WickedCadrach

Missy met Alicia's albino stare, her gaze flitting down as the moon caught on the point of the vampire's small, sharp tooth. For a moment, she didn't react. In the dark, on an empty street between the cold alleys and the wind-stirred copse of trees on the hill, Missy could feel a finger of doubt pressing at the back of her mind--a small, still 'what if?' that hung in the space between that pointed fang and the smaller woman's smiling lips. But as Alicia looked away, the spell was broken. Missy blinked, a street cat somewhere in the distance hissed, and then, reaching up to cover her mouth, Missy let out a half-smothered laugh. "Stakes. Lord have mercy, Alicia. If I didn't know any better, I'd say there's a part of you that likes the idea that people think you're some creature of the night. Danger and all." With a small sway in her step, Missy gently bumped her shoulder against the other woman's, drawing her gaze back to properly return the smile. "It's not a bad thing. In fact, I think I like that about you. Real monsters don't make it so obvious. So what else am I to conclude than that you must not be a monster?" At this Missy merely waved a hand, reaching down and adjusting the lay of her skirt as she lifted the hem away from an insidious-looking puddle in the road. "I make my living on a stage where I consort with specters, ghosts, demons, and boogies of all kinds. The people who want to run me out of town for 'consorting with monsters' have plenty of ammunition already. Maybe that's the trick of it though. I'm on a stage. Perhaps if you were in bright lights instead of hiding in that laboratory of yours, they might learn to embrace you." No sooner were the words out than Missy remembered the image of Alicia on the stage in the Rebirth Hall. She winced and shook her head, glancing to the woods once more to deflect the momentary embarrassment. When Jack Beckett stepped from the shadows, Missy started and her hand instinctively took hold of Alicia's arm before she recognized the mortician. "There was a murder at the music hall tonight." Hurriedly relaying the bloody stage and Silas Ward's end at the hands of the phantom, Missy added, "Alicia tried to help. We were just attempting to get her a change of clothes before heading to the Golden Stag." Chewing her lip, Missy looked between Jack and Alicia. "Perhaps it would be better if you didn't go anywhere they were expecting you... Maybe not for a couple of days. I may have something that would fit you back in my room at the Lincoln Palace. It's actually not far. Jack, would you escort us?"

Missy did her best to shelter Alicia as she led her through what remained of the departing crowd. Turning up the collar of Carlo's coat, Missy leaned in close over Alicia's shoulder, hoping to create a shield with the fabric and her own body against prying eyes. Trying not to alarm the smaller woman, she gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. "Don't mind them. Just stay close. They'll thin out a bit once we're away from the marquee." The night air drew a sharp sigh from Missy's lips as they left the stifling heat of the music hall behind. Warm bodies, talk, and gas lights all contributed to the oven-like oppression in the opulent atmosphere, but out here, in the streets of Prospect Junction, nights could be cold. With cool paving stones and indifferent earth beneath them and only the dead stillness of a sky too thrifty to offer any relief beyond the midnight dew yet to come, Alicia and Missy passed beyond the whispers and agitated talk of the confused and frightened crowd until the murmurs were softer than the pulse of their own steps. From her late-night conversations with Jack Beckett, Missy knew abstractly where Alicia lived and she turned her steps that way as she spoke. "That was brave of you," Missy said, allowing herself to straighten up and release some of the protective posture she'd had over the other woman. "You have good instincts. Trying to leap up and help him. Not everyone does that. Least-wise when violence has been done. I've seen men freeze up at the sight of another man catching a stallion's hoof. You saw a man's throat opened and got there fast enough to make a mess of yourself in the process." Missy's lips fell into a soft frown. Tugging a little at the blood-stained garment by her black-gloved fingertips, her eyes fell as well, the expression neither one of disappointment nor disapproval. It was fear. The soft fear of knowing when tragedy is coming before its shadow reaches the doorstep. "You may want to suppress those good instincts of yours," she added quietly. "They nearly got you lynched tonight."

As Deputy Boone pocketed the shard of metal, the flash of it caught Missy's eye. There was something odd about it, something in the way it caught the light. A twist in her stomach caught and stopped the urge to ask the deputy to show it to her before she could speak. That wouldn't do. Too much interest in the case would draw interest to why she was so interested. If it was evidence, he'd likely show Thane, and then Missy could ask the sheriff herself... Meaning I'd owe him another favor. As Carlo draped his coat over Alicia, Missy busied herself helping to settle the garment over the girl's shoulders, mouthing a silent thank you to Carlo as she did. It wasn't only for the coat—though the combination of Carlo's swift response and seeing the play of his arms in only shirt sleeves was certainly cause for thanks—it was also an apology. Deputy Boone's request that Carlo stay meant he would be delayed for drinks, if he even made the Golden Stag at all... With a regretful quirk of a smile, Missy's gaze lingered in Carlo's for just a moment more before she turned away. "Come, Miss Alicia. We don't want to be in the men's way while they're investigating. Miss Gerenhart?" Helping Alicia to her feet, she started toward the stage steps. "We need to get you out of these blood-stained clothes," she said softly. "I'm headed to the Golden Stag directly after, but I can wait for you to change if you're also taking up Mr. Blackwood on his invitation."

"You're overdressed." *Laying my cheek on my knee and hooking a finger in his belt.* "It's hot and AC is expensive. So sorry--this bedroom is a 'no pants zone'."

Guilty. When I feel up to it, I have a falafel and pita I always enjoy. I make the dough for the pita and while it's resting, I whip up the falafel batter. Set that aside to firm up just a little and make my hummus. Then it's frying the falafel while I cook the pita. Bring it all together with chopped tomato, some onion I set aside to pickle that week, and kalamata olives if I splurged on any. Mmmm... kinda putting myself in the mood for it, actually. Maybe tonight. The next person has a favorite song that they could listen to multiple times a week without complaint.

Guilty. First a stage actress, then a missionary, then a teacher, then an author. The next person has been hypnotized at least once.

Missy returned Boone's look with a performatively pleasant smile of her own. The deputy seemed sufficiently cowed, and as she nodded, face lowered, her eyes again flicked toward Edmund Blackwood. Something about the man continued to needle at her. Something in his words... his tone. From their previous exchanges and his poison-sweet attempts at luring her away from the stage at the Lincoln Palace, Missy knew him for a cobra of a man... seductive and hypnotic in his own way but every bit as dangerous. It may be that his interest was exactly as it seemed on the surface: Murdering ghosts that keep people from walking the streets at night are terrible for a brothel. And yet, he'd come down personally. He didn't want the problem simply 'handled'. He wanted to be looped in and kept involved in the investigation. Why? With the deputies taking control and the threat still lingering over Alicia and Millie, Missy knew she would not be able to search the theater the way she would like. Not tonight anyway. As much as the thought of accepting Mr. Blackwood's offer of drinks at the Golden Stag made her prickle with suspicion, she still needed to recover Jane from Edmund's clockwork manservant. And if there was a chance of discovering more about his motives here, it may be an opportunity she should not miss. And yet... the deputies had not yet released Alicia or Ms. Gerenhart. "Mr. Blackwood, thank you. I would be obliged to accept your invitation. However, the deputies have not yet released these ladies. I would stay with them until they are." Missy bent low, her hand gently rubbing Alicia's back in soft reassurance. And turning to look to Carlo once more, she quietly asked, "Is there perhaps a shawl or cloak backstage that we can borrow? Until we can get Ms. Von Vulf cleaned up, I would spare her the scrutiny of wandering about covered in blood."

Guilty. Not every night, but enough. If plushies count then six. The next person sleeps with something homemade (pillow, blanket, pajamas...)

Sounds like we're all on the same page then! Awesome!

Missy felt the tight pull of frustrated urgency in her chest. Though they had never spoken, in the course of her meetings with Joshua Thane, she'd become acquainted with Billy and Boone's verminous little faces and beady, all-too-easy-to-read eyes. They were small men, dogs who played at being wolves from the cover of Thane's shadow. But Missy knew too well that trampling a small man's pride was much the same as treading on a rattler—as small and stupid a fight as it was dangerous. But they were here now, and as much as her pounding heart demanded she throw 'lady-like' discretion to the wind and mount the ladders to chase the rapidly escaping specter, the deputies had Alicia and Millie in their sights. Placing a hand on Carlo's shoulder, Missy allowed the barest flutter of regret to escape through those fingertips as she said softly, "Whoever killed Silas may be escaping through the catwalks. I have this." Her pale eyes turned meet Carlo's pressing the importance behind her words as her gaze flitted from one mystic-blue iris to the other. God, even the smell of him was like a mystery begging to be teased open. A line from Missy's childhood rose in a distant part of her mind, a pitch for one of Professor Whitty's tonics that included 'spices and temple incense from far-off Araby'. She'd never quite known what that entailed, only that it couldn't be the pungent mix of wormwood and marigold the old conman had used. And while it couldn't be bottled, the mingling cologne and native scent of the musician nonetheless became that scent in her mind. It took a supreme effort of will for Missy to tear her gaze away, and feeling a small flush in her neck, she felt a blush of shame at being once again so easily caught up. Another time, she promised herself. Another time. Stepping forward to place herself between Alicia and the deputies, Missy gave the men a teasing smile, putting on the inviting expression she sometimes used in more intimate meetings after her shows. She did not react to Billy's open stare. The deputies' eyes were not the organs she was worried about. When she spoke, her practiced voice came out smooth and clear, an intimate whisper that was at once perfectly audible to everyone on the stage, the perfect mixture of innocent cooperation and sultry implication. "Deputy Boone, thank you for arriving so quickly. I'll be sure to mention your promptness to Joshua the next time I see him." The words were not as idle as they sounded. Fixing the man with a cool stare, Missy hoped the subtext was not too nuanced for the lecherous weasel: I know the Sheriff, remember? Tread carefully. Thane may not appreciate you being rough with his toys. "I can assure you Miss Alicia and Miss Gerenhart had nothing to do with the incident. There are, in fact, many witnesses who can confirm this. Mr. Blackwood, for instance..." Gesturing to Edmund, Missy slowed down to be sure the small man got the point, "Why, his word would be unimpeachable, don't you think?" Turning Edmund's way, Missy's voice lowered slightly, directing her next words to the casino-owner, "I dare say, we are all somewhat in your debt for being here to vouch for Miss Alicia's conduct." Missy had significantly more confidence in the older man's ability to read between the lines, a fact that nonetheless soured in her stomach as their eyes met and the unspoken meaning passed between them: Back up Alicia and I owe you. She did not care to be in Mr. Blackwood's debt, but the words came out reflexively, the protective feelings she had for the young woman making Missy far more impulsive than she liked. Two favors in one night. Missy couldn't pretend the rumored-magician wouldn't call them in, but she also couldn't think of that now. Time was burning.

Not Guilty. I honestly don't even know where I would watch boxing or MMA. The next person has won a fight (a physical fight, not just an argument: The other person fought back and either gave up or was subdued.)

As Aldert Helsink retreated, Missy lingered to watch him go. Something in the older man's affect whispered suspicions that he would not be heading for the exit, but it was far from her main priority at the moment. Cutting for the stage steps on the wings, Missy clutched at her skirt, her steps punctuating the speed of her approach across the boards. Passing Edmund on her way, she paused long enough to fix him with a pointed stare and whisper, "I'll be by to recover Miss Montgomery later. Can I trust your brass butler has enough sense not to take a lady of her caliber to the Golden Stag?" Whatever his answer, Missy did not break her stride, making her way toward Carlo, Alicia, and the corpse of Silas Ward. "Are you all right?" Missy placed a gloved hand on Alicia's back, gently, leaning forward to assess the wound more closely. The assailant may dress herself as a specter, but the cut was as clear as any blade Missy had ever seen. Awaiting Alicia's reply, she tilted her head, eyes attuned to the theater's tricks and charms scanning the rigging for pulleys or loose lines between the narrow gangplanks that served as the upper rigging's catwalks, searching for anything that might give a hint to how Red Jenny had made her fantastic egress. "Mr. Amankona, I see a catwalk above. How is it accessed? Does it connect to the roof at all?" There were a dozen ways Missy had hoped her first words with the magnetic musician would go. Discussing the theater architecture had not been among them, and voicing the pressing inquiry added one more bitter drop to the bile she held in reserve for the phantom. [OOC: Missy didn't see Thane intercept Jane as TIAL-V was escorting her out]

Missy returned Blackwood's condescension with a demure nod, an anxious laugh, and a feeble "of course" that she held up like a paper fan to conceal the 'fuck you' dying to escape her lips. Watching the arrogant man stride away without further comment, Missy was bristling at the almost supernatural speed that those long legs employed to carry the casino owner to the stairwell. She glanced back with a hot sigh, her nose crinkling as she considered rejoining Jane. Not because she thought it was the better plan. It was purely the idea that in these shoes and this skirt, she'd look as if she was scurrying after Edmund Blackwood like one of his harem. Missy was willing to entertain a great many misconceptions about her character, but that idea found space between the adrenaline of the public murder and the anxiety concerning Lady Montgomery's whereabouts to make her skin crawl beneath her opera gloves. "Damn it." Gripping her skirt, Missy plunged ahead, heels stamping the carpet as her shorter strides fought to regain ground she'd lost to hesitation. She reached the ground floor just as Edmund called for Helsink's silence, and in an instant, she took in the scene: the blood on Alicia's hands. As Carlo called back to Blackwood, Missy cast a careful eye about. Helsink. Alicia. Blackwood. Carlo. Miss Gerenhart. And Silas Ward's bleeding corpse. Why had none of them fled? Carlo she could understand. But what were the rest of them doing? Where had Red Jenny gone? What am I doing here? Despite standing off at a distance yet, she felt exposed, the flow of evacuating patrons slowing her advance as much as her own hesitance. But as Helsink's accusing finger turned to the pale young woman cradling the victim once more, Missy felt her caution evaporate in a flare of protective anger. "Mr. Helsink, for decency's sake." Missy crossed to the older man as quickly as she could. Laying a palm on his arm, she took his hand with the other and pressed close. "Now is not the time. We all saw it wasn't Miss Alicia. It couldn't have been her. Please." Missy spoke slowly, a soft pleading in her tone as her face came closer to his ear in order to be heard.

I am concerned (also worried about Thane intercepting Jane, but... one crisis at a time) @MagnificentBastard I'll wait on you here since Edmund has the reaction for this beat. (No rush, just didn't want you waiting on me or anything).

No worries at all! We'll be here.