"What are you doing here?" A rather portly, older gentleman hollered. Extra emphasis on the 'gentle' despite his rather blunt way of speaking. "I already told you I don't got no work for you! Take this with you... Now get on, git!"
"I didn't come here for food Mr. Robinson…" Albert grinned sheepishly, but didn't even try pushing away the pipping hot paper plate with three slices of extra cheesy, greasy pepperoni pizza. Who was he to turn down free food? "But thanks, how do I owe you?"
"I told you, your money's no good here!" Robinson patted off his flour covered apron as he grumbled as though his voice couldn't be heard from halfway down the street. "Damn kids, they act like they got cotton in their ears."
Instead of replying to the grouch, he only ruthlessly tore into the first slice. A long, drooping string of cheese following that bite. His foot bouncing to a tune known only to him as he ate. It was never a bad day when pizza was involved.
'That and I have something to do.'
With how primitive this world's version of the internet was, he couldn't just scroll endlessly on his phone or waste the day away watching other people play games or on demand television. So unless he wanted to spend another day doing nothing but resting, there really wasn't a lot he could do to keep himself occupied. That or people watch.
Like now, his eyes gazed over the small trickle of people making their way through sidewalks that would've been large enough for a city below a population of one million but was severely impractical for a city well over ten. Even with this rather slow traffic, they were still nearly shoulder to shoulder. Just barely leaving enough space to avoid the opportunistic pickpocket that was assuredly in their midst.
He was just glad Robinson had a small outdoor section for customers to enjoy both their meal and the 'scenery', no matter how crappy of a view it might be. The table set out wasn't anything special, made completely out a cheap metal with a single chain connecting one of the legs to the concrete below. Like the giant metal spike hammered deep into the surface.
'It looks like..cast iron?'
Not as valuable as copper, but could probably still catch someone a good few bucks.
All this was just a distraction, he knew. A way for him to avoid the massive, venomous elephant in the room. But it had been far too long and his curiosity was gnawing lasciviously at him. How much exactly had he improved?
After receiving a clear sign for his progress through the use of the system had in fact spoiled him and now it was like he'd taken a few last hits before setting down the cig for good.
In the end, he folded like a wet paper towel.
'Status.'
[Albert Nelson
HP: 20/20
MP: 9/9
SAN: 42/47
LCK: 45/45
IP: 6
Skills:
- Appraise: 25%
- Art/Craft (Photography): 55%
- Disguise: 25%
- Dodge: 23%
- Fire Arms (Handgun): 62%
- Library Use: 60%
- Listen: 33%
- Navigate: 22%
- Occult: 35%
- Persuade: 3%
- Psychology: 54%
- Spot Hidden: 60%
- Stealth: 44%
-Psychometry: 3%
Talents:
- Resourceful
- Lucky
-Psychic Power
Cthulhu Mythos: 0%]
Maybe he should've been hopping around in joy at the rather explosive rate of growth a majority of his skills had gone through all without spending a single IP. Or maybe try to figure out the rules behind injury and the effect it might have on his full HP. Or even salivate at the idea of how close his SAN was to being maxed out. A status that had been ripped away from during his first minutes in this accursed world.
But no, those icy fingers only ran down his spine like a familiar lover. Nails biting into his skin just a tad bit. Not to draw blood, but to keep him aware of it's looming overarching presence. Dread did that. And for this instance, it was well warranted.
Persuade.
Albert could actually vividly remember when he'd 'unlocked' the skill. When he'd gotten up off that floor and stuck that photo between him and possible death. When he'd felt his tongue fork off and twist someone's mind to reason. At least, his version.
It was the hallmark of a cult leader. A skill used to mold the mind of a dispersed, downtrodden crowd into fanatical mob that would commit unknown atrocities in the name of their shepherd's goal. Maybe it had limited uses when in the hands of a few short-term investigators, but what about some random background character given time to spin it's web?
There was a reason he'd generally fallback on charismatic leaders as his game's big bads. Even if the skill wasn't used in the view of investigators, he always made sure their level was at least seventy or seventy-five. How else could they get people to see their sides of things? To force people to witness their own personal version of madness? No amounts of money, luxury, protection or anything material would ever make someone willingly strive to awakening some ancient god in some sunken city at the bottom of the ocean. Sure some were only in it for the benefits being apart of such an organization, or believed they would be rewarded in some ways, like being the new world spanning monarch. But for those truly in it for the long haul? Only a thoroughly warped and molded mind would wish for that being to surface and drop the world into madness.
And for when the skill was used by actual players?
Things became often became trivial, especially if it was combo'd off with observational skills like Spot Hidden or Psychology. And if they got their hands on the gatekeeped skill, Hypnosis, then it was okay to just toss that campaign in the garbage.
Just the ability to mold someone like clay with nothing but his carefully curated words would be enough to attract the attention of many dangerous parties. Especially if he got really, really good at it.
His eyes flickered over to a slight bit of movement out of the corner of his sight, a distraction he so easily and readily jumped head first into. Looking up he saw the rather short figure peeking around a corner. Their clothes looked worn, patched together and a few sizes too big if the way it drooped over them was anything to go by. Especially that humongous overcoat that acted more like a blanket than something meant to be worn out on the town. Possibly, the only thing of worth that they wore was that bright orange scarf covering a good portion of their face.
Even from so far back, he could see the rather uneven knits that even a machine on it's last legs wouldn't be caught dead missing. How one side of the scarf seemed a bit lopsided, one side high above their left ear while the other barely covered the end of their right cheek.
Sighing, Albert waved the obviously homeless kid on over. Blame it on his bleeding heart or his stubbornness to allow this city to snuff out that flickering flame of empathy but either way he wasn't immune to a kid in need. Sure, he could ignore those commercials the tried to guilt trip people into giving up just 'a few quarters' a month to support some faceless child. It was different when they were right in front of him.
Besides, he wasn't all too hungry anyway.
The kid looked back behind him, before taking a few tentative step forward. Like a skittish doe attracted by some strange human thing, the teen didn't dare move a muscle. Nor did he look directly at the kid. And as they got closer, it was a rather apt description.
Looking shorter and far skinnier, if those much too large shoes taped together to fit their feet and jeans sown at the hip to make it's waist thinner by a large degree.
"I can't finish this all anyway." He lied, taking the already bitten into slice and pushing the plate forward. Even a single slice of Robinson's pizza would easily satiate someone of this size, two might make them feel somewhat uncomfortably full. Besides, he needed to start cutting back on all this greasy food anyway. No matter how good it was.
Instead of taking the plate, the child only glanced at it once with a forlorn expression on his face. Shaking his head, he put on a rather grave expression entirely befitting someone so young.
"If you're waiting for someone, I'll just tell you now. He's not coming."
Just hearing his voice once instantly made Albert deduct a good three-years from his guess. It was high pitch, a bit higher than he'd expected. Meaning only one thing, something that made him look at the kid with a bit of pity.
'He's pretty short for his age.'
"That's rather unfortunate." A small smile twitched at the corner of his lips, he knew what was up. Small facts was the name of the game. "But I don't why you're telling this to me, I'm waiting on my client. SHE told me to meet her here."
"What does her name start with?"
"An 'o'….unless she was some strange way of spelling."
"...She does." The kid nodded slowly, before taking the seat across from him. "Olivia sent me here to act as intermediary and a chauffeur. Her words, not mine. Dillon."
"Albert, nice to meet you."
Holding out his uninjured hand, the pair shook once.
"Why the gloves?"
"Why not? Doesn't it add to my mystique?"
"It's make you look like a weirdo." Dillon snorted, already digging into the remained slices with a ferocity only seen in food eating competitions. Practically shoveling the entire time in his mouth like he feared that it would be snatched away from him by some wandering rival or the teen himself.
"There's some guy running around in a bat costume," Albert shrugged. "You gotta be a bit weird to live in Gotham."
"I'll give you some advice, don't mention Batman when you meet Olivia." The kid winced, not even trying to not eat while talking. Which sent specs of spits all over the last remaining slice. Most likely a calculate move, or maybe he was just a sloppy eater. "She blames the reason why spandex has gotten so expensive lately on him, so don't mention anything to do with bats or vigilantes. Unless you want to listen to an hour long rant."
"Noted." Leaning back in his seat, the teen finished up his original slice in a few bites. "Is there any more pieces of advice you can give me?"
"She's...uh a bit weird. But don't call her that, she found out what eccentric meant some years and has been using it ever since, so just stick with that….Maybe try to treat her like you're with me? If there's one thing she hates above all else it's being treated like a kid."
"So I'm not too surprised, how old are you two?"
"I'm twelve and she's fourteen, what about you? Fourteen as well?"
"Sixteen."
"Really?" Seeing the kid pull off that skeptical and pitying look, something only given out to those suffering the same misfortune, made him want to flick his forehead. Dillon hadn't even hit puberty yet and he's already believing all things were lost?
'Give it a few years.' A name popped up in his mind, a term from his old life that the internet had dubbed vertically challenged men. Respectfully of course. 'And then maybe you can call yourself a Short King.'
"Then," Albert spoke up after a few moments of awkward silence. Filled with only the rather disgusting smacking of eating that combined with being forced to watch someone chew with their mouth open, suddenly made the relaxing air he'd cultivated to be thoroughly trounced upon. Anything was better than being tortured like that, especially when a rather interesting character had been painted with just a few suggestions. "Let's not keep her for long. Is there a place you need to lead me?"
***
What followed was a rather confusing journey. The older part of Gotham had always been rather difficult to navigate through but when multiple turns down sketchy looking back-alleys and squeezing through long forgotten pathways was required to reach their destination, it instantly made things a lot harder than they should've been. Maybe that purposeful, a way to keep the exact route to their home a secret from any who would wish to do them harm.
Whatever the case, it meant one thing. Albert was completely and utterly lost. Looking around at the run down street with nothing but a handful of abandoned buildings that looked exactly like every other abandoned building in Gotham, street signs that should've had atleast the name of street plastered in bold white letters. But instead, only a single metal post leaned off to one side barely holding on to nothing other than wishes and dreams. And given the fact they had come out of yet another alley, which would've been better called a tunnel, it would make it literally impossible for him to find his way back here. Hell, he'll probably need to ask his guide to bring him back home.
"Home sweet home." Dillon, not looking out of breathe in slightest like they hadn't just done something resembling a triathlon, waved his hand to a single building off to the side. It's size looking a bit smaller than the others on the block, but that was probably due to the roof having crumbled away. And in it's place, a gray tarp acted as makeshift protection from the elements.
The 'home' was old and un-cared for. Ancient bricks that looked as though a simple touch would cause them to deteriorate into simple powder. Graffiti that acted more like a fresh coating of paint in comparison to the stuff that was just flaking off even now. The few remaining windows that weren't sealed completely in stone, had rotted wooden boards to make up for their entire lack of glass. And don't even get him started on the door…
It was like someone who really, really liked Dr. Suess as a kid and decided to make a door inspired by that acid trip of a world. Being lopsided and cut at a pretty strange angle, made of an entirely different materiel that did nothing for the uniformity that plagued the city. Like multiple boards were fused together and forced into the semblance of a door. Frankly the only normal thing about this was the rather simple doorknob. A bit rusted but normal.
"It's...interesting."
"What, is your place better?"
Dillon bit back a bit defensively, the way the young snap so easily at even the slightest hint of ridicule or scorn was a pass-time all parents faced at one time in their life. Not Albert though, he'd sat back and laughed as pre-teens and teens nearly bite their parent's heads off in a storm of unbalanced hormones.
"Mine's haunted."
He shrugged, maybe if he'd had children personally in his pass life then he'd try to show the kid that there wasn't any ill will with his previous comment. He tried to be diplomatic and it hadn't gone the expected way. Or maybe even a short few weeks ago, his response would've been a lot less dry. But there had been far too many lessons for him to fall back onto old habits.
'Keep things professional.'
"Bullcrap!" The pre-teen scoffed, the sound familiar and iconic as those classic cheesy horror flicks when some random background character tried warn them about the dangers they were in. "There's no such thing as ghosts."
'If only you knew.' It was a bit hard to refute the existence of ghosts when he had a friend who could both talk and guide them to their final destination. Besides, with flying gods and giant lizard men, what was a ghost in comparison? "It's true, believe or not. But I live in an ex-office building that just so happen to have a living space upstairs."
"That-that sounds a bit messed up." The kid stuttered slightly, nearly stumbling on his feet as he heard that particularly odd part. Maybe he felt a bit embarrassed after because once that moment passed, he forced his face into a neutral mask. Even going as far as to cover half of his face with that orange scarf of his. "Let's go, she might get into a fit if we make her wait much longer."
"Lead the way." Motioning forward, Albert allowed his guide to finish the journey. Everything was going just fine so far but even his mind started to stutter when he saw what happened next. Instead of gripping the doorknob and turning it, they pulled on a cord of some-sort which caused the door to pop open like a spring loaded toy.
"What's with that look? There's nothing wrong with it." If before Dillon had a defensive air about him, now it was like had slid on a few pieces of heavy plate-mail akin to the chivalric knights of old. But instead, a lot moodier.
"Why have the door knob at all?"
"It's to throw people off," He replied without even blinking, as though every thing he said was the norm. "That and it's used to finish closing the door when people leave, if there's no one else home to close it for you."
"Wait, it doesn't even turn?"
"No, why would it?"
Frankly, if Albert actually knew how to get through that hellish tangle of back alleys and much too steep stairs then maybe he would've walked away from this rather wacky house. It was getting a bit too much, he just hoped his client was at least a bit normal. Even a bit strange was fine, given the description given to him.
'He's probably the one who built this door.'
It made sense given how defensive the pre-teen was, he'd probably been very proud of it and seeing someone not directly connected to him have such an adverse reaction must've hit him a bit in his burgeoning pride.
When the door had popped open, it finally gave Albert a good look at the interior. The hallway that seemed to yawn on for a good distance had a series of doorways leading off to a variety of differing room. Frame-less photos littered the inner walls in a pattern only known by the owners themselves, some of them depicting his guide at a much younger age with a group of similarly aged children while others only had three such figures.
A lumbering 'man' who possessed the babiest of baby faces, his guide and finally a small blonde girl that clung tightly to the giant.
Following his ticket home inside, what hit him first wasn't the smell of mildew nor the rather short ceiling that felt like it was trying to consume him whole. Not, it was the soft music dancing through the home. Heavy on the instrumental, both sorrowful and upbeat with a slight strangeness to it. Like the way it was record was from very, very old technology. Honestly, it reminded him of those old cartoons he use to watch as a kid. They were classics, with that unique art-style and grainy production.
Vintage music.
Figuring out the particular name would be impossible, but that didn't mean it wasn't at least somewhat catchy. Strange but enjoyable.
"Follow me, I'll lead you to her studio." Dillon didn't even blink or show any outward reaction to the oddity. And instead only closed the door with a mechanical click, forcing the rather dim lights to work overtime to keep everything as visible as possible. Failing miserably in the process. As the pair began to walk down the hallway, more strangeness became apparent. They passed multiple photos either stapled or taped to the wall, a stark detail made itself known. In all these pictures, not a single adult was displayed.
That in itself wouldn't be odd if the number of kids in each photo didn't dwindle as well, until only the three stood in solidarity. They all looked close, like brothers and sisters and judging from how none of them shared not even a single feature with each-other, it was safe to say they weren't blood related.
Continuing down the hallway, the music only grew louder. Growing from a soft hum acting as backward sound to something that felt like it's intention was to act as a backdrop for the meeting to come. Until the pair stopped at a single door off to the side, which seemed to be the source of the music.
The pre-teen looked back on final time, some amounts of uncertainty present in those brown eyes of his but that didn't stop him from knocking three times in sharp succession. Some movement could be heard from the other side and what felt like only a few seconds later, a voice called out to them.
"You may enter."
It sounded familiar to him, just lacking the weirdness that first attracted him to this case. That and it was like the other person was trying really hard to sound mature, deepening their pitch to make something resembling a husk. Which would be quite difficult given how high pitch the person was.
And he didn't know to expect when that door was pushed open. A simple room would've been more than fine but that wasn't the case. Inside was a complete and utter, chaotic mess. Clothes and fabric of every variety hung strewn on metal racks. Reminding him a lot of most thrift shops are presented. Sewing supplies shunted off to one side while on the other a multitude of sketches stuck atop each-other. Each of the figures draw were in a series of exaggerated poses, being tall and slim. Some of them wore elegant ballroom gowns, while other's wore some sort of uniform that drooped off their bodies. But if there was one thing they all had in common, it was the large brimmed hats pushed just far enough to cover their faces.
That in itself wouldn't be so strange, if it wasn't for the sight that met the pair. There sitting in a cheap plastic chair, sat a rather tanned girl. Her dirty blonde hair was short, like barely barely reaching the middle of her face with strange straight bangs that stopped just above the brows. She looked skinny, really skinny. Not to the point of being malnourished but not too far off. Nothing too out of line with the poor population of Gotham. Wearing some bold makeup that extenuated her nearly pitch black eyes and artificially rosy cheeks.
But that wasn't what made Albert feel like he'd travel farther back in time, it was what she was wearing. She wore a green sleeveless dress, with black gloves that pulled all the way up her forearm. A beaded necklace wrapped around her neck three times and pearl earrings that jingled from whatever movement she went through to get in that chair. Along with a bright yellow headband that had a single large feather poking out on the left side of her head.
Yet what truly stole the show was the pitch as night pelt scarf that nearly consumed her small frame. Wrapped around the back of her neck and under her arms.
Even just sitting there, as a focal point of the past. She sat with a refined air about her, like she wasn't trying to conspicuously slide that other slipper on.
"I suppose you are from the Seeking Eye Agency?" The girl asked, probably buying time. Turning to Dillon, she smiled at the pre-teen that look as though everything happening was completely normal. "Thank you for bringing him here, you're swell."
"I'll leave you to two alone." Dillon only nodded once at each of them before sliding past the slightly shaken investigator. "Call me if you need anything."
And with that, the boy was gone. Leaving Albert with more questions than answers then. Take him back to the cartoony wackiness, not this blast from the distant past.
"It is nice to meet you," Being off kilter wasn't a reason to be rude, especially with this being his client. "My name is Albert Nelson."
"Look how rude I've been." The girl acted, further exaggerated her woe. "My name is Olivia Clifton and I do believe a deposit is required before going forward. Client confidentiality, I hope you can understand."
"No I completely understand."
"Here's some jack," Holding out her hands, she deposited four quarters into his open palm. Her eyes lingered a bit on his injured arm. "Are you sure you can handle yourself?"
"Training accident and I shouldn't really need to it for this." Pocketing the coins, he slid into a nearby chair. "Now can you explain what's going on?"
"Then I cut to the chase then," Olivia began. "My bird's been flying the coop lately, trying to feed us chicks here. Connor works hard and dangerous jobs he shouldn't be. Usually these jobs keeps him away from the house from around eight in the morning to around seven at night. Awful hours, I know. But lately, he's been going out at night and coming back with bruises and more money than his day jobs pay, by a large margin. I think he's going behind my back, those floozies must've charmed him some how. He's too good to be some gigolo. I already told you what I want you to do. He usually goes out two to three times per week, and tonight is going to be one of those nights. Follow him and make sure he isn't seeing anyone...If possible, I want you to cut them quiffs down."
"No." His response was immediate, he wasn't some thug or assassin to go around killing people for hire. Besides, what kind of assassin would only take a dollar to do something like that. "Sure I can steak him out, but I won't be killing anyone."
"What a bluenose." The flapper, a style of fashion prominent in the roaring twenties, murmured. Fidgeting at her feather, she finally spoke once more with great difficulty. Like it was some sort massive compromise or something. "Fine, then just knock em' around a bit."
"If you didn't noticed, I won't be knocking anyone around."
"Just follow him then!" She held up her arms in exasperation, like he was being the unreasonable one. Her voice slipping out of that refined tone and losing that forced husk. "I know he's at that age to be on the prowl for some easy lay but I don't want him seeing no one! He's mine! And if it means he has to wait five or six years, then I don't see a reason why he shouldn't!"
'Whoa.' Obviously, he'd step on a landmine. A crazy one at that. 'Why can't anyone be normal in this city?'
"I can do that." It was better if that craziness wasn't pointed in his direction, whoever this schmuck named Connor was could handle that instead.
"Good." With his agreement, she relaxed back into her chair. Straightening out her dress that had crumpled a bit in her flash of jealously fueled insanity. "You can wait in the nearby buildings for him, he usually gets home a bit earlier today so you should only have to wait until for a few hours till nightfall."
"Wait...Wouldn't it be better to comeback later on today?" He really didn't relish the idea of being stuck in some abandoned building with nothing to do for hours on in.
"You-you want to try navigating your way, by yourself, at night?"
"Good point. Never-mind then, is there a building I should be worried about?"
"Avoid the last building down the way, we're pretty sure that's where some meth heads use to crash during the day. Everywhere else should be fine...just try to stay on the first floor. I wouldn't just the floors to save my life."
"Okay, well I will find somewhere to lay low at. I'll see what he's up to tonight."
"Thank you kindly for taking up this job," Olivia leaned forward to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. "But if you are forced to cause a few floozies to croak, then I'll throw in some extra jack to make it worth your time."
'Yeah, get me out of here.'