James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on Mar 25, 2011 14:29:54 GMT -5
Despite the nervous cast of her eyes, there was a marked relief that Mina felt as soon as she was in the Detectives presence. In any other circumstance, she would have met him with delight if not restrained interest..but these were not normal circumstances.
It had not once occurred to her, that he might have asked her out for any other reason than business, and when or if the possibility that he had asked her to lunch simply for her company would come to her..it would come with some surprise.
When he offered his arm to her, she hesitated, suddenly aware that she was without anything in her arms aside from her own purse, and unable to find a reason to refuse.
Her hands were gloved, his arm in the sleeve of his coat..but even so, it was no guaruntee that it would protect her from "seeing into him".
For a brief moment, she took a last look around..almost as if seeking some reason not to..and then realizing that refusal of his arm would seem not only rude, but strange as well, she delicately took the offered elbow. Her gloved fingertips came lightly to rest in the crook of his arm, ready to slip away in an instant and the internal steeling ready for the instant of flash.
When it came, it was no more than a crying boy..an aching boy..one that grieved for missing parents..and an underlying steely purpose that would grow as the boy did.
Her eyes lowered to the street as they walked, and the path that he led her on quickly became unpopulated.
There were other flashes from Detective Owens on that short walk..but unlike the first of such emotional upset..the rest were like worn postcards..a bay at sunset from his eyes..an old woman with a widows cap and a large silver spoon, carved into a weathered sign and squeaking on its hinges in the wind...and yet underlying them all..a feeling of being deeply homesick.
She had often seen the waterwheel house, and knew it was an off the path place to eat, but she had never been inside. She smiled to him as he opened the door for her, and was glad for the opportunity to remove her hand from his arm and gather her skirts instead.
Once inside, she smiled politely to the woman that greeted them, a little self conscious as the proprietor mentioned other guests with the detective. Shyly she wondered if they had all been women.
Escorted to a table, she was again relieved to find they were the only ones here, and while the owner could have certainly ran her mouth to the reporter, she didnt think that likely and of course there was no reporter here.
She quietly requested a cup of chamomile when asked, and only after it was delivered, did she take a deep breath and try to decide where to begin. She slowly removed her gloves and layed them in her lap, her shawl drawn off of her head and left loosely about her shoulders.
Clear green eyes met his..and again she was struck by the voltage felt. She could trust him.
"I do not know where to begin, Detective Owens. ..I fear you will not believe me."
This was, a huge leap of trust for her. He was in the position of being legally able to have her locked away and labeled insane for the rest of her days.
Her hand trembled slightly with the teacup, and her opposite came up to steady it as she took a small sip and then gently returned the cup to its saucer and her eyes to his.
"..I know the face of Mr. McCulloughs murderer. ..and he is going to kill again."
She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight and the memory of the taste of copper was horrible. Her hands were drawn to her lap, nervously gripping her gloves and as pale as her lovely features. She mentally pushed away the frightening things she had seen through the monsters eyes, bravely facing this confession now that it was at hand..and doing her best not to be afraid.
She was though..terribly afraid, if not for the fact that the monster was lose on the streets..but that the Detectives next question was likely to be..how did she know.
(RP Exhange)
He could not perceive what she had quietly gathered from him. Judging from the manner in which he conducted himself it wasn't likely that he enjoyed bleedings such information out. When she first spoke his jaw flexed just but slightly. Naturally a look of surprised came across his face with the latter bit of information. His hands folded together but it was because he was bother nervous and excited and trying to contain those feelings, "You feel confident that you know who killed that man?" But... then his expression dimmed, "I thought the other day we spoke and you said you knew very little?"
Her hands kneaded her lace gloves in her lap, and she took a short, steadying breath. She was not an excitable woman, but these seemed extraordinary circumstances. Still, she made an effort not to be emotional. "I am not confident, Detective. I do not know his name, nor have I ever seen him before last night. I do not know where he is right now, but I would know him if I saw him again. ..I did not lie to you, Detective. I knew nothing more than I told you the other day."
"I'm sorry, Mina," his apology was sincere. He had thought that somewhere in the conversation she had explained to him how she knew who the criminal was and at some point, he missed such a detail. Lowered eyebrowed and the sides of his thumbs rubbing against one another as he spoke, "How is it that you came to have an idea of who it was?"
She only realized she had been sharp when he apologized, and she looked down, somewhat ashamed of herself. She hadn't meant to that way. She could feel his eyes on her when the dreaded question came. For a long moment, she did not look up, and when she did, she did not look at him, but out into the room of tables and chairs, as if insuring that the matron would not be interrupting. She sighed, and drew green eyes back to his at last. Her voice was very quiet, and held none of the sharpness if had before. "..the same way I know that you miss the Widows Spoon, and that you cried when your father died." She held his eyes a brief second longer than her voice and then looked again down into her lap. "I was returning home last night and he was outside. He brushed me in passing.." she seemed ready to say more, but then she silenced, fearing she had already said too much.
The information that came from her lips made him uncomfortable. He looked away, shifted in his seat and somehow also in his skin when she said it. When something bothered and intrigued him, the right corner of his lips would pull back as though he were chewing on his cheek in thought. The moment of quiet thought lasted. James wasn't sure now if she were sincere or a con artist. Could she be a con artist if he had been the one to seek her out initially. He wanted clarity, "How...did you know that?" and the desire for clarity was greater than all others
She felt her heart beating faster in her chest and her stomach was full of butterflies. She could not imagine what he was thinking, and if she had she would have been more frightened still. What if he simply did not believe her? She was as pale as milk as she dragged her eyes up to his face, searching for some way to explain her gift. "I saw it when I touched your arm." her voice was almost a whisper and softer still when she continued. "..and I saw it in him, when he touched me on the street." but she didn’t just see, did she? she felt, she tasted.. her eyes seemed to bright, and for a moment, she was in real danger of fainting as that horrible copper taste came back to her.
(( Rp exchange between Mina Sinclaire and James Owen .))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on Mar 25, 2011 14:54:33 GMT -5
(RP Exchange) There were two conflicting thoughts battling in his mind. One said that she looked faint because she was running a string of lies at him that she wanted him to believe. Before she had offered him nothing, no information whatsoever. Now she has news that could hang a man. Was someone twisting her arm or was she really twisting her own to be here, speaking to him now as she was? Regardless, he treated her fright with respect. He drew in a breath and lowered his eyes, "Are you sure no one has been telling you things?" It was almost just the two of them there in watermill building. She could have admitted a different truth if she had to. James couldn't have said why he believed her. Perhaps she could have gotten that information on him with the help of a detective for hire but... no, not with such little time from when they met until now, "Are you sure you didn't... just misunderstand?"
For a long moment, in which she willed herself to take slow, steady breaths, she was silent, looking down at her hands in her lap and somewhat relieved his eyes were not boring into her. She couldnt quite bring herself to tell him about that awful taste in her mouth. Perhaps it was the little spark of indignant anger that helped her overcome that faint feeling, as now little spots of hectic color showed up on her cheeks. "I did not misunderstand, Detective." Her lips went together tightly and she lifted her eyes to his. It was hard to say whether she were about to cry or slap him. Her voice however, was as low as was proper and a pale hand was offered to him across the table. It was a bold act on her part..for she never, Ever volunteered. "I have had this gift since I was a child. I have often thought it a curse..as I do now." she sighed softly, and looked down at her own untaken hand. "I saw Mr. McCulloughs face from his eyes, Detective..I saw the blood...I Tasted..the blood.." Her eyes lifted, slowly, to his and they seemed as haunted as the issue at hand. "if you do not believe me, Detective Owens.." the sentence was left unfinished, but her hand remained outstretched. If he believed her at all..he would not be eager to take it.
She had already spoken of some detail about him which was remarkable. If it were true and she took his hand? There were only the private things which he didn't discuss. James didn't offer his thoughts or feelings on much, those that knew him knew the exterior. He hesitated to take her hand but, deciding that he wanted to believe her fully, his hand slid into her's. The first thought that came to him was a small one, one that occurred quietly on the outside of his mind. It was pleasant, holding a hand with her's. Even it if did make him more naked to her. "Then I must ask you a new question... Have you ever seen that man before. Do you know his name?"
His hand was warm, very much so against hers pale and chill. Her eyes remained there on their joined hands..and a distant smile..faint as a wisp of smoke touched her lips..as well as a bit more natural color to her face. She said nothing of what she learned..sensing some great purpose that drove him daily..something he wished to remake..his homesickness, strongly..and beneath it..even some of the passions he kept so buried. She wasnt sure how long the moment lasted, but she gave his hand a very gentle squeeze, and hers slipped from his fingers. "I have never seen him before..but I would know him if I saw him again. I could..give you a description..." she visibly shivered, and she felt nauseas as the matron of the establishment brought their tea. She was glad for the momentary respite. When the woman was gone again, she wrapped her hands around the cup to warm them. "...I dont know his name..but..he smoked..it was sweet smelling.." she felt that wave of nausea again and looked a little desperately up to him. " ..your mother..she had dimples ...and you want so to go back home..to fix things." She silenced a moment, and then more quietly "...and you liked holding my hand." her eyes dropped..a shy embarassment to have said it..and a nervous sip of her tea.
The corner of his lips twitched. It was the prerequisite to his smile that was out of place considering the topic at hand. The murder hung on him heavily and soon, sooner than he would like, Eric's identity would be the latest news. How long until he became the incompetent detective? How much further from his hopes could one man possibly get. Though she said only a little, it was her reaction to touching his hands which convinced him. She had known his demeanor instantly and that was something no con artist could fake. And if she was a con artist? He would gladly be swindled by the best in the world. "A description would help. You know how it is here, though, with people coming and going. I worry that the man has already skipped town.
She finally dared look up to him again, seeing the tick at the corner of his mouth, and feeling greatly relieved. He believed her. She nodded, and took a steadyiing breath, doing her best to recall the details. "I was coming home..and he was bent down in front of my shop...fixing the buckle on his boots ..yes..buckles.." she seemed to shiver again, and and let her cup set to the saucer that it would not tremble in her hands. "He stood..and brushed by me..his coat..and his hair..were long and dark." She hated to say he was handsome..but he had been. .."he was attractive..not old..not young..and pale.." She was avoiding what happened next, but she knew she had to recall it..and that horrible taste flooded back into her mouth, taking with it the color that had been in her face. She glanced around, as if insuring noone was within earshot, and then looked back to him. "When he brushed by me..he touched my shoulder..and I saw..I heard..bodies..t..two of them." She swallowed, and had to close her eyes. "they..he..they slid out of a bed..in a room..and I ..he..felt so...strong. .. then I smelled the harbour. ..I ...I mean..he..looked down..and I saw Mr. McCullough..floating in the water. ..his boot tamped out a cigarette...and I felt..satisfied." She managed to get it all out, but now tears had come to her eyes, and her head lowered to cover her face with her hands. She wondered if she would ever sleep again.
"Mina, I..." he wanted to say something which would undo the harm all her words had caused on her face, but no arrangement of words could have ever been enough. This man, this killer... was more than what James had thought. If he wasn't some sort of human-like creature, he was a seriel killer of great gravity. Softly, as though apologizing for asking and hearing it, "I'm sorry." He went to reach out to touch her hand to comfort her, but paused when he recalled what doing so would mean. The door to the establishment unexpectedly burst open and two men, wearing uniforms not unlike the dark garbs she had seen James in, came immediately to their table. The younger of the two men spoke up first, looking winded and worried, "Sir, many apologies for the intrusion, it's just something has happened," he paid Mina a wayward look and leaned in to whisper in his ear that another body had been found. James' face lost warmth and wore a business-serious expression. He leaned back in his seat, regarded Mina and spoke, "I'll join the two of you outside shortly." When they had left their presense James stood up slowly from the table, "The man with the dark hair strike again... I fear." He had almost felt it was a certainty that the man had. If he was as Mina had told him, the man had a habit of killing. James pressed his lips together then spoke, "You don't have to come with me. I know that this is... a bit much. But I must join them.
She did her best to regain her decorum, a linen handkerchief drawn from her skirt pockets and her eyes wiped as she tried valiantly not to make a scene. She did jump visibly as the door opened suddenly and the two uniformed officers strode in with purpose straght for them. She sat pale and stoic as they spoke to each other in low tones, lowering her eyes until he spoke out loud and the officers turned on their heels and left. She felt cold in the pit of her stomach as he told her what had happened...a horrible sadness and fear that this was inevitable and would go on until stopped. "Detective..." she wanted to tell him what she had not..so that he knew everything. She stood up as slowly, and stepped as close as she could without touching, her voice very low. "he had their blood in his mouth..I tasted it.. ..and he didnt feel....anything except power." She sought his eyes..fear in them clear. "..please allow me to come with you." For the first time in her adult life..she was afraid to be alone.
"You must not hate me for what I take you now to see," he could speak as softly as a bird thin, velvet-like eggshell. He offered her the crook of his arm, which he assumed was safe for her to touch because he had taken it earlier. When he looked towards the door he drew his shoulders back as though preparing to address it and stepped forward.
She was hesitant in taking his arm, but he was right. She might have further insight into him..more than he found comfortable..but the jolt of it was over. She took it gently and steeled herself to follow his steps out. "I do not think I could ever hate you, Detective."
(( Rp exchange between Mina Sinclaire and James Owen .))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on May 30, 2011 12:44:01 GMT -5
When James was a teenager he enjoyed reading. Mostly he read stories about a man who defeated his enemies and set the wrongs to right. This was not unlike the path he was trying to take in life himself only that he found reality was unpleasantly different from literature.
In literature the enemy was well defined. He or she could even be a conflicting object of disgust and desire, but the identity of the enemy was always well established. Authors were kind to their readers and dropped clear clues that, after reading enough books, became instantly easy identify as the indicator that yes, that was the bad guy. James could spot far in advance the villain, be it the most likely or unlikely suspect, the author presented all of them. Authors were cruel, though, in that they did not mimic reality so faithfully. In reality the villain could be a character completely unintroduced or with motives that lacked the sound reasoning a rational person needed to believe so that the villain felt believable. Sometimes horrific events occurred in reality for no great reason and instead rose out of something petty and inconsequential.
When James read history, however, villains and heroes grew up at neighbors, classmates, acquaintances and friends. This was how his own history came to be. The two men that would come to destroy his town would go through the same pain of warfare just... become warped by it in a different way. It was odd to him, confusing, that his ultimate enemy would be someone he sat beside in class and made snickering comments with about the teacher and the ugly salmon colored clothes she loved to wear. He thought very often it was as though those previous versions of them before the war had died and now there were new men and those men must look upon one another as enemies.
James preferred the books where the enemy was defined. The more area that was grey the more he questioned what the right thing was to do. In his own circumstance back at home, however, he felt a clearer sense of justice. Mostly because his old school mates had lost their stronghold on sanity.
Just how removed could this enemy be from him? When he walked the path behind the other detectives, Mina in arm, he could sense their discomfort at her attending the crime scene with him. Mina felt so delicate, the thought of the man had made her pale and now she would go with him immediately to confront the physical result of his doing? What if he was wrong? What if this was a different murder all together and he was putting more nightmares in her head than what she deserved? She had promised not to hate him but he felt the possibility of it was still there, still a strong outcome that she may not be able to control when it happened.
Was losing the possibility of love with a woman worth catching a killer? He had to believe it was since he was walking on that path with her now.
It was not along the river this time, but behind a fairly popular bar closer to the busier side of town. It was, perhaps, eight blocks away from where Mina worked and the Detective's office was. The walls of the establishment were made of thick bricks and James recognized it as not just one of the more popular buildings, but also as one of those that had been longer established. He thought they had celebrated their 250th anniversary this year. At first he saw nothing but the other two detectives with their silver torch emblems on their jackets ahead of him, leading him towards a large wall and then down the alley where the bar would dump its refuse at the end of the night to be collected.
Upon seeing a dead body amid last nights refuse, most remark that they first thought they saw a manikin. Bodies tend to bloat and the inflation of their tissue appears unnatural and somehow strips the dead of their humanity. Perhaps it was for the best that they should be so unappealing and odd or otherwise people could just believe the dead weren't so terribly off that they wake up.
It appeared at first like a sexual assault. The shoulder strap of her shirt had been torn so badly that her breast was almost exposed. In an almost comical way the hulled tones of strawberries had spilt from the top of a bag of refuse and sprinkled atop of her in ungraceful fistfuls. Her shoes were that of a woman who worked on her feet long hours but there were fresh, deep scuff marks on her shoes. One of her socks had even been mangled in a moment, no doubt, when she was trying to get away. Though the skin had discolored and her body had much changed, those that had known Mary Mary well could still recognize her.
"Well?" James said, looking to Mina. The arm her hand held tightened as if to give her a squeeze of reassurance, "You don't have to stay here."
Behind her wet, matted hair, Mary Mary bore the marks of a bloodless victim.
Fear. It was not a thing she had experience with in her life. She had been afraid when she first began her business..but that had been a fear of failure, of wasting the money she had and it getting her nowhere. She had been afraid to touch people, afraid to "know" their secrets. But this...this was the first time she had ever been afraid for her life or the lives of others.
She steeled herself as she walked on the arm of the Detective..(the very handsome Detective Owens)and behind the other officers. She had no idea what he was leading her to see (..a dead body Mina..a dead body) but there was a certain sense of security she drew from the light physical contact of her hand upon his arm. She sensed his determination to find this killer, she sensed his need for order and for justice and she sensed his protective nature toward her. Beneath it all..she sensed his own fear,and understood it inherantly. It comforted her in some undefineable way.
Their path was taking her closer to home, which made her uneasy for it was the old part of town..a busy part of town..and one she traveled through often. Flashes of him (the beast) intruded, the flash of buckle on his shoe, him bent to fasten it..and it brought back that horrid copper penny taste to her mouth.
The officers stopped at the wall of the old tavern that most called "The Jar" though the faded shingle above the door still bore the name of "The Rumanox Inne". It was a huge, old brick building, and at first she thought that they would continue on to the entrance, but instead, the detecties ahead of them turned down one of the narrow alleys that split the buildings.
It was darker here..and the smell of decaying food was strong and mixed with that dank odor of sewage and stale beer. A cold fist seemed to have gripped her stomach as the detectives slowly stepped apart and the sight of Mary Mary was revealed.
It was as if someone had stolen the air from her lungs and there seemed to be alarm bells going off in her mind with an immediete and desperate clanging. It was Mary Mary. She knew this in an instant, despite the bloated face and fall of wet and dirty hair. She had made the skirt with her own hands after all. The knowledge of it rushed in on her with the force of a gale. Her free hand brought fingers up to her pressed lips or to stop a scream or to stop the sudden sickness that replaced the cold fist in her stomach.
She wasn't sure what he was saying..Detective (the very handsome Detective) Owens voice was there..and her head turned towards it. Unfortunately, her eyes refused to follow..glued to the pocket of Mary Marys skirt with a morbid fascination where a strawberry had fallen and made it look as though she had had a pocket full. ..She recalled sewing that same pocket by candlelight one late night.
Her eyes tore away, and brimming with water, wide and clearly shocked by what she had just been held to witness, and they locked with a desperation on to his.
Her voice didnt want to come. Her throat felt locked tight, but she forced it out in a whisper as her fingers fell, her face as pale as milk. With her words came a dawning in her scared eyes. Guilt.
" ..I saw her..I saw her...just before I saw him...."
the memory flashed in front of her eyes..the clarity as startling as the realization.
"..he was looking right at her Detective..its why he bumped into me..."
She was fragile at that moment..like a thin chrystal poised above a jagged rock..her arm pulling from his arm as she began to step back..those first few movements of what was inevitable flight, though she might very well simply crumple into a heap. She had to get out of here..get away from the terrible sight of Mary Mary and the belief that it was her fault this had happened. She hadnt even realized it at the time..she had been too shocked and sickened by that awful touch..but she should have known he was looking at Mary Mary..should have known she would have been in danger...should have run for the Detective right then and not waited the night...oh God..Mary Marys death was her fault, and this would always hold more horror than the sight of what was left there in the dank alley beside The Jar.
(( Rp exchange between Mina Sinclaire and James Owen .))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on May 30, 2011 12:48:58 GMT -5
(RP exchange)
James couldn't say that he recognized who Mary Mary was. It wasn't often that he was out late working and when he was, it usually wasn't in areas that would have been pleasant. More often than not he was stuck in a boring area, tracking someone who already was guessing he was there and trying to look homely and unassuming. Perhaps he passed Mary Mary on the street a time or two but he had done so with many other faces. The recollection of her was dim, forced, and not nearly as sharp as the hurt that had manifested on Mina's face.
When James turned to say something to her it occurred to him how horrified she was. He reached out for her instinctively, catching her hand and trying to anchor her to the world, "Mina?"
If it had been anyone other than Mary Mary, then Mina would have no doubt been able to keep her composure, but with the terrifying knowledge that she could have prevented this death, composure was lost her.
Hot tears were spilling as she backed away, ready to turn and flee..and then everything seemed to happen simultaneously. There was the touch of his hand as it caught hers..the flash from him startling..that town shingle..a bitter disappointment... a hurt... her repelling from it with a turned heel and a gasp of breath..the act of pulling free her hand in turn sending her directly into a mans chest that had abruptly come up behind them. The flash from him was as shocking..cigar smoke, the taste of liquor, the newspaper..a pride at having found his prey running directly into him.
It was that reporter of course..they would know his bowler hat anywhere, and his rather smug look as Mina snapped back and into the arm of the Detective as she recoiled from the newspaper reporter that had followed her most of the day. His sneer came as he looked upon this scene, with three detectives, the frightened seamstress..and he was sure, that was a womans foot sticking out in the alley, the sight of which the detectives did their sudden best to block. He just got the scoop he'd wanted.
"Sir, you're on on our grounds," James defended to the reporter, solidly. To the mend hiding the scene he gave a curt nod to the man, "Boys, escort this gentleman away. He can't dally in an area which is still being investigated."
Mina felt like she had become half her size against him. He wrapped one arm around her. James lacked the clarity of thought to know what it was that shook her foundation so much, "Mina, I'm sorry I took you to this place. You should go home."
Truthfully, he wanted her to stay, he wanted more answers but knew nothing could be forced from a weeping soul. Mina hadn't spoke to him since she saw Mary Mary. James didn't know if it was the rude violation of the body, the vision of death itself, or if her recollection of the man was too vivid to withstand. He would not have assumed that she knew the woman, especially in a town with such ebb and flow as this one.
"Oh come now Detective..its a second body..same MO is it not?"
The reporters sharp eyes darting from Detective Owens to the two that came forward at his request. His sight darted around the two, getting as much of an eye full as he could, his mouth running at the same time to ask as many questions as he could before the detectives hooked his arms and dragged him off.
"Who is it Detective? One of the bar maids? ..how was she killed? You cant refuse me to stand on the street Sirs!"
This the last thing he argued before he was literally carted off from the scene and deposited a block down. The Detectives would give him a warning and then return, leaving the reporter to straighten his jacket and hat and harumph, before he would sneak around and start asking his questions inside the bar. He would get answers one way or another. Someone had to be missing.
Meanwhile, Mina was doing her best to recover her senses. She felt very..safe there under the Detectives protective arm, and though she was still as white as a silk sheet, she was no longer like the startled deer. She shook her head stubbornly at the Detectives suggestion. "No..Detective..I know who it is. Her name is Mary..most here call her Mary Mary. She works at the Jar.."
the horror of it started to overwhelm her again, and now that the reporter was gone, her path to the street was clear and she bid him with her own steps to lead her there, out of the dankness of the alley and the sight of the poor Mary within.
found her voice again once they paused. "I saw her. Just before I saw him on the street. He bumped into me because he was looking at her. ..I was..scared, Detective..I ran inside and locked my doors. ...but I should have come to you then. ..it might have ...stopped this.."
She looked past him again into the alley..the tears filling her eyes again and ready to fall. She felt so terribly guilty.
(( Rp exchange between Mina Sinclaire and James Owen .))
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Thalas
Respectable Poster
Posts: 39
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Post by Thalas on May 30, 2011 12:54:02 GMT -5
"Mary Mary..."
He was crouched in a dark alley with the ground wet and slightly gritty under the bottoms of his shoes. He still felt flushed, warm and the air of the wind around him was cold against his face and hands. It was like being alive. She was still warm as well though her digits were growing cold and he could see the blood starting to cause the side of her face to bruise.
Fingers long and hard, like one would expect from a practiced piano player, reached into a bag of refuse and withdrew the half shriveled, moist scalps of the strawberries. He sprinkled them with little aim or care, he was more involved in the act of doing it than the result. He spoke to himself in a sing-song voice, "Mary Mary quite contrary," another sprinkle of the tops of strawberries, "how does your garden grow?" He stared at her as though expecting an answer and when none came he threw the remaining bits with a sharp, irritated snap of his hand at her and rose to his feet.
It took him three backwards steps to be able to look down the alley at the busy people coming and going, most wobbling on their feet on heavily distracted by their wobbling company. He saw one or two look down the alley and see him but they quickly averted their eyes. They looked as though they had been caught. He smiled and leaned down to wipe his hands off on Mary Mary's skirt before walking away. He took a match from his jacket and struck it on the brick wall to light his cigarette. He had to stop to make sure the flame took to the paper.
For a brief moment, Thalas considered why he was still in town. This place was not particularly appealing and was, in fact, nuturing in him an overabundant sense of ease and comfort. It felt like he could never be caught and even if he was, what then? Most certainly he thought that there were times he should have died and yet here he was, refreshed, renewed, back to blood and simple hunts.
"Hey handsome," her name was Jessine and she was from out of town. He could tell by the way she was dressed. She dressed like a man, with pants and a vest and her hair was cut shorter than his own. She maintained her feminine appeal, however, and the air of her sexuality was not diminished by her style. Her friends were similiar to her, somewhat boyish in their apparel by comparison to the dressing standard of women in this town. It took no great detective or unnatural beast to discern that she was drunk.
"Yes?" He leaned against the corner edge of the building. blinked three times and then looked at her with a smug, grinning patience.
"I was just saying," she giggled, encouraged by her friends, "that we hadn't seen any proper looking men in this town yet."
"That's a shame."
"Oi!" Jessine's friend, the blond, broke into the conversation. She had less of a handle on herself than Jessine and seemed to slur some, "But not anymore!"
"I'm terribly sorry," He wasn't. He pushed off the side of the building and took another draw from his cigarette and began stepping around them, "I'm taken."
Jessine blinked at him, "I don't see a ring. Or a wife. Or... a boyfriend."
Thalas laughed and reached over to take her face in one of his hands. The touch, while not violent, expressed something to Jessine that none of his words had. He spoke and it was almost through clenched teeth and sneering lips, "Aren't you just the clever one." This time when he tried to walk around them he passed the click of clucking women with ease.
Away from the congestion of the street, the smell of Mary was still ripe on his skin. It was as though she were standing infront of him, breathing in his face and he could smell the mead on her breath, the blood from her body and the faint smell of strawberries still lingering on him that was refreshed everytime his hand came back up to his face to pull away the cigarette and pitch it into the gutter. When he stopped walking he noticed a small graveyard on his left that was so quiet in its build, so subtle in its distinguishing traits that he wondered how often it was that most passed the plot of land without noticing. He wet his lips, noticing now the multicolored flowers on the graves. Some were old, looking brown, rotted and trampled on. There was a sprinkling of fresh ones on the flat plaques in the ground and they were a relief in all the grey and departed.
Thalas stared at the flowers, "... how does your garden grow..." and proceeded onward.
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on May 30, 2011 13:08:26 GMT -5
(RP Exchange)
It was when Mina spoke that her horror and additional horror became more clear to him. Instantly he felt guilt at pressing her to explain instead of just accepting it because somehow making her say it felt like he had magnified it. Instinctively he reached out to her, taking her by the elbows, "Mina, I'll take you home right away. I'm... so sorry I took you to see this."
The officers had returned by this time, and slipped past them to return into the alley, and Mina supposed that soon there would be more and poor Mary Mary would be taken off to the undertaker. The thought of it made her terribly depressed, and as the shock of it all numbed her fingers, she could only nod her agreement, and let him lead her back the way they had come. She felt safe at his side, and as they walked, some of the numbness wore off. ..enough for her to dare to ask a question. One that had been looming unspoken. She spoke in a near whisper, though the street had cleared ahead of them and noone was within hearing. The question might surprise the detective as well..that Mina even had a name for it. "..his is vampyre..isnt he?" She dared a look to his face, her own still pale.
The officers had returned by this time, and slipped past them to return into the alley, and Mina supposed that soon there would be more and poor Mary Mary would be taken off to the undertaker. The thought of it made her terribly depressed, and as the shock of it all numbed her fingers, she could only nod her agreement, and let him lead her back the way they had come. She felt safe at his side, and as they walked, some of the numbness wore off. ..enough for her to dare to ask a question. One that had been looming unspoken. She spoke in a near whisper, though the street had cleared ahead of them and noone was within hearing. The question might surprise the detective as well..that Mina even had a name for it. "..his is vampyre..isnt he?" She dared a look to his face, her own still pale.
James wanted to shield her from everything but it wasn't possible. A man like him had seen a body or two and sometimes he could observe the dead with a professional level of detachment. To some he appeared not to care, but he had mastered the art to keep his mind together. He found that next to someone mourning that he felt close to that it sometimes undid that professional sheilf he had built. It struck him deep and new like a rookie. James had to suck in a breath to help collect himself. When the returned to the main thoroughfare his eyes hunted for the reporter he was sure was lurking nearby somewhere. Softly to her, like a secret he hated, "I was beginning to believe that from the first incident, it's just... a very unusual conclusion to come to." It wasn't that it was impossible it was just that... well, none had really every made waves in this town before because it was such a human hub. Even Elves didn't come to visit in this outpost.
If there was one emotion that could grip you like grief, it was fear, and she was afraid. Perhaps it was because her hand was touching his arm..but suddenly..she was afraid not for herself, but for him..and as that horrible taste of blood came back to her mouth, she gripped his arm more tightly. "..maybe that is why. ..it is.." and here she drifted off..for the first time probing a little into what she had picked up from that horrible moment. "..he is a lion in a field of deer..." she shook it off, visibly and though she didnt want to know..no she really didnt..she had to ask. "..what will you do..."
Mina was asking him the question that haunted the back of his mind. What... would he do? James sighed, squinting in thought but it looked as though he were trying to see through the people that they were passing, "I'm not sure. I've read so many books and they tell me conflicting things. Some said he would be a monster but what you've told me is that he was a handsome man. Perhaps..." he was searching for a better thing to say, "perhaps he can be reasoned with because I do not know if man can confine and bring such a being to justice."
They neared the tiny shoppe where Mina lived above, and she was relieved to see that noone was lingering outside. This did not mean they were nto being watched, for the reporter earlier with his bruised ego and bowler hat, had sent a pair of eyes to watch, and see if the Seamstress was accompanied home. Meanwhile, he had learned what needed to be learned inside The Jar. It didnt take a genius to learn that Mary Mary had not come in to work, and by the time the reporter spread the news that she was probably the body outside in the tavern, his work there was done, and he left a dozen or so patrons running outside, to give those two officers that had escorted Him, a bit more to handle than just one nosey reporter. With this done, he was off to the newspaper..and tomorrows headlines were likely to come as quite a bomb to the public. Mina stopped outside of her door, and withdrew her hand from the Detectives arm. She was still pale, but she seemed stable enough. Quietly, she asked of him as she opened her door. "Please come in Detective..I do not know if I can help, but I have something that might be of interest."
One of his hands was on the frame of the door. He didn't say anything to her, just stared at her face for an awfully long time like there was something to be said. He looked inside her shoppe and then nodded politely, "I'd certainly like to see it." His eyes would follow her in before he did and after stepping inside he shut the door behind him.
When she led him to that room he smiled at it. Mina had a way of making the areas she stayed in cozy and comfortable. It felt like a home, those places she touched. He took a seat in one of the chairs that was indicated to him to test it before he climbed back to his feet to approach the stove and prepare some tea. Tea would be good for her, it was sweet and calming.
Upstairs she took a moment to splash cool water on her face, and smoothe her hair. For a long moment, she stared herself in the mirror, and when only guilt looked back, she turned away. A tall chest of drawers stood against one wall in her room, and she drew out one of them. From inside, she took wrapped bundle, and unwrapped it upon the bed. Within was an old book, its pages yellowed and fragile, and why she kept it wrapped up so. She had read it many times as a child, pouring over the strange pictures and odd language and never knowing what it said. Some of the pictures had seemed not to need them. She took this with her as she went back downstairs, and smiled at having found he had made tea. She was also struck by how natural it seemed, to have him here.
"Hi," he spoke softly like they were meeting each other again in another point in time and hadn't just been spending the entire day together. The detective in him noticed the book immediately. Two cups were poured and he set them on the table, "I hope you like Earl Grey tea."
She smiled more warmly to him, and laying the book on the table, nodded. "It sounds perfect, thank you." She was still smiling..those brief moments feeling so warm it made her able to smile. As her eyes fell to the book though, the smile faded, but she waited until they had their tea poured, before speaking about it. "It was my grandmothers. It is written in the gypsy language Im afraid..but I wished to show you something in it." It was something she did not tell anyone..her heritage, and who could blame her, as gypsies never had and never were looked upon very kindly.
"What is it?" He assumed that it must have had something to do with Mary Mary and her death or she would not have had such a strict look on her face. It was hard to not want to pry when he looked down at the item.
She sipped her tea and then gently set it aside before drawing near the book and carefully opening the cover. She let the book fall naturally open, and then paged gently a few pages until a full page etching was revealed on one of the brittle pages. It showed a scene..of what was a writhing, fanged man, arching in death beneath the impalement of a wooden stake that a cloaked figure was driving through its heart. There were other pictures, portraying holy figures and the sun itself as equally painful to the fanged figure..but of course unless one knew the language..there was no words to go along with it
James had seen something like that in one book he had read, but this one was more accurate in that the creature looked far more human in the illustration. At the sight of the stake his eyebrows knit. Was that it? That he would have to murder this creature.. It bothered his sense of justice to think that murder was the answer. The concern on his face was deep and he couldn't bring himself to say a word.
(( Rp exchange between Mina Sinclaire and James Owen .))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on May 30, 2011 13:13:21 GMT -5
Murder. Death. That seemed to be the options the old book illustrated. Depictions showed the cloaked figure driving a stake through the heart of a screaming man, his long canines clearly visible. If one looked closely, there were christian symbols upon the cloak. Another showed a corpse being burned inside its coffin by two religiously cloaked pesons, another a beheading. Another depicted a byzantine cross and blessed water,yet another showed strings of garlic, and branches of wild rosewood and ashe, in one surrounding a grave, and in another,adorning a house. Beneath every roughly drawn engraving, there was written in a flowing script some description, but it was in the old Romanii language of which Mina knew little.
Underneath one..the first one, she pointed to the flowing script written beneath. "Strigoi Mort. When I was little, I asked my mother what it meant. She said it was the undead. The Vampyre. ..and then she told me to put the book away." A sad smile seemed to touch her lips, and then pass, and she drew her tea back to her, as if it would ward away the chill.
It might have been helpful to them to be able to read the text within..but the pictures were self explainatory. Mina's eyes drifted to the Detective, sensing perhaps, his internal battle. She did not know how to help him.
She thought again of poor Mary Mary... and felt that sharp pang of her own guilt. She wished she had gone to the Detective sooner..but all she could do now was try to help the best she could. Sometimes the gift she had was felt to be a curse, as it did now. She had never so wanted to rid herself of it..and what it had shown her.
The image in the book was somewhat like the images he had seen before, only this one was much more human. When Mina had described the man as handsome he had felt confusion touch him. That she had described him as a man at all was part of that confusion. He had expected a monster, a half-human and half-bat sort of creature, wearing a cloack to hide his twisted appearance and strut around in public on the hunt. Identifying a villian was much easier when he easily appeared as one.
He had to reach out and touch the book, outline the surface of the face on the print, "It is so hard to believe that such a creatuer could move around unnoticed." Yet even Mina, with her ability to see through someone, had not clearly known what sort of creature he was.
He leaned back in his seat and stared for a long time into the surface of his cup of tea. He did not look at her as he spoke because he was trying to accurately recall what articles he had read and relate them to her. His eyes were on a distant memory, "I have read that such a creature can live for a very long time, that they might even be immortal."
To James, this was more than just a fascinating piece of information. It put the man in perspective. If it were true and the creature had been around man and living for a long time, he could not just be a brute and also too lucky to be noticed and killed. It hinted that there were decades of behavior that went without incident and now he wondered... that if that were true, why was the man being so careless now?
"Mina, do you think you could find out where he goes? I know it is a lot to ask but perhaps if we can locate him and talk to him... we can known, at the very least, what sort of creature we are dealing with. Perhaps if you touched something of his or... I don't know, you could see where he is staying or where he likes to frequent? I know it isn't practical, but it's clear to me that he's not intending to move on or stop his behavior."
James needed to be able to anchor himself to the world again. Though he knew that such creatures were rampant in other parts of the world, it was odd that one should be here and so unabashed about its behavior. He was hoping that... well, this man acting alone and not as a scout for other members of his speicies. It would be a quick way to change the face of this city forever and he wanted to perserve the city, even if it was a fool's errand.
(( Rp exchange between Mina Sinclaire and James Owen .))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on May 30, 2011 13:17:18 GMT -5
Mina had fallen silent as he looked at the old tome. Her tea was sipped slowly, glad for the warmth, as he spoke. She had just returned her cup to its saucer as he presented his request, and it left her blinking, a little shocked. ..find out where he goes? ..as in..seek him out? Did he really just suggest they talk to him? For a moment, Mina must have looked at the Detective as if he had grown horns, before she managed to get her mind around what he was asking of her.Her mouth opened and closed..as if she were about to say something and then silenced.
Touch something of his? ...but they had nothing..except his victims. That made her shudder inside and there was no guaruntee it would work..she didnt perceive things from objects, only people and she had never tried it with the dead. What if she learned what it felt like in death? It was a terrifying idea. Inevitably, she flashed back on what she had seen from him before..the taste of blood flooding back into her mouth like copper pennies and that horrible slithering sound of a body as it slid out of a bed...
"...He is in a room," she said..as if the words were coming to her along with the thought..and nervously, she suddenly stood up, pacing toward the small stove and wringing her hands..but now the memory was coming unbidden..and she knew she could remember more if she pursued it. "..he was in a room..there was..gilt furniture..a bed..and bodies.." she paced again, her skirt rustling as she turned in the small room, and her voice tense as she tried to convey what she had seen..felt...and knew.She halted..and closed her eyes..trying to verbally describe what she had seen in detail.
"The curtains are drawn tight..heavy red damask with gold cords. ..the body..a woman..no..younger.. is pale..her flesh soft and cold..and it lies on silk sheets..and slips off of them easily to the floor with an ..awful sound. there are rugs on the floor..rich blues..and golds in a crest...the same crest that is on the furniture..the bed..the door....and I feel so ...satisfied ...so gluttonous..their blood was sweet..and I will return here again..."
She caught her breath... and blinking, opened her eyes, horrified to revisit that connection and somewhat ashamed at revealing how intimate it was. She "became" those she touched..seeing and hearing, smelling and tasting..as they did. She swallowed, her mouth dry, and she could not bear to look at the Detective. She felt ashamed somehow..as if she carried that emotion which Thalas never could.
Her description was long and there were various details that the detective hoped were relevant. He realized that the room she described could have been from any place the creature had gone. Mina had recalled details of him which weren't current and if such a creature could live for centuries then there could even be a doubt that the room and the victims mentioned had not already been turned to dust and run.
Even so, he withdrew a piece of paper and wrote the details down. A room with some much gold a decadence could not be so very common. If it was a room for rent in town, perhaps the description could indicate where. When James had finished writing the last details she mentioned he wondered if the bodies of the females she mentioned were ones yet to turn up. It was selfish of him to hope that the women who were dead had long been gone and were not his responsibility but he could not help but feel that way.
He did not know that Mina could touch Mary Mary. It required that he ask a great deal from her.
"Mina, I must get back to the station now." The men had been long without him and with deaths and reporters hunting like wolves, they were in need of his guidance. If he was unlucky one of them may have folded under stress and lack of leadership, "If you can think of any other details or anything else you can suggest, please, let me know." It felt so formal, speaking that way to her. He reached out to touch her hand and reassure her without realizing how personal it was for him to do that. After his hand connected with her's the memory of it came to him and he withdrew, smiled apologetically, and rose to his feet.
"I will come check on you in just a couple of hours. Be careful when you go out and if you see or hear anything out of the normal... just behave as calmly and normally as possible. From what I can tell, this creature has no idea you've a handle on him and if he does, I don't think he'll like it. I'm going to try to contact an artist in the area so that we might try to do a sketch of what the man looks like together and post warnings of him around the city. It may not look exactly like him but so long as people behave more cautiously it may prevent another incident from happening."
He smiled at her briefly, wishing he could give her a warmer expression. For a moment he stood there, awkwardly, like he wasn't sure how to say goodbye, be it a handshake or hug but--no, he wanted to kiss her on the cheek. There was his pause as if seeking permission before he did so, his head tilted to the side and shoulders leaned forward. She had but to look away from him to decline.
(( Rp exchange between Mina Sinclaire and James Owen .))
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James Owen
Somewhat Respectable Poster
The Detective
Posts: 22
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Post by James Owen on May 30, 2011 13:19:02 GMT -5
She did not know how to describe anything but what she had seen. Explaining what she had felt, was much harder. How could she explain that it felt like a recent satisfaction..not an old memory. It had been such a powerful feeling..and she had felt it again..but with indifference, when she had seen Mr. McCullough in the water. These were not things she had words for, or could even put into a coherant thought. They were just things she knew. She felt a sense of relief as he began to write down what she had said. Perhaps it was just that he believed her.
His reminder, that he would have to get back should not have come as a surprise, but it did spark a little panic. She felt safe with the Detective, and she would not when he was gone. Silly of her..she had never been afraid to be on her own before, and she would not cower now. She had her own work to attend to.
She smiled..almost as nervously as he as he took her hand, but she did not recoil from it, and what, if any insights she gained from him, she gave no sign of, but it was as if he had read her mind and spoke directly of her fear. She wsan't sure how she was supposed to hide what she knew, if ever she came face to face again..but she nodded, and felt better as he brought up the idea of an artist, because she thought that it might actually help.
As he stood there..preparing to leave, and she dreading the moment he did..it was all forgotten for a moment, as he so tenderly offered the kiss to his cheek. She felt suddenly warm, but there was no part of her that wished to escape it..and just as hesitantly as he, did she give subtle acceptance and her eyes never left his until he drew nearer. His kiss given, she drew back slowly, her color high.
She felt the depth of caring and the strong attraction from him, she felt his concern and his burden and it strengthened her. Softly she spoke, a genle turn of head and shoulder as she silently offered to walk out with him. "You make me feel very safe. ..thank you." She glanced up at him, as they reached the shop area and its front door. She smiled, gently..a little nervously. "and thank you for believing me. I promise to be careful."
That warmth would stay with her as he left the store, and she would watch out of the panes of glass until she could see him no longer on the street. It was then that her eyes would look more suspiciously out of those panes..up and down the street, and momentarily assured there was no sign of the fiend she feared, she turned to take up the old book, and return it upstairs before she would set to work on sewing that was already falling behind.
He had kissed cheeks in the past. The soft curve at the top of the cheekbone was especially attractive to him. There were neighborhood women who helped raise him that always insisted they be kissed on the cheek. Female relatives and new acquaintances. He was not one to do it often if it was not required, it felt too forward, too fond for him at times. This was not such a time and her cheek, soft and high as it was, was not like kissing the face of a poisoned aristocrat. It was kissing someone who was royalty by merit and it was because of that that he paused after he'd done it and then withdrew.
"I will check on your building tonight and in the morning." He adjusted his hat with a slightly nervous smile. Even though she had welcomed his affection, he still felt as though he had overstepped his bounds.
"If you feel the need to at any time, just come by the agency. Even if you think it's nothing."
The goodbye was growing long. He tipped his hat to her and departed, the torch on his jacket glittered like a Christmas trinket attached to a dark, thick overcoat. As he descended the staircase to the room where her employees were, he saw a line of clients composed of three people and the conversation climbing the walls with what should be done and the tragedies that occur the the clothing one loves. Shame that the edge of the cabinet caught the shirt and ripped it. It was a pity that the cloth was giving out. James could not have known that Thalas was standing in that line, his weight leaned on one leg with a damaged shirt in his hands. James could not have known that in the battle with Mary Mary that she had been able to do something to it, albeit a small resistance. Just enough to warrant that a shirt needed to be fixed.
Thalas was in a mood to have his garments be correct. There were sometimes decades where he let them rot off his frame. This was no such blood bath year. It was invigorating to be here in town, feeling younger and more fresh than he had in years. The desire for some theatrics to his games was renewed and for that, he must certainly maintain the part. He was the last in line, but this was usually the case when he had to insert himself into a shop the hour before closing, with a dimmed sun and throng of night life.
Again, tonight, maybe? As James Owen passed him he did not look at the man. He was staring at the back of the neck of the woman in front of him. She was not particularly beautiful, nor was she alluring. Her neck, however, was so expertly sculpting he thought Pygmalion had been inspired.
James had noticed Thalas only in a glance. The man did not look like a local but he could not have known it was who Mina described and even if he did, others would have thought him a lunatic for the reasons he would arrest such a creature, parading so well as human that he would be the one appearing monstrous, instead of the monster. James stepped out of the shop and looked down the streets, noting the faces in it and wondering how in the world he was to find the right one with such a flux of visitors. One thing was certain... that this visitor was lingering. He looked down at the description she had given him of the room he was renting and decided to start with that.
Steps would taken him first to the inn called Bedtime Luxury. It was known for it's decorations, its prices. He would look for a man that had been staying awhile, staying alone and venturing out at night. It just had to limit the search.
(( Rp exchange between Mina Sinclaire and James Owen .))
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