Dead in the Water (Dark Heresy IC)

[Destro_Yersul]

Mouse

It was slow going, and not the easiest work. The accountant hadn't used a form Mouse knew, or he wasn't talking about things she recognised. Gradually, she put it together: There were a lot of initials here, too many for a businessman or his own work, which supported the numbers. A private accountant, then. A few of the words that showed up repeatedly seemed to reference the numbers, either going up or going down. It was probably a transaction log, or multiple transaction logs, and given the amount of money involved the logs probably belonged to nobles, or at least people who were rather well-off. Try as she might, though, Mouse couldn't find anything that indicated what they were buying. All the purchases had been marked with individual sets of numbers or initials. There was not one in common that she could find, across all of the books she went through.

[Thragka]

The Morgue

"No," Enoch replied to Annie. "It certainly 'weren't'. Well, I think we've seen enough here. Thank you, Doctor!" he called in a cheery singsong manner. He turned back to Annie. "Back to the others?"

[LeSwordfish]

"After you." Annie said, and took the opportunity to make a rude hand gesture at the psyker's back.

[Destro_Yersul]

Not Mouse

"Of course, of course. I'll let you know if there's another victim, and you can sit in on the autopsy, hm?" The medicae made no indication that wanting to witness an autopsy was anything other than completely normal.

Leaving him, the group had little trouble finding their way back up to the main areas of the precinct. Mouse must have still been looking at the records, because she wasn't in the war room with the maps.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Ok, so. A quick inquiry with the desk sergeant, or Detective McKaren (who is in his office) will allow you to find Mouse. No roll required. Where would you like to go and what would you like to do now? Sound off IC or OOC, I'm not picky.

[UncleWolf]

Mouse

Mouse quickly begins recording some of the initials, amounts, and numbers when she realizes that most of the money would have had to come from powerful people. It was a long-shot, but if they could find someone who knew the names of some of the more powerful people in the Hive, they might be able to compare them. "Hey, has anyone else shown interest in these ledgers or the man's belongings?" She asks out loud, looking up to look for Officer Warren. If he's not nearby, she'll find the evidence log and look through it to see if there's been anyone else looking for "Victim-14".

[Destro_Yersul]

Mouse

Warren was still in his office, but he looked up when Mouse called for him. "Not that I've heard of," he explained, "but then, we've been keeping this quiet. Anyone interested probably wouldn't know we have them. If they do, then they become a suspect."

[UncleWolf]

Mouse

Mouse shakes her head in wonder. "I'm surprised. This man was dealing with people with enough money to be nobles, guild leaders, and others of the like. If there's a more secure place to put these, it'd be a good idea. I don't know what the accounts are for yet, but with this kind of money it's bound to be important enough to whomever he was working for. More than enough to kill over so someone might attempt to get these or destroy them. I recommend getting full copies made as well." She suggests before giving a sigh. "Alright, thank you, Officer Warren. I believe I'm done here for now."

[Destro_Yersul]

Mouse

"Noted. I'll make backups. You think all the murders are because of these, though?" Regardless of Mouse's answer, Warren printed and applied a label to the box Mouse was working on. Then he went back to work.

Everyone

Leaving the precinct, the acolytes set off towards the address McKaren had given them for the Darkroom Club. It would have been a long way if they walked the whole distance, but one of the city's underwater shuttles was headed towards a nearby stop, and that cut a significant length of time off their journey. It was possible, they were discovering, to get around Hive Adraxis shockingly quickly for a place its size, largely thanks to those shuttles. A short journey through dark ocean, with the lights of the city appearing as glowing pinpricks of light in the water around them, and they had arrived.

The Darkroom Club was located in a neighborhood that wasn't as run down as the one their apartment was in, wasn't as organised as the one the precinct was in, and wasn't as nice as some of the ones they'd seen from the elevator as they descended into the city. It was right on the edge of a central shopping district for Vestus Spire, a black-painted facade with a flickering neon sign tucked in next to a curiosity emporium and a storefront with all its windows boarded up. The sign told them they were in the right place, but there didn't seem to be any sort of guard on the door, which was unusual for spire clubs, in Annie's experience. Back in Gunmetal City, the midhivers liked to have big guys with bigger guns minding their doors, but down here it seemed that the rules were different. Aside from the front door, the blueprint McKaren had given them showed a back door, and it looked like a nearby alley might loop around to that if they fancied an alternate way in.

[LeSwordfish]

"So 'ow we doing this?" Annie asked the group at large. "I says, back door. Place like this, probably don't want my sort in the front way."

[Artemis97]

"A few could take the back, the others the front." Joss suggests. "Take a soft approach, at first, asking questions. May lead to nothing, but it may flush the quarry, and we will be set to catch them." It was strange how the feudal worlder spoke of hunting people as if they were animals. Stranger still, as he spoke, his eyes were not on the club or any of the others, but the boarded up store front next door. "I know little of hive contruction." The assassin admits. "These two places could be connected, yes?" He asks the others.

[LeSwordfish]

"They won't 'ave doors, or they'll be proper sealed, but they probably got the same vents an' such."

[UncleWolf]

Mouse sighs and turns to look at the group, seeming...annoyed. "It doesn't matter which way we go. Front or back, we stick out like a seized up servo arm. We're carrying exotic weapons openly, I doubt we could be confused for locals, and not just that, it's a poetry club." She points out. "Even if everyone visited this place, what are the chances they'll know our purpose? They'll be skittish already due to the guns, so what we're going to do is go in, ignore the stares, buys a few drinks for a few of the patrons if possible, recite poetry if we must, and keep an eye for anyone or anything suspicious. It doesn't have to be good poetry either. We can just explain it as being the style from our homeworlds." She adds, crossing her arms. "And we're not going through the back. It makes us look seedy. Almost as bad as us standing out here discussing this for so long."

With that, Mouse just starts to head for the front door unless physically stopped.

[LeSwordfish]

"Speak for yerself." Annie muttered at the 'carrying weapons openly' comment, but she followed Mouse without further complaint, mostly out of a sort of morbid fascination.

[Destro_Yersul]

None of the people passing by spared them a glance as Mouse opened the door of the club. Stairs inside led down a few feet before opening into a small foyer, painted the same black as the outside of the club. A podium that looked as though it was made of wood, but was probably just panelled veneer, stood next to a large doorway that led to the club proper. Next to the podium was an artist's easel with a painting standing on it, depicting a number of hive buildings. It was probably a local artist, given the glimpses of ocean in the background, and seemed to be for sale. Standing behind the podium was a young woman in a uniform shirt and dark makeup, idly scratching at a writer's dataslate with a quill and only half watching the door. Beyond her was the rest of the club, which was quieter than expected - the Darkroom had none of the pumping synth music common to clubs sector-wide, being filled instead with the low murmer of conversation. The echoing clink of glasses from the bar mingled with the dull hum of an air recycler hidden somewhere within the depths of the building to give the place a sense of enclosure, which combined with the black walls and subdued decor to make the place feel a lot smaller than it acutally was. The stage was where the blueprint said it was, but the spotlights were turned off and the stage was empty for now. A rectangular signboard had been placed in front of it, the time of the next performance scrawled on it in chalk. From where they were standing, it looked like the tables around the stage had only half filled, and they could just see the opening of the narrow hallway that, on their blueprint, led to the back rooms.

"Table for four?" The podium woman asked, not looking up from her slate for more than a second. Next to the slate, Mouse noticed, was a glass bowl filled with matchbooks. "I can put you by the stage or the bar. Your preference."

[LeSwordfish]

"Bar, cheers." Annie said, helping herself to a matchbook.

[UncleWolf]

"I'll take a seat at the stage if possible, thank you." Mouse says as she glances around. With a shrug she reaches to take a matchbook if allowed to do so. "Are there any specific rules or courtesies I should be aware of? This is my first visit to the establishment." She admits with a smile. "I'd just rather know beforehand and don't want to be impolite."

[Thragka]

It had been a long time since Enoch had been at a club like this. "Here, Lee," he said, tossing the gunslinger ten Thrones. "An Amasec, if you're heading to the bar." He frowned. "And have one yourself."

The psyker tried and failed to look inconspicuous as he wandered over to the painting at the podium to inspect it, and then the list of performances on the chalkboard, eventually wandering around near the other patrons and trying to overhear their conversations.

[Artemis97]

Joss soon realizes that making a plan to cover the exits of the place was for naught. So much for trying to be clever about this. Offworlders. What did they know about hunting and tracking prey? The assassin rasps, "I'll cover the back door." Acknowledged or not, he'll work his way around to the back alleyway behind the poetry club. Once there, he'll wait by the door, preferring to stick to any shadow there might be. The man from Acreage waits in a relaxed, but readied stance, prepared to leap out at anyone who ran out of the back door. He keeps a dagger in his hand as well, lightly concealed beneath the folds of his cloak, so the shine of its edge would not betray his position. This was only just in case their spooked subject fought back, however, despite the Moritat's training.

[Destro_Yersul]

Not Joss

The matchbooks that Annie and Mouse picked up looked like the ones they had seen in the photos from the precinct. The hostess ignored their helping themselves, abandoning her dataslate and picking up a stack of battered leather-bound menus.

"Seperate seating, then." She said, stepping through the door into the club's main area. Annie was shown to a stool by the club's long bar, which featured brass piping and more wood-panel veneer, as well as a bartender with spiked hair and tattoos running up and down his forearms. He was occupied with wiping down some of the bar's collection of oddly-shaped glasses when Annie arrived. A number of other patrons at the bar already seemed to have drinks, and most were chatting idly.

Mouse and Gabe were seated at a table for four, near the stage but not right up next to it. Those seats seemed to be spoken for, even though half of them were currently empty. "Only one real rule," the hostess explained. "Respect the stage. Anyone's welcome up there for open mic night, but if it's a booked performance or whatever, don't heckle the artist. You got constructive criticism, talk to 'em after the show. Mister Tarsus hates it when people cause a scene."

Enoch's inspection of the painting didn't tell him much. It looked like a good job, by common standards, but the Psyker didn't know all that much about Art. It was a local scene, that much was obvious, but the array of painted buildings didn't match any he'd seen on the way to the club. There were no people present in the painting, which was odd for a hive, but since the apparent title was "Architectural Study in Grey, #5" it was probably a deliberate ommission by the painter. It was listed at a price of 200 throne gelt, which put it rather beneath the notice of any nobility who might be looking for such a painting. Abandoning that, and taking a look at the chalk signboard instead, he noted that there was supposed to be a poetry reading of some sort in two hours, but that nothing else had been scheduled for tonight.

Conversation amongst the other patrons, for anyone who tried to listen in, was largely mundane. Talk of jobs and popular holo-vids abounded, though there was a higher than usual amount of conversation regarding the activities of the local art scene. Sculpture was out and paintings were in, according to one gentleman in a dinner jacket, who was opining loudly on the virtues of some painter or other as Enoch passed by. He was seated at one of the tables next to the stage, and had a crowd of five or six similarly attired fellows gathered around listening to him and nodding politely. Another pair was discussing tonight's poet in hushed tones - the man appeared to have a small following, by the way they were going back and forth about how much they loved his latest work, and it was just too bad he hadn't published anything yet.

Spoiler

Show

Can I get Awareness checks from the folks by the stage?

Joss

The alley was a short one, its walls lined with conduits and slowly-spinning ventilation vans. It was reminiscent of the horrible Xenos halls beneath the sands of Klybo, except that the pipes were good, solid Imperial steel. A tattered leaflet fluttered along the ground, blowing in the unnatural wind created by the Hive's air circulation system. The backdoor of the poetry club was painted black, and had a brass 'no entry' plate riveted to its face. It was shut tight, but looked like it was only secured by the old-style key lock in the handle. Evidently maglocks had been outside of the owner's budget.

[Thragka]

Enoch sat down with Mouse, glancing around to see where Annie had got to with the liqueur. He glanced down at the menu as he spoke.

"We should ask the clientele if our friend the dearly departed was a regular. I would, but my appearance tends to upset people." He sniffed. "Can't think why," he muttered bitingly - it was sarcasm, but with a core of real bitterness.

"Excellent, an Ebrius," he added, examining the Amasec available.

[Destro_Yersul]

Mouse and Enoch

After a few minutes of waiting, the table was approached by a young man with a clipped goatee, wearing a uniform shirt similar to the hostess'. He had a small dataslate in one hand.

"Good evening," he said. "Can I get you anything? Drinks?"

Annie

Annie didn't have to wait long for the spiky-haired bartender to finish wiping glasses and notice her. "What'll it be?" he called over, loud enough to be heard but not enough to disturb the conversations of the surrounding patrons. It was probably a well-practiced skill.

[LeSwordfish]

"Wotcher. Two amasecs, cheers."

She looked around the bar, taking in the clientele. "Odd crowd you got here. Smarmy suits and tattoos. Not yer usual combination."

[Thragka]

"I think my compatriot at the bar is handling my order," said Enoch, nodding in Annie's direction. "We're waiting for a ... friend. Or perhaps acquaintance. We haven't heard from him in some time and thought we might find him here, since nobody else has had hide nor hair of him ..."

[Destro_Yersul]

Annie

"You want the good stuff, or the cheap stuff?" Once she had chosen, the bartender filled a pair of glasses and pushed them across the bar. "It's an odd sort of place. Artists, y'know? The suits are from further uphive, come down here to appreciate the atmosphere. Slummin' it, so to speak. The others are here for a quick drink, or to support a friend, or because they're an artist themselves. We do a pretty good business with those last. You saw the painting in the foyer?"

Spoiler

Show

It's 5 thrones each for cheap amasec, and 15 each if you want the better quality.

Others

"He one of our regulars? I know most of the people who come in here." The waiter said, tucking his slate into a pocket on his apron.

[Thragka]

"A man called Thaddius," Enoch said, and described the latest victim's features. "And incidentally," he added, without pause, "I don't think I gave my associate at the bar there enough gelt for the Ebrius." He slid forty thrones across the table to the waiter.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Hm." The waiter took the money, tucking it into a seperate pocket on his apron. If he thought the extra was a bribe, or a tip, he didn't say. "Thaddius? That sounds familiar. It'll come to me. One moment, while I fetch your drink." He left the table, weaving his way through the tables towards the bar. He stepped in next to Annie, pushed some money towards the bartender, and pointed at one of the bottles behind the bar. The bartender raised a finger for Annie to wait one moment, and prepared another glass of Amasec. With that in hand, the waiter returned to Enoch's table, walking quite slowly. On the way, he stopped a waitress and spoke to her for a moment before continuing.

"Ebrius. A fine choice, sir." He placed the glass on the table, in front of Enoch. "I've jogged my memory. If it was the same Thaddius, your friend came by a few times, maybe a week ago? Hadn't seen him much before, but he came in with one of our other regulars. Hiram, over there by the stage?"

Hiram was a middle-aged man with black hair, older than Thaddius looked to have been, and was leaning casually back in his chair and examining the bottom of a cocktail glass. He was wearing browns and greys, and had a thick leather overcoat draped across the back of his chair. Enoch saw dark lines under his eyes, as he raised his glass to get at the last few drops of alcohol. Hiram wasn't a small man, but he didn't look like an underhive bruiser, either. More someone used to heavy work.

[LeSwordfish]

Seeing Enoch purchase his own drink, Annie ordered a cheap amasec.

"I seen it. Intr'sting one, aye. One of yer own artists?"

[UncleWolf]

Near the Stage

"What are the rules for those who wish to perform?" Mouse asks after a bit. Despite there not seeming to be much out of place here, she couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. Poetry wasn't unheard of in her Forgeworld home, but she'd always considered it a crude artform. Real art was the sound of gears, smelters, forges and massive machinery. The perfectly crafted items of the Omnissiah. That is art. Not...words. Words were so easily twisted and misused, crude things made by imperfect people. How could people consider listening to such pleasurable?

[Destro_Yersul]

Annie

"It is, yeah," the bartender told Annie. "We give 'em exposure, and the boss man takes a cut of any sales. Guy we have showing his work now started a little while ago, and he seems happy with the deal. Artist we had before wasn't selling very well, though I hear he's working on some very popular new stuff these days. Maybe we'll get something in once he's done his latest."

Table by the Stage

The Waiter didn't need long to consider MOuse's question. "Well," he said, "if it's open mic anyone can go up. Other than that, we book the performers ahead of time. If you upset the owners you don't get another show, but it's pretty hard to do that."

[UncleWolf]

Near the Stage

"Is there any sort of theme set for the night?" Mouse asks. "Or do you mind at least telling me what sort of topics are usually spoken of?" She says, giving a slow look around the room. "I might be willing to try some myself, but I'm not from around here and just want to make sure I'm not going to cross any cultural lines."