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Fantasy The Dark Within IC
- Thread starter MadeInAdelaide
- Start date
MadeInAdelaide
What? Mayonnaise is good!
Our story is about a town. A small tow, called Greenville, just within the border of New Hampshire. And the people who live in the town. From a distance, it presents itself like so many other small towns all over the world. Safe. Decent. Innocent. Get closer, though, and you start seeing the shadows underneath. The blood, and the loss and the anger. The dark within. And our story begins, I guess... with what little Holly Reed found this summer, in Silver Oak forest, playing among the trees with her friends.
“Come and find me Holly! I’m ready,” Annie called out from her hiding spot behind a towering oak tree.
Holly stomps through the thick undergrowth, angry that she was once again the ‘seeker’ in their little game of hide and seek. At the ripe old age of seven, however, you could only stay so mad at your best friend. “I’m going to find you Annie!” Holy called, peering around a tree to her left. Giggles are heard from both girls.
Holly, certain that she had found her friend, snuck up to a large, silver oak, one of the albino oak trees that the forest got its name from. Hiding her laugh, She pooped around the corner of the tree, frowning when Annie wasn’t there. Something warm plopped on her cheek, and Holly wiped it away, the liquid sticky. The little, black haired girl looked down at her hand and admitted a shriek, falling backwards at the sight before her.
The next thing we know for certain that happened is that Holly and Annie rushed back to their house, the former sobbing, blood smeared over one half of her face. She then told her mother of what she had seen in the woods. A fox, cut from throat to tail, strung up in the trees. Mutilated. The police immediately searched the forest for the animal, but came up empty handed. Not a trace of blood or gore.
So the story was written off, labeled as ‘a little girl’s vast imagination’. It would have remained that way had Holly Reed not disappeared a week later, her body found strung up in the town square, mutilated in the same way the fox had been. Who could have done such a thing to a little girl?
By morning, everyone would be talking, texting, and posting about it. We'd all be feeling it. That the world around us had changed, maybe forever. That Greenville wasn't the same town as before. That it was a town of shadows and secrets now. On Monday, the autopsy on Holly’s body would take place. Or what was left of her body. Then, on Tuesday, it was announced that no evidence was to be found in the body. None at all. Whoever had done this had left the terrified town members with nothing.
——-
Sarah looked up from her screen, blinking away the fog. Squinting, she peered over at her cloaca, the numbers glowing a pale blue. 2:37 am. Shit, I need to go to bed. She looked back at the computer screen, at the article she had read, written by none other than Adeline McKay, Greenville’s local reporter, dated a few days ago, almost two weeks after Holly’s tragic death. In those two weeks, more and more dead animals have been found, and three other murders had occurred. Steven James, 32, doctor. Anabeth Lockford, 17, student. And Cyrus Bates, 75, retired. They’d all been found the same way, drained of blood and strung up, pale eyes staring towards the sky. And, like Holly, their autopsies held no evidence of who the killer might be.
Rumors had spread like wildfire, the way they were prone to do in small towns like Greenville. A serial killer from out of town, God himself, suicide. But one stuck in the minds of the people the most. They theorized that a cult held meetings in the woods, a dangerous sect of the Pagan religion. Did the citizens of that small town realize how close they were to the truth?
———
Matthew Foster was tired of hearing about the murders. He was tired of being sad, of tearing up every time he heard about it. He wished the damn killer would just come forward and own up to it. He was sick of seeing pictures of mutilated animals pop up on his Instagram feed every time he bothered to look at it, and tired of receiving texts that simple said: “Hey yo, Matt. You hear about the (insert animal here) that was found (any time of day)?”
A weary sigh escaped him as he glanced at the clock on his phone. 2:39 am. He had work in the morning, and before that he had promised to help his neighbor move a couch outside. Matt groaned. He was in for a long day tomorrow.
—————
Note: Thank you
Kio.exe
for writing the news article for the post lol. Also sorry that my character’s posts are the best! I’ve had along day and really just wanted to get this up lmao
“Come and find me Holly! I’m ready,” Annie called out from her hiding spot behind a towering oak tree.
Holly stomps through the thick undergrowth, angry that she was once again the ‘seeker’ in their little game of hide and seek. At the ripe old age of seven, however, you could only stay so mad at your best friend. “I’m going to find you Annie!” Holy called, peering around a tree to her left. Giggles are heard from both girls.
Holly, certain that she had found her friend, snuck up to a large, silver oak, one of the albino oak trees that the forest got its name from. Hiding her laugh, She pooped around the corner of the tree, frowning when Annie wasn’t there. Something warm plopped on her cheek, and Holly wiped it away, the liquid sticky. The little, black haired girl looked down at her hand and admitted a shriek, falling backwards at the sight before her.
The next thing we know for certain that happened is that Holly and Annie rushed back to their house, the former sobbing, blood smeared over one half of her face. She then told her mother of what she had seen in the woods. A fox, cut from throat to tail, strung up in the trees. Mutilated. The police immediately searched the forest for the animal, but came up empty handed. Not a trace of blood or gore.
So the story was written off, labeled as ‘a little girl’s vast imagination’. It would have remained that way had Holly Reed not disappeared a week later, her body found strung up in the town square, mutilated in the same way the fox had been. Who could have done such a thing to a little girl?
By morning, everyone would be talking, texting, and posting about it. We'd all be feeling it. That the world around us had changed, maybe forever. That Greenville wasn't the same town as before. That it was a town of shadows and secrets now. On Monday, the autopsy on Holly’s body would take place. Or what was left of her body. Then, on Tuesday, it was announced that no evidence was to be found in the body. None at all. Whoever had done this had left the terrified town members with nothing.
——-
Sarah looked up from her screen, blinking away the fog. Squinting, she peered over at her cloaca, the numbers glowing a pale blue. 2:37 am. Shit, I need to go to bed. She looked back at the computer screen, at the article she had read, written by none other than Adeline McKay, Greenville’s local reporter, dated a few days ago, almost two weeks after Holly’s tragic death. In those two weeks, more and more dead animals have been found, and three other murders had occurred. Steven James, 32, doctor. Anabeth Lockford, 17, student. And Cyrus Bates, 75, retired. They’d all been found the same way, drained of blood and strung up, pale eyes staring towards the sky. And, like Holly, their autopsies held no evidence of who the killer might be.
Rumors had spread like wildfire, the way they were prone to do in small towns like Greenville. A serial killer from out of town, God himself, suicide. But one stuck in the minds of the people the most. They theorized that a cult held meetings in the woods, a dangerous sect of the Pagan religion. Did the citizens of that small town realize how close they were to the truth?
———
Matthew Foster was tired of hearing about the murders. He was tired of being sad, of tearing up every time he heard about it. He wished the damn killer would just come forward and own up to it. He was sick of seeing pictures of mutilated animals pop up on his Instagram feed every time he bothered to look at it, and tired of receiving texts that simple said: “Hey yo, Matt. You hear about the (insert animal here) that was found (any time of day)?”
A weary sigh escaped him as he glanced at the clock on his phone. 2:39 am. He had work in the morning, and before that he had promised to help his neighbor move a couch outside. Matt groaned. He was in for a long day tomorrow.
—————
Note: Thank you
Kio.exe
for writing the news article for the post lol. Also sorry that my character’s posts are the best! I’ve had along day and really just wanted to get this up lmao
TeenyTinyElephants
New Member
Ayda
Like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had
Like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had
drip... drip... drip
Waking up without any clue of where you are is a common occurrence for most of the human population. Sometimes, your consciousness has a hard time catching up to its current surroundings. It can be jarring and frightening, your heart picking up it's beat for a moment while you try and ascertain where you are, or even who you are. In the few seconds between waking up and realization, the fear that grips your heart will cause your pulse to quicken, your breath to halt, and your skin to blanch. For most, the moment is brief, within a breath your mind kicks itself into gear and you can laugh at the silliness of the thought. You're in your bed, in your home, where you are comfortable and safe.
drip... drip... drip
For Ayda it was different. She would often find herself waking with the immediate fear of not being familiar with her surroundings, only for that fear to turn into more of a dread as she came to realization of where she was. There was no comfort, no peace in realizing where she was - if anything the anxiety grew at the realization she had woken up, once again. Mornings were often spent rolling around in stressed anguish, debating between the desire to never leave her bed and the responsibility she had or the day. Her students were the biggest motivation for her. Closing her eyes she would imagine each of them standing before her, waiting for her to take care of them and teach them for the day. Thinking of their faces would give her the strength the touch her feet to the floor.
drip...drip...drip
Her mothers voice would echo in her mind "Ayda Siobhan, if you don't move your ass faster and get ready for the day, I'll make sure the tan that hide so it won't want to move too slowly." Memories of a belt smacking tender skin would often motivate her somewhere in her deep consciousness to start the kettle and get to readying herself for the day. She often woke up before the sun, the only illumination in her house the light above the stove where the kettle began to boil. With sluggish movement she found herself approaching her bathroom, a pedestal sink sat below a medicine cabinet mirror. The cool tile floor provided a brief jolt of energy as Ayda turned on the light. In the corner of the small room sat a claw footed tub with molding shower curtain. With a click of her tongue, Ayda chided herself or forgetting once again to grab a new one at the store. She had first noticed needing a new one after spending an evening vomiting into the toilet that sat next to it. That was a few days ago - the migraine had mostly left, but a dull ache remained in the center of her back of her neck. She should have taken note from the miserable days after her father would stop drinking, cutting off alcohol had its price.
drip...drip...drip...
She persisted with her morning ritual, brushing teeth, washing face, makeup, hair...managed somehow, finger brushing through unruly curls until they appeared to be intentionally unruly. Her kettle hissed to life as the water boiled. She ground coffee beans and poured them into her french press. As the steaming water poured over the coffee grounds Ayda finally heard it. That dripping noise... where was it coming from? As she set aside the coffee to brew she listened in the silence of her home. At first she wondered if she was going crazy but certainly...not...
drip
With a quick turn and a few steps across her kitchen, Ayda pulled open the cabinet drawers underneath the sink. Inside the pipe was slowly growing droplets that were falling onto the plastic wrapping of paper towels. Ayda allowed her fingers to follow the groove of the pipe, her fingers coming back wet with water. "Ugh..." She sighed to herself. She grabbed a few kitchen towels and wiped up the water that had collected in the cabinet. Finally throwing a bowl underneath the leak, she didn't have time to deal with the bigger issue. Standing, she poured herself a coffee and leaned against the counter. She wondered how long the sound had been echoing in the empty house - the silence at the moment was almost jarring. She lifted the warm mug to her lips, her eyes getting slightly glassy. Her other hand lifted to hold the mug as well, fingers interlocked for a moment before she slowly slid the fingers of her left hand over the right, back and forth. The wetness still clung to her fingers, although not as wet as before.
Her thoughts drifted, the dripping had been like a familiar song, comforting and soothing in her thoughts. It was like the dripping of a coffee machine, the dripping of liquid in an IV, the dripping of blood off of a fingertip onto the concrete... A contented sigh escaped her lips before she took another sip.
drip...drip...drip
SleepyConley
my head hurts
John jolts up, raising up in the bed, awake from his sleep. Just another nightmare, the same nightmare that he's been having for the past 4 years, ever since the night his wife and children died. ~ Bright stadium lights, a cheering crowd, a football field. It's warm, not hot, not cold, but warm. Warm enough to make you sweat, but not uncomfortably. John looks down at his clipboard with coaching papers detailing all his football plays and counter plays. While examining the papers, focusing hard, John notices he can't move. He can't raise his head, he's trying to look up, but can't, he begins to panic. Breathing becomes harder and harder and harder. Until, suddenly, someone behind him begins to poke his shoulder but no matter how hard he tries, he can't move, he can't turn around, he can't even speak. The poking makes its way down his back, as the poking slowly inches lower and lower it gets harder and harder until finally... John feels a sharp, burning sensation enter his body. The burning feels so hot its almost cold, John can't decide. Everything goes black, he wakes up in the middle a road. He looks around and is confused, it's dark outside, he can barely see. In the corner of his eye he sees red, tail lights from a car. The car had crashed, it went over a small embankment straight into a tree. John makes his way to the car, sliding down the embankment, steadily creeping towards the driver-side door. It's already open, he yells out and says hello, but no response. John peers inside the car, nobody is inside, just blood; a lot of it. Sticks and brush snap and rustle from the nearby woods, someone is coming towards him. He can never see their face, they're always a black silhouette. John runs back towards the road, away from them, he always feels extremely afraid of this person. Making his way back to the road, the figure right behind him, he trips over his own panic and falls to the blacktop. John looks back towards the person, who is now running at him, and begins to fumble and crawl away from them. When John looks away, in front of him is another silhouetted figure. John tries to scream but can't, he tries to fight but his arms move in slow motion, the silhouette grabs John and with one swift motion, raising its arm back, stabs him. ~
Secrets that make your stomach turn ~ Murder
_____________________________________________________
Name: John Mathew Krill
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Occupation: Football Coach/Gym Teacher
Sexuality: Straight
Personality: John is an extrovert, outgoing and loud. He is reliable. His sense of humor is that of any middle aged, adult, father. Despite seeming to be a casual, happy-go-lucky football coach that loves and cares for each of his players, deep down, he is sad. John can be found at the bar quite often and has a mysterious persona, keeping most private life details to himself, refusing to open up to anybody.
Strengths: Caring, observant, physically strong, fast runner, good aim, can throw things accurately and far. Has good leadership skills. Smart and tactical (he is a football coach for a reason).
Weaknesses: An alcoholic, is an angry drunk, has slight anger issues, depressed but refuses to show.
Other/Background: John is a mysterious person, despite being well-known and liked by almost everyone who knows him. When he was younger, around 25, both his wife and two children died in a car accident, driving to watch him coach his first football game. He brushed their deaths under the rug, with very few people finding out. When people ask, he just says that his wife left him and took the kids.
"Ahh hell!" John rubs his eyes, running his fingers through his hair, he looks at his clock. He's going to be late for work, again. Getting up from bed, John begins his morning routine. He fixes his hair, brushes his teeth, puts on a semi-clean button up shirt - that he found in the floor - and poses in the mirror, smiling at himself. "Alright champ, you got this". His phone begins to buzz, lying on the sink counter, another text, another news alert, the same news article that was published two weeks ago and a text from work. People are still sharing the article, as if it hasn't already read it over and over. John can barely stand it. He locks his phone, puts both hands on the sink counter and looks down at the ground. Closing his eyes and breathing for just a moment.
John gets ready to leave, grabbing his keys, phone and coffee (with a bit of rum in it) and heads to the high school to start off his workday.
(Feel free to interact with John, on his way to or at the high school.)
Sostos
Autometalogolex
Thomas Sylvester | Location: Apartment-cum-office | Interactions: none
"Fucking reporters, don't they realise they're just giving me more work?" Thomas grumbled, gently massaging the bridge of his nose to drive away a headache. It wasn't working. The goddamn requests to look into the murders had just started dying down and now some fuck-face reporter had revitalised interest in the story, and that wasn't even the worst of it: they expected him to do it pro bono! Do I look like a fucking saint? I need to pay my bills too, even if there's a dead kid or two, I won't give a shit until my landlord does. I need a smoke.
Thomas was sat in a dingy room that served as his office-cum-apartment, lying on a sofa he had gotten 50% off in the store's biggest sale yet. Absolute bargain. He wrenched himself out of the little groove his body had deformed into it, trod over to his desk made of faux-oak and started rifling through his drawers. Soon his fingers found their mark, wrapping around a box of spearmint gum which he quickly unsheathed and peeled off the wrapper with nimble practice, pocketing the box. The gum stood no chance, soon it was crushed between his jaws, somewhat aggressively, covered in saliva and its form twisted in all manners. One wouldn't do, so he reached for number two. The dopamine response was gradual, but eventually his headache became dull background noise.
He looked at his desk, papers haphazardly strewn across it with no semblance of organisation, interlaced with receipts for takeaways and some polaroid photos of a topless woman and man taken from a distance - a simple adultery investigation that had been almost too easy - christ, people need to learn to close their curtains when they're getting funky with someone other than their significant other. The photographs were part of the aesthetic he was going for (because, seriously, it's the 21st century and we have technology that far exceeds the quality of polaroid cameras) that his ex-girlfriend had recommended he establish. Whistlestop Investigations. The sign was emblazoned into the glass in some respectable font that she had designed whilst they were together as a firm that had a goal to help those who needed it. Revealing that your marriage has been decaying for years is a type of help, right?
"Time to get a move on..." he said to no one in particular but himself, followed by some incoherent mumbling with the occasional audible complaint about some shit or something and Thomas began rummaging through the documents looking for unsolved cases that didn't involve mutilated corpses.
$500 if you can prove my husband's cheating on me with video evidence. I will send the details in an email.
Half a grand for that? Maybe he could afford rent for this month after all. He looked at the details in his email (after spending a few minutes clearing it up from a bunch of spam and junk) and made some notes. "Male... teacher in his 40s... ooh, a picture attached." he jotted down some key details and threw on his coat. The internet was a wonderful thing and he found a list of the staff faculty on the school website, photos and all, which he printed out and shoved into his pocket.
His appearance was somewhat haggard, as though the luxury of sleep had decided he wasn't good enough for it for the past few days: his facial hair was ungroomed and untidy, his shirt unironed, and he donned a perpetual mask of dreariness, as though he just could not be arsed to deal with whatever ball ache life was throwing at him. So he decided to have a shower, change into some nicer clothes so that the staff didn't think he was some drunken homeless man asking questions about who was banging who. Not much he could do about the crushing sense of ennui he experienced on a day to day basis, but you've gotta take your wins with your losses. He was about to leave when he realised he was a 30 year old man who had fuck all reason to ever go to this school and therefore didn't know how to get there, so after negotiating with Google assistant to give him directions, he set off.
"Fucking reporters, don't they realise they're just giving me more work?" Thomas grumbled, gently massaging the bridge of his nose to drive away a headache. It wasn't working. The goddamn requests to look into the murders had just started dying down and now some fuck-face reporter had revitalised interest in the story, and that wasn't even the worst of it: they expected him to do it pro bono! Do I look like a fucking saint? I need to pay my bills too, even if there's a dead kid or two, I won't give a shit until my landlord does. I need a smoke.
Thomas was sat in a dingy room that served as his office-cum-apartment, lying on a sofa he had gotten 50% off in the store's biggest sale yet. Absolute bargain. He wrenched himself out of the little groove his body had deformed into it, trod over to his desk made of faux-oak and started rifling through his drawers. Soon his fingers found their mark, wrapping around a box of spearmint gum which he quickly unsheathed and peeled off the wrapper with nimble practice, pocketing the box. The gum stood no chance, soon it was crushed between his jaws, somewhat aggressively, covered in saliva and its form twisted in all manners. One wouldn't do, so he reached for number two. The dopamine response was gradual, but eventually his headache became dull background noise.
He looked at his desk, papers haphazardly strewn across it with no semblance of organisation, interlaced with receipts for takeaways and some polaroid photos of a topless woman and man taken from a distance - a simple adultery investigation that had been almost too easy - christ, people need to learn to close their curtains when they're getting funky with someone other than their significant other. The photographs were part of the aesthetic he was going for (because, seriously, it's the 21st century and we have technology that far exceeds the quality of polaroid cameras) that his ex-girlfriend had recommended he establish. Whistlestop Investigations. The sign was emblazoned into the glass in some respectable font that she had designed whilst they were together as a firm that had a goal to help those who needed it. Revealing that your marriage has been decaying for years is a type of help, right?
"Time to get a move on..." he said to no one in particular but himself, followed by some incoherent mumbling with the occasional audible complaint about some shit or something and Thomas began rummaging through the documents looking for unsolved cases that didn't involve mutilated corpses.
$500 if you can prove my husband's cheating on me with video evidence. I will send the details in an email.
Half a grand for that? Maybe he could afford rent for this month after all. He looked at the details in his email (after spending a few minutes clearing it up from a bunch of spam and junk) and made some notes. "Male... teacher in his 40s... ooh, a picture attached." he jotted down some key details and threw on his coat. The internet was a wonderful thing and he found a list of the staff faculty on the school website, photos and all, which he printed out and shoved into his pocket.
His appearance was somewhat haggard, as though the luxury of sleep had decided he wasn't good enough for it for the past few days: his facial hair was ungroomed and untidy, his shirt unironed, and he donned a perpetual mask of dreariness, as though he just could not be arsed to deal with whatever ball ache life was throwing at him. So he decided to have a shower, change into some nicer clothes so that the staff didn't think he was some drunken homeless man asking questions about who was banging who. Not much he could do about the crushing sense of ennui he experienced on a day to day basis, but you've gotta take your wins with your losses. He was about to leave when he realised he was a 30 year old man who had fuck all reason to ever go to this school and therefore didn't know how to get there, so after negotiating with Google assistant to give him directions, he set off.
Kio.exe
Road work ahead? Uh, I sure hope it does...
Adeline McKay:
Interactions: No one yet | Location: Home, coffee shop | Mood: Ambivalent | Outfit: Here
Addie yawned, rubbing at her bleary eyes. She’d been up since before dawn, righting this report. It was now just past seven. Time for her to move to Better Latte Than Never, Greenville’s local (and only) coffee shop. She stretched, pushing herself out of her office chair, wincing at the pull of her aching muscles. She dared another glance at the clock, the numbers glowing a dull white on her desk. 7:07. Adeline sighed, and began the process of digging through her closet for something acceptable to wear. She settled on jeans, a white shirt and her favorite cardigan, a soft brown sweater. Running a brush haphazardly through her hair, Addie didn’t bother doing anything but let it hang in loose waves down her back, remnants of the curls she had so carefully pressed into her hair the night before.
She studied her reflection in the mirror, her face gaunt from lack of sleep. She’d seen better days. They all had.
Guilt, innocence. Good, evil. Life, death. As the shadows around Greenville deepened, the lines that separated these polar opposites blurred and distorted. A postcard town, once perfect in its own right had been corrupted. Nothing was the same. One thought made it’s way into everyone’s mind and stuck there, poisoning Greenville’s denizens against one another. “Who is the killer?” In all truth, it could be anyone. It could be little old Jeanne Barrows, who lives down the street. It could be golden boy Matthew Foster. It could be any of them, so everyone was a suspect.
Adeline threw on her shoes, her white sneakers that she wore everywhere, before chucking her laptop into its case, throwing it over her shoulder. Grabbing her keys and wallet, she left her apartment, locking the door behind her. As she stepped outside, into the still warm weather of September, Addie sighed. She loved the fall, and wished it would come sooner. She loved the smell of rain, and wind. Loved watching the trees turn from green to spectacular reds and oranges and yellows before falling peacefully to the earth. It showed that there was beauty in death, just as there was in life.
Addie turned down the driveway, deciding she would walk today, stretch her legs a bit. She’d spent far too much time sitting already. The town was just beginning to wake, people going to work, or school. Or not.
We crave absolutes. They comfort us, but life is infinitely more complex than that. In a town, where absolutes abounded, when something goes wrong, when nothing is absolute any longer, trouble is sure to arise. With Sheriff Fields knocking on every door and neighbor suspecting neighbor, Greenville, every day that passes, is becoming more like Salem during the witch trials. Trouble began on July fourth. Every town has one, even a town as small a Greenville. The spooky house that all the kids avoid. Ours was Misthaven, an ancient family’s mansion, with its very own graveyard.
As Addie walked down the street, inspecting the tidy, cookie cutter houses that lined every road in town, she frowned. Perhaps the town was so perfect, so monotonous that the killer had been driven to kill out of boredom. Out of the longing for change that everyone felt at some point in their lives. Of course, that was no reason to mutilate a little girl, but it made sense. Addie particularly liked when things made sense. It made it a hell of a lot easier for her to cope.
About five minutes later, Addie pushed open the door to Better Latte Than Never, savoring the smell of coffee and baked goods that immediately flooded her senses. The line was small today, only a few people in line in front of her. God, she was starving.
Now that Holly was buried in the earth, it would only be a matter of time until something poisonous bloomed. In that long, cold shadow cast by her death. Whatever grew in the rich black soil of the Misthaven’s garden always found its way to the town. Whether it was murder. Or love. Or secrets. Or lies. Trouble began with the dark within.
TeenyTinyElephants
New Member
Ayda
Like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had
Like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had
The morning had already thrown her off her usual rhythm. Scrambling she managed to pull on a hunter green cable-knit sweater along with a ruffled black skirt with a faded pattern of tiny flowers peppered all over. The flowers reminded her of her freckles, too small to be consequential on their own, but when there were thousands they clouded the view. She pulled a necklace off of a stand on a dresser in her room. It was a thin gold chain that contained an amethyst crystal. Thin gold tendrils wrapped around and held the crystal into place. Ayda held the pendant close to her and took a deep breath it - it had a calming effect. The necklace had been a precious gift and since she had received it a little over a week ago, she had worn it every day.
She pulled on a pair of wedges - sometimes the other teachers would give her a reproachful look. They would often make comments to her and behind her back about being young and looking to attract attention, there was apparently no other reason she would wear shoes like that to teach. She didn't know how to explain to them to make them understand that they were more comfortable and had orthopedic soles in them. Wearing flats all day was more painful so she always opted with the heels. She knew it was no use to try and explain so she let them have their gossip. She didn't do a good job of defending herself or making friends. She found it awkward, most of the other teachers being older than her by a decade or so. She also was awful at socialization, only ever able to carry out the awkward "weather's nice" or "any plans for the weekend?" conversations. She simply accepted her losses at making friends and put all of her focus into her kids.
The sun had finally illuminated Ayda's house by the time she was neatly filing the graded papers into her bag, along with her laptop and lunch bag. As she reached for her phone, the screen illuminated with a notification of a post on the local forums. She added the Neighborhood app when she moved here - wanting to stay up to date with the local goings-on, she thought it would be a good source of information about the town she called home and her neighbors. The story that lit up the screen was one that had been circulating for a while, people could not seems to get past the murder of such a young life. Ayda would admit there was a twinge of sadness that passed through her spine to her toes, the loss of such a young life was really a sorrow to be felt. Holly Reed had attended her school, Ayda had never taught her, but knew about her and her friends. Teachers were instructed to address the tragedy very delicately, to offer room to express emotions, but to keep spirits light and reassure the students that they would be taken care of. The topic still comes up in the classroom, but the tears and fear had subsided a bit.
Ayda checked the time - 7:15, she was late but if she walked quickly to Better Latte Than Never she could make it and make it to school by 8:15 - she usually liked to arrive at 8:00, but she had prepared today's materials, last night. It was her morning ritual, a cup of coffee at home, a latte and muffin on the way to school. The caffeine and pick-me-up was always needed. She hastily grabbed a scarf off of the kitchen table and wrapped it around her neck - the weather was starting to cool and she would really need the scarf on the walk home.
Feet finally hitting the concrete of the walk outside her house, she locked her doors and with hurried steps made her way towards the center of town. Her little house wasin a more wooded part of town, just outside the busier streets of Greenville. She was close enough to school to walk everyday which saved money on gas. Walking was how she started her regimen of visiting the coffee shop on the way to work. The wind moved against her, nothing too overbearing but enough to bring a fresh snap of air across her cheeks, tinging them pink. She kept her head down for most of the walk like she always did. Every once in a while the innocent old woman, tending to laundry or cleaning a porch would say hello, she always made sure to pleasantly smile and wave. These interactions were easy, no prolonging in bane discourse.
Finally she found herself at the entrance of the coffee shop. A small sigh escaped her lips as she noted the people in line, but she expected this. Stepping into the warm interior, she loosened her scarf and crossed her arms against her chest. Even though most who worked at the cafe would probably recognize her, she had refrained from becoming too friendly. They most often knew what she was looking for, in the fall a hot pumpkin latte with only one pump of flavoring and a blueberry muffin, but beyond her usual order, there was little else they would know. She decided to study the menu behind the register, even though she knew what it said, instead of looking lost and helpless should a kind stranger try to strike up a conversation.
Terrier B
Elephants can smell water.
E. Tillman / 9:51AM / Alone for a bit, then with Jan / Thomas vaguely mentioned (
Sostos
)
Surprisingly for him, the day had started off badly. For a cruel change of pace, instead of getting to decide that the day had been bad for him once it was done and over with, that particular morning had brought him nothing but headaches, and an overwhelming sense of heavy fatigue. But alas, he still needed to work. Despite all the arguments he might make against such a way of life on a better day, Eide still found himself having to rely on the use and trade of money to obtain goods and services. Weed did not just grow on trees for free, they usually cost about $10 a bag instead. Therefore, a job was needed. But by God, why had he ever agreed to this one. The hell-scape of the disgustingly cheesy store that lay before him had become seemingly too much for the man to bear. As he currently sat at his appointed station behind the till, head laid down heavily upon the countertop, long hair splayed around him like a sort of scruffy hobo-halo.
He was alone in the store, and save for the brief early-morning rush, it'd been a quiet and unmemorable morning so far. The song playing over the in-store speaker system changed over to its next royalty-free track, sounding just as, if not more, inanely bland as the last one. With surely more effort that it must have genuinely taken to do so, Tillman lifted his head up off of the counter, and through blood shot eyes, considered his choices for the morning. Upon the counter top was a brief collection of small pocket-sized grab bags.
Hmm, lets see, what offers were we flogging today,
'Snack 2 School'
'Buy one, get one (Sugar) free'
Hmmm. Oh!
'CRONCHERS',
That'd do.
Midway through his breakfast, the little overhead bell rang, dictating a customers entrance. Jan stood half in, half out of the Snack-Pack, stubbing out the butt of her cigarette on the exterior wall before coming in completely. She scoffed and grinned upon seeing the cryptid-like creature that sat behind the counter, "Ugh God. Is that really a Snack-Pack approved uniform?" She was referring to the fact that the man currently sat there in a un-ironed suit jacket with no shirt on underneath. Eide crunched a CRONCH bitterly and pointed an accusing finger her way, "You shut your mouth you little Oik. Besides, I'm still wearing the name tag (It was pinned on sideways to his right lapel), as long as I've got this bad boy on, it's all good." Ciggy now appropriately stubbed, Janny scuffed her shoes vaguely on the welcome mat before stuffing her hands into her coat pockets and meandering her way down the closest aisle. He tilted this way and that to try and keep track of her as she weaved through the store, before unnecessarily pressing the big red button that projected his voice over the tannoy system, "You know, there's a large sign on the front door that says 'NO DELINQUIENTS' in big bold capital letters with wide spaces and everything so even people with your intellect can read it clearly," From somewhere in the vague direction of the toiletries aisle came a distinct "Oh piss off,"
Standing up on her tiptoes, Janny raised her head over the shelf, "I need a knife," there was a brief yet apparent silence. Eide blinked, "I beg your pardon,". Janny frowned at him, "You heard, a knife." He couldn't quite believe what she was saying truth be told, "There have been not one, not two, but three grizzly and gruesome murders in this town in the last few weeks with the culprit still on the loose, and you walk into my store, wanting to buy a knife?" Janny just shrugged, "Yeah." Unimpressed by his impression of a surprised Goldfish, she continued her search without his help. The best she could find was a small set of weird brightly coloured rubbery ones meant for either children, or a Hipster that was really into Neon, but they'd have to do for the time being. Eide was still seemingly aghast as she made her way back to the front counter, he held the Rubber knives in his hand for a moment before swiping them through the till, "Should I be calling the cops or something here?" Once again, Janny simply shrugged, "Nah, no need. They're coming over to the bakery later anyway. Or some investigator man is or whatever. Gonna interview us and everything apparently, shit's wild man..."
Tillman stopped dead still, "You're kidding me." The girl sighed and leaned against the counter casually, her eyes glazed over the ceiling as she spoke, "There's this intern that joined up a few weeks ago, just about when it all started kicking off. So that's enough reason for suspicion I guess." She turned and pocketed the now swiped items, "Anyway, they came in a day or so ago and removed anything and everything that could possibly used as a weapon, but alas," She shoved the change across to him, "At the end of the day, I still need something to cut up my Nuts." And with that final childish remark, she was gone.
Her current profession of the week didn't really have a set shift pattern, which was a loose and fun arrangement she was rather keen on truth be told. She was simply required to make enough of her Greek Treats to set up the store with enough stock for a week, therefore she could come and go as she pleased. Well, save for today mind you, she had to be at the bakery this afternoon, for this private investigator man and all of that. Ugh. Oh well, least that gave her the morning to mess with. Her first stop was the High School, as she wanted to see her Dad at least once before she got back later that night. It was a big day for him after all...
School had started for the day, so there weren't a lot of people still loitering in the parking lot at this point. Well, save for a few depressed and stressed looking teachers sharing a ciggy and- oh. John was just locking up his car. The man was a few years older than Janny, but they'd been in school at the same time for a little bit, and knew each other vaguely through the various sporting activities they each respectively partook in during their High-School Years. She lifted her hand in a friendly wave as she called out to him, "Hey John! Oh my god, you look like shit man, haha."
Sostos
)
Surprisingly for him, the day had started off badly. For a cruel change of pace, instead of getting to decide that the day had been bad for him once it was done and over with, that particular morning had brought him nothing but headaches, and an overwhelming sense of heavy fatigue. But alas, he still needed to work. Despite all the arguments he might make against such a way of life on a better day, Eide still found himself having to rely on the use and trade of money to obtain goods and services. Weed did not just grow on trees for free, they usually cost about $10 a bag instead. Therefore, a job was needed. But by God, why had he ever agreed to this one. The hell-scape of the disgustingly cheesy store that lay before him had become seemingly too much for the man to bear. As he currently sat at his appointed station behind the till, head laid down heavily upon the countertop, long hair splayed around him like a sort of scruffy hobo-halo.
He was alone in the store, and save for the brief early-morning rush, it'd been a quiet and unmemorable morning so far. The song playing over the in-store speaker system changed over to its next royalty-free track, sounding just as, if not more, inanely bland as the last one. With surely more effort that it must have genuinely taken to do so, Tillman lifted his head up off of the counter, and through blood shot eyes, considered his choices for the morning. Upon the counter top was a brief collection of small pocket-sized grab bags.
Hmm, lets see, what offers were we flogging today,
'Snack 2 School'
'Buy one, get one (Sugar) free'
Hmmm. Oh!
'CRONCHERS',
That'd do.
Midway through his breakfast, the little overhead bell rang, dictating a customers entrance. Jan stood half in, half out of the Snack-Pack, stubbing out the butt of her cigarette on the exterior wall before coming in completely. She scoffed and grinned upon seeing the cryptid-like creature that sat behind the counter, "Ugh God. Is that really a Snack-Pack approved uniform?" She was referring to the fact that the man currently sat there in a un-ironed suit jacket with no shirt on underneath. Eide crunched a CRONCH bitterly and pointed an accusing finger her way, "You shut your mouth you little Oik. Besides, I'm still wearing the name tag (It was pinned on sideways to his right lapel), as long as I've got this bad boy on, it's all good." Ciggy now appropriately stubbed, Janny scuffed her shoes vaguely on the welcome mat before stuffing her hands into her coat pockets and meandering her way down the closest aisle. He tilted this way and that to try and keep track of her as she weaved through the store, before unnecessarily pressing the big red button that projected his voice over the tannoy system, "You know, there's a large sign on the front door that says 'NO DELINQUIENTS' in big bold capital letters with wide spaces and everything so even people with your intellect can read it clearly," From somewhere in the vague direction of the toiletries aisle came a distinct "Oh piss off,"
Standing up on her tiptoes, Janny raised her head over the shelf, "I need a knife," there was a brief yet apparent silence. Eide blinked, "I beg your pardon,". Janny frowned at him, "You heard, a knife." He couldn't quite believe what she was saying truth be told, "There have been not one, not two, but three grizzly and gruesome murders in this town in the last few weeks with the culprit still on the loose, and you walk into my store, wanting to buy a knife?" Janny just shrugged, "Yeah." Unimpressed by his impression of a surprised Goldfish, she continued her search without his help. The best she could find was a small set of weird brightly coloured rubbery ones meant for either children, or a Hipster that was really into Neon, but they'd have to do for the time being. Eide was still seemingly aghast as she made her way back to the front counter, he held the Rubber knives in his hand for a moment before swiping them through the till, "Should I be calling the cops or something here?" Once again, Janny simply shrugged, "Nah, no need. They're coming over to the bakery later anyway. Or some investigator man is or whatever. Gonna interview us and everything apparently, shit's wild man..."
Tillman stopped dead still, "You're kidding me." The girl sighed and leaned against the counter casually, her eyes glazed over the ceiling as she spoke, "There's this intern that joined up a few weeks ago, just about when it all started kicking off. So that's enough reason for suspicion I guess." She turned and pocketed the now swiped items, "Anyway, they came in a day or so ago and removed anything and everything that could possibly used as a weapon, but alas," She shoved the change across to him, "At the end of the day, I still need something to cut up my Nuts." And with that final childish remark, she was gone.
Her current profession of the week didn't really have a set shift pattern, which was a loose and fun arrangement she was rather keen on truth be told. She was simply required to make enough of her Greek Treats to set up the store with enough stock for a week, therefore she could come and go as she pleased. Well, save for today mind you, she had to be at the bakery this afternoon, for this private investigator man and all of that. Ugh. Oh well, least that gave her the morning to mess with. Her first stop was the High School, as she wanted to see her Dad at least once before she got back later that night. It was a big day for him after all...
School had started for the day, so there weren't a lot of people still loitering in the parking lot at this point. Well, save for a few depressed and stressed looking teachers sharing a ciggy and- oh. John was just locking up his car. The man was a few years older than Janny, but they'd been in school at the same time for a little bit, and knew each other vaguely through the various sporting activities they each respectively partook in during their High-School Years. She lifted her hand in a friendly wave as she called out to him, "Hey John! Oh my god, you look like shit man, haha."
Last edited:
camlochan
Premarital Canibalism? I think not.
Samuel West.
Location: House, outside, to cafe. | Mood: Here | Outfit: Here | Song: Here
Sam awoke to watery sunlight filtering through his blinds, and the sounds of crows. It was always crows, in Greenville, a never ending racket that drove him to madness. Didn’t any other birds live in New Hampshire? They were especially eerie now, what with the murders that had occurred in the past few months. Murders that Sam had been subjected to firsthand, part of his job as a forensic scientist. Dead bodies had long stopped effecting him, but ones mutilated in the way these three had been made his stomach turn.
Sam rolled out of bed, too lazy to do it properly. In the process, he ended up banging his elbow on his nightstand, nearly knocking his clock off of it. 7:20. Shit, the thought, rubbing his injured limb. I’m going to be late again. Sam had a horrible habit of being late, to everything. His job, parties, dates. It wasn’t his fault, not really....okay, it was his fault. But he couldn’t help it! It was in his nature, or something like that. Groaning, Sam rifled through his drawers before coming up with an acceptable outfit for work: A dark blue button up shirt, gray pants, a brown belt and matching shoes. There. That would have to do.
He entered his bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light while he brushed his teeth, before rubbing a hand through his hair and grabbing his keys. Sam shoved his wallet into his pocket and left his apartment, galloping down the stairs at full speed and almost running over his landlord, Ms. Baxter. Oops. “Rent’s due tomorrow, West,” she called after him, standing at the top of the stairs with her hands on her hips.
He flashed her a grin, walking straight into the door frame. “Ow—I know, Ms. Baxter, you don’t have to worry about me! Have a good day,” he called back, rubbing his head. So now he was late, and clumsy. Racing outside, Sam hopped into his car, the new one that was his baby. It was a brand new BMW i8, the car he had been saving up for for years. Rolling down his window, he patted the car’s white exterior, grinning as he took off down the road, towards Better Latter Than Never, Greenville’s premier (even if it was it’s only) cafe.
The drive was only about two minutes, especially at the speed he was going (he was sure Sheriff Fields wouldn’t mind, really), and as he pulled into the coffee shop’s tiny parking lot, Sam groaned at the line already forming inside. He parked, somewhat haphazardly, before jumping out, locking the car behind him and racing inside, tripping over his feet before coming to a stop behind a curly haired woman he recognized. Ayda, was her name. He didn’t know much about her, other than that she was a teacher at Greenville Elementary School, and that she preferred it that way. In front of her was Adeline McKay, a childhood friend of Sam’s, and local reporter.
“Heya, Ayda, heya Addie,” he said, giving them broad smiles and shoving his hands in his pockets. His foot tapped impatiently at the worn linoleum floors, and as the line inched forward, Sam glanced at his phone, having received a notification from the Sheriff. Samuel Marcus West if you don’t get your sorry ass to the precinct in ten minutes I’m going to hang your hide from the ceiling, it read. Sam grinned, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Sheriff Field’s bark was worse than his bite, and if Sam brought him coffee, he’d forget all about Sam’s tardiness.
SleepyConley
my head hurts
John presses his foot against the brake pedal of his car, slowly coming to a halt for a stop sign, right before the school. John checks his rearview mirror, looking to see if anyone is behind him and grabs his stainless steel coffee mug with a lid. He takes a big swig, coffee and rum both entering his stomach. Placing the coffee mug back in the cupholder he proceeds to press on the gas, towards the high school.
_____________________________________________________
Name: John Mathew Krill
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Occupation: Football Coach/Gym Teacher
Sexuality: Straight
Personality: John is an extrovert, outgoing and loud. He is reliable. His sense of humor is that of any middle aged, adult, father. Despite seeming to be a casual, happy-go-lucky football coach that loves and cares for each of his players, deep down, he is sad. John can be found at the bar quite often and has a mysterious persona, keeping most private life details to himself, refusing to open up to anybody.
Strengths: Caring, observant, physically strong, fast runner, good aim, can throw things accurately and far. Has good leadership skills. Smart and tactical (he is a football coach for a reason).
Weaknesses: An alcoholic, is an angry drunk, has slight anger issues, depressed but refuses to show.
Other/Background: John is a mysterious person, despite being well-known and liked by almost everyone who knows him. When he was younger, around 25, both his wife and two children died in a car accident, driving to watch him coach his first football game. He brushed their deaths under the rug, with very few people finding out. When people ask, he just says that his wife left him and took the kids.
Entering the parking lot, most of the morning school traffic had died down. The morning sun, almost coming into full view. He pulls in, trying to find a parking spot nearest to the front doors. He looks at the clock on his center dashboard, he was so deep in thought driving he had forgot to play any music, and looks at the time: 10:00. Shit, shit, shit! John begins thinking of an excuse while gathering his coat, papers for his gym class, and lanyard with his work badge. John gathers everything and exits his car, using his keys to lock it up. Suddenly he hears a voice call out to him...
"Hey John! Oh my god, you look like shit man, haha."
John looks up and squints his eyes, trying to get a better look at the woman. Wait a damn minute, is that Janus? John gathers his thoughts from earlier in the car and yells out, back to her "Aye Jan, you can't expect a hunk like me to look like prince charming every morning can ya?" John waves and smiles, joking obviously. John walks over towards Jan, "How have you been? Man! It's been awhile since I've seen you around here at the school. Whatcha got yourself into this time? Don't tell me your dad has you working with him?" John and Janus talk for a bit before finally John looks at his watch and says "Ah" in a stressed tone, under his voice. "Look I gotta go, but if you wanna catch up later or something let me know. I coach football after school." John proceeds to walk off, but turns back around, "Oh yeah, I'm sure you've heard, how couldn't you, but take care of yourself. Greenville isn't safe anymore. Hasn't been for awhile." Waving goodbye, Johns turns his head back towards the school, his smile fading. Entering the school.
Inside John enters the main office and clocks in, saying good morning and smiling at all the other staff. The receptionist (that checks everyone in and out, so no strangers can enter - my school had one and I live in a pretty small town) asks if he is okay, says he looks bad. Damn, do I really look that bad? I need to get more sleep... but that damned nightmare. John walks through the high school, into the gym, a group of kids are playing dodge ball while a teacher was substituting until John got there. John walks into his office and grabs a whistle and walks back out and blows it, gathering everyone's attention - and thus the workday for John had finally begun.
(Feel free to interact with John inside the school, if a time skip is done and its after school, he'll be in the football field coaching)
Interactions:
Terrier B
Janus
Last edited:
Sostos
Autometalogolex
Thomas Sylvester | Location: Outside a school | Interactions: none
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and groaned a groan of annoyance. The almighty overlords at Google LLC clearly did not think this tiny town in the middle of New Hampshire was worth having an accurate map for and now he was paying the price for not giving a shit about the 'local amenities perfect for a small family' the estate agent had been hammering on about. Fuck it, fine. I have to be at some bakery by mid afternoon so I can't be faffing around with this one job. Now, the most logical progression from here would be to ask for directions from someone but he really didn't want to talk to anyone he didn't have to. Also, people are pricks, and would likely point him in the opposite direction (well, at least, that's what he would do for a brief moment of comedy) and he couldn't very well admit that he got lost in a very small town.
To be honest, during his little prowl around town looking for wherever the fuck this school was he realised there might have been a little problem, namely, how would he, a grown man, hang around a school without being perceived as a nonce? He dismissed that worry for another time, he'd just need to say he was asking questions about the recent incident in Greenville and be on his merry way with no suspicions raised about his real goal - catching that teacher with his pants down and recording his unfaithful activities. Shit, wait - what if the teacher is having an affair with a student? He couldn't very well record that and that would be five hundred quid down the drain. Another frustrated groan.
As he shoved another piece of gum into his pie hole, he absentmindedly thumbed a coin in his jacket pocket - which was strange for a number of reasons: one, having loose change implied that he had money on him that he didn't immediately use for some bullshit bill; two, the coin wasn't any denomination of US federal (or any other country) currency; and three, he didn't put it there in the first place. In fact, it was probably more accurate to call it a coin-sized and coin-shaped object. Apparently, if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it might be a fake coin. Both sides of it were supremely smooth and with intricate etches circling the perimeter. One of the sides had an eye on it, some sort of blue gemstone in place of the iris of it, and the other had a symmetrical stylised hand, palm outwards and three fingers and two thumbs that appeared to be something that looked a bit like obsidian. Thomas wasn't a rock expert, he didn't know much other than "sedimentary, igneous, and metamorphic" being the three types he learnt about in school so it was hard to tell.
The coin, despite the obvious care and detail that had gone into it when making it had the appearance of being aged and tarnished by time and Thomas found himself wanting to get it polished and cleaned. Baking soda would probably be good for that, right? And you could probably get baking soda in a bakery (it's in the name for chrissakes) where he was heading to anyway after working out where the school was. Oh yeah, by the way, that was his plan now - just find where the school was for today, then deal with the questions at the bakery with some old fashioned detective work.
Once he put away his phone and used his eyes for directions, it was much quicker progress to find the school in the relatively small town. He didn't want to enter, nor did he want to skulk around suspiciously as to cause parental and staff alarm that there was a man taking photos outside of a school so he sought refuge in audacity and just plainly started taking photos of the building from various angles - if he looked like he was meant to be doing it, people would likely assume that he was and ask no further questions. So, Thomas stood around the school premises and took photos with a top end camera (using a phone would make him look unprofessional, so this was the obvious alternative).
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and groaned a groan of annoyance. The almighty overlords at Google LLC clearly did not think this tiny town in the middle of New Hampshire was worth having an accurate map for and now he was paying the price for not giving a shit about the 'local amenities perfect for a small family' the estate agent had been hammering on about. Fuck it, fine. I have to be at some bakery by mid afternoon so I can't be faffing around with this one job. Now, the most logical progression from here would be to ask for directions from someone but he really didn't want to talk to anyone he didn't have to. Also, people are pricks, and would likely point him in the opposite direction (well, at least, that's what he would do for a brief moment of comedy) and he couldn't very well admit that he got lost in a very small town.
To be honest, during his little prowl around town looking for wherever the fuck this school was he realised there might have been a little problem, namely, how would he, a grown man, hang around a school without being perceived as a nonce? He dismissed that worry for another time, he'd just need to say he was asking questions about the recent incident in Greenville and be on his merry way with no suspicions raised about his real goal - catching that teacher with his pants down and recording his unfaithful activities. Shit, wait - what if the teacher is having an affair with a student? He couldn't very well record that and that would be five hundred quid down the drain. Another frustrated groan.
As he shoved another piece of gum into his pie hole, he absentmindedly thumbed a coin in his jacket pocket - which was strange for a number of reasons: one, having loose change implied that he had money on him that he didn't immediately use for some bullshit bill; two, the coin wasn't any denomination of US federal (or any other country) currency; and three, he didn't put it there in the first place. In fact, it was probably more accurate to call it a coin-sized and coin-shaped object. Apparently, if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it might be a fake coin. Both sides of it were supremely smooth and with intricate etches circling the perimeter. One of the sides had an eye on it, some sort of blue gemstone in place of the iris of it, and the other had a symmetrical stylised hand, palm outwards and three fingers and two thumbs that appeared to be something that looked a bit like obsidian. Thomas wasn't a rock expert, he didn't know much other than "sedimentary, igneous, and metamorphic" being the three types he learnt about in school so it was hard to tell.
The coin, despite the obvious care and detail that had gone into it when making it had the appearance of being aged and tarnished by time and Thomas found himself wanting to get it polished and cleaned. Baking soda would probably be good for that, right? And you could probably get baking soda in a bakery (it's in the name for chrissakes) where he was heading to anyway after working out where the school was. Oh yeah, by the way, that was his plan now - just find where the school was for today, then deal with the questions at the bakery with some old fashioned detective work.
Once he put away his phone and used his eyes for directions, it was much quicker progress to find the school in the relatively small town. He didn't want to enter, nor did he want to skulk around suspiciously as to cause parental and staff alarm that there was a man taking photos outside of a school so he sought refuge in audacity and just plainly started taking photos of the building from various angles - if he looked like he was meant to be doing it, people would likely assume that he was and ask no further questions. So, Thomas stood around the school premises and took photos with a top end camera (using a phone would make him look unprofessional, so this was the obvious alternative).
TeenyTinyElephants
New Member
Ayda
is with
camlochan
&
Kio.exe
&
SleepyConley
Like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had
is with
camlochan
&
Kio.exe
&
SleepyConley
Like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had
When Samuel had haphazardly entered the cafe, Ayda turned and took a small step back to give him room. She regarded him with a small smile and a nod "Good morning, Samuel. Running late this morning as well?"
Looking back over her shoulder she offered Addie a smile as well before looking down to the floor at her feet. The girls knew of each other but that was about as far as their relationship went. Each of the three had run into each other at town events, local hot spots, and in the cafe on some mornings. Ayda was often earlier than this so didn't run into people during that time. She realized that for all three to have met with one another at this time, one or the other was probably also late in their schedule. She mused for a moment that it could be serendipity that brought them all together for this moment, but before she can continue to muse, her thoughts were interrupted. She didn't realize she had been staring out of the window until a girls face came into view and broke her from her reverie.
The line was moving at a decent enough pace, and the girl outside the window seemed to be considering whether or not to enter. There was a chaotic energy about her that interested and also concerned Ayda. The girl finally entered the cafe and stood for a moment at the back of the line, all of the sudden as the patron at the register paid and bid their goodbyes, the girl marched up to the front of the line with confidence and started to give her order to the cashier. Everyone else in the room took a moment to look around to make sure they were all witnessing the scene. The girl seemed to be growing in delight and finally, having ordered made her way to leave, before stopping. apparently transfixed by a shelf of plants.
Ayda cast a weary eye to her counterparts nearby. "Who is she?" It was the only question that bounced around in her mind. She seemed to be in a world of her own, and whatever was happening was fantastic. To the girl's credit, Ayda felt a ping of jealousy that she seemed to be so delightfully unaware of her own presence. She was lost in watching the girl that she didn't notice one of the cashier's motioning her to their till, finally a stranger pointed it out and Ayda gave an embarrassed look and wave to the other two in line. The cashier smiled, called her by name and already had her usual rang up. She checked her phone, it was almost 8am - she would have to speed walk to get to school. With cup and bag in hand she hastily mumbled a goodbye toward Sam and Addie and left the cafe.
The walk was short, but required Ayda to navigate around high schoolers and older children making their way to their own schools. For being a smaller town, they took their school system seriously and boasted large campuses for the high, middle and elementary schools, each. They were located near one another but set up separately so that he only interaction with the older students were in the mornings. Most paid no attention as she weaved her way through young people walking, biking, and exiting busses. Every once in a while a student would throw her a sideways glance, these glances had come shortly after the murders had began. Young people filled with the feeling of invincibility were all of the sudden more aware of the strange around them. They were quick to look away, although Ayda was strange to them she was also unassuming and non-threatening.
Her heels thudded softly up the sidewalk as she approached her building. The keycard beeped her in, the quiet of the not yet busy hallway a contrast to the children outside. Teachers moved through their classrooms and hallways prepping for the day. Up a short set of stairs and down a hallway on the right and Ayda was able to open her classroom door. The room was book themed, each desk had a color booked taped onto it with the name of the student who sat there. She was able to make bunting out of old book pages and laminated book covers adorned the walls. "Each Day is a New Page, Let's Write a Great Story!" was cut out in big letter around the top of the wall where a whiteboard lined the middle. Her desk sat in the corner, a small lamp, desk organizer and hub for a laptop took up the surface space. With a sigh she sat herself down and began to unload her bag - another day.
Terrier B
Elephants can smell water.
E. Tillman / Still at work, hoping she doesn't ask for the Manager / With Carmen (
camlochan
)
To allude to the image of willing employment, Eide had now ever so slightly altered his position behind the counter. No longer literally head down and barely conscious, he now sat upright(ish), resting his head in his hand. He barely even blinked upon the bell going, and remained semi-comatose despite Carmen's relatively forceful placement of her purchase. His brows furrowed ever so slightly when she spoke, "Where the hell else would I be woman? Huh? A Man's gotta work," And then with all the enthusiasm of a corpse, he began scanning her items. Perhaps with more scrutiny than a good employee should surely convey, Eide analysed what she was actually buying, "Good Lord. This isn't what you're actually having for breakfast is it?" Carmen scowled at Eide, crossing her arms as she waited for him to finish scanning her (two) items. “I think that monster and M&Ms are a perfectly well balanced breakfast, thank you very much,” she drawled, raising an (perfectly well groomed, especially for the early hour) eyebrow at the exorbitant amount of time it was taking to scan her (pathetic) breakfast. Seriously, it was like the man moved in slow motion. She glanced down at her phone, sighing. If she wasn’t going to late already, she certainly was now.
He observed the products idly as he scanned away, with seemingly to care to how long he was actually taking. A soft frown remained on his face, "Y'know, we have like, a whole section over yonder now for all sorts of on-the-go breakfast garbage." Items now finally scanned, he pressed a few random buttons on the till, "Take this advice from a decaying old man and buy something decent for that body of yours. Otherwise, soon enough," And he then simply motioned to the rest of himself, "Boom. All down the drain Hunny-bun." Carmen stifled a laugh, pulling a wad of cash out of her wallet and shoving it at the (supposedly decaying) man. She frowned down at her (supple, lithe) body, before glancing back up and smirking at Eide. “I don’t suppose I’m doing too bad just yet, Tillman,” she said, grabbing her (unhealthy) breakfast from the end of the conveyor. Carmen held her (un-manicured) hand out impatiently, waiting for him to drop her change into it. As she leaned forward, her necklace bumped against the credit card machine, a metallic clink sounding. He took the bills, she'd handed him around ten dollars. Ugh. He'd never been the best at quick maths, or slow maths come to think of it. He didn't look up as he counted, attempting to keep his concentration at the supposedly tricky task at hand, "No, I don't suppose you are." Ah, got it. Full on ignoring her offered hand, he simply shoved the change across the table instead, "But there's always time Flaca," He forwards, arms folded atop the counter, "Just don't come running to me when it's already too far gone," Carmen watched in amusement as Eide counted out her change, his brow furrowed in concentration. You would have thought a second grader was cashing her out, not a thirty-something year old man. She scowled (again), snatching her change from where he had pushed it across the table to her, as if afraid she would touch him (how mortifying!). Letting out a weary sigh, she leaned back against the shelf behind her, crossing her (soon to be tattooed) arms. “Trust me, Eide, you’d be the last person I’d run to if I suddenly became gorda,” she informed the man, peeling open her M&Ms. She shook a few into her hand, popping the red and orange ones into her mouth before offering her open hand to Eide.
Automatically, he flinched at the use of his first name. He scoffed vaguely, "I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or not." He declined the offer, but thanked her all the same. With a heavy sigh, his gaze wandered up and over to the windows at the front of the store. Early morning sunlight shone through the lass cheerily, he scowled at it. "So, what are you up to today that will inevitably make me even more disgusted with this tacky old store?" Carmen picked idly at her nails, and popped a few more M&Ms into her mouth before answering. “You know. The usual. I have to go to that oestrogen soaked diner and slave away for eight hours,” she told him with a shrug. Then, an idea lighting in her mind, she grinned. “Or I might not. I hate that place anyways,” she added, looking up at Eide. Her necklace once again bumped against her chest, and she frowned down at it. “Oh yeah, and I have this meeting later on tonight.” He smirked a little, a single eyebrow raised in apparent doubt, "You? A meeting? What are you now, a lean-in about-town business woman?" The man sighed once more, pushing back some of the birds-nest that he went and called 'hair' up and out of his face, "Who on earth goes about having 'meetings' in this dump?" Carmen huffed out a laugh. “I know, who would have thought Carmen Santiago could be a business woman?” she said, shaking her head. “No, it’s some thing. I have no clue what kind of meeting it is, just that I got invited and I’m going. I apparently have nothing better to do with the monotony I call my life,” she amended, grinning. Her hand reached up to grab the necklace now, her hand wrapping around the circle pendant.
For a moment or two, Eide simply examined her. Eyes wandered over her expression, and then finally downwards to the now concealed necklace. Something deep, and now well concealed stirred within the depths of his memory. But evidently not enough to make itself knows consciously. Instead the man simply sighed, leaned even further back onto his stool, and waved her off in fake merriment, "Well, don't let me keep you."
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camlochan
)
To allude to the image of willing employment, Eide had now ever so slightly altered his position behind the counter. No longer literally head down and barely conscious, he now sat upright(ish), resting his head in his hand. He barely even blinked upon the bell going, and remained semi-comatose despite Carmen's relatively forceful placement of her purchase. His brows furrowed ever so slightly when she spoke, "Where the hell else would I be woman? Huh? A Man's gotta work," And then with all the enthusiasm of a corpse, he began scanning her items. Perhaps with more scrutiny than a good employee should surely convey, Eide analysed what she was actually buying, "Good Lord. This isn't what you're actually having for breakfast is it?" Carmen scowled at Eide, crossing her arms as she waited for him to finish scanning her (two) items. “I think that monster and M&Ms are a perfectly well balanced breakfast, thank you very much,” she drawled, raising an (perfectly well groomed, especially for the early hour) eyebrow at the exorbitant amount of time it was taking to scan her (pathetic) breakfast. Seriously, it was like the man moved in slow motion. She glanced down at her phone, sighing. If she wasn’t going to late already, she certainly was now.
He observed the products idly as he scanned away, with seemingly to care to how long he was actually taking. A soft frown remained on his face, "Y'know, we have like, a whole section over yonder now for all sorts of on-the-go breakfast garbage." Items now finally scanned, he pressed a few random buttons on the till, "Take this advice from a decaying old man and buy something decent for that body of yours. Otherwise, soon enough," And he then simply motioned to the rest of himself, "Boom. All down the drain Hunny-bun." Carmen stifled a laugh, pulling a wad of cash out of her wallet and shoving it at the (supposedly decaying) man. She frowned down at her (supple, lithe) body, before glancing back up and smirking at Eide. “I don’t suppose I’m doing too bad just yet, Tillman,” she said, grabbing her (unhealthy) breakfast from the end of the conveyor. Carmen held her (un-manicured) hand out impatiently, waiting for him to drop her change into it. As she leaned forward, her necklace bumped against the credit card machine, a metallic clink sounding. He took the bills, she'd handed him around ten dollars. Ugh. He'd never been the best at quick maths, or slow maths come to think of it. He didn't look up as he counted, attempting to keep his concentration at the supposedly tricky task at hand, "No, I don't suppose you are." Ah, got it. Full on ignoring her offered hand, he simply shoved the change across the table instead, "But there's always time Flaca," He forwards, arms folded atop the counter, "Just don't come running to me when it's already too far gone," Carmen watched in amusement as Eide counted out her change, his brow furrowed in concentration. You would have thought a second grader was cashing her out, not a thirty-something year old man. She scowled (again), snatching her change from where he had pushed it across the table to her, as if afraid she would touch him (how mortifying!). Letting out a weary sigh, she leaned back against the shelf behind her, crossing her (soon to be tattooed) arms. “Trust me, Eide, you’d be the last person I’d run to if I suddenly became gorda,” she informed the man, peeling open her M&Ms. She shook a few into her hand, popping the red and orange ones into her mouth before offering her open hand to Eide.
Automatically, he flinched at the use of his first name. He scoffed vaguely, "I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or not." He declined the offer, but thanked her all the same. With a heavy sigh, his gaze wandered up and over to the windows at the front of the store. Early morning sunlight shone through the lass cheerily, he scowled at it. "So, what are you up to today that will inevitably make me even more disgusted with this tacky old store?" Carmen picked idly at her nails, and popped a few more M&Ms into her mouth before answering. “You know. The usual. I have to go to that oestrogen soaked diner and slave away for eight hours,” she told him with a shrug. Then, an idea lighting in her mind, she grinned. “Or I might not. I hate that place anyways,” she added, looking up at Eide. Her necklace once again bumped against her chest, and she frowned down at it. “Oh yeah, and I have this meeting later on tonight.” He smirked a little, a single eyebrow raised in apparent doubt, "You? A meeting? What are you now, a lean-in about-town business woman?" The man sighed once more, pushing back some of the birds-nest that he went and called 'hair' up and out of his face, "Who on earth goes about having 'meetings' in this dump?" Carmen huffed out a laugh. “I know, who would have thought Carmen Santiago could be a business woman?” she said, shaking her head. “No, it’s some thing. I have no clue what kind of meeting it is, just that I got invited and I’m going. I apparently have nothing better to do with the monotony I call my life,” she amended, grinning. Her hand reached up to grab the necklace now, her hand wrapping around the circle pendant.
For a moment or two, Eide simply examined her. Eyes wandered over her expression, and then finally downwards to the now concealed necklace. Something deep, and now well concealed stirred within the depths of his memory. But evidently not enough to make itself knows consciously. Instead the man simply sighed, leaned even further back onto his stool, and waved her off in fake merriment, "Well, don't let me keep you."
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Janny S. / 2:42PM / Breaking Bread with a Detective / Co-Post with
Sostos
She couldn't quite understand why she even really needed to wear a hairnet in truth. Her hair was such a length that it could be easily crammed up and into one of those silly little paper hats that they had to wear. But alas, Mr. Laramie had been quite insistent. Mind you, if there was one good thing to be gained from the stupid little things, they did make a good makeshift ciggy holder. It's where her current half-smoked tab resided, sticking out from behind her ear at a rather comical angle. She was chatting casually to Keith, the supposed 'intern of suspicion'. Now, if psychopathic murderers were actually often quite cool and collected in the face of imminent pressure, Janny could tell you right there and then that Keith was definitely not the dreaded deed-doer. He was literally, physically, shaking. His palms were sweaty and his eyes seemed unable of focusing on a single subject for more than five seconds straight. It was more than fair to say that the man was a complete wreck. And unlucky for him, his newfound nightmare seemed to be coming their way.
"Shit." Jan noticed the oncoming figure out of the corner of her eye. Initially, it was she who panicked, believing it to be Mr. Laramie back early. She swiftly stomped out the cigarette on the ground and fumbled desperately in her pockets trying to find some mints. Kenneth, alarmed by her reaction, anxiously turned his own head around the corner of the bakery building, "Oh my God, that's him." Jan looked up, momentarily confused, "What?" Keith quickly began to make his way back inside, "Him! The detective man. Who else would actually want the shit we serve here after noon." The girl scowled, still examining the ever closer detective for a while, she muttered to nobody in particular under her breath, "My stuff isn't shit...". With a beleaguered sigh, she turned on her heel and followed suit after Keith inside the bakery, "Don't worry about it man, I'll go first." Keith looked up at her with momentary bewilderment, "You will?" Janny simply shrugged, "Yeah, don't worry about it dude. ACAB, am I right?" And with a deep inhale, she made her way out of the kitchen, "Wanted to leave early today anyway..."
The guy was stood in front of the main counter, seemingly waiting for someone to notice him. It appeared Janny was just that person, "Hey man, can I help you with anything?"
Thomas looked at the source of the voice with an impassive look and noticed a twenty something girl asking if she could help him with anything. There was a metric tonne of things that he needed help with, but he doubted that anyone short of a qualified therapist could provide such a thing. "You Keith?" was his simple question devoid of greeting or pleasantry, noting that she was dressed in bakery appropriate (-ish, if you ignored the smell of cigarettes coming from where she was, but hey, it wasn't his business) so could have been the person he was meant to be talking to. He knew it was unlikely that this woman was a Keith, she didn't look like one, but he didn't really give a shit since he just needed to clock in, take some notes, and collect payment.
He pulled out a small notepad and pen (once again, part of the aesthetic since it would be piss easy to take notes on a phone nowadays). "You look different from the description I've been given. Tough week?" he said to Keith-Jan, his tone interlaced with boredom and apathy. He wanted to get this over with and ask about that baking soda. Keith-Jan's mouth hung open, agape with apparent incredulity. Was she Keith? Good God. She folded her arms and leaned forward on the counter, a single eyebrow raised, "I'm only Keith on the weekends, and for $30 an hour. So right now, just Janus thanks. They don't pay me enough here to be anyone else." The promise of a smug smirk bloomed across her face, "You the Private-Dick?"
"Private-Dick, reporting for duty," Thomas said, with the most half-arsed lazy salute he'd ever done in his life, "$30 an hour and I'm willing to make that public on weekends too" he added, before dramatically clicking his pen and taking a note of the person who had 'welcomed' him to the bakery - it was a matter of bureaucracy rather than something he needed to do in reality. "And how do you spell that, like that two-faced god guy?" While he waited for a response he peered around, somewhat hungry and distracted, but mostly looking for anyone called Keith to pop out. Her smile softened a little when he happily went with her jab. It was nice to meet a cop with a sense of humour every now and then. Wait, what had he said? Janny regarded the man with a quizzical expression, "As it sounds, J-A-N-U-S. And NO, the 'J' is NOT silent." She watched idly on as he scribbled her name down while casually trying to ogle their goods in the most nonchalant manner. "Since this is an official investigation now I guess, I feel personally obliged to tell a man of the Law that old man Laramie is rather liberal with the term 'Freshly-Baked'." The girl couldn't help but grin as she sidled across the counter, towards the far side of the desserts cabinet. She pointed to her own works in what she hoped was a convincing manner, "These beauties however, are only a few minutes old. From genuine Greek hands and everything, swear down."
Man of the law, eh? He hadn't been referred as that ever since he quit the force in an official capacity, even if he was working with the police on this case, it was more like they outsourced the things they couldn't be arsed to do onto him. "Right, right. I'm a man of detail, so I might need to check out those claims and test them out myself..." Thomas had subsisted off a few pieces of gum since the morning and he was a bit peckish. The 'man of detail' line was a clear lie since he just bodged anything as far as it would go to do the bare minimum, and this was obvious from his tone, but if he used that excuse he could get a tax write off as a business expense from the station. No way he was paying out of pocket when the client could do it for him. "But before I do that, I need to see the Kyle that doesn't cost 30 bucks and ask him a few things." Janny sighed, clicked her tongue, then nodded, "Fair-Dos. I've done my best attempt at distraction for long enough I suppose." She turned her head towards the kitchen door, "KEITH! Time's Up! Come on out, I've warmed him up for you..." Reluctantly, and with all the haste of a tired Sloth, Keith edged his way out from the Kitchen. He looked at Thomas, and then back to Janny. "Well go on! He's not gonna bite you! I don't think anyway..." The boy EVENTUALLY, made his way up to the counter, and with a voice that held all the courage of a field mouse, weakly stuttered, "G-Good afternoon Officer, How can I, uhhh, help?"
"First of all, don't call me officer." Thomas's reply was a little blunt and he could see the poor sod was nervous but he didn't care. "Right, we've got one bystander to serve as evidence in court..." he said, glancing over at Janus whilst making a note of the time, "So, why'd you kill them?" He was only probing for a reaction and didn't by any means think that this kid had the guts to do more than change his knickers in the morning, and he was allowed to do so since no one could really hold him accountable for what he said, what were they gonna do, sue him? The question alone nearly did in fact make Keith nearly need to change his knickers, through stutters he managed to blurt out, "I-I DIDN'T! W-W-WASN'T EVEN IN TOWN!!! I-I-" Janus uncharacteristically came to his rescue, "Ah, in his defence I can vouch for that to an extent." She ducked down behind the counter before remerging with the shift-book in tow. She shoved the clipboard over the counter to the Detective, "Keith didn't start back here again till last week, same as me." Keith nodded, "And I work evenings, late too, if Laramie says so that is..." Janus, seemingly unable to help herself, grinned smugly yet again, "And If you want to ask me out to dinner, I get off at four,"
Thomas scratched his head absentmindedly, not really fully paying attention to what anyone was saying, though it was kind of fun to push this kids buttons and he darkly wondered how far he'd have to go for him to shit himself. The police hiring him probably wouldn't be too happy about that and might even send him the cleaning bill, which was an expense he didn't want to deal with. He scribbled down the notes - "Suspect says 'I-I didn't', wait, could you stutter that again? I need to get down how many w's I need to write down for 'wasn't'" he said out loud pointedly, before turning to Jan to write down her statement vocalising what he was writing down, "Backed up by witness, 'didn't start back here a-gain til la-st week'... 'work even-nings'... and 'din-ner af-ter four'. Got it."
Wait, what? What did dinner and four have to do with the case? Shit, I wasn't paying attention. He didn't show that stream of questions running through his head on his face, but did furrow his brow whilst looking over his notes. "Okay, let me get this straight, you killed them, ran away for a week to lie low and got an accomplice who I'm going to question at dinner after four? How right am I as a percentage?" Once more, he was looking for a reaction, since that was the most fun part of questioning. Keith, literally squeaked. As if a mouse had made its way into the bakery (Again). His mouth moved frantically, yet no words seemed capable of escaping him. (Un)Luckily for him, Janny was once again ready to help, "Nearly, but I don't like the stuff the Chinese place down the street serves, so I'd prefer the Italian two blocks away if that's alright." Keith looked at Thomas imploringly, "C-c'mon man. I literally j-just make bread for a living. I don't even know how to hold a knife, Janny's the one who does all t-t-the chopping around here." Thomas raised an eyebrow at the squeak. Maybe he was less of a pussy and more of a mouse. "You don't know how to hold a knife? I'm gonna level with you, that's an important life skill that you should have - how do you butter your toast, with a spoon? Might have to take that to trial - 'suspect claims no knowledge of knife usage'. You better hope someone can vouch for that, and don't look down on bakers - look up Robert Hansen if you want, it's a shame, Butcher Baker is taken - what do you want instead? Oh, do you bake the bodies into the bread? Making bread for the living out of the dead? Not bad branding, that." he said, pedantically ignoring Kyle's clear use of hyperbole. "And, you, the one resident chopper around here. Italian sounds good, sure." He probably could have tried to make it look like Kyle was shifting the blame to her, but he had a feeling that sort of thing wouldn't really rattle this one. And besides, he really was craving some Italian now.
Oh wait. Shit. Was this light comedic banter turning into a possibly genuinely romantic situation? Fuck. Janny’s fight or flight mode quietly began its activation process, despite her inner most attempts to quell it. Sporadically, she clicked her fingers in a finger-gun-gesture, “I’m half-greek, but I gotta hand it to those boys, they sure know how to toss a good ‘za”...what the hell was that?! Who in their right mind calls Pizza, ‘Za’?! God. This was flying south and fast, even Keith was looking at her funny. Better abort before things got worse. Jan sighed and began to remove her apron, “Well, that’s me done here for the day. Unless,” She faced the investigator once again, “I’m under arrest?” Nice save there Jan. Cooooool as a cucumber...
Thomas bottled up a laugh, though a smile still escaped despite his best efforts to keep a stoic face - is... is she getting flustered that I went along with what she said? Surely she didn't just say 'za? This whole thing was your idea, cap'n, and it's too late to abandon ship Captain Janus.
"Right, Keith whatever-your-surname-is, you're free to go since I don't think you could hit a fly if it banged your mum. I'll send your testimony over to the station and the boys in blue will likely leave you alone for a bit. Don't leave the town though, that'll look bad," he summarised to the pale-faced guy who may or may not have forgotten how to speak. He then turned to the woman who may or may not have forgotten to speak normally. He looked at his wrist to check the time, and said screw it, he was off the clock from now on.
"Sure, if under arrest means you wanna go now, but I think it's a bit too early to get the handcuffs out." As soon as he said the handcuff line he paused - did that count as harassment or flirting? Shit. He rationalised since he wasn't an official police officer there wasn't an unbalanced power dynamic here (and frankly, he didn't think this one would be the powerless one with an actual police officer) but he still almost felt like he should apologise. Almost. Luckily for Jan, she didn't really blush that much when embarrassed. Well, not in her cheeks anyway. The tips of her ears however, were slowly but surely turning a conspicuously bright shade of red. As soon as the word was said, Keith pretty much bolted. And I say that semi-literally too, boy was a whiz at hurdling back in the day. It left the detective and the delinquent alone, a fact Janny was all too aware of. She looked at him after the last statement however, with degree of genuine authenticity, "I don't cope well when restrained. Well, not when it's an unwilling restrain-ment anyway."
Does that mean willing is on the table? Nope, stop. He banished the thought since we have to keep these thoughts PG and safe for all ages, those two descriptors perfectly encapsulating these characters - anyone convinced? No? I tried.
Thomas was mildly amused by Keith's quick escape and mentally thanked the fact the kid was a coward, if he was brave and fast, that'd be a pain to deal with in the future. However, he was more than amused that Janus's ears seemed to be changing colours; it was almost endearing "...So, ready for some hot 'good 'za'?" he said with air quotes and just about holding in a laugh. Yeah, he wasn't rolling in dough since he always got the latest camera for work and whatnot, but this simple interrogation had netted him some cash and why wouldn't he spend it now? She looked at him, and then to her surprise, giggled. "God. I can't believe I called it that. You're not allowed to tell anyone that's something I did." Lord, how on earth had she gotten here? One minute we're drizzling honey over tiny biscuits, the next we're sniggering like children over lukewarm innuendos. Now free from the clutches of finnicky hairnets and overly frilly aprons, she grabbed her coat down and off of the hook by the front door. She faced the wall for a moment as she shrugged the thing on. Her head dipped towards the floor slightly as she toyed with a loose button, "You don't have to, if you don't want to, you know. For all that talk, I was only teasing,"
Thomas was pleasantly surprised, he had not expected a giggle, maybe a cold stare or narrowed eyes, and then more so by her honesty at the end. "Same here, but who said teasing and genuine interest are mutually exclusive? If I didn't want to, trust me, I'd be home already." He was being completely honest, because he already had a philosophy of flipping the bird to anything he didn't have to or want to do.
"And anyway, you pretty much paid my paycheck today since there was no way Keith was getting through that without you there and I didn't want to exert energy pretending to be nice so he opened up. If you don't want to think of it as me taking you out to dinner for certain reasons, then consider it me paying back a favour if it's more comfortable for you." He didn't really want to offer her an out at this point, so he went for the best next thing: no strings attached. Janus turned, fully looked at him, square on, dead in the eye, then smiled. "Well alright then, Pizza time it is."
The two made their way down the street a little ways until they reached Greenville's one and only best/worst pizza place in town: 'A Breach of Crust'. At Janny's suggestion however, and partly due to the fact that it had only just gone three in the middle of a school day and sitting alone in a musty old pizza joint alone might be just a little bit weird, the double D's got themselves some 'Za to go and headed on over to a spot Jan assured would be worth the walk. As they went and with a greasy box in one hand and an even greasier slice of pizza in the other, Jan casually asked, "So where you from? Originally like,"
"New York City, so not too far from here - I joined the NYPD, but they pissed me off so I left and came here to do some private detective work." Thomas said, casually summing up his entire life in a simple sentence. Yup, thirty years in thirty words, give or take some minor details. He took a bite of a slice, the stringy cheese elongating to lengths that were frankly ridiculous and likely impossible to achieve without an overwhelming amount of preservatives and chemicals. Didn't stop it tasting good though, so screw it. "Now I do odd jobs that the local PD think they're too good for. Shame really, I'm kind of like Sherlock Holmes except not addicted to heroin. For one, I worked out that your name is Janus and you're Greek and the only clues I had were the fact that you told me when we met. Test me - ask any random shit and I'll Holmes it out." He wasn't entirely sure why he was waffling about his past like that, but he felt like he wanted to at least show that he had somewhat of a good side.
The way he talked about his NYC upbringing briefly made Jan consider how little of travelling she had done in her life. Despite the city’s relatively(ish) close proximity, neither she or her Dad had ever been. Well, he had been briefly on his way in I guess, but that didn’t really count. I mean, guy didn’t even do a bus tour or anything. She chuckled lightly at him, and shook her head softly “I ain’t your Watson dude. Smart stuff like that’s boring, gimme your star sign or something intriguingly pointless like that instead.” She suddenly gasped, and then grinned like a cat who’d just got to the cream, “Bet there's no way you can guess mine!”
"You underestimate my incredible powers of deduction." It was a one in twelve chance that he would guess right, but if he hyped it up as a joke initially, he'd be either wrong and it's a laugh, or right and it would be spookily cool. "You see, your name is the same as the god that the month of January is named after... but that's a red herring, I don't think you were born early in the month of January, so I would say... Aquarius - late January to early Feb." He bowed extravagantly, pizza slice still in hand. Boom, bullshit explanation for a bullshit guess, but at least it was a guess of some description that sounded reasonably plausible. "Am I at least close?" he added on, slightly sheepishly at the end. She was staring at him as if he has suddenly grown wings. A hybrid expression than encompassed both a majority of astonished disbelief, twinged with a slight hint of fear. “Dude... are you psychic? Nah, no way you guessed that straight off first time.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Have you been spying on me or something? This investigation really getting that serious?”
"Wait, you're serious? Shit, I'm better at this than I thought." His response had an incredulous tone since it was a pure guess, but 1/12 was about 8%, so the odds weren't too bad. He was as surprised as she was. "Spying on people is kind of my job, but I can say that no one has hired me to check up on you so nope. If you've got a jaded boyfriend or jealous friend that want to know some secret of yours, they didn't ask me. If the investigation was serious, they wouldn't send some private investigator since it's too risky. You just saw brilliant deductive reasoning." Thomas replied, and since it was their first day ever actually speaking to each other or even knowing of each other, he had zero information on her that she hadn't told him. "Come to think of it, I haven't actually said my name - Thomas Sylvester, call me Tom if you'd like, maybe even "Syl" or "Vester", if you want to call me "ass", you'll have to get to know me a bit better. Or you can keep on calling me Private Dick, it's whatever."
Holy shit. She literally hadn’t even asked him his name up to this point. Whoops. She repeated it after him, “Thomas Sylvester, Hmm. That’s a good name for a Private-Dick, fitting.” She held her hand up to her face of a sudden, mimicking holding a microphone. Then, in a fairly decent impression of a Old-timey-40s-radio-man-person-voice declared, “News Flash! Hot off the grill!! Private Detective Tommy Sylvester has the notorious-" she waved her free hand vaguely in the air for a moment as she thought, as if physically searching for a answer, “J.J. Wise! Finally now on the run! Will this daring detective finally catch his break? Will anyone ever really know or remember why we even call them Private Dicks save for it sounding a bit funny?” And she then finished with a dramatic, “Dun dunn duuuuuhhh!” Thomas let out a proper laugh for the first time in a while, before continuing, "We all know the producers will never let Private Dick catch a break, the moment they do the ratings will suffer! He's stuck in a purgatorial cat and mouse game with J.J Wise and frankly, audience retention is down. Might need to axe the show, sad but true reality of showbiz." Thomas said, taking the reality of the gag to the next level and solemnly (and ironically) shaking his head in disappointment at the poor performance of fake radio show about his life that had just sprung into existence. "They should introduce a new character to keep it fresh." That was his critical take to gain listener attention once more. "And make him take less photos of people banging, it's getting uncomfortable for everyone involved." That was more a personal wish, but a man can dream.
The pizza slices grew less and less, but the conversation meandered on at a easy and casual pace. A moment of silence had fallen peacefully between the two of them. Jan allowed her gaze to drift, her eyes eventually landing in the High School in the not too far off distance. Her brows furrowed ever so slightly, “Would you say that it’s, tricky? to become a cop?” she turned her head to face him, “Like, did you struggle with the tests and what have you? I hear for the most part, becoming a police men isn’t exactly a hard thing to do really, no offence like.”
"Depends on where you are and what you're good at. Just getting onto the force is too easy, allows a bunch of useless dick-weeds to have way more power than they deserve. Getting promoted to a higher level is tough shit without good old fashioned nepotism. I went the private for a reason and now I'm basically a glorified voyeur catching people who can't keep it in their pants and then telling their partners for a fee." Thomas complained about it more than he should have, it was good money in the grand scheme of things, and he was quite good at the investigative aspect of it - but felt like he was getting too good at video editing. "And you? Gonna be working in that bakery for the foreseeable future?" Despite her fleeting hopes for otherwise, his answer had pretty much been what she'd expected to hear. She couldn't help but scowl a little, foot tapping at the round underneath in quiet rhythmic irritation. She scoffed, "That dump? No way. Just temporary, always just temporary..." With a sigh, she pushed herself up and onto her feet, wiping her hands roughly on her jacket, "I asked for my Dad. He's taking the test right now actually, for like, I dunno... tenth time or so? He's a good guy, and I know how bad he wants this, it's just-" She lifted her hands in exasperation, "Ugh. My Dad's not dumb, but he's not American. He speaks Greek better than English, and it shows, both when he talks, and when he tries to write. I don't even think that would be an issue if I'm being honest with you, but there's this asshole invigilator who's about as inclusive as Adolf Hitler, fails him every damn time. I'd take the test for him myself if I could, but..." And she simply tailed off from there, gaze lost helplessly to the horizon.
Yep, there it was, the truthful conclusion that he had arrived at many years ago - the police force are ass-hats especially to anyone who didn't look exactly like them. It was a driving force for why he had left. "Not much we can do about arseholes in power since reporting that shit does piss all to change anything." Thomas ruefully stated, "But, not even Xenophobe McGee can kick out a top scorer... tell you what, I'll cut you a deal - I got pretty good grades at the academy, I'll tutor your old man in what they want to hear in exchange for... some free baklava and shit like that when I visit the bakery. Whatd'ya think about that?" Thomas saw an opportunity here to secure a supply of free food for just helping some guy out, which was a great deal for him since it would save on his expenses. Pretty good grades was an understatement too, and even if it was a couple of years back, he still had some notes from the academy lying about somewhere. She smiled, just a little, "I dunno how he'd feel about that really..." But then she thought about it, "It is nice of you to offer though." The girl took a deep breath, stuffed her hands into her pockets, and nodded, seemingly to herself as much as she was nodding to Tom, "I'll warm him up to it. Might take a little bit, but I think he'd appreciate it in the long run." She raised a brow, peering over her should at him, "You didn't try any of my baking back there though. How do you know it's even any good?"
Thomas looked at her with befuddled confusion, "How do I know it's any good? You're kidding me right? Everyone knows even bad baklava is good shit. If it were that bad, would Mr. Laramie let you sell 'em? Sheesh, it's like you want me to come over to where you work - fine, I'll have to pop in again soon to try them out beforehand since you insist." He gave an exaggerated wink. It'd be good for him if the police department got an overhaul so helping out Jan's dad would be of mutual benefit. "The offers always on the table, just contact me." he said, pulling out a business card with the Whistle-stop Investigations logo on it and his contact details. "For business or otherwise." he added. It wasn't like he could afford to set up a whole other line just for work, so it was mainly his personal mobile number and email. Wait, did I just give a someone my number without it being clunky and awkward? What the hell, did I level up or something?
This legitimately must have been the first time in her life she had received a business card for absolutely anything. She held it with both hands and just observed the thing for a while, it was a fun name, she had to give him that. He seemed to be a fun guy too really, rare for this backwater bullshit town. In a rare moment of honesty with no comedic twinge attached, she was about to tell him such, but alas, the bitter sweet BEEP-BEEP of her phone interrupted the moment. Jan frowned, "Ah fuck-" it was her reminder she'd set from earlier, "Shit. I'd forgotten," She carefully tucked the business card into her inside pocket, before hastily kicking the discarded pizza boxes into a nearby ditch, "I gotta go, I'm gonna be late for this thing if I don't set off now," She set off down the hill at a hasty trot, "I'll call you though, swear down!"
She turned on her heel, walking backwards momentarily, that almost trademark smirk plastered across her face once again, "Ta Leme! See if you can deduce that one super sleuth!" And off she went, on her way.
Sostos
She couldn't quite understand why she even really needed to wear a hairnet in truth. Her hair was such a length that it could be easily crammed up and into one of those silly little paper hats that they had to wear. But alas, Mr. Laramie had been quite insistent. Mind you, if there was one good thing to be gained from the stupid little things, they did make a good makeshift ciggy holder. It's where her current half-smoked tab resided, sticking out from behind her ear at a rather comical angle. She was chatting casually to Keith, the supposed 'intern of suspicion'. Now, if psychopathic murderers were actually often quite cool and collected in the face of imminent pressure, Janny could tell you right there and then that Keith was definitely not the dreaded deed-doer. He was literally, physically, shaking. His palms were sweaty and his eyes seemed unable of focusing on a single subject for more than five seconds straight. It was more than fair to say that the man was a complete wreck. And unlucky for him, his newfound nightmare seemed to be coming their way.
"Shit." Jan noticed the oncoming figure out of the corner of her eye. Initially, it was she who panicked, believing it to be Mr. Laramie back early. She swiftly stomped out the cigarette on the ground and fumbled desperately in her pockets trying to find some mints. Kenneth, alarmed by her reaction, anxiously turned his own head around the corner of the bakery building, "Oh my God, that's him." Jan looked up, momentarily confused, "What?" Keith quickly began to make his way back inside, "Him! The detective man. Who else would actually want the shit we serve here after noon." The girl scowled, still examining the ever closer detective for a while, she muttered to nobody in particular under her breath, "My stuff isn't shit...". With a beleaguered sigh, she turned on her heel and followed suit after Keith inside the bakery, "Don't worry about it man, I'll go first." Keith looked up at her with momentary bewilderment, "You will?" Janny simply shrugged, "Yeah, don't worry about it dude. ACAB, am I right?" And with a deep inhale, she made her way out of the kitchen, "Wanted to leave early today anyway..."
The guy was stood in front of the main counter, seemingly waiting for someone to notice him. It appeared Janny was just that person, "Hey man, can I help you with anything?"
Thomas looked at the source of the voice with an impassive look and noticed a twenty something girl asking if she could help him with anything. There was a metric tonne of things that he needed help with, but he doubted that anyone short of a qualified therapist could provide such a thing. "You Keith?" was his simple question devoid of greeting or pleasantry, noting that she was dressed in bakery appropriate (-ish, if you ignored the smell of cigarettes coming from where she was, but hey, it wasn't his business) so could have been the person he was meant to be talking to. He knew it was unlikely that this woman was a Keith, she didn't look like one, but he didn't really give a shit since he just needed to clock in, take some notes, and collect payment.
He pulled out a small notepad and pen (once again, part of the aesthetic since it would be piss easy to take notes on a phone nowadays). "You look different from the description I've been given. Tough week?" he said to Keith-Jan, his tone interlaced with boredom and apathy. He wanted to get this over with and ask about that baking soda. Keith-Jan's mouth hung open, agape with apparent incredulity. Was she Keith? Good God. She folded her arms and leaned forward on the counter, a single eyebrow raised, "I'm only Keith on the weekends, and for $30 an hour. So right now, just Janus thanks. They don't pay me enough here to be anyone else." The promise of a smug smirk bloomed across her face, "You the Private-Dick?"
"Private-Dick, reporting for duty," Thomas said, with the most half-arsed lazy salute he'd ever done in his life, "$30 an hour and I'm willing to make that public on weekends too" he added, before dramatically clicking his pen and taking a note of the person who had 'welcomed' him to the bakery - it was a matter of bureaucracy rather than something he needed to do in reality. "And how do you spell that, like that two-faced god guy?" While he waited for a response he peered around, somewhat hungry and distracted, but mostly looking for anyone called Keith to pop out. Her smile softened a little when he happily went with her jab. It was nice to meet a cop with a sense of humour every now and then. Wait, what had he said? Janny regarded the man with a quizzical expression, "As it sounds, J-A-N-U-S. And NO, the 'J' is NOT silent." She watched idly on as he scribbled her name down while casually trying to ogle their goods in the most nonchalant manner. "Since this is an official investigation now I guess, I feel personally obliged to tell a man of the Law that old man Laramie is rather liberal with the term 'Freshly-Baked'." The girl couldn't help but grin as she sidled across the counter, towards the far side of the desserts cabinet. She pointed to her own works in what she hoped was a convincing manner, "These beauties however, are only a few minutes old. From genuine Greek hands and everything, swear down."
Man of the law, eh? He hadn't been referred as that ever since he quit the force in an official capacity, even if he was working with the police on this case, it was more like they outsourced the things they couldn't be arsed to do onto him. "Right, right. I'm a man of detail, so I might need to check out those claims and test them out myself..." Thomas had subsisted off a few pieces of gum since the morning and he was a bit peckish. The 'man of detail' line was a clear lie since he just bodged anything as far as it would go to do the bare minimum, and this was obvious from his tone, but if he used that excuse he could get a tax write off as a business expense from the station. No way he was paying out of pocket when the client could do it for him. "But before I do that, I need to see the Kyle that doesn't cost 30 bucks and ask him a few things." Janny sighed, clicked her tongue, then nodded, "Fair-Dos. I've done my best attempt at distraction for long enough I suppose." She turned her head towards the kitchen door, "KEITH! Time's Up! Come on out, I've warmed him up for you..." Reluctantly, and with all the haste of a tired Sloth, Keith edged his way out from the Kitchen. He looked at Thomas, and then back to Janny. "Well go on! He's not gonna bite you! I don't think anyway..." The boy EVENTUALLY, made his way up to the counter, and with a voice that held all the courage of a field mouse, weakly stuttered, "G-Good afternoon Officer, How can I, uhhh, help?"
"First of all, don't call me officer." Thomas's reply was a little blunt and he could see the poor sod was nervous but he didn't care. "Right, we've got one bystander to serve as evidence in court..." he said, glancing over at Janus whilst making a note of the time, "So, why'd you kill them?" He was only probing for a reaction and didn't by any means think that this kid had the guts to do more than change his knickers in the morning, and he was allowed to do so since no one could really hold him accountable for what he said, what were they gonna do, sue him? The question alone nearly did in fact make Keith nearly need to change his knickers, through stutters he managed to blurt out, "I-I DIDN'T! W-W-WASN'T EVEN IN TOWN!!! I-I-" Janus uncharacteristically came to his rescue, "Ah, in his defence I can vouch for that to an extent." She ducked down behind the counter before remerging with the shift-book in tow. She shoved the clipboard over the counter to the Detective, "Keith didn't start back here again till last week, same as me." Keith nodded, "And I work evenings, late too, if Laramie says so that is..." Janus, seemingly unable to help herself, grinned smugly yet again, "And If you want to ask me out to dinner, I get off at four,"
Thomas scratched his head absentmindedly, not really fully paying attention to what anyone was saying, though it was kind of fun to push this kids buttons and he darkly wondered how far he'd have to go for him to shit himself. The police hiring him probably wouldn't be too happy about that and might even send him the cleaning bill, which was an expense he didn't want to deal with. He scribbled down the notes - "Suspect says 'I-I didn't', wait, could you stutter that again? I need to get down how many w's I need to write down for 'wasn't'" he said out loud pointedly, before turning to Jan to write down her statement vocalising what he was writing down, "Backed up by witness, 'didn't start back here a-gain til la-st week'... 'work even-nings'... and 'din-ner af-ter four'. Got it."
Wait, what? What did dinner and four have to do with the case? Shit, I wasn't paying attention. He didn't show that stream of questions running through his head on his face, but did furrow his brow whilst looking over his notes. "Okay, let me get this straight, you killed them, ran away for a week to lie low and got an accomplice who I'm going to question at dinner after four? How right am I as a percentage?" Once more, he was looking for a reaction, since that was the most fun part of questioning. Keith, literally squeaked. As if a mouse had made its way into the bakery (Again). His mouth moved frantically, yet no words seemed capable of escaping him. (Un)Luckily for him, Janny was once again ready to help, "Nearly, but I don't like the stuff the Chinese place down the street serves, so I'd prefer the Italian two blocks away if that's alright." Keith looked at Thomas imploringly, "C-c'mon man. I literally j-just make bread for a living. I don't even know how to hold a knife, Janny's the one who does all t-t-the chopping around here." Thomas raised an eyebrow at the squeak. Maybe he was less of a pussy and more of a mouse. "You don't know how to hold a knife? I'm gonna level with you, that's an important life skill that you should have - how do you butter your toast, with a spoon? Might have to take that to trial - 'suspect claims no knowledge of knife usage'. You better hope someone can vouch for that, and don't look down on bakers - look up Robert Hansen if you want, it's a shame, Butcher Baker is taken - what do you want instead? Oh, do you bake the bodies into the bread? Making bread for the living out of the dead? Not bad branding, that." he said, pedantically ignoring Kyle's clear use of hyperbole. "And, you, the one resident chopper around here. Italian sounds good, sure." He probably could have tried to make it look like Kyle was shifting the blame to her, but he had a feeling that sort of thing wouldn't really rattle this one. And besides, he really was craving some Italian now.
Oh wait. Shit. Was this light comedic banter turning into a possibly genuinely romantic situation? Fuck. Janny’s fight or flight mode quietly began its activation process, despite her inner most attempts to quell it. Sporadically, she clicked her fingers in a finger-gun-gesture, “I’m half-greek, but I gotta hand it to those boys, they sure know how to toss a good ‘za”...what the hell was that?! Who in their right mind calls Pizza, ‘Za’?! God. This was flying south and fast, even Keith was looking at her funny. Better abort before things got worse. Jan sighed and began to remove her apron, “Well, that’s me done here for the day. Unless,” She faced the investigator once again, “I’m under arrest?” Nice save there Jan. Cooooool as a cucumber...
Thomas bottled up a laugh, though a smile still escaped despite his best efforts to keep a stoic face - is... is she getting flustered that I went along with what she said? Surely she didn't just say 'za? This whole thing was your idea, cap'n, and it's too late to abandon ship Captain Janus.
"Right, Keith whatever-your-surname-is, you're free to go since I don't think you could hit a fly if it banged your mum. I'll send your testimony over to the station and the boys in blue will likely leave you alone for a bit. Don't leave the town though, that'll look bad," he summarised to the pale-faced guy who may or may not have forgotten how to speak. He then turned to the woman who may or may not have forgotten to speak normally. He looked at his wrist to check the time, and said screw it, he was off the clock from now on.
"Sure, if under arrest means you wanna go now, but I think it's a bit too early to get the handcuffs out." As soon as he said the handcuff line he paused - did that count as harassment or flirting? Shit. He rationalised since he wasn't an official police officer there wasn't an unbalanced power dynamic here (and frankly, he didn't think this one would be the powerless one with an actual police officer) but he still almost felt like he should apologise. Almost. Luckily for Jan, she didn't really blush that much when embarrassed. Well, not in her cheeks anyway. The tips of her ears however, were slowly but surely turning a conspicuously bright shade of red. As soon as the word was said, Keith pretty much bolted. And I say that semi-literally too, boy was a whiz at hurdling back in the day. It left the detective and the delinquent alone, a fact Janny was all too aware of. She looked at him after the last statement however, with degree of genuine authenticity, "I don't cope well when restrained. Well, not when it's an unwilling restrain-ment anyway."
Does that mean willing is on the table? Nope, stop. He banished the thought since we have to keep these thoughts PG and safe for all ages, those two descriptors perfectly encapsulating these characters - anyone convinced? No? I tried.
Thomas was mildly amused by Keith's quick escape and mentally thanked the fact the kid was a coward, if he was brave and fast, that'd be a pain to deal with in the future. However, he was more than amused that Janus's ears seemed to be changing colours; it was almost endearing "...So, ready for some hot 'good 'za'?" he said with air quotes and just about holding in a laugh. Yeah, he wasn't rolling in dough since he always got the latest camera for work and whatnot, but this simple interrogation had netted him some cash and why wouldn't he spend it now? She looked at him, and then to her surprise, giggled. "God. I can't believe I called it that. You're not allowed to tell anyone that's something I did." Lord, how on earth had she gotten here? One minute we're drizzling honey over tiny biscuits, the next we're sniggering like children over lukewarm innuendos. Now free from the clutches of finnicky hairnets and overly frilly aprons, she grabbed her coat down and off of the hook by the front door. She faced the wall for a moment as she shrugged the thing on. Her head dipped towards the floor slightly as she toyed with a loose button, "You don't have to, if you don't want to, you know. For all that talk, I was only teasing,"
Thomas was pleasantly surprised, he had not expected a giggle, maybe a cold stare or narrowed eyes, and then more so by her honesty at the end. "Same here, but who said teasing and genuine interest are mutually exclusive? If I didn't want to, trust me, I'd be home already." He was being completely honest, because he already had a philosophy of flipping the bird to anything he didn't have to or want to do.
"And anyway, you pretty much paid my paycheck today since there was no way Keith was getting through that without you there and I didn't want to exert energy pretending to be nice so he opened up. If you don't want to think of it as me taking you out to dinner for certain reasons, then consider it me paying back a favour if it's more comfortable for you." He didn't really want to offer her an out at this point, so he went for the best next thing: no strings attached. Janus turned, fully looked at him, square on, dead in the eye, then smiled. "Well alright then, Pizza time it is."
The two made their way down the street a little ways until they reached Greenville's one and only best/worst pizza place in town: 'A Breach of Crust'. At Janny's suggestion however, and partly due to the fact that it had only just gone three in the middle of a school day and sitting alone in a musty old pizza joint alone might be just a little bit weird, the double D's got themselves some 'Za to go and headed on over to a spot Jan assured would be worth the walk. As they went and with a greasy box in one hand and an even greasier slice of pizza in the other, Jan casually asked, "So where you from? Originally like,"
"New York City, so not too far from here - I joined the NYPD, but they pissed me off so I left and came here to do some private detective work." Thomas said, casually summing up his entire life in a simple sentence. Yup, thirty years in thirty words, give or take some minor details. He took a bite of a slice, the stringy cheese elongating to lengths that were frankly ridiculous and likely impossible to achieve without an overwhelming amount of preservatives and chemicals. Didn't stop it tasting good though, so screw it. "Now I do odd jobs that the local PD think they're too good for. Shame really, I'm kind of like Sherlock Holmes except not addicted to heroin. For one, I worked out that your name is Janus and you're Greek and the only clues I had were the fact that you told me when we met. Test me - ask any random shit and I'll Holmes it out." He wasn't entirely sure why he was waffling about his past like that, but he felt like he wanted to at least show that he had somewhat of a good side.
The way he talked about his NYC upbringing briefly made Jan consider how little of travelling she had done in her life. Despite the city’s relatively(ish) close proximity, neither she or her Dad had ever been. Well, he had been briefly on his way in I guess, but that didn’t really count. I mean, guy didn’t even do a bus tour or anything. She chuckled lightly at him, and shook her head softly “I ain’t your Watson dude. Smart stuff like that’s boring, gimme your star sign or something intriguingly pointless like that instead.” She suddenly gasped, and then grinned like a cat who’d just got to the cream, “Bet there's no way you can guess mine!”
"You underestimate my incredible powers of deduction." It was a one in twelve chance that he would guess right, but if he hyped it up as a joke initially, he'd be either wrong and it's a laugh, or right and it would be spookily cool. "You see, your name is the same as the god that the month of January is named after... but that's a red herring, I don't think you were born early in the month of January, so I would say... Aquarius - late January to early Feb." He bowed extravagantly, pizza slice still in hand. Boom, bullshit explanation for a bullshit guess, but at least it was a guess of some description that sounded reasonably plausible. "Am I at least close?" he added on, slightly sheepishly at the end. She was staring at him as if he has suddenly grown wings. A hybrid expression than encompassed both a majority of astonished disbelief, twinged with a slight hint of fear. “Dude... are you psychic? Nah, no way you guessed that straight off first time.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Have you been spying on me or something? This investigation really getting that serious?”
"Wait, you're serious? Shit, I'm better at this than I thought." His response had an incredulous tone since it was a pure guess, but 1/12 was about 8%, so the odds weren't too bad. He was as surprised as she was. "Spying on people is kind of my job, but I can say that no one has hired me to check up on you so nope. If you've got a jaded boyfriend or jealous friend that want to know some secret of yours, they didn't ask me. If the investigation was serious, they wouldn't send some private investigator since it's too risky. You just saw brilliant deductive reasoning." Thomas replied, and since it was their first day ever actually speaking to each other or even knowing of each other, he had zero information on her that she hadn't told him. "Come to think of it, I haven't actually said my name - Thomas Sylvester, call me Tom if you'd like, maybe even "Syl" or "Vester", if you want to call me "ass", you'll have to get to know me a bit better. Or you can keep on calling me Private Dick, it's whatever."
Holy shit. She literally hadn’t even asked him his name up to this point. Whoops. She repeated it after him, “Thomas Sylvester, Hmm. That’s a good name for a Private-Dick, fitting.” She held her hand up to her face of a sudden, mimicking holding a microphone. Then, in a fairly decent impression of a Old-timey-40s-radio-man-person-voice declared, “News Flash! Hot off the grill!! Private Detective Tommy Sylvester has the notorious-" she waved her free hand vaguely in the air for a moment as she thought, as if physically searching for a answer, “J.J. Wise! Finally now on the run! Will this daring detective finally catch his break? Will anyone ever really know or remember why we even call them Private Dicks save for it sounding a bit funny?” And she then finished with a dramatic, “Dun dunn duuuuuhhh!” Thomas let out a proper laugh for the first time in a while, before continuing, "We all know the producers will never let Private Dick catch a break, the moment they do the ratings will suffer! He's stuck in a purgatorial cat and mouse game with J.J Wise and frankly, audience retention is down. Might need to axe the show, sad but true reality of showbiz." Thomas said, taking the reality of the gag to the next level and solemnly (and ironically) shaking his head in disappointment at the poor performance of fake radio show about his life that had just sprung into existence. "They should introduce a new character to keep it fresh." That was his critical take to gain listener attention once more. "And make him take less photos of people banging, it's getting uncomfortable for everyone involved." That was more a personal wish, but a man can dream.
The pizza slices grew less and less, but the conversation meandered on at a easy and casual pace. A moment of silence had fallen peacefully between the two of them. Jan allowed her gaze to drift, her eyes eventually landing in the High School in the not too far off distance. Her brows furrowed ever so slightly, “Would you say that it’s, tricky? to become a cop?” she turned her head to face him, “Like, did you struggle with the tests and what have you? I hear for the most part, becoming a police men isn’t exactly a hard thing to do really, no offence like.”
"Depends on where you are and what you're good at. Just getting onto the force is too easy, allows a bunch of useless dick-weeds to have way more power than they deserve. Getting promoted to a higher level is tough shit without good old fashioned nepotism. I went the private for a reason and now I'm basically a glorified voyeur catching people who can't keep it in their pants and then telling their partners for a fee." Thomas complained about it more than he should have, it was good money in the grand scheme of things, and he was quite good at the investigative aspect of it - but felt like he was getting too good at video editing. "And you? Gonna be working in that bakery for the foreseeable future?" Despite her fleeting hopes for otherwise, his answer had pretty much been what she'd expected to hear. She couldn't help but scowl a little, foot tapping at the round underneath in quiet rhythmic irritation. She scoffed, "That dump? No way. Just temporary, always just temporary..." With a sigh, she pushed herself up and onto her feet, wiping her hands roughly on her jacket, "I asked for my Dad. He's taking the test right now actually, for like, I dunno... tenth time or so? He's a good guy, and I know how bad he wants this, it's just-" She lifted her hands in exasperation, "Ugh. My Dad's not dumb, but he's not American. He speaks Greek better than English, and it shows, both when he talks, and when he tries to write. I don't even think that would be an issue if I'm being honest with you, but there's this asshole invigilator who's about as inclusive as Adolf Hitler, fails him every damn time. I'd take the test for him myself if I could, but..." And she simply tailed off from there, gaze lost helplessly to the horizon.
Yep, there it was, the truthful conclusion that he had arrived at many years ago - the police force are ass-hats especially to anyone who didn't look exactly like them. It was a driving force for why he had left. "Not much we can do about arseholes in power since reporting that shit does piss all to change anything." Thomas ruefully stated, "But, not even Xenophobe McGee can kick out a top scorer... tell you what, I'll cut you a deal - I got pretty good grades at the academy, I'll tutor your old man in what they want to hear in exchange for... some free baklava and shit like that when I visit the bakery. Whatd'ya think about that?" Thomas saw an opportunity here to secure a supply of free food for just helping some guy out, which was a great deal for him since it would save on his expenses. Pretty good grades was an understatement too, and even if it was a couple of years back, he still had some notes from the academy lying about somewhere. She smiled, just a little, "I dunno how he'd feel about that really..." But then she thought about it, "It is nice of you to offer though." The girl took a deep breath, stuffed her hands into her pockets, and nodded, seemingly to herself as much as she was nodding to Tom, "I'll warm him up to it. Might take a little bit, but I think he'd appreciate it in the long run." She raised a brow, peering over her should at him, "You didn't try any of my baking back there though. How do you know it's even any good?"
Thomas looked at her with befuddled confusion, "How do I know it's any good? You're kidding me right? Everyone knows even bad baklava is good shit. If it were that bad, would Mr. Laramie let you sell 'em? Sheesh, it's like you want me to come over to where you work - fine, I'll have to pop in again soon to try them out beforehand since you insist." He gave an exaggerated wink. It'd be good for him if the police department got an overhaul so helping out Jan's dad would be of mutual benefit. "The offers always on the table, just contact me." he said, pulling out a business card with the Whistle-stop Investigations logo on it and his contact details. "For business or otherwise." he added. It wasn't like he could afford to set up a whole other line just for work, so it was mainly his personal mobile number and email. Wait, did I just give a someone my number without it being clunky and awkward? What the hell, did I level up or something?
This legitimately must have been the first time in her life she had received a business card for absolutely anything. She held it with both hands and just observed the thing for a while, it was a fun name, she had to give him that. He seemed to be a fun guy too really, rare for this backwater bullshit town. In a rare moment of honesty with no comedic twinge attached, she was about to tell him such, but alas, the bitter sweet BEEP-BEEP of her phone interrupted the moment. Jan frowned, "Ah fuck-" it was her reminder she'd set from earlier, "Shit. I'd forgotten," She carefully tucked the business card into her inside pocket, before hastily kicking the discarded pizza boxes into a nearby ditch, "I gotta go, I'm gonna be late for this thing if I don't set off now," She set off down the hill at a hasty trot, "I'll call you though, swear down!"
She turned on her heel, walking backwards momentarily, that almost trademark smirk plastered across her face once again, "Ta Leme! See if you can deduce that one super sleuth!" And off she went, on her way.
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MadeInAdelaide
What? Mayonnaise is good!
—As night fell over Greenville, one thing was apparent. Nothing—and no one was the same. While people nestled down, ready to end their days, a few people remained vigilant, hands wrapped around a necklace or a coin or whatever it was that they had received along with a note that invited them to a meeting in the woods. None of the recipients thought anything of it, despite the recent murders that haunted the town. Despite the whispering that a cult dwelled in the woods, hidden from the eyes of the townspeople. Some of the older town’s members claimed that they felt ripples in the energy of the world, felt flickers of the blackest of magic—all originating from the woods. And yet as they got ready, they didn’t think of this. They felt invincible, like nothing bad would happen to them. Was it the gifts that gave them such confidence? Maybe. But we wouldn’t want to reveal such secrets yet.
It was a pleasant night in early September, the weather mild, wind blowing gently through the trees. Cicadas buzzed, owls hooted, coyotes howled. The moon shone bright and full in the sky, bathing the town in a soft blue light. Leaves drifted peacefully to the ground, the first sign of fall the town had seen. Overall a perfect night for a meeting in the woods, right? Deep within those very woods, three people sat, pouring over an ancient text, whispering to each other, hoping against all hope that all who were invited would show up. They couldn’t risk another failed attempt at this. They needed all seven to show up, as foretold in the bible. Seven was a holy number. Ruby, Emerald, Sapphire, Opal, Quartz, Diamond and Topaz. The seven colors of the rainbow. The seven days of the week. They were each listed in the Book of Blood, each person prophesied to join them. To finally awaken Enuberus, their God, who had been slumbering for so long, trapped in that obsidian coffin within the mountains of New Hampshire of all places. They were so, so close to finishing this once and for all. “Don your masks, my children, they’re coming.”—
It was a pleasant night in early September, the weather mild, wind blowing gently through the trees. Cicadas buzzed, owls hooted, coyotes howled. The moon shone bright and full in the sky, bathing the town in a soft blue light. Leaves drifted peacefully to the ground, the first sign of fall the town had seen. Overall a perfect night for a meeting in the woods, right? Deep within those very woods, three people sat, pouring over an ancient text, whispering to each other, hoping against all hope that all who were invited would show up. They couldn’t risk another failed attempt at this. They needed all seven to show up, as foretold in the bible. Seven was a holy number. Ruby, Emerald, Sapphire, Opal, Quartz, Diamond and Topaz. The seven colors of the rainbow. The seven days of the week. They were each listed in the Book of Blood, each person prophesied to join them. To finally awaken Enuberus, their God, who had been slumbering for so long, trapped in that obsidian coffin within the mountains of New Hampshire of all places. They were so, so close to finishing this once and for all. “Don your masks, my children, they’re coming.”—
MadeInAdelaide
What? Mayonnaise is good!
|Sarah Godfrey||Interactions: None|
|Mood: Here|
|Location: Home, then woods|
|Song: Seriously Listen to this while you write smh|
Sarah moved around her bedroom as if in a trance, her hand wrapped around the necklace she had put on this morning without thinking. It’s pendant appeared to be a coin, of sorts, with a circle around the outer edge that contained writing in an ancient language. The center held a carving of a great stag, its curling antlers spread wide. In the center of the antlers was a red stone that appeared to burn from within, shining softly. It was a slow day at the office, only one appointment had come in. Matthew Foster and his new puppy.
Now, it was just past eleven, and despite sleeping fitfully the night before, she wasn’t tired. Instead, she felt charged with energy, ready to take on anything. Dropping the necklace from her hand, allowing it to rest against the base of her neck, she stripped off her veterinary clothes in favor of black leggings, a dark green turtleneck and, of course, the necklace. Digging through her closet, she frowned as she came across a dark gray cloak, one she didn’t remember having. Shrugging, she put it on nonetheless, drawing the deep hood over her wild hair. She could see perfectly from within, but when she looked in the mirror, only her lips were visible.
Drifting down the stairs, Sarah didn’t bother shutting the door behind her, walking straight into the woods. The note hadn’t given her any directions, but she somehow knew the way, tugged along by some force within herself. She was barefoot, but this fact didn’t register in her brain, despite the cuts that were appearing with every few steps, as she meandered through the path-less forest, bathed in the silver light of the moon. With each step she took, the necklace grew warmer, the gem in the center growing brighter, until finally she strode into a clearing, lit in the center by a giant bon-fire.
Three masked heads turned to her as one, from where they sat besides an open book. The masks were what appeared to be a deer’s skull, the curling antlers still intact. “Welcome, Sarah Godfrey, Ruby Red,” the man in the middle said, his hand held out to her. She drifted over to the man, before peering up into the mask, a strange sense of calm washing over her. “You are home now, my child.”
Sostos
Autometalogolex
Thomas Sylvester | Location: Police Station → Home → Woods | Interactions: none
After that lass had gone her way, Thomas decided to tie up some of the loose ends he had left over for the day, moseying over to the police station to drop off the statement he had wrung out of Keith, collect his compensation, and get some reimbursement for the pizza money as a necessary expense (because that counted as questioning a suspect, right?). It was likely only about seven o'clock, but the sky was already slightly murky with the vestiges of sunlight dipping into the horizon. All in all, today had been a smashing success, even if he hadn't made any progress on the teacher affair affair; he had a full stomach, filled out the requisite social interaction quota for theweek day with someone who he actually enjoyed chatting with, and had some cash in pocket.
His mind cast back to the mysterious coin that he had found earlier but hadn't really questioned, and it evoked a single, soul-trembling revelation from his mind - Shit, I forgot to ask Jan about the baking soda.
He realised that his fingers were already clenched around it in his pocket, and it seemed to thrum with a soothing warmth. Holding it arms length against the canvas of the sky, he looked at it, turning it over and inspecting it - his stresses and worries ebbed away and a sense of mute euphoria, no, one of general contentment and fulfilment coursed through his mind and it was as though a comforting haze had settled over his mind.
He didn't even remember walking home, and somehow several hours had slipped away by the time he regained lucidity of his surroundings, but even his lucid state seemed somewhat blurred. Any sense of apparent confusion quickly melted away because, of course, there was nothing to be confused about and he was only doing what he was meant to be doing. Yes, yes, he simply had to do what he was meant to do. To do what he was meant to do, he would have to get dressed appropriately: he slipped into a pair of dark chinos, a simple white dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, some simple derby shoes, and, to complete the whole ensemble, a dark grey gown that covered everything but the lower portion of his face. Evidently, that made perfect sense for what he was meant to do.
There was no internal monologue or preamble running through his mind, just a sense of assuredness as he clenched the coin in a balled fist. Moonlight flickered through his blinds as Thomas let his legs lead the way, and that they did, which was completely normal even if he usually sucked with directions, because he was simply going where he was meant to go. Time was abstract and he had little clue about how long he was walking or even where he was going, and it wasn't until the crunch of branches and leaves underfoot did he recognise where he was, where he was being led. His arm was outstretched in front of him, his hands supine and the coin laying flat, soaked in the silvern lunar light, and there was almost a magnetic pull acting on his whole self. Soon the light of the moon was overpowered by a different light, a red, orange and yellow ball of flame from a roaring bonfire as streaks of smoke lifted into the sky and dissipated, and a miniature fire roared in the reflection of his iris, as well as the iris of the coin. He didn't know how he knew, but he was now where he was meant to be, and he was certain of that.
After that lass had gone her way, Thomas decided to tie up some of the loose ends he had left over for the day, moseying over to the police station to drop off the statement he had wrung out of Keith, collect his compensation, and get some reimbursement for the pizza money as a necessary expense (because that counted as questioning a suspect, right?). It was likely only about seven o'clock, but the sky was already slightly murky with the vestiges of sunlight dipping into the horizon. All in all, today had been a smashing success, even if he hadn't made any progress on the teacher affair affair; he had a full stomach, filled out the requisite social interaction quota for the
His mind cast back to the mysterious coin that he had found earlier but hadn't really questioned, and it evoked a single, soul-trembling revelation from his mind - Shit, I forgot to ask Jan about the baking soda.
He realised that his fingers were already clenched around it in his pocket, and it seemed to thrum with a soothing warmth. Holding it arms length against the canvas of the sky, he looked at it, turning it over and inspecting it - his stresses and worries ebbed away and a sense of mute euphoria, no, one of general contentment and fulfilment coursed through his mind and it was as though a comforting haze had settled over his mind.
He didn't even remember walking home, and somehow several hours had slipped away by the time he regained lucidity of his surroundings, but even his lucid state seemed somewhat blurred. Any sense of apparent confusion quickly melted away because, of course, there was nothing to be confused about and he was only doing what he was meant to be doing. Yes, yes, he simply had to do what he was meant to do. To do what he was meant to do, he would have to get dressed appropriately: he slipped into a pair of dark chinos, a simple white dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, some simple derby shoes, and, to complete the whole ensemble, a dark grey gown that covered everything but the lower portion of his face. Evidently, that made perfect sense for what he was meant to do.
There was no internal monologue or preamble running through his mind, just a sense of assuredness as he clenched the coin in a balled fist. Moonlight flickered through his blinds as Thomas let his legs lead the way, and that they did, which was completely normal even if he usually sucked with directions, because he was simply going where he was meant to go. Time was abstract and he had little clue about how long he was walking or even where he was going, and it wasn't until the crunch of branches and leaves underfoot did he recognise where he was, where he was being led. His arm was outstretched in front of him, his hands supine and the coin laying flat, soaked in the silvern lunar light, and there was almost a magnetic pull acting on his whole self. Soon the light of the moon was overpowered by a different light, a red, orange and yellow ball of flame from a roaring bonfire as streaks of smoke lifted into the sky and dissipated, and a miniature fire roared in the reflection of his iris, as well as the iris of the coin. He didn't know how he knew, but he was now where he was meant to be, and he was certain of that.
Terrier B
Elephants can smell water.
But like
u think it went ok???
Yeah!! I think?!
For once?
I don't know...
I mean, like...
U did all of that prep n stuff.
I mean, u r an intermediate now on duolingo for goodness sake!
Who is goodness?
This is all tru.
There was a rlly cute lady there today. Instead of mr. racist
OOOOOOOOOOO
PAPAAAAAAAAAIIIIIII
Heheh
What time will u bee back?
Dunno. Late i think?
I will keep u informed tho
Ok. no drinking!
Father.
It is a party.
I do not care! No!
U r too young.
I am 23 years old father.
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Janny S. / She's up in the woods / ???
TW - Lil mention of Blood
As the phone was returned to it’s perpetual pocket home once more, her hand brushed against the smooth ivory-like surface of the intruding keepsake. She froze, hand held hovering above it. Slowly, it ventured inside, and retrieved the tooth. The motion was deliberate, and purposefully steady. It sat there, in her open palm, smooth and shiny in the dying sunlight. Odd little thing, peculiar, yet forcefully comforting. She had just, found it, on the floor outside her house a few days ago… right?
She rubbed a cautious thumb against the top of the tooth. It’s rough edge contrasted to it’s otherwise flawless surface. It had been polished, or maybe glazed somehow? She wasn’t quite sure of the proper logistics of the situation, but it’s results made the tooth a glossy, silky little thing. It had a filling too, but unlike anything you’d receive from a reputable dentist. It was a gem of sorts, she assumed it was anyway. The gesture of repeatedly running her thumb across the tooth was undeniably calming. And yet, despite the otherwise overwhelming fogginess of her thoughts, a single concern continued to cut through her haze. If this was a real tooth, who’s had it once been? And just how exactly had it been removed?
Her fingers began to slowly curl in, clutching at the tooth that lay within her palm. She clutched, harder and harder, until she felt it’s points and rugged top dig into her skin harshly. And yet she kept on going, she was completely unable to stop herself, she did not want to stop. She felt the tooth draw blood, it’s warmth seeping around the squeezed bone and making it unusually sticky in her hand. A small quiet release managed to escape from her, a low murmur of suppressed ache. It shocked her for a moment, enough to stop her dead in her tracks even. Wait, she had been walking this whole time. She looked up, seeing but not seeing. A clearing? Her grip on the tooth slowly relaxed.
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