Heya Silk! I've started us off with a really simple description of the setting here, into which you can drop your character in without worrying too much about where, when, who and all that other stuff. Of course, seeing as it's your character, feel free to come up with a backstory for your Eastportian, who they are, what they like etc. You have a house on Harris Point, and a private beach to call your own - which, coincidentally, you'll find my character - but aside from that, it's completely up to you! ^_^ Write away, as much or as little as you wish, and we'll work from there!Mael
The easternmost city in the United States of America was surprisingly underwhelming to newcomers, which suited the locals fine. Eastport was a small fishing township with barely fifteen-hundred residents, on the border between Maine and New Brunswick. In fact, one could walk down the old boardwalk and out onto the town's ramshackled jetty and stare out across the bay to Deer Island, which was Canadian Soil.
The people of Eastport were quiet, modest folk. Tourism had started to filter into what was once a quiet town, and the gaudy shopfronts recently erected stood out starkly against the modest local grocers, or fancy new hotels staring balefully down on the five-am fish markets, as though affronted at the noise at such ungodly hours of the morning.
It was undeniably a good thing for Eastport's economy that tourists had begun to take an interest in their town, but the locals still couldn't quite shake the niggling feeling that they were being looked down upon, by the trophy wives and golf-enthusiast husbands, by the octogenarian sightseeing tours and the parades of families with screaming children. Admittedly, the novelty of being as far east as a US citizen could go and remain on home soil might have contributed to their popularity, but it was Old Sow that drew most of the tourists, like a captured bear in a zoo.
Old Sow was the second largest whirlpool in the world, and the largest in the western hemisphere. The name supposedly came from the sow-like screech that eminated from its house-sized maw as the tide flowed out of the bay. Local fishermen with experience in navigating Old Sow's waters would take tourists up close to the 250-foot wide 'danger zone' to watch the numerous waves, spouts eddies and occasional 'maw' in motorboats. Sail and human-power was suicidal when dealing with Old Sow.
For the inhabitants of Harris Point, the small suburb to the north of the city - which managed to stay clear of the tourist invasion - the sheltered Harris Cove was thankfully devoid of any of the trophy wives, screaming children or barking dogs that the township had to deal with.
Gently lapping waters, shady trees and expanses of grass leading down to crystal white sands encapsulated several hundred yards of paradise for the locals, with numerous tiny beachheads tucked away from prying eyes, usually with a house overlooking it as though to reserve the beach for the family who dwelt within. It was a simple life, but a good one.