Thalas
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Posts: 39
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Post by Thalas on Mar 24, 2011 11:42:48 GMT -5
When nightfall came to Eastborough he was roused from his room at the inn and driven to the streets where those returning home from work crossed the path of those dipping out to the local inns and taverns for a drink. His pace was a healthy one, he felt the cool, dry air tunneling between the city buildings focus and brush against his face and push open his jacket as he walked. The bakery was closed but still smelled like fresh dough and sugar. Discarded on some tables out front of the bakery were newspapers. His hand dropped down and lazy, collecting one fluidly as he passed by the table. It was wet with drink stains but legible.
The murder was on the front page. This surprised him only somewhat. He hadn't expected in a town of this size for a single murder to gain such attention. Surely people passed away here more often than that. The man was unidentified, still. The last name he read about was the detective, James Owen, and his tight-lipped nature involving the case.
"I suppose around this town it's unusual," he remarked to himself, tossing the paper over his shoulder. He stopped infront of the seamstress' shop not because he was interested in entering but because the buckle to his shoe was loosened. He knelt down, glancing up once or twice to see if any people passing him by where walking too unaware to look down and plow into him. Long fingers worked the latch and fabric and he tightened it.
The crowd, in general, didn't look nervous. People still spoke with a relative ease and no one was holding their bags closer to their person. He thought that that's how people could be about a murder when they didn't know who it was that had died. Perhaps he knew Erin better than any of them since he saw his final moments. A human's final moment said so much. He had witnessed a multitude of endings and each was unique in its nuances and it had been the nuances which he looked for. In a way, he came to know the person as intimately as the one who birthed them-- both were observing a human in an unguarded, raw moment of life.
The streets were free to roam. He saw no reason not to strike. Idly his mind would wander onto odd, distracted thoughts compiled over the decades. A mixed mash of images, color and words. Sometimes even he lost clarity on what occurred over the years.
The afternoon had remained busy for Mina, and there had been little time to really think about the Detectives visit. As dusk settled outside, she left the girls to close up the shoppe, and she hurried out to do the last errand. Her visit to the harbour, she had postponed for another day, stepping out now this close to dark only for one reason, she had a bundle to deliver and it was her habit to do so. The elderly Mrs. Sommers lived in a small flat just a few blocks away, and it was Mina's practice to personally deliver to her. Mrs. Sommers was one of the few people Mina never got a flash from. She could hug her warmly or hold her withered old hand, and never did she see anything. Mrs. Sommers eyes would twinkle when Mina looked surprised, but she had never broached the subject. It was an unspoken understanding between them, that Mina felt comfortable and that Mrs. Sommers understood why. Mina would stop by once a week, bringing the laundry and picking up the old, and always staying for a cup of tea or a game of cards. This evening, Mrs. Sommers had not been well, and Mina had stayed later than she intended, sitting beside her and comforting her as long as she could. Before she left, Mrs. Sommers had held her hand tightly and looked at her with worry in the faded blue eyes, warning her to be careful on her way home. Mina could not remember the elderly woman ever being quite so concerned as she was tonight..but she had assured her that the hour was still early and the streets were not yet empty. The haunting worry in the old woman's eyes had stayed with her as she walked home, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was human nature for the mind to turn to the macabre, especially as one walked at night. Mina's turned to the Detective's visit, and him saying how "unusual" the murder had been. She wondered what he had meant by it, and shivered as her mind invented a horrible death for Mr. McCullough. She pushed such thoughts away, telling herself what a silly goose she was. Mr. McCullough was a gambler, and had probably found his end because of it, and he had been found far from the streets of market row. These streets were well lit with gaslight, and many still strolled from work to home or home to tavern, and one or two shops were still open. There was nothing to fear. She was still trying to calm her own edgy nerves and push away thoughts of poor Mr. McCullough, when she rounded the last corner of her street, and stepped over the newspapers that had blown off the bakery's outside tables. She spotted one of her customers, a young bar maid that everyone fondly called MaryMary, on her way to work, and waved to her across the street with a passing smile before her gaze skipped back to her own path and her door that was just ahead. There were several people still on the streets, and so it was not so odd to see someone in front of her own shoppe. He was smoothly rising from apparently adjusting his boot. She could tell herself that it was just thoughts of Mr. McCullough and the Detective that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up..but certainly something did. Her steps slowed upon approach to her own door..prepared to give a polite nod and smile as she would to any passerby, despite the flash of unease, and expecting, as anyone would, he would move on along down the street, his boot tightened, and return her polite nod in passing.
(( Originally posted Jan 2011 between Thalas and Mina Sinclaire.))
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Thalas
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Posts: 39
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Post by Thalas on Mar 24, 2011 11:48:58 GMT -5
Streets were familiar to him. He had walked them many years and known them in all sorts of conditions. There were the paths worn in by too many soldiers and then rough cobblestones laid down and worn smooth and then later, worn rough again. Paths were creatures, he thought. They grew seemingly from nothing and as the result of others passing by. Something engaging, familiar and warm was represented in a turn that had been passed over hundreds of times. The path was known not strictly by eyes, but also touch and even the smell. The smell of the dirt and plants which cropped up around it could be as unique as a fingerprint. When he was young he recognized a particular bend in the road as being the signal that home was close and over the years the bend became part of the idea of being home already.
That was not what Eastborough walkways and bends represented to him. They were a new acquaintance he had just started to take a liking to. The traffic of bodies in and out of the city made it particularly interesting. It was as though the entire atmosphere of the city should be changing day to day and yet it didn't. The city itself dominated the air and everyone accepted the levels of change each day coud bring. It embodied the feelings of being established and yet still traveling.
She wasn't the only one that had noticed MaryMary. In fact, when MaryMary had first waved he thought it might be for him and then he noticed another woman responding. He smiled, but it was more of a response to events than an expression for someone else to read. With her body turned from him slightly there was little room to give her more reaction. When he stepped around her his hand touched her shoulder and he said, quiet softly, "Excuse me."
It was a night to be polite, but that wasn't what his hand was saying.
Far off in a memory where the evening was calm and there was no storm inside him was a window which was open. He was laying on the bed with a lover, staring at the gaping mouth of the window, his hand combing absentmindedly with her hair. He said in a voice as soft as she just heard, "Look."
The woman turned slightly to look at the window and she, too, noticed it. A large luna moth hanging in the frame of the window with its green wings outstretched. She said in a small but happy voice, "It came back."
The scene changes. He's laying in his room next to two bodies. They're still, cold, going white and one getting red and colorful from the blood bruising that the dead suffer from. It only took a decent one-handed shove to nudge the naked body out of his bed, where it fell on the floor with the sound of a large, dead wet fish. The other he also shoved but it sounded more solid when it hit, still have wrapped in the bedsheet, like it wasn't slooshing with fluids. He went back to sleep.
It was evening again. He stood at a harbor lighting up some rolled tobacco and looking away from the river back to the city. His lips pressed a red stain onto the paper of the crude cigarette when he took in a pull. The body floated, face down and unassuming, at his feet in a small bend of the water where it didn't flow well enough to push the body away. Could she recognize Erin when he looked that way? If not Erin, then the location he was standing, surely. Looking down at the man he thought how strange it was that he'd even been living in the first place. He put the cigarette out under his shoe and wiped off his lips. Blood. At least there was still something that would wake him from erratic hibernations.
His hand had already drifted off of Mina's shoulder after having passed her at this point. To him the touch had been short and though he could not fully perceive what had passed between them, it was different just enough to cause him to second glance her and remember her face. It wasn't like a mind reader that invades someone's privacy. There had been no sense of hunting, or prying in his brain. If Thalas had been completely aware of what transpired he would have said that thoughts and memories flowed from people and that this woman had been an unassuming sponge, receiving what she did not ask for.
If he had known well enough what had happened, he wouldn't have kept walking.
The man seemed to be looking past her at the same time he was propelling himself into step, and there was no time for it to register that he might have been looking at MaryMary who continued on her way with a light step across the street. No time, because it was then his hand brushed so casually at her shoulder.
She recalled clearly, the first time she had touched someone, and had "seen" things. It had been the day of her first menses, and because she had been crying, her mother had come to her and held her hand, trying to offer some comfort. Suddenly her mouth had been filled with the taste of strong liquor and a pain had jolted through her like a lightning bolt. She had jerked back from her mother violently, and fallen, hitting her head. For days, she remained unconscious, but when she awoke, she had known that her mother was sick, and that she had eased her pain with drink. Her mother had died a month later.
Over the years, she had learned to expect the sudden jolts she got from people. Sometimes it was as if she were hearing or seeing through their eyes or ears, and sometimes it was no more than sound or taste or sensation. Usually it was a mix of everything, but the most disturbing was when she could feel the emotional turmoil of someone. Sometimes it was so painful it made her cry.
She had learned to control her reaction to it, no matter what it was or how it came, but little more. It came unbidden and it had been out of necessity when she began to avoid touching people at all. Sometimes what she saw stayed with her and haunted her dreams.
Tonight, she was likely to have nightmares. What she did, or how she reacted, she could not have said. Her eyes blinked once in her polite nod..and then she was somewhere else..seeing..entranced with the pale green flutter of a moths wing..beating against a windowpane..no...the image within it...a voice..a chilled corpse..no two....the nauseating sound of it slithering out of bed..but the absence of horror. There was only a covetous power..the smell of tobacco..the taste of copper pennies..the smell of the harbour..her gaze is pulling down..the body floated serenly..no..she felt serene..satisfied..her shoe..in a boot with a strap..grinding out the cigarette..a swipe of the copper taste from her mouth..and then it was over.
To any observer..but a brief, passing moment had gone by..one that was too short to hold more than Thalas passing up the woman and glancing briefly back. as he continued going on her way. Mina had managed to give her polite nod, but her steps had halted as his hand touched. It looked no less natural than her stopping at her own door and fishing out her key..but the effect on Mina was a deep one.
She had not jumped or cried out..though she did not know if she had done either. She felt nauseaus and faint and her heart, that had seemed to start beating with a dull pain in her chest, began after he had passed, to beat quite wildly. She had learned to make no outward sign when her gift came..but this..this ..her hand shook as she remembered her purse, shifting the load of laundry as she struggled to get out her key and fit it into the lock. She did not dare look back to see if he was staring at her, and she tried not to look urgent about getting into her door. The urgency though, was there, and screaming.
The key refused to go into the keyhole for a moment, until she felt she really would scream, but then suddenly it slipped in and turned smoothly and her door opened, allowing her inside. She could no longer help the urgency to get it shut behind her, and was quick to do so, turning both locks from the inside and then dropping her purse and bundle of laundry.
She swallowed back the bile that rose in the back of her throat, her head against the doorframe with closed eyes as she tried to slow her heart and tame her stomach.
She lost the brief struggle, and tore from the door and ran up the stairs to her flat above.
Her mind stormed through each vision with alarming clarity as she retched into the basin, demanding some explaination of these inhuman visions..and all she could answer with were sobs. The taste of blood in her mouth had made her ill..the sights had shocked her to the core..but her sobs..her sobs came from the vast, black emptiness that she had felt in the touch..such a huge chasm of centuries old memories held in a black pit of ...nothing..just nothing.
When her stomach was empty and she had curled up in a ball on top of her coverlet, she realized something more terrible still. She knew who had killed Mr. McCullough..and she knew (Erin..Mr. McCullough's name was Erin), wasn't the only victim.
(( Rp exchanged between Thalas and Mina Sinclaire.))
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James Owen
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The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on Mar 24, 2011 11:57:17 GMT -5
Morning breaks and he's already at the office, penciling in notes. So far he had followed up on five suggestions, all of which turned out to be someone wishing ill on a local drunk or troublemaker. Before coming into the office he caught a young boy picking pockets and took him by the elbow to an alley when he kneeled and talked with the boy at length. At first the youth had thought he was going to whoop him but after the lecture ensued he felt guilt, remorse, then tired of being reprimanded. When James saw the boy grow anxious to leave, he thought his punishment had gone on long enough and he let the youth go.
It wouldn't surprise him if he caught the boy again. Right now the kid could get away with his petty misbehavior and hopefully steer clear of it on his own.
As much paperwork and leg work as there was to do, his mind kept wandering to the shop keeper he saw the other day. He had enjoyed the way she stifled laughing at him as he juggled his drink and bun, looking at him with a pressed but genuine smile. He could feel the smile upon him as her customer fried him with questions but left before receiving any answers. She had been polite, kind and accommodating. It was difficult to come across a woman that was so gentle mannered.
Though she was but a few blocks down the street he went through the formality of sending her a message via a paperboy. It was not long winded and his handwriting was modest and simple.
Dear Mina,
I enjoyed speaking with you the other day. I thought perhaps I could invite you to lunch this afternoon. I will be leaving the station about one and will assume if, half past the hour, you don't show that you've declined my invitation.
Sincerely, James Owen
Now all he had to do was wait for the outcome. It made him chew some on his lower lip as he worked over the papers. It was hard to consider the death of a man when there were no viable clues and leads to follow. When he sighed he thought about how inevitable it was that the town would be talking about the victim, except by name.
The night had afforded Mina little to no sleep, and when her tired eyes had finally succumbed to exhaustion, they opened fast and wide in the dark an hour later, the haunting nightmare of what she had witnessed earlier leaving her covered in sweat and with a paniced pulse beating hard in her ears.
Hours before dawn, she had risen, bathed and gone down for a cup of tea, but when that failed to ease her mind, she began to sew and was still bent over her small peddle powered machine when the sun rose and the girls came to work.
What she had seen the day before would not leave her, and she found herself looking up with a bloom of panic in her breast every time her shoppe door opened..afraid the smoothe featured face of that man..(the man with no heart, she began privately calling him) that held so much horror underneath would be walking in. When it turned out that it was one of her customers, she was relieved, but an hour before noon, another face she did not want to see stepped in.
"Good morning Miss Sinclaire" It was that reporter..the mouse faced man with the spectacles. She knew who he was..and after his polite greeting, she learned what he wanted.
She had gotten a little angry then, or perhaps it was because she was tired, when the reporter had flat out asked her what business she had with Detective Owens.
Mina rarely lied outright, but she was indignant at the audacity of this reporter, and so she had boldly lied, and told him that the Detective had no more than wanted pressed shirts.
The reporter seemed to know she was lieing, and she was not practiced at hiding it, but she stubbornly refused to say more, and with a smirk, the reporter had wished her a pleasant day and finally left.
She blew out a sigh of relief when he was gone, a hand going to her skirt pocket and finding the card the detective had given her the day before. Staring at it in her fingers, she felt compelled to find him..to tell the Detective that she knew who had killed Mr. McCullough..and that others were in danger.
She knew the first question he would ask her though. How did she know? ..and that was one question, she did not know how to answer. He would not believe the truth, and she could not prove anything. Would he think she was crazy? She sighed, and put the card back in her pocket, torn between what she should do and what she could do.
It was not long afterward, as she was folding sheets, that the paper boy came in with the message for her. If it had not been for last nights event..she would have smiled.
She read the message over and over, and her thoughts turned over and over at the same time.
She had to tell him..but fear that he would not believe her stifled the urge. She wondered if she could even verbalize what she had seen.
She remembered the taste of copper in her mouth, and her stomach turned, threating to recreate the previous days sicking. For the next hour, she would debate with herself the wisdom of meeting the Detective and trying to tell him what she knew. He had been so nice..understanding he had seemed..and handsome..and funny with his cup and roll and silenced by the wagging tongue of a town gossip. Unfortunately, she could well imagine the look of disgust that would come over his features if she told him what she had witnessed..and how. He might very well have her locked in the asylum, believing she was quite mad. The half hour was nearing, when her shoppe door opened and she felt that instant of fear and relief again. It was that, that finally decided her. She could not continue this way.
She hurriedly saw to her patron, a portly gentleman always with wine stains on his vests, told the girls she was going out for a few errands, and took up her cloak.
Stepping out onto the street brought that same panic..what if she saw him again? what if he knew she could see? Terrifying thoughts, and ones that propelled her feet in a swift walk toward the station and kept her eyes darting about from face to face. Most were familiar, but she suddenly realized, how many strangers there were in town.
She glanced up at the towns watch tower, and saw that the clock was striking the half hour.
She hoped she had not missed Detective Owens..and she prayed he would believe.
(( Rp exchange between James Owen and Mina Sinclaire.))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on Mar 24, 2011 12:00:16 GMT -5
He was beginning to wonder if the boy had delivered it to her at all. At first the thought crossed his mind that the wrong woman had received the message, but he had been clear in his instruction to the boy who had lived in the town his whole life. He thought it rather unlikely that the kid should deliver it incorrectly.
Yet the hour was upon him and there was no sign of Mina. He sighed heavily, wondering if she had perhaps been married. He hadn't thought to ask her if she was, or previously engaged with another person. Was it too forward to ask someone that? She had responded to him well enough, in that gentle way he found becoming of women who had it. As the clock on the wall struck the time upon its chimes he had to accept that for whatever reason, his cordial invitation had been rejected. He reached over for his hat and put it on as he got to his feet.
Looking down at the papers his mind was able to focus more on the case. So far, not a name worth looking into, or an actually credible witness. He wasn't sure how the town would react to the murder once they learned it was Erin. Furthermore, that the murder seemed conclusively the work of a vampire in a predominantly human settlement was unnerving. When races crossed like that, in these sorts of settings, it rarely went well for the solitary intruder. In larger cities where the racial mixing was more even he saw a society more tolerant and generally, desensitized, to the odd crimes one creature creates against another. Whether to take money, clothes, blood or souls, it was generally expected that if you had anything of value someone inevitably found a way to take it from you. He wasn't sure how this town would react to a vampire.
He sighed. It was an assumption to even say the killer was a vampire. If he made that assumption public and the killer wasn't? Not only was he seen as less credible, he would also be seen as someone who uses vampires as scapegoats and that was a quick way to make a broad number of enemies with a lot of time on their hands.
James plucked up a letter from atop his table. It was addressed to a man named William Tucker, someone who was a supposed expert in vampires. The body had started to decompose, but images and basic evidence was still present. It wasn't much but perhaps enough for the man to tell James how confident he was that a vampire had been the killer. And if a vampire had? James needed a crash course in dealing with the creatures.
He tucked the letter inside his jacket and stepped out the door. A slight weight of disappointment hit his shoulders and the corners of his lips when he looked down the street, knowing Mina's shop would be down along the way. It was the only route to take to the bakery. He exhaled and told himself it was for the best and not to worry it over, too much, then stepped ahead to get breakfast and tea.
She was going to miss him, she just knew it, and her pace quickened, quickly edging through the more casual people on the street. Everyone was off to lunch at the same time it seemed, and she feared that face she dreaded would be one in the crowd.
That was when she saw Detective Owens, heading towards her. She felt a rush of relief, though she still had no idea how..or even if, she would tell him. He seemed a calm beacon among the others, just setting off with his hat upon his head.
She hurried toward him, but had to halt and wait to get around two women, their children and their servants as they bustled into their carriage.
Mina took a nervous look around her in a quick turn of head. Not only did she not want to see the face of her nightmare..but she did not want to catch the attention of that reporter either. She didn't see either..and quickly she came into Detective Owen's line of sight.
Her dress was of the deepest blue, with an underlay of black lace and her hands wore the same. It was the style, for ladies to wear hats, but she rarely did, preferring a shawl to drape over her head and wrap around her shoulders. It gave her an odd look, but one that seemed to suit her well enough. She was lovely, but different somehow, and though people liked her, her oddities were marked. She rarely wore her hair up except when working, she was single and did not share her personal life, she did not gossip with others, so though she was unaware,she was often gossiped about.
Still..she was lovely..but pale, with slight shadow beneath her eyes, even Mina's normally calm manner seemed stressed, and for someone of James' caliber, it was probably easy to detect that in her quiet demeanor.
"Detective...I apologize for being late..."
Now that she was face to face with him...(he had such a handsome face)..she was doubting the wisdom of coming. How could she explain anything?
Her gaze shifted, catching the faces of the people around them, before returning to his. She suddenly felt very conspicuous talking to him on the street.
"...Would you mind, terribly..if we went somewhere private?"
(( Rp exchange between James Owen and Mina Sinclaire.))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on Mar 24, 2011 12:01:44 GMT -5
After leaving the office he had felt relegated to, it had not lightened his spirits to feel that the lunch with Mina went ignored. He had tried not to brood upon it much or look for her when he was out. Surely if he were to see her it would be awkward, their places of employment not being too far off from one another. He hadn't considered that when he asked her and a small part of him chided himself for creating the uncomfortable situation. As much as he didn't want to, his eyes tried to hopefully pick her out of the crowd as he walked along the way.
Naturally, when first he did spot her and smile he thought it was more the result of a daydream while he was walking than reality. When she was finally before him, though, he believed what he saw. Perhaps she did not mean to see him? No, it certainly was him that she was after. Her eyes and weaving through the others brought her promptly to him.
James could have wished that the woman in blue was with a beautiful ease to see him, but the truth was that she had a nervous shine upon her skin and he could see the lines beneath her eyes. It wasn't proper or the least bit invited for him to tell her she appeared under the weather, especially since she appeared more or less aware of it herself. When she spoke with the nervous strain and attention in her voice he realized that perhaps the intention of his invitation to her for lunch was lost. Having been a detective for several years, he knew the sound of business when he spoke and this was the sound of business. Rather quickly his mind adapted to the situation and abandoned the hope of a lunch that was more intimate instead of private.
He offered her the crook of his arm and said, with not strain of disappointment, "I know jus tthe place Ms. Mina, please come with me."
James knew many private places with which to eat and have a discussion. They were not great secrets, those restaurants and cafes on the outskirts of town. In some ways they could be more personable because the employees had fewer faces to remember and seemed to think that the more clearly they recalled their clients the more likely they were to come back. James selected one such cafe that sat upon the river, well upstream to where it was Erin's body had been found.
It had once been a watermill and now it was a place to dine. The old wheel sat immobile as a reminder to what it had been. When it was colder ice hung down in ribbons from the greying wood. He opened the door for her and nodded to the woman behind the counter.
"Oh, James, it is so lovely to see you. Got another friend I see." She sounded as though she was use to him arriving with different company. This instance was different primarily because his company was a woman. Also, a woman who could readily be identified as such.
Remembering what he drank, she brought him an Earl Grey tea and set it down, a small container of sugar off to the side. She asked Mina what she wanted to drink and once she had the order, disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve her. She was pleasant enough but it was clear the woman was being overly nice, perhaps desperate for more customers to arrive to her shop.
James smiled for her, though the smile was small. After all, this had become a business discussion and he couldn't allow his fondness for her cloud the facts. Too often had a good detective or law official been run astray by pouty lips. He put two small spoonfuls of sugar in his tea and stirred it.
"Here we are, Ms. Mina," she could not have asked for a more private place, they were the only customers there, "you wished to discuss something?"
(( Rp exchange between James Owen and Mina Sinclaire.))
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Thalas
Respectable Poster
Posts: 39
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Post by Thalas on Mar 24, 2011 12:02:56 GMT -5
It was last night and he still didn't know what had hit him, just that it had been strange. Now and then his thoughts went to her, the woman fumbling with her keys outside the door. She was an odd one, that one. He liked it when they were odd.
"Hello, lovely," he called to the barmaid, MaryMary, who he had thought the wave had been for initially. He sauntered up to her with a ready smile. She laughed when she saw him. She must have thought he was a stranger who was already heavy into the drink for being so forward.
"Lovely? Aren't you a silver tongued sort."
"A single word hardly makes me silver tongued. Where are you to at this hour?"
She rolled her eyes as though she had heard plenty of men ask her the same. Yet, he amused her enough that she didn't just shrug him off, "Work. Some people have to pay the bills you know."
"Please," he said, stepping up beside her with his eyebrows lifted up. It was when he was beside her that she recognized how tall he was. His smile was handsome but not entirely comforting. To her it seemed the man behaved as though he knew her.
"Please, what? Are you gonna pay my bills?" she started to continued to walk, her arms crossed over her chest to keep her warm.
He tilted his head to the side as her looked at her, "Maybe, but I should know your name before I get to paying any of your bills. Are you always entertaining strange men who great you?"
"My name? Like you don't know."
"I don't."
She stopped walking to square off at him and make a playfully shocked face, "I'm MaryMary. Everyone knows who I am. I work not far from here. You must be joking."
"Afraid not. You see, I'm new in town," His arm dropped around her shoulders as they continued to walk toward where she worked, "but I've an appetite to learn more."
"Is that so? A friendly sort like you should have no problem." She did not shake his arm off immediately. She was use to drunks taking privileges and so long as they were small like an arm around her or a kiss on the cheek, she found that giving them no grief resulted in a handsome tip. One of her hands reached up to lace with the one dangling off her shoulder, "You're quite cold, Mister, you should get inside."
"I'm fine." She didn't know how incredibly warm she felt to him. Like her skin was blushing. He said, softly, "MaryMary, do you suppose you could come have a drink with me before going into work?"
"The boss is expecting me..." Plus, she hadn't considered whether or not she liked him. But there was something appealing to him. Confident, inviting. Had MaryMary been more perceptive, or perhaps more educated, she would have picked up on the smaller things about him which were off. His skin complexion was too smooth, his manner too well practiced and comfortable. If she knew to look for it, then she could have calculated the point which he had to decided to killer her.
"The boss will always be expecting you. Besides, it's a free drink, isn't it? One with me should make your night at work go better." Thalas was taking the charismatic approach tonight. No brute force, no playing with his food. Just a gentle bit of coaxing into his den.
"Well, I suppose one wouldn't hurt..."
"That's the spirit."
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Thalas
Respectable Poster
Posts: 39
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Post by Thalas on Mar 24, 2011 12:03:49 GMT -5
(( Post from Ed Gorse))
Mr. Gorse had sent him on this assignment for a reason. Not only was Samuel Gershaw tenacious, but he was unrelenting in his pursuit of gossip and truth.
His colleagues called him "the rat" for a reason. He could sniff things down and find those small little nuggets that were often all an article was based on.
He knew Detective Owens was playing this one close to the vest..so much so that he had not even learned who the deceased was.
That was about to change. Snubbed by Miss Sinclaire..and what an odd one she was..he was sure the Detective had gone to her shop for reasons other than missing buttons.
He had lingered on the corner for an hour or two afterwards, but unfortunately the Detective did not seem to be coming back. He would question Miss Sinclaire again later. The woman knew more than she was saying, he just knew it.
This afternoon, he had other business..and that was finding out who it was that had been killed.
Even someone without family or business he could name eventually..and so his quest to put a name to a body was going to be this day, rather easy to get.
The body was still in the morgue, and his contacts there had been unwilling to help him this time.
Fine. He would scrape the information from other places. Like Detective Owens, Mr. Gershaw would ask questions and of the right people, and before the afternoons end, he would not only know who the deceased was, but just how close he was to the town.
The morning addition, would bear this name on the headlines the following day.
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