[hider=Before Dawn][I]”The tax man's taken all my dough
And left me in my stately home
Lazing on a sunny afternoon…”[/i]
The radio flickered on as the first watery rays of sun filtered through the curtains. The smell of coffee rolled around the cabin and, faintly, the sound of the television could be heard under the crackling songs from Brooks’ alarm clock. Brooks himself laid there, staring up at the ceiling as his prescribed dose of agony started washing over his body. He let the alarm clock ring for several seconds longer, eyes still crusty with sleep, forced to squint dully at the ceiling. His mouth tasted of iron and the residue of late night smokes that festered in his gums. As he further awoke from his slumber the blaring of the alarm clock began doing it’s job and it was getting on his nerves. Desperately he reached out to switch it off without moving much of his body but it was no avail. He’d have to properly wake up to turn off the blasted contraption.

Brooks was slugging himself, literally, into the living room. What he got was a sight for sore eyes - a plateful of bacon, eggs, and sausages, sitting neatly beside a stumpy mug of black coffee. Abigail was sprawled out on the sofa, eyes half closed, watching early morning TV shopping. She perked up a little when Brooks walked in, raising a hand and letting loose a groggy “good morning, sunshine. Ready to take on the day?”

Brooks stared at the spectacle of breakfast for a moment before his better judgement kicked in. “What happened?”

Abigail made a noncommittal grunt, turning off the TV to give the encroaching dawn a withering stare. “I got more restless than usual,” she admitted, pulling a misshapen lump of fabric towards her. It was a blanket - half finished on the needles with a ball of ochre dyed yarn trailing off it. She covered her legs with it and began to work away, needles clicking erratically as her fingers ducked and wove the yarn with the practiced ease of an amateur. “Looks like I guessed correctly though, you look like you need a treat.” She tilted her head back over the armrest, scrunching her nose up as she eyed him critically. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah.” he replied, making his way towards the kettle. Abigail, ever the restless sort, abandoned her knitting to pitter patter across the floorboards and start picking at the breakfast she made for Brooks, snatching a piece of bacon and nibbling away at it like some sort of frenzied rodent. Content with her portion she leant back on the chair, briefly shutting her eyes whilst Brooks wandered through the kitchen. It came as no surprise that she was nodding off already - a full night of waitressing, chores and god knows what else tended to wear her out by the morning. That said, to Brooks’ knowledge she had never been in her bed by the time he got out of his own...she always lingered.

With coffee in hand Brooks seated himself across Abigail, skeptically eyeing at the breakfast she had prepared. “What really happened?” he asked again, reached for a fork with his good hand and beginning to cut away.

Abigail slumped forwards, nestling her head in her arms as she looked away. She kicked her legs idly and exhaled through her nostrils. “I uh…” Abigail buried her head deeper into the crooks of her elbows, “...I lost my notepad.”

Brooks let out a pained sigh, pausing his feasting before replying in an attempted calm demeanour: “Where?”

“If I knew where, it wouldn't be lost would it?” Abigail snapped. “I know it's not in the house though. I practically flipped the place upside down looking for it. It might be in the inn…” Abigail trailed off, peering at the nearest window as she stiffens for a moment before shivering. “... Either way I have to find it fast.”

“Do you need me to drive you?” asked Brooks. 

Abigail made a noncommittal shrug as she mulled over her options. “Do whatever you think is best. Have you got work today?”

Brooks tensed up, annoyed at Abigail’s blasé tone of voice. “I don’t. Let me finish eating.” he stated before chowing down his breakfast in quiet. Abigail rested on the tabletop without a word. She stole guilty glances up at the scowling man across from her and began to pull on her coat and baseball cap when all that remained was a lukewarm mug of coffee to ruminate over. She was sat quite sheepishly in the muddy pickup truck before Brooks had even locked the door. Because there was no notepad, there wouldn't be any fuzzy radio broadcasts to cut through the stony silence that permeated the drive, so abigail made herself content by counting the number of black, looming pine trees that flitted past the passenger seat window. She looked tired - extremely tired - kept awake by the pangs of anxiety that would continue to torment her until that book was in her hands once more.[/hider]

Brooks slowed down as they neared the inn, pulling up behind a parked tour bus. His face turned quizzical as this wasn’t an ordinary sight in briar hill. “Probably stopping on their way, them.” He thought out loud. Abigail groaned with frustration.

“They're going to be a pain in the ass to deal with, if that bus is full. I dunno if we even got the staff to deal with them,” she unbuckled her seatbelt and made her way into the lobby, taking a cursory glance at the emptiness. It was weird that nobody was manning the front desk, but weird things happened all the time in Briar Hill, and it was definitely none of her business. She was already pulling cushions off the soft furnishings in her bid to find that notebook by the time Brooks had plodded into the threshold, completely unphased by her frantic demeanor, watching her impassively near the front entrance. “It's not here!” She cried, launching herself behind the front desk and shamelessly rummaging through the files.

“Well you don't do the reception desk all the time, do you?” Brooks drawled, gingerly lowering himself into a seat with a grunt. Abigail’s head popped up from behind the desk whereupon she noticed the note and the cash. Her face crumpled up with disdain as she snatched the money and pocketed the note.

“Fucking tourists,” grumbled Abigail. “Who in their right mind would help themselves to a room? Anyway, the staff would have  put anything lost in reception. I'll check the bar after this, hopefully it'll be easy enough to find it there, then we don't have to worry about trawling round the kitchens.” She resumed her search above the desk, leafing through the books in time hopes that one of them is concealing the precious notepad she is searching for.