[Moira] Tucked away in the warmth of an empty room in Hill House, Moira picked up her iphone to thumb through contacts as she scowled over small notes of paper. She dials up the number to call “Mom” feeling a twist of pain in her chest as she missed him, and waiting anxiously for him to answer.
[Tristan] It rings once, twice, and then is picked up and sleepily answered. “Mmmmmmmmnfphhmmm?”
Tristan scrubs his hand over his face and bleerily checks the time, before snuggling back down into his pillows, tugging the blankets up to his nose, and phone pressed to his ear, muttering. “S’too cold to get up.”
[Moira] “Why are you still in bed? It’s – ” checks her watch, grinning, “10:30 in the morning…. Time to get up, MOoooom!”
[Tristan] He blinks, pulls the phone away to look at who the call is from, and then his soft laughter, as easy going as ever, sounds across the line. “Don’t you moooooooooooom me! Had a late night last night, s’all. The boys at the station decided it was a fine night to party. On a Monday. We didn’t crawl back home until a few hours ago.” Living the high life in the ‘wilds’ of suburban Jersey, apparently – and he sounds content, and happy.
“How’re you, kiddo?”
[Moira] Moira feigns an indignant snort, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling as she grins. He can hear the teasing tones in her voice, “So this is what you do. Leave Chicago to move to Jersey to play house wife and have sex parties all the time. It isn’t the 70s, ya know.”
She clears her voice, “I’m doing alright, back in Chicago, surviving the killing fields as it were. Garou dying faster than they can produce them here. Though production has stopped all together, I haven’t seen a mated pair in awhile… I think there’s a couple in the Shadow lords but that’s it…”
She could ramble all day, but glancing at her watch again, “I hate to get to the point, but this isn’t exactly a pleasure call. I’m playing Scooby Doo with Kemp investigating an urban legend that’s come to life. I ran into an old contact of yours, a Gnawer Kin named Ian – older man hangs around the Chicago Tribune building. Does he sound familiar at all?”
[Tristan] He snorts at her teasing, and then listens as she fills in some details, smiling as she rambles. “What would you know of the 70s, ya damn baby…” but it’s said with love, of course. and also.. “Ew. Shadowlords.” There’s worry there, that she’s in the killing fields as it were, but she gets to the point soon after, and a brow arches, slightly.
“Ian? The ‘Chicago Times, we got the news all day, hey-a hey-a hey-a hey Ian?'” He pushes up to sit, and drags his hand through tangled curls as he nods. As if she could see it. “Wow – he’s still around? He’s bout twice as old as God at this point.” Chuckled, fondly.
[Moira] “Twice as old and singing his songs as jive-y as ever, Mom.” She replies, “Do you know anything about Ian, Tristan? He’s a rather interesting fellow, missed you this Christmas since you weren’t around to give him a new set of gloves.”
[Tristan] Genuine regret “Shit – I knew I forgot to send something. I’ll get some out to him right away – i’ve a contact at the paper that’ll get them to him. Things were a bit hectic around here – Petra and Andrea were visiting. Petra has a new man and Henry was understandably adorable and over-protective.” He chuckles softly, amused.
As for what he knows. “From what I can tell – you’ve clearly talked to him so know it’s not always to tug the information from him in a logical matter – he’s in his 60s. Kinfolk. He once told me his father was a gallaird – Blood Song – from the Sept of the Giving Tree, the one there before Maelstrom. He always resorted into rambling about some Mary.. but not. ya know. that one.”
That one. The one that almost got Andrea. That did have Moira for a while. That almost tore his kids from him…
Back to the present (…sorta…) “Told me once it was his job to keep the tale, until someone came to learn of it.”
[Moira] “I took care of that little task for you, Tristan.” She says with a bemused smirk, “Though, I’m sure he’ll appreciate an extra pair if you want to send him another. I got him a new winter coat as well. I sorta questioned him too much, but he gave me what I needed to know.”
She thinks on what he says, grabbing a blank sheet of paper and writing this all down. “He’s talking about a hitchhiking ghost called Resurrection Mary, which turns out to be three different girls named Mary from what I’ve gathered. Others that have looked into it, think it’s only one ghost that could be three different women.”
“Do you know if he has a last name by chance?”
[Tristan] “See now, that’s why you’re one of my favorite kids. Protecting dear ole’ mom’s reputation…” He chuckles, softly, and nods. “He sees a lot, knows a lot more. Just takes the time and patience to listen to his songs.”
Last name. Tristan closes his eyes and thinks, trying to remember if that’s something he ever knew… then finally. “Henderson, I think. Most just call him Crazy Ian, or Singin’ Ian, or other less savory things. There was a guy from a shelter nearby – Gary’s his name – that came and collected him at night, makes sure he has a safe place to sleep, but Ian likes to be close to the news – Think he was a reporter back in the day.” A beat. “I hope they still do that – he’s getting too hold to handle the cold snap you’ve got goin there…”
[Moira] “I only do it because I love you.” she laughs, “From what Ian told me someone still comes to collect him.” Another glance at her watch, papers shuffled together quickly as she collects them up to stuff them into a notebook and closes it. She stands up, starting to walk out of the room she’s occupied.
“I am going to have to give you another call later on. I’ll keep you updated if you like, but I have to let you go, need to get back to work before I get into trouble.”
[Tristan] “Good.” To both, one would presume.
“I’d like that. Tell Ian I said hello – and if you see Kemp? Tell him to call his Mom every once in a while. You should come visit, too. You’d LOVE our backyard, and we’re within a short driving distance to the beach… Henry’s put on weight, filled out, looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him…. and the boys at the firehouse? Whooo. HAWT.”
He smiles, softly. “You need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Love ya, kiddo.”
[Moira] “Love you to, Tristan. Take care of yourself…” She sighs a little, hanging up the phone and heads out of the room, tucking it away.
[Tristan] He chuckles softly, and then hangs up the phone – and damned if he doesn’t just snuggle rght back up under those covers. He’s gettin too old for this all night party business…