The Shelter

It is a sunny spring day in Park Hill, Texas. The towns people are trying to go about their daily lives with the tension of the global situation hanging above them. Crime and bar room brawls become more frequent as people attempt to cope with the stress. There have been two suicides this year alone, but the people, for the most part, still try to keep up a sunny disposition. Carlton Whethers the owner of the local soda shop has taken to giving free floats to children on sundays, and the church choir puts on a concert in the park every Wednesday evening. Bright colored banners hang from all the shop windows, advertising sales and promotional give a ways. Anything to try and raise the mood. Children still play in the streets, but never out of the eyeshot of watchful mothers. Things in the town of Park Hill are a little less tense than the rest of the world, but with the news last week that communications had been completely cut off by the Russians tensions are as high as they are likely to get. If the bombs were ever going to fall, it would be soon.

Dr. Marsden and Mr. Sterling both reside in the higher class neighborhood in the north east of the town. While Monsieur D'Tonnes has a room in one of the boarding houses to the south of main street. Most of the activity of the town is centered around main street and the nearby park. Anything you can need can be obtained in the shops along the main drag, and the towns single church is located nearby.

For Dr. Marsden it is any other Tuesday. There don't happen to be any illnesses of note today, and so you have the day to yourself.

Mr. Sterling has received more and more disturbing news from his old friends in the CIA. Talk of spies disappearing and the iron curtain becoming nearly impossible to crack. You know that things are worse now than they've ever been, and you can't help but detect the traces of fear in your friends voices.

Monsieur D'Tonnes, as always, is left to his own devices.

OOC: For the first full day you may do whatever you please. Feel free to take some license with the reactions of the town people. The next post will play off of your actions.

Is this one of the increasingly rare days Dr. Marsden is seen outside his house?
No.

Richard spends his Tuesday drinking Iced Tea, listening to the radio, and reading whatever novel he's picked up from the library, probably something trashy. Around noon, Andrew Sanderson, the milkman will stop and chat about the weather, the news, and whatever else he feels like. Around 4 Mrs. McLeary, who's husband died in the war, will stop by for tea; she's thinks Richard should get out of the house more, but understands the grief. And precisely at 6:30, they're always punctual, Alan Sanders, Robert Filtcher, and Jimmy Goldstien will show up to play cards. Robert will play the best, but Alan will still walk away the big winner. Just as it always is. Just another sleepy Tuesday in the sleepy little town of Park Hill, Texas, in the life of Dr. Richard Marsden III, M.D.

The editor did not look pleased as Heck came in to speak with the publisher. The writer was becoming increasingly convinced that Texas was the wrong place to settle down as a science fiction writer, even if it was his hometown. But it was the genre of the future, the medium through which the human condition could be best observed for dissertation. And Hector Sterling had certainly seen the spectrum of human condition in his travels.

"I hear what you're saying about the average reader, that these topics would scare them. But I think the truth is the opposite. Look around you, we're not leaving in an age where people are secured by the norm. People want the escape. They don't want to worry about when the bomb's gonna fall, they want to imagine that there is a tomorrow," he placed a hand on his novel's draft. "We're taking scope of the future here, showing them we do continue on, as humanity always does. I guarantee you, the new reader is a man or woman who is excited by the worlds of tomorrow."

Hector left disappointed. The publisher wouldn't budge and even suggested that he write a detective novel or go off and start writing for children's comics at DC. "Asshole," Heck muttered under his breath as he walked out the office. He had spent two hours arguing with the man over what constituted real literature.

"Damn it." Heck looked at the expensive watch on his wrist, a gift from his handler in the CIA when he retired. He was late picking up his kids, he hadn't anticipated the meeting lasting so long. He got a speeding ticket in the rush to get there. But he arrived over an hour late. Jane explained that she didn't have time to let the kids wait to be picked up, so she sent them to his mom's. Heck apologized and tried to explain, and to his surprise, Jane forgave him.

She had always been so confrontational since the divorce, this was the first time in a long time she treated him like the old days. She even invited him for a drink. They talked for a while. About his writing, which Jane was always supported. About the kids. About the situation with Russia. That's when Heck saw it, Jane was acting different because she was scared.

"Look, I'll go pick up the kids. What do you say you come over to my house tonight? I'll make you all dinner." Heck put on his best smile, it worked. It was a good turn around for the day. He picked up his kids, Drake, 8, and Eliza, 12.

Maybe things were going to be okay.

By all accounts Mr. Marsden has a relaxing Tuesday. Everyone seems a bit more jovial than usual. The sunset is just a bit prettier than usual, and when he sets his head down the pillow is just a little bit comfier than usual. It certainly was just another sleepy tuesday in Park Hill.

Everything went well at dinner for Mr. Sterling. He and Jane got along, the children were happy, the food was good, everything went well. Perhaps even especially well. It was definitely than things had gone in a long time. When Heck laid down to go to sleep that night, after tucking in the kids of course, he couldn't escape the feeling that things were looking up.

Mr D'Tonnes spends the day in his room at the boarding house. Nothing of any particular note happened.

The next morning shortly after ten everyone is surprised to hear the voice of the mayor over the towns announcement system. He is calling everyone to a celebration on main street, there would be a parade. The Russians had reestablished contact with the white house.

"A parade?" The elderly Dr. Marsden muses to himself. "I don't see any reason not to. It'll even get Violet McLeary off my back." He smiles gently to himself as he brushes through the short hallway to the closet where he keeps his old folding chairs, only one of which still works at all. He pauses for a moment, mid-stride when his wedding photo catches his eye. He absent mindedly begins to reach for the old memento, before remembering what he was doing. "Right," he corrects himself, embarrassed, "no time to waste. I want to get a good spot for the parade." He gathers his folding chair, a tall glass filled with iced tea, and an umbrella, after all one can never be too careful, in his foyer before changing into a morning suit and heading out to watch the parade.