Garrett P.I. Reading Corner

[Henry Gondorf]

Henry take the flask thankfully but manages to not take more than a sip. He then reached into his bag and pulled out a book with a heavily stylized cover. The title read "Orphan's of Chaos"

"I was pulling a bit from one of the kids the book. Great trilogy about how things are never what they appear along with a healthy dose about paranoia not being the worst thing to have. It also throws in a bit about how dangerous freedom is without thinking about what comes after. The point is, go back far enough in any culture and at one time everyone's ancestor was descended from or related to Bobby Iron Hand, God of righteous beatings and Husband to Sally Shod-Boot, Goddess of Kicking Tail."

"Love it when Discovery comes through when trying to stay awake on a case." Henry added. He set the book down near the growing pile of books as he thought it best to answer with a more serious statement.

"I've been around enough bars to know never listen to the locals when it comes to how tough they are. The best way to get at the truth is getting it from folks who gain nothing from lying about it. In this case, most folks who mucked around with The Celtic back then knew they were in for a fight. Maybe not sheering off mountain tops three at a time but it was not about to be a walk in the park. Even the Vikings, the Nordic Mongols, knew to bring plenty of friends to when going ashore."

Henry went quiet for a second. He seemed about to continue when it looked like he drew a sudden blank. He opened and close his mouth trying to find his thought when if finally let it go. Having lost his steam, Henry pulled his own flask to add fuel back to his fire.

"Ahh," He said quietly, "that's better. As for that bit about the For...meins? They were more like them crappa in Japan. They had their own fight going on and lost to what would be the start of Celtics. At least... I think that how it went. Not much call for Irish heritage on TV unless its a week before Saint Patrick's Day."

[sndwurks]

[kimp]

:: Liberty eyes Billy's outstretched hand for a moment, surely not long enough to be rude, then reaches out to clasp it ::
Liberty. Liberty Blue. Or, Blue works also.

:: She releases his hand and a very slight smile tweaks her mouth ::
As soon as I said that about my car it occurred to me that might make an excellent t-shirt.

:: Then, completely random, she adds ::
I think Bradbury is a modern classic author. One hundred years from now I would hope students are studying him universally at the college-level.

:: Back on track for the conversation, she continues ::
Is Gigimo'umdwa the local name for Whisper Hill?

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Liberty Blue
aka kim

[sndwurks]

Hand shake out of the way, Billy does not press it pass the habit of courtesy that it is. He smiles at the praise for Bradbury, and gives a swift nod.

"I certainly hope they'll be studying him," he offers with a tilt of his head towards Professor Challenger. "He'll be able to have more sway in that than I, though. And Gigimo'umdwa is the Aquinaki name for this area, so... technically local? More along the lines of 'old' name for the area. Translates roughly to 'Place of Whispers'. I try to keep it in mind since it sounds a touch more sinister than just Whisper Hill. Also, less confusion with other places ending in 'Hill'."

The smile turns more to a grin, and he reaches up to rub lightly at one of the thick, ugly scars that trace the edges of his face with an absent-minded gesture.

"Good to meet you, Blue. Feel free to call me Billy."

[Henry Gondorf]

Henry slipped both of his books back into his bag. He then produced a pad of paper from yet another pocket in his bag. He wrote in a heavy hand the words "The Garrett P.I. Lending Library (Formerly The Garrett P.I. Reading Corner)"

"See, I learned a hard lesson a while ago. When everyone pitches in things tend to muddled. Happened this one time. There was a fire in a nice little community library that took the wind out of a lot of young minds. So they rebuilt and restocked, taking donations from the neighborhood and from out of town for books. That is when it all went sideways. A couple of kids got their hands on the kind of book you might find around here. Things floated without permits, shadows loitered after their owners departed, harmless stuff. But as it tends to be the case, that sort of thing was meant to embolden those to keep reading. Took more foot work than I was hoping for but things straightened out. And when I found the merry bastard who own the book, the straightening continued."

Henry tapped the pad. "It's far from fool proof but at least we can say we tried to keep things sorted."

[kimp]

:: Liberty looks up from her comic and levels Henry with a stare. That is all. For several very long, drawn out seconds she stares. Then she turns to Billy and says ::
The place of whispers? Capital P, Capital W? Do they call it that as there have always been interesting things happening here? Things spoken of in whispers? Or are these attacks we've faced recent things?

:: She is a quiet a moment and then adds in a voice that drifts on a slower beat that before ::
I have always thought that whispers can be things of reverence. Like the way people lower their voices in holy places. As if their muted tones create a sense of enormity in even the smallest of locations.

:: She blinks and tilts her head slightly and her tone is all business once more ::
So, is it that the things here are only 'spoken of in whispers' or is it an offshoot of reverence? Or, something else?

[sndwurks]

Billy gives Henry a solid thumbs up, and grins before turning his attention back towards Liberty. He listens to her questions, and shrugs as a response. He lifts his had, rubbing at the scars on the edge of his scalp in thought. He furrows his brow, and finally responds.

"Whisper Hill was never a... good place," he says simply. "But it was not always this bad. It's always been a thin place. The attacks... they're new." Pause. "Ish."

Billy takes a deep breath, and shakes his head.

"I only have the stories I've heard, really. I'm not a local. My band are on the south end of the state. This is our reservation, yeah, but my chief isn't the guy in charge here. He answers to the council up in Canada, just like the council here does too. But, from the stories... Reverence isn't the right word. It's like standing next to a sleeping volcano. Gas hisses, and you don't want to step too hard, less you wake it up."