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[thatkid]

+-- Michael "Angel" Raguel (Filiusenox) --+
(052740607275(3),87045(2))

Miss Allen blushes, and gently touches your arm. "Oh, hun, you probably shouldn't, but it's because not all men can be as sweet as you. Go on now, you've got work to do. Remember, you've got a thirty-minute lunch break any time after 12."

---

The job itself is menial, simplistic even. It's boring, and as you work you let your mind wander. Being a place where people go to die (it reeks of death, or at least age - which may as well be death), your mind happens to wander to that particular line of thought. It's as you're replacing bed sheets and contemplating what you'd like to have as your epitaph that something brushes against your leg.
You look down just in time to see a shadow streak under the mattress, and out of sight.

+-- Charlene "Charlie" Tanner (Deep Waters) --+

It's Annie who answers this time. She and Aurel sometimes trade phones back and forth, apparently under the assumption that anyone who needs to talk to one can just as easily talk to the other- it's sweet, really, though it's the sort of sweet that hurts your teeth. She laughs off the fact that you thought she'd be Aurel (though how would you have been able to know?), and immediately and imperceptibly segues into inviting you out for a girl's lunch. You've never been very good at saying no to Annie, and this time she won't take No as an answer. Not that she ever does. Besides, it's just a short trip on the green line trolley to get there.
Do you accept?
If you do, you'll have a few hours to yourself before then. What do you do during that time?

+-- Terrence Kennard (SingularByte) --+

You let Liz in with a few terse words, and she apologizes meekly. By that time, though, you're already halfway into the back room. There isn't much to do today. There never is, really, but you still should probably organize some of the paperwork you've been keeping back there, and so you do.
Around noon, you hear the familiar jingle of a bell at the front door. Liz will handle it, you're sure. But something seems to be nagging at the back of your mind...Are you forgetting something important?

+-- Elizabeth "Liz" Karsten (Hailfire) --+

Terrence heads into the back room leaving you the lone cashier, a desperado in a desert of knick-knacks and odds and ends. It doesn't matter much, almost nobody ever comes in and when they do it's rarely a hassle. After a little milling about, making sure everything's tidy, you decide to take out your book and notes, and do a little more research.
It's only then that you realize the book and notes are missing. Perhaps you took them out already?
You don't have time to figure out where they've gone, though, because just then the jingle of a bell alerts you to the opening of the front door. A stocky man in drab grays and a flat cap awkwardly stumbles in, arms wrapped about what can only be a large painting of some kind wrapped in a white sheet. Behind him, the cab driver impatiently holds an easel with which to stand the painting.

[Deep Waters]

I reluctantly agree to the outing. It would be suspicious if I declined, and knowing Annie, she'd probably show up at the door thirty minutes before the appointed time and drag me there kicking and screaming whether I liked it or not. The call only lasted a short while after that, with a sudden commotion on the other side signalling the end of our conversation- apparently Aurel was having trouble with the kitten they'd bought just a week earlier. I shook my head. I don't know what Annie was thinking... animals hate Aurel. Doesn't she remember what happened in junior year, with those squirrels? And the year before that, with those goats at Franklin Park?

I look at the fridge for a moment, I should really go out and get some groceries.

Then I look at my bedroom door. Which led to my bedroom. Which contained my bed. My warm, soft, fluffy bed.

Screw that. I decided, putting my phone back on its charger and setting the alarm for an hour before the meeting- more than enough time to get ready- before flopping back down on my bed for a nap.

[SingularByte]

With today's paperwork at least sorted neatly (which is almost as good as actually dealing with it), Terrence thought it was a good time to have a break. Meanwhile he could try to remember exactly what it was he'd forgotten (making a memory roll here, if relevant).

'Maybe seeing who's at the front door would remind me', he thought as he approached and peered past his slightly ajar door.

[HailFire]

"Uun? That's strange..." She'd closed that up again, hadn't she? She could swear she'd left the tome right on top, where she could find it again...

'Damn.' This wasn't like her; before today, she never forgot things like this... and it was always in the context of the book. And why were her papers missing, too? She'd brought some more blanks with her, but most of that was for the other two books in the bag, which were still present... wait, had she really not taken notes on that thing last night? There was something real fishy going on with that book; she'd have to find it again quickly, before something happened.

She sighed, as her stomach grumbled at her again. 'No snacks, either...  ...Crap!'

Jingling of the bell jerking her thoughts back to reality, Elizabeth quickly grabs hold of the counter and hauls herself back to her feet, adjusting her glasses just in time to stare blankly at the odd duo and the painting stumbling their way into the shop. That is, it was only odd people who came here; these guys looked perfectly ordinary...

'Furniture movers? Mr. Kennard seems like the collecter type, maybe he ordered it... but you'd think they'd say something.' She didn't know if people came here to sell, but either way, it would probably be best to let him handle it.

"Um... Welcome to the New Age Haven; May I help you, sirs?"

[filiusenox]

After a brief second of thinking, where he remembered a good-paying job was worth more then...other things, he smiled.
"Yes, Miss. Thank you for the tour. It was very interesting. Have a great day  Marissa."
He headed towards the stairs that lead to the second floor, where he would find cleaning supplies to use in...cleaning


Hmm...What in the!-Do they allow animals in here?

Angel never liked animals, they had a tendency to bite or scratch him. They also stank. He closed the door then picked up the broom and begin lightly poking around under the bed. He paused when he felt something fleshy. He prodded the thing again.

"Come on out little guy...no one is going to hurt you..."

[thatkid]

+-- Charlene "Charlie" Tanner (Deep Waters) --+

You quickly fall into a deep, dark sleep. When you awake, you cannot remember what you had been dreaming about. Some part of you knows that it probably doesn't matter, so you continue on getting showered and dressed and then head out.

It's a warm, spring day. Even though it isn't yet winter. This has been an odd winter, and today is no exception. You arrive at the spot, one Jazzman's Cafe, just in time to meet up with Annie. She's always been an odd one, Annie. On one hand she lives up to her name: Hiking, shooting, rafting, being able to beat Aurel in literally any sport devised (not that it's hard, it's Aurel we're talking about). On the other, she's never been one to shy away from more 'girly' things. You're rather certain that her hunting rifle is pink. It seems that today, she wants to indulge in the girlier aspects.

"Oh, well, Aurel wanted me to pick up a book, and y'know," she begins another story over her coffee, which may be the secret to her boundless energy, "I've been wanting to look at some of the new stores down in Cambridge, near where his bookstore is. Don't suppose you'd like to tag along?"

+-- Terrence Kennard (SingularByte) --+
(No Roll Necessary)

You poke your head out the door, peering over Liz's shoulder. It's only after staring in puzzlement at the man with the painting for several seconds that it hits you like a sack of bricks: Someone had called the other night about wanting to sell you a, purportedly haunted, painting. This must be the guy. You were probably just going to humor him and take a look, not buy. But things have a way of changing.

As you watch, the man pays the Taxi Driver and sets the painting on the easel before noticing you. His face is grim, though he still affects a sort of quirky smile. "Ah, hello, is the proprietor in?"

+-- Elizabeth "Liz" Karsten (Hailfire) --+

You haven't a clue what could be going on here, but before the man turns to answer you he places the painting on its easel, in the furthest back corner of the room, and then pays the taxi driver a sum that, you're certain is far more than necessary.

Then he turns to you, and though his face is grim he still manages a small smirk. "Ah, hello, is the proprietor in?"

+-- Michael "Angel" Raguel (Filiusenox) --+
(8952(2))

Somehow, despite prodding it with a stick whilst simultaneously convincing the beast that you have no intent to harm it, you manage to draw the creature out. Not as you intended, however.

As you draw the broom back for a fifth poke, the shadow streaks out from under the bed once more. You turn around to find a small black cat, with a single dot of white fur on its head, standing by the door, its tail raised and back arched like some sort of halloween prop.

+-- Robert Herriman (mcclay) --+

The results came back today. Dr. Hartford sent them by mail, though considering the information they contained he shouldn't have. You were sitting down for some breakfast in your little rat-trap apartment when you read the news. You almost threw up.
You knew they had been transporting drugs, probably weapons (somehow). But blood? What could be the point of that? This disgusted even you, a man who sometimes made money on the side by selling organs from your butchery to grad students and research assistants in need of study material.

But enough of that, it's a monday. What do you need to do today?

+-- Noemi Schor (RogueArchivist) --+

It's been a week now since you arrived here. You've had to lay low: Your bounty hunting license isn't valid in Massachusetts, and so you're operating outside the bounds of the law. But goddamnit if you're going to let that bastard get away again.

You might have to, though. The trail's gone dark. Your informants have told you that the one guy who might have known, some fellow named Eddie, wound up dead the same week you arrived. Three bullets: Head, Chest, Stomach. You wonder who could've done it. It doesn't fit Neil's MO. But then, by all accounts, Eddie was in some deep shit with the local crime element, might have just been he made the wrong move.

You've got another meeting tonight, but it's sometime in the afternoon now. You couldn't sleep. How do you plan on spending your time?

[mcclay]

              Robert ,his friends call him Rob, nearly threw up his coffe. What the fuck are they doing with the blood? But it was no matter to him right now. He needed to do his job.
     
              He would probably go to the butery,which was below his apartment, and chop up some meat. At about noon he would probably get a "special delivery" hopefully not anymore of the blood shit. and wrap it in meat. After waiting for about an hour he would give it to a contact and then close the shop. He then would take any non damaged organs to the neraby bio lab. Then he had the rest of the night off to booze out or something.

           He walked down stairs, turned the sign around to open, turned the lights on and got ready for the first orders.

[filiusenox]

Huh.

Angel started to pet it before feeling the sharp pain of a the Cat's teeth piercing his skin through the rubber gloves. He winced, and tried to move his hand. The stopped when it bit down harder. The cat adjusted it's grip as Angel's hand reached up to open the door.

He pulled his hand away as the door opened, then the cat bounded off down the hall.
Angel put a band-aid on the bite and got back to work. After fifteen to twenty minutes, he checked the alarm clock on the bedside table.

12:08

He wanted to go out for a smoke but he was only half-way done with the cleaning duty. So deciding to compromise, he figure he would clean till fifteen after twelve before heading out. Then get back in as soon as possible.
Twelve fifteen rolled around and he signed out for lunch.

He slipped out the service door in the back and leaned against the wall. He lit a cigarette up and tried to relax.

After a few minutes, and a surprising feat of chain-smoking, he stubbed out the second Marlboro and headed in.

12:25

He signed back in and got back to work, cleaning up Old Folk's rooms.

[Deep Waters]

I was about to decline Annie's offer. While I feel much better after my power nap, I'm afraid that the voice will return, and besides, I know Annie well enough to realize that this might be a trap, to get me alone long enough for her to interrogate me about what was going on with me lately. I knew that Aurel and Annie couldn't have failed to notice how odd I'd been acting lately, which is why I'd neglected to meet with either of them alone lately- especially Annie, who, though not generally a manipulative person, is incredibly and deviously good at getting the truth out of me.

Now that I think of it, she'd probably suggested this lunch as a way to interrogate me, taking advantage of my hungover and still-sleepy state so that I wouldn't realize what she was doing. I'd unknowingly failed to give her a good opening throughout the lunch, which was probably at least part of the reason why she was asking me to go shopping with her.

Dammit! I suddenly realize with a barely perceptible grimace, The trip isn't the trap, the question is! She knew that I didn't much like shopping, and bought most of what I wanted or needed online. I never opt out of shopping trips with her though; I know better: she'd buy things for me anyway, and oddly enough, Annie's tastes ran far more toward the glittery pink unicorns side of femininity than mine.

If I decline now, though, that'd give her a chance to ask why. I could probably dodge the question well enough, but I couldn't lie to her outright; I was never much good at lying to family. She'd know that something was up then, and she'd keep coming after me until I told her. Nothing good will come of that.

So I decide that I'd just have to go, and hope that the voice didn't come back. Hoping that my own voice didn't sound quite as resigned as I felt, I answer, "Sure, Annie, I'll come. Might be fun."

[RogueArchivist]

Noemi checked that her gear was properly concealed, then headed out the door.
Time for more exploration I guess.  She needed to become more familiar with the city.

Head, chest, stomach. Who uses that pattern? Neil's trademark is a brand somewhere on the body, but the report
doesn't mention any, so it's probably not him. I still wonder how he manages to get anything hot enough to brand
so soon after he kills someone though. It's not like he can just walk around with a red hot poker or anything.
That would definitely attract attention.

[SingularByte]

"That would be me."

Terrence entered the room and walked over to the man, extending his hand. "I'm Mr. Kennard. Nice to meet you Mr...".

Once introductions were dealt with, he then turned to the easel. "So, this is the haunted painting. I must admit I've been wondering what it was like all of last night", he lied.

[thatkid]

+-- Robert Herriman (McClay) --+
(98(2))

The majority of your morning is spent cutting meat and packaging it for the several local restaurants that boast about fresh orders every day. They won't stop by to pick up the latest shipment until sometime tonight, so you set the supplies aside till later.

Noon rolls around uneventfully, until, as usual, a large, unmarked truck pulls up in front of your shop. Two men, both wearing sweatshirts (and so dressed unusually for the warm weather) enter through the front door. One you recognize to be Ricky, the guy who usually makes the shipments. The other, a much larger and burlier man (though still smaller than you by about a foot and 100lbs), you do not recognize.
"Hey there, Rob," Ricky greets you, tossing the usual paperwork onto the counter (if it looks legal, they say, it probably is. You know better). He's never a particularly happy fellow, but today he seems...tense. The man behind him is certainly giving off bad vibes.

+-- Michael "Angel" Raguel (Filiusenox) --+
Health: /______

As you're cleaning, a few of the residents decide to introduce themselves. Many don't, however, instead simply treating you as if you aren't there. In particular there is a Redd Benjamin, a rather awkward, but kindly, old man who offers you candy and then quickly departs the conversation. One Autumn Georgia, an elderly southern belle who makes a strangely compelling offer to stop by later for tea. A Mister Duncan Fletcher, who recognizes your Dakotan accent (despite having a strong irish brogue) and asks you if you've heard any news about some scandal or other regarding a Vikings Teammate. Finally there is a Claudia Ryann, from whom you only barely escape a tirade of stories about her grand children.

+-- Charlene "Charlie" Tanner (Deep Waters) --+

"Oh! Good!" Annie replies, before suddenly confirming your suspicions. It seems she's some sort of social Machiavelli, as well as an expert sharp shooter. "I was afraid you'd say no, since you've been feeling ill lately, that's good! Are you feeling better, then?"

+-- Noemi Schor (RogueArchivist) --+

It's been some time since you've been out and about during broad daylight. Neil tends to operate at night, and most of your informants never want to be seen during the day. You half suspect the case itself has been fucking with your head, some of the evidence you've come across has been completely illogical. And he certainly couldn't have just disappeared that one time in Toronto, but it sure seems like he had.

Your apartment is in Downtown Boston, just a short walk from South Station where you first arrived by Amtrak. It's as you're strolling past that station that two men approach you. "uh...don't suppose you could tell me where The Garden is?" one asks. The other seems to be scanning the streets.

+-- Terrence Kennard (SingularByte) --+
(160898(4))

The painting itself is covered by a thick, white cloth. The man, introducing himself as Mr.Edwards, explains that it is, indeed haunted. "I'm sure you want to see for yourself, hm?" he asks, moving to the side of the painting and removing the cloth. You notice that, oddly, he seems to make a point of not looking at the painting itself.

The painting is large, and depicts in no shortage of realism an empty room with splintering hardwood floors and walls cracked and stained yellow. If there are any windows or doors, they are not visible from the vantage of the viewer. There is a small signature, scribbled in the bottom right corner.
Despite its plainness, the painting is beautiful and it seems to draw your eyes to the center. It's so realistic and well done, in fact, that you can almost see yourself standing in the room in your mind's eyes.

Still looking at you, and not the painting, Mr. Edwards smiles. "Well, what do you think?"

[HailFire]

'Urgh, why am I being so jumpy? Or formal...' Elizabeth sighed with relief as Terrence stepped in to deal with the situation. Hopefully while they were dealing with this haunted painting, she could find that haunted book.

She resisted the urge to grumble as she took a second circuit of the store, ostensibly checking and tidying things while searching for the missing texts. Even without the forgetfulness, when was the last time she'd been this out of it?

'I need a snack, a nap, and a bath...'

((Fakeedit: goddammit late  )

[thatkid]

+-- Elizabeth "Liz" Karsten (Hailfire) --+

You do another circuit of the shop but the missing book and notes are well and truly gone, and you haven't a clue where they could be. It's as you return from your circuit that the painting catches your attention from the corner of your eye. The rest of your attention is immediately drawn to it- your mind seems to be rather flighty today.

The painting is large, and depicts in no shortage of realism an empty room with splintering hardwood floors and walls cracked and stained yellow. If there are any windows or doors, they are not visible from the vantage of the viewer. There is a small signature, scribbled in the bottom right corner.
Despite its plainness, the painting is beautiful and it seems to draw your eyes to the center. It's so realistic and well done, in fact, that you can almost see yourself standing in the room in your mind's eyes.

[Deep Waters]

"Oh! Good!" Annie replies, before suddenly confirming your suspicions. It seems she's some sort of social Machiavelli, as well as an expert sharp shooter. "I was afraid you'd say no, since you've been feeling ill lately, that's good! Are you feeling better, then?"

I wince before I could stop myself.

"Uh..." Shit. Say something say something!

"Yeah, I've been feeling kinda off lately. I've been trying to power through it, but you know me, I'm a cheetah all the way." I laugh, a little nervously.

"But I think I'm getting over it." I add optimistically.

Yeeaaaah... sure I'm getting over it. And tomorrow I'll be riding a unicorn to the Oval Office to personally fix the pile of wires, cheap gum and duct tape that they laughably call a security system. Keep letting yourself think that, buddy.