Deep in the heart of the Old Market District on a narrow unassuming cobbled-stoned street lay the home of the House of Retribution sandwiched inconspicuously between a charm vendor and a popular massage therapist. Part charity, part security and private investigation firm, for five years, it had been the RhyDin headquarters of the former "Assassin of Abruzzo" but for the past two months it stood vacant.
Vacant, that is, except for the demure bespectacled woman sitting behind the receptionist desk. Her paychecks had stopped coming. Her job mainly consisted of explaining to clients that the owner was not in town. Yet, every day she arrived to sit behind her desk. She would blame it on habit to her friends who would urge her to start looking for a new job but, in all honesty, Eleanor Spade felt permanently attached to the building and its owner.
Alain DeMuer arrived at the office shortly after he was summoned, though not immediately: communications were frequently monitored by hostile parties, and he would betray no sense of urgency if he could help it. In fact he made his way down the cobble-stoned way at what appeared to be a casual stroll, the best way to disguise the fact that he was limping. His right arm was back out of its sling, but for now he kept that hand in his pocket or hitched into a belt loop almost constantly. He knocked on the door with the back of his left hand, rapping three times with his knuckles.
His gaze turned thoughtful at the building in front of him, and what awaited him beyond the door. It had been a long time.
The door was swung open with the twinkling of the bell hanging there as a vestige of a time when the building wasn't locked and clients were welcomed rather than hurried off. Eleanor recognized the man she'd sent for. After all, he was in the papers quite frequently. She swung the door open wider for him, motioning him within and, in particular, to a chair positioned in front of her desk. "Baron, I'm glad you came."
Alain smiled faintly at the welcome. "Thanks," he replied, and proceeded inside, and straight to the chair, taking a look around as he went. What had changed, what hadn't... It was hard to dig up the old memories, but the silence and emptiness of this place struck him.
Eleanor dropped into the chair behind her desk, peeling off her reading glasses to set the down on the desk. She tried to gain courage for the conversation ahead but doubt as to whether or not bringing in Alain was the correct course of action remained. "I know you are a busy man so I'm not going to waste your time. Charlie did not ask you to come here. I did."
Alain dipped his head to set a cigarillo between his teeth and light it, but kept his eyes on Eleanor as he did. It didn't occur to him to ask permission, not here. This was a private investigator's office, in RhyDin no less, and he made certain assumptions based on his own experiences.
"And why is that?" came the smoky reply.
Lying for Eleanor did not come naturally so she shoved right through the confession about forging a note from her boss and moved into more truth. "About six months ago, Charlie began selling off everything she owns here in RhyDin. The large house in Seaside, a stake in a gambling facility in WestEnd. She wouldn't explain why. She just said she needed liquid capital. All she kept was this building and a small cabin outside the city. Something was going on but she wasn't using her normal resources to look into it.
"Then, shortly after the incident with Miss Ramirez's boyfriend, she said that she had to leave on a personal matter. Zach, the child she is a guardian to, was sent to stay with the regent of Talsiny and his family. I was not to tell Miss Ramirez or Mrs. Simon anything should they ask and the same with Mr. Talanador. She told me she would be back in two weeks. That was two months ago."
Alain maintained his silence, letting smoke trail towards the ceiling as he watched her, assuming she had more to add.
Her eyes dipped to the folder before her. With the anxiety of not knowing where her employer was or where this month's rent would be coming from, Eleanor had fallen back on her old friend, organization, to help her get through the trial. Therefore, the file was labeled "Nausikaa, Charlie." She pushed it across the desk towards him. Maybe if she appeared as professional as possible, he would not realize how desperately in over her head that she was.
"At first I was going to wait for Tareth to come back into town but Mrs. Simon has been asking questions and she's a very difficult person to lie to so I started asking around a couple weeks ago," Eleanor continued, briefing him on the folder's contents. "I still can't figure out what her goal was. It doesn't seem that she told anyone but what I do know is that Charlie was arrested by the the Liberated Republic of Grannis on the charges of caption and asportation of personal property as well as attempted murder."
"Communists?" Alain asked as he thumbed through the contents of the folder one-handed, resting it on the edge of the desk to make the task easier. Some of these names were familiar, and thin lines formed on his brow as thoughts whirred away inside his head.
Eleanor nodded to acknowledge that the country was indeed communist but lifted a shoulder into a shrug. "As you know, Baron, Charlie is hardly a freedom fighter. Her goals tend to be... smaller in nature, more concrete. I doubt what she was up to there had anything to do with their politics. Yet, as is the case with such countries, few details have been released as to the nature of the crimes. I do know, however, that she is being kept at the Hollymeade Prison and Reprogramming Center in the West District."
"I've heard of it," he conceded carefully, looking up again. The folder was left on the edge of the desk, and the cigarillo drawn away with his left hand, tapping it over an ashtray. "What have you found out about the place?"
"Very little, unfortunately." Eleanor wrung her hands with the knowledge of what she did know. She hesitated before continuing forward. "It's for criminals they feel have no chance at being rehabilitated into normal society."
Alain's face hardened suddenly, as a few pieces of information clicked with what she had just provided. He put out his cigarillo and reached for the folder to tuck it under his arm: "I'll be needing this, if you don't mind."
Eleanor gave a nod of her head, readily giving up the folder and the responsibility to someone more capable than herself. She folded her hands and laid them down on her now bare desk. "I wish I had something to offer in exchange for your help. I know you and Charlie have been on the opposite sides of things in the past and that her sense of justice might be a bit more gray than you would prefer but there are a lot of people who rely on her and need her back here. I count myself among them and not just because her pay checks keep my cat fed."
He was on his way out when her words stopped him, gave him some pause, and he silently cursed his conscience. He looked over his shoulder, considered for another moment, and said, "Until she gets back... SPI does have some old paperwork I'd like reorganized under a new classification system. No benefits, but it's something we need done, and money in your pocket until your boss comes home. We could send the boxes to you here."
The offer ate at Eleanor's pride but she couldn't help but admit that the help was needed. Greasing the palms necessary to get the information that Alain now held in his hands had taken every penny of her savings. She gave a nod to accept the offer. "Thank you for everything."
Alain gave a small nod to that, and offered a simple "take care" in parting. He either didn't care or seemed to forget that the limp showed, striding far quicker out the door than how he'd come in. Charlie was an old friend, but a friend all the same, and if he wanted to save her? He'd have to move fast, no matter how hard it hurt.
((Adapted from a scene with the player behind Eleanor Spade. Cross-posted here.))
Vacant, that is, except for the demure bespectacled woman sitting behind the receptionist desk. Her paychecks had stopped coming. Her job mainly consisted of explaining to clients that the owner was not in town. Yet, every day she arrived to sit behind her desk. She would blame it on habit to her friends who would urge her to start looking for a new job but, in all honesty, Eleanor Spade felt permanently attached to the building and its owner.
Alain DeMuer arrived at the office shortly after he was summoned, though not immediately: communications were frequently monitored by hostile parties, and he would betray no sense of urgency if he could help it. In fact he made his way down the cobble-stoned way at what appeared to be a casual stroll, the best way to disguise the fact that he was limping. His right arm was back out of its sling, but for now he kept that hand in his pocket or hitched into a belt loop almost constantly. He knocked on the door with the back of his left hand, rapping three times with his knuckles.
His gaze turned thoughtful at the building in front of him, and what awaited him beyond the door. It had been a long time.
The door was swung open with the twinkling of the bell hanging there as a vestige of a time when the building wasn't locked and clients were welcomed rather than hurried off. Eleanor recognized the man she'd sent for. After all, he was in the papers quite frequently. She swung the door open wider for him, motioning him within and, in particular, to a chair positioned in front of her desk. "Baron, I'm glad you came."
Alain smiled faintly at the welcome. "Thanks," he replied, and proceeded inside, and straight to the chair, taking a look around as he went. What had changed, what hadn't... It was hard to dig up the old memories, but the silence and emptiness of this place struck him.
Eleanor dropped into the chair behind her desk, peeling off her reading glasses to set the down on the desk. She tried to gain courage for the conversation ahead but doubt as to whether or not bringing in Alain was the correct course of action remained. "I know you are a busy man so I'm not going to waste your time. Charlie did not ask you to come here. I did."
Alain dipped his head to set a cigarillo between his teeth and light it, but kept his eyes on Eleanor as he did. It didn't occur to him to ask permission, not here. This was a private investigator's office, in RhyDin no less, and he made certain assumptions based on his own experiences.
"And why is that?" came the smoky reply.
Lying for Eleanor did not come naturally so she shoved right through the confession about forging a note from her boss and moved into more truth. "About six months ago, Charlie began selling off everything she owns here in RhyDin. The large house in Seaside, a stake in a gambling facility in WestEnd. She wouldn't explain why. She just said she needed liquid capital. All she kept was this building and a small cabin outside the city. Something was going on but she wasn't using her normal resources to look into it.
"Then, shortly after the incident with Miss Ramirez's boyfriend, she said that she had to leave on a personal matter. Zach, the child she is a guardian to, was sent to stay with the regent of Talsiny and his family. I was not to tell Miss Ramirez or Mrs. Simon anything should they ask and the same with Mr. Talanador. She told me she would be back in two weeks. That was two months ago."
Alain maintained his silence, letting smoke trail towards the ceiling as he watched her, assuming she had more to add.
Her eyes dipped to the folder before her. With the anxiety of not knowing where her employer was or where this month's rent would be coming from, Eleanor had fallen back on her old friend, organization, to help her get through the trial. Therefore, the file was labeled "Nausikaa, Charlie." She pushed it across the desk towards him. Maybe if she appeared as professional as possible, he would not realize how desperately in over her head that she was.
"At first I was going to wait for Tareth to come back into town but Mrs. Simon has been asking questions and she's a very difficult person to lie to so I started asking around a couple weeks ago," Eleanor continued, briefing him on the folder's contents. "I still can't figure out what her goal was. It doesn't seem that she told anyone but what I do know is that Charlie was arrested by the the Liberated Republic of Grannis on the charges of caption and asportation of personal property as well as attempted murder."
"Communists?" Alain asked as he thumbed through the contents of the folder one-handed, resting it on the edge of the desk to make the task easier. Some of these names were familiar, and thin lines formed on his brow as thoughts whirred away inside his head.
Eleanor nodded to acknowledge that the country was indeed communist but lifted a shoulder into a shrug. "As you know, Baron, Charlie is hardly a freedom fighter. Her goals tend to be... smaller in nature, more concrete. I doubt what she was up to there had anything to do with their politics. Yet, as is the case with such countries, few details have been released as to the nature of the crimes. I do know, however, that she is being kept at the Hollymeade Prison and Reprogramming Center in the West District."
"I've heard of it," he conceded carefully, looking up again. The folder was left on the edge of the desk, and the cigarillo drawn away with his left hand, tapping it over an ashtray. "What have you found out about the place?"
"Very little, unfortunately." Eleanor wrung her hands with the knowledge of what she did know. She hesitated before continuing forward. "It's for criminals they feel have no chance at being rehabilitated into normal society."
Alain's face hardened suddenly, as a few pieces of information clicked with what she had just provided. He put out his cigarillo and reached for the folder to tuck it under his arm: "I'll be needing this, if you don't mind."
Eleanor gave a nod of her head, readily giving up the folder and the responsibility to someone more capable than herself. She folded her hands and laid them down on her now bare desk. "I wish I had something to offer in exchange for your help. I know you and Charlie have been on the opposite sides of things in the past and that her sense of justice might be a bit more gray than you would prefer but there are a lot of people who rely on her and need her back here. I count myself among them and not just because her pay checks keep my cat fed."
He was on his way out when her words stopped him, gave him some pause, and he silently cursed his conscience. He looked over his shoulder, considered for another moment, and said, "Until she gets back... SPI does have some old paperwork I'd like reorganized under a new classification system. No benefits, but it's something we need done, and money in your pocket until your boss comes home. We could send the boxes to you here."
The offer ate at Eleanor's pride but she couldn't help but admit that the help was needed. Greasing the palms necessary to get the information that Alain now held in his hands had taken every penny of her savings. She gave a nod to accept the offer. "Thank you for everything."
Alain gave a small nod to that, and offered a simple "take care" in parting. He either didn't care or seemed to forget that the limp showed, striding far quicker out the door than how he'd come in. Charlie was an old friend, but a friend all the same, and if he wanted to save her? He'd have to move fast, no matter how hard it hurt.
((Adapted from a scene with the player behind Eleanor Spade. Cross-posted here.))