Having notified the local police of the situation at Cryogenics, INC., accosted a curious villain that had decided to use ice as an offensive weapon, and run into a strange woman wielding bat-shaped boomerangs sitting on top of the place where all this had happened, there was little chance Myra was about to let Steph simply go off on her merry way without questions. She knew though, that just as many questions would come up about herself, and while she would try to field whatever ones she could, it was a risk, but she had to take it. If she wanted to make sure that Steph wouldn’t go running off and blabbing the story until it made its way around to a stoolie, she had to sit down and have a brief exchange of information.“Come on, let’s get some coffee.” Code for: We need to talk. She motioned for Steph to follow, and padded along, looking for a late-night coffee shop. In this district, she’d be hard pressed not to find one. There were enough graveyard shifts to warrant at least one shop. Turning onto a more main road, she wasn’t disappointed to see the lighted window and a 24-hour sign glaring garishly into the night. The cops would be likely to use a road like this one to reach the scene of the incident, and the window would provide a good spot to watch from. “That’ll work. Come on, it's on me.”
"Ok, detectives. I got an anonymous tip," he said. Anything Leoben said was rendered mute now. Guy should have taken his chance while he had it. "The Docks. Cyrogenics inc. Get down there. Now!"
((This post follows immediately after the log posted, and is Faith's arrival post. Faith, like Buffy, is AU as of the middle of season three.))So after what felt like forever in Chicago, sneaking around right under the noses of the local pigs, it seemed like Buffy'd finally gotten word of something interesting going on. Their agreement had been to lay low -- that was the whole reason they'd come to Chicago, was to lay low. But damn if Faith hadn't been chafing at the bit, bored and desperate for something to kill--slay.Look, they were Slayers, it was what they did. Anyway, she'd been restless, and Buffy's "ice demon" or whatever was the perfect opportunity to get her shakes out. Dressed in tight black, a stake at one side and Buffy at the other, Faith prowled the streets, eager for a fight.
Who: Buffy and Faith (AKA Anne and Chastity)Where: Their apartment downtownWhat: Buffy tells Faith about Chicago's latest menace over dinner, and they plan to go patrolling.Note: Hello and welcome to logs! Obviously most of the RP here is done by threads, but! If you have a small closed scene like this, and you prefer to do it over AIM, feel free. Just make sure to post it to the comm, with whatever relevant info in the header, like so.( I'm ready to be bad, I need a bad girlCollapse )
So the clerks at the art shop, unsurprisingly, knew nothing. That had pretty much been the story all over town. There had been one thing at the shop, though. A tall brunette guy -- white and pasty -- edging his way out of the shop. He'd left before Dani had a chance to question him, and you couldn't actually bring people down to the station for being in art shops. But she kept his face in mind, and when she happened to pop into a diner to grab a cup of coffee, who did she, eating a plate full of bland-looking pasta? Art store guy!Without waiting for an invitation, Dani took the seat next to tall, brunette, and awkward."Hi there. I'm Detective Reese. You remember me from the art store?"
((Aaand Leoben is in play! Like Kara, he is completely AU from BSG. You can see his info for this universe in his profile.))Leoben Conoy, it was said, had an nose for information. No one ever knew how he knew what he knew, but he always did, he always saw, even the things that no one was meant to see. He saw more than he told anyone he did. But over the years, he had learned the value of information. How to use it as currency. How to make it do what he needed it to. He had learned when it would pay, and how. He had learned when to show his hand.He'd been brought in on a minor weapons charge, which was nothing new. It happened, when you sold weapons. But he was getting restless, handcuffed to a chair in Central Booking, and his lawyer didn't seem to be taking his calls. She would see the error of her ways soon enough, Leoben reflected. For now, it was time to earn his way out of here.He cast about the room, looking for something usable, when he heard a passing detective mutter something about a "frozen fatso." A-ha. Leoben smiled inwardly. God was good to him; He always showed him the way."Excuse me," Leoben said aloud, banging his cuff against the chair until someone looked up. "I'd like to talk to someone. It's about the freezing murders." A receptionist gave him a suspicious look, and he smiled blandly at her until she looked away. There was no need to show anything. Not yet.
Kara took a moment to take in the store. Wood floors, two stories, loft-like partisan where the painting supplies and larger canvases were kept. Exits stationed on the store front and in the small storage room in the back. Skimming her fingers across the counter-top, Kara eyed the arrangement of the art store with a critical eye. She'd have her back to the broad, store-front window, and that was entirely unacceptable. The store had a couple of cats, one orange one that had instantly taken a liking to her, and two calicoes that were more concerned with dozing in large patches of sunlight than paying attention to her. Dumping her shoulderbag on the floor behind the cash register, Kara prodded the register into life and leaned back against it, keeping her eyes towards the street. Traffic puttered by, and Kara exhaled slowly. New life. New apartment. New city. New job. New everything, really. New could be a little overwhelming though, and at that moment, Kara actually wanted nothing more than a corn dog from the corner store. The marmalade tabby curled around her ankles, and Kara stooped to pick him up, cradling him on her shoulder. She turned her head and moved the tag around his throat to read it. The tag read, 'Hudson.'"Who names a cat Hudson?" Kara requested of the cat, who promptly headbutted her cheek, purring loudly. Not that she expected an answer, but talking to a cat was better than having the oppressive silence of the store surrounding her. She looked around the store front, spotting a tape-player radio combination. Perfect. Maybe Chicago had a good classical music station.
Hey all!I just wanted to say that I know things have been super slow lately. Unfortunately, both mods got hit with unforeseen IRL complications at roughly the same time, and so we've both been away from our computers and our happy RP funtiems. We're really sorry for not being around much. Please bear with us a little bit.In the interest of getting things up to speed again, I was wondering if there'd be any interest in setting up a gamewide AIM or IRC chatroom? Maybe even an organized chat, to kick things off? It'd be great to chat with everyone OOC: it will give you guys a chance to give your input, us a chance to get to know you all better, and everyone a chance to talk to each other and maybe come up with some great ideas. Thoughts? --Rah
So, there was apparently an obesity-death epidemic in Chicago! One not directly caused by cheeseburgers, but instead by (in Stephanie’s opinion) prejudice. Someone was targeting overweight men, and freezing them to death!Steph was feeling close to the case, having found the body of the second victim, along with her temporary partner. And, like a good employee, she’d reported the body! Stephanie didn’t trust the police entirely, but she also wasn’t insane enough to actively hinder an investigation when she was technically in hiding.That didn’t mean she couldn’t run her own side investigation, though! Private Investigation was a perfectly legal and respectable profession.And thus, dressed respectably in a black hoodie and work-out pants, Steph sat camped out on the roof of Cryogenics INC, a local company specializing in the science of freezing dead people. The eventually plan was to wait until the building was mostly empty, and sneak in. Currently, however, Steph was killing time by singing “Copa Cabana” under her breath.“Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl. With...dadada in her hair and her dadadada...”She didn’t quite remember all of the words.((ooc: Steph is taken after the events of War Crimes, but before her return to Gotham. In this slightly AU version, Stephanie relocated to Chicago instead of Africa. This thread is open to anyone likely be to be chilling on roof tops of Cryogenics labs!))
((Turnbull is from Due South, before Call of the Wild, but at least after Mountie Sings the Blues.))Turnbull stood before the television, transfixed as the third end of the curling game came to a finish, leaving both teams tied. He gave a frustrated sigh and returned to dusting The Trudeau Room as commercials came on. Inspector Thatcher was out rubbing elbows with other international representatives in Chicago and Constable Fraser was off doing who-knew-what. That left the Constable to do whatever his personal devices allowed for, and right now, it was taking all the books and items from the shelves lining the walls and giving the place a thorough dusting. He’d forgone the apron today, and simply made certain that he didn’t soil his uniform while he removed unseemly dust-bunnies from corners that hadn’t seen a good dusting in far too long. With Constable Fraser around, there was usually enough activity to prevent Turnbull from tearing the place apart in a proper fashion.Admittedly, if it didn’t require so much paperwork and extra effort to explain one’s actions to the Inspector, Turnbull would have loved to go on one of Fraser’s many adventures. Chicago was an exciting place, but here he was, at the Canadian Consulate again, with little to do besides a daily report, and cleaning, cooking, or some other mundane activity.The curling game returned from commercials and immediately he paused, looking back to the television. The commentators were remarking about a previous day’s game that Turnbull had caught the prior evening during dinner. The game had ended in one of his favorite teams losing, and with a groan, he turned back to his shelf, humming one of his favorite Tracy Jenkins songs just loud enough to drown out the depressing replays.There was a knock at the door that was barely audible over his humming and the TV. Turnbull blinked in confusion, the sound taking a very brief moment to register, and then he set down his cleaning supplies, leaving the gloves on the current shelf, muting the TV and leaving the room. His hat sat on the welcome desk in the hallway, but he didn’t need it so long as the arrival at the door did not require him to leave the building. Quickly brushing his uniform and making sure he was spotless, he gave his brightest smile to the door that blocked his view of whoever was preventing him from watching his curling game, and then opened it; praying he hadn’t forgotten to unlock the door again, barring Constable Fraser from coming inside."Hello. Good afternoon and welcome to the Canadian Consulate."
((OOC: Myra is from the universe of The Shadow, and is from not long after the story of "The Invincible Shiwan Khan".))Having battled unsuccessfully with the computer system, Myra had relegated herself to doing things the ‘old fashioned way’, and was reviewing files at an unoccupied desk that she had temporarily claimed. She’d carefully placed the paper work on it off to one side neatly, knowing that she could be kicked off at any moment.At least she was dressed appropriately now. It had been almost embarrassing with the looks she received on her way to the nearest clothing store, still wearing the conservative dress of the 1930s. Her quick thinking had landed her a job in a small P.I. group, and she’d managed to rent out a small hole-in-the-wall apartment with the funds that had garnered.She couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before she made an inevitable slip-up though. She’d done her homework before brazenly walking into the precinct she’d been watching for nearly a week and requested access to certain files. Files that would allow her to hopefully find a way home before anyone began to suspect that she wasn’t exactly from around here.Reminiscing about her situation was all well and dandy, but she had work to do. Hunching over the borrowed desk, Myra returned to reading the files, keeping an eye out for the inevitable approach of its owner.
Welsh sat in his chair with a sigh. It was a long day. Or you know, a usual day. Being a cop isn't exactly a nine-to-five job. Especially with a Mountie at the station. You know how it is, your detective gets a case, Dead Mountie case, and in the interests of international cooperation, does his civic duty and gets himself blown up. And following this event, when, sensible guys would stay in the hospital and recover while his family worried about him, this particular detective gets himself an idea and goes up to the North pole or wherever and then gets himself in a tussle with fifty armed men and brings that Mountie back. Turns out that that Mountie has no hobbies or life. So he solves murder cases. Yeah, I know, we all do that, don't we? Though it's tough getting the deaf half wolf which is why we don't see so many in the station. Anyway, the Mountie was here to stay, even when the detective went blond, and turns out this is A Good Thing. And so Welsh ignores the odd 'who is this guy?' memo from Upstairs, remarks on the success rate whenever the Canadian Consulate comes up in meetings, listens patiently when Thatcher comes to talk about how he encourages Big Red, which usually turn into a sympathetic ear when they start talking about what They Did This Time. Thatcher was Good People, even if she's not at her best whenever Fraser's in the room. And he's not touching that one with a ten foot pole. Women in charge, tricky. He was secretly relieved (and gutted, but he wasn't going to talk about that either) when Captain O'Neil moved on.Of course, all this was before he had to worry about frozen guys popping up places.(OOC: He's just before Call of The Wild)
((OOC: Buffy is AU from mid-season three, after the killing of the Deputy Mayor))
Pencils scattered all over the floor as Officer Anne Winters set her files down on her desk too hastily, knocking over the pencil tin she used to hold them.
"Oh!" she said, wincing. "Oh...crud. Sorry, sorry..." She got down on her knees, trying to pick all the pencils up without getting in anyone's way, but seeing as her desk was near the main walkway, she got in pretty much everyone's way. "Sorry..."
She tried to gather her things up without actually tripping anyone, then sat down at her desk with a sigh, dumping her handfuls of pencils all over it.
Here she was, being a cop. Just like that stupid test said she would be. She hated to admit it, but she was kind of tailor-made for it, being the Slayer and all. Even if she had to wear the stupid uniform, and keep her hair in a stupid bun so she could put the stupid hat on. It wasn't that she hated the job, it was just that she hated her life.
It was kind of hard to ignore the fact that she'd come here to escape murder charges. Faith was always nervous that working for the cops was too much -- that someone'd see a Wanted sign or something, and catch them. But Buffy couldn't find anywhere else worthwhile to work, and at least being a cop blended easily with her job being the Slayer.
At least, the patrolling part did. The whole 'desk work' part totally bit.
She sighed and pulled the first folder off of the stack.
((Note: Ned is coming from before the events of Pushing Daisies.))Young Ned was six years, three months, eleven days, six hours and twelve minutes old when his parents first took him on vacation. He remembered little of the events themselves -- a long car ride, a bright blue sky, a shiny hotel with a big bed to bounce upon, a park with rides -- but what he did remember was the sight of his father and mother, alive and happy, smiling at each other, and down on him.It was some time after that that Ned's holidays, and the smiles, stopped for good; but twenty-three years, one month, and eight days later Ned, now the Piemaker, again found himself on vacation -- this time to Chicago, a city he'd been assured was "exciting and vibrant." The Piemaker preferred things that were not exciting, that were safe and comfortable, but he had to admit that after many lonely years in the same safe, comfortable town, it was perhaps time for a change.So it was that he packed up the Pie Hole, his beloved bakery, and found himself on the streets of an unfamiliar city thousands of miles away. Unfamiliar, at least, until he found the dead body in the alley. Which was, to the Piemaker, actually a very familiar sight indeed.He knelt by the body (portly, frozen, and very dead); glanced around to make sure no one was watching; and then touched him, just once."Mmmmf," said the dead man."Oh, no." Ned winced. "Your mouth's frozen shut. Um. Can you try to tell me who killed you?""Mmfmmm-mmm-mmmmmmm," said the dead man, which wasn't much help at all. Ned glanced at his watch with a sigh. Two days, five hours, and ten minutes into his vacation, and he only had 42 seconds left to solve a murder. And he couldn't say he was surprised -- but he was when he realized they weren't alone.
11:00 a.m. on a Wednesday is the single worst time in the world to be working, in a Ray Kowalski's (but shh, it's Vecchio for now, 'cause Ray looks 100% Italian) opinion. It's the exact middle of the week. Noon doesn't count. Noon's lunchtime, noon's downhill. Yeah, the week has sucked, but all you have to do is get through the rest of today plus Thursday and Friday. After noon, you're planning your weekend. Before noon, you're hungry and staring at the clock.It's 11:00 a.m. Ray's hungry, staring at the clock, and has absolutely nothing to do.Which in Ray speak means he has some paperwork to fill out, some contacts to update, and a cold case file to take a look at. But those things can all wait until A) never or B) his partner arrives. Fraser's better with cold cases -- heck, the guy used to take snow baths!((ooc: Hey there! Ray Kowalski, nee Vecchio, comes from Due South canon. I am pulling him from after the events of "Hunting Season", but before "Call of the Wild".
Welcome to The 27th Precinct, where fighting crime and fighting vampires may well go hand-in-hand, and the letter of the day is always "h" for hijinks. This is your friendly co-mods Molly and Rah speaking, and we are psyched to have you here (or, if you're just looking around, then we hope you'll join us)! Please take a moment to refresh yourself on the rules and FAQ, leave a note on the contact post, and then dive on in, write yourself an arrival post, and enjoy our little sandbox. We've got some awesome stuff lined up, and we only hope you're as excited about it as we are.Signed,Your Mod Team