It was a late night at The Thursday Murder Club, a small private investigation agency located in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. The sounds and smells of gentrification floated in through a half-open window in a side office as Juste busied herself filing paperwork and doing other busy work she had been assigned.

The smells coming from the Starbucks next door, the sounds of patrons visiting the sweet greens across the street, and the foot traffic of the Sephora customers nearby marched on like the ticking of an old clock, grounding the P.I. apprentice firmly in the city. This was her home; this was her safe space.

Unfortunately, this was also very boring.

All the fully licensed investigators were currently out: some were pursuing case work, some were tracking down new clients, some were consulting with legal teams, and some-- Juste suspected-- were just avoiding doing any work. They had left Juste with the run of the place and a sticky note of numbers to call in case there was an emergency. Naturally, Juste had invited a friend.

Just outside the office Juste was in sat Linda May, the ex-gang banger from across the river in Jersey. Linda had met her friend here with the expectation that they would soon be heading to dinner together. Glancing at a dull black and white clock on the wall above the front door, Linda can see she has been waiting about two-and-a-half hours now. It was well past 6 p.m. and she was getting very hungry.

Just as Linda thought she may not be able to take it anymore, the door opens, ringing a small brass bell as it does and a woman enters. The woman was petite, a small frame that at first glance presumed a much younger woman than what a closer look would betray. She wore simple clothes and armed herself in a second-hand overcoat against the chilly New York Autumn evening. Her dirty blonde hair did its best to cover her face but the black eye was still easy to see.

"H-hello?" She inquired, gaze falling on Linda at first, "I was hoping to speak with someone?"

Linda May, new to the PI world, wonders if lighting a smoke would enhance the experience for the woman, but simply archs an eyebrow.

"If speaking to someone was your hope, then it has just been fulfilled", she remarks drily. "Feel free to speak some more. I'm Linda, the listener."

"Linda, it's a client.  Don't mind her ma'am, we're just running a little late for dinner and closing up," Juste leans over to look out the small side office door and at the client, "do you have an appointment with a particular investigator, are you new to our services?"

Linda, cast in the role of the idiot by Juste's remark, looks like she wants to say something, but then doesn't. Instead, like a circus announcer, she looks at the client and with a grand gesture points her to her mentor.

She pops in a gum, and watches the scene unfold, chewing unabashedly.

The woman looks a little put out by Linda's comment but as soon as Juste sticks her head out she seems reinvigorated. She approaches Juste and takes a moment to take in her outfit. Emboldened, she speaks, "N-no. No one else, m-m'aam. I'd like to hire y-you, if you p-please. I've been t-two other places and they c-called me c-c-crazy." She spit the last word out with disdain.

"You see, my house is h-h-haunted. I know it sounds s-s-strange but I implore your indulgence." The woman's stutter was gentle, not as distracting as other's the two sin-eaters have heard before and her voice carried a subtle southern drawl.

She produces a picture, one that comes out of a polaroid and hands it to Juste. On the back was the name, 'Ashley Hill' and the address to a brownstone in Brooklyn. The picture itself showed the house, Ashley, and a man holding her close. Juste recognizes that in the picture, Ashley does not have a black eye.

"Oh, okay."  Juste nods, "well, we were just about to head to dinner, if you want to join us and discuss the case there?"

She steps out of the side office and closes the door, leaving the case files in the stacked piles they were in.  She steps over to the receptionists desk and rummages around for a bit pulling out a small notepad and pen.

"Do you mind if I keep this?" she asks, indicating the polaroid, though she doesn't really wait for an answer before tucking it into the notepad, and then the notepad and pen into her jacket pocket.

Linda's face takes on a hungry expression at the mention of dinner. She gets up and puts on her leather jacket.

"Dinner where?", she asks the most pressing question.

"Well, I was gonna say could just hit fast food on the way out... but got a client now, so, hmmm.  Oh, I know this quiet little italian place, old first gen couple run it with their son, won't intrude or eavesdrop, especially when grams sees Ashley's shiner.  Oh, sorry, I'm Juste, this is Linda," she indicates Linda, "I figure you're Ashley?  That shiner, that was the haunting?"

Ashley nods when Juste asks about her name and dinner, "D-d-dinner sounds good."

She also nods as Juste takes her polaroid. At her question regarding her eye, Ashley hesitates but eventually nods her agreement again. "Would you like me to m-m-meet you there or c-c-carpool?" She asks quickly.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:01, Tue 31 May 2022.

"If you've got your own car, probably best you follow us to dinner.  Once we hear the rest o' ya story, I mean the rest of your case, we can figure things out from there."

Juste spends a moment making sure everything is tidied up, retrieves her revolver form the gun safe near the door, leaves a note "WENT TO DINNER, JUSTE" stickied to the side room door, and then ushers Kinda and Ashley out so she can lock up the offices.

She points out her car in the side parking, "The powder blue Pontiac, we're only going a few miles, should be easy to follow me, but in case we get separated it's Esme and Paul's Paradiso, their in google maps too."

She gives the girl a quick hug, "It'll be okay, we believe you, and we've dealt with this stuff before."


She then heads over to the Firebird and unlocks the passenger side for Linda, then the driver side, but waits to see which car Ashley is getting into before sliding into the driver's seat.  Once in the car, she nuzzles the steering wheel with her a cheek a moment and queitly says, "Now, Randy, this isn't a race.  That poor girl following us?  We don't want to lose her, she needs our help, so now funny games got it mister?"

As she turns the ignition the engines roars in response, Juste clucks her tongue, "Behave," and sputters like it's chuckling before calming to low purr, "that's better.  Play your cards right and you might just get that pretty girl in your the backseat later."  The engine coughs and stutters, and then eases back into the low rumble of a V8, barely contained and restrained.

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Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
((OOC:  Linda, while most people who speak to their cars are just anthropomorphizing, Randy the Speed Demon is a Fetter, and loves to race.  He was a teenage boy before he passed on, and has some of those 'endearing' personality traits.  He's also been fed a diet of old detective flicks and 80s detective tv shows, so he has a warped perspective...  but then don't we all?))

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Linda gives the client a look that says: Do you feel safe enough to drive by yourself?

Tears start streaming down the woman's face as Juste hugs her. It seems she's been holding on to these emotions for a long time as it seems to take all her effort not to audibly sob. Her body shakes as she holds on to the hug just a little too long. When she finally lets go and Juste is able to get to her car, Ashley gives Linda a sad smile.

She bashfully wipes her face and nods, heading over to her car without another word.

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Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Feel free to take point about the restaurant. You all get there easily enough, despite the heavy traffic. Feel free to 'set the scene' and I'll have her respond afterwards.

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The drive is brief and uneventful, they parked, waited for Ashley and then went in/  It was one of those small 'hole in the wall' diners, but the owners clearly tried to make up for the lack of space and ambiance with over-the-top Italian decor and dressing up the inside, so it's an eclectic mix of ancient formica tables and counter, with hanging plants, plastic ivy covered trellises, and 'Renaissance' inspired 'oil painting' style murals.

As they enter the empty restaurant they are greeted with shout of "Just sit anywhere, I be there ina minute!" coming from the kitchen area.  Juste leads them to a back table, which looks like it normally seats eight or nine.  A minute or two later an elderly, practically ancient, little old Italian lady comes out, and tuts, "Only three?  Why not you sit up in the front, good looking young women will help draw customers... and I can save the big table for a large group, please."

"If it's okay Mrs. Vidalchi, I was hoping for the privacy?  Her case is, kinda, well, discretion is what I'm aiming for?"  The old woman notices Ashley and immediately swoops in, hugging her fiercely, "Oh no, he do this?  Yes, of course you have the quiet table, and later maybe some desert, I find something help take the sting out of it," she releases the hapless Ashley and puts the laminated menus and napkin silverware bundles on the table, "Okay, I bring you drinks while you decide what to eat," she takes the drink orders, and as she heads back off to the kitchen she can be heard saying to herself, "Oh thank you god, my boys are not here tonight, they get in their foolish heads the need to go do something dumb about this..."

After Mrs. Vidalchi returns with the drinks, she looks at Juste, "Now, I tell you all the time, call me Esmé." "Yes, ma'am."  She continues unimpeeded, "It is first name on sign for a reason, there is no formality here, this is a family place and you girls are now family.  Now I give you a few minutes to think about what you want, when you are ready just wave a menu, I'll be up front, but I do recommend the spaghetti and red gravy, it is simple and everyone loves it, or one of the fettuccine al burro, they are my husband's specialty," beaming with pride, she hustles off.

A few minutes of awkward menu reading goes by (for Ashley if not Linda, Juste seems to already know what she wants which is the scampi fettuccine al burro), orders are placed, and then Juste pulls out the notepad and pen and prompts Ashley with, "Okay, why not just start at the beginning, when did you first start to realize your house is haunted?  And then work your way forward to the latest event."

Ashley's eyes start watering again at all the kindness she receives. She reminds Juste and Linda of a small puppy that has been both abandoned and abused and was finally being given a touch of warmth.

"I'll probably g-g-get the 'f-f-fettuccine al burro'," she says shyly as the trio scan their menus.

"I am not entirely sure," She says, looking up at Juste. "It all began when I m-m-moved in with my boyfrie- excuse me, f-f-fiance, T-t-t-t-t-tommy." Juste and Linda both notice that saying Tommy's name seems to aggravate her condition more than usual.

"Ever s-s-ince then, he's been being attacked. W-whenever we are together." She continues to explain that, over the last 5 months it's been getting more and more frequent. Finally, Ashley saw the assailant, what looked to her like a shadow beating down her man.

"S-s-scared the living b-b-beejesus out of me..." She finished, her eyes down at her hands. "It's t-taken this long to find anyone that b-believes m-me."

"Yeah, well, we had our own experiences," she points her thumb at herself and then Linda and then reaches over and gives Ashley's hand a squeeze, "so we can relate to the 'no one else believes' and the weirdness of having what ain't unreal become very, very real.  Which comes to the next thing, no one else I work with believes either.  I mean, not at the agency.  There are a few of us, around the city, believers.  Outside of us, though?  This is just a 'regular' case, we'll figure out a cover story if the agency needs to get involved, but until then, it's just us three, and your boyfriend.  Which comes back to where you left off.  You saw the haunter, is that when you got hit?  And how is your boy-, your fiance, how is Tommy handling this?  Is he still in the house?"

Linda orders a pizza (small, hoping she won't have to pay for it). She is glad to let Juste handle the talking for now, listening attentively with big, understanding eyes.

Ashley gets quiet for a moment, lowering her head so that her hair falls in her face-- covering her eye.

"N-n-no. I tripped and fell down the stairs. That's how I got th-th-that. Yes, my T-T-Tommy is at home. When he's not out at w-w-work or at the b-b-bar with his f-friends."

"So the haunter doesn't attack Tommy unless you're there?  What does Tommy think is happening?"

This thread is now closed since Juste is no longer active in the game. Linda, we will retcon the whole scene so that it did not happen in your character's history. Thank you. I will tag you in the other thread now.