Setting
"It is under the small, dim, summer star
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me -
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar."
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me -
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar."
The house is large, but the main room seems quaint. Warm enough for comfort, yet not enough to make someone wearing a jacket sweat. Small flames flicking in a fireplace, and there's always some kind of ambient music playing. It is strangely bare, however, and not very lived in.
For some reason, it always smells like food, and the kitchen is the only room that seems to be used repeatedly. Large windows offer a fine view.
Outside the back door is a porch with a deck and a grill. Beyond that, a couple small gardens and a small pond lined with benches. A single oak grows next to the pond. Sparse woods surround the property.
4537 Wayward Oak
Nestled among sparse trees, a small ranch with a large house and guest cottage to the side. Peaceful and homey, with the odd sense that one's constantly being watched by something just outside their vision.
Minimap
northwest |
north |
northeast |
west |
You are here. |
east |
southwest |
south |
southeast |
4537 Wayward Oak is a part of 
Here, At the End of the World.
1 Places in 4537 Wayward Oak:
2 Characters Here
In.Grid [1] A guarded young woman with headphones or earbuds constantly affixed to her ears.
Larry Wesker [1] A tall, thin man married to the silver ornament on his necklace.
Start Character Here »
Part One
BEAST
BEAST
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming
Early September, the time of year when day sheds its light magnanimously yet free of heat's oppression. At the ranch house on Wayward Oak, green pine and leaves were outlined in golden edges under the sun's smile. The whole of nature itself seemed to sigh, knowing that the hustle and bustle of summer's furnace is gone at last.
The gravel drive gave way to a paved roundabout, with a garage to the right and a two-story house surrounded by stone bordered flower beds to the left. "Modern frontier" would be a good description for the house, as it bore a contemporary aesthetic, yet was built to look like some kind of cabin, or fort. There were two cars in the garage: a white Nissan Maxima, and a red '68 Charger.
The new residents were told to arrive whenever they wished, and the property's owner - a younger man named Aviton Morren - offered assistance in helping them move their things inside if they needed it. 'Feel free to come on in,' he'd said on the phone, 'I'll be home all day being as lazy as possible.' No knock requested, but those polite enough to knock anyways would be greeted by an energetic, "Yeah, come on in!" and immediately hear some quiet Bob Seger ("Even Now" from The Distance, a truly seminal album). Smells were coming from the kitchen that would make even the pickiest eater salivate.
Was that the smell of biscuits? Yes. Yes it was. The faux-marble top of the kitchen's island was covered with a couple clean dish towels upon which were set tall, layered biscuits. Something else, too - sausage, fresh sage, onions cooking in butter - no, not butter, but bacon fat! - and the lingering sweetness of other baked treats.
The guy cooking these delights looked more a reformed mountain man than a baker. Tall, lean, athletic, dressed in some faded jeans and a simple long-sleeved tee that had seen better days. "Scruffy" was a good word for him - shaggy hair, close-trimmed beard, prominent jaw, his "All-American Boy" vibe hidden under friendly ease and a lack of grooming.
"Hey, give me just a second." The man washed and dried his hands. "Doing breakfast tomorrow at the VFW. Biscuits and gravy. Figured it'd be easier to cook it here so I don't make a mess of their kitchen." He walked forward, smiling, steps swift and purposeful.
"Happy to have you. I'm Avi, if you haven't figured that out yet. You hungry? C'mon, take a seat. I got some food heating up for lunch and help yourself to the scones. That jam's really good - made it a few days ago. Joy of having raspberry bushes." Ruddy hand offered to the newbies. Seemed a decent enough guy at first glance, and didn't act like he even realized he had a halo of pale, silver light hovering an inch above his head. Maybe he didn't notice it. Maybe he didn't notice that the others noticed it. But he definitely had a halo.
It wasn't that abnormal, honestly. In Fairbrooks, stranger things existed than guys with halos.
Crunch, crunch, crunch went chunks of rock as little steps drummed along the graveled path. They had an accompaniment - the warbling of polyurethane wheels on loose stone. Eventually, there was a clatter, and the melody changed. Sounding much like the hiss of a gas-fed flame, the big black luggage bag rolled along on pavement now, tugged by a young woman not terribly much larger than it. Her wheels clicked on the concrete seams as she drew closer and closer to the door.
It seemed polite to knock, and so she did upon reaching the door, rapping her knuckles upon it and awaiting her invitation before carefully pushing it open. She stepped inside, heaving her suitcase in behind her.
Jet black hair, piercing blue eyes, cheap gray hoodie, expensive headphones. She moved with a certain grace, as if every motion was rehearsed, each segueing perfectly into the next. She wore a disposable face mask, but the clarity of her voice came through despite it.
"Hey! One moment, let me just put this away," she said, excusing herself to her room with case in tow. She wasted no time in returning. She pulled out one of the stools at the kitchen island with a soft skrrrn before seating herself upon it as instructed. Her eyes, like focused lenses, peered sharply and inquisitively at the man before her, keeping watch over his every move. She was polite, cordial, even friendly...but her alertness showed her guard was not yet lowered. Maybe she'd noticed the halo, or maybe that's just how she was - it was too early to tell. Briefly, the conversation awkwardly lulled, creating a silence disturbed only by the sounds of cooking and Bob Seger crooning in the background.
"Sorry, was it Aw-vee or Av-vee?" she finally inquired, seeking to ease the tension she'd helped create. "Okay, so just 'Avi.' Got it. I'm Ingrid. Just Ingrid. Nice to meet you," she continued.
She denied the handshake offered her, explaining it by pointing at her mask and motioning broadly. "Sorry. You know." Okay, well, that explained the mask, but what about the headphones? She'd been pleasant in most every other respect; why hadn't she taken them off yet?
"Could I trouble you for a glass of water? I don't know where anything is yet," she asked, with all the tone and grace of a Southerner, but none of the drawl. Where was she from? Her accent was...hard to place. This girl was already presenting mysteries, but at the very least, she had made efforts to get off on the right foot.
It seemed polite to knock, and so she did upon reaching the door, rapping her knuckles upon it and awaiting her invitation before carefully pushing it open. She stepped inside, heaving her suitcase in behind her.
Jet black hair, piercing blue eyes, cheap gray hoodie, expensive headphones. She moved with a certain grace, as if every motion was rehearsed, each segueing perfectly into the next. She wore a disposable face mask, but the clarity of her voice came through despite it.
"Hey! One moment, let me just put this away," she said, excusing herself to her room with case in tow. She wasted no time in returning. She pulled out one of the stools at the kitchen island with a soft skrrrn before seating herself upon it as instructed. Her eyes, like focused lenses, peered sharply and inquisitively at the man before her, keeping watch over his every move. She was polite, cordial, even friendly...but her alertness showed her guard was not yet lowered. Maybe she'd noticed the halo, or maybe that's just how she was - it was too early to tell. Briefly, the conversation awkwardly lulled, creating a silence disturbed only by the sounds of cooking and Bob Seger crooning in the background.
"Sorry, was it Aw-vee or Av-vee?" she finally inquired, seeking to ease the tension she'd helped create. "Okay, so just 'Avi.' Got it. I'm Ingrid. Just Ingrid. Nice to meet you," she continued.
She denied the handshake offered her, explaining it by pointing at her mask and motioning broadly. "Sorry. You know." Okay, well, that explained the mask, but what about the headphones? She'd been pleasant in most every other respect; why hadn't she taken them off yet?
"Could I trouble you for a glass of water? I don't know where anything is yet," she asked, with all the tone and grace of a Southerner, but none of the drawl. Where was she from? Her accent was...hard to place. This girl was already presenting mysteries, but at the very least, she had made efforts to get off on the right foot.
Larry Wesker clutched his pendant.
So this is home now… It is beautiful.
The sunlight reflected off Wesker’s spectacles as he approached the house, trailing behind the young woman in headphones. His feet dragged on the gravel. His eyebrows couldn’t be more furrowed. His eyes were sunken in, as was his expression. A grimace that seemed to be shaped by the moustache that accompanied it. Even his short brown hair was wiry and stiff, albeit combed neatly.
His luggage was minimal, a single leather brown suitcase he brought in with him.
Upon laying his eyes on Avi, Wesker clutched the pendant tighter. It glowed a ghostly blue. Of more interest was the man’s halo above his head. Of course in Wesker’s experience, it was best to keep all the strangeness between him and his wife. This Avi didn’t seem to register its existence, so neither would he.
His voice was just as forlorn as the rest of his appearance.
“Larry Wesker. Hello.” He said, reluctant to take his right hand off the pendant to take a scone. “Thanks.” He had made scones himself, what felt like a long long time ago. It tasted as sweet as the memory, and as fluffy as his recollection of it.
The girl had returned, and for a moment Wesker held eye contact. He quickly put down the scone to clutch his pendant once more, almost wincing.
“I could also do with a glass. Long day. Parched.” He struggled to look back up to the girl, loosening the grip on his pendant. He wasn’t looking forward to having to contend with someone so young. The headphones were typical of today’s youth. On the bright side, he imagined that he wouldn’t have to listen to her music. Hopefully that was all his wife was concerned about too. It could be hard to tell, sometimes.
“And a tour would be exceptional.”
So this is home now… It is beautiful.
The sunlight reflected off Wesker’s spectacles as he approached the house, trailing behind the young woman in headphones. His feet dragged on the gravel. His eyebrows couldn’t be more furrowed. His eyes were sunken in, as was his expression. A grimace that seemed to be shaped by the moustache that accompanied it. Even his short brown hair was wiry and stiff, albeit combed neatly.
His luggage was minimal, a single leather brown suitcase he brought in with him.
Upon laying his eyes on Avi, Wesker clutched the pendant tighter. It glowed a ghostly blue. Of more interest was the man’s halo above his head. Of course in Wesker’s experience, it was best to keep all the strangeness between him and his wife. This Avi didn’t seem to register its existence, so neither would he.
His voice was just as forlorn as the rest of his appearance.
“Larry Wesker. Hello.” He said, reluctant to take his right hand off the pendant to take a scone. “Thanks.” He had made scones himself, what felt like a long long time ago. It tasted as sweet as the memory, and as fluffy as his recollection of it.
The girl had returned, and for a moment Wesker held eye contact. He quickly put down the scone to clutch his pendant once more, almost wincing.
“I could also do with a glass. Long day. Parched.” He struggled to look back up to the girl, loosening the grip on his pendant. He wasn’t looking forward to having to contend with someone so young. The headphones were typical of today’s youth. On the bright side, he imagined that he wouldn’t have to listen to her music. Hopefully that was all his wife was concerned about too. It could be hard to tell, sometimes.
“And a tour would be exceptional.”
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