Avatar of Xacha
  • Last Seen: 2 days ago
  • Joined: 2 yrs ago
  • Posts: 42 (0.05 / day)
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  • Username history
    1. Xacha 2 yrs ago
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Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current Got a bad case of the "don't wanna"s. Dozen things I should do, but I don't wanna.
2 yrs ago
Offered a job .. because the civil service list is stale and the people they wanted to hire withdrew. Do I really want to be the person that they settle for?
1 like
2 yrs ago
That's cause the coward has 80-90 years to work on those extra deaths, while the hero gets knocked off at 18.
2 yrs ago
Wondering what modern genres could be considered "pulp," IOW written quickly for profit, sold cheaply in mass numbers. Romance is a long running good example. Seen a lot of military scifi ebooks.
1 like
2 yrs ago
Furiously packing. Oh, for the days when everything I'd need for a week would fit in one backpack.


Mid-forties. Old enough to know better, yet here I am.

Falling out of love with dice as I get older. Getting tired of putting effort into scenes only to have them fall apart because of a bad roll.

Most Recent Posts

Oh, interested.

Probably play a scholar if that role isn't already filled. Good to have someone in the party ready to deliver stupid lines like "No, we should keep it alive and study it!"
"Actually, Jesus only started out as a wizard," replied the woman named after someone 'outstanding among the apostles'. "After his resurrection, he was technically a lich." *heartbeat* "Sorry, one of mom's favorite jokes."

"Anyway, we're not looking at a case of water into wine, we're looking at a case of ink-injected-into-body, like an ink-jet refill gone horribly wrong. Morton Smith isn't going to help us here."

Junia turned back to Anna. "I think you're right; the manner has to be significant. Using ink to kill someone has to be symbolic of something. Is there anyway to figure out who this guy was? If he was an author or a journalist, that might be clue."

"I am not from here. How are these people like?"

Hattie gives a half-shrug. "Stand-offish, I suppose. Uh ... what's a word you'd know ... private? Quiet? Don't like to be bothered?"

She shakes her head. "I know a guy from the reservation who sells me deer hides. Anwe, that's his name. It's taken me about ... 7, 8 years to get on a first-name basis with him. They're polite enough, helpful, but they're not outgoing with folks not from the reservation. I guess it comes from being stared at by all the tourists. It's no fun being a spectacle everywhere you go."

"But now the question is, how do we get there? I can fit another two people in my truck. Well, more if someone wants to ride in the back with the dog cages."

Hattie stares at Elias for several moments, trying to judge whether he's serious or not. Finally she seems to decide that it doesn't matter.

"Ha! You forgot the Wood Devils, young man. And the ghost of Ruth Blay, God rest her. And the Witch of the Woods, who lives in the clearing with her hounds and steals away -- wait, that one's me! Sorry, forget myself sometimes. Ha!"

She shakes her head. "Look. In two months time, this whole area is going to be crawling with leaf peepers from New York and Boston. That's not going to let up until January at the earliest. During that time, there's not going to be a square inch that the tourists don't walk over, poke their noses into, or piss on. If there was a goblin or ghostie in these parts, someone would have snapped a photo on their cellphone by now. And anything spooky with any sense would have moved far north of here by now."

'Mister Malkinson, Miss Hattie, if we get time later, I'd like to interview you both more thoroughly,'

"Well, sure. But let's find this missing boy first. I have a feeling that could change the questions a bit."
"I do not know if these are right words in English but... dangerous animals? Are there any?"

"Weeellll ... yes and no. We got bears - black bears - some wolves and a few cougars. But they're mostly used to people by now and they stay well away from us. Just make a lot of noise and you'll be fine. There's moose, but they're only dangerous if you're driving. We've got snakes and such, even a few rattlesnakes, but with this ..."

She kicks at the snow.

"I figure anything cold-blooded has gone into hiding by now. Don't go poking under logs or picking up rocks and you shouldn't even see them. Hopefully, the cold has killed off the ticks and mosquitos, too. So ... make noise to scare off the big things, don't stick your hand into someplace a little thing could be hiding, and you'll be safe."
'Miss Hattie, was it?' she asked the older woman. 'Um, I think I would like to borrow some of those gloves and scarves, if that's okay.'

"Of course, sweetheart. Lemme just grab some out of the truck."

Hattie stomps over to a battered but serviceable pickup truck. The old red paint carries over to a faded cap, inside of which are visible several dog cages. Hattie rifles through a canvas bag of clothing and comes out with a bundle of scarves and gloves.

"Here we go. You're a small thing, just like me, so I think I can fit you just right. Here's a scarf ..."

It's obviously hand-knit, silver and bright blue, a mixture of wool, synthetic fibers and dog hair.

"... had someone on Etsy order a Ravenclaw scarf for their daughter, but she switched to Gryffindor right at the end. Kids. Here's a pair of gloves ..."

Deerskin - literal deer hide - gloves, hand-stitched.

"Made these for myself as a project, ended up never using them. They're lined with thinsulate, but at my age you need a bit more than that."

She passes them over and turns towards the man with the walkie talkie.

"Alright, Jake, we're here. What are our marching orders this time?"

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