[Log] Eye Love You Case File #1
WHO: Mercade Alexander, Venetia Martens, Leon Freier (later on)
WHEN: Sunday, April 6th
WHERE: Scion Los Angeles
WHAT: A beautiful woman walks into Mercade's office--the same one he'd just seen in the paper reported as missing and a possible victim of murder.
WATCH FOR: Mercade switching from "durhurhur prettywummon" mode to Serious Business mode in the blink of an eye. Also, Leon can has smarts?
You post your note about 'Suspected Murder Target Missing' in group 10 (News Broadcasts) as message #6
============================== News Broadcasts ===============================
Message: 10/6 Posted Author
Suspected Murder Target Missing Mon Apr 07 The Associated Press
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An article in the Los Angeles Sunday newspaper (Scion plane version) printed earlier today reports on a disturbance in the suburbs early Saturday morning. Apparently someone named Venetia Martens (there is a picture of her included; it's black and white, but her hair seems pale, and her face very attractive) was attacked near the apartment she shares with her boyfriend, one Richard Davidson (Char to his friends), and has gone missing since. The article reports the police taking Char into custody, who said that she'd confided in him about worrying about a stalker.
The report goes on to state that it's feared that this may be another victim of a serial killer dubbed Eye Love You, who has claimed three victims already over the past six months. Details about the killer are scarce in order not to alert any potential suspects, but the MO of the killer seems to be to attack and kidnap attractive people, steal their eyes during the actual murdering, and then dump the body in an unrelated location.
The article concludes by stating that the police are searching for Venetia Martens at the time being, and asks any readers to contact the newspaper or local police with any information or sightings they might have had.
(OOC: Questions, comments, interest? Contact Venetia.)
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Welcome to Fleetfoot Investigations. Hope you enjoy your stay.
The office door is frosted glass with a stenciled logo on it. It's unlocked. The room beyond looks like an almost stereotypical detective office, filing cabinets and a bookshelf lining the walls. The windows are closed and barred, and above a fan rotates lazily. There is a melted plastic plant in a wicker basket in the corner, with hunks of Christmas decorations (and a couple bullets) lodged within the mass. There is a desk opposite the door, two chairs on the entrance side. On the desk is an old-style rotary phone, and a computer. Oddly, there is a good deal of blackening and scarring of the floor, and a number of bulletholes on the inside of the walls at the present moment. Hanging on the walls are a couple pictures of classic Grecian landmarks. There is also a door behind the desk. It is closed.
Mercade himself is sitting behind the desk, low jazzy music playing through the room as he reads the newspaper. It seems slow, for the moment.
Before long, a shadow appears in the frosted window, preceded by a knock. The door is tried next whether or not there is an answer, and into Fleetfoot Investigations walks a goddess.
Or someone whom many horny young men have described as a goddess, anyway. She's tall, buxom, blond, and wearing tight clothes. She glances back behind her at the street and shuts the door behind her, then turns forward.
It's a pretty small office, but it looks like this is the place--at least, the blonde young woman seems satisfied when she takes one last look down at an unfolded piece of white paper she's holding in her free hand.
Then she looks up at the man sitting at the desk in front of her and smiles. It's a lovely smile, but despite the woman's cool demeanor and poise, the PI might be able to sense there's some tension, even worry in her. "Are you Mercade Alexander?"
The knock gives Mercade a moment to fold the paper, setting it aside.
I knew the woman's name as soon as she entered. She'll say it's something else, but really, her name was Trouble.
... And by Zeus' beard, she's hot.
The investigator looks up, pulling a pencil from behind his ear, and nods. "I am. I hear you're in a lot of trouble, Miss Venetia Martens. How can I help you?" The pencil is tapped against a pad of paper next to the phone.
Aren't *all* hot women named Trouble, though? Though at least perhaps Mercade will have the satisfaction of startling her. She looks briefly stunned, then suspicious, then reflective as she tilts her head and bites her lower lip a little. Then she seems to make up her mind.
"Did Graham tell you I was coming?" Venetia walks up and takes the seat opposite Mercade's desk, then sets down the piece of paper she'd been holding. "She's the one who gave me these directions." Then Venetia leans back and looks at Mercade with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "How much trouble do you hear I'm in, Mr. Alexander?"
Yes. They are. But he's obligated to go through the motions. And if the amount of trouble is based on hotness, this one is probably going to be an 11 on the Trouble-O-Meter.
Mercade arches an eyebrow, and he gives a small smile. "It pays to keep abreast of current events." He picks up the newspaper, folding it again, and tosses it forward with an article of Venetia's interest showing. He doesn't mention what Sephi may or may not have been up to. It might be a testament to Mercade's willpower that he is indeed keeping his eyes fixed directly on her face. "Serial killers are bad news... And of course, the police always seems to barking everywhere, making a lot of noise and accomplishing little."
Oh, huh. Venetia reads the article with surprised interest, then checks the date on the paper. Yeah, of course it was printed today. Granted that she skipped ahead to the classifieds and left the rest of the paper there, but there wasn't any mention of this in yesterday's paper! Either way, Venetia wasn't expecting to end up in the news (like this) and reads the story as Mercade goes on.
Then she looks and smiles. "I guess this makes this convenient, then! But I ought to let you know..." She tosses the paper back onto his desk, then leans back in the chair. "That article's not telling the whole story. I actually got back to my apartment first after the trouble started." She flicks a few strands of her blonde hair over her shoulder. "It was more or less like that, you know? About me getting attacked. But I hit him with my purse and he ran for my complex. I chased after him because, you know, I didn't want him attacking anyone else, you know?"
Her expression twists in worry then. "But he was really fast, and by the time I got to my place, he'd broken in. Char, my boyfriend, he got knocked on the head, and that Eye Love You freak, I guess it was, stole something of mine." Venetia sighs a little, then meets Mercade's gaze. Kind of cute, she observes, but passing out of his prime. And pretty skinny. Nice eyes, though. "...so, I don't want you to just help me out with this psycho, Mr. Alexander. I'd really like you to help me get that thing back. It's really important to me..."
She lowers her gaze, lashes fluttering down. The entire room almost seems to dim with her.
Mercade steeples his fingers, patiently waiting as she reads. You don't become a decent detective without learning how to listen. He returns the smile warmly, nodding as the singer tells her story. "So, you hit him, and he ran from you?" He rubs his chin. "Unusual. One would expect a serial killer to have a bit more courage. But that's good, it means you're still alive..."
He trails off for a moment as she flutters her eyes. For a moment, he is silent, breathing as Venetia flexes her breathtaking beauty. "... I would be happy to help you, of course." He finally continues. "We'll track him down, bring him down, and get you your belonging back." He nods.
"So, what information do you have on the killer himself?"
It really is too easy. Venetia feels a little bad now; after all, this guy is supposed to be on her side already! And she hasn't gotten attacked by robot zombie ninjas so Graham probably *didn't* send her into a trap. Still, it helps her decide Mercade's okay and on the level. If nothing else, this guy seems refreshingly *normal* compared to Sephi herself, and definitely it improved Venetia's opinion of the creepy Helspawn. Still, she'll have to see if he can actually help her. If he can't, then...
"Thanks, Mr. Alexander," she says warmly, meeting his gaze again as her nose crinkles in a grin. She sobers as he asks her about the killer himself, looking him over again. "...Would you believe me if I told you I thought there was more than one?"
She looks down at the paper. "I guess maybe it was a copycat, but I'm pretty sure it's not a coincidence. See," and she starts twirling some of her golden hair around one finger, "I'm the lead singer of this band called Sea Froth that my friends and me started up. I don't know if you've heard of us? But sometimes I just *get* creepy stalkers. So this one time about a week ago, there was this guy following me. I was walking through the park, and it was late... I guess that was pretty dumb of me." Venetia gives Mercade an apologetic look before she continues, "But anyway, I could hear him following me, so I ran ahead and made him chase me, and when I hid and he passed, I hit him."
Possibly with her purse again. Mercade might get the sense that Venetia's leaving something out, or that things didn't go *exactly* how she's describing them. However, she's not really lying, either. "He had this black hoodie on over his head, like this?" She gestures as if pulling a hoodie way down over her face, nearly covering her eyes. "And he was wearing jeans. And when I hit him, his hood got knocked back and I saw his face. He was kinda skinny-looking with a scar right over his left eyebrow--" she traces the area with one finger, "--and he had brown hair. Anyway, he tried to attack me, he has this club thing and he swung it for my head, but I kicked him in the balls and ran away."
...She's so *matter-of-fact*, too. She twiddles with her lock of hair for a few seconds, looking down at it, before taking in a breath and looking at Mercade again. "But the guy who attacked me the other night--when I hit him, I knocked the hood back again, and he had a totally different face. I think maybe that's why he ran, because I saw him. But he was wearing the exact same outfit and he tried attacking me the exact same way."
Venetia has Mercade's full attention. He's still not staring at her... figure... though. He's trying to retain at least /some/ semblance of professionalism instead of dissolving into an emotional wreck... Something Vene probably has a lot of experience with.
He grins, revealing perfect teeth (yes, he brushes! And flosses!) He flushes slightly at the thanks, regardless...
And the additional information causes his eyes to narrow slightly. His demeanor begins to change, becoming slightly distant. "Actually, I would believe you."
He considers the information for several long seconds. "Those two sound familiar. They're low-level criminals who had been working independant lately. They hadn't had links to the..." He trails off. "Wait." He suddenly stands up, pacing behind the desk. If he's reading anything into Venetia's explanation, he's not saying anything. Right now, something's disturbed him. "The evidence says the killers were doing something with the eyes. They were attacking your head... And can you describe this club?" He mutters. "The pattern..."
Very recent experience with, too. There's a reason why Sephi distrusts Venetia so wildly, and part of it is because the two employees working at the coffee shop where they might practically flung themselves at her--one the one teenage boy who wouldn't even look at Sephi when he was serving her her coffee, the other the middle-aged manager with a diamond ring on his left ring finger! So Mercade's professionalism is appreciated.
Even moreso when suddenly he goes Serious Business, then Serious Business lvl. 2 when he stands up and starts pacing around. Venetia blinks, then frowns as he brings up the eye business. That actually seriously creeped her out on a personal level, even if she'd kept it to herself; she hadn't realized they were going to gouge her eyes out of her head after they were finished clubbing her, yeek. Actually, there's a small bit of information that she could give Mercade that might help him out a lot--but she can't give it to him because it would be the same as admitting she'd lied to him about how the first incident went. After all, Venetia didn't kick that guy in the balls (multiple times, and probably broke a few bones too; it was out of sheer distaste for killing another human being that she didn't simply kick him to death) until *after* she saw him knock out and start to drag away /a different girl/. She wasn't surprised to get attacked herself after that, but the fact that it was a different guy--and that he ran and stole *that* thing--have her seriously worried.
"The club? Ummm..." Venetia concentrates, trying to remember. She'd heard a girl screaming for help, and had run toward the noise, and had caught the clubbing then. At the time, she'd wondered why he hadn't killed her then and there; her experience with first aid had let her determine that the blow he'd done to her head was only enough to knock her unconscious. The club she hadn't gotten a good look at, just the guy's face, but... "I don't remember the details exactly, but it was about...a foot long? And it had a weird shape, it wasn't just a straight club, it had sides and I think a handle--and he aimed right about here." Venetia indicates the part on her head that she'd seen the first man hit on that other girl. She'd been so pretty, too... Well, according to that article, no wonder.
/At least,/ she thinks wryly, /this means they didn't go back for her./ Venetia's quiet for the moment now, though, watching Mercade.
Mercade continues to pace, looking more agitated at the description of the club. "The pattern fits together too well." He looks up, to Venetia. "You're in even worse danger than I expected." He grunts, turning and pulling a fedora and coat from a hatstand next to the desk. "I'm going to be staying near you for a while. You're going to want protection from whatever's been hunting you."
He glances over to Venetia, the expression on his face showing that he's not just saying that because she's pretty. "But we'll need to stop this at the source." He pulls on the garments, and then gestures to the door, stepping towards it. "Don't worry about a fee right now. I'll work for free. We need additional information, though. I'll want to look at the scenes of the attacks, both of them."
He pauses for a moment, and then turns back to face Venetia. "I do need to know, however... Is your boyfriend involved?"
"Pattern?" Venetia's mystified--but then, this *is* the first time she's heard of Eye Love You, and if Mercade means something else altogether, she's not seeing it. But then, it's because she knows she doesn't know what's going on and can't afford to figure it out on her own that she came here in the first place. She's not sure what kind of danger he means, either, but she's more than good enough at reading people to tell that this is not the time or place to question him on what he means and if he's serious, even if for a moment she stares at him for saying he'll work for free.
"Sure, but..." Venetia stands up, pulling her red jacket closer around herself as she falls into step next to the be-fedora'ed Mercade. "What do you mean by the 'source'? You mean there's like a weird eye cult or something?" She pauses again as Mercade asks about her boyfriend, again not quite connecting the dots. "Well...yeah, he got hit over the head when the one crazy guy broke in. I told him I was going to cut and run so he wouldn't get involved any more." Venetia's expression clouds. "I don't want him or anyone getting hurt because of me..."
"You could say that," Mercade replies. It's obvious that he's leaving things out. "As they say... Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." He adjusts his hat, opening the door to the office. "I might need to talk to him at some point, but that's not important. We can find him. Let's get in my car and we'll drive there. It's not much, but..."
He pauses, looking over at the beat-up Ford Escort parked next to the building. It's on cinderblocks, and the hood is popped, revealing an empty engine area.
"AGH! GODS DAMN IT!" Mercade swears. "THAT'S THE THIRD TIME THIS MONTH!" He sighs, then looks over to Venetia.
"...That's awful, Mr. Alexander." It's hard to tell if Venetia's disapproving or amused by the tone of her voice, but she *is* holding back a smile. At least she can have a sense of humor about her potential brutal mutilation?" Either way, once they step outside, the songstress is about to ask the PI whose car they take...when she sees the car on cinderblocks, and Mercade curses.
She gives him a sympathetic sort of smile, then jerks her head to the right. "All right, I guess we're taking my car, then. I hope someone didn't siphon the gas while I was inside." As they're walking along--the car (a fairly well-kept but older ) is not far away, just around the corner--she continues, "It must suck, having that happen to you that often, Mercade. Is it okay if I call you Mercade? I mean, if you're going to be sticking around to protect me, it's a lot more personable than Mr. Alexander. You can call me Venetia too, if you want."
The pleasant conversation pauses as the blonde unlocks her car and gets in. She reaches over to unlock the other door for Mercade, and begins to buckle in. "You know, 'gods damn it' is kind of a weird swear," Venetia remarks in passing once he's inside and she's starting up the engine. "Are you Wiccan or something?"
"Nah, it always seems to happen to me. Never anyone visiting. I'll catch whoever did it when I'm not busy." He shrugs in his coat, smiling back at Venetia. He grins as she calls him Mercade. "Sure, it's fine. I don't need a lot of formality... Venetia." He seems to like saying the name. He ducks in and buckles up when the door is unlocked, and he glances over to the rock goddess. "Well... I studied a lot of religions in the course of my work. You'd be amazed at the kind of whackos out there. I think the generally most religions have some basis in reality in some manner, therefore they hold some degree of validity." He grins. "I suppose that makes me a filthy heretic to some more hidebound types, but you'll forgive me, right?"
He rubs his chin, eyes flicking about the car. "I have to ask myself... What made you decide on 'Sea Froth' for the name of a band?"
"Just unlucky, huh?" Venetia sounds sympathetic as they roll out of the parallel parking spot and into the street. "Hee. Graham said the same thing. Actually, I don't think she liked me much, she kept glaring at me. But I guess as long as she's not trying to rip my eyeballs out, I can live with that." She grins at Mercade, and nods as he explains himself, laughing a little. "Oh, sure. I'm not religious myself, so I don't really mind what other people do."
And now we will pretend the question about Sea Froth came towards the end of their valiant journey! Because poor Leon-tan will be waiting all night otherwise. Venetia pulls into a parking lot next to an apartment complex. "Well, none of us could really decide on something, so I said, 'Hey, let's call ourselves Sea Froth!' Since, froth is a tough-sounding word, you know? I actually used to work as a lifeguard a couple of summers ago, so I really like the ocean, too, but when it's all frothy it's dangerous. So the idea was that Sea Froth was about being pretty but dangerous." She cuts the engine and gives Mercade a mischievous grin. "Just like me~."
The walk from there isn't long. It's pretty obvious where they're meant to go, too, since there is black-and-yellow police tape running around one of the first-floor apartments.
Pay no attention to the 1970 Ford Buick parked across the street in the shadows. Really. Pay /no attention at all/.
You're not paying attention, are you? Good.
Anyhow. There's some police tape, as, after all, it's a crime scene. Not a lot of cops hanging around, mind you, in that, well, it's late, and it's not like there was an active murder or anything, just a break-in...and they can wait for the crime lab reports.
Leon Freier isn't most cops. Which is why he's sitting on the hood of someone's car, a box of donuts at his side, munching away and sipping at coffee while glaring at the police tape. And occasionally grumbling loudly under his breath.
"Persephone..." Mercade trails off. "... Has issues with trust." As if it's not obvious from anyone who voluntarily dresses like a loligoth. "I know her. I promised a friend of mine I would try to keep her safe, but she makes it damn hard to keep sometimes. She hasn't learned how dangerous the World can really be."
He glances out at the city as they drive, going silent until they get there. "That's a good reason." He chuckles. "The ocean seems to fit you well... And it's a lot better than 'Invasion of the Estate Agents'." He eyerolls, sighing. Someone was listening to lame cover bands lately at the bar, clearly.
He gets out of the car, glancing at the Buick but not being obvious about it. He does, however, show a decided lack of surprise when he sees Frier camping the scene. "Hey, Freier." Mercade waves. "I figured you would be here." He doesn't even stop, however, as he ducks under the tape and walks into a crime scene.
"Persephone?" Venetia repeats, blinking once. Is *that* her real name? Or maybe her first name... But she gets a thoughtful look at that, before nodding. "Gotcha. She looks kinda like a shut-in, or maybe she's sickly? I mean, you don't get that pale normally, especially living in California. I feel a little bad for her."
And there's a giggle at the mention of a lame cover band name--but now they're here, and there's a guy. Watching her apartment. Huh. Venetia glances over his way, blinking wide and considering. ...He seems okay. Not subtle enough to be a psycho murderer. Or, well, not one of the ones trying to kill HER, anyway. It's hard to be subtle when you're nearly seven feet tall! This is reinforced when Mercade greets him almost in passing before walking into the crime scene, but rather than following him, Venetia trots over to Leon, stopping next to him and leaning over to peer into his box of sugary pastries.
"Ooh, what kind of donuts are those? Could I have one, please? I'm *starving*." She flashes him a white-toothed smile. Even if Leon might be less inclined to go 'durhur prettygirl' than most men, he should recognize her at the very least from her picture in the paper. "It's been a hectic couple of days."
Inside the apartment, Mercade will find things in a small disarray, but not as much as there should be if a strange man barged into a newly adult man's home. There *are* a couple of drops of blood on the carpet, so there was at least some struggle, but... It's just not right. There's not enough mess. If this guy broke in to steal something valuable of Venetia's, it was either out in the open and thus didn't need much searching, or he knew exactly where it was.
"Hmmph. So that's what he was talking about the other night. Bah."
Leon's comment comes after a glance at Venetia, accompanied with a snort as he casually tosses the box of donuts to her. It's mostly empty, but there's still a plain donut or two in there.
After that, Leon stands up, glancing down at the kid, and nods politely to her. "Leon Freier. LAPD."
Annnd, introductions made, Leon casually picks up a relatively small box, tucking the skinny, two foot long package under his arm as he saunters over towards the crime scene, ducking the tape easily as he tromps up behind Mercade, finishing off his last donut as he glances at the room in annoyance.
"Bloody hell, Mercade, I thought I'd /finished/ this bloody case already. Bah. Figures, neh? Oh, and I got yer package ready. Brought it along with me, too. Just in case."
Mercade needed only a glance at the scene before his 'Something Is Wrong' feeling returns. He's seen, simply standing in the middle of the apartment, staring down at the blood spatter. "Something's wrong, Leon." He says. "There was a fight here, but it wasn't nearly as protracted as I expected. The assailant wasn't here for blood... Or if it was on his mind, it wasn't the first thing on his To Do list."
He glances up to Leon, and nods. He reaches out and plucks the case from under Leon's arm. "Thanks. This will come in handy." He turns away, then, looking down at the spatter. "There's more to this case, Frier. A lot more. There's too many loose ends." He shakes his head, and then turns to exit. Disturbingly fast, by most people's estimates.
He exits the apartment, and nods to Venetia. "So... What did you say he took from you, again, Venetia?" Mercade asks, eyebrow arched slightly.
"Thanks! <3" Venetia catches the box, and while a hint of disappointment flickers across her face at the sight of a couple of lowly plain donuts, oh well--beggars can't be choosers, and considering she hasn't eaten since breakfast that day, it's better than nothing. She plucks the two donuts out and smiles back at Leon as she holds the donut box in her other hand to throw it into the nearest convenient trash can. "Nice to meet you, Officer Freier! I'm Venetia Martens. I'm betting you already know who I am."
Considering he's staking out the apartment she shares with her boyfriend, yeah, he'd better! As he tromps along into the crime scene, the songstress munches on the first pastry, waiting for a moment outside the police line. Halfway through it, she glances abruptly over her shoulder into the empty darkness, then heaves one leg, then the other, over the police line and jogs over to join the two at the doorway.
Just as Mercade's leaving. She backpedals a couple of steps to let him go by, almost choking on a bite of donut to swallow and ask, "What, are you done *already*?" She leans in to peer into her apartment, then wolfs down the rest of the donuts and wipes the crumbs off on her jeans. Then she goes into her apartment, heading for the kitchen for the trash can. "My lucky horseshoe. Actually, it's a prize I won for winning a big horse-riding competition a couple of years ago." She opens the fridge, glances inside at the mostly empty contents, shuts it, and starts heading around the counter and towards another room. "It's gold-plated, so I guess it's a little valuable, but even if it weren't, it's really important to me. I was up against a lot of strong competition, so I was really proud of myself for winning the grand prize..."
Leon listens in on the Not!Ditz as she chatters about what's missing, and nods sagely.
Why? Well...he's Leon. He might be agreeing that there is something significant to this robbery. He might also be indicating that he has no idea what's going on. It's mysteeeerious.
"Golden horseshoue, huh? Inneresting. Mercade? This fit yer pattern?"
Hey, Leon's no slouch at investigating, but he tends to leave this sort of thing to the EXPERTS.
Leon casually leans against the door, frowning slightly at the blood-splatter. Hmm. Minimal blood and a weird-ass robbery. Sigh. Stupid 'subtlety'.
"Yes, done already." Mercade turns, back, pointing at the floor. "There's been a lot of tromping, but you can see the indentations in the floor. The assailant entered, attacked, there was a short battle, Char was wounded, and then the assailant escaped, but not without taking something with him." He gestures at the tracks, indicating the various shaped indentations, and then pointing at a tilted framed Bon Jovi poster, some fallen objects. "Depends on the pattern... Frier, you should have called me in here earlier. You know it's harder to read after the LAPD tromps around like a bunch of drunken elephants."
He sighs, then, and gives a faint smile. "There's a lot of nice stuff in here though. Curious that he would go for a golden horseshoe. Lots of pictures and posters in here..." He arches an eybrow at Venetia. "You like art, Venetia? It goes well with being a rock goddess, I suppose."
Awww, Venetia's a not!ditz. <3 She likes you too, Leon! Though for right now, she's heading into a bedroom (feel free to follow, boys, we shan't be staying long) papered with band posters; it's like the rest of the apartment, but more so. There is notably a double for a bed. It's unmade. The room in general is a little messy, but Venetia knows what she's looking for. A backpack is hauled out of a closet and tossed onto the bed; heavy with textbooks, it goes *thump*. A duffel bag follows suit, but this Venetia starts throwing stuff out. Suntan lotion, water bottles, that kind of stuff. She leaves in a second pair of sneakers and a few towels, and starts packing clothes. She's quite efficient about it, too, folding things quickly before setting them inside. Perhaps she's done this a lot.
"Well, there's lots of pictures and stuff, but they aren't gold-plated, you know?" Venetia sighs as she works, keeping her voice loud if Mercade and Leon have chosen to wait just outside. "I don't know. It's a *horseshoe*, c'mon, why would you steal that?" But there's a certain terseness underscoring her tone. Considering how important it is to her, though, it's probably not surprising, and probably makes more sense than if she were completely casual about the whole thing. She glances over at Mercade at his comment about the art, then smiles and continues packing. The 'rock goddess' remark is ignored, but in all honesty, Venetia hears that a lot. There's a dart board next to the window, most of them in or near the bull's-eye; she pulls the darts off and sets them inside a plastic case, and packs that too. The dart board itself is left behind. "Yeah, I like all kinds of artsy stuff. Music's my favorite--duh--but paintings, photos, that kind of stuff, I like too. I just like pretty things."
Finally, Venetia pulls a Schecter Diamond Custom XXX off the wall where it's hanging from a nail and leaning against a bookcase mostly filled with DVDs and magazines (there are some actual books in there too), and hooks the band over her shoulder and around her chest before picking up the duffel bag and setting that over the other shoulder. The backpack she holds up and offers to Mercade with a demure smile. "Could I get you to hold this for me, please? It's a little heavy with everything else."
Leon Freier grumbles in annoyance, glaring down at the Sassy!Greek.
"Yeah, and in a perfect World, I'd be waited on hand and food by amazingly hot blonde bombshells, but here we are. Wasn't my call. They got all hot and bothered when Eye Love You showed up again, and Certain Elements that find my lack of protocol...Disturbing... jumped at the chance to get involved. Bah. Was pretty sure I'd nipped this in the bud last time. I mean, hell, that guy's just starting to be able to eat without a tube again..."
Leon shrugs, still looking quite annoyed at this whole thing. BAH! BAH HE SAYS.
The cop just snorts at the box of Heavy Stuff, casually grabbing it and slinging it over his shoulder one-handed, sounding casual.
"Yeah, you're right. I mean, there's /no/ reason to steal a horsehoe, of course. I mean, it's not like they're really magic. That's just superstition, neh?"
Hey, even if he's some damn dirty norseman pretending to be a cop, Leon has SOME manners. SOME.
"Yes, yes, you keep telling me all about it." Mercade says back to the Grumpy!Frier. "Sometimes I wonder if you're trying to get yourself killed trying to get there." He eyerolls. "I guess it wasn't important-seeming enough for Vetinari to slow them down. Oh well. When life gives you lemons..." He shrugs. "You did what you could."
Mercade is pretty sure Venetia is far more intelligent than she acts. But he's only got suspicions, not certainties about this enigmatic, smoking hot woman. Still, if nothing else, there will be a nice view while he works. "Sure, no problem." He reaches out, taking the backpack. He blinks as he hefts it. It's heavier than he expected, but not by much. He slings it around back, and nods. "No problem..." He walks with Venetia, then. "So, what are your favorite artists?"
"Ohh~? Well, if you ask *really* nicely, Officer Freier, maybe I'll treat you for a day. As a special reward for all your hard work. <3" Venetia winks at Leon, grinning as he complains of what *would* be happening if this were a perfect world. For all her flirting, though, it's pretty clear she's just teasing, considering there's a hint of a laugh just behind her words. It dies away when Leon starts talking about that guy he'd apprehended just starting to be able to eat without a tube.
Then the Norseman takes her duffel bag for her, and Mercade takes her backpack. Venetia smiles, keeping her guitar to herself. It's so nice to have big, strong men to carry things for you~. For a few seconds after Leon's remark that might or might not be sarcastic, though, Venetia peers at the cop, pale eyebrows slightly furrowed. Then she straightens and shrugs slightly, a motion impeded by the weights hanging from her shoulders. "Well, you know, this *is* a guy who's running around gouging the eyes out of pretty people. Who the hell knows what's running through his head? Their heads. God!"
In a fit of pique, Venetia kicks the foot of her bed. The bed skids several inches. There's a flash of a guilty look on the teenager's face, but she leaves it be to walk with the PI and the cop out of the apartment. "Well, Bon Jovi's an old favorite of mine--I bet you could tell from all the posters, Mr. Detective." Venetia grins at Mercade. "I like Pink Floyd and Queen's stuff, too; Lacuna Coil's got some great sounds, and so does Evanescence, even if they're *totally* overplayed. I used to like Nightwish, but I'm not too crazy about that new vocalist they got... Within Temptation's cool too. For softer stuff, there's Vienna Teng and Ally Kerr, but right now I'm pretty into hard rock. That's what Sea Froth is--the kind of music we do, I mean. There's also a bunch of indie bands I like, but you probably won't have heard of any of them."
Leon points an accusing finger at Mercade. "I am /totally/ not trying to get myself killed. That's the OTHER GUY'S job."
As for Venetia, well, Leon just grins slightly at her words, then shrugs easily. "Yeah, yeah, I've heard /THAT/ song and dance before. Asides, there's always a method to madness. Really."
The cop's tagging along behind Mercade and Venetia, and promptly zones out on the music talk. Instead...he starts remembeirng just a few of his favorite things~
Dum de dum dum. Heh. Oh, that was a fun fight. Especially when that thing happened. And that guy. HAH! The look on his face. Heh heh heh fu fu fu fu fu fu fu.
Mercade just chuckles at Leon's indignation. He takes his small victories where he can... And then he sobers. "As far as what's going through their heads... Well, who can tell?"
Eyes flick at the distance of bed movement, and Mercade simply smiles as they walk out. He listens to the selections of bands that Venetia likes, and he nods. "A nice selection. I enjoy some hard rock myself, though more often It seems to be jazz and blues playing on my computer." He pauses a moment. "Do you have a place to stay right now, Venetia?"
"Awww, is someone underappreciated? Well, *I* appreciate you working on this case." Venetia slows down her pace to grab hold of Leon's arm, then give it a brief squeeze of a hug. Then she smiles up at him warmly as she lets go. "Thanks, Officer."
She's turning away from Leon, talking with Mercade about music--but then she remembers something, and looks back at him with an expression of 'oh!' "Hey! I read in the paper that Char testified about what happened to you guys. Is he okay? He wasn't bleeding much when I got to him, but he was kind of out of it. I think he might've had a concussion." Venetia purses her lips. She is actually reasonably sure he did have a mild concussion, or at least was suffering from a bit of shock; she's got some experience in medicine, having taken a first aid course and worked as a beach lifeguard. Still, she had other things to worry about at the time, so she didn't exactly have time to make sure. "At least he still had it together enough to call the cops after I left."
She flicks golden hair back over her shoulder, the low breeze from the night air blowing those strands futher back. "Cool. You got any Charlie Parker? Maybe some Hank Jones? I'd grab some of my CDs and share, but, uh, now's not really a good time." Venetia grabbed what was essential, after all--and while she loves her music, she can suffer the loss of already recorded music so long as she can still make it. She gives Mercade a thoughtful look...then she shakes her head. "Nah. I don't want to crash with any of my friends--if Eye Loves You--god, that's a creepy nickname!--if he, they, whatever, comes for me again, then I'm just going to put them in danger too. I was thinking of checking into a hotel somewhere. Crashing in the backseat of my car last night kind of sucked."
It wasn't very restful, for one.
Leon just grumbles GRUMPILY as he's hugged. QUIT RUINING HIS GRUMBLE. >_<
Still, as she inquires after her erstwhile boyfriend, Leon just shrugs. "Medicos didn't notice anything too out of sorts. So I assume he's alright. And don't use a hotel room. Your name and picture were in the paper for a reason, and I doubt it was for your own health."
Leon looks less 'annoyed' and 'honestly pissed' at that.
"And when this is over, /someone/ and I are going to have a /chat/. Running a potential victim's name /and/ picture in this sort of case was expressly what the Department told them NOT to do."
Leon cracks his knuckles, rumbling in annoyance.
Yeah, someone's going to have a bad day when he's done.
"As for places to stay, eh, you can crash at my place if you want. If you don't mind the Fuzzy Dogasaurus. He's a bit...territorial."
...
"...I'm fairly certain he won't eat you. I think. Mercade?"
"Very creepy. It's hard to consider what's worse, the fact that they're killing people and taking their eyes... Or what they're /doing/ with the things." Mercade mutters, shaking his head. "I do, actually. I have quite a collection." He grins, changing the subject. "You're more than welcome to listen to them whenever you're at the office..."
He nods to Leon. "Yes. Especially when you're being stalked by serial killers. That's seriously dangerous, and it just brings more attention down on you." The investigator has a certain other idea involving the problem, however. "... And your dog eats anything that moves, Leon. Or maybe he just thought I smelled like steak. I spent half the time at your place last time barricading a door." He eyerolls. "Actually, I was going to offer my place. No pets, it's pretty clean, people don't know you're there, and it's defensible."
He shrugs. "I'll sleep in my chair."
No. <3
However, Venetia's actually visibly stunned when Leon points that out, eyes wide and mouth gaping somewhat as understanding dawns on her face like the sun over a freshly finished battlefield. "I... I didn't even think of that. I guess it's good I *didn't* do that last night. At least Char's okay..." She remains sober as Mercade points out that that's a dangerous thing to do when someone's being targeted by a serial killer. Considering that they thought she might already be dead and it wasn't as if the killer(s) didn't already know who she was, Venetia hadn't thought too hard about it, but now that they bring it up... "Hey, what do you mean, what they're doing with them?"
The mention of a Fuzzy Dogasaurus who probably won't eat her, far from worrying Venetia further, actually prompts her to brighten. "Oh, I *love* animals! I'm sure I'll be able to make friends. <3 All dogs are widdle fuzzy teddy bears on the inside, after you get past the snarling killer instinct. <33"
It's kind of amazing how you can *hear* the heart marks when Venetia talks.
However, she does give serious thought to the matter when Mercade officially makes his offer, leaning against her car now that they've walked that far. Hmmm... Leon has a big, slightly murderous doggy, but he probably doesn't have any music. Mercade has no pets, but he's got an interest in music. Leon'd probably be better able to mess up any guys who might come close to her, but Mercade's the one who she actually *hired*, and she does kind of think he's sweet. ...For now, she'll go with Mercade. What Venetia really needs right now is someone with smarts, and it's pretty clear he's got way more of that than Leon. "I think I'll take you up on that, Mercade. I *did* hire you, after all." She flashes another white-toothed smile at Leon. "I appreciate the offer, though, Officer. Maybe some other time~."
Leon Freier shrugs easily. "Whatever. Make sure you sleep with something weaponish close at hand. It's extremely unlikely that they'd be able to track you to Mercade's, which means that it's almost certain they'll ambush you if you don't have a weapon handy. Murphy's Law and all that. And yes, I know, I'm a bit cynical."
Leon casually sets the bag o' textbooks down on the back of Venetia's car, waving at her and Mercade casually.
"Right. Mercade, you do your usual thing, neh? I think I need to go have a nice chat with the reporter who wrote that article, that's all.~ I'm sure he won't mind if I pay him a visit at this time of night, either, to see who told him it was alright to violate standing 'requests' from the police when dealing with serial killer cases, and that we may or may not have found evidence that he's involved with something naughty, depending on his answers~~~"
Leon just smiiiiles cheerfully, and with that, LAPD's Finest is stalking off to his Mighty Buick, GaoGaiCar, cracking his knuckles happily.
Hey, it's not corruption when you're fighting some of the things in Leon's line of work, it's INNOVATION. <3
"It's not clear to the authorities what the killers are /doing/ with the eyes," Mercade states. "But enough thoughts about that for now. I've seen most of what I need to see at the moment, and it's getting too late to continue a proper investigation." He glances over at the darkening sky meaningfully. "Thank you, Venetia. It means a lot to me... I'll have some things I want to check, but right now I'd rather make sure you're set up safe back at the office. We'll work it out from there." And he can handle zombie bikers, thank you. He glances over to Leon, eyeing him. "I think I have more to worry about than she does." He mentions. Leon knows why. "But since I'm going to be guarding the entrance, it'll work out fine." He nods to Venetia. "Shall we?"
But wasn't Mercade carrying the backpack, and Leon carrying the duffel bag!? CONTINUITY ERROR. Oh well, everyone's still got their bags and limbs intact, so it's all good. Venetia raises her eyebrows at Leon, but nods, smiling wryly. "Yeah, good point. Better safe than dead, huh? I'll remember that. But still, I think I'll be okay, because I'll have Mercade to protect me. Right, Mercade? <3"
A mischievous smile over the PI's way as Venetia starts loading up the back seat of her car. She turns another wry smile over at Leon as he talks of having 'pleasant chats' with potentially corrupt (or else plain stupid) reporters, but doesn't protest; after all, if she were a *normal* girl, she might already be dead by now.
In any case, she drops the matter of the eyes. Mercade said it's not clear to the authorities, but he never said anything about what HE was thinking--but if she presses, he might press back. Same goes for what he might mean about him having a worse time of things than her. He IS a professional private eye, after all. Never mind it, then. "Yup! Let's get going." Either way, as she gets inside her car and again unlocks the passenger seat door, she gives him a genuinely grateful smile. "Thanks, Mercade. I really do appreciate it."
Mercade hops in, nodding. "Any time. I'll certainly do everything I can to keep you safe." He smiles, equally gratefully. "I promise."
Well, at least his chair is comfy.
WHEN: Sunday, April 6th
WHERE: Scion Los Angeles
WHAT: A beautiful woman walks into Mercade's office--the same one he'd just seen in the paper reported as missing and a possible victim of murder.
WATCH FOR: Mercade switching from "durhurhur prettywummon" mode to Serious Business mode in the blink of an eye. Also, Leon can has smarts?
You post your note about 'Suspected Murder Target Missing' in group 10 (News Broadcasts) as message #6
============================== News Broadcasts ===============================
Message: 10/6 Posted Author
Suspected Murder Target Missing Mon Apr 07 The Associated Press
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
An article in the Los Angeles Sunday newspaper (Scion plane version) printed earlier today reports on a disturbance in the suburbs early Saturday morning. Apparently someone named Venetia Martens (there is a picture of her included; it's black and white, but her hair seems pale, and her face very attractive) was attacked near the apartment she shares with her boyfriend, one Richard Davidson (Char to his friends), and has gone missing since. The article reports the police taking Char into custody, who said that she'd confided in him about worrying about a stalker.
The report goes on to state that it's feared that this may be another victim of a serial killer dubbed Eye Love You, who has claimed three victims already over the past six months. Details about the killer are scarce in order not to alert any potential suspects, but the MO of the killer seems to be to attack and kidnap attractive people, steal their eyes during the actual murdering, and then dump the body in an unrelated location.
The article concludes by stating that the police are searching for Venetia Martens at the time being, and asks any readers to contact the newspaper or local police with any information or sightings they might have had.
(OOC: Questions, comments, interest? Contact Venetia.)
==============================================================================
Welcome to Fleetfoot Investigations. Hope you enjoy your stay.
The office door is frosted glass with a stenciled logo on it. It's unlocked. The room beyond looks like an almost stereotypical detective office, filing cabinets and a bookshelf lining the walls. The windows are closed and barred, and above a fan rotates lazily. There is a melted plastic plant in a wicker basket in the corner, with hunks of Christmas decorations (and a couple bullets) lodged within the mass. There is a desk opposite the door, two chairs on the entrance side. On the desk is an old-style rotary phone, and a computer. Oddly, there is a good deal of blackening and scarring of the floor, and a number of bulletholes on the inside of the walls at the present moment. Hanging on the walls are a couple pictures of classic Grecian landmarks. There is also a door behind the desk. It is closed.
Mercade himself is sitting behind the desk, low jazzy music playing through the room as he reads the newspaper. It seems slow, for the moment.
Before long, a shadow appears in the frosted window, preceded by a knock. The door is tried next whether or not there is an answer, and into Fleetfoot Investigations walks a goddess.
Or someone whom many horny young men have described as a goddess, anyway. She's tall, buxom, blond, and wearing tight clothes. She glances back behind her at the street and shuts the door behind her, then turns forward.
It's a pretty small office, but it looks like this is the place--at least, the blonde young woman seems satisfied when she takes one last look down at an unfolded piece of white paper she's holding in her free hand.
Then she looks up at the man sitting at the desk in front of her and smiles. It's a lovely smile, but despite the woman's cool demeanor and poise, the PI might be able to sense there's some tension, even worry in her. "Are you Mercade Alexander?"
The knock gives Mercade a moment to fold the paper, setting it aside.
I knew the woman's name as soon as she entered. She'll say it's something else, but really, her name was Trouble.
... And by Zeus' beard, she's hot.
The investigator looks up, pulling a pencil from behind his ear, and nods. "I am. I hear you're in a lot of trouble, Miss Venetia Martens. How can I help you?" The pencil is tapped against a pad of paper next to the phone.
Aren't *all* hot women named Trouble, though? Though at least perhaps Mercade will have the satisfaction of startling her. She looks briefly stunned, then suspicious, then reflective as she tilts her head and bites her lower lip a little. Then she seems to make up her mind.
"Did Graham tell you I was coming?" Venetia walks up and takes the seat opposite Mercade's desk, then sets down the piece of paper she'd been holding. "She's the one who gave me these directions." Then Venetia leans back and looks at Mercade with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "How much trouble do you hear I'm in, Mr. Alexander?"
Yes. They are. But he's obligated to go through the motions. And if the amount of trouble is based on hotness, this one is probably going to be an 11 on the Trouble-O-Meter.
Mercade arches an eyebrow, and he gives a small smile. "It pays to keep abreast of current events." He picks up the newspaper, folding it again, and tosses it forward with an article of Venetia's interest showing. He doesn't mention what Sephi may or may not have been up to. It might be a testament to Mercade's willpower that he is indeed keeping his eyes fixed directly on her face. "Serial killers are bad news... And of course, the police always seems to barking everywhere, making a lot of noise and accomplishing little."
Oh, huh. Venetia reads the article with surprised interest, then checks the date on the paper. Yeah, of course it was printed today. Granted that she skipped ahead to the classifieds and left the rest of the paper there, but there wasn't any mention of this in yesterday's paper! Either way, Venetia wasn't expecting to end up in the news (like this) and reads the story as Mercade goes on.
Then she looks and smiles. "I guess this makes this convenient, then! But I ought to let you know..." She tosses the paper back onto his desk, then leans back in the chair. "That article's not telling the whole story. I actually got back to my apartment first after the trouble started." She flicks a few strands of her blonde hair over her shoulder. "It was more or less like that, you know? About me getting attacked. But I hit him with my purse and he ran for my complex. I chased after him because, you know, I didn't want him attacking anyone else, you know?"
Her expression twists in worry then. "But he was really fast, and by the time I got to my place, he'd broken in. Char, my boyfriend, he got knocked on the head, and that Eye Love You freak, I guess it was, stole something of mine." Venetia sighs a little, then meets Mercade's gaze. Kind of cute, she observes, but passing out of his prime. And pretty skinny. Nice eyes, though. "...so, I don't want you to just help me out with this psycho, Mr. Alexander. I'd really like you to help me get that thing back. It's really important to me..."
She lowers her gaze, lashes fluttering down. The entire room almost seems to dim with her.
Mercade steeples his fingers, patiently waiting as she reads. You don't become a decent detective without learning how to listen. He returns the smile warmly, nodding as the singer tells her story. "So, you hit him, and he ran from you?" He rubs his chin. "Unusual. One would expect a serial killer to have a bit more courage. But that's good, it means you're still alive..."
He trails off for a moment as she flutters her eyes. For a moment, he is silent, breathing as Venetia flexes her breathtaking beauty. "... I would be happy to help you, of course." He finally continues. "We'll track him down, bring him down, and get you your belonging back." He nods.
"So, what information do you have on the killer himself?"
It really is too easy. Venetia feels a little bad now; after all, this guy is supposed to be on her side already! And she hasn't gotten attacked by robot zombie ninjas so Graham probably *didn't* send her into a trap. Still, it helps her decide Mercade's okay and on the level. If nothing else, this guy seems refreshingly *normal* compared to Sephi herself, and definitely it improved Venetia's opinion of the creepy Helspawn. Still, she'll have to see if he can actually help her. If he can't, then...
"Thanks, Mr. Alexander," she says warmly, meeting his gaze again as her nose crinkles in a grin. She sobers as he asks her about the killer himself, looking him over again. "...Would you believe me if I told you I thought there was more than one?"
She looks down at the paper. "I guess maybe it was a copycat, but I'm pretty sure it's not a coincidence. See," and she starts twirling some of her golden hair around one finger, "I'm the lead singer of this band called Sea Froth that my friends and me started up. I don't know if you've heard of us? But sometimes I just *get* creepy stalkers. So this one time about a week ago, there was this guy following me. I was walking through the park, and it was late... I guess that was pretty dumb of me." Venetia gives Mercade an apologetic look before she continues, "But anyway, I could hear him following me, so I ran ahead and made him chase me, and when I hid and he passed, I hit him."
Possibly with her purse again. Mercade might get the sense that Venetia's leaving something out, or that things didn't go *exactly* how she's describing them. However, she's not really lying, either. "He had this black hoodie on over his head, like this?" She gestures as if pulling a hoodie way down over her face, nearly covering her eyes. "And he was wearing jeans. And when I hit him, his hood got knocked back and I saw his face. He was kinda skinny-looking with a scar right over his left eyebrow--" she traces the area with one finger, "--and he had brown hair. Anyway, he tried to attack me, he has this club thing and he swung it for my head, but I kicked him in the balls and ran away."
...She's so *matter-of-fact*, too. She twiddles with her lock of hair for a few seconds, looking down at it, before taking in a breath and looking at Mercade again. "But the guy who attacked me the other night--when I hit him, I knocked the hood back again, and he had a totally different face. I think maybe that's why he ran, because I saw him. But he was wearing the exact same outfit and he tried attacking me the exact same way."
Venetia has Mercade's full attention. He's still not staring at her... figure... though. He's trying to retain at least /some/ semblance of professionalism instead of dissolving into an emotional wreck... Something Vene probably has a lot of experience with.
He grins, revealing perfect teeth (yes, he brushes! And flosses!) He flushes slightly at the thanks, regardless...
And the additional information causes his eyes to narrow slightly. His demeanor begins to change, becoming slightly distant. "Actually, I would believe you."
He considers the information for several long seconds. "Those two sound familiar. They're low-level criminals who had been working independant lately. They hadn't had links to the..." He trails off. "Wait." He suddenly stands up, pacing behind the desk. If he's reading anything into Venetia's explanation, he's not saying anything. Right now, something's disturbed him. "The evidence says the killers were doing something with the eyes. They were attacking your head... And can you describe this club?" He mutters. "The pattern..."
Very recent experience with, too. There's a reason why Sephi distrusts Venetia so wildly, and part of it is because the two employees working at the coffee shop where they might practically flung themselves at her--one the one teenage boy who wouldn't even look at Sephi when he was serving her her coffee, the other the middle-aged manager with a diamond ring on his left ring finger! So Mercade's professionalism is appreciated.
Even moreso when suddenly he goes Serious Business, then Serious Business lvl. 2 when he stands up and starts pacing around. Venetia blinks, then frowns as he brings up the eye business. That actually seriously creeped her out on a personal level, even if she'd kept it to herself; she hadn't realized they were going to gouge her eyes out of her head after they were finished clubbing her, yeek. Actually, there's a small bit of information that she could give Mercade that might help him out a lot--but she can't give it to him because it would be the same as admitting she'd lied to him about how the first incident went. After all, Venetia didn't kick that guy in the balls (multiple times, and probably broke a few bones too; it was out of sheer distaste for killing another human being that she didn't simply kick him to death) until *after* she saw him knock out and start to drag away /a different girl/. She wasn't surprised to get attacked herself after that, but the fact that it was a different guy--and that he ran and stole *that* thing--have her seriously worried.
"The club? Ummm..." Venetia concentrates, trying to remember. She'd heard a girl screaming for help, and had run toward the noise, and had caught the clubbing then. At the time, she'd wondered why he hadn't killed her then and there; her experience with first aid had let her determine that the blow he'd done to her head was only enough to knock her unconscious. The club she hadn't gotten a good look at, just the guy's face, but... "I don't remember the details exactly, but it was about...a foot long? And it had a weird shape, it wasn't just a straight club, it had sides and I think a handle--and he aimed right about here." Venetia indicates the part on her head that she'd seen the first man hit on that other girl. She'd been so pretty, too... Well, according to that article, no wonder.
/At least,/ she thinks wryly, /this means they didn't go back for her./ Venetia's quiet for the moment now, though, watching Mercade.
Mercade continues to pace, looking more agitated at the description of the club. "The pattern fits together too well." He looks up, to Venetia. "You're in even worse danger than I expected." He grunts, turning and pulling a fedora and coat from a hatstand next to the desk. "I'm going to be staying near you for a while. You're going to want protection from whatever's been hunting you."
He glances over to Venetia, the expression on his face showing that he's not just saying that because she's pretty. "But we'll need to stop this at the source." He pulls on the garments, and then gestures to the door, stepping towards it. "Don't worry about a fee right now. I'll work for free. We need additional information, though. I'll want to look at the scenes of the attacks, both of them."
He pauses for a moment, and then turns back to face Venetia. "I do need to know, however... Is your boyfriend involved?"
"Pattern?" Venetia's mystified--but then, this *is* the first time she's heard of Eye Love You, and if Mercade means something else altogether, she's not seeing it. But then, it's because she knows she doesn't know what's going on and can't afford to figure it out on her own that she came here in the first place. She's not sure what kind of danger he means, either, but she's more than good enough at reading people to tell that this is not the time or place to question him on what he means and if he's serious, even if for a moment she stares at him for saying he'll work for free.
"Sure, but..." Venetia stands up, pulling her red jacket closer around herself as she falls into step next to the be-fedora'ed Mercade. "What do you mean by the 'source'? You mean there's like a weird eye cult or something?" She pauses again as Mercade asks about her boyfriend, again not quite connecting the dots. "Well...yeah, he got hit over the head when the one crazy guy broke in. I told him I was going to cut and run so he wouldn't get involved any more." Venetia's expression clouds. "I don't want him or anyone getting hurt because of me..."
"You could say that," Mercade replies. It's obvious that he's leaving things out. "As they say... Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." He adjusts his hat, opening the door to the office. "I might need to talk to him at some point, but that's not important. We can find him. Let's get in my car and we'll drive there. It's not much, but..."
He pauses, looking over at the beat-up Ford Escort parked next to the building. It's on cinderblocks, and the hood is popped, revealing an empty engine area.
"AGH! GODS DAMN IT!" Mercade swears. "THAT'S THE THIRD TIME THIS MONTH!" He sighs, then looks over to Venetia.
"...That's awful, Mr. Alexander." It's hard to tell if Venetia's disapproving or amused by the tone of her voice, but she *is* holding back a smile. At least she can have a sense of humor about her potential brutal mutilation?" Either way, once they step outside, the songstress is about to ask the PI whose car they take...when she sees the car on cinderblocks, and Mercade curses.
She gives him a sympathetic sort of smile, then jerks her head to the right. "All right, I guess we're taking my car, then. I hope someone didn't siphon the gas while I was inside." As they're walking along--the car (a fairly well-kept but older ) is not far away, just around the corner--she continues, "It must suck, having that happen to you that often, Mercade. Is it okay if I call you Mercade? I mean, if you're going to be sticking around to protect me, it's a lot more personable than Mr. Alexander. You can call me Venetia too, if you want."
The pleasant conversation pauses as the blonde unlocks her car and gets in. She reaches over to unlock the other door for Mercade, and begins to buckle in. "You know, 'gods damn it' is kind of a weird swear," Venetia remarks in passing once he's inside and she's starting up the engine. "Are you Wiccan or something?"
"Nah, it always seems to happen to me. Never anyone visiting. I'll catch whoever did it when I'm not busy." He shrugs in his coat, smiling back at Venetia. He grins as she calls him Mercade. "Sure, it's fine. I don't need a lot of formality... Venetia." He seems to like saying the name. He ducks in and buckles up when the door is unlocked, and he glances over to the rock goddess. "Well... I studied a lot of religions in the course of my work. You'd be amazed at the kind of whackos out there. I think the generally most religions have some basis in reality in some manner, therefore they hold some degree of validity." He grins. "I suppose that makes me a filthy heretic to some more hidebound types, but you'll forgive me, right?"
He rubs his chin, eyes flicking about the car. "I have to ask myself... What made you decide on 'Sea Froth' for the name of a band?"
"Just unlucky, huh?" Venetia sounds sympathetic as they roll out of the parallel parking spot and into the street. "Hee. Graham said the same thing. Actually, I don't think she liked me much, she kept glaring at me. But I guess as long as she's not trying to rip my eyeballs out, I can live with that." She grins at Mercade, and nods as he explains himself, laughing a little. "Oh, sure. I'm not religious myself, so I don't really mind what other people do."
And now we will pretend the question about Sea Froth came towards the end of their valiant journey! Because poor Leon-tan will be waiting all night otherwise. Venetia pulls into a parking lot next to an apartment complex. "Well, none of us could really decide on something, so I said, 'Hey, let's call ourselves Sea Froth!' Since, froth is a tough-sounding word, you know? I actually used to work as a lifeguard a couple of summers ago, so I really like the ocean, too, but when it's all frothy it's dangerous. So the idea was that Sea Froth was about being pretty but dangerous." She cuts the engine and gives Mercade a mischievous grin. "Just like me~."
The walk from there isn't long. It's pretty obvious where they're meant to go, too, since there is black-and-yellow police tape running around one of the first-floor apartments.
Pay no attention to the 1970 Ford Buick parked across the street in the shadows. Really. Pay /no attention at all/.
You're not paying attention, are you? Good.
Anyhow. There's some police tape, as, after all, it's a crime scene. Not a lot of cops hanging around, mind you, in that, well, it's late, and it's not like there was an active murder or anything, just a break-in...and they can wait for the crime lab reports.
Leon Freier isn't most cops. Which is why he's sitting on the hood of someone's car, a box of donuts at his side, munching away and sipping at coffee while glaring at the police tape. And occasionally grumbling loudly under his breath.
"Persephone..." Mercade trails off. "... Has issues with trust." As if it's not obvious from anyone who voluntarily dresses like a loligoth. "I know her. I promised a friend of mine I would try to keep her safe, but she makes it damn hard to keep sometimes. She hasn't learned how dangerous the World can really be."
He glances out at the city as they drive, going silent until they get there. "That's a good reason." He chuckles. "The ocean seems to fit you well... And it's a lot better than 'Invasion of the Estate Agents'." He eyerolls, sighing. Someone was listening to lame cover bands lately at the bar, clearly.
He gets out of the car, glancing at the Buick but not being obvious about it. He does, however, show a decided lack of surprise when he sees Frier camping the scene. "Hey, Freier." Mercade waves. "I figured you would be here." He doesn't even stop, however, as he ducks under the tape and walks into a crime scene.
"Persephone?" Venetia repeats, blinking once. Is *that* her real name? Or maybe her first name... But she gets a thoughtful look at that, before nodding. "Gotcha. She looks kinda like a shut-in, or maybe she's sickly? I mean, you don't get that pale normally, especially living in California. I feel a little bad for her."
And there's a giggle at the mention of a lame cover band name--but now they're here, and there's a guy. Watching her apartment. Huh. Venetia glances over his way, blinking wide and considering. ...He seems okay. Not subtle enough to be a psycho murderer. Or, well, not one of the ones trying to kill HER, anyway. It's hard to be subtle when you're nearly seven feet tall! This is reinforced when Mercade greets him almost in passing before walking into the crime scene, but rather than following him, Venetia trots over to Leon, stopping next to him and leaning over to peer into his box of sugary pastries.
"Ooh, what kind of donuts are those? Could I have one, please? I'm *starving*." She flashes him a white-toothed smile. Even if Leon might be less inclined to go 'durhur prettygirl' than most men, he should recognize her at the very least from her picture in the paper. "It's been a hectic couple of days."
Inside the apartment, Mercade will find things in a small disarray, but not as much as there should be if a strange man barged into a newly adult man's home. There *are* a couple of drops of blood on the carpet, so there was at least some struggle, but... It's just not right. There's not enough mess. If this guy broke in to steal something valuable of Venetia's, it was either out in the open and thus didn't need much searching, or he knew exactly where it was.
"Hmmph. So that's what he was talking about the other night. Bah."
Leon's comment comes after a glance at Venetia, accompanied with a snort as he casually tosses the box of donuts to her. It's mostly empty, but there's still a plain donut or two in there.
After that, Leon stands up, glancing down at the kid, and nods politely to her. "Leon Freier. LAPD."
Annnd, introductions made, Leon casually picks up a relatively small box, tucking the skinny, two foot long package under his arm as he saunters over towards the crime scene, ducking the tape easily as he tromps up behind Mercade, finishing off his last donut as he glances at the room in annoyance.
"Bloody hell, Mercade, I thought I'd /finished/ this bloody case already. Bah. Figures, neh? Oh, and I got yer package ready. Brought it along with me, too. Just in case."
Mercade needed only a glance at the scene before his 'Something Is Wrong' feeling returns. He's seen, simply standing in the middle of the apartment, staring down at the blood spatter. "Something's wrong, Leon." He says. "There was a fight here, but it wasn't nearly as protracted as I expected. The assailant wasn't here for blood... Or if it was on his mind, it wasn't the first thing on his To Do list."
He glances up to Leon, and nods. He reaches out and plucks the case from under Leon's arm. "Thanks. This will come in handy." He turns away, then, looking down at the spatter. "There's more to this case, Frier. A lot more. There's too many loose ends." He shakes his head, and then turns to exit. Disturbingly fast, by most people's estimates.
He exits the apartment, and nods to Venetia. "So... What did you say he took from you, again, Venetia?" Mercade asks, eyebrow arched slightly.
"Thanks! <3" Venetia catches the box, and while a hint of disappointment flickers across her face at the sight of a couple of lowly plain donuts, oh well--beggars can't be choosers, and considering she hasn't eaten since breakfast that day, it's better than nothing. She plucks the two donuts out and smiles back at Leon as she holds the donut box in her other hand to throw it into the nearest convenient trash can. "Nice to meet you, Officer Freier! I'm Venetia Martens. I'm betting you already know who I am."
Considering he's staking out the apartment she shares with her boyfriend, yeah, he'd better! As he tromps along into the crime scene, the songstress munches on the first pastry, waiting for a moment outside the police line. Halfway through it, she glances abruptly over her shoulder into the empty darkness, then heaves one leg, then the other, over the police line and jogs over to join the two at the doorway.
Just as Mercade's leaving. She backpedals a couple of steps to let him go by, almost choking on a bite of donut to swallow and ask, "What, are you done *already*?" She leans in to peer into her apartment, then wolfs down the rest of the donuts and wipes the crumbs off on her jeans. Then she goes into her apartment, heading for the kitchen for the trash can. "My lucky horseshoe. Actually, it's a prize I won for winning a big horse-riding competition a couple of years ago." She opens the fridge, glances inside at the mostly empty contents, shuts it, and starts heading around the counter and towards another room. "It's gold-plated, so I guess it's a little valuable, but even if it weren't, it's really important to me. I was up against a lot of strong competition, so I was really proud of myself for winning the grand prize..."
Leon listens in on the Not!Ditz as she chatters about what's missing, and nods sagely.
Why? Well...he's Leon. He might be agreeing that there is something significant to this robbery. He might also be indicating that he has no idea what's going on. It's mysteeeerious.
"Golden horseshoue, huh? Inneresting. Mercade? This fit yer pattern?"
Hey, Leon's no slouch at investigating, but he tends to leave this sort of thing to the EXPERTS.
Leon casually leans against the door, frowning slightly at the blood-splatter. Hmm. Minimal blood and a weird-ass robbery. Sigh. Stupid 'subtlety'.
"Yes, done already." Mercade turns, back, pointing at the floor. "There's been a lot of tromping, but you can see the indentations in the floor. The assailant entered, attacked, there was a short battle, Char was wounded, and then the assailant escaped, but not without taking something with him." He gestures at the tracks, indicating the various shaped indentations, and then pointing at a tilted framed Bon Jovi poster, some fallen objects. "Depends on the pattern... Frier, you should have called me in here earlier. You know it's harder to read after the LAPD tromps around like a bunch of drunken elephants."
He sighs, then, and gives a faint smile. "There's a lot of nice stuff in here though. Curious that he would go for a golden horseshoe. Lots of pictures and posters in here..." He arches an eybrow at Venetia. "You like art, Venetia? It goes well with being a rock goddess, I suppose."
Awww, Venetia's a not!ditz. <3 She likes you too, Leon! Though for right now, she's heading into a bedroom (feel free to follow, boys, we shan't be staying long) papered with band posters; it's like the rest of the apartment, but more so. There is notably a double for a bed. It's unmade. The room in general is a little messy, but Venetia knows what she's looking for. A backpack is hauled out of a closet and tossed onto the bed; heavy with textbooks, it goes *thump*. A duffel bag follows suit, but this Venetia starts throwing stuff out. Suntan lotion, water bottles, that kind of stuff. She leaves in a second pair of sneakers and a few towels, and starts packing clothes. She's quite efficient about it, too, folding things quickly before setting them inside. Perhaps she's done this a lot.
"Well, there's lots of pictures and stuff, but they aren't gold-plated, you know?" Venetia sighs as she works, keeping her voice loud if Mercade and Leon have chosen to wait just outside. "I don't know. It's a *horseshoe*, c'mon, why would you steal that?" But there's a certain terseness underscoring her tone. Considering how important it is to her, though, it's probably not surprising, and probably makes more sense than if she were completely casual about the whole thing. She glances over at Mercade at his comment about the art, then smiles and continues packing. The 'rock goddess' remark is ignored, but in all honesty, Venetia hears that a lot. There's a dart board next to the window, most of them in or near the bull's-eye; she pulls the darts off and sets them inside a plastic case, and packs that too. The dart board itself is left behind. "Yeah, I like all kinds of artsy stuff. Music's my favorite--duh--but paintings, photos, that kind of stuff, I like too. I just like pretty things."
Finally, Venetia pulls a Schecter Diamond Custom XXX off the wall where it's hanging from a nail and leaning against a bookcase mostly filled with DVDs and magazines (there are some actual books in there too), and hooks the band over her shoulder and around her chest before picking up the duffel bag and setting that over the other shoulder. The backpack she holds up and offers to Mercade with a demure smile. "Could I get you to hold this for me, please? It's a little heavy with everything else."
Leon Freier grumbles in annoyance, glaring down at the Sassy!Greek.
"Yeah, and in a perfect World, I'd be waited on hand and food by amazingly hot blonde bombshells, but here we are. Wasn't my call. They got all hot and bothered when Eye Love You showed up again, and Certain Elements that find my lack of protocol...Disturbing... jumped at the chance to get involved. Bah. Was pretty sure I'd nipped this in the bud last time. I mean, hell, that guy's just starting to be able to eat without a tube again..."
Leon shrugs, still looking quite annoyed at this whole thing. BAH! BAH HE SAYS.
The cop just snorts at the box of Heavy Stuff, casually grabbing it and slinging it over his shoulder one-handed, sounding casual.
"Yeah, you're right. I mean, there's /no/ reason to steal a horsehoe, of course. I mean, it's not like they're really magic. That's just superstition, neh?"
Hey, even if he's some damn dirty norseman pretending to be a cop, Leon has SOME manners. SOME.
"Yes, yes, you keep telling me all about it." Mercade says back to the Grumpy!Frier. "Sometimes I wonder if you're trying to get yourself killed trying to get there." He eyerolls. "I guess it wasn't important-seeming enough for Vetinari to slow them down. Oh well. When life gives you lemons..." He shrugs. "You did what you could."
Mercade is pretty sure Venetia is far more intelligent than she acts. But he's only got suspicions, not certainties about this enigmatic, smoking hot woman. Still, if nothing else, there will be a nice view while he works. "Sure, no problem." He reaches out, taking the backpack. He blinks as he hefts it. It's heavier than he expected, but not by much. He slings it around back, and nods. "No problem..." He walks with Venetia, then. "So, what are your favorite artists?"
"Ohh~? Well, if you ask *really* nicely, Officer Freier, maybe I'll treat you for a day. As a special reward for all your hard work. <3" Venetia winks at Leon, grinning as he complains of what *would* be happening if this were a perfect world. For all her flirting, though, it's pretty clear she's just teasing, considering there's a hint of a laugh just behind her words. It dies away when Leon starts talking about that guy he'd apprehended just starting to be able to eat without a tube.
Then the Norseman takes her duffel bag for her, and Mercade takes her backpack. Venetia smiles, keeping her guitar to herself. It's so nice to have big, strong men to carry things for you~. For a few seconds after Leon's remark that might or might not be sarcastic, though, Venetia peers at the cop, pale eyebrows slightly furrowed. Then she straightens and shrugs slightly, a motion impeded by the weights hanging from her shoulders. "Well, you know, this *is* a guy who's running around gouging the eyes out of pretty people. Who the hell knows what's running through his head? Their heads. God!"
In a fit of pique, Venetia kicks the foot of her bed. The bed skids several inches. There's a flash of a guilty look on the teenager's face, but she leaves it be to walk with the PI and the cop out of the apartment. "Well, Bon Jovi's an old favorite of mine--I bet you could tell from all the posters, Mr. Detective." Venetia grins at Mercade. "I like Pink Floyd and Queen's stuff, too; Lacuna Coil's got some great sounds, and so does Evanescence, even if they're *totally* overplayed. I used to like Nightwish, but I'm not too crazy about that new vocalist they got... Within Temptation's cool too. For softer stuff, there's Vienna Teng and Ally Kerr, but right now I'm pretty into hard rock. That's what Sea Froth is--the kind of music we do, I mean. There's also a bunch of indie bands I like, but you probably won't have heard of any of them."
Leon points an accusing finger at Mercade. "I am /totally/ not trying to get myself killed. That's the OTHER GUY'S job."
As for Venetia, well, Leon just grins slightly at her words, then shrugs easily. "Yeah, yeah, I've heard /THAT/ song and dance before. Asides, there's always a method to madness. Really."
The cop's tagging along behind Mercade and Venetia, and promptly zones out on the music talk. Instead...he starts remembeirng just a few of his favorite things~
Dum de dum dum. Heh. Oh, that was a fun fight. Especially when that thing happened. And that guy. HAH! The look on his face. Heh heh heh fu fu fu fu fu fu fu.
Mercade just chuckles at Leon's indignation. He takes his small victories where he can... And then he sobers. "As far as what's going through their heads... Well, who can tell?"
Eyes flick at the distance of bed movement, and Mercade simply smiles as they walk out. He listens to the selections of bands that Venetia likes, and he nods. "A nice selection. I enjoy some hard rock myself, though more often It seems to be jazz and blues playing on my computer." He pauses a moment. "Do you have a place to stay right now, Venetia?"
"Awww, is someone underappreciated? Well, *I* appreciate you working on this case." Venetia slows down her pace to grab hold of Leon's arm, then give it a brief squeeze of a hug. Then she smiles up at him warmly as she lets go. "Thanks, Officer."
She's turning away from Leon, talking with Mercade about music--but then she remembers something, and looks back at him with an expression of 'oh!' "Hey! I read in the paper that Char testified about what happened to you guys. Is he okay? He wasn't bleeding much when I got to him, but he was kind of out of it. I think he might've had a concussion." Venetia purses her lips. She is actually reasonably sure he did have a mild concussion, or at least was suffering from a bit of shock; she's got some experience in medicine, having taken a first aid course and worked as a beach lifeguard. Still, she had other things to worry about at the time, so she didn't exactly have time to make sure. "At least he still had it together enough to call the cops after I left."
She flicks golden hair back over her shoulder, the low breeze from the night air blowing those strands futher back. "Cool. You got any Charlie Parker? Maybe some Hank Jones? I'd grab some of my CDs and share, but, uh, now's not really a good time." Venetia grabbed what was essential, after all--and while she loves her music, she can suffer the loss of already recorded music so long as she can still make it. She gives Mercade a thoughtful look...then she shakes her head. "Nah. I don't want to crash with any of my friends--if Eye Loves You--god, that's a creepy nickname!--if he, they, whatever, comes for me again, then I'm just going to put them in danger too. I was thinking of checking into a hotel somewhere. Crashing in the backseat of my car last night kind of sucked."
It wasn't very restful, for one.
Leon just grumbles GRUMPILY as he's hugged. QUIT RUINING HIS GRUMBLE. >_<
Still, as she inquires after her erstwhile boyfriend, Leon just shrugs. "Medicos didn't notice anything too out of sorts. So I assume he's alright. And don't use a hotel room. Your name and picture were in the paper for a reason, and I doubt it was for your own health."
Leon looks less 'annoyed' and 'honestly pissed' at that.
"And when this is over, /someone/ and I are going to have a /chat/. Running a potential victim's name /and/ picture in this sort of case was expressly what the Department told them NOT to do."
Leon cracks his knuckles, rumbling in annoyance.
Yeah, someone's going to have a bad day when he's done.
"As for places to stay, eh, you can crash at my place if you want. If you don't mind the Fuzzy Dogasaurus. He's a bit...territorial."
...
"...I'm fairly certain he won't eat you. I think. Mercade?"
"Very creepy. It's hard to consider what's worse, the fact that they're killing people and taking their eyes... Or what they're /doing/ with the things." Mercade mutters, shaking his head. "I do, actually. I have quite a collection." He grins, changing the subject. "You're more than welcome to listen to them whenever you're at the office..."
He nods to Leon. "Yes. Especially when you're being stalked by serial killers. That's seriously dangerous, and it just brings more attention down on you." The investigator has a certain other idea involving the problem, however. "... And your dog eats anything that moves, Leon. Or maybe he just thought I smelled like steak. I spent half the time at your place last time barricading a door." He eyerolls. "Actually, I was going to offer my place. No pets, it's pretty clean, people don't know you're there, and it's defensible."
He shrugs. "I'll sleep in my chair."
No. <3
However, Venetia's actually visibly stunned when Leon points that out, eyes wide and mouth gaping somewhat as understanding dawns on her face like the sun over a freshly finished battlefield. "I... I didn't even think of that. I guess it's good I *didn't* do that last night. At least Char's okay..." She remains sober as Mercade points out that that's a dangerous thing to do when someone's being targeted by a serial killer. Considering that they thought she might already be dead and it wasn't as if the killer(s) didn't already know who she was, Venetia hadn't thought too hard about it, but now that they bring it up... "Hey, what do you mean, what they're doing with them?"
The mention of a Fuzzy Dogasaurus who probably won't eat her, far from worrying Venetia further, actually prompts her to brighten. "Oh, I *love* animals! I'm sure I'll be able to make friends. <3 All dogs are widdle fuzzy teddy bears on the inside, after you get past the snarling killer instinct. <33"
It's kind of amazing how you can *hear* the heart marks when Venetia talks.
However, she does give serious thought to the matter when Mercade officially makes his offer, leaning against her car now that they've walked that far. Hmmm... Leon has a big, slightly murderous doggy, but he probably doesn't have any music. Mercade has no pets, but he's got an interest in music. Leon'd probably be better able to mess up any guys who might come close to her, but Mercade's the one who she actually *hired*, and she does kind of think he's sweet. ...For now, she'll go with Mercade. What Venetia really needs right now is someone with smarts, and it's pretty clear he's got way more of that than Leon. "I think I'll take you up on that, Mercade. I *did* hire you, after all." She flashes another white-toothed smile at Leon. "I appreciate the offer, though, Officer. Maybe some other time~."
Leon Freier shrugs easily. "Whatever. Make sure you sleep with something weaponish close at hand. It's extremely unlikely that they'd be able to track you to Mercade's, which means that it's almost certain they'll ambush you if you don't have a weapon handy. Murphy's Law and all that. And yes, I know, I'm a bit cynical."
Leon casually sets the bag o' textbooks down on the back of Venetia's car, waving at her and Mercade casually.
"Right. Mercade, you do your usual thing, neh? I think I need to go have a nice chat with the reporter who wrote that article, that's all.~ I'm sure he won't mind if I pay him a visit at this time of night, either, to see who told him it was alright to violate standing 'requests' from the police when dealing with serial killer cases, and that we may or may not have found evidence that he's involved with something naughty, depending on his answers~~~"
Leon just smiiiiles cheerfully, and with that, LAPD's Finest is stalking off to his Mighty Buick, GaoGaiCar, cracking his knuckles happily.
Hey, it's not corruption when you're fighting some of the things in Leon's line of work, it's INNOVATION. <3
"It's not clear to the authorities what the killers are /doing/ with the eyes," Mercade states. "But enough thoughts about that for now. I've seen most of what I need to see at the moment, and it's getting too late to continue a proper investigation." He glances over at the darkening sky meaningfully. "Thank you, Venetia. It means a lot to me... I'll have some things I want to check, but right now I'd rather make sure you're set up safe back at the office. We'll work it out from there." And he can handle zombie bikers, thank you. He glances over to Leon, eyeing him. "I think I have more to worry about than she does." He mentions. Leon knows why. "But since I'm going to be guarding the entrance, it'll work out fine." He nods to Venetia. "Shall we?"
But wasn't Mercade carrying the backpack, and Leon carrying the duffel bag!? CONTINUITY ERROR. Oh well, everyone's still got their bags and limbs intact, so it's all good. Venetia raises her eyebrows at Leon, but nods, smiling wryly. "Yeah, good point. Better safe than dead, huh? I'll remember that. But still, I think I'll be okay, because I'll have Mercade to protect me. Right, Mercade? <3"
A mischievous smile over the PI's way as Venetia starts loading up the back seat of her car. She turns another wry smile over at Leon as he talks of having 'pleasant chats' with potentially corrupt (or else plain stupid) reporters, but doesn't protest; after all, if she were a *normal* girl, she might already be dead by now.
In any case, she drops the matter of the eyes. Mercade said it's not clear to the authorities, but he never said anything about what HE was thinking--but if she presses, he might press back. Same goes for what he might mean about him having a worse time of things than her. He IS a professional private eye, after all. Never mind it, then. "Yup! Let's get going." Either way, as she gets inside her car and again unlocks the passenger seat door, she gives him a genuinely grateful smile. "Thanks, Mercade. I really do appreciate it."
Mercade hops in, nodding. "Any time. I'll certainly do everything I can to keep you safe." He smiles, equally gratefully. "I promise."
Well, at least his chair is comfy.