- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- Multiple posts per week
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Genres
- Sci-Fi, Modern, Horror, & Romance
November - 1936
Anderson felt a little motion-sick as the countryside moved past him, rounded hills and distant clouds alike. He bought three train tickets for the agency; one for himself, one for Clara, and one for Charles. Sometimes Anderson felt more endangered without them than not, though nothing could get him to admit such a petty feeling for his colleagues. The detective sank back into his hefty leather seat, reading the latest newspaper while blocking out the chatting going on elsewhere.
He had opted to take an empty portion of the train car for himself. A dossier had been given to the others in the company before leaving Boston, with all its traffic and breadlines and everything else, Anderson was going to miss home. It wasn't uncommon for a private eye to go out of town, and for this reason he was very well-traveled across the country. Even still, this was his first trip to Innsmouth. Discovering that the town was barely even on the train's schedule looked suspicious enough.
The car that Anderson bothered to pay for was second-class. Money wasn't easy to come by nowadays, so corners were cut when necessary, in all but the practice of investigation. That was a priceless art and therefore left untouched. The budget was managed carefully, articulated almost religiously as payments were taken into account. Anderson skimmed through the baseball game results in the paper, grinding his teeth in disappointment, seeing his favorite team face a slim defeat. He wanted to see one of the games in Boston for many years, yet never found the time to do so.
The detective scratched his wrist under his old trench coat, the same one he wore at the Battle of the Lys. The smell of trench mud and mustard gas was still fresh in his mind. Anderson shivered, putting down the paper to rub his forehead, afraid to let the memories take hold once more. He had a case to focus on, and that was top priority. Dwelling on the past could wait indefinitely.
@Ted @MinxyWolfGoesChup
BY INVITATION ONLY - The Innsmouth Chronicles (OOC)