Chapter Text
Growing up, there were three principles which guided every single action of Joseph Stern’s life.
One: He is a human being. Do nothing to make anyone think otherwise.
Two: Cryptids do not exist. Any comment to the contrary must be countered and mocked.
Three: Never let anybody close enough to realise that one and two are lies.
And as he strides into the Cryptonomica, suit freshly pressed and badge triple-checked for any smudging of the newly printed ink, Stern has to hope that breaking principle two won’t cause any problems.
After all, it is his last and only hope.
The inside of the little road-side attraction is surprisingly busy, with about two dozen people crowding around display cases showing off purported Jackalopes, the famed photos of the Loch Ness Monster, and a myriad of other lesser known Cryptids. On any other day, Stern would be among them, clambering for any shred of evidence that would lead him to his goal. But not today.
No.
Today there is only one display that Stern cares about.
At the other side of the room, surrounded by a flock of people, most with backpacks and camera equipment suggesting more than a passing interest, is a display on Bigfoot. Stern is careful to put his ‘pardons’ and ‘thank yous’ in the politest tones possible as he makes his way through the crowd. Rudeness brings attention and attention brings death as his parents always taught him. Finally though, he reaches the display and takes a moment to simply stare at the video in front of him.
Taking up the majority of the frame is what most people would call a Bigfoot. Standing about eight feet tall, the Sasquatch is covered in a reddish-brown fur which does little to hide the rippling muscles beneath. He still feels odd referring to them as a Bigfoot when he knows full well that they’re a sylph too, but he’s grown so used to the term that he can’t imagine not using it. The only other thing in frame is what might be a bobcat? He really doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter though, it could be Jimmy Buffett the Bigfoot was fighting for all he cared. What mattered was Bigfoot. The video’s only about thirty-seconds long, looping again and again for any who pass by. But seeing as the video Stern’s been watching with a devotion close to obsession since it was posted three days ago is only twelve seconds long, the additional eighteen seconds feels like a lifetime.
It’s as he’s watching it, one hand held in the other behind his back to stop himself from reaching out and touching the screen, does he hear someone clear their throat and loudly announce to the shop, “Good afternoon esteemed patrons! Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Ned ‘Paranormal’ Chicane and I most humbly welcome you to the Cryptonomica: my museum dedicated to exploring the supernatural wonders of the world! If you have any questions, please let me or my associate Kirby know and don’t forget-” He pauses, eyes the room and arches a brow. “The paranormal is out there, and the giftshop is right over here.”
This earns a few chuckles around the room and not an insignificant number of people start making their way over to where all matter of cryptid merchandise is being sold. However, Stern is on a mission. So again, with no small amount of pleasantries, he makes his way through the crowd and over to where Mr. Chicane is looking out across his shop.
“Pardon me, Mr. Chicane?”
“Yes, hello! How can I help you sir?”
Stern clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, trying to keep his voice steady and even. “I just had a few questions concerning your Bigfoot footage. You are the one who filmed the encounter, correct?”
“Indeed I was.” He takes a moment to glance between Stern and the group of professional Bigfoot hunters in the corner. “Now if you don’t mind my asking, what interests you in my video? I can’t imagine you’re with that lot, are you?
This is it. If this doesn’t go right, it's over. His last chance gone. Breathe. Just breathe. He didn’t practice this for nothing. “Actually, I am Special Agent Stern, FBI.” With a pretend ease, he flips open his FBI badge. He’s still rather pleased on how authentic he got it to look. “I am a member of the Unexplained Phenomenon division, so any information regarding the video or the encounter itself would be extremely appreciated in regards to my investigation, Mr. Chicane.”
He realises he’s still holding up the badge by the time he finishes speaking and so quickly lowers it. Was that suspicious? What if he asks to inspect it closely? What if there’s a watermark he missed? What if Ned calls the police? Then everyone will find out and he’ll be as good as dead.
But if Ned finds this suspicious, he doesn’t say. Instead he levels Stern a wide smile and laces his fingers together on top of his cane. “Ah, well then Agent Stern, of course I’ll assist in any way I can! As an upstanding and vital pillar of this community-” From a few feet down the counter his assistant, Kirby if Stern caught the name right, snickers. “-I would never dream of impeding a federal investigation! However, as you can see, I’m rather busy at the moment.”
“Oh that’s no problem at all, Mr. Chicane. I can come by tomorrow if that would work better for your schedule?”
“I can’t promise I’ll be any less busy then, but please, by all means you can certainly try.” He scratches at his beard, once again sizing Stern up from the looks of it. “So do you expect to be in Kepler long, Agent?”
Well if things don’t pan out, no longer than six months. After that . . . Well he doesn’t want to think about that. So instead, he puts on a smile. “I believe I’ll remain in Kepler for the duration of my investigation. However long that will take, I cannot say. Speaking of which, you don’t happen to know of any hotels in the area, do you? I just arrived in town, you see.”
“Hmmm, hotels . . . Hotels . . . .” He spends a good fifteen seconds pondering this before finally clapping his hands together and saying, “Nope! None spring to mind. I’ve never really had any need for a hotel in the area so-”
“What about that place up on topside?” Kirby interrupts. “Amnesty Lodge I think? They’re a hotel.”
Ever so slowly, Ned turns to Kirby. “Ah yes. Amnesty Lodge. Thank you for the reminder, Kirby . However, I wouldn’t recommend it.” He leans closer to Stern, covering his mouth as he stage whispers, “I’ve heard tell the beds are absolutely atrocious. Do your back right out!”
“Thought you said it was a real nice place,” Kirby leans against the counter, brows furrowed. “Made ya a mean Monte Cristo.”
“Young Kirby, is a sandwich a bed? No. It’s not. Now, I believe that young lady over there needs assistance.” Ned gives him a pointed look over the rim of his glasses, and with only a small eye roll, Kirby goes over to help. “Now, Agent Stern was it? Yes, I’d really recommend finding accommodations other than Amnesty Lodge, trust me."
Stern doesn’t, but he also doesn’t trust anyone so Ned really shouldn’t take it personally. Besides, if their services aren’t up to par, that most likely means they’re cheap. Just what Stern needs. So with that, he straightens his tie and adjusts his cufflinks. “Thank you, but I believe I’ll go see if they have any rooms available. Have a good day, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes . . . Yes of course. Have a great day Agent.”
And it’s only as he turns to go get one last look at the extended Bigfoot video does Stern see that the Bigfoot hunters who were previously gathered around the display are all now staring at him, whispering amongst themselves things that if Stern were human, he wouldn’t be able to hear.
“If the FBI’s here, must mean the video’s legit, right?”
“Do you think that he would come on as a guest for the podcast?”
“I’d give anything to know what equipment the government gave him.”
“Might as well pack up, no way we’re gonna find Bigfoot ‘fore this guy.”
“What do you think it’d take to convince him to share his findings wit me?”
Stern’s throat tightens and he absentmindedly starts rubbing his fingers up the cool metal of his watch, double-checking that it’s clasped on tight. The time has been frozen at 4:59 am for seven years now. He prays no one asks why he’s never replaced it. Five minutes in and he’s already drawn so much attention to himself. He needs to leave, needs to get out before they start trying to ask him questions. There is no way Stern’s going to let himself be cornered by a bunch of Bigfoot hunters. With that, he quickly turns on his heel and heads out the door as fast as possible without drawing any more attention to himself. It's only when he’s back in his car, doors locked, and breath back to normal, does he allow the excitement to once again start bubbling up in him.
For the first time since he started looking, he has a credible lead. This actually might be it. He might actually find another sylph like him.
Until then though, Stern must keep as low a profile as possible. The whole FBI thing might draw some unwanted attention, or well, it already had, truth be told. However, he wants to leave nothing to chance this time. In the past, he’s attempted to just go in as an amatuer cryptid hunter, but Stern quickly found that people weren't particularly keen on giving information to some random nobody with a camera and too many questions. A government agent though, that has some clout.
And as long as nobody looks too closely at his badge, he’ll be fine.
Everything will be fine.
Stern doesn’t want to think about what will happen if things aren’t fine.
As Stern drives through town, perhaps hoping to find a map as he realises that he didn’t ask for directions to Amnesty Lodge, he takes in the sights of Kepler. Along with the standard stores that Stern sees in every little town he’s passed through, there’s also a variety of distinctly cryptid themed locations. He passes by a bakery selling mini-mothman cookies, vampire jelly donuts, and bigfoot bear claws among other treats. There’s also several signs advertising ghost tours that go across town, and although he’s tempted, it’s not what Stern’s here for. He’s sure there are others, but he quickly spots a sign pointing to the topside of town and decides that exploring can wait until he’s secured a room. Sleeping in his car is not a situation he would like to repeat.
After a while of driving on the winding road up into the mountains, he starts passing a long row of what seem to be abandoned resorts . . . Hmm, not a bad place for a sylph to hide. Although it would draw attention exiting and entering, which if the sylph in the video is anything like Stern, attention is the last thing they would want. He’ll check it out ayways. Finally though, he crests the hill and- And there’s nothing. It’s a dead end with a thick line of trees blocking the way.
For a moment, he simply sits in his car as it idles and tries to peer into the forest. Could the Bigfoot from Mr. Chicane’s video be in there right now? If Stern simply stepped out of his car and into the woods, would they meet? Could his journey be over today? Tomorrow? What will his life even look like if he’s not doing this? Not following every scrap of a lead to find another sylph?
He can’t even imagine it.
Shaking his head, Stern puts the car into reverse and carefully turns back down the road he came. He must have missed the turnoff for Amnesty Lodge because he is quite positive that Mr. Chicane’s assistant had said it was on topside. Unless it was among those dilapidated hotels he had passed . . .
However, he’s not even thirty-seconds back down the road before he spies a dirt path to the left, winding off into the forest to where Stern can’t see its end. He hadn’t even spotted it coming in. There are no signs. Nothing to indicate that there’s anything up that path but more forest.
Shrugging, Stern turns down the road and tries not to grit his teeth as his car shakes going over the bumps and holes. Maybe this Amnesty Lodge is so good that its owners know guests will traverse over a top contender for the Worst Road in West Virginia to get to it.
Or maybe Stern should have heeded Mr. Chicane’s advice and found a different place to stay.
Finally though, he rounds the last bend and finds himself in front of a rather nice looking wooden lodge nestled amongst a blanket of trees. Only a few cars are parked out front, giving Stern hope that he’ll be able to get a room. Not that the town seemed bustling with tourists or anything, but still. As he enters, suitcase rolling behind him, he surveys the Lodge in front of him. If Stern was really an FBI agent or just a tourist, he might have taken the time to appreciate the stone hearth in the center of the room and the cozy couches surrounding it. Perhaps he would be admiring the grand piano tucked in the corner near the dining seating and maybe he would even know how to play himself. The glass dome overhead might have caught his eye as well as the wraparound balcony overlooking the main lobby.
However, he is not an FBI agent or a tourist so all Stern takes in are the easiest ways to escape if need be, as he does at all the places he stays. As he was taught to do.
“Ah, hello?” He lightly calls as he reaches the empty front desk. There is no bell nor anyone in the lobby he can ask for assistance. Should he go find someone? Would that be rude? Would that-
“Sorry, sorry!” From the kitchen, a man comes rushing over to the front desk. “We’re uh, a little short-staffed at the moment.”
“Absolutely no worries. I wasn’t waiting long at all.” Although he may not have appreciated the piano or the hearth, Stern can certainly appreciate how attractive the man in front of him is. Although his eyes convey how tired he must be, they’re also a warm, deep brown. His beard is also very nice looking, the kind that Stern wanted as a child. Overall, he looks like a kind, attractive lumberjack. Not that Stern is seeking a relationship at the moment, goodness no. Relationships require attention and attention leads to death.
Doesn’t mean he can’t look though.
Smiling, the man moves to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear that had fallen out of his bun. However, he pauses, most likely because he spies the flour still covering his hands. With a sheepish grin, he quickly wipes them on his apron. “So what can I do for you?”
“I’m hoping to check in, that is if you have any rooms available.” Stern gives a smile of his own.
“Oh uh yeah, of course.” The man starts to say and Stern really wishes he had on a nametag or something. “Let me just-” He pulls open a drawer. “Just a second.” Another drawer. “ . . . Round here somewhere.” How many drawers do they have? “Ah, here we go!” From underneath the desk, the man pulls out a small booklet. “Sorry, been awhile since I was on front-desk duty.
As he starts to fill out the paperwork he’s been given, very unused to doing this whole process on paper, Stern glances up just in time to see the other man yawn. “No need to apologize. Really.”
“Well, thanks. Name’s Barclay by the way.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Barclay. You can call me Stern.”
Although he tilts his head slightly at the name, Barclay doesn’t comment on it. “Well welcome to Amnesty Lodge, Stern. What brings you to Kepler anyway? If you’re hoping to ski, sorry to say you’ll have to wait awhile.”
With one introduction already under his belt today, Stern feels far calmer when he replies, as smooth as possible. “Well, I am a federal agent with the FBI’s unexplained phenomenon division. I’m here investigating the recent video taken in Kepler displaying, well displaying a possible Bigfoot sighting although that must sound quite silly I’m sure. Have you seen it? The video? Or Bigfoot for that matter?”
Barclay blinks. “Mmmhmm,” he murmurs through a thin smile. “I’ve seen the video. Though I gotta admit, looked pretty fake to me. You don’t think it’s actually real, do you?”
“Well, that is what I’m here to find out,” Stern replies, doing his best to keep his polite smile up. Of course it’s real. In fact, that video is the most compelling evidence of Bigfoot ever recorded. There’s no conceivable way it could have been faked.
And if it was faked, then God help him . . .
“Ah, good luck with that then,” Barclay’s voice interrupts his train of thought. “By the way, how long are you planning on staying?”
“I’m not quite sure yet. If I could pay on a weekly basis, that would be perfect.”
“Of course.”
With that, Stern slides his card across the counter and Barclay spends a good few seconds just staring at it.
“Is there a problem?”
At his words, Barclay snaps out of it and quickly grabs the card. “Oh, no problem.” He then spends a few seconds shuffling with what Stern can only assume is the card reader below the counter before handing it and a key back. “All set. Got you up in room 28. It’ll be down that hall, second floor, last one on the left.”
“Great. Thank you so much for your help, Barclay.” Stern goes to grab his suitcase and head straight to his room, but before he gets far, Barclay’s voice calls out-
“Agent Stern? If you don’t mind my asking, how’d you hear about Amnesty Lodge?”
“Oh, I was down at the Cryptonomica and the employees recommended it to me. The owner, Mr. Chicane, also said how delicious your Monte Cristos are, so I’ll certainly have to try one.”
Behind the counter, Barclay crosses his arms in front of his chest and murmurs, “Of course he did.” Stern isn’t sure he was supposed to hear that. “I’ll have to thank Ned next time I see him. You know what they say about word of mouth and all that.”
“No, I don’t.”
Barclay laughs, but it's more a customer service laugh than anything genuine. “Oh well uh, it’s the best form of advertising.”
“Ah. Of course.”
“Welp . . . Have a good day.”
“You too.”
“I’ll try.”
And then Stern makes his way to his room. He can’t locate the elevator and he doesn’t want to ask, so he has to lug his suitcase up the stairs. Not that this is a problem or anything. Stern can easily lift more than any human ever could. However, he does pass by some other guests as he goes and so he has to walk the fine line of ‘pretending his luggage is heavy, but not too heavy that it draws people’s attention.’ Finally though, he gets to his room and finds himself surrounded by wood paneling from all angles and some geometric bedspread that actually isn’t that bad. Out of all the places he’s stayed over the past ten years, it’s definitely the best.
He considers going back out into Kepler to get a head start on his search, but already he can feel the weight bearing down on his feet and his eyes starting to ache. No, he’ll wait til tomorrow. Go out recharged and ready to go. Carefully, making sure all the curtains are drawn and the doors are locked, Stern heaves his suitcase on to his bed and unlocks it. Inside, nestled among his clothes, is a small black pouch which he handles like a newborn infant.
Gently, he takes out the small orange crystal dangling from the silver necklace and eases it over his head as he lays down and immediately feels energy coursing through him. He considers taking off his watch too but . . . No. He won’t. For one, he’s just more comfortable with his human form anyway. Changing Stern’s disguise charm when he told his parents he was trans? Easy. He had sat down with his parents and described to them what he wanted to look like, pulling out pictures from magazines they got in the mail that he had been saving to use as examples for his new disguise charm. Now changing Stern’s sylph form . . .
“It’s- I’m sorry, it’s just not possible” his father had told him, voice heavy with regret and apologies he could never get out. “Maybe if we were-”
And then he had locked eyes with Stern’s mother and all had all fallen silent around the kitchen table.
All these years later, Stern can only assume his father would have said ‘Maybe if we were still on Sylvain’ but that seemed to be an unspoken fourth principle: Never speak of Sylvain. And that is something they took to heart. Having never set foot on that planet, Stern still knows nothing about it.
But maybe the other sylph will know more of Sylvain? Maybe they’ll know of the magic required to change his sylph form?
But really, that’s by far his second priority in finding the other sylph. And besides, even if he had been able to already transition his sylph form too, he still wouldn’t risk taking off his watch here . . .
Stern can’t have the other Lodge patrons knowing he’s Bigfoot, now can he?