Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Hellis, Jul 8, 2015.

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  1. Started on the GM's Request, as CO-GM I will offer the opening post.

    Industrial Outskirts of ARCADIA, 10:00 AM.

    ”Do you know what i Hate Mr Pigg?” Spat the man pacing back forth on the concrete floor of the downtrodden, abandoned factory in the declining industrial outskirts of New Arcadia. The place was a proletarian nightmare, a testament to the brutal reality of capitalism. The building was once the workplace of a solid 500 boots of man power, 500 people let go in one swift motion of a pen and a company changing hands. Years of decline in the local clock production due to cheaper labor overseas was the culprit along with old fashioned western greed. And now it housed around 60 boots, all leather and metal like the old days. The difference was that these were not factory work boots but the soles of the ultra violent Giants gang. Another self contained unit in the ever larger crew of madmen who followed the Fox.

    The Fox was as of course, the one pacing back and forth in front of Mr Pig. Mr pig himself was a obese, middle management kind of person. You know the kind, the underachiever who somehow got the job above you and who spend every waking moment yelling at you and other for incompetence. There was a great amount of bile that his position came with and usually he could at the most expect to get fired. The problem, and the reality of the current situation, is that Mr Pig was one of three brothers and his family business was in fencing goods. And now, he had run afoul of the men you didn't survive crossing. The Fox, Mr Fox, Kitsune, Räven, Fusch. A dear child have many names, but a feared monster have plenty more so. He was the menace of the streets, a serial killer made head of the most volatile group of people to ever breathe. A master criminal with the glee and enthusiasm of a 8 year old with firecrackers. The reason as to why people feared where many and all founded in reality. He was just that bad of a person. And now, Mr Pig was sweating profuse as he sat, tied to a chair. At his feet was a pool of petroleum and between his lips were lit cigar.

    ”I hate underachievers. I hate lazy, compliant, Status Que worshiping slugs like yourself. Why? Because you are all predictable dullards.” Fox said as he stopped in his frantic pacing. He himself wasn't overly tall, 6'0 was a decent height from someone who so often claimed Asian descent, sure. But his henchmen were all taller, all bigger then him. Yet none were close to being as menacing, more imposing, more dangerous. He was tnt in human form, liable to kill everyone in there the moment his fuse met the black powder that was his trigger. It was why they followed him, he was a destructive genius, a ruthless crime lord who consolidated his power by any means.

    ”I hate people like you Mr Pigg. Ronny the Middleman. Tommy the Brain. Connie the Corner. Ronny, Tommy and Connie Pigg., collectively known as the Three Piggies.” Fox said, to nobody in particular as he waved a ornate switch blade around in the air like the conductors stick. In his head he was conducting a symphony. He stopped suddenly and tossed the knife at Pigg. It hit him square in the knee. To his credit, Mr Pigg didn't let the cigar fall from his mouth.

    ”You see. You are so fucking predictable. You saw the war and quietly retreated into your little apartment complex. You fortified yourselves, ran a tight crew and kicked out the local wolves as they were weakened by fighting my battles. You waited out the war to end and then prostate yourselves to the new Queen. But here is the kicker, yeah, you kept safe from the huffing, puffing big bad wolf. Because he was busy fighting on the streets at my orders. But I didn't forget about any of the ones who didn't come to our side when we called.” Fox eyes were large, like saucer plates, stretching his face abominable, His smile underneath mask was a grotesque display of teeth. He was so close to pig the poor man could smell him, a strange mix of gunpowder, blood and the plastic of his mask.

    ”You forgot that Foxes are smart, cunning animals. We don't care about your little pens. We dig under the fence, we make you see us in the shadows. We eat the hens, the kids, the whole fucking farm if you let us. And it was so fucking easy to just take over the neigbourhoods around you. You had nobody loyal left and you knew it. Now your use is gone. So I think it is time we have us grilled pork for dinner.” He grabbed the blade and yanked back and forth before pulling it out, causing Ronnie Pig to bite trough the cigarr in pain. He looked as if in slow motion as the lit cigar fell towards the puddle at his feet. He screamed after Fox as the puddle lit up into a localized inferno at his feet.

    ”FUCK YOU PSYCHO: TOMMY IS GONNA KILL YOU!” Fox was already on his way out as the words echoed along with screams of pain throughout the building. As he exited the old factory, men in red suits, some kids wearing fox hoodies and a all kinds of people joined him at either side of him. He smiled beneath the mask.

    ”Report.” Fox sounded incredibly bored. He motioned to one of kids to bring him a chair. They obliged with a big directors chair, complete with Fox themed graffiti onto its back. He grabbed a cellphone from his jacket and

    ”The bomb is in place. The remaining Pigg brothers are currently sitting on top of a box of c4 and gunpowder, none the wiser.” One of the men in red suits said. Each and every one of them wore a fox mask, but none as ornate or big as his own. Theirs were cheap plastic things. Allegiance, not identity.

    ”Let's see then.” He dialed a number on his phone. A voice crackled up on the other side of the line. A helpful female voice inquired. ”This is 911, what is your emergency?”

    ”I believe you guys should send someone to the Ol'Boy pub.”

    -Downtown Arcadia. Residential district.-

    The Ol'Boy was the Irish pub of choice for Tomas Pigg. He and his brother were having a war meeting in the back with some of their closest. They were all very angry. Their brother had gone missing. Nobody was taking the blame, nobody was talking. That generally meant one thing, the Fox had him. But why? They could not understand it. They had never lifted a finger against him. They had chased off some wolves off at the first days of the conflict between Fox and the rest of the city. But they had preyed on his enemies more then anything. But now, now they were feeling hunted. Tommy was about go over the plan with his closest when a knock was heard on the door. They all stopped. Eyes nailed to the door as it slowly opened. A kid wearing a plastic fox mask could be seen head outside the door running. At the opening of the door was really old tv set, heavy and obstructing. It flickered on and showed Fox. They all stood there as if glued to the floor, unable to move.

    ”I huffed. And I puffed.” The recording began. ”But then I remembered I was a fox, not a wolf. So I just rigged your place to explode. Nea huh?.” and then the tape flickered off into a recording of Ronny being captured and beaten. And then, everything exploded. The Ol'Boys Pub went out in a gush of flames. A giant heatwave exploded outwards as billowing flames and sot clouds pushed outwards with the shock wave. The windows became a massive wall of shrapnel that shout outwards. People close to the blast were perforated, clothing torn along with skin and flesh. Every car alarm nearby began to shriek and complain as the Irish Quarters of Downtown Arcadia was turned into a blazing inferno.

    The Explosion was heard across the City, with a pillar of smoke seen far and wide. The Pigg Brothers are out, and with them territory is up for grabs. The Police are out in force. Stay on your toes.
    #1 Hellis, Jul 8, 2015
    Last edited: Jul 8, 2015
  2. It didn't take long for Gwen to arrive on the scene. She had been pulled from one of her larger events of the year to come collect one of her Girls. It showed by how her hair and face were as near to perfection as she could get it and her navy blue gown just barely floated over the asphalt. It was a miracle she had survived judging from the absolute chaos that greeted her. She could see her Girl was being cared for, but was still considerably insured.

    Giving herself a second to compose her face she picked up her gown and hurried to the police line. Tears were streaming down her face which had been expertly crumpled into beautiful grief. Her free hand grasped a policeman's, begging him to allow her to see her younger sister who was terribly disillusioned and needed her help. Once she was allowed to her Girl she got on her knees beside the girl and lowered her head so that she may hear her story. The more she heard the less impressed she was with the situation.

    Soon her phone was out and at her shoulder as she held her Girl's hand. Once she heard the call being accepted the smile she had created for her Girl was twisted into contempt.

    “Peter dear. Darling. Sweetest. Have you heard what our resident pyromaniac has most recently accomplished,” her voice was terse but hushed as she held her phone to her ear with her shoulder and her hands worked at taking notes on the conversation, “That he has damaged one of my Girls to the point of hospitalization?”

    "Business, business, business," the voice on the other end of the phone replied. It spoke over the soft sounds of a piano playing pleasantly in the background, coming from an old gramophone. "The first time you call me today and I do not even get a 'hello' or a 'good morning'? I thought Snow and I had trained you better than that."

    The voice sighed, although he gave a quiet, breathy chuckle as he did so. “I had heard something had exploded Downtown. Apparently it was rather impressive. I do love a good fireworks show."

    Peter paused, although he spoke just as Gwen opened her mouth to, interrupting her. “Look, if our friendly pyromaniac hurt one of your girls then I am not having any part of it. Bandage her up, slap some make-up on her, and get her back to work. Or complain about it to him personally if you really feel like taking that risk. I’ll tell you what, I will get you in contact with the big guy himself, and if you say ‘thank you’ I might even send your girls a great big bouquet of flowers. They’ll need it to cheer up after they find out what he’ll have done with you in a week’s time.”

    When Gwen heard the dial tone signifying she had been hung up on (only after Peter rambled off a phone number) her face began to take on an almost unhealthy red tinge. The Girl whose hand she had been holding throughout the conversation was beginning to show signs of further distress as her hand was being crushed by Gwen's. She let go of her hand and patted it before moving away from the scene to place her next call. It was paramount she wasn't heard by the police. Others... others could be dealt with if they posed a problem.

    She near punched the digits she had been silently repeating to herself into her phone and tapped her foot as she waited for someone to pick up. Once she had gotten her hands on an associate of the Fox she explained exactly what could happen if she wasn't immediately put into contact with him. Immediately she heard the click of the call connecting and a silky "Yesssss?"

    Without thinking of the consequences Peter had detailed she snapped back, "The fuck were you thinking setting it off while my Girl was still in there?” Again she kept her voice quiet, to prevent herself from being heard, but her tone wasn't changed.

    "See. You seem to think I care what happens to a whore. I don't. I don't care any at all."

    Her makeup was enough to hide most of the natural color of her face, but her facial masterpiece was starting to fail. “You sure give a damn what happens to your cash inflow. Each Girl of mine is worth more than is polite to address with company. Your little stunt just took one out for the next few months. Finding and training a replacement costs us, not just me.”

    "Oh. It's about money. I suppose I care about money. Or wait. I don't. Snow does though. I suppose that's a thing. Tsk." There was a pause and the sound of a lighter. Then there was a whimper of someone else. "Look. Take it up with snow. I am a bit busy. Got myself a little barbecue here. Can I call you back? NO? Such a shame. I am sure we'll run into one another! Ta ta!" Again Gwen was met with a dial tone and that was her last straw. Her phone was hurled against a wall and was soon in quite a few pieces. This wasn't the first time something similar had happened and as such there were replacements to be had once she left.

    Before she could leave, however; she returned to her "sister" and made sure she was bandaged enough to leave the scene. The shaking young woman gave her statement and was then allowed to leave with Gwen. The raven haired woman wasn't in a hurry to leave despite the injured girl on her arm. If her eyes and ears had just nearly been blown off the earth she would have to do this job herself. Besides... there may be someone here worth her time.
    #2 Seba, Jul 11, 2015
    Last edited: Jul 11, 2015
  3. Sebastian Sachs
    He held his glass of scotch tight and compulsively checked his watch, waiting for his partner to arrive. The bar was mostly empty besides his slumped frame, the bartender, and a rumpled young man who, apparently, lost his girlfriend and job all in one day. Sebastian waved the bartender over and hardly looked up at her as he held a single finger up, silently asking for another drink. She nodded and slid it down the smooth, polished counter top into his waiting hand. From behind him, the young man loosed a loud grunt and the sound of glass shattering preceded a string of gutteral curses, some of which were definitely picked up from someone in the Navy. The dark haired, bespectacled man chortled around the rim of the glass, his lips curling into a smile.

    "You laughin' at somethin', bub?" the same voice muffled by a tongue numbed by alcohol sputtered out at Sebastian's back. The hitman could practically feel spittle tapping against the back of his freshly-pressed suit from the loose mouth of that impetuous young man. He grew impatient but clenched his teeth.

    "You're in no position to talk. You're drunk. Sit back down before you hurt yourself," he continued to look ahead and took another long sip of his scotch, letting the ice touch his top lip. He was pleasantly surprised when the stranger lumbered back to his seat.

    As he finished up the drink, he slipped his dark black gloves onto his hands and prepared to leave a tip before heading outside to wait for his perennially late partner. The moment he stood up, he heard a noise that shook the entire hole in the wall establishment and rang in his ears. Running outside to see exactly what it was, he noticed the plume of smoke coming from what he could only assume, with a hint of sorrow, was The Ol'Boy. The Piggs must have pushed the Fox much too far this time. He snorted and shook his head. The Ol'Boy served some damn good ale.

    He turned around to finish up paying when he noticed the same staggering drunk approaching out of the corner of his eye, bottle in hand, held up like a cudgel. In a swift motion, Sebastian clutched the man's throat and pushed him back through the door. Keeping his hand firm around the man's neck, he asked, coolly, "Was your day so bad that you're willing to end your life over it?" He began to loosen his hold until the bottle dropped out of the intoxicated man's slack hand, shattering at Sebastian's feet, leaving a pungent beer stain upon his white dress shoes. A quick twitch of Sebastian's eyelid spelled doom for the would-be combatant as the hitman pulled out his pistol and unloaded four shots into his victim's face, carefully spacing them between the forehead and jaw before letting him drop.

    Looking towards the barkeep, he shook his head solemnly. Really, he had no intention of making such a scene, but it couldn't be helped. He sized up the cadaver and removed a handkerchief to wipe some of the blood from his face. Still looking the woman dead in the eyes, he said, "Shame, really. My partner would have found you incredibly attractive. He might have even asked me to spare you." Before finishing, he made sure to shoot her between the wide eyes. He had planned on passing off his gory appearance as a victim of the explosion that had claimed the life of his third favorite bar, but he carefully slipped off his jacket and draped it around the dead man, making it look like he'd come in wearing it. Sure, it was a risky move, but he'd have no use for it afterwards. He collected the glass he drank out of and holstered his gun, waiting outside and feigning an injury, just in case the next person he stumbled across was anyone but his criminal compatriot.
  4. The flames quickly began to eat on the small object that was placed in the bowl standing on the table. Both a man and a little girl were staring at the flame as it grew bigger in size. The man nervously glanced at the little girl, trying to find any hint of what she saw. But she kept staring at it without breaking her gaze. Only the crackling of the fire and the ticking of a clock could be heard in the otherwise silence room. Suddenly the girl started scribling something on paper, mumbling while she did so. With a quick movement she handed over the paper with the divination to the man. "Here is what I saw." The man took it and the girl threw a glass of water over the flame. "You can take the item back with you, it wasn't completely burnt." He gladly took the item back and he left while saying goodbye.

    Lise-lotte cleaned the table and left the room, taking the bowl with her. She entered the living-room and continued straight to the half seperated kitchen. After dumping the dirty flame bowl in the sink, she sat down by the small table were shafira was. As usual she was keeping notes in a small book. With a deep sigh Lise-lotte layed with her upper body on the table.

    Shafira looked up from her notes as she knew that Lottie wanted attention. "What is it this time? Is it too early, a bad vision or are you bored." Shafira wiped one of the loose strands of hair out of Lottie's face when she looked up. "Bit of both of the first two." She herself now also moved some hair out of the way, it was just a bad mess today. "The vision was just way too cryptic today. Just listen to this." She sat up straight so that she could tell it better, Shafira always said that she wouldn't listen to a sleazy person.

    "In the flames, that man, sat under a tree like this." Lottie proceeded to take Shafira's notebook and draw the tree in it. She showed it when done and Shafira nodded. "A cypress. Yes, go on." Lottie pulled a bit of hair behind her ear. "He was eating something, a big meat. I think it was a ham, don't know for sure. Then a fox walked by and gave him a flower." The same process happened as with the tree. "That is a mexican petunia. For a cryptic vision it was quite specific." Lottie looked at her curiously. "A Cypress tree is often used on burial grounds. And the mexican petunia has it's own way of spreading it's seeds. Don't know why the other two though." Lottie shrugged. "I just wrote down that he would meet someone special. Oh, and I told him to get something to eat since he was probably hungry."

    Again her hair fell in her face, she grabbed it daintily and looked at Shafira with puppy eyes. "You know that you are too old for me to do it for you." Lottie kept staring. "I know." A few moments passed before Shafira stood up. "Fine." She walked to the bedrooms and returned with a brush. "But this is the last time." With a victorious smile Lottie let go of her hair. "You always say that."

    While Shafira was brushing her hair to put it in a braid, Lottie became curious about some things in her vision. "What is the way that the Mexican petunia spread its seed?" Shafira already started braiding. "It shoots its seeds away." "Like a gun?" The braid was done. "No, more like an explosion." And a giant bang followed her words and the place shook for a moment.

    It wasn't long before they arrived at the scene a few streets further from their house. Lottie's curiousity had pushed Shafira to go see what had happened. Initially she wanted to go alone but the girl wouldn't have it. At the moment she was already through the crowd of onlookers and was being blocked by the police. Shafira kept an eye on her while also trying to get past the crowd, wich wasn't as easy as when being the size of a child.

    After a while she managed to grab Lise-lotte's shoulder and talk to her. "Lottie, remind me of what you said that convinced me to take you with me." She jolted a bit when she was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder but calmed down by Shafira's voice. "This morning customer, I want to know if he was in here." She looked at the ground and grabbed a pebble that was there. "If I manage to throw this in the fire, you know, walls have ears." Before Shafira could stop her she already threw the stone in the fire. It only barely made it.

    Lottie stood frozen while staring at the flames that now showed the history of the pub. Shafira tried to get her out of her trance, as she wouldn't know what kind of history Lottie would see. It also didn't help that one of the policeman saw Lottie throw the stone and had become suspicious.

    Shafira kept shaking the girl's shoulders and eventually covered her eyes. "Enough Lise-lotte. We're going back home." The policeman now stood next to them. "Miss, could you remove your child from the scene?! We don't want any troublemakers here." With a friendly smile Shafira moved Lottie to the back of the crowd. Shafira sighed. "Lottie, don't do that again like that. This time there wasn't a lot of trouble but that was reckless. Be more subtle next time." She looked Lottie in the eyes. "Understood?" Lottie avoided her eyes and slowly grabbed hold of the von Brandt brooch that was pinned on her jacket. "Lottie. What did you see?" She asked sweetly. "A lot of barfights. Sometimes even murder. But that man this morning. He is dead. No wonder I barely saw anything, his life was ending. Could I have avoided it if I knew what everything meant?" Shafira held the child. "That man hold no signifigance towards us, he was walking to it himself. Just forget about it. Come on let's go home. There are other people you can help." Lise-lotte wasn't happy with that anwser but she kept silent. Silent at what she really felt and about what she heard.
  5. Downtown Arcadia - Residence of Karen Morris

    Karen woke to the sounds of music playing, smooth jazz filling the halls of her family manor and flooding into her room. She heard the door to her bedroom creak open, and she pushed herself up to sit up straight, leaning to peer through the gap in the door.

    "Honey?" she called out, expecting to see her husband return from one of his late shifts.

    Nobody replied but the sounds of jazz persisted. Karen recognised the singing and the lyrics of the particular song playing, a record by her husband's favourite jazz quartet. The jazz duet "Jack and Jill" had taken Arcadia by storm with their surprise hit despite their rumoured connections to the serial killer Dullahan. Their songs reflected that connection in many ways, and this particular song was called "The Headless Horseman", but despite the frightening name Karen had always found it quite soothing. Calling out once more her husband still did not respond, and so she slipped out of the silk sheets of her bed and let her toes slip into her white slippers.

    The song continued to play as she made her way down the stairs. She turned to her right and headed into the living room, the fireplace ablaze and the silhouette of her husband sitting on the sofa facing away from her. He sat unmoving, listening contently to the smooth jazz that came from the record player in the corner of the room.

    A smile grew on Karen's face, the pleasant music and the sight of her husband calming her greatly. "You woke me," she said, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. "I thought you'd be back an hour ago."

    The shoulder pad of her husband's suit felt warm and wet, and curiously Karen raised her hand in front of her face. In the dim light of the fire she could see that her fingers were soaked in red. Her eyes widened and her lips trembled, and all the while the soft lyrics of the jazz duet filled her thoughts. She walked around the sofa, slowly taking in more and more of the sight of her husband until she could do nothing but scream.

    Her husband's suit was torn to shreds but his torso was in a far worse condition, cut so frequently and so deeply that he had been drained of blood almost entirely. Many of the man's organs hung loosely out of a cavity in his chest, dipping into the valley of blood that had pooled in the man's lap. None were quite so fatal, however, as the blood-red axe which had been embedded deep into the man's neck, severing his head almost entirely.

    Karen's face twisted in horror and another terrified scream escaped her. She collapsed under the weight of her own legs, falling into the thin sheen of blood that soaked the floorboards. It stained her clothes and her hands, tears streaming down her face and a scream so loud passing by her lips that it made her throat howl in pain.

    Dullahan adored the sound of her screams, and after enjoying them for several moments, her moved from his perch in the corner of the room and walked towards Karen. His chair creaked as he moved, prompting Karen to turn her head towards the sound. The hulking biker clad in thick black leather curled his lips into a grin but it was obscured by his helmet. His grin might have been more terrifying than the array of razor shar teeth that were drawn onto the helmet.



    Double Homicide perpetrated by Jonas Dullahan, aka "The Headless Biker."

    Crime hasn't been reported yet, bodies still unattended in the Residence.
  6. The Three Blind Mice bar and grill never used to be quite so empty in the evenings. Less than two years ago the establishment was thriving, filled to the brim with people at all hours of the day from the time it opened to the time it closed. Arcadia's fragile state, the growing strength of the city's crime families, and the corruption which was seeping its way into all forms of local government had left the people fearful, and the Three Blind Mice bar and grill was one of many places that had suffered. Only the most loyal of customers remained, and even they were slipping away.

    The emptiness of the restaurant proved to be ideal for James Hooke who appreciated the privacy and vague sense of intimacy that the quiet established. He was a greying man in his late forties, although he had not aged well, and looked beyond his years. He sat contently in the corner of the room, sipping slowly at a small glass of scotch resting in his hand while he waited for his contact to arrive. It was 7:15PM and he was scheduled for a meeting with a police officer called Allesandro Bertolli at this very spot. The officer was supposed to have arrived ten minutes ago, and Hooke was starting to worry. This was a strange city, and Al was his only lifeline here.

    Clearly impatient, James' foot rapped against the wooden floorboards of the restaurant and he ran his free "hand", part of a metal substitute for his left arm for the forearm up, over the thin layer of black stubble that was starting to form along his jaw. He glanced up from his drink occasionally, looking across the room to see if his contact had entered, but every time he was disappointed.

    Allesandro walked into the building a few moments later. He had been here a number of times after work and despite how quiet it had become it was still a good place to spend an evening. Right now? Al was meeting a contact, which he did here sometimes. Lumiere had arranged a meeting with Hooke, an old captain that was on the hunt for Peter Pan, a particularly ellusive human trafficker and drug lord. He sighed seeing the place empty, hoping that one day it might pick up traffic again, but it never did. For now the quiet would actually be beneficial.

    He was wary of his contact at first. Living a city well known for people with two faces made it hard to trust new people. He knew that from first hand experience; he used to be one of those people. Still, while this was the first time he had met Hooke in person, this was not the first time they, and the man seemed as genuine as they came. It was obvious he was not from Arcadia.

    He was looking for answers. He was working a personal case, looking into various organised but disjointed crimes that have happened since Mayor Gaston was appointed in office two years ago. Al had various run ins with Gaston and knew him as a self-righteous, hollier-than-thou prick who had more skeletons in the closet than Rumplestiltzkin had money. Since his wife had dissappeared his gut feeling about Mayor Gaston only told him bad things, and he was more determined than ever to find some solid evidence against him.

    The old worries played in the back of his mind though. He was working on a hunch, and he worried that maybe he was too focused on getting dirt on Gaston that he avoid the problem he really should be focusing on; finding Beauty. Finding his wife.

    "Glass of scotch", Beast said, ordering a drink from the bar, seeing the older man across the room that he only just recognised. He picked up his glass and moved over to Hooke, giving him a short nod of the head as he sat down beside him. The man responded with his own nod, raising his glass slightly to welcome him over. "Hooke," Al said, holding out a hand to shake. "It's good to finally meet you in person."

    James extended his own arm and shook hands with Al, or "the Beast" as he was known by some. "Bertolli," he replied. "Likewise."

    Both men took a quick swig of their drinks. Al sat himself down on the opposite side of the table facing James and they remained that way without saying a word for at least a minute. It was the captain that broke the silence, placing his glass down on the table a little firmer than he needed to. Al could sense how tense the man was just by looking at him, and he wondered how he managed to speak so calmly.

    "What've you learned since we last spoke?" Hooke asked, raising one eyebrow.

    Al sighed in response, adjusting himself as he then looked directly at Hooke. "We have some leads on Pan's location. The bastard likes his scapegoats and safe houses, and I don't think he's ever stayed in one place for more than a few days. We've found three places that he might have some hand in running, although it's not enough to connect it to him specifically; do you know how many small-time drug lords Arcadia has?"

    He drank, and then cleared his throat. "We need more information, Hooke, and now that you're finally in the city we can discuss this properly. Not just information about Pan either, but on his networks and associates. Does he actually work for someone higher up? If yes, who? Who're his main contacts? This can all lead us to him, and to many other criminals that plague Arcadia. You've met Pan, which means you probably know him better than any of my contacts. You've gotta work with me here," replied Al.

    He did not want to disappoint Hooke but they both knew they had different goals, and the information they were working with was almost non-existant. Hooke's efforts were focused entirely on Pan, but Al wanted something broader. Al wanted to bring down the tyranny that had plagued Arcadia as a whole, not just a part of it. For now their goals aligned, but for how long would that last?

    "He's slippery," All replied. "And I think you're the key to helping solve this mystery."

    "I don't know if he works for anyone else," James replied. "But he's definitely working with someone else. He has a girl. She was there. Dark hair and smartly dressed. It seemed like she had a steady head on her shoulders, unlike Pan. I only saw her for a moment, but she's defintiely not an underling, or at least she never acted like it."

    "He may be slippery but he's quiet," Hooke continued. "I remember overhearing them talk about transporting a huge quantity of fairy dust, and discussing something with 'Snow White'. Does that mean anything to you?"

    Fairy dust was a drug that originated on the streets of Arcadia. It was growing more and more popular by the day and, along with being incredibly potent and highly hallucinogenic, the cost of even a small quantity was enough to bankrupt the household of even a minor addict. It made Al wonder how it had even become so popular, but then he remembered that the people who made it could make anything they wanted happen. It was a designer drug that was heavily associated with the local crime families. It was assumed that they were the only people with the resources to produce such a drug and to make it so pure, but once again their was no connection. Any link to fairy dust meant that Pan was in deep with someone particularly powerful in the city, which Al knew was bad news. Then there was mentioned of Snow White. The very name made Al shiver.

    "Fairy dust? Really? ...shit" Al wasn't quite sure how to respond. He reached through his coat pocket and pulled out a notebook, making sure to write all this down for further inspection. "I was addicted to that trash a few years back," he finally said. "That shit ruins families and ends relationships in a heartbeat," he continued, still writing down the information that the captain have him. "But this pins them with Snow White at least. She's a big shot in the city, and has her fingers in just about every part of he city. Untouchable, some say."

    "But not you?" Hooke asked.

    Al smiled and shrugged. Snow White was dangerous, but if this meant Pan and Snow were working together than that gave them both a lot more information to work with. Snow, while cunning, was far more prolific in her activities in Arcadia, and finding something to solidify the connection should be far easier. After months of dead end leads and falsified informaiton it seemed like Al might finally get some useful information and a real lead to follow. Even if the police force were unwilling to act on this knowledge, Al would, and now he had help.

    "Let's not wait for Pan to come find us," said Al, swallowing what was left of his drink in one go and standing to his feet. "I just had an idea on where we can start, and we can get there in twenty minutes. If Pan knows Snow White, and they're both connected by fairy dust, then I know exactly who to start asking questions to. With luck we can finally get some dirt on these guys. What do you say?"

    Although surprised by Al's forwardness and willing to act on his own accord, James had to hide the small grin which appeared in the corner of his mouth. Life in the Navy had drilled him with discipline and taught him to either follow orders or give them. He had expected Al, a police officer, to be the same, but he was rebellious and driven, not mindless and obedient. It was unusual, but it felt like they could make some real progress here.

    He took his last drink of scotch, finishing off the last mouthful that remained at the bottom of the glass.

    "Where do we need to go?"
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