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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?]
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?]
