Mr. Scratch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obscurissime) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-05-02 10:11 pm
obscurissime) wrote in singillatim2024-05-02 10:11 pm
( open ) i'm with the regulars
Who: Scratch and OPEN.
What: Settling in.
When: Early May.
Where: Around Milton (Basin Overlook, the actual basin, community hall...), primarily in evenings.
Content Warnings: None intended, but really that could change and will be updated if it does.
For a guy who's used to the idea of travelling between realities, the whole Ending Up In Some Winter Wilderness isn't too jarring for Scratch. What's jarring is that all he remembers before getting here was a too-bright light and the feeling of what he can only describe as pain or discomfort. And, yes, his self-appointed nemesis was there too, which has Scratch almost entirely convinced that said nemesis is behind this. He's also determined that he's stuck here. At least, for now. Despite his best efforts he can't slip his way back into the Dark Place he comes from, which is very upsetting, so he'll bide his time by playing along with everyone else here.
In his first few days, Scratch takes the time to get familiar with Milton, mostly venturing out in the evenings. The sun isn't exactly his friend, and he hasn't gotten used to the idea that he won't cause him harm just yet. The home he chose for himself had a heavy plaid (gross) jacket inside to be insulated against the weather, which he wears with great reluctance. Too bad this hick town doesn't seem like the sort where anyone was wearing obnoxiously overpriced designer parkas, but he's going to keep his eyes out. Just in case. Until then, the plaid will do, keeping out the bite of the cold as he gets a lay of the land. One of his early stops is the community hall. He recalls it from his initial arrival, when it'd been filled with warmth and a disturbingly welcoming feast, considering the circumstances. He takes the time to survey the message board before leaving a note of his own. He'll take the time to make small talk with anyone who might also be around.
If anything, the homey apparel makes it easier to get into character.
Should someone be interested in answering his query, he can indeed be found spending much of his time at his chosen home on Basin Overlook. Like everything else, it's far below his standards, but he's drawn to the multiple wood burners. He doesn't bother tidying up outside. The ground is too frozen to tend the dead garden, and keeping things alive is sort of the opposite of his schtick. Inside, though, he's content enough to clean the place up. The cottage may be beneath him, but that doesn't mean he has to live in squalor. Others living on the street, or even those passing by, may notice the soft light of fires burning in the windows and are welcome to come by and knock. Or maybe you're fortunate enough to catch him chopping wood for them, which is actually very enjoyable to him. He seems to know his way around an axe.
Beyond the town itself, Scratch spends a day or two down and around the basin itself. There's a purpose to his visits, his keen eyes open as he looks for anything familia. He'd even take a sense of déjà vu, knowing that his writer counterpart leans heavily on motifs and recurring themes these days. He finds nothing of the sort. What he does find, however, is a pleasant surprise. As he walks through the snow along the edge of the basin one evening as the sun is just setting, his foot crunches on something. A quick look has him pulling up a photograph, in a now-broken frame, of an averagely pretty blonde woman with an averagely nice smile.
"Well, I'll be," he says to himself. Judging by the look on his face, someone nearby might assume he's just found something very delightful indeed.
While he spends the majority of his first few days in these places, he does his best to take in the whole of Milton. Those going about their own business will likely see him making his way around and are welcome to bump into him.
What: Settling in.
When: Early May.
Where: Around Milton (Basin Overlook, the actual basin, community hall...), primarily in evenings.
Content Warnings: None intended, but really that could change and will be updated if it does.
For a guy who's used to the idea of travelling between realities, the whole Ending Up In Some Winter Wilderness isn't too jarring for Scratch. What's jarring is that all he remembers before getting here was a too-bright light and the feeling of what he can only describe as pain or discomfort. And, yes, his self-appointed nemesis was there too, which has Scratch almost entirely convinced that said nemesis is behind this. He's also determined that he's stuck here. At least, for now. Despite his best efforts he can't slip his way back into the Dark Place he comes from, which is very upsetting, so he'll bide his time by playing along with everyone else here.
In his first few days, Scratch takes the time to get familiar with Milton, mostly venturing out in the evenings. The sun isn't exactly his friend, and he hasn't gotten used to the idea that he won't cause him harm just yet. The home he chose for himself had a heavy plaid (gross) jacket inside to be insulated against the weather, which he wears with great reluctance. Too bad this hick town doesn't seem like the sort where anyone was wearing obnoxiously overpriced designer parkas, but he's going to keep his eyes out. Just in case. Until then, the plaid will do, keeping out the bite of the cold as he gets a lay of the land. One of his early stops is the community hall. He recalls it from his initial arrival, when it'd been filled with warmth and a disturbingly welcoming feast, considering the circumstances. He takes the time to survey the message board before leaving a note of his own. He'll take the time to make small talk with anyone who might also be around.
If anything, the homey apparel makes it easier to get into character.
Should someone be interested in answering his query, he can indeed be found spending much of his time at his chosen home on Basin Overlook. Like everything else, it's far below his standards, but he's drawn to the multiple wood burners. He doesn't bother tidying up outside. The ground is too frozen to tend the dead garden, and keeping things alive is sort of the opposite of his schtick. Inside, though, he's content enough to clean the place up. The cottage may be beneath him, but that doesn't mean he has to live in squalor. Others living on the street, or even those passing by, may notice the soft light of fires burning in the windows and are welcome to come by and knock. Or maybe you're fortunate enough to catch him chopping wood for them, which is actually very enjoyable to him. He seems to know his way around an axe.
Beyond the town itself, Scratch spends a day or two down and around the basin itself. There's a purpose to his visits, his keen eyes open as he looks for anything familia. He'd even take a sense of déjà vu, knowing that his writer counterpart leans heavily on motifs and recurring themes these days. He finds nothing of the sort. What he does find, however, is a pleasant surprise. As he walks through the snow along the edge of the basin one evening as the sun is just setting, his foot crunches on something. A quick look has him pulling up a photograph, in a now-broken frame, of an averagely pretty blonde woman with an averagely nice smile.
"Well, I'll be," he says to himself. Judging by the look on his face, someone nearby might assume he's just found something very delightful indeed.
While he spends the majority of his first few days in these places, he does his best to take in the whole of Milton. Those going about their own business will likely see him making his way around and are welcome to bump into him.
Basin Overlook
The cabin with its unkempt dead yard might be empty, except there is the telltale smoke of a stove keeping the place warm. And there is a man dressed in such plaid that would make a lumberjack proud.
"I should hire you to chop wood," he says admiringly. He doesn't truly admire this stranger beyond his physique, but it's easy flattery to give. Making nice with the neighbors is something he learned at his mother's knee, and he hopes it'll be a point in his favor should more humans discover his secrets.
"Louis de Pointe du Lac. I run the general store most nights, except when I'm hunting down things to sell in it."
no subject
He finishes splitting
Barrythe current hunk of wood open, then gives the other man an amused-and-hopefully-humble sort of look."Alan Wake. The name's not quite as impressive as yours."
no subject
Something about the color of his skin offends them somehow! Can't imagine why! And the general anglophone sentiment (annoyance) against Creoles like him. They phased French out of schools, made English a requirement, but his family has always spoken it at home even as a second language. Just one of the reasons Louis stayed in his hometown of New Orleans so long despite his troubles. His city, his people.
Sometimes he can't believe he left so readily. And before he could find out if it was the right decision, he found himself here.
"But what do you know, I found myself in Canada, or its equivalent in the current hour. Do you come from someplace where snow and splittin' wood is a way of life?" Louis might scavenge plaid for warmth here, but he is obviously a city slicker.
no subject
Scratch scoffs, because where he's from couldn't be further from any of this, but it's fun to play pretend. It's sort of like he's finally doing what he was always meant to do, become Alan, even if it's in this shithole.
"I'm from New York. Turns out I'm just really good with an axe."
no subject
"New Orleans. I ain't never been this far north before. Still catch myself freezin' with twice as many layers on as everyone else. Please--" he gestures with an open glove should the man wish to continue as he chats, "don't let me interrupt your work."
no subject
"New Orleans, huh? I'd call that one a bucket list for me. It seems like a city with a whole lot going on."
A guy like Scratch could do a lot of damage in a place like that.
"Have you been here long, Louis?"
no subject
All food tastes like ash to Louis the vampire, but once upon a time he enjoyed his sister's gumbo.
"I been here a few months. Long enough to know I hate the cold and havin' to constantly hunt for my next meal. People from... elsewhere... didn't start showin' up 'till recently. Everyone native to the town was dead."
no subject
The corner of his mouth quirks up, but there's something very humourless in both the words and the expression. Scratch rests the axe over his shoulder.
"Elsewhere like other places around here or elsewhere like ... Not around here?"
no subject
It doesn't help that the supernatural keeps attacking the Interlopers. And here he thought he was the strangest most supernatural thing they might encounter.
"What do you write? Travelogs? Memoirs?" Louis has to ask, even if he suspects Alan might be tired of writing. Call it a hunch, call it his smile not meeting his eyes.
Louis loves reading, novels mostly. He's a reader. He's rarely without a book in his hand if he has an idle moment. Even now he's got one of Rorschach's library books nestled in the pocket of his coat like a friend.
no subject
Scratch shrugs a shoulder. He doesn't give a damn about Alan's writing, but he loves reaping the benefits of Alan's fame and money.
"Lately I've done this series of books, crime thrillers featuring an absolute trope of a hard boiled detective." The corner of his mouth quirks up, and then he laughs. "People will buy anything if you know how to sell it to them, am I right?"
no subject
"Hm, not really my thing. I'm glad they enjoy it though," he lies. "So... former club owner runnin' a general store, that's me. What's a New York writer gon' do with himself here?"
no subject
He sees you, true crime junkies.
At Louis's question, he shrugs.
"Chop wood, I guess. Make friends." He motions between himself and Louis. "Maybe write if I find something to write with."
no subject
"Suppose it's better than just livin' out their dark fantasies. Can't have bodies cloggin' up our storm drains, can we?"
It's a dark joke because one stormy week in New Orleans, it was true. He chastised his daughter about what the papers called "the floaters" without fully comprehending the scope of her anger and hunger.
"I can get you somethin' to write with. Maybe you'll write the next Great American Novel. I'd like to read it."
no subject
He thinks he sells being excited at the idea. But, hey, desperate times mean desperate measures, right? Besides, he can't be any worse at it than the real Alan Wake.
"I don't have anything to give you in return."
no subject
"Yes you do," says the businessman, and he points to the wood Scratch is chopping. "I'll just take a few of those there. What this cold does to my Southern bones..." he adds, affecting a genteel tone not unlike his late mother's. He likes books and the people who write them as much as the next intellectual, but he's not just giving away stuff for free.
no subject
"Sure. It's not like it's a hot commodity."
Scratch looks around just enough to take note of the woods and the many trees waiting to be turned into ash in their stoves and fireplaces.
no subject
"It is when I don't want to do all the choppin' myself. Much appreciated."
What can he say, he needs wood.
"I gotta get back to work, and I'll see about that pen. They got a special kind here that don't freeze, apparently. I'll see you around, Mr. Wake."