(no subject)
Who: Jacob Anser (MOTHER GOOSE) and Charlie Toussaint (STEADFAST TIN SOLDIER)
What: Jacob receives Charlie's report on the Kuhl Case. He does not approve.
When: Early evening, during Anser's Pentamerone office hours.
Where: Anser's Office; the Pentamerone
Rating: PG13 for snark and talk of muuuuurder.
Jacob Anser was taking refuge in his office, after a day of lectures and meetings with his students. At least when he was in this office, nobody came to him to complain about grades. Unfortunately, they did come for a far wider array of bizarre reasons, one of which was to consult on private investigations into mysterious murder cases.
When Charlie showed up in the lobby, he would have been buzzed in by a no-doubt-wry Delilah and sent through the oak doors into the office proper. Inside Anser was seated behind his oak desk, with his feet kicked up on the desktop and his char tilted dangerously far back. A copy of Literary Review Quarterly was draped over his face to block out the already low amount of life coming from a series of lamps in the cluttered, musty office.
"Give it to me straight, Sam Spade." Came a mumbled drawl from beneath the pages, causing a slight rustle that was the only sign that the reclined man was even awake. "Is the dame a dropper? Did she knock off the stiff? Are we behind the eight ball? What's the wire? Give me the rap or take a Mickey Finn." Upon finishing the litany of hardboiled noir lingo, he lifted a corner of the page to peer from beneath the pages with a wry self-satisfied smirk. "Pretty good, eh?"
What: Jacob receives Charlie's report on the Kuhl Case. He does not approve.
When: Early evening, during Anser's Pentamerone office hours.
Where: Anser's Office; the Pentamerone
Rating: PG13 for snark and talk of muuuuurder.
Jacob Anser was taking refuge in his office, after a day of lectures and meetings with his students. At least when he was in this office, nobody came to him to complain about grades. Unfortunately, they did come for a far wider array of bizarre reasons, one of which was to consult on private investigations into mysterious murder cases.
When Charlie showed up in the lobby, he would have been buzzed in by a no-doubt-wry Delilah and sent through the oak doors into the office proper. Inside Anser was seated behind his oak desk, with his feet kicked up on the desktop and his char tilted dangerously far back. A copy of Literary Review Quarterly was draped over his face to block out the already low amount of life coming from a series of lamps in the cluttered, musty office.
"Give it to me straight, Sam Spade." Came a mumbled drawl from beneath the pages, causing a slight rustle that was the only sign that the reclined man was even awake. "Is the dame a dropper? Did she knock off the stiff? Are we behind the eight ball? What's the wire? Give me the rap or take a Mickey Finn." Upon finishing the litany of hardboiled noir lingo, he lifted a corner of the page to peer from beneath the pages with a wry self-satisfied smirk. "Pretty good, eh?"