Fantasy CHICAGO | <Always Open!>

[. D O V E]

Victoria Scarlett
Location: Downtown
Date: September, 1929
Tag/s: _Line 213

Two figures remained still underneath the soft rain; one suffering from a twisted ankle and another suffering from embarrassment. The awkwardness of the current situation Victoria found herself in was made even more noticeable by the flushed face of the ginger.

"...Well, at least you're still lookin' warm in that coat'a yours, warmer than me, anyway," he jested to which she gave a light chuckle to, an attempt to alleviate the awkward mood, "So you say but your beet red face is saying you might be overheating." she responded with a witty retort. When his next statement came, the female paused to shake her head, "Actually, my house is at West city."

"We're gonna have to bend down together to get that purse back to ya. Bit of an operation, that is. Bend down slow, alright?" perhaps if she was a passerby she'd snicker upon hearing this but unfortunately she's a direct party. Victoria nodded and did as he suggested although it wasn't much of a problem since they managed to pick the unruly purse.

However, her worry didn't end there because the rain was growing persistent and the sky gave a look that says it wont be retiring soon. "Say, would you do me a favor and escort me to that restaurant? Perhaps you could join me and wait until the rain passes." the female offered with a bat of her long eyelashes while pointing at a fancy restaurant embellished with equally attractive decorations.

 

[_Line 213]

Marcus McAllister
Downtown
Interaction: . D O V E


​

An easy up, and the woman had managed to retrieve her fallen belongings; it took Marcus a bit of work still to ensure that the two of them didn't topple over on the way up, bu the did his best to hide it. Glancing to the mentioned establishment, he did his best not to grimace, his lips stiffening ever so slightly nonetheless; there was no way that he was going to be able to get anything there on a tight budget, but it sure beat standing out in the rain either way. And besides, chances were it was a safer place to wait than any other building for at least a few blocks.

Out of quips for the moment, perhaps due to suddenly being reminded of his own hunger, he simply conceded; "...Yeah, yeah, let's do that," he said, nearly absentmindedly before slowly moving to escort the woman to the restaurant, moving as slowly as she might need to ensure that the two of them didn't end up atop the road together. "A few more months, and this'll be snow, can't say I'm looking forward to it," Marcus said, idly filling the space of the walk with a bit of chatter just before they reached the door, "god knows there isn't enough heat around here for a Chicago winter unless you set yourself on fire." They reached the door after what to Marcus seemed like a personal eternity, and Marcus did his best to shuffle the door open with a woman hanging off of him. It was something of an unglamorous set of motions, but chances were no one would really have been able to make such a situation seem otherwise.

"Guess getting caught in the rain for a while is one way to get the stains out," Marcus replied, his heart sinking as he took stock of the establishment. Though it was welcomingly warm within--especially once the door had closed behind the unlikely duo--the pure expense of the place oozed from every available seat, table, and fitting; though some of the more well-to-do citizens of West City might consider the place quaintly middle-class--let alone their Gold Wood neighbors--to any resident of Downtown, it might as well have been some sort of dining palace. Marcus for one was unsure how such a place managed to exist; perhaps it was a cultural remnant of Downtown before it became what it was, a familial business that managed to hold on solely from the patronage of richer figures that came down on the train lines solely in the name of tradition.

He glanced briefly at his tag-along in the midst of his thoughts. Maybe something like that was what she was in town for?

Marcus shook his head. You're off the clock, pal, come on, came that internal cross-checking voice. No questions, not this time; that was an easy way to get in trouble, especially since he had just barreled into the poor woman right on the side of the street. Carefully, he coaxed her towards one of the nearest seats, hoping that the dining staff, wherever they might be, wouldn't notice her state, at least just yet. With his luck, that would be grounds for getting kicked out, or so he expected from a place like this. The Ohioan was noticeably out of his element, even visually speaking.

"Alright, easy does it, I guess we can...Get some water, or something."

 

[Epiphany]

Anna Russo

WEST CITY - HOYNE STREET​

September 1929.

Anna covers her mouth with one hand, a demure way of concealing a smile. The crinkles around her eyes suggest real amusement, though the motion of hte hand itself was practiced enough to suggest this is something she's had to do before.

"Yes, I believe the boys out front should be a little more attentive. I'm sure Father will have a talk with them. As he might like a talk with you. Won't you come in, Mr. Lynn? If nothing else, it looks like it's about to start raining and I can at least get you a cup of coffee while I see if there's anything anyone in the estate needs sent. If you have a minute?"

If Jack acquiesces, Anna leads him into a delightfully spacious foyer. The kind with a carpet from India stretched over a hardwood floor burnished brightly enough to serve as a mirror, with a coat room to one side and a butler who immediately sets off with Anna's request for package inquiries. Meanwhile, she gestures for Jack to follow her down a short hallway with the kind of paintings that'd sell for enough to keep the average man in smokes and dames for a year. It's just overdone enough to make it obvious this family's new money.

Upon arriving at a kitchen, Anna orders coffee for the young man from a maid before giving Jack another curious look. "I don't suppose you've seen those 'ARE YOU LOST' posters around town, have you? They're black, white lettering, and have a small wolf up at top? In the last week, I think I've seen half a dozen of them. No address, no ordinary advertisement, it's a bit of a mystery."

Receiving a coffee for herself and ensuring Jack is settled with his, she sips politely from hers before adding somewhat unnecessarily that "I'm rather fond of mysteries, you see."

Gravitational Force

 

[. D O V E]

There is last refuge for the desperate and abandoned by justice.
Location: a restaurant in Downtown
Date: September, 1929
Tag/s: _Line 213

A relieved sigh escaped her rosy lips the moment the pair entered the stately restaurant. The cold was fine for an ice-user such as herself but definitely not getting soaked underneath the rain. She almost forgot about this fact for a second due to her companion's chattering. "Thank you." her azure-colored eyes seemed to twinkle with gratitude after he assisted her to sit down. She decided to get rid of her wet fur coat which bothered her greatly since they were all settled down.

"-I guess we can...Get some water, or something."

Victoria's eyes flickered to her companion's before she used the palm of her hand to stifle a good-natured chuckle, "Kind sir, you are funny." although she knew that he wasn't trying to be. After all, she did notice him wearing a stiff look and shaking his head earlier indicating that he wasn't used to this kind of place. "Please allow me to return the favor and treat you a dinner." a gloved hand settled on his, trying to urge him to calm down.

Despite the cheerful demeanor, she would be lying if she claimed that the throbbing in her ankle has stopped. "Excuse me for a moment." she slowly stood up ( she would decline his offer pleasantly if ever the stranger would try to assist her) and headed to the female's comfort room. Along the way, a waiter tried to help her upon noticing her odd way of walking to which she only shook her head and pointed at her ginger companion; directing the waiter to his way.

As a result, the waiter then hurried to shared table, handing a menu filled with dishes accompanied with extravagant prices for a restaurant in Downtown, "The missus said that you are free to order anything you wishes for the both of you."

 

[_Line 213]

Marcus McAllister
Downtown, restaurant.
Interaction: . D O V E


​

Though Marcus did indeed move to help, he ultimately wasn't too put-off when his help was declined; at the very least, one could take it as a sign that she was improving, however slowly. Before he could do much else, however, a member of the wait-staff scurried over to the table, informing him in something of a hurry that he was free to order whatever he wanted for not just himself, but the woman as well.

"The both of us?" Marcus said with no lack of incredulity. He glanced toward the direction of the restroom for a moment with slightly open mouth, before looking back with something of a confused smile, equal parts panic as well as the relief of actually having something to eat that evening. "Why sir, I don't even know what she likes." With that, the redhead flicked a menu open, dragging it a little closer as he swept his way down the list of items; he did his best to avoid referencing the prices, but his mind simply wouldn't allow it. The very presence of numbers next to dollar signs, even when placed at the edge of his field of vision, immediately set his mind into a frenzy. And yet, it was all there--meats, fish, vegetables--even a few things that the reporter himself had never actually heard of, but which, based on the foodstuffs listed on the side of each dish, sounded mouthwatering nonetheless.

Briefly, he looked back to the waiter, before turning his head back down to the menu. Outright asking for whatever's the cheapest is the sort of thing they glare at you for in places like this, right? He asked himself, despite not actually having the experience necessary to formulate an answer for such a question. Once more, he looked back to the washroom, not wanting the mystery woman to see him having so much trouble with the supposedly simple task of picking something off a menu. Pursing his lips, he flipped through to the soups, sighing in relief after noticing that they were, at the very least, cheaper on average than the majority of the menu. Thank the lord for water elementals.

"We'll have the uh...seafood chowder," he said, glancing up with a surprisingly confident smile, even if his own mind was anything but. Were it not for the ingredients listed on the side of every purchase, he wouldn't even have known what it was he was ordering. A good balance of heartiness, while not being so expensive as to blatantly eat the woman out of whatever might have been present in her wallet. "Good to have something warm when it's this miserable out, isn't it?" With that, he flicked the menu up to the waiter, the briskness of the motion adding to the veneer of confidence.

 

[Gravitational Force]

WEST CITY - HOYNE STREET

September 1929. ​

Jack gave a friendly smile. "I've got nowhere else to be at the moment, I'd be much obliged for your hospitality."

No sense in giving offense, this woman was far too interesting to leave yet. She didn't seem the type whose father would be worried, and as long as he played the gentleman he wouldn't have to. Walking into the house Jack saw wealth that made it clear this wasn't a con. You don't buy those kinds of things if you're aiming to scam a rube. That would make them new money, and the only way he wouldn't have seen their names in public is if it was from less than legal means. Not knowing them from the whispers on the underground meant they were either new or very sneaky. Or he hadn't been listening to Guido and his friend enough. Honestly that Italian could be telling the meaning of life and you'd be more focused on his hands.

And now she was asking him about the posters. And expressing an interest in mysteries. If she made the moves on him he'd be running until he could leap, but she might be telling the truth. Either way only one way to find out.

"The posters? Yeah, although I'm not usually watching the walls when I'm at street level. It's the missing persons posters that are standing out. Usually it's just the usual causes, but I've seen no change to suggest it. Last time this many families disappeared there had been lots of noise about new jobs to the West, but there's been nothing like it. I'm not the type to stick my nose in, mysteries are for the police and novelists, I'm a realist."

Epiphany

 

[thebigbadwolfy]

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[/div]

Isabel Milo
With James Kaysen • Docklands - Indiana Harbor​

[Div style=margin:auto;width:60%]Milo had refused to breathe for the past few minutes, and really had to catch herself before her gag turned into full on retching when the detective lifted his hands. She wasn't unfamiliar with dead bodies, but this level of decay was a whole new level of revolting. Now, luckily, she had been able to steel herself and ignore the naseau when she was at a distance. Chunks of rotten meat right in her face? No, a little harder to ignore.

She stood up straight again, and quickly sketched a very rough image of the body, jotting some notes below in something akin to chicken scratch. Kaysen hadn't complained about that yet, so she assumed he could read her shorthand just fine. At the weak voice of the victim's friend, Milo twisted around to watch him, her gaze flickering between the detective and the worker.

In the short span of time she had known the detective, Isabel Milo had learned three things: he had arguably never touched a drop of water within his lifetime; he was wicked smart, and the CPD should be ashamed to drive someone like that out of their ranks; he was not good with people. And yet, in his own- admittedly odd and socially awkward -way, he could display all the necessary empathy and kindness. Much more than any Gold Wood resident would (sometimes Milo had wondered if growing up rich made one entirely apathetic). Steven was right- no one would care about a dead refugee.

At the detective's prompting, Milo was quick to nod and turn towards the man, now dirtied in his grey uniform. She gave a friendly smile and, after waiting for him to stand again, led him towards the bench by the lake. She leaned down to wipe some of the water that had collected off, before taking a seat and gesturing for Steven to do the same. "So!" She began, in a slightly breathless voice, balancing something between her usual bright, kindness and a more solemn, soft tone. "Steven. Your friend Guido- what was he like? Where'd he live, how did people see him?" Milo figured she would begin searching for the very simple answer of whether or not there was a clear motive for anyone to kill the man. Beyond a bigoted drunk who made an impulsive decision.

Avari [/div]

 

[Avari]

Steven had slumped on the steps leading down to the river. His mustache still stained with chunks of what looked like carrot from when he had been violently throwing up on the pavement. He looked quite dejected as he ran a muscular, hairy arm across his mouth.

"I don't know, lass. Guido was always an alright sort! Y'know. For a foreigner. Quiet. Always said he was workin' on something to get out of the ghetto - course, we all just laughed at him. He was making only a couple of cents compared to the rest of us, y'see." He frowned for a moment as he thought. "I mean - I dunno where he lived. Dunno if he even had a house, think he lived in one of those refugee tents in DownTown. Never mentioned a family..."


----

DETECTIVE KAYSEN - DOCKLANDS - INDIANA HARBOUR

Kaysen grinned grimly as he finished his inspection of the Guido's body. Truth be told, it was like trying to perform an autopsy on a Banana Split. About as informative and almost twice as messy. Frankly - and he would never admit it - he was completely stumped. It was a genuinely wonderful feeling. This would keep him entertained for a while no doubt - a little project to work towards between all the spuses asking him to spy on their significant others and hunting down poor fools who owed the wrong people money...

The sound of heels on stone.

Kaysen span around, to see the source of noise.

But there was no-one there.

"Huh..."


-----

thebigbadwolfy

 

[. D O V E]

There is last refuge for the desperate and abandoned by justice.
Location: a restaurant in Downtown
Date: September, 1929
Tag/s: _Line 213

Victoria Scarlett dropped her forged demeanor the second the door behind her shut. Fortunately, she was the sole person in the restroom so she wasted no time in locking the door. The dark-haired woman examined her angry ankle. She removed her right glove and a chunk of ice materialized on the palm of her hand making the singer sigh when she felt its cold surface. She proceeded to bend down and apply the ice to her ankle alleviating its state. A curse escaped her breath, blaming her luck and the irksome stranger for causing this. A voice behind the back of her head is tempting her that she should ditch the man to get even but she knew that that would be a terrible decision.

The woman returned to her seat wearing the same smile as before and adjusting her right glove although it was evident that she's still having problems with her ankle. "Oh, seafood chowder, a favorite of mine." she looked at the red-head, "You choose well. Would you like a glass of wine?" she offered upon noticing the lack of it; usually if given the chance such as this, a person from Downtown would certainly go overboard and order the fanciest food. If ever he agreed then she would call a waiter and ask to pour them a drink but if she didn't then she'd just shrug it off with a pleasant smile.

"Oh my, look at us dining together yet still not asking for each other's name." she began, curiosity getting ahead of her, "I am Victoria Scarlett, a pleasure to bump into you earlier, kind sir." she reached out a hand for the sake of manners. The woman noticed the way the man was dressed; not as fancy compared to the way she is but still a few steps ahead from the normal Downtown population. The stranger looks like a working type; probably apart of the media from the way he quickly speaks.

 

[_Line 213]

Marcus McAllister
Downtown, restaurant.
Interaction: . D O V E


​

At the mention of wine, Marcus immediately hesitated; he was already feeling far beyond his means as things stood, but at the same time, the reporter found himself somewhat curious; he had never actually had wine before, after all; that was the sort of thing virtually impossible to come across on a small farm in Ohio. And she had been the one to ask, yet at the same time, perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea to stretch her wallet more than it already had been. But at the same time...

"Uh, sure, alright," Marcus relented, blinking in what appeared to be surprise. That's the last thing you're ordering tonight, though, so don't even think about it, he affirmed himself internally. A slight smile appeared on his lips ever so briefly, briefly betraying the fact that this was the best dining he had had in quite some time, perhaps even since arriving in the city. He reached up and rubbed at the top of his head, clearing his throat slightly. The woman called a waiter over and asked for the wine in question, and Marcus stared at the foreign dark drink for quite a while before taking a sip. His face was awash with the uncertain expression of someone not quite sure what to think about a brand new taste. Attempting to clarify his opinions on the newfound matter of wine, Marcus glanced out the window in thought, frowning slightly as his eyes wandered to the darkened, rainy sidewalk across the street from the restaurant. Someone seemed to be standing out there in the rain, glancing inward at the eatery. Before Marcus could get a proper look at the watcher, however, the figure across from him had posed the question of introductions.

"Marcus McAllister," he said chipperly in response as he snapped back to reality, his own hand snapping out nigh reflexively to take her own. It wasn't a refined or proper handshake at all; whereas members of the upper class likely would have taken the woman's hand gingerly, paying attention to the way that one is "supposed" to shake a woman's hand and grasping solely the fingers, Marcus went straight for the woman's palm, shaking her hand fully and firmly the way he'd shake anyone else's. "Staff writer for the Chicago Sentinel. Not a big name or anythin', but I'm in there a fair bit, assuming y' read us. Nice meetin' you Miss Scarlett, sorry for my uh, lack of attention back on the street, there."

 

[thebigbadwolfy]

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[/div]

Isabel Milo
With James Kaysen • Docklands - Indiana Harbor​

[Div style=margin:auto;width:60%]Milo nodded, scribbling down what the man had mentioned. Or at least what she deemed important enough. The fact that he was a foreigner, worked a lot but earned less, lived downtown. All good to know. She could certainly find reasons why Guido would have issues with his fellow employees, but not so much why anyone would want to harm him. Sure, there was the prejudice that buzzed in the air of Chicago, but usually those incidents ended in hospitalization, not a body so indecipherably ruined that a season PI couldn't guess what had happened.

What she meant was that it was too much effort for what a potential bigot would consider that the man was worth.

"I really am sorry about your loss. Sounds like Guido hardly deserved anything like this- just trying to make his way in the world." With her brow furrowed, Milo glanced back up from the pad. "How exactly did you come across the body?"

This question seemed to take a great effort, Steven heaving a deep breath, as if it to calm and steel his mind. "I was on my way home! S'posed to have a nice, relaxin' evening and then I stumble across poor Guido lyin' there like God's just smote him down himself!"

Milo quirked one eyebrow, "Why do you take these back ways? It's a lot safer on the main roads."

"I dunno, it's how I've always headed on home. Lived here my whole life, an' I like to think I know my way around and how to handle myself. Besides, it's a lot faster. My house ain't exactly on main street, anyhow," Steven moved to scratch his chin, lowering his eyes again. For a moment, Milo thought he might start puking again.

So if Steven was heading home, Milo imagined that other workers would have as well, Guido included. But if Guido lived downtown, then why would he be headed in this direction? Milo made a note of her ponderings, and a mental one to ask Kaysen his opinion. "Did Guido often walk around the docks?"

"Not that I know of." Steven looked away, like the answers could he read on some invisible sheet elsewhere. "Occasionally, after a shift, a few of the other employees and me, we'd grab some beers and wall around, chattin'. Or we'd go over to the Green Mill."

"That's a bar in downtown, right?"

"Yeah. Actually, we uh- well, we just got some drinks there. Not too long ago."

"As in, within the day?" Milo couldn't help the spark of curiosity in her voice. That was very interesting, indeed. He had mentioned the bar earlier, but Milo guessed it was event yesterday. This shortened the window in which the death could have taken place significantly.

"Yeah! That's why it's so ruttin' absurd, the detective trying to say he couldn't be alive yesterday! Guido was just fine hours ago! And now he's-" The reality of the situation caught up with the man again and he hesitated.

Rotten like a mummy that never got mummified. "You have to understand, Sir, that the circumstances of Guido's death are quite extraordinary. Our skepticism is born out of a desire to understand what happened. And the better we understand, the sooner we figure out what happened to your friend." Milo offered a kind smile.

"And you will, right?"

"Hm?"

"You'll figure it out?" Steven sounded pathetically hopeful, like a child chastised too many times. Milo wondered if his concern for Guido's death was born of a genuine care for the man, or a selfish desire to protect himself. If a killer was loose in the docklands, best they were found before Steven was in the same state as the refugee.

"Absolutely." There was no doubt in Milo's mind. They would find answers, be them good or bad. "Just a few more questions, alright?"

Once she had finished questioning the man, Milo made her way back over to Kaysen. "Has the not-toupsy gone well, sir?" Her nose scrunched up as she looked at the body. Somehow, it was in an even worse condition. Probably from all the poking and prodding. "I've got notes whenever you want them. And a few thoughts, if you'd be interested in hearing."

Avari [/div]

 

[peachuu]

BELLE SOCORRO
THE GREEN MILL (DOWNTOWN CHICAGO)
ScarletTears The_Omega_Effect
Some slight paranoia started to settle within Belle, as the social setting wasn't merely the problem--it was more the feeling of being watched through a sheen glass invisible to her--if that was even possible. She Started shifting her gaze a lot, her hands fiddling with each other. The music continued on like it was nothing; the laughs in the bar were still prominent like the sense of honey, and the groups were still forever joyful as they all shared compassion in alcohol. She glanced at Harris, who stood at her side and leaned down as she beckoned his assitance. "My dear.." She whispered, her voice laced with sugar. "Please survey the crowd of people around us, for I feel slightly uncomfortable."

In the midst of this, she did manage to pick up the man's voice from beside her, her lips perked back up and plastered another smile; this was possibly the one gift she managed to accuire from home; being extremely amiable despite her own feelings. The man's voice was a husky grey; a deep tone laced with maturity and dilligence--scholarly perhaps, or maybe just someone who partically was upheld to such standards. She pouted slightly, her eyelashes fluttering as she tried to process some way to cheer this man up; she couldn't let others only be gay in his time of sadness, therefore happiness was something he needed. However she then knew that would only mean delving deeper into the actual probably.

Little things only. "Here's what. I'll get you a couple glasses if you'd like!" She perked up, a genuine aura surrounding her. "Seriously, my treat." Her shoulder then recieved a tap as a couple words were whispered in her ear.

"There is no one particularly looking at you, other than a couple glances for your appearance but none alarming." Harris mumbled to her, and she nodded one the security of her wellbeing was addressed as harmless.

 

[. D O V E]

There is last refuge for the desperate and abandoned by justice.
Location: a fancy restaurant Downtown
Date: September, 1929
Tag/s: _Line 213

"Marcus McAllister,"

A pleased smile tugged at her lips when she received a firm handshake from the man sitting across her; however it was definitely not the type that a gentleman of high status would give so she gave up on the microscopic hope that she bumped into a man of fine status. It's not a problem though since the contents of her wallet isn't hers at the first place but an acquaintance's whom she met two nights ago.

"Staff writer for the Chicago Sentinel. Not a big name or anythin', but I'm in there a fair bit, assuming y' read us. Nice meetin' you Miss Scarlett, sorry for my uh, lack of attention back on the street, there."

Victoria's icy-blue eyes glittered with interest, "Ah, Chicago Sentinel," she paused to ponder for a bit, "Of course, reading the papers has become a part of my morning routine these days especially with the growing amount of, say, misdeeds happening here in Chicago." she said while twirling the ends of her dark hair draped on her shoulder. Dainty fingers wrapped themselves around the neck of the glass before bringing it to her red-stained lips, introducing the bittersweet taste of the wine.

"Say, Mr. McAllister, you must have plenty of stories to write about after all mystery looms the streets of Chicago." the female leaned into her hand while both her eyebrows remained partly raised indicating fascination and curiosity, "So tell me, do you have a favorite mystery?"

 

[_Line 213]

Marcus McAllister
Downtown, restaurant.
Interaction: . D O V E


​

"Mysteries? Well there's a lot'a those," Marcus replied, taking a moment to stir the cooling chowder as he spoke, "don't know how long you've been walking around Downtown, but there're these posters going up everywhere, see," the boy said, raising the spoon to his lips and blowing for a moment before taking a pull of the liquid. His eyes widened in delightful surprise, though he quickly quelled the expression and cleared his throat as he continued on. "Are, you, lost," he said, adding a brief pause between each word as he emphasized their placement with a hand, flaring it three times across the horizontal. "Big white letters, just like that, nothin' else. No one knows who's puttin' them up or what they're supposed to be referrin' to. I tried to get my editor to let me look into it, but he doesn't think there's all that much of a story there yet."

The reporter paused, once more looking to the window with a slight frown. Something outside seemed to unnerve him once again, though he quickly glanced back to Victoria, something of an excited smile snapping back into place as he prepared to talk again.

"No, he's had me on somethin' else for a while now, though that's gonna change soon anyway. You haven't heard about the big jewel comin' into town, have ya? Not many people have, I'll tell ya that. Set to premiere at the Museum've Elements tomorrow, one day only. And they're jackin' admission right up, you'd better believe me." He allowed for another spoonful of soup as he paused, though this one came more quickly as he moved to continue.

"Doesn't sound like a mystery at the outset, I know, but here's the thing--part of the reason why no one knows is because it wasn't supposed t' go to the museum in the first place. You ask me, someone's shakin' somethin' up, though I don't know what."

 

[Avari]

JAMES KAYSEN

THE DOCKLANDS WITH ISABEL MILO
​

"Hit me with all ya ideas Miss Milo!"
Kaysen rose to his feet, rubbing his hands on his coat with resignation as he did so. He offered Isabel a crooked smile as he did so, and gave her a nod of thanks as he quickly flicked through her notes.
"C'mon. Let's walk and talk - not much else we can do for poor Guido. I'll make a call, get some boys I know to help Sim-Stephen - with the body. Though to be frank, they'll be better off bringing a shovel than a body bag..."

He gestured for her to follow.
"Too late to grab a cab, we can still catch the rail though. I gotta get back to the office, start lookin' over these notes..."


-----


thebigbadwolfy

 

[vielpotato]

Over by the docks but more accuratly by the subway close to there, Elizabeth was taking her daily stroll throughout Chicago. Each day, she’d take a different path than the one from the previous week. It keeps one on their toes, while also making one see and hear a lot of things. Now, of course, Elizabeth knew very well how some people could get.. a little crazy around a woman. That’s why she would never go without some defense. Of course, carrying around a gun would be crazy. Especially if a police officer saw it by some accident. Straitening her yellow summer dress, Elizabeth finally arrives at the station. With the train just leaving, it urked Elizabeth just slightly. Of course, sensing the water still somewhat closeby it soothed her. It, for some reason, always did. The water was always peaceful. Tranquil. Nothing really bothered it, until things get messy with other people..
Humming a slight tune, commonly known as Three Blind Mice, Elizabeth gently sat on a nearby bench after checking if it was clean. Knowing very well some male was checking her out, Elizabeth had her bag between her feet. Too bad there were no real water around. But of course, Elizabeth made by. Water wasn’t always in a normal spot. Sometimes men could get a little rough and spill some out of their lips. Or some could also fly out of another’s mouth. No matter what, water was around. One just had to look for it.

Spoiler: OOC

Good enough for an intro, eh? Hope so

 

[Shame]

Caelia "Angel" Angelucci
West City - Shopping District - Fannie May Home Made Candies

​

The automobile that stopped in front of Fannie May Home Made Candies was beautiful. It was top of the line luxury with no expense spared. It was a show of wealth, but it displayed it well. The body was a gorgeous, slick black without so much as a nick. A silver angel posed triumphantly on the hood, heralding the coming of its occupant.
However, as beautiful as the Cadillac was, it paled in comparison to the girl that the black clad driver helped from the car with care as though she were fragile. (Fragile like a flower perhaps. Or like a bomb.) It was not just the way that she looked that made her beautiful. Sure, she had that classic beauty, that sleek dark hair, full lips, pale, flawless skin. But, most of her beauty lied in the way she moved. The way she carried herself. The way she walked as if it were all for you. As if she were all for you.
She gave a slight nod to the driver as he tipped her hat to her and returned to the car. She watched the car drive away before she turned and made her way to the shop. Her impossibly tall and thin heels clicked on the sidewalk as she moved to the door. A stray breeze played with the hem of her pleated the skirt, raising it a little to brush against the silk stockings on her knees. Her green eyes lifted to the sky and a light frowned tugged at her dark lips. It was to rain soon, and she had left her umbrella in the car. It was not like her to be so distracted, but her parents had placed her on her first job. This is what she had been trained her entire life today. Could she do it? The problem wasn't that she was incapable. She could seduce and deceive as easily as she could breathe. Her mother saw to that. However, she had yet to get any blood on her hands. And, if she were to uncover that another family was indeed starting to test the boundaries and borders, she would be responsible for the deaths to follow. Small sparks of electricity danced around her fingers, a habit when she was thinking, but she didn't mind them. They just added to her public cover of being unable to really control her magic.
The woman readjusted her cloche hat, and tugged at the door of the shop. It opened easily, a bell ringing to announce her arrival. The smell of candy reached her instantly and she smiled. Fannie May Home Made Candies had always given the Angelucci family rather cheap prices on their goods. It might have been to help persuade, along with a piece of their profits, the Angelucci family to protect their shop from any unwanted unpleasantness. However, now that the Angelucci daughter started to come to the shop herself for her candy fix, the prices dropped even more, sometimes altogether.
"How might I be a service to ya today, Missus Angelucci?" A clerk greeted her eagerly, eyeing her for perhaps longer than would make normal girls uncomfortable. This woman was not normal.
"Please, Roger, you can call me Angel, remember?" She said sweetly, lightly touching his arm as she moved past him to the counter, her steps slow and sure, her hips swaying. The clerk, Roger, turned to watch her go.
"Sure thing, Missus Angel," He replied, taking his time to step behind the counter and be in front of her again. "Are you wantin' yer usual, ma'm?"
The woman, Angel, laughed, a gentle, soft, and melodious laugh.
"Yes, please, Roger, if you do not mind," She said, leaning over the counter.
"I mind not a bit, ma'm. I'll be back in a wink." With that, he was gone, rushing off to put a bag together for her. She didn't have to wait long before he was back again, offering her a bag laddened with her favorites. She smiled sweetly at him and he melted.
"What do I owe you?"
"You c'n keep yer jack, Missus Angel. No charge today."
"Oh, thank you, Roger. That is very sweet!" Angel leaned across the counter and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. He didn't have time to even rub the lipstick of his cheek before she was gone, the bell ringing her a goodbye.
The mafiosa was out of the street again, pressed under the sign of the building for shelter from the rain that had begun to fall. She shook her head, wondering who she would have to bat her eyelashes at to get an umbrella.
With a slight sigh,, she removed a sucker from her bag and popped it into her mouth, waiting for her mark to walk by.

 

[. D O V E]

There is last refuge for the desperate and abandoned by justice.
Location: a fancy restaurant Downtown
Date: September, 1929
Tag/s: _Line 213

Perhaps if Marcus wasn't busy looking at the showery streets, he'd notice the woman's smile turning devious in the briefest of moment before it reverted to its original amused form once he returned his attention back to her. Indeed, peculiar posters appeared in the streets of Chicago with the exact description as the journalist has said, all of them contained merely three words: Are you lost?

"No, he's had me on somethin' else for a while now, though that's gonna change soon anyway. You haven't heard about the big jewel comin' into town, have ya? Not many people have, I'll tell ya that. Set to premiere at the Museum've Elements tomorrow, one day only. And they're jackin' admission right up, you'd better believe me."

Victoria took a sip from her wine, hiding a nefarious smirk behind it perfectly. She set the glass down and a surprised expression washed her face, "Is that true?" disbelief hinted her voice.

"Doesn't sound like a mystery at the outset, I know, but here's the thing--part of the reason why no one knows is because it wasn't supposed t' go to the museum in the first place. You ask me, someone's shakin' somethin' up, though I don't know what."

The female raised a dark brow, "My, that is tremendously interesting." she said, "I am tempted to see this jewel but I fear that it wouldn't be a very wise decision. See, these kind of things attract unwanted attention. I bet it would be heavily guarded, don't you think so too?"

 

[_Line 213]

Marcus McAllister
Downtown, restaurant.
Interaction: . D O V E


​

"Well I dunno about you, but I sure don't know a museum that skimps when it comes to security. Part'a the reason why they have so many wealthy donors anyway, that and acquisitions," Replied the reporter with the shake of a head, "though if y' ask me, the real security here is the doubled-up entry fee." He grinned, clearly finding something about that concept rather amusing. "But it is what it is, and the press tends to cover the costs of this sort of thing as far as reporters are concerned, so I can't really say that it impacts me any even if I don't like the idea. Y'know, I think you'd be surprised just how much a supposedly public institution like a museum serves to gain from givin' the good public a poor hand." At that, he paused to take on a bit more soup, his face once again lighting up as he beheld the flavor of the mixture. This time around, he didn't try nearly as hard to hide his delight, the joy of not only eating, but eating well, starting to seep into his normal expressiveness.

He also took a sip of wine, for good measure; no point in letting it go to waste.

"Could be worse, though, I'll tell ya that much," he replied, briefly moving to pat his mouth with a napkin. Despite being incomprehensibly far from the upper echelons of Chicago's elite, the boy was composed and polite enough when it came to mannerisms; likely the result of a strict upbringing. "So whadabout you, Miss Scarlett?" Marcus said, grinning once more as he flipped the script, "you're dressed far too fancily to be a reporter--we don't make enough for coats like that--but unless there's some fine new spot somewhere downtown that I don't know anythin' about, I doubt folks're comin' over here in droves from Gold Wood and West City either."

 

[Prizzy Kriyze]

Zeth Forssa
West City, Shopping District - Shame

"Click, Click, Ca-shing." The oil-stained elderly man mumbled under his breath whilst counting his money, then handed over a box to Zeth. The old gunsmith was uncharacteristically spry and youthful in his mannerisms when compared to his jaded eyes and scarred knuckles. His white mustache released a cloud of dust when he sneezed, visible in the dim light coming in through the basement window. "Bless you." Zeth said, which prompted a kind smile from the older gentleman. "Thank you." The old man leaned across his workbench and looked Zeth up and down, before continuing "You seem dressed for West City, but you don't sound like you're from around here. Where are you from, lad?"

Zeth wrinkled his nose. He'd spent his last cents getting his clothes and cloak cleaned up just so he could visit West City without grabbing anyone's attention, but apparently he didn't fit in as well as he'd like. He couldn't help but return the old man's friendly face though, and simply replied "It's a long way from here, I'd rather not bore you with idle conversation." before dropping the box into a sling bag at his side. With a polite nod he turned to exit the dimly lit basement workshop when the old man spoke up again. "You don't have to be polite, lad. I myself used to live in England before the war. I just had the luck of moving years before it all went down." Zeth paused, then looked over his shoulder to spot the man's now more sombre expression.

"... I'm sorry, I didn't-" Zeth started, only to get interrupted. "It's alright, as much as I lost you must've experienced something similar, northerner. Where did you say you were from?" The gunsmith started sorting the coins into small boxes behind his workstation, patiently waiting for his customer's reply. Zeth hesitated. Nobody really ever inquired about his past anymore, it was surprising to him. "Sweden, sir." A small smile broke out over the gunsmith's face. "Sweden, huh? I heard most of you ended up in Minnesota. Swede Hollow, I think it was called. I used to have a couple acquaintances there." Zeth shrugged. Swede Hollow was an old and dilapidated shit hole, he'd been there once.

"You know, if I didn't already have an apprentice I'd take you on." The old man's words were sincere, but it was of little consequence. "Thank you, but I've got other things in life. Thank you for the quick work, I better be going." Without really waiting for the man to reply, Zeth was out of the basement shop. He took a deep breath and let the knot in his stomach unwind. There were too many things about that life he didn't want to remember, and it was a long time ago now. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.

------------------------------------------------------

Zeth was in West City to purchase ammunition. Most of what you could get your hands on in downtown would sooner jam your gun than make it fire, and what didn't was more expensive than it ever needed to be. The cops around here didn't particularly like refugees, so before his visit he'd had a seamstress fix the tears in his originally quite expensive shirt & vest combo, as well as made sure to clean all his clothes immaculately. It almost made him feel like a regular human again, walking down the street in clean clothes with his cloak folded and pressed against his chest. On his back he had a brand new sling bag, a luxuriant he felt would come in handy for him.

Now he was on his way back downtown again, and though it filled him with sorrow that he'd have to leave this part of town behind, he knew it was ultimately necessary. A spotless black Cadillac passed him on the street, adorned with a silver hood ornament of an Angel. Yet another indication of the difference in wealth between his home and West City.

Then he spotted her. Only a few meters down the street, she'd just exited a candy shop of some kind. Another difference between the slums of downtown and the streets of West City.

She was beautiful. Jet black hair, blood red lips, spotless skin and a body mostly just pictured in the magazines you found in the restrooms of dirty pubs. Her clothing was proper and clean, unlike the women of the night who only wore sleazy dresses with stains and tears on them, the origins of which he'd rather not think about. It reminded him of the wives that accompanied his older relatives during parties at his childhood home. They all dressed so well.

He stopped so as to not walk into her and wished in that moment that he'd had a hat to take off for her, but instead one of the ashen locks hiding in his brown hair slid out of his sculpted hairstyle and hanged before his left eye. "Ah, sorry." He excused himself for nearly walking into her, then gave a slight bow before looking to her eyes with an apologetic smile. "You look absolutely gorgeous today, Miss." He added, then dragged a hand through his hair to reset its previously undistrubed look. "Well, I won't keep you. Good day." He took a step around her and kept on down the street.

Though they were kind to the eyes, he knew to be careful around pretty girls. Oh, the harm they could do.

 

[Shame]

Caelia "Angel" Angelucci
West City - Shopping District - Fannie May Home Made Candies - With Prizzy Kriyze ​

Angel did not have to wait long for a man to come her way. In fact, he very nearly collided with her. She drew her green eyes over him as he stopped in front of her. She was not unaffected by how attractive the gentleman was. Pale hair, square jaw, eyes that had seen far more than they should, he was quite handsome in an almost rugged, wild kind of way. His clothes were of fine quality, and fit him quite nicely. However, as she dragged her gaze over his attire, she noticed the subtle sign of seamstress repair. This could mean that he was a man of new money, still remembering what is was like to be less fortunate. Probably not. It could also mean that he was a man of old money, used to his high lifestyle, and had recently ran out of luck, but still wanted to keep up the illusion of his status. Also not so likely. It could mean he was a con man, putting on a show of a higher status than he was. No matter the reason for his patched clothes, he reminded her of herself, playing a part to everyone that saw. This man had to be more than he appeared. Her interests were piqued. She would see if she could find refuge from the rain with him.
"Ah, sorry." He bowed to her, locked eyes with her, and gave her a smile that made her think of a puppy. She hesitated, taken aback by him, though she would not let it show. Maybe he really was just a good guy. She felt almost guilty.
"You look absolutely gorgeous today, Miss." Ah, there it was. The line. He even added an extra touch by running his fingers through his hair as if he was only doing so naturally and not so she could see his pretty eyes better and he could see her better. She felt a whole lot less guilty. She pulled her sucker out of her mouth with an audible "pop", and opened her mouth to begin her play.
"Well, I won't keep you. Good day." Then, he continued on his way, his cloak still draped over his arm, unperturbed by the rain.
Wait, what?
If there was any time that her facade would slip, it would be now, but she did not allow it. (Well, her mother's forceful teachings did not allow it.) She was absolutely stunned. He was genuinely a nice guy. He didn't try to harass her or stare at her for too long or touch her or even ask for her name. He just apologized for almost running into her, complimented her, then went on his merry way.
Now, he was a lot less like a mark, and more like someone she kind of wanted to get to know. Someone she kind of wanted to get to know her.
Angel stepped out of the shelter of the candy store's sign and into the rain. In an instant, she was a little more than damp, her hair and felt hat clinging to her face. She parted her lips, wondering what sort of line would get a guy like him to stay with her for a little while longer. Maybe ask him for help? Men usually liked their ego stroked by a damsel in distress.
She took a step forward, ready to call out to him, but her heel merely slid uselessly across the slick sidewalk and before she knew it, she was on her butt in a puddle and her sucker was gone.
She absolutely could not believe it. If her mother were here, she wouldn't hear the end of it even after she had died. She had let a man get to her. She had lost focus for a moment and had wound up in an admittedly unladylike sit in a puddle outside of a candy store.
She hadn't meant to be a damsel in distress like this, and she rather hoped the gentleman would keep going. She kept her head down, letting the rain soak through to her bone. All she had wanted was an umbrella.

 

[ScarletTears]

Joe Callahan

Downtown Chicago
peachuu & The_Omega_Effect

​

As Joe waited for the well dressed stranger to order, he grabbed a glass from under the bar and tossed it between his hands. Had the bar been a little quieter, he probably would have made it a bit of a game between him and her, suggesting drinks and pouring them using his magic to put on a show. She looked like she had money, and making a show was one of the best ways to get rich punters to part with their hard earned cash. But tonight he had too many customers to serve to charm her. He could make more profit on serving beers and cheap whiskeys than he could pouring cocktails for women like this.

The older gentleman who approached the bar and stood beside her seemed to have much more of an idea what he wanted to drink, and a tap on the bar diverted Joe's attention from the pretty stranger. He gave a little nod in response to the man's order, pulling a clean mug from underneath the bar. He headed to fill it up with the dark beer then man had ordered and placed it on the bar in front of him. The two newcomers were having a short sentenced conversation when he returned, which seemed to be mostly one sided. He couldn't really figure out what the woman was trying to get from the man, but in her flirting he heard her offer to buy the man a drink and figured it would be an opportune moment to suggest a change in drinks.

"I have a strong Irish whiskey if either of you would like to try it," He replied, leaning against the bar with a cloth in hand as he began polishing a tray of glasses, "It's the house special. My grandmother's recipe and then aged in oak barrels out the back. Or a very nice light gin if that's more to your tastes madame." Both were some of his most popular drinks, well made drinks with an extra hint of magic which made them stronger than anything the bars in downtown or docklands were serving.

 

[Prizzy Kriyze]

Zeth Forssa
West City, Shopping District - Shame
The perpetual drizzle hadn't quite gotten to Zeth, and though his clothes were getting soaked he'd rather be cold than don the old cloak on his arm. Besides, the cold didn't bother him much. The clothes could dry, whatever reputation he had in these parts could not be so easily fixed. It made the pavement quite slippery though, and this must've been the culprit in the event unfolding behind him.

Zeth stopped and turned halfway to look back, meeting the sight of the previously proudly standing woman in a puddle on the sidewalk. She stubbornly stared at the ground and looked quite embarrassed as far as he could tell, but he couldn't well enough leave it alone. He wouldn't leave someone to catch a death in a dress fit for better weather, and that was yet another thing he couldn't wrap his head around with the richer folks. Wearing that in a weather like was asking for a visit to the doctor.

His shoes clacked against the pavement as he closed the short distance between them,and extended his hand down towards her lithe frame. "Hey, you'll catch a cold if you stay down there. C'mon." He attempted a disarming smile, but his lips had a slight tilt to them so it probably looked a bit more sly than he had intended. A hint of a scar ran across the corner of his mouth, giving a natural explanation to the slanted smile but his ignorance of his own facial appearance given the lack of mirrors in his usual accommodations made him offer no excuse. He grabbed her small hand in his own and gave her a light tug up onto her feet.

"Careful, it's slippery." He noted, then internally face palmed. She had, obviously, noticed. "Ah, well..." He attempted, just to save face, and continued "We should get you somewhere warm. I'd offer you my cloak, but it's not exactly..." A frown flashed on his face, but he pushed the thought about his poverty aside. Instead, he unfolded the cloak and held it her way. It was, at the very least, clean. Leather and fur adorned it, and maybe once it had been a beautiful work. Now wear and tear had gotten to it. It wasn't quite so visible when folded, but all its little imperfections showed now. With his thumb he indicated a small pub on the corner at the other side of the street. "Shall we?"

 

[. D O V E]

There is last refuge for the desperate and abandoned by justice.
Location: a fancy restaurant Downtown
Date: September, 1929
Tag/s: _Line 213

Victoria laughed at the man's humor although still keeping her elegant composure. Of course, they won't just let anyone enter the museum- much less get the privilege of getting near the great jewel valued so much.

"So whadabout you, Miss Scarlett?" his question cut her line of thought as azure eyes found his, "you're dressed far too fancily to be a reporter--we don't make enough for coats like that--but unless there's some fine new spot somewhere downtown that I don't know anythin' about, I doubt folks're comin' over here in droves from Gold Wood and West City either."

The woman contemplated whether she should tell him the truth or one of her forged stories; however she decided to give the half-truth. "Well, there's nothing much about me." she began after finishing her meal and cleaning herself with napkin (although there was no mess or whatsoever), "I'm a singer, commissioned to sing at bars, restaurants, events and whatsoever. They call me 'The Siren' on stage and papers for reasons beyond my grasp." she finished. None of what she said was false however the man before her isn't obliged to know what her other less-honest occupation is.

The singer let her eyes dart through the window expecting the rain to be slowing down but instead it was the opposite. A sigh escaped from her ruby-red lips, "Oh dear, it seems like the rain won't be stopping anytime soon."

 

[_Line 213]

Marcus McAllister
Downtown, restaurant.
Interaction: . D O V E


​

"Singin', huh? I've never been musically inclined, but that's still good stuff, real solid talent to have. It's the respectable sort'a thing, yeah? Y'know my sister used to like singin', she was pretty alright at it." Marcus flashed another smile, hiding his inner conflict as to whether or not he should actually ask her to sing. One one hand, he was definitely curious, but on the other hand, putting people on the spot rarely worked out well. As she mentioned the state of the evening, however, Marcus glanced back to the window, his face straightening out for another moment as he seemed to peer past the rain, focusing on something else for a moment. The brief lapse in his expression betrayed a sort of troubled distance, and though it was subtle, the man did not seem to be trying to hide it either; whatever was on his mind was too much of a concern for him to worry about appearances in that brief moment. Even so, his expression corrected itself quickly enough; apparently the man's mind worked rather quickly. An admirable trait for a newspaper reporter, perhaps.

"...Guess not," he replied, pursing his lips; no one was on the other end of the street, and the reporter's gaze seemed to ease a bit as he looked back to the singer, taking a moment to consume a bit more of his soup before moving to speak once more. "Pretty unpleasant thing bein' stuck out here in Downtown, I will say that. Home's a long way away, I'm assumin'? Guess you must've been down here for a show or somethin'. Y'know, I think I might'a read that moniker of yours in one of my coworker's writeups."