<div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 16pt;"><em>Jacqueline Meredith Blakesley</em></span> <br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><em>Homicide Inspector Out Of Her Element - <strong>Home, then P3, Tagging Anyone</strong></em></span><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;"><em>'To find a witch, but which witch to seek?'</em></span></span></div><hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://tinyurl.com/867s24h)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Jack had been glad to get away from work - especially considering it had ended with being humiliated by her Captain.  While she understood that lead investigator made her in some degree responsible for everything that occurs on scene - she didn't agree that 'freak accidents' were entitled to the same scrutiny as a murder ... at least publicly.  It was important that she use every bit of leverage to convince her superiors that a homeless man didn't really matter - regardless of just how much she'd disagreed.  The sudden appearance of her father made that more clear than ever - as well as the need to get from beneath his thumb.<br/><br/>After a quick shower, and dressing in a cream blouse open to reveal a soft pink corset top, a red knee length asymmetrical skirt in a gauzy material and tall cream boots, she seemed ready.  Of course, by the time the Inspector arrived at P3, she'd nearly turned right back around after waiting in the line at the door.  The place was packed, and she had no idea at all how it was she was going to find the one she was looking for, or ones, for that matter.  The information she'd been given by her father - whom had left a note at her apartment on the dresser - yes, creepy - was probably out of date.  It had been hard for demons to maintain anything nearing a balance for a long time, which had made it easier, of course, for her to escape them.  The idea that things were changing was not in the least bit pleasant.  <br/><br/>Instead of going right for the bar, she found a table that had a bit of seclusion, but afforded her a decent view of much of the open space of the club.  The music was loud - making it hard to think and even at her little table, almost hard to breathe.  She'd rather be shot, stabbed, or beaten ... those she could handle.  But socialising?  No.  No thanks.  Flagging down a waitress was the easy part, and she tugged out her e-reader to peruse a book while waiting for her gin and tonic.  The last thing she was reading was the latest in a series of fantasy novels, as the grittier ones just didn't hold her interest.  It seemed altogether silly to read and imagine gritty when one lived it on a daily basis.  <br/><br/>Lightly, Jack started to tap her foot and observe over the reader.  People danced, chatted, and also sat alone, though the ones she most had an interest in were those that would stand out as not quite human to her eyes, ones like her that watched the crowd too closely rather than seeming to fit in completely. It was rough when rather than socialising and enduring harmless flirtation she wondered whether the human in question would be a demonic target.  Or responsible for any number of mundane crimes resulting of preying on other unsuspecting innocents.  Didn't need to be a witch, or anything else to wonder the things she did, necessarily.  Being an Inspector for San Francisco was enough to make a woman suspicious of near anything that moved.   <br/><br/>With her stylish and rather cute attire, it was not impossible that she might stand out.  Raising her left hand, she flicked her hand through her hair, which now lay loose down her back in soft, jet black waves.</span>