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druidx · 19 days

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Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 15

At 4.3k words, this chapter is twice the length of most I've been posting. Hope you've got a big mug of tea with you 😉️ AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannahcbrown, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

Elo turns the engine over, adjusts the choke, checks the fluid lines, takes the tank cap off and checks the fuel gauge isn't lying. Then she smooths the kickstart again, gentling the engine, before giving it a more vicious downward kick than might otherwise have been called for. The roar of the engines lifts, seems to catch – then falls silent again. Elo closes her eyes. Spark plugs. It has to be the spark plugs not lighting the fuel properly. Maybe the damp…? She draws an oily hand across her face. How doesn't matter. The frigging dragon's fire is out again, and the plugs were only replaced a few months ago. Elo closes her eyes, a wave of exhaustion threatening to take her under right there. There's nothing for it – she just has to push through. City Hall is closer than either her tenement or the precinct station. She can walk the old girl over and co-opt Johan's on-call room. At least then she can get a few hours kip.

By the time she gets to City Hall, the sun is kissing the cream-dollop dome with golden orange which spills like egg-yoke from between ragged grey clouds. She doesn't go straight to General Stucker's office but stops by to report in with Clayrmantle. Early bird that he is, he's already running through some paperwork or other. She knocks on the open office door. "I'm going to steal Johan's on-call room," she says by way of introduction, exhaustion exacerbating her bluntness. "Good morning," Thazar says, raising his head. His eyebrows climb as he takes in her damp, wrinkled suit, the trouser hems caked with mud, the grease smear on her cheek, and the way she sways on her feet. "Do I want to know why?" "No," she snaps, realises she's snapped the word and relents with, "I'll explain after I've slept." He gives her a look of fatherly concern. "Very well. I shall have Evans wake you in three hours." "Could you make it four and a half?" Thazar gives her a low, appraising gaze. "Very well; four and a half hours and a deflection from the inevitable royal enquiries, in exchange for a full explanation, an update on the Evelyn Strucker murder, and your accompaniment during a breakfast meeting next week with the Ladies Rotary Guild." Elo grimaces. "Done," she says, too tired to negotiate any further. There's always a chance she can arrange for someone more suitable to take her place at that meeting. "Clean your face first," Thazar calls after her as she turns away. "I don't want… whatever that is on the pillows." "Yes, sir."

–––

Evans wakes her at 11:30 with coffee and a box of pastries. "Magister Clayrmantle left a message for me," she says by way of explanation. "And I supposed you'd be hungry. I hope these suffice." Elo makes groggy noises of approval as Evans places them on the corner table alongside a shopping bag. But the secretary isn't finished. "Your suit has been cleaned and pressed, and you'll find a new toothbrush and deodorant in the bag. Acting Magister Clayrmantle and His Majesty, King Storri are expecting to see you at 1300 hours for lunch. The Magister also wishes to convey his gratitude vis-a-vis your actions regarding the General's wellbeing and has signed off on his compassionate leave." Though Elo is doing the equivalent of having cartoon squeans float around her head, she does not miss the way Evans pauses, shoulders falling, then hauls in a gust of air and pulls herself back with aplomb. "While the Magister has said you can continue to make use of the General's offices and my expertise," Evans says, "I'm afraid you may have a fight for it. After you've finished your ablutions, would you please talk to him?" This last comes out with uncharacteristic pleading. "What? To whom?" "Evans! Stop lollygagging and bring me that briefing I asked for!" comes the General's dulcet tones. "Ah."

Freshly suited, Elo knocks on the door of the General's main office. "Evans, where the blazes– Oh. Elowyn. My apologies." "What are you doing here, Johan?" Elo asks him quietly as she shuts the door behind her. "You're on leave. You should be home, resting." "I spent all day yesterday resting," he says, thick salt-and-pepper brows drawing together. "I have work to be getting on with. I can't just sit at home in my pyjamas moping." She bites her lip. She knows he is right – he's a man of action. Even though there is no action he can take right now, there is still the desire to be moving, to be busy, to keep your hands working and your mind occupied so that you don't think. Because thinking is fatal.

The moment you stop, the moment you let yourself dwell, is the moment you lose yourself. There is the fear of falling into a never-ending pit of darkness and despair. She knows this feeling all too well. It's the same feeling that drove her the night it happened; it's what drives her even now. How much of a hypocrite is she to stand here and tell him to do what she is positively avoiding? She knows that people like them are the worst at dealing with personal loss. They are too used to the battlefield mentality – if you fall apart over the death of a comrade, the next death on the list is going to be yours. You learn to bottle it up and keep moving. You can let it out later, you tell yourself. You can cry when all is said and done, and you are safe. But it is a lie. You never crack the lid. You never let it out, even when you are safe at home, alone. Your tears may leak out of their own accord, but you always hold back. Someone might see, someone might hear, and then you're forced to deal with the fact that you have emotions. You are forced to acknowledge them in the face of another person – and that will not do. So you don't. You keep it tamped down. You keep it safe, a hot glow in your belly. You do not stop moving, and you do not think, and you do not dwell. How can she ask him, knowing all this, to do what she will not?

"Take the afternoon," she says. "Go to the pool club. Challenge some young punk and have a few drinks. Just don't get thrown in lock-up for trying to eviscerate some poor sod with a pool cue." Those bushy eyebrows, curving like eagle's wings, rise as he stares at her. "I mean it, Johan. I'm not bailing you out or pulling strings just because you're you. That's Thazar's job." His mouth remains in a grim line, his stare feels like it's boring holes through her. "The Plot Hook then. Ask Orrock to spot you into a match. Kick seven barrels out of someone who's actually asking for it." He still hasn't said anything. "Please, Papa Bear?" she asks. It's a low blow, but it's the last card in her hand. A small sob chokes out of him, and she rushes over, immediately guilty. "I'm sorry, Johan. I– I'm just trying– Oh Hell." He's curled over on himself again, elbows on the desk and face on his hands, and all she can do is drape herself over him in the closest approximation of a hug. "Please, Johan. You're not okay. And, it's okay to not be okay. You need to–" She stops. She doesn't know what he needs.

He needs to be at home, but he also needs to be moving. He needs to be safe, beyond safe, to relax and let it out. But his office doesn't feel safe enough, not to her, and she isn't sure his home is either. She doesn't know if the victim was still living with him, but the empty house can't be any better. It'll just remind him of what's not there. Elo doesn't know what to do. She tries to think what she would want if it were the other way around. She thinks of the day Merri was shot by a sniper, and they all thought their friend was going to die. All she wanted to do was find the bastard and put them in the ground.

"Could you stand to hear about the case?" Elo asks as his tears dry up again. She absently passes him a hanky, and he looks at her with lost, watery blue-grey eyes. "That's why I came here," she says. "Thazar said I could borrow your office, so I can call my partner to check on the case. He traded me an update for the use of your secretary this morning, so I figured I should call and get an update myself, which brought me here, to borrow your phone and office so I can update Thazar." She realises she is rambling and brings herself under control. "If you will allow it, sir, I'll call my office now?" "One moment, Sargent," he says, his voice rough. He stands and walks to the facilities table, makes himself a drink of coffee and Cointreau, wipes his eyes and sorts himself out before returning and giving her a nod.

Elo finds the speaker for the phone, places the handset into the cradle, and dials her desk extension at the 88th. "Constable Breakwood, Special Cases. What's happening, man?" her partner's voice comes over the speaker. "Constable Breakwood," Elo begins, "you're on with–" "Elo!" And, of course, her partner recognises her voice. "Elo, what the hell! Where have you been? I've been trying to get hold of you all morning, ever since I got your message from last night. Cuthbert's Scales. What were you thinking, you stupid cow? I was scared shit–" "Farren, shut up!" she snaps, breaking off his tirade. "You're on speakerphone with General Strucker." "Oh." Strucker quirks a brow at her. "General, I apologise for my outburst," Farren says. "But Elo left me a very worrying message in the small hours of this morning, then proceeded to drop off the face of the earth for the next five hours. I'm sure you can understand my concern." "No apology necessary, Constable," Strucker says. "I'm fine, Brek," Elo says.

There was an incident one time at school. Evie got into an argument which escalated, and Elo came to her rescue. It ended with both girls trying to lie their way out of explaining why their dresses were torn and their faces scratched. The look of fatherly disapproval Johan is giving now reminds Elo of that day, and she fights the urge to squirm like a child.

"What, pray, were you doing during the early hours of the morning, which then kept you away from your bed for several hours and eventually landed you in my on-call room via Thazar?" There is a moment of shocked silence from the line. Then Farren says, "As in, Acting Magister Thazar Clayrmantle?" Elo can hear the teasing half-smile in his tone when he continues, "I thought you went in for chicks?" "Constable Breakwood!" Elo snaps, scandalised. "Do not forget your audience." Her partner snorts. "I haven't Li'l Bug." Strucker's expectant gaze has not left her. "Elowyn?" he asks, and oh, she can see his head is firmly back in the game. She sighs. "I was on my way home from leaving the visiting dignitary with his security detail at the Emerald Star and took a detour via the crime scene. On observing the scene first-hand, I made some observations I wanted to impart to Constable Breakwood as soon as possible. So I called the station and was in the process of leaving the message when I realised I was being watched. I ended the call swiftly – hence Constable Breakwood's alarm – and went to talk to my watcher. "It was a potential informant. I took him to a food truck and gave him coffee, and we talked. He didn't see the crime take place, but he thinks he knows who committed it. I was trying to eke information out of him, but by that time the sun was starting to rise, and he rabbited with a half-arsed promise to find me again later. "Then my bike broke down, and I had to walk back to City Hall, and Acting Magister Thazar kindly granted me the use of the General's on-call room so I could crash. Satisfied?" she finishes snarkily. General Strucker nods, his gaze turned predatory. "Yes," says Farren. "In return, I went back to the scene to look at the scuff mark you said you saw and see if I could find some way to verify your conjecture. Sadly, I was unable to find any evidence to support two killers, rather than one. But I know you, and I know your gut, and I don't think your instincts are incorrect about this. Cobbleskater had a similar thought. "We were, however, able to confirm the idea that the vic hadn't originally intended to be there. We found a date book in her car. It– Uh. There was a different event planned for that night, due to start an hour before Snips pegged the time of death. The event was crossed through." "It's alright, Constable," Strucker says. He looks at Elo. "We were due to go for dinner. It's a– It was a weekly thing. But I was called away for work. It's a recurring reservation, so I told her to take a friend." "It looks like she did intend to go. The date book has Da– uh – the General's name neatly scrubbed through and is replaced with 'Sammy'. We went to the restaurant and spoke with the Maître d'. He said a woman did show up, but she doesn't match the vic's description. We can only assume that was Sammy." Strucker hums in thought. "Did he give a description of the woman?" "Yeah, one sec." There is the rustling of pages as Farren flicks through his notebook. "Approximately in her twenties, black hair, tall – thought she was wearing stilettos, so maybe not that tall. Slim, wearing half-moon glasses and an elegant little black dress." "That sounds like Samantha Fallight," Strucker says. "A work colleague, I believe she's the style columnist for the paper Evie writes– wrote for. Evie talked about her a lot. About how clever she was, and how impressive her sense of style and beauty." Elo thinks that's probably not exactly what the victim was talking about, but she isn't about to betray her friend, even in death, not even to the victim's father. "To bring us back to the point," Farren says, "we think it was a crime of disruption. The victim shouldn't have been where she was that night, and our current theory is that she was an accidental witness who was inhumed as part of a cover-up."

"So it was dumb luck?" Strucker sounds aghast. "That my baby was killed and not some other?" "Not necessarily," Elo says quickly. "She may have been following a story for the paper. Was there anything she was looking into?" Elo knows the victim had aspirations of investigative journalism, but despite her best efforts she always got handed the softer, more lady-like community interest pieces. "I don't know," Strucker says. His voice has gone soft, his eyes distant, and Elo thinks she needs to end this call soon. "All her notes will be in her apartment," Strucker says. "Evans will have the address and the spare keys. Feel free to take anything you think will help." Elo clears her throat. "Constable Breakwood, have dispatch send a car to City Hall, and I'll get the details to you." "Sure thing," he says. "I'll catch up with you later," she says by way of farewell and hangs up the phone.

Elo tidies the speaker away and sets the desk to rights as Strucker sits there, staring blankly. "I have to run those keys downstairs," she says. Stucker blinks, looking lost again. Elo leans over the desk and squeezes his hand. "Take the afternoon off," she says. "Go to the pool club and stack a few racks–" "Break some racks," he corrects automatically. "–It'll make you feel better." Stucker nods, and Elo gives his hand another quick squeeze before stepping away. "Wait." Elo looks back. "Yes?" "You said your bike broke down?" "Yeah. I think the spark plugs are fried. Italian bikes, eh?" She rolls her eyes with a fond huff. "Bloody finicky about the weather." "Where is it?" There is an intensity in his eyes, under the soft crease of his brow. "In the overground visitor's car park," she says warily. "Maybe," he says hesitantly. "Maybe I could take a look for you? It's been a while, but I used to ride during the Great War. I know a thing or two about motorcycle maintenance." "Oh. Well…" It's not that she doesn't trust him. It's not that she doesn't want him looking over her baby and helping the dragon get its fire back, but… Auri is her baby. Though she doesn't have the time, Elo should be the one to repair it. She has always done Auri's maintenance herself, and it feels strange, the idea of someone else fixing her dragon. No, says the voice in her head, taking help is what feels strange. She grits her jaw, takes a breath – concedes that it is right. It'll do them both good. He needs to be doing something constructive, and she needs her dragon running. "Sure," she says and throws him her keys. "There's an abridged manual in the saddle box." Strucker nods and gives her a half-smile before she hustles out.

She leaves the request for Evie's keys and address with Evans with the addendum that Elo has convinced Stucker to take the afternoon off, then ducks into the private office. There she dials their desk extension again, praying Farren has sent Cobbleskater to dispatch the car. Her partner answers almost immediately. "Farren," she says, cutting off his usual spiel. "Elo, didn't we just–?" "Yeah, but I have more I need to ask, things I couldn't in front of the General. So I found a different phone." "Oh." "Look, did you or Candy find anything else about the artefact?" "Yeah, a little. She says she thinks the wood is ebony, and the stone is tree agate. The wires, she says, are made of brass. The markings are like nothing she's seen before, so she wants to take it to some professor of linguistics and symbology at the University." "Don't let her do that," Elo says quickly. "Bring this professor to her. In fact, find a way to keep that artefact under lock and key. When she's working on it, I want a body posted there too." "Uh, Bug?" "My new informant, Snotgrut, told me he was waiting for me to show up at the docks. He'd been posted there by his boss, who he says pulled the killing blow on our vic. Apparently, Snotgrut was supposed to kill me too, and take the artefact. It's very valuable, at least to his boss. Which means said boss is going to do everything they can to recover it. I'm not adding Candy to our body count, is that understood?" "Loud and clear, Sarge." There's the scribble of pencil on paper – Farren taking notes, she guesses.

"Snotgrut called the artefact the, uh, Nerishklis. I think that's how he pronounced it." "I'll let her know." "Has anything else… strange happened since yesterday?" "It doesn't look like a volatile explosive anymore, if that's what you mean. When I last saw it, it looked just like you said. Candy's been fine. She wears gloves when handling it, but she's not had any dizziness, burning or speaking in tongues since I checked in last. She did seem surprised when she saw the ice had melted away and how it looked underneath." "Does she know what I did?" "No." "Maybe keep it that way?" Farren hums in agreement, and she hears him scribbling some more things down. "Tell me about this informant of yours?" "I can only assume 'Snotgrut' is a nickname. I think he's probably homeless," she says, scrabbling to make the creature she spoke to seem plausible. "He was dressed in sackcloth and rags and got real twitchy about being seen in daylight. I suspect I won't see him again until tomorrow night." "Something happening tonight?" "State function. I'm getting dragged along." "Huh. Well, have as much fun as you can, I guess." Elo snorts. "Thanks." "Ah, it'll be fine." She hears Farren drumming his pencil on the desk. "This Snotgrut… Do you think he can be trusted?" "I think he's telling me the truth about his boss. But no, not completely. Not if he was willing to swap sides at the slightest hint of kindness." An idea strikes her then. "He was about Cobbleskater's size. Maybe you could go have a look in the Lost and Found for a coat of some kind? Some proper shoes, maybe." "Yeah, yeah, I see where you're going with this. Bribery comes in all forms, right?" "Right. It'd be helpful if we can keep him on our side." "I'll see what I can dig up while I wait for those house keys. Cobbleskater and I'll go and check it out, see if we can't find something in her apartment to help explain what she was doing down there in the first place." "She was a budding journo," Elo tells him then. "She always got stuck with the fluff pieces, but she never stopped trying to break into investigative journalism. Maybe she finally found something worth investigating?" "Maybe so," Farren agrees. "Where will you be if I need to reach you?" She has to think about this carefully. "I have to take the dignitary to lunch soon – we'll be occupied until midafternoon, I suspect. Potentially, I'll be back at Strucker's office, but I could just as easily be kept out. Or I might be free to come by the office." Elo drags a hand down her face. "Clayrmantle gave me use of Strucker's secretary. If you need to, leave a message with her. I'll try and check in more often." "Sure. But try not to leave me any more gut-churning messages like last time, eh, Bug? You scared me shitless." "I'm sorry. I'll do my best, but I'm not making promises." Farren turns his huff of laughter into a harrumph. "Stay out of trouble," he says by way of parting. "I will if you will," she replies and hangs up the phone.

Elo takes herself from the office, collects an envelope with the keys and address from Evans, and explains the situation with the messages. Again, Evans doesn't bat an eye at this, and Elo is amazed by the woman's composure. Elo takes the envelope and meets King Storri on the way to the elevators. "Ah, Lady Toreguarde," he says. "Sergeant O'Toreguarde," she mumbles. He presses on as though she hasn't spoken, "Our meeting finished early. I thought perhaps we could see something of your city before we take lunch with Acting Magister Clayrmantle." Elo considers it, cannot see a reason why not. "Of course, sir," she says. "I have an urgent errand to run first, but then we can go for a short walk if you like." "A walk?" "Yes. Ground floor, please," Elo says to the liftman as they step into the elevator, before returning her attention to King Storri. "A walk will clear the cobwebs that have gathered in the Council chambers, a bit of exercise will do you good, and there are few better ways to see the city." "Oh? What other ways might there be?" "Canal trip, possibly? While you can walk the towpaths here and there, there are some parts of the city you'd not otherwise see if not from the water. I also find it can offer a different perspective on things. Then there's by Helicopter – that's always a good one. It can give insight into the layout of the city, and again shows you sights that you'd not ordinarily see." She gives him a sideways glance. "I suspect you've used that method already," she guesses. He nods and grins. "But not with such an informative guide." Elo snorts. "I'm no historian." "Ah, but I am told you know a lot about your city's roots, about the pulse of its heart." She thanks the liftman as they come to rest and step out. "It's my job," she tells him as she crosses to the front reception desk. "I have to be able to read my little section of the city with ease. I have to know now where the dark creases collect rubbish so I can clean them out or where things lie bare to the sun and need protecting with some shade." She isn't sure where this analogy is going, but he's nodding along like it makes perfect sense. "I understand. Your Aunt told me much the same thing. Though her purview was things outside the city and – for want of a better term – Foreign Policy, she said that your city was what kept her going. That knowing her neighbours kept her grounded, kept her heart beating with the heart of the city." They have reached the front desk now, and Elo hands over the packet with instructions that it will be collected by a patrolling officer from Precinct 88.

#oc elowyn o'toreguarde #npc thazar clayrmantle #oc secretary evans #npc johan strucker #oc farren breakwood #npc storri nargondsson #writing #HCWL Chapters only #WIP 'Her Countenance was Light'#titan fighting fantasy #fighting fantasy #ttrpg fanfiction #wandering words

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ayellowbirds · 4 years

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33 Usher Street chapter one script, First Draft

I’m planning to go back and do a major revision on this, but i wanted to share what i have for the time being! This was part of last years NaNoWriMo project, about Jewish (and otherwise) vampire hunters in an alternate history 1920s, including a transgender golem and an intersex dhampir as the joint protagonists.

What follows is an unfinished draft of a comic script intended for my own reference as the artist. Some art directions are absent, intended to be filled in later; or reflected a lack of a particular concern about how the panel looked.

Questions and comments are welcome! I’d love to get some other folks’ ideas about what needs changing. Please excuse any formatting issues! This didn’t copy-paste so well.

Italics outside of quotation marks indicate art directions and page layout.

[Square brackets] indicate sound effects (SFX), signage, captions, or other non-bubbled matters of lettering.

“Quotation marks” indicate speech bubbles.

1. Three panel page.

1.1. Full-width view of a bus (reference 1920s buses) puttering along beneath and above autumn leaves.

[CAPTION: September 24, 1923]

1.2. A thick black full-width border. Repeated on the following pages at full-width size, same height, to be indicated as BORDER

[BORDER: SFX: Bus engine chugging]

1.3. Interior of bus. Driver, assorted passengers, and towards the rear, SOLOMON “SOL” SZOMBATHY. He is a slight young man in a jacket and oversized “Oxford bags”,. His hair is thick, black, and curly (3B type); his features Ashkenazic but on the darker side. He holds a plain-looking wooden cane. Behind him, occupying the last row of seats, is a long, coffin-like box or chest, sealed with rope or cord.

2. Six panels.

2.1. A close-up of Solomon. He seems lost in thought, leaning against the bus window.

2.2. [BORDER: SFX: THUMP!]

2.3. The bus bumps, Sol is jolted upwards.

2.4. Sol settles, squeans emanating.

2.5 Sol looks out the window.

2.6 Exterior, the wooded roadside. A sign reads: [WELCOME TO Jackson, Mass. EST. 1842]. Perhaps the bus is visible here, chugging past the sign.

3. Six panels.

3.1. The bus stop. Perhaps a sign indicating that’s what it is. The bus has stopped.

Driver: “JaaaAAACKson station!”

3.2. A tail extends from the speech bubble from the previous panel, to overlay the BORDER. Driver: “Last stop!”

3.3. Passengers exiting the bus. Sol is lifting the box.

3.4. Same as 3.3, with more movement ahead of Sol. He is pulling the box, struggling.

3.5. Same as 3.3, the bus now empty of other passengers. The driver is standing, impatiently watching Sol. Sol is half-way down the aisle, perspiring with effort.

3.6. Same as 3.3, Sol finally exiting the bus, with his box.

Driver: “That everything?”

4. Two panels

4.1. Sol, wiping sweat with a kerchief.

SOL: “Yes, thank you. And—”

4.2. As in 3.2, a tail extends from the previous bubble into the BORDER, which fades from black to white.

SOL, stylized as the chapter title : “Can You Tell Me The Way To Usher Street?”

[Credits:

A 33 Usher Street story

Written and Illustrated by K.P.S. Roman Religious Consultation by Quell Nessuno]

5. Six panels. Wide, double, double, border.

5.1. Sol, walking along a Jackson street, dragging the box behind him on wheels and hoisting his cane over his shoulder. The city is sparsely populated in spite of its size; apartment buildings and businesses line the streets, but there are few people visible. The buildings have the sagging, unsettled look of those built on swampland.

5.2. More of Sol, rounding a corner and excusing himself past some locals, including ADRIAEN TEN BOOM, a stogie between his lips.

Sol: “Pardon me!”

5.3. Sol, looking up at a street sign for the corner of [MARSH ST] and [WASHINGTON ST]. A car putters past. WILHEMINA FAWKES is in the driver’s seat.

5.4. Sol continues past some kids playing marbles. He’s starting to visibly sweat. An older black man [ALEISTER JONES] watches the game from a stoop, his gloved hand resting on his cheek.

5.5. Sol, stopping at another corner. A conspicuously incognito figure [CONSTANCE WRIGHT] watches from behind a newspaper. A sledgehammer leans against her side.

Sol: “Ah!”

5.6. BORDER, Sol’s speech bubble extends from 5.5.

Sol: “Here we are!”

6.1. The sign for the corner of [WASHINGTON ST] and [USHER ST]

6.2. Sol moves a bit more speedily down the street, indicated by hites. PLUTON, a large black cat with only one eye watches.

6.3. Sol, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, exhaling a panting puff. Pluton is visible following behind at a distance.

Sol: “Let’s see…”

6.4. Sol looks up at the numbers of the buildings. He passes the unremarkable numbers twenty-one and twenty-three. Pluton cocks his head.

6.5. BORDER. Sol’s speech bubble tails from 6.3.

Sol: “Number... Thirty-Three?”

6.6. Sol stops before a row of thorny bushes. The speech bubble trails from 6.5. Pluton is posed as if looking around the tail of the speech bubble, to see Sol.

Sol: “Oh!”

7.1. Sol, standing before 33 Usher Street. The building is assembled from a mix of newer construction and old ruins with the masonry at diagonals to each other, as if someone happened upon the leaning remains of a graystone castle and chose to join it together in red brick. The 33 is quite large and visible on the exterior of the building, and a less-legible sign hangs beneath it.

7.2: BORDER, a caption (Sol): “There it is.”

8.1. A close-up of the sign beneath the 33 from 7.1. It now more clearly reads: [USHER STREET HOUSE OF ANTIQUITIES AND CURIOS]

8.2. BORDER. A speech bubble trails down to 8.3.

Sol: “That wasn’t... so hard to find... after all.”

8.3. Sol walks up the path, while Pluton, indicated by tracing lines, bounds up into the building out of Sol’s view and onto a windowsill. He has set down the box.

9.1. Pluton, pausing at an open window, looks out imperiously at the approaching Sol.

9.2. Interior of the room from 9.1. A view from the back of JAMES “JIM” CULLOCK III. The room is full of talismans, wards, and assorted scraps of paper framed upon the walls.

Jim: “Yes, that would be him.”

9.3. A hand [that of MARIE BOSLEY] sets a Victrola to play.

Marie: “I’ll leave the interview to you, then.”

9.4. A partial view. Pluton bounds down into the room. Enough of Marie is visible that she can be seen cranking the Victrola. Jim appears to be fussing at something invisible on his sleeve.

Jim: “If you’re certain.”

9.5. [BORDER: SFX: the opening lyrics of Marion Harris’s “After You’re Gone”]

9.6. Jim’s feet descending the stairs.

10.

10.1. Deliberate parallel to 9.6. Sol coming up to the front door. The lyrics of the music continue from 9.5, and there on until otherwise indicated.

10.2. Sol’s hand raised, to the door, there is a simple bronze door knocker.

10.3. [BORDER: SFX: KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.]

10.4. Sol waits at the door.

10.5. Same framing as 10.4; Sol looks back at the box.

10.6. Sol looks back at the door, anxious, patting his head with his kerchief.

11.

11.1. The door swings open. Inside stands Jim. A tall, older white man with the slender yet solid look of a longtime dancer or a runner, clad in two parts of a mismatched three-piece suit: striped trousers under a diamond-patterned vest, with bow tie. His hair is close-cropped, styled fashionably, and streaked with gray.

Jim: “Good afternoon...”

11.2. BORDER. A trailing tail from Jim’s line in 11.1.

Jim: “...young man.”

11.3. Sol holds out a crumpled envelope.

Sol: “The Rev. Dr. Hammer sent me, sir?”

11.4. Jim takes the letter in his left hand.

11.5. Jim looks at the letter.

11.6. Jim tosses the letter over his shoulder, smiling.

Jim: “James Cullock III, son.”

12.

12.1. Jim, extending his right hand to shake.

Jim: “But, call me Jim.”

12.2. Sol, returning the handshake.

Sol: “Sir, my name’s Solomon.”

12.3. BORDER.

Jim: “Mr. Grundy, then?”

12.4. Sol looks tired of this joke already.

Sol: “No, sir. I was born on a Saturday.”

12.5. Jim laughs

Jim: “You’re the right one, alright!”

12.6. Jim motions Solomon in.

Jim: “Come in, Mr. Szombathy, and have a seat.”

13. Three panels, the top full-width but narrow, as is the border: the main action is 13.2.

13.1. The foyer of 33 Usher St. The room is set up for greeting visitors and entertaining, and Sol is already seated opposite Jim.

13.2. Full view of Solomon, seated and without his coat. He is wearing a tight-fitting sweater, giving him the silhouette of a paintbrush when paired with his trousers.

NOTE: Use the antiquated “Rumania” spelling whenever it appears on the page.

[CAPTION: Solomon “Sol” Szombathy Age: 20

Born: 10/31/1903

Hometown: Pittsburgh, Vandalia

Background: Hungarian/Rumanian Jewish, First Generation American

Likes: Science Fiction & Fantasy Magazines, spicy foods, cooking.

Dislikes: Running, swimming, high noon.]

13.3. BORDER.

Jim: “So, Solomon Szombathy. I understand from my old friend Matteus—he wired me here before you arrived—that you have had quite a remarkable encounter, of late.”

14. Reversal of 13.

14.1. BORDER.

Sol: “Just so, sir. I am told it is within your area of expertise?”

14.2. Full view of James, seated and with his legs crossed.

[CAPTION: James “Jim” Cullock III

Age: 56

Born: 2/18/1867

Hometown: Roan Mountain, Nickajack.

Background: Scottish-American

Hobbies: Gardening, Morning Constitutionals

Profession: Antiques, Estate Management, ???]

Jim: “By which you mean…”

14.3. Pluton enters the room.

Pluton: “Miaou.”

15.

15.1. Sol watches as Pluton approaches.

Sol: “Vampires, sir. A vampire. Just the one.”

15.2. Pluton inspects Sol, who is now focused on Jim.

Jim: “You have no need to worry about being doubted on that subject here, Mr. Szombathy.”

15.3. BORDER.

Sol: “Ah, yes. Dr. Hammer told me that you are in the business of…?”

15.4.

Jim: “Formally, the Usher Street House of Antiques and Curios is in the business of the management of estates belonging to those who passed without clearly defined wills, or without leaving behind heirs to manage their estates.”

15.5. Pluton approaches Jim.

Jim: “Informally, better say genuinely, we are in the business of public health. To deal with the threat of vampires to the general public.”

16.

16.1. Pluton settles down at Jim’s feet.

Jim: “Tell me, what are your opinions on the morality and ethics of vampirism?”

16.2

Sol: “Well, in my father’s collection, there was a commentary on the Sefer Hasidim, which says that a person who must consume the blood of another human being… should be pitied, for it is in her nature and her needs to survive, and if she should make recompense to her victim, should be treated with compassion as a member of the community.”

16.3 BORDER

Sol: “But that’s regarding a living vampire, what some call an estrie, and the exceptions made for one who must violate kashrus for the sake of pikuach nefesh. And Eleazar Rokeach said that one should stop up the mouth of a deceased estrie, to prevent her from feasting on the living, after death.”

16.4

Sol: “From a strictly Halakhic standing, it is permissible for the living to eat as they must to remain living, but the deceased are deceased, and are forbidden to do so.”

16.5

Sol: “So, I think that, ultimately, it depends on the circumstances, case by case. It requires careful but decisive investigation.”

16.6. Jim, close-up, a scrutinizing gaze.

Jim: “But Mr. Szombathy, you are not solely the books you read.”

17.

17.1. BORDER.

Jim: “What was your experience with a vampire? How do you feel about the morals and ethics?”

17.2.

Sol: “I… my family lived in Pittsburgh, you see. Since I was born.”

17.3.

Sol: “My mother had been pregnant, just newly so, when they came here, from the old country.”

Jim: “Which…?”

Sol: “Transyvlania. In Rumania.”

17.4. Sol is in silhouette in the foreground. We see KÁLMAN SZOMBATHY, a Hungarian Jewish man nearing middle age.

Sol: “My father—he was always very learned. In many ways. And he had acquaintances, friends, contacts? Who knew….”

17.5. Sol, younger, looking out the window at his father, who is outside with a candle in hand at night.

Sol: “Strange things. Secrets. Mysticism.”

17.6. Sol, a bit older, looking at his father examining a book. A diagram of the sefirot is visible—ish-style, or yosher?

Sol: “I saw so much of it, growing up. I didn’t think it was strange.”

18.

18.1. Sol, almost his present age, sitting by the window with a book, while his father talks with some baalei shem.

Sol: “Just… another thing we didn’t talk about with go—gentiles.”

Jim: “Like this… golem?”

18.2. The golem, standing with toddler Sol. It looks more lumpy and vaguely defined than when we see it later.

Sol: “Yes. It was around before I was born. Like a caretaker or guardian. A nanny.”

18.3. Sol sitting, reading a book aloud. His narration is not bubbled, but bleeds into the scenery.

Sol: “I would talk to it. Just… talk to it. My parents, my father only told it what to do.”

18.4. Sol looking up at the golem.

Sol: “And you may think it silly, sir, but sometimes, I thought that it spoke back.”

18.5. The golem looking down at Sol.

Jim: “Golems are said to be mute, are they not?”

18.6.

Sol: “So I am told.”

19.

19.1. A bedridden person.

Sol: “This summer, people started taking ill. A doctor came to visit, every one. But people just got worse. Wasting away.”

19.2. A doctor at the door, tipping his hat. He looks flushed, and has a distant expression.

Sol: “My parents had boarders. Renting rooms. And the doctor, the physician, came to call on one.”

19.3. Kálman stopping the golem, which seems determined to approach the “doctor” and has an upset expression.

Sol: “The golem kept… my parents said it was menacing him.”

19.4. Sol’s mother, DOINA URS-SZOMBATHY, shooing the golem from a door. Doina is about the same age as Kálman, with darker features.

Sol: “And it happened, the same day, that the Reverend Doctor Hammer was visiting. Resting, from traveling. He knew my father, somehow. The golem had been bothering him, too. Trying to push him around.”

Jim: “Hm.”

19.5. Sol, looking down.

Sol: “Which I guess is why he didn’t notice the physician was actually undead.”

19.6. Sol’s parents, reclining on a couch, resting their heads against one another. The shadow of the vampire looms over them.

Sol: “Which was why my parents thought it safe to rest, as well.”

20.

20.1.

Sol: “My parents—they were in the other room, you see. They had left the golem with me. Because it kept bothering everyone. Getting in the way.”

20.2.

Sol: “I guess the vampire got greedy, though. It came into my room. I was reading.”

20.3. The vampire reaching for Sol, who looks shocked. It is an upiór type, with a sharp, barbed tongue instead of fangs.

Sol: “I only realized what it was, up close. Too late for my parents.”

20.4. The golem’s clay fist swings at the vampire, sending it sprawling.

Sol: “But not too late for me.”

20.5. The vampire is sent flying across the room, slamming into the wall.

20.6. The Rev. Dr. MATTEUS HAMMER, a wild-eyed trans man of mixed Scandanavian and indigenous heritage, with a shock of white hair, in his pajamas and brandishing a sword and pistol.

Sol: “The fight woke up Dr. Hammer.”

21.

21.1. Splash of Hammer shooting the vampire in the heart.

[CAPTION: THE REVEREND DOCTOR MATTEUS J. HAMMER

Age: Like, So Old

Born: A Man, In Spite Of What The Nurse Said Hometown: Tarrytown, NY

Background: Finnish/Swedish-American and Lenape, He’s Pretty Sure Fears: God And Nawt Else, Also Centipedes

Enjoys: Fresh-Baked Bread]

21.2. The golem stands between Hammer and Sol, protecting Sol.

22.

22.1. Hammer looking over Sol.

Sol: “The Reverend Doctor, he checked me over. Asked me a lot of questions about what happened. About me.”

22.2.

Sol: “Checked everyone else, too. Everyone who... survived.”

22.3.

Sol: “And he told me… all things considered, I should come here.”

22.4. Jim, pensive.

Jim: “To report on your experiences? I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through, your loss, but….”

22.5. Sol, surprised.

Sol: “No, sir. He sent me here for me to seek employment.”

22.6. BORDER.

Sol: “As stated in the letter you dropped upon the ground.”

23.

23.1. Jim, flushed, looks at the envelope.

23.2. Jim, bends over to pick up the letter.

23.3. He dusts it off.

23.4. He opens the envelope.

23.5. He begins to read.

23.6. BORDER Hammer: “Dear Jim. Give the lad a job. Do something about the golem. Remember: that matter in Chattanooga. Or I will tell Marie. Sinc. The Rev. Dr. Matteus J. Hammer.”

24.

24.1.

Jim: “Well, then I suppose that this is an employment interview, although....”

24.2. Jim sighs through his nose.

24.3. BORDER.

Jim: “Chattanooga, eh?”

24.4. Jim: “In that case, we had best find the best place for you.”

24.5.

Jim: “Let me explain a bit more about what we do here.”

24.6.

Jim: “Through a number of agents, contacts, and former customers, we are apprised of events that may require our attention. Our more ordinary business provides both cover and funding for this.”

25.

25.1. Jim, facing Sol, sidelong view.

Jim: “We employ both in-office experts, and traveling agents who visit locations where vampirism is believed to be at play.”

25.2. Sol, headlong view.

Jim: “What qualifies you to act in the field, rather than from behind a desk?”

25.3. BORDER. Sol’s speech trails to .4.

Sol: “Well, sir, as a dhampir,”

25.4. Jim, headlong view. Two ghosts are visible, framing him: RODERICK and MADELINE USHER. They are the spirits of two young WASPs nearly identical in appearance, with large eyes, wild fine hair, and aquiline noses, clad in shrouds.

Sol: “I can see the dead.”

26.1. Roderick and Madeline notice Sol is looking at them.

Jim: “...”

26.2. Roderick waves coyly at Sol. Madeline seems disinterested.

Jim: “You would be far from the first to claim that you are able to see the unseen. Do you have any proof?”

26.3.

Sol: “Outside of the word of Dr. Hammer…?”

Jim: “If you please.”

26.4. Jim, an eyebrow cocked.

Sol: “I don’t suppose you know that you have twin siblings hovering in the air around your study?”

26.5. Jim looks up at Roderick.

26.6. Jim looks up at Madeline.

27.1.

Jim: “You will, I trust, forgive my skepticism. Even in this trade, there is always room for incredulity.”

27.2. Jim lets out a puff of a sigh.

27.3.

Jim: “I myself have found that what one sees is not always what is.”

27.4. A view of Sol, from Jim’s perspective. Sol and the room are crawling with transparent insects of imaginative and unnatural anatomy. Take care to note that they are only visible on surfaces of a solid, continuous color.

27.5. BORDER.

Sol: “Do you find that very often?”

27.6. Jim, looking weary, dusts one ‘bug’ off the table.

Jim: “For many a year.”

28.

28.1.

Jim: “But, here, you said that you were a dhampir! How comes that to happen?”

28.2. Sol, obviously embarrassed.

Sol: “In the usual manner, sir.”

28.3. BORDER.

Jim: “Which is to say, one of your parents—your birth parents—was a vampire?”

28.4.

Sol: “My mother’s first husband. After his death. My father, I suppose, my stepfather, was his brother.”

28.5.

Jim: “My condolences.”

28.6. Sol, holding the cane tightly.

Sol: “I don’t think of it much. It wasn't his fault.”

29.

29.1. Jim stands up abruptly.

Jim: “Quite! Not his fault. Not his fault. The majority of vampires—people want someone to blame, you know?”

29.2. Jim begins to walk out the door, motioning ‘come here’ to Sol. Pluton perks up.

Jim: “But a vampire—follow after, won’t you?—is not really a someone. It’s a something.”

29.3. Jim walks outside towards the box, Sol and Pluton following.

Jim: “Are you familiar with the association of vampirism with cases of tubercular consumption in Connecticut?”

29.4. Jim has reached the box and is inspecting it, leaning over it.

Sol: “That there was some similarity, but that the word ‘vampire’ was not used?”

29.5. Jim circles the box.

Jim: “Well, the papers used it—here, how do we open this—though the locals did not.”

29.6. BORDER.

Sol: “Open it, sir?”

30.

30.1. Jim, gesturing at the box.

Jim: “This is the golem in here, is it not?”

30.2. Sol, hesitant. In the background, RANDOLPH CARTER appears in the doorway, startled. Reference HP Lovecraft, naturally.

Sol: “Yes, but—” 30.3. Carter rushes up, waving the letter from Hammer in his hand.

Randolph: “Mister Cullock! James! I can see what you mean to do and—this is folly of unfathomably cyclopean proportions!”

30.4. BORDER.

Randolph: “The letter from Matteus Hammer is entirely explicit in its brevity, this container is as an inscrutable Hebraic box of Pandora!”

30.5. Jim, gesturing bemusedly to Randolph.

Jim: “Ah, Mr. Szombathy. Allow me to introduce our Rare Books Expert, Mr. Randolph Carter.”

31.

31.1. Carter looks down at Sol.

[CAPTION: RANDOLPH CARTER Age: Younger than he looks, really.

Born: 8/20/1874

Hometown: Some Nameless New England Town

Expertise: Ancient Tomes, Forgotten Lore, Adjectives

Hangups: Xenophobia, Icthyophobia, Anglophilia]

31.2. Carter nods at Sol in greeting, ignoring Sol’s offered handshake.

Randolph: “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Szombathy.”

31.3. Carter whips his head around (speed lines!) back to Jim.

Randolph: “I really must protest, James!”

31.4. BORDER Randolph: “The golem acted without instruction, in a violent and destructive manner according to its inhuman whims!”

31.5. BORDER, again. The text is less contained within the bubble.

Randolph: “It is a lifeless husk animated by eldritch secrets, which has demonstrated a readiness to cause harm!”

31.6. BORDER, once more. The text is almost overtaking the space, no longer contained in a bubble.

Randolph: “It is every bit the arcane monstrosity that we are employed to eliminate, an idiot half-form!”

32. The thickest BORDER panel so far, over a three panel of one full width over two half-widths.

32.1. BORDER. A single, solid, centered speech bubble, trailing down.

Jim: “Enough.”

32.2. Jim, over the box, holding a pair of gardening shears to the ropes binding it.

32.3. The severed ropes falling, in view of Sol.

Jim: “Mr. Szombathy; I should like to employ you. But after hearing your story, I suspect that you are but one part of what the stores would call a ‘package deal’.”

32.4. Jim opening the box, viewed from as if within.

Jim: “Would you mind if I were to awaken it?”

33.

33.1. Sol, looking resolute, with Carter looking horrified behind.

33.2. Repeat of 33.1, but with Sol nodding, Carter faint with terror.

Sol: “Please do, Mr. Cullock.”

33.3. A full view from above of the golem in the box. It is squared and inanimate, eyes shut and form even more vague than in the flashback. Pluton bounds into panel.

33.4. BORDER, more gray than black, now.

Jim: “Please, call me Jim.”

34.

34.1. Jim reaches into his pocket and pulls out a strip of paper. Pluton appears in the corner.

Jim: “Matteus had sent this ahead, as well.”

34.2. He holds it up for Sol and Carter to see. An א is visible, but the rest is concealed by the curl of the paper.

Jim: “I take it this is the ‘sacred words under the tongue’ type of golem, rather than the ‘אמת’ variety?”

34.3. Sol, confused.

Sol: “Yes, s—Jim.”

34.4. Jim, looking contemplative and holding the strip absently.

Jim: “I wonder. Was the golem silent for fear of spitting out the paper?”

Sol: “Eh?” 34.5. BORDER. Still gray.

Jim: “I would keep mum, myself, if my continued animation depended upon something held under my tongue.”

34.6. Jim’s hand pressing a tiny hole into the clay. Pluton is looking over the edge of the box.

Jim: “Just like planting a seed, hm?”

35.

35.1. Jim’s hand swipes over the hole, sealing it by pushing clay back over.

Jim: “There, now—”

35.2. BORDER, but with the image of ‘eyes opening’, slightly, in white.

35.3. BORDER as 35.2, but wider. Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter coming into view.

35.4. BORDER as 35.3, wider. Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter in full view.

35.5. Same panel width as 35.2-4, but a full, unshaded panel of Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter.

36.

36.1. The golem sits up, form still vague, androgynous. Carter shocks, Jim smiles, Sol looks nervous, Pluton is deadpan and does not move from looking over the edge of the box.

Jim: “How is that?”

36.2. The golem looks at Jim. Everyone’s expressions are the same as 36.1.

Jim: “Can you try speaking, now?”

36.3. The golem, closeup, mouth open slightly.

36.4. Same as 36.3.

Golem: “C’n try… speaking.”

36.5. Now Sol is shocked, too.

36.6. Same as 36.5.

Sol: “He can talk?”

37.

37.1. The golem, frowning.

Golem: “...can.”

37.2. Sol and Carter, even more shocked.

Randolph: “M-mimicry?”

37.3. The golem gives a headshake.

Golem: “Nuh-uh.”

37.4. The golem’s gaze shifts in the direction of Sol.

Golem: “Why… c-call me….”

37.5. The golem, looking down.

Golem: “He?”

37.6. Sol looks as though he has realized; unlit lightbulb? Carter is fizzling smoke from his noggin.

38.

38.1. Repeat of 37.6. More smoke from Carter, lit lightbulb on Sol.

Sol: “You’re a girl!”

38.2. The golem nods.

38.3.

Sol: “I’m so sorry, I never realized—you looked like a boy, so?”

38.4. The golem, puzzled.

Golem: “...looked?”

38.5. The golem starts to push out of the box.

Sol: “Of course, I should know, appearances and all, but—”

39.

39.1. The golem starts to rise from the box, form changed towards a more definite shape.

39.2. Continuing from 39.1, more and more defined, more and more upright.

39.3. Fully upright, fully defined as feminine. Dotty as per concept art.

39.4. The golem, in full view, looking down at herself while Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter are gathered around.

Golem: “Be...tter?”

40. Four quarter-width panels, one full, two half-width.

40.1. Jim, smiling.

Jim: “Quite so.”

40.2. Sol, beaming.

Sol: “Amazing!”

40.3. Pluton, feline.

Pluton: “Miau.”

40.4. Carter, stunned.

Randolph: “Transmogrification!?”

40.5. The golem, smiling.

40.6. Jim, Sol, Pluton, Carter.

Jim: “And how should we call you, Miss…”

40.7. The golem, thinking.

Golem: “D…”

41.

41.1. The golem, DOROTHEEA “DOTTY” SZOMBATHY, smiling, her speech bubble forming the CAPTION:

[Dorotheea Szombathy But you c’n call me Dotty!

Age: I dunno, like eight’r nine months older’n Sol?

Birthdate: I guess February of 1903? It was Tu B’shvat, I think.

I love helpin’ Sol, and all kinds of toys and games! My clay came from Horezu, but I was born in Bran! That’s in Transylvania, you know? The one in Rumania, not Usonia]

41.2. A view from behind Dotty as she continues talking. Jim and Sol look dumbfounded, Carter is letting out smoke from both ears and his eyes have rolled all the way back in his head.

Dotty: “I was asleep on the boat to Usonia, but someday I wanna try riding it while I’m awake….”

Jim: “Oh, she certainly can talk.”

Sol: “יא”

42. END page of “Can You Tell Me The Way To Usher St?”

42.1. CAPTION:

[סוף.]

42.2. A bubble of Dotty.

Dotty: “Say, c’n I wear clothes now?”

#33 usher street #my writing

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