Peachy00Keen
Big Dryad Energy
Staff member
Space Ranger
Moderator
Virtuoso
Inner Sanctum Nobility
♔ Champion ♔
The bell hanging on the door jingled as Felicity walked into the Callistan-Thai restaurant and looked around. She frowned, not finding the face she was looking for among the crowd of diners. Glancing down at her watch, she pursed her lips, perplexed. Bebe should have been here by now. I'm almost ten minutes late thanks to those clowns at the studio. She looked up again, scanning the room once more to be sure she hadn't missed the woman. Felicity sighed and shrugged before winding her way to a corner booth by the window. The night air was chilly, and the window did little to insulate against it. She pulled her jacket around her tighter and watched out the window, propping her chin up on her palm.
"Can I get you something to drink?" a dark-haired waitress asked with a wide grin, startling the blonde woman who had become mesmerized watching the traffic.
"Uh, yeah, honey. I'll have a diet pop." Her smile toward the waitress was distracted, but the young woman didn't seem to notice as she trotted off toward the kitchen to return a short while later with a cup full of a dark, fizzing beverage. "Thanks." The waitress nodded and walked bouncily away.
Felicity sipped on her drink and continued watching out the window, expecting to see her mentor walking down the sidewalk any minute now. The night ticked on, and as she reached the end of her drink, she checked her watch again. An hour had passed. Starting to worry, she took her phone out of her purse and dialed Bebe's number. The line rang several times before turning over to voicemail. With a perplexed grumble, she closed the phone and tucked it back in her purse before ordering another diet pop. Five more minutes passed and Felicity tried the number again. No answer. I'll give it one more try, then I'm calling Marty, she thought. Felicity watched the traffic light at the nearby intersection run through two more light cycles before she tried Bebe's number a final time, and for a third time, her call rang through to voicemail.
Pulling some creds out and leaving it on the table, Felicity got up from her booth, waved to the waitress and pointed to the table, and headed out to the sidewalk as she dialed her agent. As the phone rang, she half expected this call to also roll to voicemail. After four rings, however, a ragged man's voice spoke on the other end of the line.
"Marty Daniels," the voice said flatly.
"Marty, it's Felicity."
"Oh, hey, Liss," he said, his voice gaining a bit of energy. "How did the audition go?"
"Well enough, I guess. I never can tell with some of these studios," she said, rushing through her answer. "Hey, look--"
"Ah, I'm sure it's fine, kid," he interrupted. "You're a bright young face in this dreary city. You're bound to get picked up sooner rather than later."
"I'm sure you're right. Hey, I got a question for ya."
"Alright, shoot."
"Do you have any idea where Bebe could be? She was supposed to meet me for dinner tonight, but she never showed."
There was a momentary silence on the other end of the line. As she was about to ask again, he answered. "No, last I knew she said she wasn't feeling so hot and she was going home for a lie-down."
"Oh," she replied, sounding dejected. "I wonder why she didn't let me know…"
"Couldn't tell ya, kid."
"Well, uh, thanks, I guess."
"Any time. That all?"
"Yeah, Marty. Thanks again."
"Sure thing," he grunted, and he hung up the phone.
Felicity looked at her watch again. It was nearing 9 PM. It seemed odd to her that Bebe hadn't said a word about canceling their dinner plans. Maybe she's really got a bug. I oughta go check on her, make sure she doesn't need anything. Sticking a hand out, she waved down a cab and gave the driver an address several blocks away. It would have been just as easy to walk, but the chill in the air stung her bare legs. She rubbed them to get the blood flowing again as the taxi trundled down the road.
When she got out in front of Bebe's building, she looked up to her window. The light was on. Probably a good sign. Punching in the passcode at the front door, Felicity made her way into the warm lobby to wait at the elevators for a ride up to the sixth floor. Five apartments down the hall, on the left-hand side, she knocked on the door. It creaked, swinging open a little. That was odd. Cautiously, she pushed the door open farther and stepped inside.
"Bebe?" she called, looking around. The place was its usual run-down self, much like the person who lived there. Old movie holograms hung in frames on the wall, shimmering faintly. A bottle of booze sat on the coffee table, uncapped, with an empty glass next to it, waiting to be filled. The lights were on in the living room, kitchen, and bedroom. "Bebe…?" she called again. No answer.
Felicity crept back out of the apartment and closed the door gently behind her before crossing the hall and knocking on the door. Footsteps inside made their way toward the door, pausing, presumably to look through the peephole. A lock clicked and an old woman's face appeared in the two-inch crack under the safety chain.
"Hi there. I'm a friend of your neighbor's," Felicity said, gesturing to the door behind her. "You wouldn't happen to have seen if she went somewhere, would you?" She knew it was a stretch, but it was worth a shot.
"I ain't seen nothin', but I heard a scuffle gon down over there 'bout, oh, hour n a half 'go?" the old lady said. "I jus' 'sumed she had one her rowdy friends over 'gain, so I ain't think nothin' of it. Why?"
"Well, she was supposed to meet me for dinner, but she never showed, and when I called a friend of ours, he said she was home sick or something."
The old woman was silent as she stared, her beady eyes sunken deep under layers of wrinkles. "Hang on a minute," she said before shuffling back into her flat. A few minutes later, she returned with a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it in shaky, arthritic handwriting. "Go here n knock on the door. I don' know what happened to yer friend, but I s'gest you stay well 'way from it." She pointed to the paper again. "Go straight there. He'll help ya."
Felicity shook her head, confused. "He who? I don't understand where I'm going."
"Jus' go, child. Hank's good people. He'll help." With that, the old woman bid her goodnight and closed the door.
She stared down at the scrap of paper in her hands.
Tucking it in her pocket, she made her way back out of the building and onto the street, where it took several minutes before a cab passed by and stopped to pick her up.
"Can you take me to 1126 South Crater Boulevard, please?" she asked. The cabbie grunted. When they arrived, she paid him and turned to face the dark building. She didn't see any lights on. Maybe it's a side window…
Up to the third floor, she went, and she found the door marked with a peeling number two. Looking down at the paper again to make sure she had the right place, she knocked quietly on the door.
"Come on, Jerry, don't do this to me! I'll have the money next week, I swear. You know I'm good for it. When was the last time I let you down? Yeah, I- no, that was different, and it was just the one time! Come on, what's a guy gotta do to get a break around here? Tomorrow? No, I can't- okay, okay, I can do half by tomorrow! No need to go makin' threats. You'll get the money by tomorrow night. Yeah, good night to you too." Hank ended the call and tossed the phone across the room, where it landed on the couch that doubled as his bed. "Asshole," he muttered to himself as he walked to the liquor cabinet and began to pour himself a drink. Rent anywhere in Angelos was high, and as landlords went, Jerry Rye wasn't too bad. Still, money was tight, and the ever-reliable Carlos Manca had paid Hank a visit just two days prior, asking twice the usual payment. Of his two "landlords," Hank knew which one had to be paid first. To suggest otherwise just wasn't healthy.
"Where the fuck am I supposed to get twenty-thousand creds by tomorrow?" Hank downed the sake cup in one take, then scratched at his three days of stubble. He'd definitely buy a new razor, right after he paid the rent he couldn't afford and replaced the moldy contents of the fridge. For now, the women would just have to find him ruggedly handsome. On the other hand, if a miracle didn't fall into his lap in the next twenty-four hours, he'd have a head-start on his homeless look.
Hank sat back in his desk chair, looking from the empty sake cup to the stack of unpaid bills on the desk. "Well, if I'm getting evicted tomorrow, I may as well enjoy my last night here. You never know, there might be rent money at the bottom of this bottle." He was halfway through the bottle when he heard a knock on the door. Hank pulled his .38 from out of the desk drawer and set it on a stack of books next to him, within easy reach but not visible from the other side of the desk. "Come in," he barked, sweeping the bills off the desk. The end might have come sooner than he expected. Then again, maybe this was just the break he was looking for.
The door creaked open as a slender high-heeled leg stepped through, followed by a manicured hand and a blonde head. "Uh, is there a Mister Hank at this residence?" the woman's tiny voice asked nervously.
"That would be me," Hank said, carefully assessing the new arrival. She seemed harmless, and frankly terrified, but he'd been burned by pretty women before. "You can come in, y'know. I don't bite. Sorry 'bout the missing sign, I really ought to have that replaced. Usually says 'Hank Nolan, Private Investigator.' How'd you get this address?"
Felicity stepped the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind her. The first smell that hit her was alcohol. She wasn't sure what kind, but it was definitely strong. Second, the man who had identified himself as Hank looked like he was long overdue to see a barber. Suddenly, she felt more uncertain about whether or not coming here had been a wise decision.
"Some old woman wrote it down for me on a piece of paper and handed it to me. She said I should come see you." She walked over to the desk and held out the piece of paper to him. "My friend is missing, and the old lady told me 'you's good people.' At least, that's what she told me... That's how she said it, I mean." She clammed up a bit, dropping her hand back to her side as he took the slip of paper. "So," she started again, watching her words, "can you?"
Hank took the slip of paper and turned it over. It smelled faintly of a musty perfume, the kind old women seemed to wear as a public announcement that they'd reached the final decade of their life. He smiled to himself. "Oh Louise, you shouldn't have." He looked back up at the young woman standing nervously in front of him and became acutely aware of his disheveled state. He sat up straight, blinked twice to clear his head, and put on his business face.
"Well, doll, you came to the right place. Now, sit down and tell me what happened. And don't leave anything out."
"Can I get you something to drink?" a dark-haired waitress asked with a wide grin, startling the blonde woman who had become mesmerized watching the traffic.
"Uh, yeah, honey. I'll have a diet pop." Her smile toward the waitress was distracted, but the young woman didn't seem to notice as she trotted off toward the kitchen to return a short while later with a cup full of a dark, fizzing beverage. "Thanks." The waitress nodded and walked bouncily away.
Felicity sipped on her drink and continued watching out the window, expecting to see her mentor walking down the sidewalk any minute now. The night ticked on, and as she reached the end of her drink, she checked her watch again. An hour had passed. Starting to worry, she took her phone out of her purse and dialed Bebe's number. The line rang several times before turning over to voicemail. With a perplexed grumble, she closed the phone and tucked it back in her purse before ordering another diet pop. Five more minutes passed and Felicity tried the number again. No answer. I'll give it one more try, then I'm calling Marty, she thought. Felicity watched the traffic light at the nearby intersection run through two more light cycles before she tried Bebe's number a final time, and for a third time, her call rang through to voicemail.
Pulling some creds out and leaving it on the table, Felicity got up from her booth, waved to the waitress and pointed to the table, and headed out to the sidewalk as she dialed her agent. As the phone rang, she half expected this call to also roll to voicemail. After four rings, however, a ragged man's voice spoke on the other end of the line.
"Marty Daniels," the voice said flatly.
"Marty, it's Felicity."
"Oh, hey, Liss," he said, his voice gaining a bit of energy. "How did the audition go?"
"Well enough, I guess. I never can tell with some of these studios," she said, rushing through her answer. "Hey, look--"
"Ah, I'm sure it's fine, kid," he interrupted. "You're a bright young face in this dreary city. You're bound to get picked up sooner rather than later."
"I'm sure you're right. Hey, I got a question for ya."
"Alright, shoot."
"Do you have any idea where Bebe could be? She was supposed to meet me for dinner tonight, but she never showed."
There was a momentary silence on the other end of the line. As she was about to ask again, he answered. "No, last I knew she said she wasn't feeling so hot and she was going home for a lie-down."
"Oh," she replied, sounding dejected. "I wonder why she didn't let me know…"
"Couldn't tell ya, kid."
"Well, uh, thanks, I guess."
"Any time. That all?"
"Yeah, Marty. Thanks again."
"Sure thing," he grunted, and he hung up the phone.
Felicity looked at her watch again. It was nearing 9 PM. It seemed odd to her that Bebe hadn't said a word about canceling their dinner plans. Maybe she's really got a bug. I oughta go check on her, make sure she doesn't need anything. Sticking a hand out, she waved down a cab and gave the driver an address several blocks away. It would have been just as easy to walk, but the chill in the air stung her bare legs. She rubbed them to get the blood flowing again as the taxi trundled down the road.
When she got out in front of Bebe's building, she looked up to her window. The light was on. Probably a good sign. Punching in the passcode at the front door, Felicity made her way into the warm lobby to wait at the elevators for a ride up to the sixth floor. Five apartments down the hall, on the left-hand side, she knocked on the door. It creaked, swinging open a little. That was odd. Cautiously, she pushed the door open farther and stepped inside.
"Bebe?" she called, looking around. The place was its usual run-down self, much like the person who lived there. Old movie holograms hung in frames on the wall, shimmering faintly. A bottle of booze sat on the coffee table, uncapped, with an empty glass next to it, waiting to be filled. The lights were on in the living room, kitchen, and bedroom. "Bebe…?" she called again. No answer.
Felicity crept back out of the apartment and closed the door gently behind her before crossing the hall and knocking on the door. Footsteps inside made their way toward the door, pausing, presumably to look through the peephole. A lock clicked and an old woman's face appeared in the two-inch crack under the safety chain.
"Hi there. I'm a friend of your neighbor's," Felicity said, gesturing to the door behind her. "You wouldn't happen to have seen if she went somewhere, would you?" She knew it was a stretch, but it was worth a shot.
"I ain't seen nothin', but I heard a scuffle gon down over there 'bout, oh, hour n a half 'go?" the old lady said. "I jus' 'sumed she had one her rowdy friends over 'gain, so I ain't think nothin' of it. Why?"
"Well, she was supposed to meet me for dinner, but she never showed, and when I called a friend of ours, he said she was home sick or something."
The old woman was silent as she stared, her beady eyes sunken deep under layers of wrinkles. "Hang on a minute," she said before shuffling back into her flat. A few minutes later, she returned with a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it in shaky, arthritic handwriting. "Go here n knock on the door. I don' know what happened to yer friend, but I s'gest you stay well 'way from it." She pointed to the paper again. "Go straight there. He'll help ya."
Felicity shook her head, confused. "He who? I don't understand where I'm going."
"Jus' go, child. Hank's good people. He'll help." With that, the old woman bid her goodnight and closed the door.
She stared down at the scrap of paper in her hands.
Tucking it in her pocket, she made her way back out of the building and onto the street, where it took several minutes before a cab passed by and stopped to pick her up.
"Can you take me to 1126 South Crater Boulevard, please?" she asked. The cabbie grunted. When they arrived, she paid him and turned to face the dark building. She didn't see any lights on. Maybe it's a side window…
Up to the third floor, she went, and she found the door marked with a peeling number two. Looking down at the paper again to make sure she had the right place, she knocked quietly on the door.
"Come on, Jerry, don't do this to me! I'll have the money next week, I swear. You know I'm good for it. When was the last time I let you down? Yeah, I- no, that was different, and it was just the one time! Come on, what's a guy gotta do to get a break around here? Tomorrow? No, I can't- okay, okay, I can do half by tomorrow! No need to go makin' threats. You'll get the money by tomorrow night. Yeah, good night to you too." Hank ended the call and tossed the phone across the room, where it landed on the couch that doubled as his bed. "Asshole," he muttered to himself as he walked to the liquor cabinet and began to pour himself a drink. Rent anywhere in Angelos was high, and as landlords went, Jerry Rye wasn't too bad. Still, money was tight, and the ever-reliable Carlos Manca had paid Hank a visit just two days prior, asking twice the usual payment. Of his two "landlords," Hank knew which one had to be paid first. To suggest otherwise just wasn't healthy.
"Where the fuck am I supposed to get twenty-thousand creds by tomorrow?" Hank downed the sake cup in one take, then scratched at his three days of stubble. He'd definitely buy a new razor, right after he paid the rent he couldn't afford and replaced the moldy contents of the fridge. For now, the women would just have to find him ruggedly handsome. On the other hand, if a miracle didn't fall into his lap in the next twenty-four hours, he'd have a head-start on his homeless look.
Hank sat back in his desk chair, looking from the empty sake cup to the stack of unpaid bills on the desk. "Well, if I'm getting evicted tomorrow, I may as well enjoy my last night here. You never know, there might be rent money at the bottom of this bottle." He was halfway through the bottle when he heard a knock on the door. Hank pulled his .38 from out of the desk drawer and set it on a stack of books next to him, within easy reach but not visible from the other side of the desk. "Come in," he barked, sweeping the bills off the desk. The end might have come sooner than he expected. Then again, maybe this was just the break he was looking for.
The door creaked open as a slender high-heeled leg stepped through, followed by a manicured hand and a blonde head. "Uh, is there a Mister Hank at this residence?" the woman's tiny voice asked nervously.
"That would be me," Hank said, carefully assessing the new arrival. She seemed harmless, and frankly terrified, but he'd been burned by pretty women before. "You can come in, y'know. I don't bite. Sorry 'bout the missing sign, I really ought to have that replaced. Usually says 'Hank Nolan, Private Investigator.' How'd you get this address?"
Felicity stepped the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind her. The first smell that hit her was alcohol. She wasn't sure what kind, but it was definitely strong. Second, the man who had identified himself as Hank looked like he was long overdue to see a barber. Suddenly, she felt more uncertain about whether or not coming here had been a wise decision.
"Some old woman wrote it down for me on a piece of paper and handed it to me. She said I should come see you." She walked over to the desk and held out the piece of paper to him. "My friend is missing, and the old lady told me 'you's good people.' At least, that's what she told me... That's how she said it, I mean." She clammed up a bit, dropping her hand back to her side as he took the slip of paper. "So," she started again, watching her words, "can you?"
Hank took the slip of paper and turned it over. It smelled faintly of a musty perfume, the kind old women seemed to wear as a public announcement that they'd reached the final decade of their life. He smiled to himself. "Oh Louise, you shouldn't have." He looked back up at the young woman standing nervously in front of him and became acutely aware of his disheveled state. He sat up straight, blinked twice to clear his head, and put on his business face.
"Well, doll, you came to the right place. Now, sit down and tell me what happened. And don't leave anything out."
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