A Road To Us
@Machina Somnium
The nights always seemed to be warm and humid around this time of year, and the cicadas buzzed as loud as ever during this particular night at the antique boarding house in Juniper Hollow. The house is quite a sight to behold compared to the more modest dwellings along this street -- it was more of a mansion than anything. The neighbors would each have a story to tell you about this house in particular; some were charming and quaint, and others maybe not so much. There were rumors of the police searching the premises for a Russian gangster, a runaway teen stolen away by her overbearing mother, and, of course, stories of scandalous love affairs that wouldn't be out of place in a cheesy, exploitive stageplay. Love them or hate them, many couldn't keep their eyes away.
Though, the neighbors could generally agree that it had become much quieter over the years, especially as the tenancy gradually shrank and one of the two brothers that ran the abode had suddenly gone AWOL. The neighbors, of course, were quick to postulate about the brother's sudden absence as well, with some rumors even suggesting that he was, in fact, the wanted criminal that the feds were searching for this whole time. Those who remained at the house denied this, of course, but didn't discuss much about what happened. Needless to say, though, the hustle and bustle that came to be expected on the property had mellowed out significantly.
On this night, one of the tenants was making his way through the pathway leading to the patio. The man was dressed rather unconventionally in a loose, flowing cardigan, black and white checkered slacks, and grey boating shoes. He looked particularly outside of time and reasonable fashion compared to his peers, especially with the long, wavy hair and strange attire. This was Mitch McCowell, one of the long term, yet on-and-off tenants of the residence. The slim, shaggy brown-haired man looked over his shoulder to see if his friend was still following. He pushed up the rounded bifocals on his nose with one hand while beckoning his friend with the other hand. "I sure hope you're not snoozing on me, Abel. We're already past curfew," he joked, not that the curfew mattered at this point.
@Machina Somnium
The nights always seemed to be warm and humid around this time of year, and the cicadas buzzed as loud as ever during this particular night at the antique boarding house in Juniper Hollow. The house is quite a sight to behold compared to the more modest dwellings along this street -- it was more of a mansion than anything. The neighbors would each have a story to tell you about this house in particular; some were charming and quaint, and others maybe not so much. There were rumors of the police searching the premises for a Russian gangster, a runaway teen stolen away by her overbearing mother, and, of course, stories of scandalous love affairs that wouldn't be out of place in a cheesy, exploitive stageplay. Love them or hate them, many couldn't keep their eyes away.
Though, the neighbors could generally agree that it had become much quieter over the years, especially as the tenancy gradually shrank and one of the two brothers that ran the abode had suddenly gone AWOL. The neighbors, of course, were quick to postulate about the brother's sudden absence as well, with some rumors even suggesting that he was, in fact, the wanted criminal that the feds were searching for this whole time. Those who remained at the house denied this, of course, but didn't discuss much about what happened. Needless to say, though, the hustle and bustle that came to be expected on the property had mellowed out significantly.
On this night, one of the tenants was making his way through the pathway leading to the patio. The man was dressed rather unconventionally in a loose, flowing cardigan, black and white checkered slacks, and grey boating shoes. He looked particularly outside of time and reasonable fashion compared to his peers, especially with the long, wavy hair and strange attire. This was Mitch McCowell, one of the long term, yet on-and-off tenants of the residence. The slim, shaggy brown-haired man looked over his shoulder to see if his friend was still following. He pushed up the rounded bifocals on his nose with one hand while beckoning his friend with the other hand. "I sure hope you're not snoozing on me, Abel. We're already past curfew," he joked, not that the curfew mattered at this point.