Nuuuu. One of our towns here produces more blueberries a year than anywhere else in the world ^__^

I grew up (so to speak) in Karelia. The blueberries are nice. The faeries kind of suck. But the real jewel are the Life Water springs. I'll take you to one. That water will knock your socks off, to use one of your favourite American sayings.

Life Water Spring???

Oh, spiffy, look foreward to hearing it ^__^

Oh, man, I'd love to go, for the blueberries, the faeries, *and* the springs...

Sounds like a little slice of Heaven on Earth.

KonThaak wrote:Oh, man, I'd love to go, for the blueberries, the faeries, *and* the springs...

Sounds like a little slice of Heaven on Earth.

As a druid you might not leave.

As a living entity I can't say I'd blame you. It's the most beautiful place on Earth, if you're into that sort of thing.

If you are looking to get into American Indian lore, that's a rich place to start.

Heaven sounds nice and all, but the entrance requirement will be the death of us all.

Ha, ha, very punny.

I still say I'd love to visit Russia, someday...

I never got to visit the badlands in Kansas. :/

I met Scotty last night. It's a good thing I was never a Star Trek fan, or I might have had preconceived notions. He would have broken them, though.

We got right to work. Nothing found yet, though Clarity did find another lead. Too bad she called me after we had split up. I'll post more as I learn more.

Good. Keep in touch.

Natasha wrote:You're always invited.

Yes, but I'm not always free... In point of fact, I'm not usually free. :/

Thanks all. I found a freind of a freind of a freind who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who claims he knows what happened to know a McVay. So we'll see how that pans out in the next few days.

He decided to meet in a crowd.

Smart, considering he was, in his own words, a man hunted by supernatural forces intent on his ultimate demise.

The crowd happened to be a strip joint.

Not smart, considering he was, in his own words, a man hunted by supernatural forces intent on his ultimate demise.

The room was hazy with smoke and pink lights. I ignored the scantily-clad dancers and the pounding music, scanning the booths for the agreed sign. Sweat glued my collar to my neck. The heat was stifling in this place.

I found the martini glass, with the red ribbon tied carelessly around the stem and the umbrella bent inside, pushed to the edge of a booth's table. Frazier was a nervous paycheck, though he hid it by dawdling a brunette on his knee, while three blondes had their backs in my direction. But he got down to business the minute I flashed the answering signal in the palm of my hand left hand, the other in my pocket.

The three girls glanced behind them at his dissmisal, grinning like eaters of canaries, and left without a fuss. Brownie wanted to stick around, but a glare by me and a nod, complemented by the wad of benjamins passing from him to her convinced her to leave, but not before she had given him a kiss on his wasted neck and murmured something in his ear. I watched her go uneasily.

The warning to repeat anything of the proceeding conversation was taken with grace, I took the cushioned seat next to him, opposite the side Brownie had been. The paneled wall was to our backs. "So talk to me about the elusive detective McVay. How did you know him?"

He shrugged sagging shoulders, unsuccessfully, trying to keep an eye on the hand in my pocket. But he was on my left, and I kept that arm on the table between us. After more coaxing, he started talking.

"Lemme see." He scratched his neck thoughtfully and took a deep drink. "I first met him when he started askin' around 'bout them group of junkies. An' after that, 'bout seven weeks later, he helped bust up that dogfightin' ring..." it was a bit before he got into familiar territory. "I woulda liked to see that haunted house, though..."

I'd definitely have to look that one up.

All throughout the low discussion, he'd scrape his neck with his fingers and peer around the entrance, the people, the windows, and all the exits. I was examining the crowd, too. 1"I wish he woulda been there when those guys, came though. Scary stuff."

I forced my eyes back to him. "Scary? How? Who were these guys?"

Frazier shook his head, his palm clamped to the side of his neck.

"Raphael," he muttered but didn’t answer me further, paused in his attempt to relieve the itch at his neck, his hand now clawing frantically.

"Who is Raphael?" I hissed, damming my paranoia and trying to recapture his attention.

He abruptly stopped his abrasive movements, went rigid, swore under the table, and started fumbling for his pocket.

My eyes did a double-speed typographical report of what he might have seen.

But nobody looked suspicious, nothing revealed itself to my search. He yanked out a leather wallet, pulled out a bunch of bills, tossed them on the table, and escaped the booth quickly. I followed him at a discreet distance, my brows furrowing troughs in my forehead as he clapped his hand to his neck as though smacking a mosquito. Frazier elbowed his way through the doors and into warm night.

The people hardly noticed him as he passed, nor did they give me another look. The contact was easier to follow as he walked down the street, people went out of their way to go the long way around, his obsessive scraping, I could dimly see, was beginning to draw blood.

I quickly shadowed him into the dim alcove back behind the buildings. Frazier stumbled, glanced about frantically, and collapsed with enough for to leave a dent in the concrete.

He was foaming at the mouth and twitching into convulsions even before I kneeled at his side. There was nothing I could do for him, he was dead even while he was playing twister. When I got him to stop at last, I rolled him over and carefully examined him.

Frazier’s entire left jowl was swollen and blotched with veins of infected purple, blistered red, and flecked hints of fuischa. The foam on his lips had run down his cheeks in rivers. I watched my flanks, front, and back as I searched his pockets and commandeered his identification and cellphone. Next came the careful extraction of a few cells from the swollen...mess on the left side of his face, the foam, and the whole medical caboodle. A few pics of him, his body, and the area finished off my too short investigation that night.

I’ll be danimed if I didn’t get that shadowy figure watching from the other end of the alley, though. But he was gone before I could get a pic of him.

And I thought Sundays were supposed to be relaxing.

Raphael? Are you sure that is the name he said?