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Post by ELIJAH CARPENTER on Nov 2, 2010 13:22:33 GMT -8
Quiet, calm and collected, Elijah stepped into the inn/tavern/bar, and ordered a double of whiskey. Just as collected as before, he crossed the room and found a seat where he could read and be undisturbed. Having just come in from a "job", Elijah felt that he had earned the right to a much needed drink, and relaxation period. He brushed back the blonde hair from his eyes, it was so irritating when it was damp, because it felt the need not to comform to the obvious orders that the gel Elijah had run through it lightly were telling it. Within a little while, however, his hair would dry and wouldn't bother him anymore.
Elijah became immersed in his book and entirely forgot that he was in a public place, until he heard someone coughing. Looking up in casual interest, Elijah realized he had spent the culmative of most of his day in this little place, continually signalling for more drinks. His stomach gave an angry lurch, and he assumed that it may as well be time for supper, as well. He called for the waiter, and while waiting for his dinner, took to people watching, noting a certain couple over in the corner.
The male seemed to have this twitch in his foot. he surmised it was from some sort of injury to the man's leg, but took no further thought to it, aside from the fact that it might be a good development on Olaf, an old man he had pretended to be for a solid week, in attempt to make a kill. More often than not, it was hard to find the right occasion to do it, so jobs were always changing in length and dedication.
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Post by PANDORA LEWIS on Nov 4, 2010 16:03:19 GMT -8
When in need of peace and quiet, Pandora often came to The Tumble and Weed. It was conveniently located in the middle of nowhere, away from potential distractions, and the food wasn't as bad as one would expect from a frequently deserted inn. That day, Pandora had dutifully woken up earlier than she would have liked, grabbed a pen and notebook after having got ready, and then proceeded to ride her old, rusty bicycle all the way to the barren lands. One hour and forty-seven minutes later, Pandora was barging into the inn, her bike not-so-safely locked and parked by one of the building's walls.
She sat down at a table, blinking owlishly - the deficient lighting of the place wasn't doing much for her ever-present sleepiness -, and removed her writing supplies from a worn leather bag with slow, lazy movements. Being somewhat of a regular, or as regular as one could be when the journey to and fro took about four hours, Pandora had earned the right to have a steaming cup of black tea and milk placed on her table within two minutes of her arrival. She ignored the drink for some time, busy with the introduction to her article on the mysterious disappearances of pets. Ink flowed from the pen and stained the yellowy paper with blue as Pandora scribbled on, her handwriting barely readable. That was something she didn't care about, as she always delivered typed articles to her employers; her second-hand typewriter had been an expensive but wonderful addition to her meager possessions.
Before long, Pandora seemed to remember her tea was still sitting on the table, and she made for it with furious thirst. Being in such a hurry to drink it had its consequences, which, in this case, consisted of a scalded tongue and liquid flowing down the wrong pipe. Pandora hacked and coughed right away, somehow mustering the skills to set the cup on the table without spilling much of its content in the process, and pulled the chair away from the table so she could double over and cough better. Within seconds her exhaling was back to normal, although the tears that had welled up at the corner of her eyes said Pandora was not ready for another one.
As she was pulling her chair back to its previous spot, closer to the table, a forceful contact between her knee and one of the table's legs caused her pen to roll over and fall down onto the floor, not losing its rotating momentum when it met the wooden floorboards. It kept rolling and rolling until it hit the leg of another customer's chair, at which point Pandora stopped watching the pen with strange interest and got up to pick it up. She crossed the distance between tables with a half a dozen steps, and cleared her throat to signal her presence. The man at the table appeared to be distracted enough that he would not notice her there if she didn't announce it somehow.
"Sorry, may I...?" Pandora asked, looking at the blond man through sleepy half-lidded eyes, her left index finger pointed downwards at the offending pen. |
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Post by ELIJAH CARPENTER on Nov 5, 2010 19:44:23 GMT -8
Blinking simply, Elijah turned to face the new person before him. She was a tired-looking girl, with a willowy frame and bright blonde hair. He looked down to where she was guesturing. He breathed out easily, his face settling into a smile "Please, allow me." He bent forward, and scooped up the pen with ease, holding it out to the quiet girl with the sleepy look. He had seen her around before. At the scenes of his crimes, and various other places, trying to collect a story. He could see it in her face that she would appear much too bland for most people to worry about telling her too much-- she seemed as if she'd forget it all in just a few seconds.
Elijah knew differently. Just because someone seemed a way, acted a way, or had a tendancy to be a way didn't ever mean that they were inequitably that way. He would watch his mouth around her, and very carefully. He couldn't afford to have anything tumbling out, and him getting arrested. That just wouldn't do. Who would do all the friendly little visits he tended to? Certainly not Ralph. Elijah cast his mind back a bit, to think of the simpering fool that Ralph was. No no, no, that certainly wouldn't do. He had to be cautious.
"What is it that you're working on, my dear?" he said friendly, resting his book on the table, and casually resting his hand around his cup. "You appeared to be very busy before you began coughing-- it's the only reason I ask. Ignored your tea for quite the long time. It was tea, correct? Or coffee, although you don't seem the strong coffee sort."
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Post by PANDORA LEWIS on Nov 6, 2010 5:35:27 GMT -8
It was customary for Pandora to smile back when smiled at, even if she didn't mean it. So many things could be hidden behind a smile, but the majority of people seemed to take them at face value, which was not a wise thing to do. Just because someone acted friendly, it didn't necessarily follow their intentions were just as good. And yet, smiles seemed to put people at ease, which was an invaluable skill when collecting information on shadier subjects. Thus, it was without effort that Pandora's lips curved upwards, making her eyes crinkle so much they almost disappeared.
"Thank you very much," she said quietly, taking the pen from the man's hand. Now that she had got a good look at his face, her brain had branded him as a familiar character; Pandora didn't know who the man was or what he did - a grave mistake, considering her profession - but she had seen him around a number of times. Part of the scenery, even. Well, she would have to do some snooping. Perhaps a casual interview was in order, since he seemed to be in a talkative mood.
Her hold on the pen was lax, and Pandora let out a tiny stream of giggles, which were rudely interrupted by a yawn. "Excuse me," she said apologetically, covering her mouth with her free hand. "Ah... working...?" There was a slight cluelessness in her voice, as though she was caught by surprise, and Pandora turned her head to look longingly at her tea and notebook, sitting there all alone on her table. Then it hit her than this man knew she was a journalist. Interesting. "Ah, it's just a little article on missing pets. More and more are disappearing every day, but nobody seems to know why," she told him in a strangely professional tone. "I've got a few ideas, but..." Pandora trailed off, hoping to lead the blond man on. "And yes, it was tea," she confirmed with a chuckle. "Coffee and my stomach don't see eye to eye." Sleepy violet eyes gazed down at the cup, trying to discern what the man was drinking. Nope, her deductive powers didn't allow for such wild guessing.
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Post by ELIJAH CARPENTER on Nov 9, 2010 10:48:55 GMT -8
Elijah grinned slightly, his muscles felt strange forming the carefree movement "Well, everyone has their own little problems. Mine is enjoying a fine malt whiskey perhaps too often, and yours would appear to be an aversion to coffee." He winked, and settled back into his chair. Even slouching like this felt strange... even stranger than grinning. He wondered if perhaps relaxing in areas that weren't just his couch, or his bed should probably start happening, but he ignored the internal monologue, in lieu of some news from the journalist woman.
"Missing pets? Oh, domage! Whatever is the problem with people these days." Elijah's french was equisit, and rolled off the tongue like melted butter. "What do you think is happening to those poor things?" he asked, falsifying shock. Although he hadn't heard about any current gangs of people going around with the intent of stealing people's pets, the problem didn't reall concern him. His "pets" didn't expand past the collection of porcelin cats he occassionally found or bought. PLus, they were kept in a locked cabinet, without any chance of anybody even getting in there, let alone near the cats. On top of this, who would want a collection of porcelein cats, aside from himself?
"Please! Assietez-vous! Sit! Come and talk with me, tell me about these disappearing pets." Elijah said. "I could use some company, ma belle". Elijah didn't actually like sitting with people. Especially women who were so.... well... obviously women. But this was beside the point. Elijah swallowed his annoyance and pretended that he was a normal, straight man who would be delighted to have the company of the young woman before him. How could he pass up the opertunity for some juicy tidbits?
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