Morning Ghosts

Each time Gentile’s Cafe welcomes a new hire, there’s a moment when they must learn about Mr Flugel.
gentleman comes every morning at sunrise, asks for a single cup of
black coffee, sits at the same reserved table by the windows then for
the next hour looks through the glass, muttering to himself. Mr. Flugel
must not be disturbed, even when he suddenly laughs or cry. Nobody knows
what’s enjoyable in looking at the same empty street each day, but
whatever. Mr Flugel pays double, so don’t disturb him. Anyway, those who
do tend to never come back.

Gentile’s cafe’s always hiring.

*** Krita + Yiynova ***

Chaque fois que le Gentil Café embauche, vient un temps ou les nouvelles recrues doivent apprendre à propos de Mr Flugel.
gentleman vient chaque matin, demande une simple et unique tasse de
café bien noir, s’assoie à la même table réservée auprès de la fenêtre,
puis pendant près d’une heure regarde par la vitre en marmonnant. Mr
Flugel ne doit être dérangé sous aucun prétexte, même quand il se met
soudainement à rire ou à pleurer. Nul ne sait ce qu’il peut trouver
d’intéressant à contempler ainsi une rue vide chaque jour, mais comme il
paye double, on le laisse tranquille. De toute manière, ceux qui le
dérange ne reviennent pas le lendemain.

Le Gentil Café embauche tout le temps.      


Masks of Nyarlathotep – Relaxation

Cairo, Egypt, March 19, 1925

Mouhammad reluctantly left the room of the Continental Hotel, letting Betty preparing the ritual with the various ornaments he fetched for her. That was a strange set of tools she asked him and he did his best to find them all. Buckler, arrows, arc, an ankh, a tiny sarcophagus… All this esoteric stuff was making him nervous, not that he feared the occult, but returning to the place he once worked was risky. He didn’t exactly leave a notice or any explanation of why he left his receptionist job, and “finding the love of his life” was not among accepted motive.

Betty told him not to look. She told him to return in a few hours. She said she will invoke the Spirit of Nets the Huntress to beg her for rest and protection.

He couldn’t resist and swiftly turned back. Using his pass on the door, he cautiously went back in the hotel room. He heard the words of Betty speaking softly some kind of prayer, in an unknown language. As he tried to hide behind the plants, he was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to sleep. He briefly saw a feline shadows, heard a strange metallic noise and fell to the ground unconscious.
And now he’s here. They all are here.

There is no time here. No past. No future. Only an eternal present. The grass is everywhere, taller than them. A gentle and warm wind is blowing. They feel presences out of their sight around them, furtive noises in the bushes of predators, but no fear. They feel protected, relaxed. Mouhammad saw Betty, alongside her sister. Betty was pregnant, and all signs of worry has disappear from her face. She was expecting, radiant, a true goddess. He fell in love again and sit with her. Keeva was slowly stroking the dog. John was alert, but calm and peaceful.

There was no pain, no worries, no anxiety, not even the slightest discomfort. For the first time since ages, they could relax themselves and forget for a while the tasks at hands, the horrible fraternity of the black Pharaoh and the impending return of Nitocris.

This was bliss though Mouhammad. He could stay here for ever. Betty leaned on him and said:

– I want to hunt small critters. To run after they little tails. I want to sleep in the sun and to be petted. This is a dream, I know that. Not The Dreamlands, ‘though… This is the dream of a cat.  

Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
Excerpt from an ongoing run of the “Mask of Nyarlathotep” campaign for the Chaosium “Call of Cthulhu” RPG