Richie "Bitch Baby Tears" Tozier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
summertimeblues) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nysalogs2018-02-14 09:33 pm
summertimeblues) wrote in nysalogs2018-02-14 09:33 pm
Entry tags:
Why do fools fall in love? (Closed)
Who: Richie Tozier (summertimeblues), Dorian Pavus (flashystyle), Sandra the Unseeing (tutorb), potentially other losers
What: Quest Log + Catch All
When: February
Where: Olympia mostly
Warning(s): language, perhaps violence/ref to violence. try not to fall in love with him, i understand it's very difficult
Starters in the comments
song is mostly because of v-day no one is getting dokis let's be real
summertimeblues), Dorian Pavus (flashystyle), Sandra the Unseeing (tutorb), potentially other losers What: Quest Log + Catch All
When: February
Where: Olympia mostly
Warning(s): language, perhaps violence/ref to violence. try not to fall in love with him, i understand it's very difficult
Starters in the comments
song is mostly because of v-day no one is getting dokis let's be real
Cw for dead kids and gore....again....always dead kids....
Richie pulls the covers aside in a neat page turn and cautiously hefts the mattress. Sad to say, Sandra's suspicions were looking more than a little right.]
Oh, fuck this shit. [He pulls the photos loose and puts them in a spread on the floor.] It's pictures, Sandra. All of them halfway through the slicing, gee-yawd. I never knew what a man's innards looked like on a gurney. My curiosity's satisfied for life.
[He'd had the treat of stumbling over Patrick Hockstetter's body in the sewers, he remembered that much now. They all did. The dim light of matches made it even spookier viewing, making the pits gnawed by rats (but started no doubt by something bigger and badder) into endless canyons that disappeared into his mangled skull.
He'd almost seen entrails, would have if Beverly were a worse shot. Haystack had been pinned to the wall by the werewolf and his big belly had taken its second slashing that summer. Bloody stuff, but mercifully not fatal.
Not that prior experience would steel him. He liked horror projected on screens, in the words of an ooky spooky book. Not in reality, not on living breathing folk.
Grimacing, he takes snaps a few shots with the phone.] I can't speak as to whether these are standard procedures for Olympian medicine, but considering where he's keeping them...
ah the richie tozier special
[ Baseless accusations on Voss' part, nothing but a strange fetish on Lenches'. No harm befalling the innocent. If only that was ever the case. They approach the bed, Richie's favorite uses for the underside of a mattress falling somewhere between the money and knives she'd kept in hers (once upon a time) on the sliding scale of virtue, though perhaps the both of them hope to find nothing else here to compare on it. ]
[ No such luck from the sound of things. ]
[ There's no verbal response from over Richie's shoulder, but the recoil is palpable, calm but firm. She has, in kind, seen her fair share of bloodshed through her years with the Sisters, though entrails were a relative rarity when jobs were executed properly. Kills were efficient, snapped necks or poison or cuts to the arteries, gut-spilling blows generally reserved for fights gone awry. And from the thought of things, the man seems to agree on at least that part. ]
Generally speaking, a man's innards being exposed is a fair indicator that he is a dead one... [ Her knowledge of surgery is primitive at best, reserved for amputations and small excisions. Splitting stomachs is no medical procedure, at least no sane, undesperate one, it is one of the wilder forms of torture. ] Even if it is not so, no, under the bed is not exactly a place for professional records... What is it he sees fit to keep in his desk, then?
[ The discrepancy will probably be a predictable one at this rate, but discrepancies prove points. ]
Tags u on phone data at 3am in the jumble of my new home in between 4 auditions, feel honoured
If you wanted the nitty gritties you could probably probe Eddie Kaspbrak for them, should he ever see fit to wake.]
Nudes? [He ventures. They're playing opposites so why not assume the sexy shit lives where the business ought to be? He almost pulls up to go verify, but abruptly ducks down to peer underneath the bed. Lest they forget and all, and there is a little somethin'-somethin' sitting pretty under the snooze pad. He tugs the box out, turning it this way and that. It doesn't rattle and there's no lock, so he pops the latch and points his phone light inside.
Just a love note. "Remember the date of our anniversary."]
Adorable. [But hey, maybe there's some cryptic reason to keep a scrap of paper in a box under the bed. Who knows? He describes the item to Sandra after taking a quick snap. He returns it to its lair and rises, cracking his back before going to the desk.]
Man alive, I was joking about the yoga but maybe there's a point to it. I'm too old to be hopping into this without doing a bit of downward dog and namaste, or what have you. [He frowns at the spread. Takes another picture and takes the piss out of the thirty second spots that bookend Starsky and Hutch escapades.] Make this Father's Day one to remember: scalpels for him, by Hugo Boss. Now available at Macy's.
[They were tres chic, after all. The man knew a good knife.
He starts pulling at the drawers though, and it becomes clear that this is less Lenches' property than it is Sloan's. The paperwork has her name on it. And study it though he might, he can't seem to find anything that could nail her on the charges Voss was hoping for. He relays all this to Sandra — for once, with little embellishment, for the longer he goes on looking the more he's certain...]
..it just doesn't look like she's doing the people dirty here. None of these papers add up, babe. Not to anything illegal...if she's got forgeries going, she's not keeping them here.
[Their investigation came with a small bonus incentive. It sits beside Sandra, snug up in that sling poch he's got over his shoulder. If they were to slide it in amongst the desk stock, they'd get a cool 500 silver more than bargained for.
Problem was, it was just as much a forgery as the ones Voss was so keen on catching her making.]
#blessed ;-;
[ Even if they had in her world, in the Commonwealth, things definitely had not in the Downside, though its perils were far greater. She has no expertise in the matter of slicing without the intent to bleed a man out, and neither does he. At his suggestion, she groans, less the lewdness and more the recurring theme it seems to be in her life. (JJ.) Not to mention the man should have better sense than that. He knows what a mattress is for. ]
[ As for the anniversary note, that seems more of a note to be kept in a planner than in a secret box under the bed. If the box is meant for a collection of love letters, the romance sounds sorely lacking... Worth noting all the same though. As Richie crunches back up to his feet, Sandra has to scoff. ]
You really are that brittle, are you? I suppose we were not anticipating the second story window, but you have a point. We ought to limber you up before taking you on any of these little sneaking ventures. [ She's been slacking in her training, used to consorting with everyone already fit to partake in the Rites. There were no cushy desk jobs in the Downside. ] I will be sure to have plenty for you to warm up with, next time.
[ As for his nonsense plug, all she gets out of it is, ] What, more scalpels? [ This is just the bedroom. Does he conduct his business here of all places? But from the sound of things, the knives seem to be most of what belongs to Lenches here. She takes the verbal report without interruption, though she will have to take his word for it where he isn't reading word for word—they haven't the time for that—his end assumption, she will also have to take his word for. He is, at least, very good with words, and it makes for an easy word to take. ]
I do not think I would keep any particularly sensitive documents in the house of a man who keeps potentially incriminating evidence tucked away with his love notes beneath his bed. Not if I had a far more guarded house of my own.
[ Which, according to Voss, she explicitly has. Anyone that racks up any amount of time forging documents without being caught would be playing her cards close to her chest, no matter how much time she might spend in another's home... But at the same time, extra security in itself isn't evidence that she is hiding anything there, either. If there were a way to simply encourage some further investigation on the woman, fine, but to enter some false property to be used against her into the equation, when there is nothing to go on... ]
[ She's quiet, over his shoulder, for a moment longer. ]
So, if there is nothing to suggest her guilt here in this house, other than a gut feeling and the fact that she cavorts with such an unpleasant gentleman, I would, personally, suggest the Overseer make his investigations a bit more direct. [ Pay a little more coin. A man like Voss has to have connections. There is not a house that cannot be slipped into by someone. Perhaps not by Richie, but someone. If only she had a body... Or eyes... Or fluent literacy... ] We have only been in one room of the house, though. Perhaps she keeps more of her things in other places. Some dear correspondences concluded in good riddance, peasants.