Date: Unknown. Day 2 of Capture.

Time: XX:XX, Morning.

Location: Unverified.

Screaming to see Gareth at her captors really did little good for the most part of the night she spent alone in that room. She KNEW people were outside that door. There had to be guards somewhere that heard her, surely they're not deaf?
Shouting drained energy; dampening the mind's ability to focus, to become lightly fatigued through lack of food and water. Already Miss B's stomach ached - yearning for a hamburger (that wasn?t made out of her own flesh), or at least some fries - oh hell some JD and cola would have gone down a treat right at this moment...
Chapped lips parted, her tongue licking the irritation of dryness away, replacing it with a wet coldness that only made Miss B think all the more of getting something to drink.

God she needed water.

She never would had imagined Gareth to be so ruthless, even if so far he's still gotten little next to no where to getting his money back, which was technically already spent... Daydreaming, Miss B stared directly across the room - thinking of the lesser people she'd normally not think about.
Hunter. Ah... Mr Omelette, oh... Alain... That got a bittersweet smirk to her lips. "Good time to get turned on, Tulip." She muttered to herself, trying to find some kind of morbid humour in her current situation? But the sounds of steps outside had drew her attention upwards and to the door itself?

The moment the door is opening, Gareth is already saying, "Good morning, darling." There's something akin to a tight little smile as he shuts the door behind him, clasping his hands behind his back. There's a rumble of pain in his heart, an aching, at seeing his Tulip like this... but she's not his Tulip anymore, and the more he forces himself to do to her, the less he feels for her. "I trust you slept soundly?"

"Considering I'm tied to a chair, Gareth, yes, I?m just peachy?" Actually... No. She tried most of the night trying to get out and eventually passed out through sheer lack of sleep. She'd been lucky to get an hour or two shut eye, and looked simply just like hell. Her chest bothered her some - and that was the aim of B's claim today, to try and use that excuse so that the bindings could be loosened.
"... My chest hurts though." She winced as she shifted - which in itself was just a flinch to the side, "Can you at least let me out of this chair? The door's locked. I'm not going anywhere..." That bastard. He looked so, so happy. Fed. Quenched? Fat bastard. Even the wood of the chair looked appealing to suck moisture out of.

"Let you out of this chair... why?" He raises his eyebrows calmly, pacing slowly towards her. "Do you have to use the bathroom? One of my people can take care of that. Though, I don't suspect you'll have to go much more now... Your body's probably already processed all the food in you, never mind the water."

"Why? Gareth? You shot me. It hurts to sit down." Miss B your such a fantastic liar! "But a bathroom would be nice, I can't hold it in forever you know." Miss B tilted her head to the side then, feeling the need to lean forward against the bindings, a much needed rest for her aching back. "Can you please hurry up? I need to stretch my legs."

As soon as she says, ?a bathroom would be nice,? he walks out of the room, ignoring the rest of what she says. The door is almost shut when two of his thugs come in, silent as they've been all night. The first hands his gun off to the second, who keeps it trained on Miss B., while the first undoes her handcuffs. Then the second actually speaks.
"Message from da boss... Nothin' funny on da way to da bafroom, or you can' go anymore. You got it, doll?" And he drags her to her feet. "Follow me." And he walks ahead of her, while the guy with the guns follows right behind.

"You guys actually call him, boss? He couldn't organize himself a tea party..." The insult was nice ? and made Miss B felt a whole lot better. Once she were drag to her feet, Miss B winced, almost stumbling at the under-use of her legs, but for now she would take slow creeps after the guy in front, paying no heed to the guy with the gun. It was a good incentive not to try anything funny so rather kept that in her minds eye so to speak.

The bathroom is... uncomfortable, probably, as the door is left wide open, and while they are told not to watch directly but peripherally, a glance or two is stolen, until they decide for themselves it's something they'd rather not see.
Gareth has been able to organize pretty well... Instead of allowing her access to water to drink, she's given hand wipes, and marched back to her chair to be locked up again.

Miss B had no embarrassment going right in front of them... Well, there goes trying to get help, or gain some kind of weapon from various bathroom items... Marched there, and marched right back. Damn that Gareth...
But at least she was empty now, perhaps okay for another day - maybe two, it would depend if she's given water or not. Hell, maybe given food ? perhaps Gareth will give into his compassionate side after all. "Thanks boys, hope you enjoyed the view..."

They grunt in reply. Again, the door nearly shuts, but is pushed back open by Gareth, who shuts it again by backing into it, giving Miss B. another of those little almost-smiles.

"So, Tulip... Let's chat."

"Oh lets... Come closer so I can bite off your nose you bastard..." Miss B smirked, trying so hard to stay composed through her fatigue, "And why are you calling me by that name? If I am not mistaken we're not exactly together, are we? And - let's be honest here, you've shot me and tied me to a chair, and now currently starving me. Baby, you do realise as soon as I get out of here, your going to be wearing the concrete shoes."

"Hm." He nods, almost to himself, pacing again, looking down. "That money... my money, shall we clarify... You've already spent it, haven't you?"

"I'm a woman." Miss B replied simply, grinning at him. Neither confirming nor denying it.

"One of two things is going to happen. You're going to die, and your organization will fall apart, as you've set those idiots in purple hats up to worship you, and I'll have only to hide a little while... or you're going to sign a few papers that will be delivered to your boys, who will sell off your assets in order to pay back what you owe me. You will be left with nothing, or something very close to it... and I will have everything, as I should have to begin with."

Death? "You couldn't kill me, Gareth. You don't have the guts." Miss B's eyes narrowed as best as they could despite the lack of sleep, causing her eyes to droop half closed most of the time. It was ?the look? she gave when she desperately wanted someone knocked off and out of her sight, "Technically half of the money is mine, so what if I just give you your intended share and just call this off? Before this gets out of hand."

"That's what I meant when I said I want my money. Oi!" he hollers, and one of his thugs comes stumbling in. He gets his gun out, and Gareth sets about unlocking Miss B's writing hand. "We'll deliver this," he says, pulling out a paper, an agreement written for Miss B. to withdraw cash, "signed by you, to your boys... and if they don't accept it, or make any trouble... well, you'll just have to hope we can renegotiate something before you dehydrate." Another almost smile. Those looks are chilling.
"Remember, Miss B.," he adds, almost spitting the name out, leaning over her, one hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair. Giving her a hateful look. "This is win-win for me. Whether you live or die, my position in Rhy'Din can only strengthen."

"Killing me will ruin you, but then again keeping me alive might do the same." Miss B moved her head forward a little against the bindings, staring back at him. The same glare she gave him when she shot him right in the back, the look he didn't get to see. It shall be without warning, but she'd have him one before she snuffed it.
"You know Gareth..." She spoke slowly, "Why don't you just kill me now. Shoot me. Because I just realised something - something that will stop me from ever signing anything of mine over to you?"

Gareth stares at her a long moment... and then locks back up her hand again. "You can have it your way... but I'm not doing you any favours. You shot me once... and I shot you once. I'm not giving you another bullet." He puts the paper away, walking away... and then pauses, by the door. "...Indulge me. Why won't you give me what I want?"

Miss B grinned at him, dropping her head to chuckle. Yes. She knew he'd ask. She betted on it, "Because deep down you still love... And it is because of that you can never kill me, while looking me in the eyes. You're a failed gangster and a failed lover? It?s quite sad, really."

He drops his head, too... and then begins to laugh. A quiet chuckle at first, but it goes on for several seconds. He's getting good at that maniacal laughter thing. "...So you will die as stubbornly, and stupidly, as you lived." He raises his head again. "Very well."And he goes out, followed by his thug.

Miss B glanced downwards. She had everything she ever wanted. Well. Almost everything. But is it all stupid? Why would Miss B ever doubt it? She lived the high life. No one could have had a better life? Right? "See... Can't look me in the eye." She spoke to herself, as if it were reassurance. As if it would get her through another day and night of this torture.

Day 2 of Capture

Alain woke up in the morning with the sun and paid a visit to the guards he was on the best terms with. Without asking to see any letters of permission, a lieutenant discussed with him the kidnapping of Miss B., and even let him review the reports. And there it was - Miss B.'s kidnapper, whoever it was, had escaped in a car that could be narrowed down to a dozen similar-looking models from the late 1920's on Earth, from the timeline most Earth-born Rhy'Dinians seemed to be from. The last man Alain had known to own a vehicle like that in Rhy'Din had died a few months ago, so he figured it might turn out very easily for him.

And it did.

A 1950's (he still hadn't figured out the specific year) Vincent Black Shadow had recently come into Alain's possession, and so he spent most of the afternoon riding around on it, searching for the car. After a few hours, he found it parked near a liquor store; a few minutes later, the driver, a slim man who appeared at least partly Asian, returned and drove the vehicle off to a vacant lot by the water. Alain followed him on his motorcycle to the lot... and then on foot, a half a mile, to a run-down brownstone in the West End. The man looked over his shoulder frequently, and Alain could see no one through the front windows for more than a moment.

One trip to the library later, and Alain found the building's history. It had been empty for the last seven years, and had ironically been the office of a security contracting company before then. Most importantly, there were a few windowless rooms upstairs on the second floor.

Bingo.

* * *

The end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th saw an explosion of shotguns in the United States. Winchester and Remington produced several models that saw combat, and also found uses with the police in peacetime. In 1893 and 1897, Winchester produced two different popular shotgun models, and a third was produced in 1912. The Winchester Model 1912, or Model 12, was manufactured as a 12 gauge shotgun starting in 1914, right at the outbreak of the Great War.

The Model 12 that Alain bought in Rhy'Din late in the afternoon was an antique, supposedly, though it was hard to tell. It could hold six shots and fire them off as quickly as the gun could be pumped. It was a powerful and beautiful weapon, with a rich brown wooden stock and a single barrel. He named it Sloane, because it meant warrior and he'd once slept with a very memorable fiery-tempered woman of that name, and used it to knock on the front door of the building he suspected Miss B. was being held in.