Madness from the Past (Wigglebiscuit & DandyLion)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: DandyLion on 22-04-2016, 18:16:25</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Madness from the Past (Wigglebiscuit &amp; DandyLion)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>DandyLion</strong> on <strong>22-04-2016, 18:16:25</strong>
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				Yellow light fell through the stained windows from the lamppost on the streets below. Along with the faint light of a single green tinted desk lamp, barely illuminating the small smoke filled office, a figure sat hunched over. A bottle of Scotch beside her revealed that she had been at work for hours. Her desk was littered with old documents and heavy leather tomes, and numerous ashtrays were filled with remains of her hand-rolled cigarettes.<br><br>The object of her immediate attention was a peculiar book which lay open before her. It had hideous illustrations, medieval chalcographies portraying fearsome rituals of devil worship, along with the infinitely gruesome methods of punishment, the church facilitated upon the capture of witches and apostates of different kinds. It wasn't normally a part of her job to read through this sort of litterature, or at least it hadn't been for quite a while now. Back during the war, she had been working as an assistant at a police department downtown where. It was the same place her husband worked,when he was still alive. At that time, she had been utterly shocked by some of the incidents that had come to her attention. Nobody at the department payed much attention to her, or at least not to what she did. As long as she completed the mundane tasks they deemed her capable of handeling, and of course smiled politely to the old chief, she had close to free acces to police files and rapports. Some of the things she had seen there, tucked away at the back of the cabinet, filed under unsolved, were stories untold horror that to this day could keep her up at night. Of course the circumstances surrounding her husbands death had been strange to say the least. And as soon as she had begun looking into the investigation of his untimely death, she had been sacked and told to never set foot at the department again.<br><br>All of these memories came surging back, as she sat in the dim light scanning the crumpling pages of the old book, searching for a mention or a hint that could help her in her current case. She stretched and rubbed her tired eyes. Since the day before yesterday, Sam hadn't thought about her husband for months. She had succeeded in working through her mourning, though not in any psychoanalytical sense. She had quite literally worked so hard that there had been no energy left in her to feel sad. If this was a smart way of coping, Sam was unsure, but until two days ago, it had seemed to work out alright. <br><br>To keep afloat financially (and keep herself out of a deep hole of melancholy), she had opened a small business on the back of her experience at the department and the knowledge she had of her husbands work as a police detective. This was the reason for the bold letters printed on her door that read: <strong>Sam Gunn - Private Eye for Hire</strong>, and the reason a certain Mrs. Everson had sent her a telegram requesting an urgent meeting.<br><br>When they met, Mrs. Everson had told Sam what she though were a mundane story which boiled down to the suspected infidelity of her husband Mr. Jonas Everson. It was the most common job for any private eye, but since Sam were a women, she suspected there to be even more of a demand for this particular part of her services. Sam therefor mistook it for a run of the mill job, as she later tailed Mr. Everson down an alley in the direction of a well known brothel. She had watched him enter the brothel, but strangely enough never saw him leave. She had waited there the entire night. The next morning, she had talked to one of the dancers, and asked about Mr. Everson. The dancer had turned inhumanly pale upon that particular inquiry, and had started crying and mumbling comprehensibly in a Eastern European dialect. The only word that was repeated was the ominous word: <em>Szabat </em>. No one else at the establishment had wanted to talk to Sam, and as soon as word spread that she was asking, she had been threatened on her life and thrown out. The word however stuck with her. Szabat. She had a vague memory of the word being used in one of her husbands notebooks, that was boxed up at her office. And she was right. Her husbands notes regarding the word had speculated that the word were Polish in origin, though it might have been some sort of ancient dialect. His best translation had been to the english word <em>sabbath</em>, but he never got to the bottom of it. He was certain it was important though, as he had heard it used a lot in connection with a string of disappearances he had been investigating in his spare time. It was mostly beggars that went missing, so no official police investigation had been done. But the people of the slums spoke of dark things snatching people in the night, and of strange rituals during full moon. <br><br>This strange word <em>Szabat </em> was the reason she had acquired the unnerving old book. The link that had made her think of the death of her beloved husband. <br><br>Suddenly a rushed series of knocks on the door, brought Sam back from her thoughts. She got a shock, and instinctively reached for her revolver in the upper drawer of her desk. <br><br>"Please open the door Mrs. Gunn! Quickly, please, I need to speak with you!" <br><br>She recognized the soft voice of Mrs. Everson. She sounded desperate. And terrified. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Madness from the Past (Wigglebiscuit &amp; DandyLion)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>wigglebiscuit</strong> on <strong>25-04-2016, 02:05:00</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/Ia7penP.jpg)</div>It was another long day for Sam. Did they come any other way? Maybe before. She couldn't remember. Didn't want to.<br><br>What she wanted to do was finish this case. Finish the case, get the landlord off her back. Maybe have enough left over for another bottle and something to put in the icebox.<br><br>All she's got is one word to go on, <em>Szabat. </em>Means sabbath, or something close to it. She remembers sabbaths from Sunday school. God's day of rest and all that. That, and the fact that it's tough to get booze on Sunday, which doesn't make a lick of sense, given that the sabbath fell on a <em>Saturday</em>.<br><br>The etymology of Szabat seems to diverge from good 'ol sabbath quickly enough, though. Right into spookville. Rituals and cults and such. Last time she barked up that tree, she lost her job.<br><br>The banging on the door is enough to set her nerves on edge. Sam reaches for the pistol, hears the voice, and takes it anyway. Just in case. Paranoia pays in this town.<br><br>She slides the gun in her waistband and opens the door. "Come in, Mrs Everson, please, have a seat." She escorts the woman to a chair and pours two fingers of Scotch. One for herself, one for the dame. She sits behind her desk waits for the woman to compose herself. <br><br>"I'm working on your husband's case now. What's the problem, Mrs. Everson? Has new information come to light?"<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">ooc</div><div class="spoiler_body">Sounds great. Since you asked me to let you know, 'husbond' is spelled husband, and a married woman is 'Mrs.' not 'Ms.' Ms. is a young, single woman. But everything is great. I only mention it because you asked.</div></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Madness from the Past (Wigglebiscuit &amp; DandyLion)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>DandyLion</strong> on <strong>25-04-2016, 18:55:38</strong>
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				Mrs. Dorothy Everson whimpered, as Sam had let her through the door. She looked pale and sick, with heavy dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Sam figured she hadn't slept much since Mr. Everson went missing. No wonder. <br><br>Even though she was dressed fashionably, in a dark shift dress with a fur-lined wrap coat slung over her shoulders, Mrs. Everson looked like a mess. Her coat and hat were wet from the rain, and she looked like she was about to cry. After thankfully downing the drink presented to her by Sam, she seemed to regain a bit of composure. She produced a small silver casing from her purse containing cigarettes, Lucky Strike Sam noticed, one of which she lit before answering. <br><br>"They have found Jonas, the police I mean. He is dead."<br><br>She said it in a flat tone. There were little sadness in her voice. Sam instead sensed anger and resentment. <br><br>"I was sure he had run off with some bimbo, but the bastard is dead. I swear, I would have killed him myself, if he had returned. Oh god, even in death he finds ways of tormenting me. You know what? In a way I'm glad he's gone. He did little more than drink his fathers moneys away. Spoiled prick."<br><br>She looked down. Sam could see that behind her anger, she actually felt sad for the loss of her lover. Moronic as he might have been, they had been together for years. The now widowed Mrs. Everson sighted deeply, and Sam could see she was struggling not to cry. She took a drag of her cigarette, and exhaled slowly. Regaining composure. <br><br>"This means your contract is finished. I have a check with your payment right here."<br><br>She an envelope to Sam, as she said:<br><br>"However, there is one more reason, I have come here tonight."<br><br>She continued in a low voice. She seemed slightly unnerved, and kept glancing out the window as she talked.<br><br>"If you are up for the job, that is? You see, the police won't let me see Jonas body. I don't understand why, and I would like you to look in to it. Think you could do that for me, Mrs. Gunn? I will compensate you well for your discretion."<br><br>She looked at Sam with pleading, frightened eyes. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madness from the Past (Wigglebiscuit &amp; DandyLion)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>wigglebiscuit</strong> on <strong>27-04-2016, 16:58:06</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/Ia7penP.jpg)</div>Sam takes the envelope. She isn't in a position to refuse the money, even if she were so inclined. Churches are full of charity. Landlords are not.<br><br>She listens without comment to Mrs. Everson's account. Outwardly her expression is impassive. Inwardly, she feels a mixture of pity and irritation for the woman. Pity, at her loss. Irritation, that spouses, both husbands and wives, do not fight harder for their marriages; they don't know what they're giving up.<br><br>"Of course, Mrs Everson," she says. <br><br>It is unusual. Standard procedure is to bring in the next of kin to identify the body. If the body is in an undignified state, it can be identified by a rough description and articles collected from it. But to refuse next of kin to see the body does raise eyebrows. Most likely, it is some officer's misguided attempt to shield Mrs. Everson from the trauma of seeing her husband's mangled corpse, but that word springs unbidden to Sam's mind. <em>Szabat, </em>along with the associated imagery: dark rites, cultists, and ritually mutilated corpses.<br><br>She'd ask if Mrs. Everson suspects anything, but she already knows the woman does not. She suspected her husband of adultery, and perhaps he was. A jealous husband or an unpaid pimp can kill a man just as messily as a cultist.<br><br>Sam escorts Mrs. Everson to the door with the promise that she will give her a full report as soon as she can. Grabbing her raincoat, keys, and pistol, she kills the lights and locks the door on her way out.<br><br>The county morgue is a short drive from Sam's office. Evening is turning to night, and a light rain is falling. She steps through the front doors, shakes off the rain, and approaches the counter. "Sam Gunn," she says to the clerk. "I'm a private detective representing Mrs. Dorothy Everson. I've come to examine the body of her deceased husband."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madness from the Past (Wigglebiscuit &amp; DandyLion)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>DandyLion</strong> on <strong>30-04-2016, 15:48:24</strong>
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				The clerk was a surprisingly young man. He couldn't have been much older then twenty, Sam noticed, but then again, you didn't need the highest qualifications to cover the graveyard shift. He wore a worn leather apron over his coarse, white hemp-shirt, and his braces hung sluggishly, as he sat and stared at her from behind the desk. The apron made him resemble a butcher, which seemed a tad inappropriate, given the circumstances.<br><br>He was clearly surprised at the sight of Sam coming in from the rain. Sam suspected they probably didn't get many visitors this late in the evening.<br><br>From somewhere behind the young man, a radio fluttered. As usual, reception were bad, and only occasionally could the rattling sound of music be heard. In between the shorts bursts of sound, electrical white noise filled the quiet room. It made Sam feel uneasy. The young man, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to it. <br><br>He looked at her with a mildly amused expression in his brown eyes, as she announced her business. <br><br>"Well hello there, Mrs. Gunn", he said in a cocky voice. "I honestly had no idea that women could even be detectives. Aren't you a bit too pretty for that kinda job?" <br><br>He looked at her with a sly grin on his face, as the radio buzzed on. <br><br>"Oh, and I don't think you'd have the stomach to see the stiff, I mean he is a <em>real </em>mess. Besides, the police payed me a dollar and told me not to let anyone see'im. Even tho' I don't like disappointing pretty girls such as yourself, I guess there is nothing to be done"<br><br>He leaned back with a smug look, resting his head in his hands. The radio fluttered again, and this time, Sam felt almost certain she could hear faint voices moaning amidst the white-noise. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Madness from the Past (Wigglebiscuit &amp; DandyLion)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>wigglebiscuit</strong> on <strong>01-05-2016, 21:56:56</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/Ia7penP.jpg)</div>Sam feels a surge of anger as the clerk prattles on. Normally, she'd give a guy like him the what-for, but that's not the hand she's been dealt. <br><br>Instead, she dips her head and blushes. "You're...you're probably right. I mean, a girl like me, what was I thinking? If I was to see something truly heinous why I'd probably just faint from the shock."<br><br>She steps around the side of the receptionist desk and leans back on his desk. As she does, she takes a deep breath and pushes her chest out just enough to pull open the top button of her blouse. The blouse springs open, revealing the delicate curve a lace bra, black, barely restraining the ample bosom underneath. As she sits back on the desk, her skirt hikes upward. She's wearing hose, sheer black with a line down the back of the thigh. The skirt has a slit, which is just high enough to show her garter peeking through.<br><br>She looks at him with big, doe eyes and bats her lashes. "I guess there's nothing that can be done, if the cops are paying you and all. I wouldn't want you to get into <em>trouble</em>." She hesitates ever so slightly on that last word, sucking her bottom lip. "That's too bad. I would have been so very grateful."<br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">ooc</div><div class="spoiler_body">I have an idea for this scene with the clerk. So unless you have something specific in mind just keep him in the chair and Sam will take good care of him :)<br>Also, I'm confused about the noise on the radio. Is this a two-way radio or a normal one? I can't tell if the moaning sound is coming from deeper inside the morgue or if it is something broadcast over the air.</div></div>
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