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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 10, 2013 12:10:45 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]She was almost certain that her boss was doing it to piss her off. The bunch of papers on her desk felt like a bit too much to Josephine, so she simply left her boss grumbling behind her, just as she left her name behind for a more fitting alias. Cashmere Cat had been born out of sheer anger, she thought: a way to let go of all the negative feelings that had gathered in her chest, making her blood boil and her eyes see things that were not, in truth, that bad. Cashmere Cat, with her golden hair and immovable heart, she would save Josephine from it all, right? She liked to believe that. Getting an envelope she had prepared a day before for the upcoming task, she stuffed it into her bag and headed straight for the place she had mentioned in the cryptic message to her customer: the business district in the Silver Stage would be almost empty at this crazy hour of the night (or was it early morning?), and she picked up her pace, her boots making a calming, rhythmic noise with each step she took. Josephine liked to think that Cashmere Cat was the more alive part of her, that it would cause her life to change, that it was something that made her life meaningful: she was helping people. Sure, that was a bit of a strange thing to say, because she was helping those she should have arrested, but help is still help, wasn't it? Better than acting like all those heroes that infested the city, better than those righteous police officers that could not see they were not needed. No one needed the police anymore, everyone had their heroes. Cashmere Cat was Josephine's idea of a hero: no flashy moves, no trademark grins, no nothing. Cashmere Cat was the god of information in Sternbild's underground. She came to a halt and placed the sealed envelope in the mailbox. She didn't care about it anymore from that moment on: it wasn't her responsibility anymore. Maybe that was why things went so wrong: she was irresponsible. So very irresponsible, most of the time. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 10, 2013 12:39:23 GMT -5
This is the night.
This is the witching hour when all ghosts, phantoms and specters emerge to meddle in the affairs of mortals.
From beyond the vast shadows and thin shards of light cast by the waning, bloodied moon, they emerge.
The things beyond the realm of human understanding; the things that lurk beyond the darkest corners and prey on the weak of will, the weary of spirit, those unacquainted with the night.
These are the things - the things that go bump in the night.
He moved with a swift, ethereal grace ordinarily associated with those recently accustomed to the afterlife. Every clack of his boots was a tiny, timbrous scalpel into the cold nocturnal air. Every swish of his ebony coattails was a silent breath from an unseen, yet interminably snarling beast.
He moved out of the night and into the realm of mortals.
A dainty tune escaped his thin, pursed lips, pulled taught into a wry smile as was his custom. The vivacious rhythm of Beautiful Dreamer escaped and fluttered into the air, as if to capture the angels in the ether and strangle them into silence.
"Starlight and dew-drops are waiting for thee."
As the final note of the archaic score drifted off on faded wings into the endlessly erebal night, he motioned with the most gracious of bows and bared his teeth at the young lady.
"Evening, little miss," he said, his silken tone spoken with a forked tongue.
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 16, 2013 10:02:27 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]A voice reached her ears and she could have sworn she felt a headache making it's way into her life. There was someone there, but she was reluctant to turn around at first. Oh, gods, he was in a generally happy mood and she was in such a foul mood that day, such a foul mood indeed. Still, no reason to fear the unknown simply because it is not known. Josephine turned her head a little, her blue eyes looking at the intruder, then she stuffed her hands in her pocket. The envelope had been safely sent. From the moment it left her hands, it was no longer her concern. "Good evening." Her distaste at being called 'little' was obvious from her tone, but she kept it all in check, for now at least. Little was not the adjective people used when dealing with Josephine. Pitiful? Perhaps, but those who used it were often proven wrong by her strong sense of duty. There was nothing pitiful in serving those who bought her services, right? "Is there anything I can help you with?" And her voice almost gave away her foul mood. Oh, that was not good. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 16, 2013 10:31:07 GMT -5
The man, tall and slender as he was, looked like little more than a shadow in the cold moonlight. Yet, no matter how much his dark attire blended into the night, it was impossible to veil his striking green hair and piercing amber eyes.
"Ahh, do forgive me," he intoned, setting himself aright, "I haven't even introduced myself yet, have I? Dear me, dear me. Wherever have my manners gone?"
He sighed, shook his head and flicked a stray bang from his narrow eye. When he looked at his host once more, it was with the calculated charisma of one who has studied for occasions such as these.
"Ah, well. Introductions are overrated. Now, let me get straight to business."
His tone, having dispensed with formalities, dropped an octave.
"Let me just say, first of all, it is an honour meeting you. Now, you may not know me, but I know you. Rather well, as it just so happens. And I do believe you have something that I find myself...desiring."
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 16, 2013 10:56:00 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]She was truly getting tired of this. In truth, all she wanted was to go home, grab a bowl of popcorn and some tea, then watch a movie and relax. No more work until the day after. But this man was making it increasingly difficult for Josephine to do so and get rid of her foul mood. He was all talk and no bite. Quickly assessing the situation, she could make it look like an accident of some sort, in case things went bad. "What, you some kind of stalker?" Turning to face him completely, she pulled the headphones from her ears and narrowed her gaze as she looked at him. Honestly now, this was the last thing she needed at the moment, a stalker. "Beat it." Thus said, she tugged a bit at her scarf, almost playfully, as if she was waiting for him to listen to her, even though she had not meant it as a superior order, she could not stand it when others imposed their wishes upon others, and so she had done it herself, just to see what it felt like. In truth, it would have been much easier for her to just walk away. The district might have been deserted at this time of the night, but she didn't think she'd have much trouble. As long as he didn't give her trouble. Cashmere Cat was restless, but Josephine Collins was in a foul mood. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 16, 2013 12:26:09 GMT -5
"A stalker? Dear me, little miss, your words wound me so!"
The grin spread across his thin, pale face. Without hesitation, he took a step closer. If anything, her anger only served to increase his tenacity and bravado.
"Let me repeat this, just to ensure we're on the same wavelength. I'll give you a little leeway, though, since I know you must be tired after a long day at the office."
He stepped closer again, approaching her with the casual agility of a wayward shadow, until he was mere inches from her face. The scent emanated from his person was that of patchouli oils, with just the faintest hint of...
Gasoline, perhaps?
Either way, it was fragrant and pungent and just a little sickening. He surveyed her whole form, taking into account every arch, ever curve, every subtle indentation and delicate distinction on her body.
Then, having sized up his host, he turned his gaze back at her.
"Josephine Collins," he said, carefully tasting every syllable as it rolled from his tongue, "It is a pleasure meeting you, let me assure you of that."
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 16, 2013 15:16:04 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]Ah, yes. He was just like any other idiot that actually had the audacity to make himself look like a creep of some sort. He was doing a rather poor job at it, but Josephine was such a darling, she'd never put him down for his terrible performance. Thus, she kept her mouth shut, her blue eyes resting lazily on him. As he blabbered on, she put back one of the headphones in her ear and tapped her foot against the pavement along with the rhythm. She was going to have to get the entire album, these guys were good. Personal space wasn't much of an issue when she had to deal with creeps. The best part was the lack of personal space between her and the idiots that she got to interrogate. A little bit of violence needed some kind of payment in return, and she had no problem trading personal space for that. But this creep was taking it a little too far. "Oh, bravo, you know my name, congratulations, I'll make sure to give you a medal. Now, if you're done, I've got a busy night ahead of me." Her voice was unwavering, but she took care to emphasize the word 'done'. Some people needed a push in the right direction and, unless he was pretty damn dense, he'd get the message. It passed her mind once, that it could have to do with her other job, but that was out of the question. No one had ever seen Cashmere Cat, the envelopes were always sent from a different place, never too close to her house, she didn't leave fingerprints, strands of hair, nothing. But this guy seemed like one of them homeless. Smelled like one too. Like rotten fish and eggs. Or something equally disgusting. Sternbild needed to make hygiene more popular. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 16, 2013 16:10:02 GMT -5
The man held his hand out, index finger outstretched, and waved it like an admonishing schoolmaster. The look in his eyes indicated that letting her go was not on his list of priorities.
"I would stay, if I were you."
He tilted the brim of his hat forwards a little, once again flicking the serpentine lock from his eyes. The slightest glimmer of exposed canine suggested he had rather more vindictive intentions for the young lady.
"You really must understand, my dear. I've been watching you for quite some time now. You may not be aware of it - at least, not yet - but I'm quite familiar with you."
He leaned closer, ever closer, until his scalpel-slit eyes were peering directly into hers. A leather-bound hand inched its way towards her, narrow fingers coiling themselves around her wrist.
"But, ah, perhaps I am being a little too cryptic here. Would it help if I dropped Miss Josephine Collins from the equation and instead asked directly?"
His grin spread further. A certain manic glee, barely subdued by his own force of will, skipped and danced like the fires from a fuel-soaked murder scene.
"How about it? Care to entertain me, Cashmere Cat?"
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 16, 2013 17:42:47 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]The nerve of some people! Threats? Out of all the things to tell Josephine Collins, threats should have been the last on his list. For the love of- She could have introduced him to her badge or her gun, but that would have caused a scene. It was logical, really: since he knew her name and kept saying he had been watching her for a while now, it must've meant he knew about her job as a police officer. His last words made her take the tiniest step backwards, however, and, finally, her expression changed into a rather shocked one. She had tried to keep it in check, initially, only to fail miserably: her secret was out, finally? She'd get sentenced to prison. Not that she'd get out of there alive, all the criminals she had caught and interrogated were there, they'd make sure she never got out of there alive. And as heartless as she seemed, Josephine feared for her life. Making a run for it wouldn't have been hard, if he wouldn't have looked like the kind of person who would chase her down and catch her effortlessly. "I'm allergic to cashmere." She managed to say eventually, only for a chuckle to slip past her lips right after. No use hiding it now, huh. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 16, 2013 18:44:31 GMT -5
Garison Graves laughed.
Laughter is generally considered to be an instinctive response to what was originally thought to be a dangerous situation; a close relative of screaming or crying, one laughs because one is elated to realise that their life is not in danger as they once thought it to be.
When he laughed, it sounded like death would be a preferable alternative. There was no mirth to it, no joviality, no soul. It sounded hollow and empty. It didn't so much chime as it did rattle.
"Ah, but you are an amusing one! I like that, I must admit, I really do."
His smile resumed its usually cut-throat tautness as he stared at Josephine from under his wide-brimmed black hat.
"Alright. Now, then. To return to the business at hand: if I understand correctly, you've been a very naughty girl. Selling out police secrets to the highest bidder? That's not very becoming of a lady, now, is it?"
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 16, 2013 19:04:13 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]Be serious, Josephine, it's not like he's got anything to prove it with. Right? She had been caught on the wrong foot, it was her mistake. She shouldn't have done whatever she had done that gave her away. Maybe she should have been more careful with everyone she crossed paths. She could have noticed him before this all happened. "Since when are cats comparable to ladies?" A shadow of a smile still lingered on her rosy lips and she closed the gap enough for her forehead to barely brush lightly against the edge of his hat. Who the hell wears such an old fashioned hat in the middle of technological progress? Seemed like he wasn't such a terrible homeless after all. He still had his little gray cells, and that, ladies and gentlemen, was something that piqued Josephine's interest. She wasn't mindlessly putting herself in danger. It was clear he wanted something from her: he could have just gone to the police. Or perhaps he had no proof at all. "You say you know me so well, stranger, but you barely scratched the surface, let me assure you of that." She quoted him, her smile eventually fading from her lips, replaced with a small pout. Everything had a price, him included. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 16, 2013 21:27:30 GMT -5
The little quotation hovered in the air like a verbal challenge of honour. Garison's manic smirk only broadened at the edges at her little jab. There were not very many people who taunted Garison Graves more than once. Generally speaking, once was enough to ensure you never spoke again.
"My, my, the little kitty has claws!"
His pale face was now pressed up against hers, his eyes boring deep into hers, his cold, slithering hands firmly wrapped around her waist like a voracious, temptuous predator. He licked his lips and let his sharp tongue explore every recess of his silver fangs.
"I like that."
The idea of sacrosanctness was, in Garison's eyes, an adorably archaic notion. So it was that he allowed his palms caress the small of Josephine's back, just barely keeping themselves sated and on a tight leash. There was business to be done, after all.
"Have you ever watched cats? I mean, really watched them. They're fascinating animals, let me tell you that. They have no regard for other life, and they care about nothing other than themselves. Oh, sure, some cats will feign friendliness and familiarity with a human in order to get food and shelter, but really, it's all just an act. Cats are remarkably skilled manipulators and artfully skilled tricksters. They don't so much live with a human as they adopt them. Wonderful, fascinating creatures.
"Now, with that in mind, Miss Collins...I propose you drop the act yourself. You may think you'e in control of the situation here, strutting about and arching your back like a cornered cat, but what you don't realise is, you're out of your depth. Oh, you may have spent your time walking these streets - perhaps you've even adopted a few humans of your own. But let me assure you, my dear, you have no idea what lurks within these streets. You have not seen the night, not seen the night as I have."
He pulled back a little, relinquishing his grasp ever so slightly, and tilting back the brim of his hat so she could better see the face that was speaking to her.
"There are things out here, my pretty little kitty, that would chew you up and spit you out as soon as they would clap eyes on you. And when it emerges that it was dear Little Miss Collins who was leaking all of those private files and police records to some - shall we say - unsavoury characters...why, they'll all come looking for you. And I would just be ever so sad if my precious little kitty cat got eaten by a big, hungry dog!
"But it's your lucky day. Because I've decided that I am going to help you."
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 17, 2013 8:00:03 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]She was called 'little' again. For the love of all the deities in the known universe, this guy was really not helping her foul mood, but his actions did it in his place. Her mood was long forgotten by the time she felt his hand on her back, but she tried to hold her ground only to end up pressing her hands against his chest, to try and push him away. Okay, they were taking the personal space thing a little too far, especially him. Cats were, indeed, quite the liars. Not that she was a liar: not saying the truth didn't mean she was a liar, it meant simply that she didn't say the truth. Now, there was the matter of helping those she was actually supposed to arrest, but really now, not everyone in this city could be a hero and, sometimes, Josephine liked chaos. The idea of disorder was so exciting, even if she couldn't share that feeling with anyone which, in her case, was a good thing, she was too selfish to do so anyway. Gasoline. He didn't smell of rotten fish- what the hell was wrong with her nose, he smelled like gasoline. The thought of what exactly did he set on fire almost made her smile. She was going to have to give the guy some credit, he was intriguing, to say the least. "I get it, okay? I get it. Just tell me what you want and go take a shower, that gasoline smell is terrible." It could give him away, too. Not that she'd care much, but hey. Such a kind soul, she was, wasn't she? Generous, caring, warm, just like a kitty. A kitty made of cashmere. "We can't all be heroes." She said in her defense, and a childish pout formed on her lips. Her foul mood was back. Seemed like he was doing such a good job at distracting her too. Pity. |
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Post by Garison Graves on Feb 17, 2013 10:27:59 GMT -5
"Heroes? Hmm, yes. It's funny that you should mention that."
Garison stepped back a few feet, letting his arms sway back and forth like pendulums of flesh and bone, never once taking his eyes from hers.
"Show me a hero, and I'll write you a tragedy! It was Fitzgerald that said that, as I recall - have you ever read The Great Gatsby? Marvelous book, simply marvelous. All about the rise and fall of the eponymous hero, from social deity to gaslight tragedy. And, in the end, isn't that what it's all about? Aren't we all just heroes, the heroes of our own story, waiting to meet our inevitable fate?"
The tiniest of laughs fell from his throat. Something about the sweet, somber tragicomedy of existence itself tickled him to his very core.
"No, Miss Collins, I don't intend for you to assist me in anything heroic. Far from it, as it so happens. But...you've seen them, haven't you? The heroes of this city. Strutting about with their cheap, tawdry labels - the flags of the decadent, the emblems of the absurd! Yes, you've seen them. And I can tell it sickens you, doesn't it? They who call themselves heroes - and yet, what justice do they offer? Only the justice that one can afford. Justice does not come cheap in this city, my dear. There is nothing for nothing.
"And yet, I can't help but feel that your own brand of justice is even more expensive. I can see you won't accept my help without the necessary lucre - and I would feel most unkind if I were to take what I wanted without giving you a little something in return."
The tails of his black coat fluttered in the gentle nocturnal zephyr. For the first time since he had arrived on the scene like a phantom knife-edge, he looked way from her and up at the coarse, omnipresent moon.
"Name your price, Cashmere Cat. How much will it take for you to see sense?"
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Post by Josephine Collins on Feb 17, 2013 16:24:25 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable]She didn't really like heroes. Though, if asked, she couldn't tell why. Maybe it was because it gave her a feeling of uselessness? Police could do things just as well, they were just flying commercials, and everyone hated commercials. Josephine hated commercials, especially in the middle of a good movie. But this guy? She didn't think she could bring herself to hate him. Not as much, at least. He was talking too much, and that raised some suspicions. He could use that to his advantage, to simply distract her while he did something else, so she kept her eyes on him, calmly taking in all the details. He didn't seem like much, initially, but he didn't have an unattractive face and he could pass by unnoticed, as long as people didn't notice his hair color, that was a bit unusual. "If you know me as well as you say you do, then you know Cashmere is expensive." She stuffed her hands in her pockets again, to try and find a coin or two. If she wanted to get popcorn later, she was going to need money. "Buy me some popcorn. And tea. I want to watch a movie later and I don't have money with me."She didn't pay much attention to his question. It wasn't like he couldn't already blackmail her and not give anything in return. At least he could get her some popcorn. Maybe even deliver it to her place later, since he knew where she lived too. |
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