Marion Rhodes

He is known as the “child of the sequoias”

He is either viewed as “strange” or “shy” … or both

He doesn’t attend town events

If he’s by himself, he doesn’t have the sound processor in place. Lip reading is an imperfect science, as is the cochlear implant. Even when he is wearing the sound processor, it doesn’t make his hearing perfect. He still struggles in crowded/loud settings or when people are talking too fast, too quiet etc.

His hearing dog, Herne, alerts him to sounds.

Texts are preferred over phone calls.

If he’s not at the deli, his home/museum (which is the same place), or at the sequoia grove, he is wandering the boundaries of Pleasance.

He has never dated, been in love, or otherwise had a romantic or close platonic relationship.

His parents visit every month from Saturday into Sunday. He looks exhausted come Monday morning.

It is rumored that someone in the Rhodes family started the house fire.

The Museum of Small Wonders is also known as the “Home of Lost Things” as things that people have misplaced or otherwise thought disappeared tend to end up in his museum either because he finds them somewhere else or because they legitimately just show up in the museum.

Bez looked at the ticket and then back at the person behind the ticket booth, their head cocking to the side for a moment, but they didn’t see any tickets prizes. “How much is it?” they asked, not necessarily getting their wallet out, but feeling the familiar wait in their jacket pocket. 

Then the signing started and Bez watched with slightly widened eyes, not sure what to do. There were way too many signs. All they knew to say was: thank you, hello, and my name is - followed by the B E Z, because remembering B E H R O O Z was way too difficult. “Uhm.” They should’ve learned: I don’t know sign language instead. Like they knew how to say “no hables espanol” or “ne parle pas frances”. “I don’t understand,” they said instead. Which, after a horrible trip abroad to France and saying “ne ce pas” constantly, should’ve told them that they were in for either a repeat, or a repeat but slower.

----- "It is the off season so..." he considered the price and held up three fingers. "Three dollars" Whatever the museum was for Marion, be it a labor of love or a place to belong among the strange and mysterious - hiding away from the people of Pleasance -- it was not a place that gave him a lot of money. How then he was able to afford the museum, its wares, and the like -- was a secret known to himself and Herne.

He noticed how his speak-signing seemed to make the other uncomfortable, and he paused and waited to see if they would leave, ignore the signs, or remain rooted in the spot. Still, as Marion explained, he didn't stop signing. "The signing is for me more than you -," he explained, "I am used to living among hearing people, and I understand that this is different for you -- his speaking voice lacked the clear enunciation of someone born speaking, or someone who had the implant from an early age -- or even someone who diligently worked with a speech therapist, but he would still be easily understood. "but I found that I could live my whole life trying to pretend I was hearing - or I could be myself. Speaking with my hands, facial expressions, and body language is natural for me. I hope that it won't take away from your enjoyment of the museum."

The alluring call of a cigarette was still on her lips, but she had too much to do and there was a slight hope - and it was truly slight - that the store would be something that would help keep her busy enough to quit. Pushing past it, she moved behind the counter where Maude’s dedicated notes were tucked within the second drawer. Elijah may have left instructions, but Maude had been running things on her own for sometime even before he died, which meant Nisha expected some changes - and hopefully some clarification - to the process her dad had written out. 

Nisha jumped lightly at the sound of the door opening — though she really shouldn’t have been surprised at customers, it was their first day open after awhile. At the very least nosey small town gossips would’ve been stopping by, if not reading fanatics happy to have their store back.

“John Connolly?” They repeated it, more for themself than for their guest, before lifting up a finger to signal that it’d be just a moment. Reaching into another drawer she found The Binder, as her dad used to call it, that kept a log of all upcoming releases and if they’d gotten them in stock or ordered. Scanning for the name in the list of recent months, they found it sitting at the end of October. The ordered box was checked, but the supply one wasn’t.

Their hand lifted, two fingers tucked into their palm while the other two and the thumb went from extension to closed — officially using her entire bank of ASL knowledge. “Not right now. It should get delivered this week, I had to pause incoming stock until I could get in town.” But, closing the book and motioning towards the horror section, a Pleasance favorite, Nisha walked to the same display. “This is what we’ve currently got in stock, but I can get something ordered for you if nothing strikes your fancy.”

That being said they pulled one from the shelf, grimacing at the layer of dust. “Sorry, really should’ve come and cleaned up more before being open.” Embarrassed, she wiped it down the side of her dark denim.

---

He could have gone to the library. It was quiet there - yet, his mother had been the librarian for so long that going to the library only made lead settle in his belly and his head hurt. Looking at that place, no matter the riches inside, reminded him of all that he wasn't - and all she had scarified for him. Out of respect for his adopted mother, he stayed away from the library.

It meant that he bought his books - and while he had dear friends within the Deaf community within the social networking sites he used, he didn't like big businesses - despite the cheaper costs. So, when the bookstore in town closed - he was left with the books he had. They were numerous enough, but he only bought a book after one was finished, and only if there wasn't another book he had wanted to re-read. He had a quite the collection regardless -- but no new books in a while.

He waited patiently while the new bookstore owner went through the ledger. "It's all right," he tried to assure them, though he followed after them as he was led to a display. He looked at the books and saw the Hoffman Practical Magic series. He had read the first one and hadn't realized that there were others. "I can read these while I wait." He broke his normally firm rule of one book at a time, instead picking up books two and three in the series, knowing that he'd have to re-read the first book before he was able to read the next two. "The days are getting shorter" he explained as though he had to explain why he was buying two books at one time. "I know when I read the first book, I finished it in half a night -" a brief smile, flickering and disappearing like a candle flame sputtering on the end of a short wick. "These will be good, I think."

He paused, realizing how much he had been talking and wasn't sure if he should apologize, explain, keep silent or otherwise play it off like normal. So, he pushed forward. "I am sorry about your father -- I liked him a lot -- the town is darker without him."

Bez needed some time away from the police office, not that they didn’t take that on regular basis, they just needed a space somewhere where their thoughts weren’t going to be drawn back to the case, to the cases, to the strange phone-calls, the explosion, and the even stranger conclusion coming out of it. They weren’t sure if they believed it, just that it was the general consensus, but even that couldn’t stop their brain from doing overtime on figuring out a mystery that no longer needed to be figured out.

They exited Southwoods and walked about the older looking building. After a careful look around, Bez entered, awkwardness and curiosity fighting for space in their head as they smiled at the individual behind the counter. “Hi,” they said, then another pause. “Can I have one ticket please.”

---

Another person that he had seen around Pleasance, someone who lived in the town and existed as their own kind universe of stories and secrets. Marion considered them before he nodded. Since they had asked for a ticket, instead of the price of a ticket, Marion allowed his own mischevious streak to shine through just briefly and pushed a ticket to the museum across the counter without asking for payment.

"You arrived at a good time, the greenhouse, reptile and bug exhibit will be closing tomorrow - so if you are interested in insects, archanids, bees and scorpions, you can see them. The butterflies may not be as active due to the time of year, but the greenhouse is kept to the proper temperature, so they should still be flying. If you do go into the greenhouse - please stay on the path, don't touch any of the plants or disturb any of the free roaming creatures that are inside. The dangerous ones are kept in their cases, but the others are given room." The garden walk remained a work-in-progress, but when Marion wanted to escape from his house and didn't want to go into the woods, he went into the large, one acre greenhouse with the carnivous and pollinating plants and trees. He had started adding the reptiles, butterflies and insects earlier in the year. "Also, please don't try to bring an insect out with you. There is an alarm set should you cross into an area where you shouldn't be." So there would be no danger of a person reaching any of the insects.

It was her day off, and picking Desmond up from school was still one of the little things that Chase genuinely enjoyed. It brought a sense of normalcy, a sense of tradition, as if they would walk home, prepare dinner, and her husband would come back from work. They would then make sure that Des’ homework is done, play games with him, put him to bed, and then go watch a movie together. To some, it was probably a boring day, but for Chase, it was all she longed for.

Yet, none of it was bound to happen.

So, rather than facing reality and going home, today, Chase opted to take Desmond to one of the museums in town. The museum of small wonders seemed fascinating enough, and the little boy was excited about it. Approaching the place, she was oddly surprised to find it seemingly empty, so as she saw a silloute at the counter, Chase was quick to approach it. “Hi.” She greeted the man, a small, polite smile appearing on her face. “Are you open today?”

---

Herne lifted his head from the bed and stood up, stretching, before he went to Marion's side to help assist him, as the dog always did when someone came in. Marion looked at the woman and then the child before he nodded. "It is," he said, speaking of the museum instead of laying claim to it. He may be the owner and founder, but with some of the strange things that showed up on the shelves - things he hadn't ordered - always in places that made sense, as though someone had catagorized and placed them in their home - he felt as though the museum had a mind of its own. He set the t-shirt down that he had been folding to sign and speak, "Children are five dollars, children under six are three dollars. Adults are ten. The first floor has animals on parade - along with the sea creature exhibits, the children area with a focus on different cultures and their beliefs/traditions surrounding cryptids and the paranormal and your small strange items. The second floor has interactive displays, a wing of the house that plays with perspective, cryptids and the mysteries of Pleasance." The third and fourth floor were reserved for Marion to use as living quarters, and additional storage. He paused and then gave the last bit of the introduction, " if you see anything here that belonged to you or an ancestor, please let me know so I can return it to you. The museum has become something of a focus point for lost items. If you have any questions, each room has a phone that you can use to ask me to come to you and answer them - better than me trailing in your footsteps and making the experience awkward."

When she was young, she had always enjoyed visiting the library. Be it the local aisles or the one at her school, the selection of books had always served to scintillate and urge her to learn something more; it was no wonder, then, that she had grown up yearning to learn. She liked to learn about people, about their lives, about their secrets and their struggles. She liked to read more, assess with fresh eyes, and possess a wide variety of awarenesses that would allow her to view anything and everything with some measure of interest.

She had always remembered, from her time in the library, holding the massive cover of the annual edition of Ripley’s and Guiness flat against her palms. Ripley’s, especially, had always been of interest. Growing up in a town like Pleasance meant that oddities to some were daily occurances to others; everyone had a ghost story, a two-headed farm animal, a distant relative that had come to the town from an old cirque and never left. Casey and Everett had always asked her about Ripley’s, always shown some sort of amused interest in the way she’d regurgitate what odd facts she’d learned and the stories within.

It was no wonder then, that on that cool, fall day, she found herself at the steps of the Museum of Small Wonders. Pleasance’s very own Ripley’s-adjacent feature.

Most of the time, she heard about it from the tourists. Today though, she thought to begin her annual walk - the urge always possessed her in the fall to reacquaint herself with her town, to stroll north to south and east to west and account for everything and everyone. She might have been a good cop, once. Now, she could only bear to work independent of others. Setting her own hours, endangering only herself in the field. In the Museum, she could hear the sound of glass being swept. The broken window outside catching her eye on the way in. The destruction of local property piqued her interest, and made her heart ache.

Bundled up to her chin in a peacoat and a patterned scarf, she looked in upon Marion Rhodes. The child of the sequoias. The same child that had appeared in the wake of her brother’s blood being spilled in that grove. She never knew what to make of him, nor had she ever interacted much with him. The Museum had been around for over a decade, and she’d never been able to set food inside of it. It was time, she thought, to change that.

“Good afternoon to you, Mister Rhodes.” She said, when he allowed her to stay. Whatever’d gone through his mind, she wouldn’t pretend to know. “I saw you were having trouble with the window. Could I help?” Because regardless of her fears and her concerns, he was a resident of her beloved town. That meant she’d do whatever it took, to do right.

--- He caught himself before he asked is it really a good afternoon. But he didn't - because it wasn't her fault that he wasn't having a good afternoon and that one of the locals had broken the window into his museum and caused damage to some of the exhibits. No, it wasn't her fault at all, so he guarded what he said, truly thinking before he spoke. He looked down at the mess and sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of ... everything. He knew that he could handle the cleaning up, as he'd done it a few times before, and he knew that he could get the animals fixed and call the insurance company, but he didn't want to have to. He made a museum for people to enjoy. "I don't know why people take such umbrage over the museum" he signed/spoke in tandem. "if they don't like it, they can simply not come here, but instead, they answer what they don't like with violence. If curses were real, and I had the ability to pay the cost, I'd very much like to make their tea cold and their deserts either slightly overbaked or underbaked," It was the worst that he could think of in the moment. Had she been anyone but Casey's sister, he would have denied her the chance to help him, taking that from her instead of accepting friendly assistance, but he felt like he owed her. As though Casey's murder had been the key to allow him to come to Pleasance in the first place. Casey, Sean and the other three. So, he held the broom out to her, this time not signing as he spoke, "If you don't mind - then I can go to the shed and get the winterizing plastic, it'll have to do until the glass can be imported and fixed." He looked to the broken window, how they managed to smash the entire window he didn't know - perhaps they were more determined than he thought. "You wouldn't happen to know about how I could get a security system..." he asked outloud, even though he meant for it to stay internal.

STATUS: open, phqstarter. WHEN: november first, 10 am. WHERE: next page bookstore.

The keys were heavier than they remembered, considering there really should’ve only been three — one for the front door, one for the back, and one for the safe hid underneath his old desk in the back. But flipping through them, Nisha counted until they could find the one with a barely visible book engraved on it. Eight keys. Eight. Why the hell did he have eight keys?

If he really wanted her to take over the shop he could have at least left behind better instructions. Like what each of these damn keys were for.

Click.

The sound of the door unlocking brought them back to the present, and they used their shoulder to push the old thing open. It took more to open than it should have and the sound it caused was like nails on a chalkboard. Tossing their keys onto the counter, Nisha pulled out their phone and wrote out ‘fix front door’ in their notes app — adding another item on the ever growing to do list.

They already needed a cigarette.

--- When he woke up that morning, feeling Herne's weight heavy on his chest while his dog snored, he hadn't thought that he'd go into town. At least not in the mid-morning when there were actual people about. The tourist season had largely died down, and the only people left in Pleasance were the people who either had to stay or made the choice to stay. The air had become cold overnight, and the frost stayed well past its welcome in the morning. Still, as he was leaving the museum, he saw a set of keys hanging by the door, and he picked them up. One key fell off of the ring. An old skeleton key that he had found while he had been wandering. "Suppose you want to go with me." he signed to the key before he picked it up, just the same that someone would speak vocally to an inanimate object. After slipping the vest with necessarily paperwork into Herne, signaling to his friend that it was work time, he walked with his black cockapoo outside and into the brisk autumn air. The moment he left the museum, he already wanted to go back into it and hide. he didn't -- but he wanted to. He took deliberate steps towards the town, and if he saw anyone, he quickly averted his eyes or would try to take an alternative path so they weren't forced to be nice and say hello to him. He didn't want to make someone's day worse because they had seen him. So, when he arrived at the old bookstore, he almost didn't go in. But the store had been closed for a while... and he had run out of books to read. So boredom overcame anxiety, and he pushed himself inside, Herne stepping in front of him to take the lead. He saw them - he didn't remember their name, just that she was the old bookstore owner's daughter. Marion wasn't very good with names. He waved, an awkward gesture that suited the tall, gangly, awkward man. "Do you have the newest John Connolly book?" he asked and signed in tandem. While he didn't engage with the townsfolk often, it wasn't because he was deaf - but because he was afraid. Two separate and unrelated things. He wasn't ashamed of being deaf and signing normalized that his native language was sign, and he was translating for a hearing person's benefit."If not Connolly ... maybe another horror-mystery novelist?"

whisper gave him a polite smile. “i appreciate the offer, but i have those already. and it’ll be a while before i’d be able to cleanse them, it’s not a great idea to have other energies in a crystal for too long. those ones wouldn’t help in this case anyways, these are earth-related crystals that charge the best in the ground. quartz likes to be charged with water and hematite likes other crystals the best. i appreciate it, though,” she said. “do you work with crystals often?”

--- Marion looked down at the offered crystals. “Not from here then,” he murmured, more to the crystals than to her. He had found them a few weeks ago, sitting pretty as you please on the mermaid exhibit. He had put them in his pocket and decided that he’d do his best to find out where they came from. “Out of an abundance of caution, I try not to work with them. I don’t know a lot about them, other than that these two like to be together.” He returned them to his pocket. He looked down at Herne who quirked his head, both unsure how the conversation was supposed to go. “I’ll have to keep looking for where those two crystals came from.”

location: whisper’s front yard status: open

whisper could be seen outside pretty often. she liked the fresh air, it gave the baby a chance to run around, and she tended to the flowers when they needed it. today, however, she was in her crystal garden, which was located in the corner of the front yard against the picket fence line. sitting on the ground with her legs in an ’m’ shape ( she never grew out of that) she was digging holes just big enough to put a crystal in. as soon as she picked one of her crystals up, it slipped out of her hand and landed on the box it was in, breaking in two. “aw, dang iiiit,” she said. “ya see whisper? this is what you get when you get lazy about charging them, they get mad and retaliate,” she muttered.

--- The Do I, Don’t I played clear on his face, as he tucked his hands into his pockets and stopped a house down from where Whisper was recharging her yard with crystals. He had three options: turn tail and go back the way he came, take the long way round. Or, he could keep his head lowered and walk past her. Or, he could stop and talk. He hadn’t stopped and talked to people in Pleasance. He wasn’t known as the most friendly of people, but at least it was people people thought he was shy…. and strange … but shy. He reached into his pocket for a six-sided die and decided 1 or 2, long way. 3 or 4 - walk past. 5 or 6 - talk to her. He flipped the die in the air and caught it, only to open his hand and see the die balancing on one of its point. The universal sign of try again later or as he liked to think of it: the universe telling him to make up his own damn mind and not depend on a die to to make his decisions. So, he walked forward and offered a pink quartz from his pocket along with a hematite. “Sometimes, they work well in pairs. One to charge and one to balance.”

Open Starter Location: The Streets of Pleasance Time: Afternoon

This was stupid. He felt stupid. And it was not just the goddamn collared shirt. But in truth, that afternoon, KJ barely looked like himself. He had traded in the faded flannels and tattered baseball caps for something neater, something he actually had to iron. But by now, he had rolled up his sleeves and undone a button, an effort rebel against whatever _this _was he was getting himself into.

He had been walking about with a clipboard for an hour now, mostly leaning against walls and glowering, screwing up his courage to actually approach someone and do the damn thing. But the bravery had not quite come yet. At the city council meetings, during which he was already known locally to join forces with the Palmers, being _likable _had not been a factor. He just had to be vocal and honest. He was learning, though, that honesty was not always the thing. Well, maybe it was the thing, but it was not the only thing. _People had to want to have a beer with you. _

Straightening up his shoulders, then, KJ mustered all his resolve to take a step forward. “Excuse me. Do you have a moment to talk about the tax break situation in-town? City Hall has been favoring specific big players for a long time now and puttin’ Main Street at risk, and don’t you think it’s time to take a stand for the little guy in Pleasance?”

—-

A quick look around showed Marion that he he was the one being spoken to. Even Herne, his black cockapoo, reacted with confusion - a quirk of his head as he stopped, indicating to Marion that someone had wanted his attention. Gamely, Marion slipped the sound processor back on. He had gotten the gist of what had been said to him. City-Hall and taxes. “I understand the struggle,” he admitted. His business hadn’t been the most well-received when he had inquired about building it, and even though he hadn’t needed a business loan, it was the look of the museum that had made it an issue.