Session01: Misty Martian Serenade (AlphazeroxApplepoisoneer)

Applepoisoneer

Applepoisoneer

Supernova
Joined
Jan 2, 2016
Location
In the deep, dark woods. Where no one can hear you
Jump rope rhymes. A concept that seemed almost ancient now, but there they were, right outside her window. The driver stopped the car outside the little office building at the corner of 42nd and Phobos dr. It wasn't much to look at, but it had a reputation. Or rather, it's occupant had a reputation.

"This it, lady?" The driver asked in an off-world accent.

"Yeah, this is the place." She passed him a little plastic card, which he scanned. The ride took about 22 woolongs. Steeper than she'd hoped, but it was worth it. She got out of the cab and put her hat back on, a black felt affair with a broad brim that covered her wavy, blonde hair. She straightened the hem of her dress, which came to just below her knee. It was her favorite outfit, and gave her a kind of confidence boost. It was meant to look like a ladies' suit; a hunter-green blazer and skirt with black velvet trim, black stockings and shiny black pumps. Little peridot earings twinkled at her lobes. Her blue eyes were heavily painted with mascara and grey eye shadow. And her liny lips were done up in a deep purple-red. A walking melancholy.

She pulled the door and stepped inside, her heels echoing through the emptiness.
 
The steady sounds of the street drifted in through the open window on the thrid floor of the office building at the corner of 42nd and Phobos. Traffic mixing with laughter and cheers of playing children.

The lone occupant of the office slouched in cheap leather chair, his legs fully extended under the equally cheap desk, his hands dangeling over the arms of the chair to almost brush the floor. A battered old Fadora was pushed forward to cover his face. At the echo of footsteps in the hall Nick Sharpe stirred from his nap and pushed his hat back with the tip of one finger, turning his attention towards his own door to see if it was a possible client he heard.
 
The elevator stopped at the third floor. She got out and made her way down the hall, stopping outside the office with "Sharpe P.I." embossed on the frosted glass. Putting her ear to the door, it didn't sound like there was more than one person inside, but she knocked anyway. Before she opened the door, she checked her hat and hem one more time.

Slowly, she pushed the door open into the darkened office and stood in the doorway.
 
The knock at the door jolted Nick awake and be nearly feel out of his chair from surprise. His hat tumbeled from his head as he forced himself into an upright position and tried to staigten his tie.

His dark hair was long enough to run a comb through but short enough that thankfully he never had to.

As the door swung open he pushed himself to his feet forcefully enough to flip his chair and it hit the laminate flooring with a heavy thud.

He must look REAL professional right now with his upended chair and rumpeled shirt and slacks. Either way he plastered a welcoming smile in his face, "Come in, come in. Can I help you?"
 
"I hope so." She sauntered into the office, drinking in the detective with a keen eye. "I'm looking for my father. He's been missing for three days, and I'm starting to think he's not just running around this time." She stood in front of him, clutching her purse in front of her. "Do you think you could take a crack at it?"
 
Nick watched the woman intently as spoke, taking several mental notes. Once she finished he gestured to the guest chair, a slightly more expensive verson of his own, "Take seat."

He rummaged in his desk for a fresh pad and pencil, scribbling a few quick things, "Start at the beginning. When was the last time you saw him miss?"
 
"About two days ago." She sat down and put her hat on her lap. "I thought he'd just taken a day trip to Venus, but when I didn't hear from him, I started poking around."

She thought for a moment, "I suppose I should give you my name before much else." She smiled, realizing she was getting ahead of herself. "My name is Lillian Redgrave. But friends call me Lil or Nightengale."
 
The scratching of his pencil against the pad stopped and he cocked his head to one side, Nightingale was an odd Nick name of ever he'd heard one. Sounded more like a stage name, the kind of thing a performer would use.

"Your father make trips to Venus normally?" He asked, picking the most relevant peice of information from what he had been given.


That was thing he had learned about Detective work, it was mostly about asking the right questions. Clients didn't always give up relevant information freely for fear of incriminating themselves somehow.
 
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