Seeing as there wasn't exactly a lot to do today, the new job at the club was definitely an improvement over the theatre with regards to her hours and pay, so she had time to kill. Though, there was time and she still had half a piece of cherry pie on the plate in front of her.

Slowly taking every moment to savor what she could, the flavors muted as with nearly every other sensation. She was still determined to get all the joy she could out of everything. And bigger tastes definitely were a start. Washing it down with her too strong, too sweet tea she was ready to go.

Back out into the cold, she almost pretended to shiver but thought better of it. Shakespeare may have said that all the world is a stage but she didn't need to be a constant actor. Truthfully the brisk air felt great against her cool skin. The grey skies almost made her seem to have some color and nobody was around to harass her for spare change. All in all it was quite lovely.

Soon she was on her way to see Kraven the Hunter. What kind of man would hunt a dragon? And could he help her?

The rhythmic tapping of the long cane against the sidewalk was usually what caught the attention of other pedestrians first. The dark glasses that covered her eyes confirmed it. But even then, the people of Hell's Kitchen often looked twice at the blind young red-haired woman walking alone in such a dangerous neighborhood. If often took five or six encounters before her presence became normal, and even then she still drew notice. And given how often Mary was seen on the streets, many felt like they almost knew her even if they had never spoken to her.

The entrance to Grace Investigations was marked by more than a sign; a textured rubber mat was placed in front, something that would be immediately obvious to anyone using a cane to navigate. Technically Mary didn't need it, but she had to keep up appearances. So as she came in contact with it she slowed, turned, and entered the building. The office itself was three rooms: a reception area, an office and a bathroom. It had once been a small apartment, and either Mary or Karen could crash there if needed.

After removing her trench coat and hanging it on the post near the door, Mary moved to a small table at the side of the reception room where an electric burner was used to boil water. Though Mary was supposed to be the assistant in this place, Karen typically arrived at the office earlier than she did and boiled the first kettle of water. And it was a good thing too because Mary was having more and more long nights, which was making this first cup of tea in the morning more and more important. For not the first time she wished her sense of taste wasn't so acute, since maybe then she could tolerate coffee, but as it was she had trouble with anymore more potent than green tea. There was less caffeine, but mornings were usually slow enough that she had time for a few cups.

When you’re relaxed with a cup of coffee in you, and the radio’s not on, your senses can pick up every sound around the building and form shapes in your mind with them. You hear the kid on the corner selling papers. You hear commuters pounding the pavement. You can hear the secretaries typing away on other floors. You even feel the far off tremors of whatever the heck they’re doing in the Baxter Building. You sense the stairway door downstairs open and close by itself. Odd. Must be he wind? It happens again a few minutes later.

But with the distinct sound like a ripping of fabric and an unfurling of a cloak, you suddenly hear two heartbeats outside your office.

They sound like teenagers. They whisper in low tones. They sound desperate.

“Are you sure we can trust her, Tandy?” Young male, African descent.

“We have no choice.” Young female, dancer’s build. Judging from her diction she also went to finishing school.

These two are from as far different walks of life as you can possibly get. In this day and age he’d put his life in his hands just walking down the street with her. Yet they sound like they’d die for each other, or die together for a higher purpose.

He looks away respectfully as she carefully slides a dagger into her garter.

“I’m ready. Wish me luck.” She knocks on the door.

Mary was already taking a step towards the door when the young woman knocked, so she made herself slow her pace just a bit. But it wasn't a large room, and a moment later she was pushing the door open.

"Welcome to Grace Investigations." she said warmly, her facing just a little offset from the young woman, looking just over the teenager's left shoulder. "How can I help you?"

Outside the door, the young man's heartbeat vanishes.

"You must be Miss Murdock? My name's Tandy. Tandy Bowen. My friend and I are..."

*her heartbeat quickens as she sighs in frustration* "Oh where do I even start? May I sit down?"

This thread is now split into the Chestnut Tree Cafe and Office of Grace Investigations.

After some time she remembered she should wear her coat. At least she had somewhere to be and something to do. Though, a part of her wondered if others would be there. Would anyone believe in dragons. There were strange things in this world. Rumors. She thought of a few, the Devil around, the strange happenings with that Richards group, the spider menace. She believed only a bit of what she read, but she certainly believed in the other. And maybe, just maybe, his was a world with dragons and other creatures of legend...or at least someone that can turn into a dragon. All she got was eternal resurrection.

Soon she was on a train, though, headed to a stop. One, two, three, a subtle push with her shoulders when a man got a bit too handsy, he would be bruised but she didn't break anything. She was getting better about dealing with her strength, at least she she was in control of herself. Those moments she wasn't, well, they were horrible. They haunted her almost as much as the nightly visions. Her rage, her desire for destruction. In an instant she wasn't even remotely human.

Shaking off the thought as she came to her stop. Throngs of people pushing through even at this hour, it was as though not even the late morning provided a respite in rapid pulse of this city. One with so much death. A turn, another turn, a third turn and she saw the street. Then the numbers were getting smaller and soon she was there.

 Since leaving the Bugle for his new assignment Peter had done his best to make haste to get the interview with this Kraven fellow. Of course his best paled in comparison to when he felt a pang of hunger along the way which led him to one of his favorite cafes. He frequented the place enough the employees knew his order before he could even voice it and in no time he was out the door with his breakfast including a cup of coffee. This dragon was likely to be nothing but a waste of time so he was not going to get too hung up about wasting time. Well at least not for the moment since his stomach was thankful for his slip in dedication to the newspaper.

By the time he reached the train he was done with his food and down to a dreg of coffee, which was quickly finished before he tossed it into the nearby trash can. He joined the other passengers and tried to give anyone the room they needed to be comfortable. Of course with there being nothing to do to pass the time except to wait and try to ignore the people around him. The latter proved to be difficult when he caught sight of a man getting more than a little grabby with a lady. It sparked a volatile reaction in him but it died down almost instantly when the lady took care of the pervert with ease to the point he almost felt bad for the guy. God help anyone else who tries to pressure her he thought to himself.

Besides the display of justice on the train nothing else exciting happened as stop after stop was made. Eventually his came up and he stepped out of the train and continued on his way. Interestingly enough it also turned out to be the lady’s stop when he noted she was walking a little bit ahead of him. Even in the crowd it was difficult not to find her but some people just had that going for them whereas others like him could be ignored even if there was no one else around. He continued on his way and the lady was still ahead of him. It was easy to chalk this up to coincidence but with each turn they stayed the same course until it became evident their destination was the same.

He could not help but wonder if she worked for one of the other papers but assumed that was not the case since she did not appear to have a camera on her. An interview was all well and good but it did not mean a thing if there was no photo to accompany it. Was she a dragon enthusiast or someone who was simply intrigued by the possibility? He supposed it did not matter though he hoped she did not think he was some sort of stalker since by appearance he was following her. It was probably better to say something before any assumption could be made.

“Looks like word of this dragon is spreading,” he said once he was close enough that he did not have to speak too loudly. “What’s your initial take from this? A scam or is there an actual living myth here in New York?” There was a pause when he realized he failed to introduce himself and instead went straight to reporter mode. “Sorry, I must’ve left  my manners elsewhere. Peter Parker, reporter for the Bugle.”

Siobhan looked over the man, he was fairly average but seemed to have a strength to him that wasn't always common. She would have to see if that was really the case if they spent more time together. Though, usually people in this city merely passed the time before moving to something else.

The woman seemed far too comfortable for a random man to be there. She barely reacted, it wasn't as though any humans were a threat to her. they might kill her but she would just wake up the next day...again.

No, she just looked at him with her warm eyes, actress and all that, "I saw a flier at a cafe. It's something to kill some time and who knows, maybe it is real. But there are plenty of real myths. This may be one or it may be a hoax. Either way it has added to an otherwise banal day." This was clearly an educated woman, but her accent still showed her Irish upbringing. She could hide it but didn't when she was just able to be herself. I'm Siobhan Mohan. She didn't mention careers though many women had none. Better to let him think less...or more..of her.

“A pleasure Miss Mohan,” Peter replied with a nod to Siobhan. He took her words at face value though there was something about her that felt off to him. It was nothing negative but there was an air she gave off which triggered a sense he had relied on far more times than he could count. Granted it did not always steer him in the right direction and was nowhere near as reliable as another sense he gained not too long ago. No, this was his sense or nose to smell a story and he got the feeling she had one worth telling.

After all, she was a beautiful woman with a voice that could make most people weak in the knees and also knew how to knock a man flat on his ass. Not exactly the norm here in New York City and this was coming from a guy who could walk on walls. Now this was not the sort of topic to broach especially when they were both strangers to one another but he made a mental note to broach the topic later if he happened to see again after this.

“Looks like their advertising is working then,” he remarked and pulled one of the fliers out from his jacket pocket.  “I’m here to try to get an interview with the gentleman behind this attraction. Other than him I’m hoping to get statements from some of the audience members in attendance. Would you care to give one after we see this dragon?”

"There is little in this world that advertising cannot make sound far more interesting that it is. Though, that is not too difficult when one is talking about a dragon. Imagine a world where such things truly exist. I've been reading about all the strange happenings. It is fascinating." She was truly hopeful. And, if it was a dragon maybe she could glean something from the creature even if it was dead.

"And, of course. As they say, all press is good press. For now, hic sunt dracones," A degree in classics and literature prepared a woman for many important parts of life including quoting sixteenth century maps and being able to translate a Catholic mass. It was less useful for just about everything else.

“Take it from a journalist, don’t believe everything you read especially the stories floating around here. A lot of reporters are leaving their integrity behind in favor of selling papers. Even if there’s a dragon here it still wouldn’t be enough for some and they’d embellish the story in a heartbeat.” Peter shrugged, his tone did not convey he was appalled or the least upset about what he said. Instead it sounded like he was simply stating a fact and to him he was given what he had seen from others with the same profession as his own.

“Thankfully I have people I interview like you to keep me honest. I don’t want to print a false article with your name in it then have you breathing down my neck. Even if all press is good press.” Again he thought of what she did to the man on the train but refrained from actually mentioning it to her. “Out of curiosity though which of the stories caught your eye? The one about the monster rampaging through the streets? The so called Devil?”

"Even a nugget of truth in many of the stories would still be fantastical. Though, I do know that Osborne, Hearst and the like care as much about selling papers as they do the truth." there was a time she might have thought better of people but that time had passed.

"I was meaning more for me. My name in the paper is good for business. Though, I guess you don't read the entertainment section too often." There was so much news nobody could really keep up. And her move from Broadway to a solo act was not exactly breaking outside of a specific group. "Oh, I'd say all of them. The grey monster, the Spider, the devil, the Richards rumors. What do you think of them all?"

“Where Osborne is I don’t think it matters much what cares about," Peter replied in a slightly more dour tone. The Goblin was responsible for a lot of his life going to hell and the fact the mobster was now rotting away behind bars did little to heal his wounds. In fact hearing the name just added salt to them and he once more wondered if he should have killed him that night. Mercy felt inappropriate now since all he could do was pat his own back for taking the higher road. It did not bring him any satisfaction so it was not as if taking revenge could make him feel any worse.

“I got what you meant but I’ll admit I didn’t recognize your name. I barely have the time to proofread my own stories let alone read anyone else’s, and as you can see I don’t get to cover entertainment unless it involves the strange like a dragon.” He sounded apologetic about not knowing who she was but that was how he was with most nowadays. Ever since that day he had been preoccupied with… Other matters and that left little time for anything else. “I know the guy who usually covers those pieces. I can give you his card, like you said good press and all.”

When she asked his opinion about them all he once again shrugged, his opinion on at least one of them was different from most even if he did not share it. “If any of them are actually real. The monster is going to get a lot of people killed at this rate, the Spider is causing more problems than fixing them, same for the Devil and Richards… Well, that’s what happens when a man has more money and free time than most.” He left it at that before he they finally reached the entrance to the exhibit.

Unfortunately they ran into a bit of a snag when they were denied entry with even Peter’s press badge doing nothing to sway the guards. To him the reason for this was Kraven did not want word about this being a hoax to spread too soon or else he would make no money off this so called dragon. It did not matter if he could not get inside at this moment since there was always tonight. Guards and the like could do little to stop him especially with his gifts along with the anonymity the mask provided.

“A wastes of both our mornings but there’s always next time” he said, his eyes still on the exhibit before he finally looked back to Siobhan. “Miss Mohan, what do you say we continue our conversation elsewhere? I can’t go back to the Bugle without that story or my boss will have my hide but I wouldn’t mind getting out of this cold.”

"Of course, I just remember hearing about his...nevermind."<gray> It was clearly a sore subject, something a bit more personal. That was interesting.

<gray>"I'm headlining at the Fenris now. I just finished a show on Broadway. Honestly, I'm doing well enough that I get that sort of press. It's the sort that ends up in different parts of the paper than can only help." She was pragmatic, after all.

She was frustrated when he went up before her and was turned away. "Yes, next time. I don't understand why they advertise without having an open viewing. But...and it's Siobhan. No need for formalities, I have never been a fan as they create arbitrary barriers. There is this pub not far, they should be open and have a decent lunch. Not the best, but pretty good." She didn't mention that the cold didn't feel and that she didn't need to eat. And, at least she didn't slam her foot down in frustration when he mentioned they couldn't get in. Thank, well, she didn't believe in much any more so thank Siobhan for resisting the urge to get angry.

Peter felt thankful the topic of Norman Osborne was dropped quicker than a body off the Brooklyn Bridge. It was an issue he did not feel like continuing even more so with someone he only met a few minutes ago. It might have been therapeutic to actually vent a little about the ordeal but it was not as if he had been making the wisest decisions as of late.

“The Fenris?” He blew a low whistle before he continued to speak. “Now I feel even guiltier for not knowing who you are. You’ve got to be something special to be headlining there. Still, never hurts to have too much publicity, so if you ever want to give a one on one interview consider doing so with the Bugle.” While the entertainment stories were not his department he could at least try to get her to consider the paper he worked for over the others. Jameson would likely not throw any money his way for setting it up but not everything had to be about the money.

When they were turned away he got the feeling Siobhan was even more disappointed than he was. He corrected himself at the realization she was actually upset. By now he was accustomed to being turned away but this was how sometimes the cards were dealt. “Maybe they haven’t finished inflating the balloon that’s the dragon. That or they want to draw in crowds before any of the press can expose this place for what it is.” Obviously he was leaning towards this whole scenario to be nothing but a load of bull, but he would have to wait until later this evening to determine if his assumption is correct.

“Sorry, the formalities come natural after all the interviews and statements I’ve taken since becoming a journalist. It won’t happen again” he said, this time with a bit of a smile on his face. “Lunch sounds fine to me and maybe we can try again later.”

"I'm just a girl who can sing. And worked her ass off to get where she is. You know they talk about overnight sensations, they've all worked a decade to become an immediate success. Interviews, though, seem crass. Something like this is fine but I don't want to talk about my singing." She felt that there were some lines that kept her from being who her talent could make her be. It could also distract her from her mission. Her goal. Their painful deaths.

With a deep sigh after watching him return, Siobhan wanted to go forth. Yet, she couldn't, at least she shouldn't. "I hope it's at least a dinosaur. Something too fake wouldn't be worth the time. <gray>"Do you believe in any of it? The preternatural? The not quite human? Dragons? They are all related and new if they are at all."

She didn't mind the formalities for a bit but appreciated he would change. Mohan wasn't even their family name even if she used it. Changed at immigration like so many others. "Yes, later," she said as she moved toward an open place for food and a drink. Of course that meant going to the back room, but she knew the people and the place so it shouldn't be an issue.

“Your choice there,” he replied in a neutral tone when she voiced her opinions on interviews. Some might have taken her remark as a slight against his profession but to him it did not register as such. That was not to say he was unaccustomed to such behavior since a lot of people looked at reporters with some disdain due to how a lot of them hounded people for a story. Truthfully he was in the same league though he was open to breaking the law if an article could be gained. Even now he was considering doing just that if he was turned away this evening from seeing the attraction Kravn was advertising.

When she asked him if he believed in the extraordinary he held up his hands. “If any of those things exists I don’t think they would be in a place like this” he gestured back to where the exhibit was being held. “Look at the behemoth that’s giving SHIELD a headache. Definitely not the norm there but this dragon… If it’s real it makes me wonder how Kraven got a hold of it and why there’s this funny advertising ploy.”

These were questions he would get answers to in due time but for now all he could was wait. “So, and this is simply for my own curiosity and not an interview. When did you first start singing professionally?” He paused to let her answer before his next question came as they walked towards their next destination. “And when did the fascination with the supernatural first take hold?” In his opinion she seemed far more into this than him though seeing the dragon was only being done because his boss told him to. With Siobhan this was not a passing fancy of someone who found a flier and had nothing better to do. This intrigued him and once his curiosity was piqued there was little one could do to distract him from it.

"I'm not going to discount anything just because of where it is. But, you are definitely right about a dragon seeming far fetched. Still, it's a bit magical to think of the possibilities even if they eventually disappoint." She did care if things were real, every new discovery may lead to something. And, if there was a dead dragon maybe she could contact the spirit. Were they sentient? Were they ancient? Were they something else entirely?

She led the way, not certain she could answer the second question. "I started a few years ago after I finished college. First it was the chorus then I was an understudy but the lead got very ill. I took over and it went from there. The show ended a few weeks ago and last week I was approached by someone at the Fenris. I'm really excited about it, I mean I get to sing what I want four nights a week. More time off, less rehearsal and better money." She had a feeling there was something more to it, perhaps someone knew something, but it was too good an opportunity to worry about that.

"Oh, we're here. So, Deli or the Drum?" It was a time when there wouldn't likely be anyone, "I think the story about my interest in the supernatural is better told over a drink." How did one easily say that their death led to an interest. And should she tell him? It wasn't as though anyone would believe her. Not really.

“Skepticism is a trait most reporters possess since there’s usually more to a story than what it appears to be though the possibilities we tend to think of are not on the magical side. Just like with this dragon, I’m wonder if it is real how Kraven managed to get it into the city without any official knowing about it.” Peter held up his index finger as he began to list off the potential scenarios then the next as he continued to count off. “That means palms could have been greased, he did something else illegal to get it here or the fire breathing lizard is nothing but a fake.”

He listened to Siobhan as she explained how she began her musical career. “Sounds like you landed a pretty swell gig there. I’ve heard of Fenris but I’ve never had the chance to go.” That was a lie, he could have gone to a lot of places but he always spent his time on matters he deemed more important. Then again he was not so sure who else would pick swinging around the city in a mask over going to a club. The last time he set foot in anywhere for fun was well before the statue broke. It was almost like the night it broke so did the first crack in his life formed until there was not much left to shatter around him.

They arrived at their destination and when she asked him for his preference he truly did not have one. “Lady’s choice,” he said then waited for her to make a decision before he started speaking again. “I think I can hold out until we have those drinks. In the meantime, your sets at Fenris. Do you sing any original pieces?”

"Or it's just a very small dragon." Siobhan giggled a little as she made kitten sized gestures with her hands. The thought of a teeny dragon certainly tickled her fancy more than a little bit.

"Luck and talent, I guess. But you should come some night. Wednesday through Saturday nights." She didn't get to clubs too often, either. Between the shows and rehearsals and the fact that Mondays were her only days off. She did know a dozen or so speakeasies, though, scattered through the city.

Siobhan waved, "Shane, good to see you. Is Michael downstairs," this was definitely Irish owned and there were plenty of connections. Her family didn't have any but she knew plenty in the neighborhood who were. Not this one but her own. With a nod from him, he was occupied with a meat slicer at the moment, she led the way downstairs. There were two older men, one in his 50s behind a small bar, another in his 70s sipping something from a short glass.

"Nothing original, not yet. I've written some lyrics but I am no composer. Maybe I'll find someone to work with." She gestured to the man behind the bar for a couple of drinks and took a seat at a small table. "Your turn, why journalism?"

“Oh good, then we’ll have to deal with its mother when she comes looking for her baby,” Peter replied by joining in on the joke.  The thought of a dragon attacking the city was preposterous but he could see the headline in the Bugle if it did. Jameson would have a field day with that since he would likely blame as many people the editor disliked for being at fault.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he said though it was likely another lie. Every night there was something else that required his attention or rather the Spider-Man’s and it was hard to ignore those even if it was taking a heavy toll on him. He barely kept his head above water as is with balancing his self-imposed duties at night and his job at the paper. A small part of him reminded him he needed to change but a larger portion asked how and the rest of him did not have an answer.

He gave a nod to the gentleman, Michael before he followed his new acquaintance down the stairs. It was common courtesy after all and he did the same to the men in the next room as he walked to join Siobhan at the table. Now that they were inside and away from the bitter cold outside he could take off his jacket. The scarf and hat he wore soon followed with the gloves being the final pieces of clothing he removed. On his left hand was a simple looking ring that was his wedding band. It was not something he thought he should have to wear but Gwen insisted on it. Now the thought of taking it off spawned a mix of emotions that he could not even begin to process.

“If that’s what you want to do then I’m sure you’ll find a composer,” he said then arched a brow at her question. It was only fair he talk about his own career since he had been asking her a few questions. Honestly it was a bit surprising to him she would even ask. “It’s something I grew up with. My uncle was a reporter and as a kid I was fascinated by his stories. He told me once a reporter’s obligation was to the truth, not the law or anything else. People needed to be informed or else how could they make decisions.” He chuckled at his own words, for being the kid who actually looked up to Ben at one point. “Now I’m the guy chasing after so called dragons or writing about someone who goes by the Devil. Not exactly what I thought would be in the job description.”

To the very observant Siobhan didn't seem to have any of the normal responses people do when they come in from the cold. No sign of relief, no sense of everything being better like the warmth was the hug of a mother on a bad day. Nothing. She just moved from the freezing to the warmth like she was moving from one room to another. She did, however, remember to remove her jacket once they were downstairs.

Siobhan noticed the ring, so he was married. Not that she had been interested anyway, she tended to collect friends, though. Friends were good. And then there was whiskey, Irish, rocks. The Italians smuggled in wine, the Irish got Jameson and Bushmill from Canada on top of the less savory bathtub gins and moonshine. She spent the money for something real, though. It was a taste of the home she never knew.

"I always liked the phrase quis custodiet ipsos custodes. I would like some truth as well. Say, if I tell you my story about the supernatural will you consider helping me find a truth of my own. It involves the mob, so it is at least somewhat better than dragons of the Devil."

Any thoughts of alcohol or the like were forgotten the moment Siobhan spoke. It had nothing to do with the quote from the old satire, that sort of quandary did not interest in him in the slightest. Someone once told him if people stopped being sheep then there was no one for the wolves to prey on. It was a topic that he found boring because in the end there was no real answer or at least not one he would ever find acceptable.

No, the lady sitting across from him had his attention about her own story, the one that apparently involved his earlier question. The supernatural could not hold his curiosity but when she brought up the mob that was a whole matter entirely. The hunch he had about her might just prove to be true, which he was not sure was a good thing when it had landed him in hot water before.

“It depends on the mob, ever since the Spider locked up Osborn there’s been a power vacuum here in New York. More than a few crime organizations have been making moves to fill that vacancy and it’s not been pretty for anyone involved or in the way.” He tapped his finder on the table, his eyes locked on Siobhan’s for any hint that she was not simply leading him on. The journalist must have found something because the tapping stopped and he leaned back a little more comfortably in his chair. “I guess that doesn’t matter though so please tell me this story of yours. Fair warning, this might bring out the formalities from me again.”
This message was last edited by the player at 22:28, Sat 19 Jan 2019.

Siobhan figured nobody would believe him if this were published so why not? "I'm quite aware of the power vacuum, at least I am now. Three months ago I wouldn't have known anything about it. I was a struggling actress with a BA in Literature and Classics. Over educated but certainly not world wise. Then I was going to be the star, from understudy in the chorus to front of the stage so we did what anyone would do, we went to celebrate. It was a lovely night, the three of us. Lily, Jessica and me." Before she started talking her eyes were cold, no emotion. But anger and regret and guilt all rolled over her as the words came out of her mouth. We were going from one club to another when there was a car, a tommy gun, a spray of bullets."</gray> She stopped, tossing back her drink and asking for another, a double, with a gesture. It took more than a few moments for her to gain her composure.

However, through all of it she didn't sigh like most would, she never seemed to struggle with breathing as though she only did it when she needed to speak. Most of the time she faked it quite well, extremes still were difficult. She could act but she couldn't recreate all the autonomic responses she needed to truly seem right.

Once her new drink had arrived and was half gone she continued. "The target was an Anthony Giovanni, turns out he was taking territory and someone didn't like it. I don't know who, though. Nobody has claimed it yet since three groups moved in. That is the mystery. The worst part, Lily, Jessica and I...we were caught in the crossfire. Riddled with bullets. So, if you want to know my interest it started the night I died." She sat back and watched for his response.