Logs:Hashing Out Plans

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Hashing Out Plans

"Seems like drugs and time are the two constant fucking factors. Unfortunately, those are pretty shitty leads."

Dramatis Personae

Frankie, Nicole, and Rictus

13 October, 2017

A trio of Sin Eaters meet up at Grouchy's House of Hash and talk about some current murderings going on.


Grouchy's House of Hash (B03)

Frankie enjoys a good round of hash sometimes. Or something. It seems like this is kind of a Sin-Eater hangout, or at least on its way to becoming one. Sometimes Frankie neither wants to hang out at a tattoo place nor a bar. So House of Hash it is. Norbert's up on the roof, and is thus not visible inside the diner. Frankie's over at the counter, peering at a menu.

Fresh from a work conference, Nicole meanders into the House of Hash for some dinner. She sidles up next to Frankie, shoulder-bumping the other woman if she'll allow it, offering a small smile as well. "Evenin' F-bomb," she greets, likewise now checking out the menu for something to satisfy her stomach.

Frankie glances over at the bump. She doesn't shake it off or pull away. It may be that bumps are an acceptable form of touching. "Hey," she greets. "Just got off work or something?" It's the clothes. They are tell-tale.

Rictus finally rolls out of bed and into his uniform. Faded Eulogy for Apathy t-shirt, loose black jeans, shitkicker boots. Sid's old jacket with it's snazzy deathly chill. Up goes the mohawk, dyed bright blue with yellow tips. The man spends /time/ on that hair. About then, the stomach starts to growl. In an exceptionally good mood this 'morning', Ric forgoes the usual ordering of anchovy and pineapple pizza and instead heads out. And ends up at Grouchy's House of Hash.

He pushes through the door, glancing around, grinning a wolfish grin, mostly to himself, but also to anyone who happens to look his direction. His first time here, he finds himself barking a laugh, "How utterly fucking /American/. I love it."

He heads towards the counter, boots clomping, and that's when he spots a couple of familiar faces, one moreso than the other. He heads in their direction and sidles up, pushing himself right between them, "Oh, would you fucking look at that! Food /and/ some goddamned /charming/ company. Day's starting off good." Nevermind that it's into evening now. "What's good?"

Well, thank god there's no 'anchovy and pineapple' going on here. Nicole is adventurous, willing to try almost anything once - but that would be on the no-no list. Eugh. "Yeah, how'd you guess?" Nic enquires of Frankie, the question amused and slightly rueful rather than serious. She doesn't usually wear a dress if left to her own devices, after all. "Still, I got paid, so I figured some hash was in order. This one's on me," she offers to the other Crow. "I'll have a bowl of chilli," she then orders for herself. "And a vanilla milkshake." Delish.

She turns as she hears the door and the clomping of boots, and a vaguely familiar German-ish accent. "The spud muffin is good. As is the Boston Strangler, depending on how hungry you are," Nic offers to the punk with a small smile. "Or if you're super into burgers, the 'I hate myself' has a lot going for it."

"Hash is good," Frankie tells Rictus. "And you don't have to buy me anything. I'll get my own." She pauses, peering at the mohawk. "How long do you spend on that when you wake up?" she inquires. And her pocket makes a single beep, so she pulls out a smartphone and thumbs it active. She rolls her eyes some when she reads the screen.

Rictus barks a laugh at the talk of work. "Ah, the daily fucking grind! I mean the job, not the fucking coffee shop." He winks at Frankie, then looks at Nicole. "You didn't strike me as the 9 to 5 type. Then again, I probably wasn't paying a whole lot of fucking attention when I met you last. All that goddamned /nature/ around." He gives a shudder. Ew, nature.

"Spud muffin. Not feeling like a strangling today. I'll fucking take six of 'em." And he orders just that, when he gets a chance. He's /famished/. "So, what do you /do/? Secretary?" He flashes her a playful grin, then looks at Frankie. "Hey, beauty takes fucking /time/. Not that I ain't beautiful to begin with, but I know the ladies can't resist /this/." He strokes his hand along his mohawk, winking at Frankie. "How's the kids?"

"I'm not, and no." Nicole answers Ric's questions briefly, her attention more on paying for her food. Once that is done, she turns to face the brightly-coloured anarchist and elaborates, "I do translation. Various languages into English. So I work whatever hours I feel like - or whatever hours my clients have calls, which can be way late or early depending on timezones - between all the fun."

Nicole considers the mohawk, the merits and virtues thereof, then lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "It's eye-catching, sure, but I can't imagine it's all that great when you're in bed. Sleeping or otherwise."

Frankie looks, for a moment, slightly puzzled at the mention of kids. Then she rolls her eyes a bit. Shakes her head. Orders some hash, because sure. Hash. No coffee, though. "You guys have met before? Saves me making introductions, then."

Rictus lifts an eyebrow, seemingly slightly surprised by Nicole's answer. He was expecting a lot of things, but translation wasn't it. He seems genuinely curious when he replies, "Oh yeah? What languages? You speak fucking German?" As she continues, he barks another laugh. "I don't fucking /sleep/ with it up. The mohawk, that is. And I ain't never had any fucking complaints about the other." He offers a wink. For someone who, judging by his accent, is not a native English speaker, he's put a lot of work into mutilating the language with swearing, slang, and incorrect grammar. He prides himself on it - there's an art to it.

At Frankie's puzzled look, he just grins, dark blue eyes glinting. It obviously amuses him, whatever it is. He pays for his spud muffins with a handful of bills. He doesn't really bother to count them, just assumes it's close enough. And when the server doesn't complain, he accepts that it is. And he's in charge of /two/ businesses? No wonder he's really broke for a famous person.

"Yeah, we met out at some... fuck, where were we? I don't even remember what the fuck I was doing there." He looks at Nicole, "What the fuck was I doing there?"

"Unfortunately not, though I'm always up for learning a new language," Nicole tells Rictus with a smile that is for once genuinely interested. "Mostly middle-eastern languages; Arabic, Kurdish, Dari. Also Russian. A couple of other bits, but nothing from the Indo-European family group. Yet." Her smile becomes a grin as he describes his sleeping situation, the party geist somewhat amused. "Sure, sure."

She glances to Frankie, nodding. "We were out by the gallows point. Rictus was.. I think lost and alcohol-deprived, after a few hours of trying to kick trees down. Something to do with maple syrup?" She looks back to the punk. "I think?"

"...Maple syrup?" Frankie echoes, arching an eyebrow. "Ooh-kay, then. And I only speak Spanish. Other than English." She glances at her phone again, puts it down on the counter. "Did I ever talk to you guys about that Ripper thing going on?"

Rictus grows more interested as Nicole shows interest in learning German, his chest puffing up a bit in pride. He's German, after all, quite a few of whom take a lot of pride in their language and culture. Not that they're alone in that. "Yeah? Fuck, I could teach you. Shit, you could use some of my albums as a study aid." He offers a wink, and then laughs at her 'sure, sure' comment. "What, you need a personal fucking demonstration?" Probably a poorly phrased sentence. Or an exceptionally phrased one.

A pause at the bit about maple syrup, then he's snapping his fingers, "/That's/ right. Fucking trees. Stingy assholes." He flashes a grin, then looks at Frankie as she mentions the Ripper. "You mean old Jack? He back?" It's mostly a joke. In their world, it's not entirely out of the question, though. He's curious. "C'mon, let's grab our food and get a fucking table." It looks like it's coming right up, if the six spud muffins in the order window are any indication. "I want to hear about this Ripper shit."

"Ripper thing?" Nicole frowns at Frankie's comment, shaking her head. "No, but you should. And I need to add Spanish to my list as well." Looking back to Rictus, she nods at his offer of teaching. "I'm working on Sumerian at the moment, but give me a week or two and I'll be up for some German lessons. -Not- in bed. I don't need to sleep with my bestie's sort-of-not-really-fiance." Yeah, she's still a little annoyed about that whole discussion. Serves her right for being so protective of the baby gangster.

She wanders over to an empty table near the back where they can eat and talk without being disturbed, scootching into the booth and waiting for the food and drink to be delivered, waving the other two over to join her.

"Ripper thing. Not Jack, a weirdo in black robes." She takes her hash plate, paying for it, because Frankies don't let people buy them things. Most of the time. She heads toward the table Nicole's at and pulls out a chair, settling down into it. When they're all three gathered, she says, "A series of bodies have been showing up lately. The victims have multiple lacerations over their bodies and get dumped in alleys or behind old buildings. Do you guys not read the news? Anyway, I was out running in Crow Hollow woods and I happened across a guy who'd just been killed. Multiple lacerations and all that."

"Sumerian? What the fuck is that?" Hey, the man never even graduated college. He's world-smart, but not very book-smart. Then he's flashing a grin at the mention of his sort-of-not-really-fiance, "Oh yeah! I mean, she ran her fucking boyfriend out of town for me, you know." Ok, that wasn't at all the reason, but details, details. "Just gotta get that goddamned ring. You could join us, you know." He offers her a wink. The joke's been going on so long now, a few folks are likely confused as to just how much of it is actually true or not.

He moves to flop down into the booth, sprawling, making himself comfortable. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a battered silver flask, even as he waits for that delicious, artery-clogging food to be served. And he listens to Frankie, growing a /bit/ more serious. A little bit, at least. Kind of. He opens his flask and takes thoughtful swig.

"Hey, I read the fucking news, when I got time." He makes a mental note to assign Stefan to reading the news and summarizing. In the meantime, "You found one of the fucking victims? They have a ghost?"

"I did see something about that, I think," Nicole murmurs to Frankie, her frown returning, brow furrowing a little bit. "You found one? How recently had he died, do you know?" she then wonders, reaching a hand up to take down her hair from it's twist, relaxing a tad after her workday.

"If it's a real wedding and she's happy? I'll be there." Clearly, she's one of those confused by the whole thing.

Then, food arrives and she busies herself with eating some of the delicious chilli. Om nom nom.

"Super recently. Not even cold yet recently. And yeah, the victim left a ghost. Stan Orville. Couldn't get him to pass on no matter what I said; he said he's sticking around until the murder's solved," Frankie says. She's not saying anything about any weddings. She's just ignoring it.

"The weird thing was, when I did the Final Vision ritual --- the one where you touch a dead person and you can see what they saw when they died --- I saw someone in black robes with a kind of... Grim Reaper face superimposed over their head. I don't know how you do that, really."

Rictus barks a laugh at Nicole's words about the wedding. "It's a fucking /joke/. She's like my goddamned sister or something." Even as he says it, there's a slight flicker of expression, which he quickly brushes aside. And then, food arrives! He pushes himself up, capping and tucking the flask away, preparing to dig in.

His gaze shifts towards Frankie as she begins explaining the incident, his brows knitting thoughtfully, even as he starts in on that first spud muffin. Might as well eat while he listens, right? He's a surprisingly neat eater, too, considering how much of a train wreck he seems at times. And he chews and swallows /before/ speaking.

"Could it be a fucking Geist? Something like the? The vision, I mean." He pauses his eating, thinking. "Stan Orville, huh? You dig around into him at all?" Another bite, chew swallow, then he says, "Either way, looks like it's clear what we gotta fucking do." Now it's 'we', apparently. "We gotta fucking solve it." Ric can't help it - he's big at passing on ghosts. He's gone to great extremes to do so.

Eating slowly, taking in Frankie's words as well as her food, Nicole nods slowly. "Superimposed - could you make out any of the face underneath, or was it all grinning and skully?" she asks between bites of chilli, pausing to sip from her milkshake. "There are plenty weirder things out there than us, so I've heard. Could be anything."

To Rictus she offers a slightly eyes-narrowed look. "A joke, mm. As long as she's laughing." Is there a protective big sister vibe here with regards to Kilo? Maybe. Odd, given she's a Thorpe and Kilo is... Kilo. "Yeah. Need to solve this thing. Any idea if the other victems left a ghost?"

"Don't know that it's a Geist. Didn't recognize it as such? And didn't see anything beneath the skull." Frankie reports, digging into her hash. "Don't know if the other victims left ghosts. As for Stan Orville, well, not much to know. Eighteen years old, living above one of his friends' shops since he left his parents. Frequented Leigh's Pool Hall and might show up there. Friends John, Sam, and Katy also go to the pool hall."

Frankie continues, "The first four victims are three males and one female. Their ages are twenty, twenty-two, eighteen, and thirty. All found around bars or places where drug deals go down; all of them were coming down off a high or sobering up from being drunk when they were killed. None of them were particularly happy people." Frankie shrugs. "Only other things linking them's the time they were killed - twilight or just after twilight - and they're all killed in Crow Hollow and the Hanging Hills areas. With sickles. They're not part of Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous, either." Frankie chews on some hash, reaches for her water. Frankie kind of seems to be used to poking into things like this and relaying information she finds. Everyone's got a hobby?

"A lot fucking weirder things, and I've fucking /seen/ 'em." He says it with a bit of seriousness, one that indicates he's perhaps seen a lot, and some of it a little /too/ well. Then he's looking over at Nicole, those dark blue eyes flashing a little. "You may think I'm a fucking asshole who just does whatever he fucking wants with no regard for anything else, and you may be not entirely fucking wrong, but I will have you /know/ that I would never, ever, do anything that would fucking hurt her." Nicole's not the only one who's protective, it seems. "It's just a fucking joke, anyway. It was a stupid fucking dare and it shoulda been goddamned Elly, anyway." Long story, it seems.

But now, now there's more important things to focus on. He looks towards Frankie, finishing off the first spud muffin and reaching for the second as she relays that information. Scarfing down a second gives him a chance to process it. "So, to fucking summarize. We're dealing with some strange shit that ain't a Geist, but mode is pretty fucking clear. I bet if we dug deeper, those ain't the /only/ goddamned victims, either. Never fucking is." Ric knows a little something-something about serial killers, what with being Bound to one.

"Seems like drugs and time are the two constant fucking factors. Unfortunately, those are pretty shitty leads. Is it just fucking /here/? When did the murders start and shit? Maybe whoever's doing it did it somewhere else /first/, but it ain't being connected."

Rubbing one hand over her eyes briefly, Nicole just nods to Rictus. That conversation may need to be continued, but the Ripper's victims deserve her full attention now. "I can ask some of my family on the force exactly where the other bodies were found, see if there's any ghosts lingering in those areas - either the dead guys, or others who might have seen something," she volunteers, finishing her chilli and pushing the bowl to one side, concentrating on sipping her milkshake through the straw.

"I'm also at Leigh's quite a lot. I'll keep my eyes peeled." Nicole then falls quiet, thinking about the things she's been told, trying to see how it fits together in her mind around all the gaps that Rictus just mentioned.

Frankie swallows a gulp of water and nods. "Yeah, they're shitty leads. And it's only been maybe a couple of weeks here. But good idea, seeing if this has happened elsewhere." She pushes some hash around on her plate before adding, "There was a cop - Katherine Reynolds. She could see Norbert, so I told her to be careful on the case. And I told her about the final vision I saw. She knows I hang around with a ghost and that I had a near-death experience once and that I deal with this shit."

Rictus seems more than happy to let the alternate conversation go for now, focusing on the Ripper, which seems far more pressing, and less of a mystery. Ok, no, it's quite a mystery, and it doesn't take much for Ric to find himself consumed in it, his mind whirring to try and process all the details, make some sense of it. He starts in on a third sput muffin, devouring it quickly. It seems he /does/ intend to eat all six.

He chews, swallows, and continues, "Yeah, that's a good id... wait, you got family ont he fucking force?" He seems amused at the idea, but then shoves that one aside as well. "That's a good fucking idea. Sometimes people have been doing this shit for goddamned /years/ and people just ain't connected it because it's in different states, different countries. And you just shut the fuck up." The last doesn't seem to be directed at either Nicole or Frankie. He snorts, shaking his head, and re-focuses on the two of them.

"I'm new here, don't got a lot of contacts. I can poke around a little, though. You can get a lot of fucking information with cash." Wait, isn't Ric mostly broke? Then again, he /does/ have some pretty expensive lawyers. It might be that he has an alternative source of income.

"One thing I /could/ fucking do, and you're probably already on this, Frankie, is poke around down below. Multiple recent residents with similar modes of death, well, it's not /real/ likely, but it's possible someone's around, you know? I can see if anyone fitting that description, the deaths, and the ages, has crossed a fucking river. Or if... the fucking Ripper has."

"I'm a Thorpe," Nicole informs Rictus, as if that should explain everything. Well, to a local, it does. "Let me know if there's more I can do, F-bomb. Preferably that doesn't involve going down there - I'm still on training wheels as far as that's concerned." Another sip of her milkshake, then the drink is finished and she sets the empty glass aside.

Frankie nods, shoveling more hash into her mouth and chewing. She's okay with talking while she's eating. "Also a good idea, Rictus. I didn't think of looking down below. Not every death causes a ghost. Maybe there's something down there anyway." She glances sidelong at Nicole. "Maybe you should head down with Rictus or me sometime. For experience."

"And I'm a Lehmann, what's your'e fucking point?" He does not understand why being a Thorpe would have anything to do with law enforcement. He lets that go, too, however, not particularly interested beyond the fact that Nicole has law enforcement family. Instead, he focuses on the Underworld bit. He flashes a broad, toothy grin at Nicole, "Oh, you need more experience, you came to the right fucking place."

He glances at Frankie, still grinning, then back at Nicole, "Shit, Frankie taught me the basics. Gave me my first goddamned journal. And what a piece of crap /that/ was." He glances at Frankie, winking. Then he adds, "I still fucking got it, and it's served me well." Something close to affection there. At least respect.

More biting, more chewing, as he works on the fourth. "I mean, it don't hurt nothing fucking checking. If we could find those locations, though, like she said," a nod to Nicole, "That'd fucking help a ton, too. Or other locations, if its' been happening. Fuck, the way you describe it, doubt it's a /new/ fucking thing. Then there's what question of /what/ the fuck is it."

Another bite, chew, swallow. "I don't know how that vision shit works. Do you see what they see, or what's /real/?"

Blink. Nicole grins at Rictus' response. "We're a local family. Pretty much all of us go into either the military or emergency services, or both. It's a.. family thing. So yes, I've got siblings and cousins on various units around the city," she explains in a nutshell. "Yeah, experience would be good. I've been focusing on Him a bit too much and not the rest." She nods once, then looks to Frankie, her gaze hopeful. "Maybe between you and Roy and Thomas..?"

She takes out her phone and begins to tap some notes into it, taking this down while it's still fresh.

Frankie's eyes narrow slightly when Rictus talks about that notebook, though there's no real ire there. She inclines her head to Nicole. "Sure. Between me and Roy and ugly coat guy." She reaches for her water again. "I'll help anyone learn just about anything I know."

Rictus offers a shrug as Nicole talks about local families. He's not a local, so it doesn't mean a whole to to him. He flashes a lopsided grin, "Well as long as you got contacts, that's all that fucking matters. Shit, I /wish/ my family were useful. Or... well, it's a long fucking story." One that anyone who actually researches him could find. But he's not bringing it up just now.

Instead, he's snorting, "And me. Fuck, you forgot the /best/ one." A glance at Frankie. "Ok, the fucking /tied/ for best one. Shit, I been places most people don't fucking make it out of." He says it like it's a good thing, yet more pragmatic minds might think otherwise.

He simply meets Frankie's eye narrowing with not only a grin, but a big dramatic blown kiss. "Don't listen to her. She only helps those with fucking /potential/. Like me." He looks back at Nicole, still grinning, but his dark blue eyes are bright, sharp. "You might got some potential, although you gotta get over your shit about mohawks. You want some experience, I wouldn't be going too deep looking for these dead gals, and guy. Couldn't be too fucking deep. You could come along."

"Ugly coat guy? Hah. Thomas has a hot body under the coat, I can promise you that, F-bomb. Even if it is usually covered in half a dead bear." Nicole nudges her krewemate with a lopsided grin, a subtle threat to try setting the taciturn Reaper up with aforementioned coat-wearing man.

Then, as Rictus mentions her coming along, she voices, "If that's okay? I mean, Kilo was originally upset at me joining the Crows. Didn't want to assume Mors' would be up for helping train an absolute noob." Nicole actually sounds quite subdued when she mentions this, almost apologetic, though for what is anyone's guess. "But sure. Experience is good, I'd like to come along. Maybe - just maybe - I can look past the mohawk thing. No promises."

Frankie starts to get up, shaking her head. "Naw. Rictus and I are Delvers. It's kind of our job to help people around the Underworld." She checks her phone again. "And I gotta go. See you both around."

Frankie ignores any talk of the body under Thomas' ugly coat.