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The City of Mist...
A mysterious place where gods, demons, and magic chimney sweeps meet, mingle, and live. Though a large portion of the population seems ignorant to the fantastical elements taking place around them, the mist protects their minds and hearts and fogs over all memory of such things.
It's Friday night, and it's storming out. The occasional lightning bolt streaks from the sky and the rain pounds the sea of umbrellas the downtown younger crowd hold, seemingly nothing stopping them from having a good time. Many are students relieving stress from the long week of studies at The University in the Old Quarter District, where the mist seems to be the thinnest.
But the Old Quarter can wait. Instead, we dip below the streets into the subway tunnels, dimly lit with fluorescent lights, bored pedestrians waiting for their transport as the old mechanical machines snake though their tunnels. However, there are a few tunnels that have been closed down and abandoned.
But past the roughshod chain link fence and wooden boards drilled in place, a surprisingly comfortable hideout can be found.
A dirty blonde haired man, dressed in a green jacket, sits by a lantern powered by a battery, reading a newspaper in the dim light. "Feel like a squatter." He murmurs to himself, leaning back against the concrete wall. He rubs his chin as he reads, noting that he had forgotten to shave this morning.
Looking expectantly at his watch, he wonders what has been keeping everyone so long. Sure, he was early, but usually someone else was too. Guess I'll pace around for a bit. Ground's cold and hard: I should buy a blanket, maybe a sleeping bag to put down here. A thought strikes his mind to bring his leather armchair from home, but it soon fades from sheer absurdity. He places his newspaper onto a stack of many others: various dates, topics, and publications.
Luke wanders about, never leaving the general area more than a foot. "Maybe bring a few towels down here too. It's pouring outside."
The side door marked Employees Only bangs open, and Zenna comes out to see who is already there. She has medium-length dark hair currently pulled up in a ponytail, and she is wearing jeans and a long sleeved terry sweatshirt in dark green, bringing out the green flecks in her hazel eyes.
She sees that someone is already there, and calls out Luke, come help me!
She leads him over to the old delivery elevator, where 8 comfortable reading chairs are stacked.
I donated new chairs to the bookstore today. These are the old ones... moved to the basement for "storage." Figured we could use them to brighten up the place.
A rusty door squeaks open and a tall man in a drenched coat enters inside. He has short black hair desperately in need of a haircut, blue eyes and goatee. He is dressed in a suit and an observant person might notice a bit of a lump on his left side, where he carries his weapon.
Wade quickly hangs it onto the shabby rack and shakes down his head, spattering everything near him with drops of water.
"Luke, Zenna, I see you're already here. And with some new furniture, great. This place is long overdue for some decoration."
An average-looking man enters the lair through the same door as Wade, which makes another squeak as he closes it.
He is wearing a short sleeved, white button-down shirt with a loosened dark blue tie around his neck. Khakis and brown leather shoes round out his outfit, and he has a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
"Good to see you all." he says as he moves to help with the new chairs.
A fourth person enters the room. Tall, dark-haired, wearing a dark, high collared overcoat, and carrying a six-pack the group recognizes Detective Wise as he walks through the door leading from the bar.
"Hey guys. Have they arrived yet?" He asks to no one in particular as he stalks toward the mini-fridge. He pauses for a moment, looking for a place to put the six-pack. The craft beer from Aiden's Fireside Bar and Grill, or just Aiden's to the locals.
Leighton starts removing old food from the fridge to make space for the beer and proceeds to reorganize the whole thing. He sighs and starts tossing out expired yogurt, checks the labels on unopened cans and sniffing an old takeout box. He continues shifting the contents of the fridge around even after placing the beer. He looks up at everyone moving chairs out of the elevator, hand in the fridge and asks, "Where'd the chairs come from?"
He takes off his coat and folds it before hanging it on the rack. He's wearing a three piece suit underneath.
"We have to be ready and look professional when they arrive. Luke, would you clean up those papers?" He says. He then takes off his blazer and folds it neatly over the couch and helps with the rest of the chairs, arranging a few around the coffee table.
Nobody is here yet that we don't know. Who are we meeting with? The chairs are the old ones from the bookstore. I donated new ones, so these ones are now officially in "storage."
"Interested third party." Leighton replies without explaining. "Hopefully Frederick will get here on time."
"Right, that's good. Dunno if we need quite this many but we'll figure it out as we go. How're they doing up there? Business good?"
Leighton will continue to make small-talk until the guest arrives.
Oh, yeah, the bookstore is humming. That digital book preview kiosk was a brilliant move. I was worried we would have to take it over there for a while, but letting people sit and read eBooks just like they can browse the others is really turning things around.
"Yeah? That's nice to hear something is doing well in this City. There's been a rash of pickpockets and smash-and-grabs near Aiden's, it's driving business away. I try to be around when I can, but I haven't caught anyone yet. The neighborhood hasn't been nice to begin with, but... It's just one more thing, you know?"
Coming in through the door from the bookstore, Fredrick enters with a small bundle under his arms. The elderly gentleman, with his silver air and bushy mustache, has clearly been out o the ain for a short while, as his heavy trenchcoat is no longer dripping water. Setting the bundle down on a side-table near the coat-rack, he takes off his dark-gray fedora and long, black trench coat and hangs them from the rack. This reveals a nice, but rather old-fashioned, suit and bow-tie.
Quickly looking around the room, and seeing that everyone else is here, and says "Ah, I see that I am the last to arrive. I trust that I did not arrive too late? It doesn't appear as if you have met with whomever it is that we are meeting today. Anyway, sorry for the delay, the crowds were thicker than I anticipated they would be. Also, since the weather was bad outside, I spent a little time preparing these." As he says the last bit, he goes back to his bundle and pulls out three decently sized thermoses, each of which has a distinctive label. He also pulls out a small stack of cups, enough for everybody to have two, including any guests. "I brought Tea, Coffee, and Hot Chocolate, if anybody wants some of those. I'll just set them over here," he says, walking over and placing the thermoses and cups on the coffee table.
Seeing the chairs, he will look at them for a moment before recognizing them. "Ah, I had wondered where the old chairs from the bookstore had gotten too. I think I remember this one as being quite comfortable." Settling himself down into the chair he has selected, he leans back and relaxes. Pulling a pair of reading glasses out of the inside pocket of his suit, he takes a moment to quickly clean them with a small cloth before putting them on. "Well, anyone want a drink? I can pour if you wish."
Zenna gets a cup of hot chocolate and sits down near Fredrick, but in a much less dignified manner.
Thanks Freddy.
"I brought beer, but I'll have some coffee while it chills." He'll remain standing after pouring himself a half cup of coffee and nurses it. "Thanks Frederick."
"Are you sleeping better now?"
Shifting position slightly, Fredrick responds to Leighton "Yes, much better. I have found that if I partake in my hobbies more my dreams get better." Pulling out the last of what was in the bundle, he holds up a book, roughly the size of a small dictionary. "See? Just before I came in here, I saw this book up in the store. It is all about caring for and refurbishing various Medieval suits of armor. Normally, I don't wind up getting particularly interested in these books, as I already have a shelf full of them. But this one was written by Fraswau, a renowned expert in the field, so I knew that I to purchase it."
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After helping with the chairs, Luke moves the pile of newspapers out of the seating area. "Sorry. Been looking through a lot of local news recently, mostly political stuff. Probably not a whole lot to do with, well, us, but you never know."
"Thanks for the drinks, Fredrick. Of course," He grins. "I might have some of Leighton's later as well." After fixing himself a cup of coffee, Luke sits in one of the chairs.
Leaning slightly forward, he asks. "How does one become an expert in taking care of armor? Do people just have suits of armor lying around they practice on?"
The conversation and nursing of drinks is interrupted by the sound of a knocking at the door leading to the bookstore. As the entrance was hidden behind the "Out of Date Encyclopedia" section, there was little chance of an intruder. Even more so since the intruder would have to know to pull the F, E, and Y tomes to activate the opening mechanism.
The door opens. A noticeable whining creak of protest from the doorframe makes the guest look around sheepishly, glancing from person to person.
He's hesitant at first. His wild blond hair bounces slightly as he steps forward, his wandering eyes taking in the space as if it were one of the secret bases he imagined as a child. Still, you can tell there's fear there, his breathing slow and consciously controlled. So much so that his hands absentmindedly brush against the pocket of his button-down shirt, the faded front of his denim jeans, and his right back pocket.
Just a quick check, nothing more. The young man opens his mouth. His voice starts weakly but picks up strength as he begins to speak.
"Um, you guys are the....um...the crew Morgane told me about, yeah?"
"We are. Why don't you close the door, come take a seat, and let us know what you need our help with."
The young man takes Donovan up on his offer, easing himself into the well-used reading chair.
"Thanks. I'm Mark by the way. Mark Sapataro. And apologies if I smell a bit, just finished a shift at work."
Indeed, those with keener noses can pick up the heavy musk of reused fry oil on Mark's clothing.
Eventually, he get's to it.
"So...my father owns a small shop in the downtown district above us, and even though he could make a lot of money by selling it, he refuses. Our family immigrated here, and I'm the firstborn son now a citizen. I can't prove anything, but sometimes I hear strange noises coming from the shop at night, we live right above it. I'm not sure if my dad is involved with anything illegal, but it would explain why he isn't willing to sell the shop. If he's gone down a bad road, I want you guys to figure out what and convince him to stop before we lose everything."
As he finishes the short version, Mark takes a breath as an invisible weight seems to be lifted from his shoulders. He's a bit calmer now, a tad less guilty, and looks to you all for a response.
"So you came to us, rather than the cops, because you think it could get your dad in trouble." Luke says. Poor kid. Likely has enough of his own troubles, doesn't need any of his father's.
Luke grabs one of the newspapers and a pen, writing down some notes. "What kind of people are coming to buy the shop?"
Zenna listens intently, taking some notes in the journal she pulls out of her bag, but not saying anything at this point.
"Has your father's behavior changed recently in any way that stands out to you? It doesn't matter if it seems like nothing, let us know."
Wade pulls out his notebook and starts taking notes. "Who are your neighbors?"
Fredrick will stay silent, letting the others ask the questions. However, he will offer Mark a cup with whichever of the beverages he prefers.
"I'm sure you've heard of the buyer. He's the young millionaire Zaine Powers, though my friends tell me he changed his name to that when he made his fortune. As for how he got so rich...some say mafia, other say real estate. Heck, it could even be bitcoin, no one knows for sure. No idea why he wants to buy out my dad though."
Mark grins at Fredrick's offer of a beverage and takes a cup of coffee.
"I have another half of a shift to get to before heading home, so I can't stay long. This'll serve as a nice pick-me-up."
He takes a careful sip, grins at the flavor, and takes a deeper drink.
"My Dad's always been a bit reclusive, but it got worse when mom left. Sometimes I'll wake up and head downstairs for a snack, and I'll see his light on in his workshop, its the small room at the back on the first floor. He never talks about it, even if I ask."
"As for neighbors," pause for drinking, "Well, I guess there's the abandoned nightclub on the left, and the bought out apartment building to the right."
Bought out by who? Zenna prompts.
"So Mark," Leighton says, "to clarify, you just want to find out what's been bothering your dad lately, and to intervene if it's illegal?"
"And what is the family business? Smells like a diner, but I feel like there's something I'm missing because a diner doesn't seem like the type of place that has a workshop in it. We're just trying to get a clear picture."
Mark scratches his head.
"I mean, its obvious right? Zaine Powers. He's out to buy up the whole block to tear it down and build some kind of new nightclub or shopping center or something. Or maybe he'll fill it with bitcoin miners, I don't know.[/ooc]
He nods to Leighton Wise.
[b]"That's correct. I honestly don't care if we sell or not, but I don't want my dad to be caught up in something bad if he's doing something to make ends meet. And no, I just work at a diner. My father's business is a higher end fancy clothes store. Nice shoes, button down shirts, matching ties with wingtips, that sort of thing. We got history, but the larger competition's drowning us out."
Mark finishes his coffee, and double checks his watch.
"I gotta head to my shift, I'm cutting it close as it is, but I'll leave you my number. and address. As for payment, I'm sure I can come up with something."
And with that, he leaves hurridly, the frown on his face betraying his current tardiness.
"So what is our plan? Do we send our resident police officer to talk to him, or do we just follow him and see where he takes us?"
I say let's try the abandoned building and see if there is something under the whole block. We know this city is riddled with old tunnels...
She gestures to the tunnels leading away from their hideout.
I'd also like to try to get a look at that workshop while he isn't there.
"Let's try the abandoned building first," nods Wade. "And I'll see if there's anything in the police files, might be something useful there."
"Okay, did we want to wait until later in the evening before going? I would like to change out of my work clothes."
"Seems fair. Meet back here at seven?"
"Sounds good."
Donovan will collect his stuff and head out.
"I'll head to the station then." Wade grabs his coat and sighs as it is still still damp from the rain. "Leighton, you coming?"
"No, I think I'll head home. I've already clocked out for the day, and I want to grab some things from home."
"We can talk strategy when we get back but I'm thinking Zenna and Luke come in as potential buyers of the apartment building, just wanting to get a sense of the neighbors."
Leighton will get changed into casual wear, including a looser button up with a leather jacket and jeans and leave his service weapon at home. He also has some light surveillance gear, a handful of concealable microphones and earpieces for the crew. Taking those things from the station would require requisitions, but from his own personal supply, it won't be a problem.
Slowly standing up from his chair, Fredrick will put back on his trench coat and hat. Stowing his book in one of the large interior pockets of the coat, he will say "I think that I will go get a bite to eat, as I didn't have time for a large lunch, and it has been a while since breakfast. I am thinking of going to Marco's Pizzeria down the street, or maybe the steak place over on Kingwood Street. Anyone feel like joining me?"
I'm in says Zenna to Fredrick. Either is fine with me.
The group exits their base, each with their own thoughts and agendas. It would be a couple hours before the meeting time, and a bit of personal downtime would be nice before the work began. Filing out of the bookstore exit, Morgane - a middle-Italian woman, smiles at you and gives a friendly wave. Her hand rests on the old timber of the oak sales counter next to a small porcelain tea cup, the top pot lightly steaming through the spout. She notices this, an annoyed glance passes her face and she snaps. The teapot whistles briefly as a more forceful gush of steam billows from the spout.
As everyone begins to reconvene at the base, they find the task nigh impossible with the large crowd in front of Morgane's bookstore, Fey Scripts.
There is a see of curious teenagers, smartphones out and pushing against the line of police that are trying to prevent the scene from being overrun. The rain continues to pour, and the body of Mark Sapataro grows colder in the rain.
"Lord." Luke whispers to himself as he begins to push against the crowd. A chorus of excuses and apologies stream from his mouth unconsciously until he reaches the front. While the cops keep him moving further, he can see it without a doubt - the body is Mark.
Luke turns his eyes from the sight. He was just a boy, looking after his father. He had unwittingly walked into the jaws of a lion, it seemed. If only I could have stopped him. Stayed with him, tried to save him. But those thoughts were pointless now. The boy could no longer be helped, only his cause.
Luke looked around, staring at the cops. Leighton or Wade. I need one of them here. Now. He whips out his phone, texting the group. Where is everyone? Have some bad news.
Wade receives the message as he gets close to the bookstore. Well, that's not good.
He flashes his badge in the crowd, plowing his way through to the storefront. And sees Mark. S$+#.
"Detective Walton," he shows the badge to the police officer keeping the crowd away. "What happened here?" He asks already inside the police tape.
Zenna looks up from her keyboard when her phone vibrates. She finishes her paragraph and her thought, types up some ideas to follow up on, and then turns the phone over to see what is up. She sighs, puts some shoes on, and takes the elevator down to the street level. Seeing police outside her building (the same building where the bookstore is), she decides to go into the bookstore rather than outside where the police are, sure that the others can handle that part. Too wet anyway.
Morgane, what's going on outside? Do you know?
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Donovan took the subway home, as he always did, with headphones on and listening to something with a lot of Bass. It wouldn't do to get involved in someone else's business. Just ride the rails home, beats pumping through his ears into his....
Donovan looked up as the headphones were snatched from his head. A trio of punks stared down at him, and he realized he was the only one on the car.
"These must be some nice headphones. They got that noise cancelling s#!+ in them? I been talking to you the last 5 minutes or so, and you ain't heard me from jump."
Donovan listened, but already the...not quite a voice, but more like an instinct... began drawing his attention to things; like how the guy who was talking favored his right knee, likely due to an old injury that never healed properly, or The big one in the back was not much of a fighter, but relied on his size to scare people.[/I]
Donovan realized he was tuning out the talker, so he started paying attention to him [b]"...I said, I need your money for my sick ma."
Finally looking up, the leader couldn't quick comprehend what he was seeing: instead of a look of fear on his mark's face, there was a sort of dangerous little smile. Subconscious warning bells started going off, but by then it was too late...
It was unfair to say the alley had seen better days, considering that it basically was how it had always been: dirty, smelly, and especially dark.
As we look down from above, we see Donovan is talking to the leader mook, his headphones around his neck, right below the bloody collar of his dress shirt.
"You still awake? Yes? good. So as I was saying, you should consider this city off limits. Find someplace else to live. Before you go, however...Hang on a sec." Donovan was interrupted by a buzzing from his pocket "What's up? Okay, I'll meet you guys there in a bit. I got caught up in something and I have to finish it."
Turning back to the thug, whose eyes were wide with fear bordering on panic, Donovan continued "I apologize about that. Cellphones have not made it easier to have a conversation with another person, have they? Now where was I? Oh, that's right... You should do your best to convince anyone in your line of 'work' to leave as well. If you can't afford to leave, because you have roots in the community and all that, then alternately you can go to the police (there's a station right around the corner and down the block a bit) and confess to every crime you've ever committed, in full details. I want to read all about it in the papers. If I don't, and I find out you're still in the city, then you and I are going to have a much longer conversation. One I can promise you won't be interrupted by a cellphone. So, I'll leave you to your soul searching." Donovan started walking towards the mouth of the alley, then stopped and returned "Sorry, last thing really: Do you ever want to see me again?" the thug couldn't speak, so he just shook his head no "So, are you going to be telling the police about me?" the thug's eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head no again. "Good boy."
That settled, Donovan walked out of the alley, down the street, and into his apartment building. Changing quickly into a dark long-sleeve tee-shirt and dark jeans, Donovan hung his headphones around his neck and then headed out, catching a cab and meeting with the rest of the group.
A firm hand pushes Luke Read back as he tries to press in for a closer look. The body is face down, and the spectacle is so recent that they haven't even been able to bag it to take it out of the public's eye.
However, Wade Walton is able to bypass the wall of police arms with a flash of his badge. There's not a lot of breathing room here as the crowd is pressing its luck by pressing in for a closer look. Already you can see far off officers retrieve some portable barricade bars to reinforce the taped off area to block off this section of the road. The woman you asked for briefing gets up from her knee, her camera in one hand as her windbreaker shields her from the rain. Her name is sewn onto the outside of her jacket, C. Craine, and she only glances at your badge before answering.
"911 call came in only five minutes ago, but we had officers in the area so crime scene isn't too contaminated. As for victim here, no idea. People didn't notice him fall over, but they sure as hell saw the pool of blood under him. Paramedics should be here soon to clean up and deliver him to the morgue. We'll find out more there."
Morgane is where she always is, the soft plump comforter behind the checkout counter of the bookstore. She had somehow suspended the plush in a wooden cage of sorts, creating a hanging reading sphere. On occasion, you have heard her mutter something about having it move from room to room, but hasn't worked out all the details yet.
"Something bad dear." Morgane says, sipping her tea, her eyes never leaving her book.
"Unfortunately, the only times when people who feel justice strongly are needed is when something unjust has happened."
Donovan steps out of the cab and into the rain, you see a mass of young people, all with their phones out in the street next to Fey Scripts, the bookstore.
Donovan will watch for a moment and attempt to see if he can determine where the attacker came from.
Having taken a look at the scene, Donovan will send out a group text to meet in the base ASAP, then will head that way himself, shouldering his duffelbag.
Luke turns to someone in the crowd, preferably someone who looks particularly mortified, as if someone had dropped dead right in front of them (which, hopefully, they had).
Placing an arm on their shoulder, Luke asks bluntly. "Did you see what happened?"
Morgane's talk of justice and being needed sets Zenna thinking about what people might need in this situation, even though she doesn't know yet what the situation is. She steps back into the shelves so no one will see if she disappears, and closes her eyes, trying to sense the needs of the people around her and discern the ones that are the greatest.
Zenna can't really sense anything at least immediately, so she walks closer to the window to see if she can spot any of her friends.
Wade examines the crime scene for anything suspicious and out of place.
Stopping as he recieves the message from Luke, Fredrick fishes his phone out from one of his pockets. Seeing the message, he tries to send a reply. However, as normal, he isn't quite able to get the message correct. "Bah, why did I let them insist on me getting one of these 'Smartphones'? As if a phone could be smart! And why must something have gone bad after such a nice meal?" That said, he puts his phone back in his pocket and picks up his pace as he continues walking towards Fey Spirits.
Seeing the crowd around the bookstore, Fredrick slows down to a more normal walking pace. As he approaches and sees the body, he has to turn away and force himself to not throw up. Managing to pull himself together, he turns to one of the nearby people and asks them "Do you know what happened here?"