thevariable | OPEN POST

A. The Bird
[Maybe you need a partner on a job, maybe you had a partner. Whatever your reason, DeWitt Investigations takes the job, no matter how big or small, long as it pays. Money is better, but personal claim is just as good at getting the man's attention. The office isn't that much to look at, papers scattered around with the faint smell of whiskey on the air to boot.

Either way, Booker takes the job you offer him, thinks he has a choice in all of this. How wrong you'll prove him. Before the job, during the job, after the job.

The possibilities are infinite.]

B. The Cage
[It's here that he came looking for answers. Not that his judgment's all that great, considering the fight that breaks out. The city's a big place and that means there's a lot of places to be looking. This bar on the other hand's a little off the road, in a shady part of town where keeping your head down's a way to catch attention. Of course, there are other ways to cause a ruckus. Maybe you're passing through, maybe you're looking for other things.

Either way.

It's there that the back door opens and someone gets thrown out. The man in the doorway gets stares from those around, and when he looks over at the latest arrival he wipes at his mouth. The other man knocks out against a trash can, face swollen.

The conscious one holds a hand up, knuckles red and starting to bruise. A little winded:] —said I didn't want trouble.

C. Lives, Lived, Will Live
[Now there's something.

Fight club your kind of thing? For Booker, not so much. It's something to make money, and it's something familiar at least but that was in the past, something he tried to bury a while back. He's settled at a table, nursing a glass of amber liquid while waiting his turn, eyeing the others who're here for the rush. Maybe you're to fight him, maybe you're here to talk him out of this.

Maybe you just want to kill some time. Either way, you'll get him.]

D. Dies, Died, Will Die
You go out there, you will not make back, do you get that? [It's here somewhere, that Booker's arguing with someone —stranger, friend, client—, trying to drive a point in. His voice swells in volume, the lines on his face turning him angry as he points a finger out there, makes a motion to argue.] Wh- how do I know?

Because I've seen it- saw you die! [(His nose is bleeding.) The outburst makes him recoil, stammer as confusion crosses his face.] Saw...?

E. Are you afraid of God... -awful scenarios?
[You look like an improviser. Why not make something up?]

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[Dormouse is used to the kind of things that go around in bar rooms. For all the ones he haunts, turning to the bottle in an attempt to get a good night's sleep he'll never know, it places him in a unique position of knowing people and things most others wouldn't. And hey, passing on that info happens to he an eligible livelihood. All the better for him.

He's not used to things starting so early, though. He stares at the man on the ground for a long moment, turning to the 'victor' when he speaks - and even though he's not the one being spoken to, he decides to reply anyway. Mostly because he can sympathize.]

Problem is, trouble doesn't tend to ask. [He pats the guy on the shoulder as he passes, raising a hand to cover his mouth as he yawns.] Maybe that'll be all the trouble for the night.

[Dormouse hopes so, anyway. He likes drinking and griping about things in peace. Chaos like that just means even less of a chance of getting some sleep.]

You just said trouble doesn't ask. [Shaking a hand, he curls his fingers before opening them again, repeating the motion a few times. Booker doesn't do much for the motion save for shrug, eyes on the poor guy who tried a fight.] - hey, hold on.

You a regular around these parts?

[There's nothing but an amused snort for the comment, Dormouse's focus on sliding into his usual seat at the bar. But he doesn't miss the next words, either.]

Mm? [He turns back to the man, raises a brow at the question. He takes a better look at the victor, mouth curling in a lazy, puzzled smile.] Been here for a while, anyway. Who's asking?

[He's already waving down the bartender for a drink, turning to order once he's got the attention. It's not hard to figure out what's about to happen, why the man's asking, and it has Dormouse shaking his head. Tonight is a working night, apparently.]

[While the look doesn't settle him any, it's better than his first try. If the guy's earnest in his words, then there won't be a fight to get out of the next stranger. Settling into the seat beside him, Booker leans an elbow on the counter, raising a brow.] I am - or did, anyway.

Mind a few more questions? Nothing too personal, I hope. [When the bartender gives him a look, Booker lifts his hands in surrender. Then he orders a drink, hopefully to apologize.] You good with faces?

[Dormouse doesn't have enough of a bite to start a bar fight - or rather, the stakes would have to be much higher, much more specific, to motivate him into physical violence. He only wants to drink in peace, maybe have some light conversation to go with it. There's no trouble to worry about from him.

He leans his chin on his hand when the man moves next to him, that smile never leaving his face.] Guess I'll have to decide that, huh? [A chuckle, and then a shrug as Dormouse straightens out, moves to fold his arms on top of the bar instead.] I'd like to think so. You looking for someone, 'I am'?

[The smile's empty, a placating expression, but his eyes are sharp - this guy's not the first one to approach him with these kinds of questions, after all. He knows what's going on here.]

Tha- [The face he pulls is confusion before realization hits him - a sigh and he paws at the back of his neck, the corners of his mouth pulling into some kind of wry look. ] Good one.

DeWitt. [Chin lowering in greeting, he reaches into the inside of his vest, pulls out a photo so he can set it on the bar top. There's a girl on it, brown hair and blue eyes, no older than twenty, maybe.] And I'm looking for her- name's Elizabeth. Any chance she passed through here in the past week?

[His kind unnerves him. Maybe even worse than the others he's dealt with before.]

Edited 2014-03-21 00:35 (UTC)

DeWitt. [A bob of his head, and Dormouse chuckles.] Much better name.

[Then he picks up the photo, eyes narrowing as he takes in the girl's face, the little details. He rubs at his chin, stifles another yawn that tries to escape, not looking up even when his drink is delivered by the bartender. Finally he looks away, glancing up at DeWitt over the edge of the photograph.] Elizabeth is a common name, you know... Whoever you're tracking her for would've done you better by giving the full name.

[For all the times he's been around, Dormouse knows better than to assume just because someone is looking for the girl that it's a relative or something. Either way, that's not where his nose belongs, so he doesn't comment further than that. Just hums in thought as he picks up his glass, taking a drink.]

... but yeah, she looks familiar.

[He tries his best not to sweat, just deals the glance one of his own, brow raising in turn for an answer. Snorting, he shakes his head and shrugs, looks back out to the bar. It's settled by now, the patrons going back to their own business. If the guy from earlier comes back in, he'll deal with it.

Though he doubts it'll happen- pride's always a big thing, no matter the place. Usually.] She might be going by Elizabeth Comstock, but. She wasn't too big on her father, from what I could tell.

[Waving a hand to brush it off, he slows down at the last comment.] Know it's a stretch, but any chance she came here looking for anyone? She's not above anything, if it helps.

['Comstock' doesn't sound familiar, so Dormouse only nods his head, files the information away for later. The name doesn't mean much to him, but with the girl's appearance, it's easy to believe it means something somewhere else. Someone this refined isn't the daughter of anything less than high class, after all.

The 'above anything' comment catches his attention too, brows raising, but he doesn't comment on that either. Focuses on a different part entirely.]

Not here, no. [Then he puts the photo down, takes another swig from his drink.] But you know things like this have their price, DeWitt.

I do. [The way he lowers his head is slow, with a frown because he more than knows it. Looking back over the bar, he turns his back to the counter, hands settled inbetween his legs so the palms press against the seat.] That's the reason I came here in the first place.

[Because he knows places like these, knows the price they ask for- usually, at the least.] So what is it you're asking for?

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