A Starless Sky (Open)

[Reeves]

25th Summer, 510 AV


The room was dark; poorly illuminated. Just a single drab candle lay flickering lonely amidst the gloom, perched upon a small desk. The candle had been recycled so many times that the flame was so poor, it barely seemed alive. The smell of stale tobacco smoke and parchment permeated the air, as did the smell of slight damp.
This far down into the bowls of the fortress city, the air staled and soured in parts, and natural warmth was rare. The walls bred mold and fungus, but at least there was no danger of the roof caving in... or at least anyone hoped.

The man sitting in the old chair next to the weathered desk was gaunt, skinny, and edged more towards the shabbier end of the spectrum. His eyes told a tale of many a sleepless night, as did his tobacco-stained fingers, tapping in rhythm on top of a piece of paper.
His eyes kept glancing at the battered door straight ahead of him, then to the paper, and back again in frustration.
He only received the information a couple of days ago, and it was already starting to cause trouble.

Glancing at the door once more, he sighed in frustration and stood up rather too quickly. Thhe blood rushed straight from his head, causing slight dizziness. Immediately grasping onto the edge of the desk for support, he felt a pinprick of hot pain sear through the palm of his hand. Swearing loudly, he held his hand up to the admittedly poor light, only to find a small splinter lodged within.

"Piece of crap desk..."

Picking up a small knife he used to cut open letters, he very carefully tried to prise the splinter out using only the tip. Feeling the invader drop out of its self-imposed breach, the tiny wound began gushing blood. Rolling his eyes, he fumbled in the lower drawer of his desk, finding a small cloth. Tying it tight around his hand to stem the bleeding, he realised his thought process had completely disappeared.
Scratching his unshaven chin slightly with his good hand, he ignored the dull ache from the palm of his bleeding appendage, and glanced once more at the ominous paper placed on the desk.

'That's right, that damned paper. The amount of trouble that information's gonna cause me, gods be damned with this.'

Walking over to his door, he opened it slightly, letting in a dry wind which blew the poor candle out. Swearing softly, he looked outside, and took in the view.

Reeves Kasargi was the first Investigator known to the city of Syliras. He'd only managed to set up shop in the city a couple of months back, and word had yet to get around. He had a few cases here and there from the immediate vacinity, but so far nothing big had come his way.
Not until that paper arrived under his door a couple of days ago.
He had spent many an hour wrapping his mind over what the letter had written on it, but he was clueless. He had asked around a number of taverns in different sections of the city, but still nothing. He had placed it into the back of his mind, filed away as a hoax, until earlier that evening.

Reeves took a breath of air, and pulled out his pouch of tobacco from his pocket. Pulling out his wafer thing papers from another, he stood in the doorway, and rolled some tobacco out, taking in the sights.
The area his office was based was renowned for being quite a poor district. Less knights patrolled here compared to the rest of the city, and people were more guarded with themselves. Small scale crimes were common around here amongst the poor - usually people forced to theivery out of desperation, or drunken fools down on their luck picking fights with the wrong people. Although the Knights didn't want to admit it, down here things were not looking good. In his opinion, too many people were cramped into the same buildings; illness and disease were rife.
Taking a second to roll his cigarette, he placed it into his mouth, pulled out a match, and lit it. Taking in a deep intake of tobacco smoke, he held it within his lungs, looked up and exhaled, feeling the rush flow through his system. As he looked up into the heart of the cavern, he noticed that the upper tiers held torches, granting the illusion of stars boarding around a persons' peripheral vision. The time must have been around the early bells of the morning.
Taking in another drag, Reeves rubbed his tired eyes, and mulled the paper over in his head one more time.

-----------------------------

A couple of Bells previous, as Reeves supped a quiet drink in the local tavern, ignoring the hustle and bustle that the patrons were making; there seemed to be a potential fight starting on the far side of the room.
As he watched aimlessly, he noticed a woman glance at him nearby. Intregued, he turned to face her, and watched her reaction carefully. She seemed determined, and it showed.
She stood up, walked straight over to Reeves and sat down on the stool opposite. In the gloom, he didn't catch many facial details, but would certainly recognise the foreign accent. He smiled and nodded to her.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure, miss...?"

The woman interrupted him with the raising of a hand. Her skin was darker than that of those local to the area, and had a simple plain band on her ring finger.

"I know who you are, Mr Kasargi. I believe you received a letter a number of days ago. Asking questions is why you were given that letter. You've ruffled some feathers, got people talking, they're worried now, thanks to you."

Confused, Reeves tried to discern what she was on about. The letter? What letter.... Oh...

"Wait, you've lost me. That piece of paper had nothing but garbled lettering and scribbles all over it, it made no sense. Now what are you on about, woman who hasn't even told me her name?"

The investigator in him was screaming something at the far reaches of his mind, but he was a little too distracted to pick up on it, and he had alcohol flowing warmly through his blood.

"If you understood shorthand, then maybe you'd be able to decipher the information, mr Kasargi. Now, to put simply - how would you like to stop a crime before it happened? I suggest you take that paper over to someone who deals with shorthand, and get it examined. That's all I can say."

Left a little dumbfounded, Reeves just watched as she stood to her feet, and offered her hand to shake. It was the same hand, but this time, Reeves picked up on what his subconscious was trying to point out. Her ring was of typical Syliran design - used for those who had enough money to afford a comfortable wedding. Now what was a woman of wealth doing in such a place as this...?
Shaking the hand, whilst taking in every bit of information he could whilst slightly intoxicated, he flashed a smile, and nodded to her.

"Good evening Mr Kasargi, I trust you will be of help."
After a short handshake, she released her soft grip, and promptly exited the tavern, back into the warm outside.

Reeves watched her leave, and noticed the clothes that she wore were simple, yet well-fitted. The confirmed his intitial suspicion - he had attracted the attention of those upstairs. His gut told also confirmed something else, something he hadn't been able to shake off... He was already in over his head, he was sure of it.

-------------------------------------------

He planned to take it over to someone at the library in the morning, but he just had the feeling he could crack it himself. Finishing his cigarette, he flicked it into the dirt road beyond, coughed up some phlegm that sat upon his chest, and spat it out into the road. By chance, he managed to get the stub he had just flicked out, dousing it immediately. Grinning slightly, he closed the door with his foot, yawned, and returned to his desk.

He would have another crack at deciphering this damned letter.

[Reeves]

Ruffling his messy hair with his fingers whilst deep in thought, Reeves glanced over the letter again and again, going so far as to glaze over everything and blank out. The letters were jumbled all over the place, and a lot of vowels were missing. He sighed, and eventually realised that without the original writer there to explain the encryption, he would be lost. It was best to wait till morning, and take it over to someone at the Library.

'A crime before it happened... that woman, she was from the upper tiers, that much was proven. Hoo boy, have I been thrown slap bang into the middle of a conspiracy already..?'

Lost in thought, Reeves yawned quite loudly, and noticed he was a little hungry. Although tired, he knew he wouldn't sleep much - he never really did these days. Wandering over to the back of the office, he picked up an apple, checked it for bruising, and bit into it.

He began to throw it up into the air, catching it absent-mindedly. He still couldn't get the impeding sense of doom quite out of his head; he'd learned to trust his gut after so many years' life experience.
It wasn't his turn to spend time with Suzii for another few days yet, and he promised her they would learn how to cook some food together. Reeves was no culinary master by any means - he barely enough to make food edible, but he thought it'd be fun for the two of them to do together. In reality, he'd never really felt like a part of her life. She was five years old, and as cute as a button. She had her mother's features, but had begun to develop her father's mouth, which annoyed Clare, and amused Reeves. She idolised him, but didn't know how to be around him, and vice versa. She was bright too, moreso than himself he thought.
The whole reason he had set up shop doing what he did was for his daughter, he wouldn't fail her, not again.

'Last chance saloon Reeves, let's not piss over my chips this time, eh?'

His door was equipped with a tiny bell that jingled when it was pushed open. Catching the apple and taking another large chunk out with his teeth, his ears picked up a slight noise. He turned towards the doorway, and found himself wondering who the hell could be visiting him at this time of night.


((OOC: Feel free to jump right in anyone ))

[Inca]

The redhead was, by enlarge, at the end of her tether. Information was one thing she had never had any trouble getting a hold of; in fact many people were more than happy to place it in her lap. Except this time. Who would have thought that every knight and guardsmen in this city would be so tight lipped they may as well have been born deaf. They were all too damn virtuous, that was their problem. She would hardly consider herself cynical enough to believe that everyone could be bought for the right price but she was well travelled enough to know that there was always one. Unfortunately she had yet to find this mythical creature. She wasn't sure whether they really did believe the sentiments of nobility they adhered too or whether simple fear of the consequences should they be seen not to kept their mouths shut. Either way the very unfamiliar sense that time was not on her side had begun to emit its stench and her nose for trouble picked it up like a trained hound. Of course she had never had a plan to begin with, such was the way she'd always worked. Everyone she had to compete with spent their time planning and thinking so much that when something inevitably went wrong they froze like rabbits in the oncoming lights of the carriage. The result was inevitably a very messy, much larger form of roadkill. Besides it soothed her mind to think that if there was no plan then life couldn't possibly not adhere to it. Unfortunately this failed to change the fact that she was almost out of ideas.

Reaching into her pocket she drew out a scrap of paper and stepped into the grimy light of a lantern to read the scruffy hand writing. It was the adress of a man she had been assured might be able to help. She was quite curious to see this proposed saviour having been out of the loop for as long as she had. Then again she was hardly expecting anyone glamorous given her surroundings. These streets were dark in every sense of the word. The smell of poverty was almost a tangible entity here where the stench of old garbage and mould was endemic. Here was a place that you didn't come unless you knew how to use your fists, something she had learned the cruel way as a child. Mostly the people here were too hungry to try anything but she was aware she looked as if she had a copper or two to her name and that would draw the desperate too her like moths to a flame. Replacing the paper in her pocket she left her hands loose so they would be free, just encase. Fortunately the late night adrenaline had kicked in and served to bolster her alertness, not fear, because Inca's boundless self-confidence didn't really allow for that. Nevertheless her emerald eyes remained wary. The guards rarely patrolled here. No doubt protecting the poor from themselves was not considered a profitable use of their time. Damn, this was why she ignored politics whenever possible. People did what they did and it wasn't her concern to fathom the reason, all she was responsible for was herself. And the occasional job to keep the mizas flowing. Both of those tasks she had become quite adept at. Right, back to the job at hand. Her stride was long and easy as she wound her way through what were not so much streets as simple gaps between rows of shoddy dwellings.

Running her hand through her fiery hair a frown crinkled her face as it came away feeling distastefully greasy. Then she began to count lanterns in place of numbers. Even this part of the city was familiar to her and she knew you couldn't navigate by house numbers and street names the same way you could in the richer parts of town. here you simply knew where you wee or you didn't. Inca had invented this system when she was seventeen. Each building had a lamp fixed above the door but because oil was expensive only every other one was lit. This building was number thirty three so counting from the end of the road that was number seventeen by her count. As luck would have it it was not difficult to find being the only ground floor window to dare to show light at this hour. Pausing outside she pulled in a deep breath; always a dangerous choice since she had no idea what other foul things she may be breathing in along with the air.

"Right, now the worse that can happen is that you run out of money and starve...so nothing to worry about." She muttered under her breath. Strangely she'd found that mantra uplifting although it didn't sound as optimistic to everyone else she discovered. But then Inca had a very special perspective on the world. Finally she kicked at something dishevelled and black in the street, listening with some satisfaction as it slapped wetly into the gutter some distance away and pushed open the door. A bell jingled if not very cheerfully. And faced before her was a man who appeared to be in no better state of mind than his announcer. Inwardly she was quite relieved to realise that she had barged in with no plan of attack whatsoever, good, because now that she was flying by the seat of her pants again she felt better than she had done all evening.

"Hi." She said by means of curt introduction. "You're Reeves right?" An affirmation was not really nescessary. He matched the description she had been given if slightly more dishevelled than she had been led to believe. However she also recognised the marks of one who plied their trade; bags beneath his eyes and the nerve soothing effects of alcohol and tobacco betrayed countless sleepless nights. Maybe this wouldn't be a waste of time after all. Inca never minced words as a personal rule but now of all times she wasn't in the mood to be anything but blunt. "How much is your help gonna cost me?"