Recorded 11.17.12 11:18PM Length: 7m6s
-Rachel speaking in a gruff voice-
November 17th, 2012. Log of Captain Rachel Amber of the "Arthur Gordon Pym," bound for the Bay of Arcadia.
The weather's been shit. Adrift in the mists. Out of food, water and things to do. This morning, we ate the first mate, Chloe Price. With the last of the beans.
-Rachel laughs-
Weird day, Chloe. Restless. Tossed some old clothes. Went for a walk around town. I bet good Arcadians rake their brains for possible reasons every time they see the beautiful Rachel Amber beating her boots against the sidewalks of their shitty old town. Somebody should let them know it's only because she doesn't own a car. Seriously. Her friend has a truck, but it's been out of commission for like three months. And her friend is too busy studying to repair it. Or to wander along with her.
Though I do manage to distract you every now and then, like I did yesterday…
Anyway... waved hi to my buddy, the homeless lady. She sends regards, I think. Though she may have also shouted "Fuck the Prescotts." I was going to stop by the Whales, but then I remembered how Joyce interrogated me the last time I did, and thought better of it. She's seriously shook up about your studying lately. I think she suspects you're on acid. I kinda do, too.
So, skipped past the diner. Kept walking, wind in my left ear. Turned to face it at the water tower, and ended up at the beach, of course. Was it random? Honestly, I don't know. Not enough space in Arcadia Bay to avoid places... Yeah, that sounded kinda lame... Either way, the parking lot was empty. No RVs, cars, bikes or helicopters. What we had was a beach at a remote little town completely deserted on a shitty day in November. Will wonders never cease, Price?
The tide was high. The water was pretty much in the parking lot. Sort of breezy. Gloomy. I was about to turn around and call it another day well-spent, when I heard it. The whale call. Just rolling on the tips of the waves... And then I saw her. All alone about 300 feet off. Thar' she blows! It was beautiful, Chloe Price, but also eerie as fuck. Especially since the next thing that whale did was hit the beach right in front of me like a giant torpedo. Photo of the day: Beached whale. Soaked Rachel Amber. Arcadia Bay, Oregon.
-Rachel starts speaking faster-
But wait, there's more. While I'm standing there gasping "What the fuck," a car pulls up. Not going to waste my time making you guess who it was, because it was none other than our friends, the esteemed skeevy douchebag duo. I couldn't believe it, Chloe. It was a pretty ordinarily shitty November day in Arcadia, then suddenly there's this massive beached whale, I'm soaked in ocean water, and a pair of nemesis skeevy guys are inviting me to their piece of shit sedan to get warm and dry.
I tell them to fuck off, of course, but they don't seem to be hearing the emphasis. I think about calling for help, but then I get this flashback to the Eliot Bigfoot encounter at the junkyard and pull out the knife you gifted me, instead. They dislike it. Strongly. Also, they're not running away in fear. A bit of a dance routine ensues, interpretive style, but no one really gets hurt. We all get back to our starting places a bit more tired. Still it neither looks, nor feels good to Rachel Amber.
Thankfully, Arcadia Bay seems to have filled its daily quota at that point, because behind the douchebags, that stupid RV pulls into the lot. Out comes Frankie B.
The skeevies back away, with promises of bountiful fortunes. They're also stupid enough to try and conduct whatever business it was with Frank that had brought them to the beach in the first place. Frank takes in the view and beats the shit out of them both, instead. They crawl back into their junker and drive away, but I'm not looking over my shoulder for these idiots ever again.
I… told my dad about what happened, and he said these guys are going away for good. Good riddance.
-Rachel sighs-
Frank looked like shit, Chloe. I was glad to see him, of course, all things considered, but he was in a bad way. Drunk. High. I don't know. Not friendly, either. His RV was never pristine, but it didn't use to be such a shithole. For the record, literally, I'm not taking the blame for that. He's a grown man, right?
Anyway, he drove me back to the dorms. We didn't talk much, but as I was getting off, you know what he said to me?
"You don't love Chloe, Rachel, and one day, you will leave her like you left me," quoth the Frank.
Out of the blue like that. Have you two... talked? Ugh. Hella note to end a weird day on, which is why I didn't end it there, I guess.
I went in and changed into dry clothes, and joined a bunch of Blackwell kids for a trip to the Bean Hip. That where I called you from. And told you none of this.
It was an evening of weed and latte and subdued guitar music.
Then that Photo professor from Blackwell showed up. I bumped into him at the counter. He bought me a latte as thanks. We ended up chatting, and somehow I told him about the rejection slips I've been getting. He couldn't believe such travesty. Moreover, to restore cosmic order, he felt it was his duty to offer me a photo session. He would even venture to forward a resulting photo or two to some of his industry contacts, with Rachel Amber's approval, of course. Though, with the school and all, he would not be free until the winter break. So I set up like an appointment for after Christmas. With Mark Jefferson. Wow.
And that's how this weird ass day finally ended, Chloe Price.
Rachel Amber, soon to be on the covers, out.