around scurry by quickly, keen to escape the rain and find a dry and warm refuge by the fireside in their homes.

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In the dark of this early October evening, the lights from the ground floor windows of one somewhat neglected but still imposing building are reflected in the murky pools of water gathering in the street. This is the Blackstone Hotel, an old, fading building that retains little of its original charm. Inside the red-and-gold wallpaper turned red-and-ochre a long time ago. The carpets are frayed, the furniture scuffed and a smell of mould permeates. Most unsettlingly, the imitation gas lamps are turned so low that the corners are dark and the shadows long. The long case clock in reception chimes eight thirty, and a strange and assorted cast of characters inside go about their business little knowing the dread and unearthly horror they will soon face...
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Hilary Viscount Exeter came down the stairs dressed in his evening finest. The man's noble bearing stood in stark contrast with the rather dishevelled look of the hotel. He inspected his fingertips and brushed the dust off as he made his way to the refectory and claimed the best table.

Looking around for some of the serving staff, he exclaims:
"I say, could I get a coffee over here!", his pronunciation highly affected. "Black with a splodge of brandy!"
Last edited by DrPeterson on Wed Oct 09, 2013 4:21 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"He said we were all cooked but we were all right as long as we did not know it. We were all cooked. The thing was not to recognize it."
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

Post by Priest »

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At the table closest to the window, beyond which the autumnal wind throws the dismal drizzle against its glass, Helen Long, peers over the pages of the newspaper towards the source of the disturbance. With a snort of mild anger she proceeds to rustle the paper noisily to show her disaproval of having the first of her her evening nightcaps disturbed.
Men, she thinks, great hulking brutes they have no finesse.

Tomorrow she would hope for better light for painting. Tonight maybe a few more "G & T's" to help the creative juices flow.

Whoever the overdressed popinjay was she had no desire to find out, but given the emptiness of the hotel lounge she had a feeling that she would.
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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At the bar a bored barman looks up from the book he was reading, startled at the interruption. In his north country brogue he says "Yes sir, coming right up", before disappearing through a door that presumably leads to the hotel kitchen.

A couple of minutes pass before he comes back into the bar, carrying the drink on a tray. Stopping to top up the glass with a shot of Rémy Martin, he places the coffee cup and saucer in front of Viscount Exeter, taking the Viscount's name and room number as he does so. As soon as he reaches the bar again he picks up his book, and starts reading once more.
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Exeter sips the brandy and lets out a resounding, appreciative "Aaah! Excellent, excellent, right what a fellow needs to get the engine started!".

He leans back in his chair and looks around the room, shaking a cigarette out of his silver cigarette case. Having lit it up, he makes his enjoyment known with another happy sigh.

Yearning for someone to hear him talk, he weighs his option between the totally uninteresting waiter or the newspaper reading bird. He opts for the more sociable choice, hoping the woman wasn't just another employer on a break.

"Ghastly! Simply ghastly! Isn't this a delightfully ghastly place, Madam?"
"He said we were all cooked but we were all right as long as we did not know it. We were all cooked. The thing was not to recognize it."
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Helen Long, peers over the top of her newspaper in a manner that conveys her resentfulness of such a boorish interruption. For a second she considers an appropriate remark, but then decides it is simply not worth the effort.
She rustles the newspaper once again and snorts in a derisive manner at the rude man opposite.

Following a suitable interlude she folds the newspaper, her reading now disturbed and the mood totaly destroyed, places it on the table, opens a cigerette case and removes a cigarette. With practiced ease she fixes the cigerette in the long ivory coloured holder that lies on the table before her.
"Light?" It is more of a demand than a question.
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Totally oblivious to the woman's disdain, Exeter takes the cue and gets up from his chair, taking his brandy and leaving the untouched coffee, and walks over to her table.

"Hilary, Viscount Exeter, at your service, Madam", he smiles a charming smile as he lights the cigarette.

He pulls a chair back and as he sits down he issues an "You don't mind, of course?".
"He said we were all cooked but we were all right as long as we did not know it. We were all cooked. The thing was not to recognize it."
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Helen Long favours the intruder with a look that is somewhere between annoyed and bored. "Sit where you like, you people usually do anyway" she emphasises the 'you people' in such a manner as to make it almost a swear word.

Blowing a long plume of turkish tobacco smoke towards the intrusive man, she leans forward and offers a hand, which bears traces of various oil pigments, "Helen Long, Artist, and drop the Madam, darling, its so yesterday"

Introductions complete she lifts the glass from which the solitary lemon slice juts forlornly, "Chin chin. And just what brings a son of the nobility to this", she waves the glass at the unremarkable surroundings, "god forsaken dump?"
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Exeter takes Helen's hand and plants a kiss an inch in the air above her hand, whilst expertly hiding his disdain for the woman's dirty hands.

"Charmed to make your acquaintance...Helen. Call me Hills, or Lord Exeter, whichever strikes your fancy." He laughs an affectionate laugh, although you're not entirely sure if it's entirely sincere.

This man appears to be uncommonly good at ignoring offensive remarks, he's either a total tool or an experienced socialite. Or that magical combination of both.

He sits down and leans back in his chair, finishing his brandy. He narrows his eyes, evoking deep thought and says:
"I don't rightly know, really, I was on my way up North, must have gotten off at the wrong station."
He speaks with an incredibly posh accent, the off sound more like "ooooohrf" than any three letter word imaginable.
"Anyway, I plan to be on my way agAIn in the morning."
"He said we were all cooked but we were all right as long as we did not know it. We were all cooked. The thing was not to recognize it."
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Helen ignores the efete way he has of talking and that faux kissing technique that the glitzy set have developed. There is something dark and odd about ...Hils. Well, no actualy there isn't, if only there was she thinks he might be worth painting, instead she gets to paint meadows and flowers hardly her thing, but then one goes where the money is. She wishes she was safely at home in London with a bottle of Gordons and Julie, instead of here in this god awful wilderness.

Leaving in the morning he had said, if only she were. Taking another drag of the exoticaly perfumed cigarette, she swallowed the last contents of her glass.

"Waiter, another G&T, and this time without the bloody lemon"
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Rosa stepped smartly into the room. "'Evening all," she says brightly. "Awful out, isn't it? Far better to be indoors on a night like this." She smiles to her fellow guests and approaches the bar. "A ginger beer, if you have one?" she asks the barman.
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Micheal Laws closes the door to the hotel room. Locks it and puts the key in his blazer pocket. Number six. At least the room has an en suite tub. In his head he makes a note. "Make sure to tell the portiere to fix the dripping faucet." The stairs squeak as he walks hesitantly down to the bar. Everything about The Blackstones tell that Dr. Laws has picked the wrong place for the outing. Even the weather is against him.

Seeing the barkeep proffering a bottle of carbonated pop to a lass, Laws nods as he passes by pulling out a stool and studies the content of the bar on the opposite wall. Waiting for his turn he checks his pocket watch and winds it up. While doing so, he glances at the guests already seated. A couple at one table and the lass plus barkeep. Guess it´s early, still.

He puts the watch back and smiles, turning to conjure a note up and place it on the counter. When the barkeep acknowledges him he says, "I´d be thankful for a Bitter, please."
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Putting his paperback down behind the counter top the barman swiftly pours a ginger beer and obtains Rosa's name and room number.

He then mixes a Gordon's and tonic water and take it across the bar to Helen. His "Sorry to have kept you waiting madam" is courteous but somehow manages to convey his impatience at having to actually bother with customers.

Turning on his heel he returns to his spot behind the bar, and picks to his book.
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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With a barely audible sigh the barman puts the book away. Bidding the newcomer "Good evening sir" he pours a pint of bitter, takes the note efficiently and proffers the change.
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

Post by Dave Syrinx »

"Evening.", Laws counters simply. He takes a deep gulp and lets the brew both cool and warm him. Uncannily.
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Jonesy slowly wanders down the alley leading to the back of the Blackstone Hotel. As he wanders, he diligently inspects the contents of the trash cans that line the alley. The light is very bad, only very dim lights from curtained windows can be seen.

He thinks, "A nice roasted chicken wing or maybe.. maybe even a drumstick? Ell, even part of a smoke ould be nice."

But alas, no such tidbit is found, it may be another hungry, cool night in store for "Ol Jonesy".

"Mayhaps, just maybe I can ehhh.. entice a bit o'somethin from the hotel. I've not been there before, that I can remember."

Before knocking of the back door to the hotel, Jonesy checks out the hotels trash cans. "Me timing must be a bit off, they are empty. Well, here goes nothin." Jonesy knocks on the back door of the hotel.
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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Exeter was charmed by this crude and smelly woman, she was very different from the polite society ladies he usually preyed upon.

"Helen, are you an artiste or do you just enjoy messing up paintings while they're drying?"

While he awaits her response his gaze wanders across the room at the new arrivals. Just when the barkeep is about to go back to reading his novel, he calls out.

"I say, my man, over here! I quite fancy a Pimm's Royal Cup!"
"He said we were all cooked but we were all right as long as we did not know it. We were all cooked. The thing was not to recognize it."
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

Post by Philulhu »

Rosa greeted at the man supping his pint at the bar, picked up her ginger beer and made her way over to where the smartly dressed man and the rather plain woman were sat and plonked herself down uninvited.

"'Hello there," she says. "What brings you two to Keswick?" It isn't quite clear from her question whether she thinks the two may be a couple.
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

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At the rear of the hotel, the door opens and out wafts the stale smell of cabbages, along with the sickly sweet odour of cooked meat.

A sweating and overweight man in a greasy cooks apron and chef's hat looks at Jonesy, taking in his scruffy attire. "I don't have much for you chum, but I'm guessing you're after something to eat? Well, hurry up and step inside before I get soaked, and I'll find you a few leftovers. God knows you'll need it on a night like tonight."
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Re: The Blackstone Hotel, Keswick, England.

Post by Abdul Alhazred »

Resignedly but efficiently the barman puts together the cocktail for Viscount Exeter, complete with a (slightly limp) cucumber garnish and takes it over to his table. "Awfully sorry sir, but what with the bar getting busier I'll have to ask you to order at the bar next time. I'm not supposed to leave it unattended, I'm sure you'll understand". With that he returns to the bar, glancing wistfully at his book.

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The hotel barman

Meanwhile, at the bar Dr Laws stares at the array of bottles and spirits. Typical of what you might expect at a provincial hotel, all the standards are there along with a selection of more exotic spirits, presumably for cocktails requested by the hotel's better-heeled guests. Below the counter he can just make out the title on the front cover of the book the barman is reading - "Death in the Clouds", Agatha Christie's latest Poirot novel.

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The bar of the Blackstone Hotel
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