WtAF Eloise Journal Ep4

August 8th, 2014 (Episode Four)

Session 8 (01/14/2015)
Dear Luther,
Though I did enjoy my time away, it seems that I missed some rare quiet time here at home. Almost as soon as I get settled again, there is news of something new and horrible that may need our attention. I wonder - was your own hunt so hectic and unending? Did you get no real rest from it? It seems like a difficult thing to do.

I've told the others that I summered in the Hamptons, as we used to. The truth, of course, is that I arranged to be in the Hamptons for the Fourth of July, and managed to get myself an invitation to the Warburton's annual event. It took some scrimping and saving, but I managed a small wardrobe and accomodations for the weekend. Why on earth would I do that, one wonders? Well, I realize that I hate where everything has gone in my life since you died, Luther. I let everything around your death destroy me. I think I rather hoped it would destroy me, in fact.

But enough is enough. Though I apparently cannot hold onto wealth or dignity for myself alone, our new endeavor - this thing that both my husband and daughter died because of - has given me new fire. I have no illusions about my contributions to this team. Josephine is a crack shot, and Oz a big burly lad with myriad strangely applicable interests to the hunt. Daniel is an Olympic-class athlete, and James is an engineer. To date, my contributions have consisted mostly of driving a car (and I do so mediocrely, if we're being honest) and having a large enough space to meet and work out of, to say nothing of providing access to your legacy.

So, I feel the need to return to what I do best...or used to do best, at any rate. I know people. I know how social circles work, and used to be able to move through them effortlessly, perfectly at home. Our little group could use some financing in a way I can't manage on my own, and we're going to need persons of influence at our back if we're going to navigate the troubled waters of this hunt today, I think.

To that end, I've started rebuilding some of my contacts. I don't know that I'll ever be able to rebuild your business, Luther. I don't think I ever truly understood it well enough to do so. (Although, in the back of my mind, I can't help but imagine that I could likely manage the business end of it, and get James to manage its industrial end.) But I ran more than one charity organization with extremely good success in my day. You often told me yourself that you wish you'd had a business manager that could do half what I could, and insisted that I should be paid for my work (though I scoffed at the notion then, of course).

People remember who I am. The Danisoffs, the Warburtons, the McClearys. Allison Prescott seemed so pleased to see me again, and even dear Murphy was there - why, he introduced me to some of the people who knew and love him, and they were quite influential persons in politics and business (how his clientele have changed). Desiree Warburton herself tried to invite me to their home to stay a week after the Fourth, but I apologized saying that I had a late summer cruise planned.

I went in fearing that I'd be seen through immediately, but it seems that not only was that not an issue, but the reverse was true: everyone was thrilled I was there, and indeed projected onto me far more success and affluence than even I tried to feign. I suppose its because with these last decade-plus of difficult times for so many people, the idea of someone thought lost from the fold returning in (somewhat) triumph was a kind of reassurance that they might be able to do the same if it came down to it.

After the money had all but run out, I made my way down to Florida, where I'd booked space at a small resort there. Nothing like you or I used to go to - really, it was more of a vaguely jumped-up hotel on a beach. Still, the room I got had two beds, and invited Allison to come out and spend the two weeks there with me. I know dear Oz has awful feelings for her (and she deserves every one, if we're being honest), so I could never tell him this, but it was wonderful to see her again. She's flighty and inconstant - and quite well medicated these days - but it's such a rare thing for me to have people who truly know me any more. It was a bit self-indulgent on my part, I suppose.

After I'd had a few days to return to my routine (such as it is these days, Luther - I don't think I'd ever realized just how stabilizing a force you were in my world), I had the others over for lunch. There, they regaled me with a horrible story about someone being torn to literal pieces nearby. The photos that they published in the newspaper were ghastly enough. There were so many ideas on how to gather this information, to see if it was something that needed our attention (in a hunter-ish way, you understand). There is a part of me that wishes we could just leave it to the police, but they don't know what they should to keep themselves safe.

We have also taken steps to further unraveling who the people in that photo with you are. Though we could identify Josephine and James' fathers, the others remain a mystery - albeit one a little closer to being solved.

Finally, I am sad to say that despite my hopes of a blossoming summer romance upon my return, Josephine and Daniel are still not together. Daniel seems oblivious. Josephine seems evasive. Has living in this place made these two entirely incapable of seeing something good and wonderful in their lives? I promised myself I wouldn't meddle (too much), but I don't know how much more of this I can take. Would it be de rigeur to propose some sort of game to force them together? Do hunters play Spin The Bottle or Seven Minutes In Heaven? Really.

There is something wrong with a world in which two attractive young people have an easier time hunting down and killing supernatural monsters than finding love in one anothers' arms.

I love and miss you dearly, Luther.

August xxx, 2014 (Episode Four)

Session 8 (02/25/2015) + Session 9 (03/25/2015)
Dear Luther,

How ashamed I am of my weakness and limitations. While the rest of the group sought out what was necessary to find and destroy this creature - some cryptid horror that dwells in the sewers, as it turns out - I have done the unthinkable.

I have hidden myself away, in the dark comfort of my rooms at home, and drowned my wits, my fears, and my memories in the bottom of the bottle. I am terribly afraid, Luther. Not (as might be reasonable) of the monsters we fight, of the horrors we uncover, of the secrets you have left behind for us like breadcrumbs that lead to a witch's house.

No, I am afraid of what I must do next to continue this fight. It is becoming increasingly apparent to me that my connections to society - mostly a thing of nostalgia and memories - is going to have to be cultivated and sharpened once more. This means, of course, that I will have to dive back into the life that I've never done alone. I've always had you at my side, my rock even when you were hopelessly out of your depth. Was there anything that we two couldn't accomplish, when we set our minds to it?

But I am afraid of going back there again, in my metaphorical widow's weeds, to face the insincerity of their affection and the fleeting way they experience the world. I know that I must, however - it is becoming clear that we are all going to need to give our very best to accomplish great things on this hunt. How can I do any less?

I miss the times we'd sit in your study and contemplate plans for the future. Now, I sit alone in the study, and I plan these things alone, and I hope that somewhere you are proud of me.

I love and miss you dearly, my Luther.