"I am Constable Sangster and this is Constable Tergsvor. We are investigating a crime and we think a barge may be involved. We need to know where we can find this barge, who owns it, and any movement you know of recently." Shane names the barge as it appears on the deed, but he does not show the deed just yet.
Ralf/Shane, Dockmaster's Office
The clerk quirked an eyebrow at Shane. "Ah... do you have the registration number, sir? Constable?" She gestured at the many, many shelves and drawers around them. "I'll be able to help you better if I know where to look. They're sorted by number. If you have the deed or other details with you, that would be quickest."
Shane holds the deed where she can see what information she needs, but keeps hold on the document.
Ralf frowns. "Regiswhat?"
Jaelynn merely stood behind Aziel as the latter bellied up to the bar. While Aziel was talking, Jaelynn surveyed the room.
While Jaelynn normally could figure out the patterns and meanings of seemingly random movements and events, people still sometimes took longer to work out, especially in openly social situations.
Ralf/Shane, Shipmaster's Office
Shane holds the deed where she can see what information she needs, but keeps hold on the document.
The clerk frowned at Shane but reached over to get a piece of scratch paper and a pen. She wrote down the pertinent information and past the constables at a few chairs whose builders clearly designed for longevity rather than comfort. "Give me a few minutes, constables."
She disappeared into a stack of cubbies not large enough to hold full-size documents and came back in what was probably no more than fifteen minutes but felt like hours. The clerk slid her scratch paper across the counter to the constables. "River Traffic, Local Registration, NB-17," was written on the paper. She gestured vaguely in the direction of a narrow metal spiral staircase that led up to several half-floors of stacks crammed in along the back of the cavernous room from floor to ceiling. "Have a good evening, officers."
Aziel/Jaelynn, Thinking Man's Tavern
The Thinking Man was exactly the sort of place Aziel loved - a hangout for poets and artists as well as the average working-class person. She waved a greeting to the bartender as she surveyed the room at a glance.
Regardless of what she saw, she bellied up to the bar to order a drink - and one for Jae, whom she suspected wouldn't understand the social value of carrying one, if not drinking it. "Lukas! How is your family? Little Janine off to school yet?" she queried the bartender with an engaging smile.
The bartender grinned at Aziel and started filling a glass with the tiefling's usual order. Lukas's bartending memory was top notch. "Almost. She's still under mama's feet at home for another few months. How's my favorite Danoran?"
[dice=Cotftil as Diplomacy]1d20+4+3+2
"Far from enjoying the sound of my own little rascals yet, I'm afraid, but I manage to get by with appreciating the simpler things in life... like your wine." Aziel held the glass up, admiring the color and heady bouquet of her drink, then took a draught, heedless of regulations about drinking on the job. Risurans could be so stuffy that way.
She licked her lips and grinned at Lukas, tail curling with pleasure. "Magnifique. Remind me to buy a partnership in the Thinking Man with that fortune I'm bound to win in the betting pool," she sighed. "Finest investment I could make."
Lowering her voice, she continued, "But I could use a tip if you have one, Lukas. She and I," she nodded toward Jaelynn, "are looking for chocolates." After a dramatic pause, she added, "Brigadieros, from the same person who sold the batch to a woman by the name of Nilasa."
Ralf stared at the woman as she essentially dismissed them. Leaning towards Shane, he spoke quietly from one side of his mouth. "This is being called 'passive-aggressive,' aiwa?"
Shane took the paper, thanking the woman politely. At Ralf's comment, he just smiled. "It is the job of bureaucrats to make work for bureaucrats, just as it is the job of lawyers to make work for other lawyers."
He headed for the spiral staircase. "But soft, let us see how dame fortune smiles on our next transportation department adventure," mocking faintly the tone of voice used in formal stage soliloquy.
"We are not being bureaucrats," Ralf protested with a quiet grumble as he fell in behind Shane.
Aziel/Jaelynn, Thinking Man's Tavern
Lowering her voice, she continued, "But I could use a tip if you have one, Lukas. She and I," she nodded toward Jaelynn, "are looking for chocolates." After a dramatic pause, she added, "Brigadieros, from the same person who sold the batch to a woman by the name of Nilasa."
"Nilasa?" Lukas looked confused. "You mean Nilasa Nilasa? Who used to work here?" He shook his head. "I have brigadieros right here." The bartender took a few steps and pulled a box of chocolates out of a cabinet behind the bar, which he put in front of Aziel. "For my favorite Danoran, half off."
An older woman was passing by carrying a half dozen flagons. Her hair was steel grey and she looked like she'd been soaked in seawater and left out in the sun to dry for a few weeks, but there was a twinkle in her eye. Aziel knew the woman by reputation, the indomitable Barb. Her fearsome wit and withering smirk were well known in these parts. She looked curiously at Aziel. "You looking for Nilasa? She hasn't been around for a couple of days."
Barb nodded in the direction of a table waiting for its drinks. "Give me a minute, we'll talk."
Ralf/Shane, Shipmaster's Office
"We are not being bureaucrats," Ralf protested with a quiet grumble as he fell in behind Shane.
The well ordered stacks were relatively straightforward to search, so it only took Ralf and Shane a few hours to find what they were looking for. It wasn't even midnight when they left the Shipmaster's offices, emerging back into the refreshing salty tang and fishy funk of the harbor breeze.
The company that owned the barge had a few barge docks on the Stanfield Canal. While neither Ralf nor Shane had heard of the company before, Shane knew from his time undercover that those docks were owned lock, stock, and barrel by the crimelord Lorcan Kell. Nothing moved there without his say-so.
For a moment, Aziel was thrown off, and blinked blankly at Lukas. Then her brain kicked back into gear, and she smiled (no teeth) and slid a few coins over to the bartender. "You big softie, you. Once again, you have saved the day!" She picked up the box of brigadieros and opened it, sniffing the contents. "Mmm. Remind me to come here for all my chocolate needs, from now on." She offered the box to Jae with the hope that the woman wouldn't start dissecting them on the spot.
Aziel was about to inquire more about Nilasa's surprise employment when Barb spoke. Leaning against the bar, she nodded with what she hoped was casual agreeability. "Hello, Barb! Sure, we'll wait."
Shane looked at Ralf and then around at the neighborhood. "Not the best time to go poking around the docks without backup. Shall we call it a night and report back at HQ?"
"Am thinking is never good time," Ralf replied with a shrug, then turned to head back.
For a moment, Aziel was thrown off, and blinked blankly at Lukas. Then her brain kicked back into gear, and she smiled (no teeth) and slid a few coins over to the bartender. "You big softie, you. Once again, you have saved the day!" She picked up the box of brigadieros and opened it, sniffing the contents. "Mmm. Remind me to come here for all my chocolate needs, from now on." She offered the box to Jae with the hope that the woman wouldn't start dissecting them on the spot.
Aziel was about to inquire more about Nilasa's surprise employment when Barb spoke. Leaning against the bar, she nodded with what she hoped was casual agreeability. "Hello, Barb! Sure, we'll wait."
Jaelynn gave the box a cursory glance, then shook her head. After a moment, it occurred to her to murmur something vaguely polite regarding declining the food. She even managed not to say anything about poison.
After a few additional moments, wherein Aziel gave Jae a quick frown and twitched the box in her hand, Jaelynn frowned, then shook her head, then took the box and tucked it under one arm, looking slightly irritated.
Whether her irritation was caused by having to take the box, or her own delay in realizing Aziel's intent, wasn't immediately obvious.
Aziel/Jaelynn, Thinking Man's Tavern
Barb came back in a few minutes after delivering her tankards. She nodded at the busy crowd behind her. "I've got a few minutes. What kind of trouble did Nilasa get into that got her mixed up with the Constabulary instead of the regular police? I can bail her out, if she's eligible for bail." The old waitress had the air of a long-suffering mother, or maybe an older sister, as she talked about Nilasa. Jaelynn missed it, but Aziel caught the very subtle suggestion that Barb might be open to bribing the two constables to arrange her friend's release.
Aziel glanced at Jaelynn, weighing what to say. It might not be wise to say too much... but Barb's concern for Nilasa touched the tiefling. What kind of person would she be to lie? Damn the regulations, anyway. Risuris were far too impersonal with all their rules.
"You might want to sit down a moment," Aziel said, earnest concern in her tone.
Putting a sympathetic hand on Barb's shoulder, Aziel said softly, "Barb, Nilasa must have fallen in with the bad types. I'm afraid they got her... that is to say, she has passed away. That is why we are involved. I'm so sorry."
Aziel let Barb absorb the blow for a minute (keeping Jae from asking questions, if necessary, with a sharp shake of her head). Then she gently asked the barmaid, "Barb... please. Do you know who she was in contact with before... all this happened? We are trying to get to the bottom of it all."
Barb frowned and shook her head. "There must be a mistake. I just saw her a couple of days ago." The searching look she gave Aziel and Jaelynn showed her there was no mistake, and the waitress reached behind her without looking to grab and pull up a chair. She sat down hard and her expression turned angry.
"Fell in with some bad folks? You're telling me. I told her! I told her not to hang around with those damn musicians!" Barb pointed over at a corner of the bar where a good dozen men sat with a variety of instruments nearby as they drank. "I didn't care if they were seditionists or Old Faith believers or what, but when they started singing about Gale and how things had to be brought down, I told her to stop hanging around with them! Dammit!"
The old waitress dropped her head into her hands, shoulders hitching up as she quietly started to cry. "That stupid, stupid girl!"
Aziel pulled another chair close with her tail, and offered Barb a sympathetic hug. "I am sorry," she said again. "Know that we will do our best to bring who is responsible to justice, I promise you. Can you give me any names?"
EDIT:
Summer in Flint was not anyone's favorite season, but the warm, muggy morning had yet to turn into the hot, wet heat of deep summer, and the belt-driven ceiling fans were doing an adequate job of keeping the air moving in the office, so it wasn't quite as bad as it could have been.
Over the past few months as memory of the attempted assassination faded from public memory, the news had become dominated by one of five things:
-the small earthquakes that were gradually becoming commonplace throughout the region,
-the upcoming nuptials of wealthy Flint industrialist Guy Goodson,
-the Ragman murders,
-the arsonist burning down factory buildings and the homes of factory owners,
-and the anti-technology terrorist Gale.
Of the five, only Gale was of professional interest to the Royal Homeland Constabulary.
Gale was the name given by the papers to an anti-technology terrorist for her apparent ability to fly away from the scene of the crime, in spite of years of research and experimentation showing that to be impossible. Her usual M.O. was to sneak into a factory at night and sabotage the machines to stop work or cut the mooring lines of docked ships to get them to drift into the harbor. Since she started getting covered in the papers she has won the sympathies of anti-Danoran agitators and those who hold to the Old Ways.
Many common workers saw her as a threat to their livelihood, and the government considered her a foreign provocateur with ties to the Vekeshi Mystics. Gale was also blamed for thefts from the homes of wealthy factory owners, for the killings of a company of surveyors who wandered into the Cloudwood to site a potential railroad, and for a botched assassination attempt against Kane Westman, a tax collector with strong political friends.
Unit 11 had been instrumental in stopping a civil war, but while they had been lauded by the King and nobility alike, the agents who had been involved in the daring raid on Axis Island were, for the most part, gone. Only the Danoran, Aziel, had not been transferred to another Unit or quit entirely. She had a shiny medal from the King himself to show for her efforts, and another one from Danor she couldn't.
Shane, Ralf, and Jaelynn had been replaced over the summer with fresh recruits, all of who were learning that the worst part of being a constable wasn't facing down a suspect, it was the paperwork after the fact. It turned out that a great deal of the work of a constable involved filling out forms.
With her shirt collar open and her guns hanging from the back of her chair, Aziel was frowning at her stack of paperwork with the usual cigarette dangling from her lips. Her frown slowly turned into a scowl as she picked up the sheet she had just finished inking in and peered at it closely.
"Did I just write 'refer to form 8-z' instead of 'refer to form 8-Bc'?! Mes dieux morte! Je suis un fou!" Crumpling up the paper with an exasperated sigh, she flung it at the back of Diego's head. "Paperwork should be done by those who make a living writing. 8-z! Tell me, do any of you remember when we requisitioned Category G: wild animals? I bloody meant we requisitioned C: miscellaneous items of a value not exceeding 1000 standard denomination gold coins! Though, calling for a tiger doesn't sound so bad now. Maybe it will eat me and save me from more paper cuts."
She stretched in her chair, more exaggerated than in earnest. "I will need medical attention to my back after all this. ...No, I do not want one of your tinctures, Lyle."
Unit 11.
The transfer had been an unceremonious one for Diego Roldán but apparently meant much to the Constabulary itself. Heroes, they were called by fellow officers, but were they truly? Could those who enforced the will of a King be seen as the saviors of the common man?
They were in Ber, but those Executores served not the Royce but the Revolution. They fought for Equality, not a Throne.
And, Diego recalled from his mother's work, they seemed to do a lot more with the business end of a billy club than with a quill. While Diego did not mind writing - he did, in fact, dabble as a novelist to fit in better with The Docker lifestyle - it was the precision that was required that was driving him towards silent frustration.
Seven Forms? In Triplicate? Just to confirm that his desk, yes, had indeed moved? Qué va! Risurians wouldn't understand the beauty of language if it made love to them thrice a day!
At Aziel's complaining, Diego couldn't help but agree, and yet her presence made him noticeably ... tense. Even with the playful toss of her defiled form against his skull, the fact that Aziel was apparently now his coworker made for ...
He wasn't quite sure. His initial shock at seeing her had dissolved quickly when she had barely acknowledged his presence in the offices of Unit 11. Was she playing coy, or was Officer Charbonneau much different than Docker Delving Aziel? Layers upon Layers in that one, Diego mused. Question was, which was the true face? Here, or before?
The Half-Orc shrugged off his vest finally, letting it drape over the back of his chair while he pulled in frustration at the knot of his yellow tie, loosening its hold on his throat. A hair tie slipped out of a pocket and he used it to quickly gather up his thick mane and keep it off of his neck, sweat having colored his collar already. Ber was Hot, for sure, but at least there was a breeze. Here, in Risur, all of the humidity and warmth seemed to fester in one pool.
Diego Ferran Roldán shrugged it off: it was a discomfort, nothing more. Wiping his damp brow with a handkerchief, Aziel's last statement caught his notice, prompting a small grin over his tusks.
"Being hunched over a desk does seem to undo you, Aziel," he noted aloud, his Berian accent thick and rolling off his tongue.
"But I believe I am alm ... ost .... Done. Ah, bien."
He signed his name for the last time with a flourish of his pen, as if a swordsman leaving his mark on a finished opponent. Damnable Risurians and their meticulousness, Diego thought: this was half the problem with Dockers to begin with. So focused on words instead of action.
The Berian pushed his chair back and stood, crossing one arm over his chest at a time and twisting from side to side to stretch out his spine. His grey-green skin was a touch flushed from the unrelenting mugginess, but large, golden eyes gleamed with eagerness at the rest of the assembled officers of Unit 11.
"Hopefully they do not waste such fine talent here, as merely ... ah, 'desk jockeys', as you say. I did not give up my practica privada just to sign autographs for Police Captains and City Officials, not at all."
"What fine talents are those, mon ami?" Aziel drawled, draping herself over her chair and leaning it back against the wall, crossing her hooves on the desk. Another form was destroyed as she crumpled it with one hand, then lobbed it at Diego's neck. "Delft is a fine judge of usefulness, so there must be something. Perhaps you are a doctor?"
With a sigh, she clacked her chair back onto the floor and stood, going over to Zerpina's desk. "You are Berian, non? What do you think of his lack of passion for desks?"
Crouching, her tail swept up a pile of discarded forms, and she gathered them up. "A member of the RHC should be prepared for anything," she sighed, dumping the paper into a bin. "Even tiresome assignments. Brûle en l'enfer, ANOTHER papercut!" She stuck a finger in her mouth, scowling as her tail lashed.
Diego swatted the floating projectile out of the air with all the effort of breathing, frowning as it dropped to the floor and not in the wastebin at the side of his desk. He sighed while scooping down to clean it up.
"A doctor of the ciencias alquimia, quizás, had the Panoply deemed fit to give me a degree," Diego mused on the past with an air of dissatisfaction, "But I have gotten by just fine without a piece of paper to certify what I know of chemistry between the elements."
He took a moment to review the last form he had filled out, shuffling through the papers with his eyes to his desk.
"Or between people, for that matter," he added offhandedly, explaining further, "I ran a private business for the lower classes of Flint. Helping them with matters legal and criminal. La policía here seem to be ... less inclined to address the complaints of those on The Docks, but they've troubles all the same. Troubles that needed solutions."
He gathered up his papers and tapped them onto his desk twice to get them to line up, giving an ear to Officer Uxui's answer: it was indeed curious, and beneficial, to be assigned alongside a fellow countryman. He was glad to see he was not the only one with sympathies towards the benevolent egalitarianism of Ber.
"Are we to be prepared for the dangers of papel, too?" he lightly teased the Danoran woman as she received another small cut from the filing, his eyes sharing warmth despite the sharpness of his tongue. He had busied himself with a small snuffbox on his desk, carefully measuring out tobacco from a cheesecloth to roll into a cigarette. Briefly considering, he conjured a second before procuring a match from his desk, striking it between his fingertips to spark the flame.
Diego took a deep drag upon his lit habit, letting the smoke out slowly.
"I'd imagine the horrors of office work will undo us long before bullets and blades do at this rate," he chuckled, leaning casually against his desk while partaking in his small break.
He held out the other cig he had rolled, looking briefly between the two Risurian natives.
"Ashcroft? Langston?" he offered.
"Paper tigers," Aziel muttered to herself as she returned to her desk, stubbing out her own cigarette.
Office Uxui shrugged at Aziel. "Desks get in the way," she said with a rich, South Berian accent. "You know what I think? I think that bureaucracy--" she gave an expansive wave of one blue and brown arm, hennaed with a richer red brown in intricate patterns, "--it's just another way to hide things. Hide the truth. Cover up corruption. Ber is not like that." She inclined her head to one side and sighed, looking tired; she had been up late in some extremely illicit clubs, looking like a denizen of various trades, and there wasn't enough caffeine in the world to rescue her from a night beat followed by a morning report.
"Of course, it's not like like Ber is incorruptible." She spoke the word in Berian, rolling the r's out. She smirked, her handsome, alien features crinkling adorably, and pointed finger guns at her own slender frame, then wrinkled her nose further. "Ay, compa, ser adicto al tabaco es muy feo. You two need a new hobby. Of all the drugs to use in Flint." She laughed, her voice, ironically, rather low and husky.
"No thank you, Diego. I do not smoke either," said an auburn-haired woman, dressed in a freshly-pressed, form-fitting RHC uniform. Unlike some of the others she seemed completely unfazed by the heat. With a careless twiddle of her fingers she changed the odor of the smoke to a vanilla scent.
She idly sipped from a steaming cup, but frowned at the taste. "Fair warning to everyone. They burnt the coffee again. One would think that through sheer repetition alone, they would occasionally get it right by accident."
She twiddled he fingers again, this time reducing the burnt, bitter taste of the coffee.
Aziel wrinkled her nose at the smell of smoke going from tobacco to vanilla, but she looked on with interest as Eveline made the same gesture over her coffee. "You can repair the damage done to the coffee? Already you are an important member of this crew. ...Unless the coffee, it is now vanilla as well. Then you must be tried for war crimes."
She sauntered over and plucked one of Diego's offered cigarettes from his hand, drawing on it as she returned to her own desk, tailtip flicking at Diego's nose. "Oui, bureaucracy can be the death of freedom. But it can be its lifeline as well. Progress certainly seems to need a lot of it."
Draping herself over her chair again with another sheaf of reports scooped up in one hand, she rocked back in it and put her feet up again, clacking her horns against the wall as she leaned back. "But the bureaucracy, it is both civilized and uncivilizing, non? It makes you wish for a murder, just to get away from the paperwork."
She scowled at the reports as she read them, golden eyes narrowed. "For that murder, I volunteer. Kill me now."
"Perhaps, another time, dear. I'm a little busy trying to remember if anyone my aunt ever set me up with on a date with was associated with the Treasury Department. Damn disclosure forms.
"And, no, I cannot 'fix' the coffee. I can make it taste like anything you'd like, from rum to marshmallows. But it will still be burnt coffee. Which I can't imagine is any good for you in the longterm."
After saying this, Eveline stares at her cup for a moment, but then shrugs and takes another sip.
"There is much that is not good for us in the longterm, Ashcroft," Diego mused, rubbing the tip of his nose from where Aziel had deemed to grace him, though not with annoyance.
"Such as investigating dangers to The State on behalf of The Crown, mayhaps? As for the forms, there's a box under subsection thirty four dee: 'Omission of Memory'. May prove useful for where tías y tíos have meddled in your love life."
He chuckled, finding the vanilla rushing against his tongue to be ... odd. Not unpleasant, just ... odd. Familiar, in a way: his mother had made an excellent vanilla flan back in Ber. He cast a jealous eye towards Eveline at seeing that she did not have moisture collecting upon her brow as he did, assuming she must have possessed some sort of innate, subtle magic. A far cry from what he could accomplish with his potions and elixirs.
Returning to his seat, Diego pulled his tie off entirely, setting it on his desk while procuring a few vials, beakers, and powders from his chest holster.
Save, his holsters did not at all appear large enough to hold the material within. It was as though he pulled the tools of an alchemist from out of thin air. While setting up his small work station, he gave a glance up towards Aziel.
"Y lo siento, cara mia, but I am afraid I cannot accept your generous offer of homicide," he informed her sadly, polishing off his smoke and dabbing it out into a nearby ashtray.
"Then I would have to investigate myself, our compañeros would have to serve as witnesses at the trial, pobre Langston would have to spend a fortune on dry cleaning to get the blood out, ack, no. Tontería, my dear, tontería total."
Though he spoke with gravity on describing the dismal faux-fate of Unit 11, it was more than obvious that Digeo enjoyed exaggeration as an exercise. Too much time spent amongst Dockers, that was for sure.
With his reagents and solutions spread out on his desk, Diego set himself to the task of measuring out components, carefully crushing substances into powders, and diluting liquids together. He was clearly crafting something though what was a matter of mystery at the moment.
"Hermana," he spoke up from his work, addressing Zerpina in their mothers' tongue, "Es bueno ver a un compatriota aquí. We'll have to inject a little Berian methodology into this team, de acuerdo?"
It would be strange, Diego realized, to be around a Berian again on a routine basis. It was not often he met his fellow countrymen, and had been years since he left Risur at all. His golden eyes spared a glance towards Aziel, frowning in sympathy. If it was hard for him and Officer Uxui, he couldn't even imagine Risur's take on a lone Danoran.
Then again, she had proven she was more than enough to handle. Maybe the Risurians were right to be a little wary around Danorans, he mused with a warm grin as he worked.
"Demasiado 'sabor de Ber', compa, and I'll be transferred to the Fey realm next," said Zerpina. "I have to kiss the brass nalgas or you'll see one very sad forktongue around here." She stuck her tongue out at that, caught a whiff of the transfigured coffee, and curled the forks around as if considering, then sighed and poured herself some green tea.
"My mother made horrible, horrible black tarry sludge. Oh gods, it could disintegrate adamantine. I can't stand coffee in any form, and here I am, cursed to drink tea instead. Well, maybe in chocolate cake."
She began to write in curving, lovely Common script about her legal, albeit risque and nefarious, evenings, rooting out 'mongers of this and that, especially that. She paused and winked at Ashcroft. "Ey guapita, I will trade you. You can fill out this report and fit into my dresses, and I'll do your paperwork. You can look good" (She made the usual hourglass gesture with her hands, ill befitting either of them, really) "and I'll learn to shoot fire! Pew! Pew!"
Lyle Langston was woken from his stupor by the sound of Zerpina's rather energetic 'Pew! Pew!' noises. He had completely missed Charbonneau's jab at his background in selling falsely advertised elixirs and tonics, and the cigarette that Roldán had kindly offered him. In truth his mind had not been focused on the paperwork in front of him at all. Rather, it had been on the oversized bird currently occupying the alleyway behind the RHC office building.
Even from here he could hear the crash of the heron dismantling another barrel with its now metal-plated beak, the bird ripping through the wood like a living buzzsaw. His travelling companion had always possessed a frightening temper, and it had only gotten worse since the bird had been mutilated, left to die in a fire, and then had mechanical parts grafted onto its body.
The Royal Homeland Constabulary had said that the beast would be tolerated as long as it was well-behaved, but Lyle was beginning to worry that Mr Beakins was going to ruin everything for the two of them before it had even truly begun. He needed this job. He was still making the final payments to those greedy technologists who had charged him a fortune to rebuild the damn bird.
Closing his eyes, the long-time entrepreneur banished all thoughts of destitution. He was alive. He was safe. And he was well. Flint was a bustling city that housed over half a million Risuri citizens, and where there were people there was opportunity. With just a bit of honest work good old Lyle Langston would be back on his feet in no time.
"Now, now, Zerpina. There is no need to prattle on like a young gigglemug." Lyle said, stroking his moustache as he spoke to his fellow officer. "And if you'd really like to throw about fire, perhaps I can interest you in some of my old wares I used to sell? One dose of Lyle Langston's Terrifically Transcendent Tonic (TM) would have you shooting out flames like no one's business."
Of course, Lyle Langston had no intention of selling anyone in this room anything right now. He just wanted to keep the conversation going. The more people in this room talked, the less likely they were to hear Mr Beakins making an example of what sounded like a rusty old bicycle. Doubtless the pedal-driven recreational vehicle would soon be reduced to nothing more than bits n' bobs.
"Langston--out of which end?" Uxui's full lips quirked at that one. "Just because I'm Berian doesn't mean I eat flame peppers all days like some crazy people." .
Lyle just smiled as he adjusted his top hat, clearly unphased by the mental image of fire shooting forth from a woman's bottom. "Then you are missing out, my dear. I have journeyed to the other side of the Anthras Mountains several times, and have always found the spicy food there to be most invigorating." The businessman then paused, as if carefully adding weight to his next words. "They keep one's digestive system regular, and help correct imbalances in the body's humors. I sincerly cannot recommend it enough."
The smile on Lyle Langston's face at that particular moment might have been mistaken for enthusiasm on the subject of medicine, or it could have been personal satisfaction at his little attempt to muddle the minds of the other constables. He noticed that Ashcroft in particular had stopped drinking from her cup of coffee, for the moment at least.
Having let his words linger for long enough, Lyle stood up from his chair. "But enough parwhobble. If anyone here is struggling with the stack of paperwork upon their desk, then I would be pleased to complete some on your behalf." Picking up a document, he put ink to paper without even looking at it. "I have some previous experience with government bureaucracy. Once you recognise the keywords, it is really all the same."
Uxui chuckled. "All 'imbalances' in the vishkanya system are purified and go to a specialized organ, which I assure you, the humor of which you wouldn't enjoy, even if those dragos pendejos crippled and made it virtually useless. And thank you, but I need to learn this," she said, dealing with the paperwork once again.
They heard him coming before he emerged from his office, his cane thumping hard on the floor and whacking solidly against anything larger and more substantial than a chair as he went by. Legend had it that was because a mimic had taken his lower leg and given him his limp.
ACI Delft came out of his cramped office, cane clip-clopping as he walked into the middle of the bullpen, hitting desks and cabinets as he went. "Time for some field work, constables! If you don't mind taking a break from your paperwork, of course." He spit a stream of tobacco into his ever-present spittoon.
"We just received a delightful report about the perfect lead for you. Young woman, identity unknown, jumped out of the fourth floor window at the Danoran consulate, impaled herself on the spires of the compound fence, and died. Technically half of her is in Risur, which is good for you because the fence she landed on was forty feet from the window. Seems like our young victim thought she could fly.”
"Let's see if any of you remember how to do basic police work. Canvas the neighborhood, interview witnesses, identify clues, that sort of thing. Try not to blow anything up or start a revolution." Delft chuckled, not unkindly, and inclined his head to Aziel.
"A carriage is waiting for you downstairs. Better get moving if you hope to catch any of the consulate personnel before lunch." The consulate was in North Shore, which meant that even in a badged carriage it would take a good hour to get there.
Eveline filed away her leftover paperwork, then drank the last of her steaming hot coffee in a single long gulp, paying no attention to the scalding heat.
With a simple incantation, the coffee taste evaporated from her breath to be replaced by mint, and her uniform looked perfectly pressed once more.
"We're on it."
"Who's going to eat lunch with half a body on their fence?" said Uxui to the air, and got up smoothly and rapidly, like a waterfall in reverse. "No explosions--Langston, that means you stay here and make coffee." She laughed as she nodded to Delft and headed down the stairs.
"If you legitimately believe that Langston couldn't make coffee explode, then you perilously underestimate his ingenuity," Eveline says while giving Lyle a playful wink.
"Rules, rules, rules," Aziel complained at Delft's joke, but her grin took any bite it might have had out of it. She shrugged into her uniform jacket, the heat never bothering her, and trailed smoke through the office as she moved to the door. "Porquoi Langston's coffee is not on the dangerous materials list? An oversight, surely."
In truth, she was a bit nervous about going to the Danoran embassy - it was about the last place she wanted to go in Risur. She was quiet once she was in the carriage, gazing out at the passing city contemplatively and listening to the conversation, her elbow in the window with her cigarette out as a nod to those who didn't want to breathe her smoke the whole way. Normally, she would have put it out, but now she needed the distraction.
Diego had packed up his equipment with haste upon hearing the news, giving a check to make sure his weaponry was possibly stowed before throwing back on his tie and coat. Heat be damned, he had never looked unprofessional one day in his life and he wasn't about to start. Properly packed, the Berian hustled after his fellow officers to their awaiting transport.
His mind was already a bustle. Nothing about Delft's description of events seemed to add up, not even in the slightest. Was it defenestration, then? Murder? In an embassy of all things, meaning the Danorans would not be all too keen on letting Risurian authorities case the matter. If the detectives were not careful, Diego mused, they could end up sparking an international incident.
Best take this one slow and sure, he told himself, glancing over at the Unit's own unusually-quiet Danoran.
"Since we were thrown rather hastily into this group together," Diego began, "Might be best to get a feel where we do our best work, sí? Myself, I've worked long enough amongst the People that I'd be fine handling interviews. If need be, I can look into matters forensics as well."
Diego rubbed thoughtfully at his thick beard, scanning the others in the carriage.
"What would the rest of you prefer to stick to? We'll cover more evidence swiftly if we can divide the work."
"Perhaps, I should back Diego up then. I'm not bad at spotting a lie, and I'm usually pretty good at at getting people to relax around me."
That broke Aziel's reverie. "Politics and face-saving are not for me. I will help to canvas the crowd for anyone who saw anything," she volunteered, perhaps a touch swiftly.
Risurans, for all their foibles, she could deal with. Danorans... while it was unlikely anyone who knew of her was here, she still preferred to keep a low profile.
Uxui shrugs. "I'll talk with the people scared off by Diego's ugly mug," she offers. "But we're missing a forensics and medical person, and that is not me. Interviews, getting into and out of places, more my speed. Langston?" she finger-gunned at him, miming a stethoscope afterwards.
Acknowledging Delft's orders with a polite nod, Lyle blocked out the comments of his coworkers as he prepared himself. Summoning his cane to his side via a Mage Hand spell (performed via the Transmutation Magic interwoven into his gloves, not that he would ever tell anyone that), the former businessman snatched up the walking stick as he began to move towards the door. However, just as he was about to walk past his superior officer, he stopped, looked down for a moment, and smiled.
"Is that a new cane, sir?" Lyle Langston asked Delft, once again stroking his mustache. "You simply must tell me where you purchase yours. None of mine are even half as lovely."
Moving onward before his boss could say anything, Lyle soon joined his fellow constables at the carriage. It took some work to get Mr Beakins settled on the roof of the vehicle, but considering the bird could not be trusted to behave if left alone at the office, Lyle considered it time and effort well spent.
As the other officers divvied up their responsibilities inside of the badged carriage, Lyle swiftly found himself entrusted with the examination and analysis of bodily remains. "I do know more than a few things about how the human body functions." The man said in response to Zerpina's inquiry. "I also have a certain knack for 'persuading' the dead to divulge their secrets. It's an old fae trick. Hardly scientific, or reliable for that matter, but magic is what magic is."