pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ Truthfully, he wants her looking elsewhere so she doesn’t see him using magic. He’s glad that picking locks is relatively simple spellwork, and isn’t all that flashy besides. He angles himself just slightly, putting his body between her and the lock, and etches out a few simple runes with a finger. Deep, grey-purple light flows from his fingertip and in a matter of seconds, there’s a soft click as the lock springs open, the marks vanishing in the same instant.

He draws a length of rope from his belt and offers it to Emily. ]

Ladies first.

[Emily does not like to assume, but in this case she figures that Alec is simply picking the lock. She wouldn't be wrong, of course. But her gaze is elsewhere, her potential of witnessing the magical runes slipping away without her even realizing it.

When she turns to look at him again, he's already trying to hand her the rope and the offer to enter the observatory first. She looks at the rope, then back up to Alec.]

No, thank you. After you.

[It's not that she doesn't completely trust you, it's that she doesn't completely trust you.]

[ He lets out a little gasp, splaying his hand over his chest. ] You wound me, your ladyship.

[ He is such a brat. But he’s aware that his sarcasm will do little to sway her, and he moves to tie off one end of the rope to a nearby chimney pipe, and carefully eases himself down, repelling into the room below. Emily hasn’t brought up how he managed to jump off the roof without shattering his ankles, and he’d rather not remind her of that by doing it again, so the mundane way it is.

If his information is correct, and it usually is, the owner of the manor should be away on holiday with his lady of the moment, which means there will only be minimal housing staff to dodge.

He leaves the rope dangling for his companion- “companion”, rather- and starts rifling through the drawers of a desk on the far side of the room. ]

[w o w what a brat indeed. She just narrows her eyes at him, letting the words slide off of her as per usual.

She hasn't forgotten about his unrealistic jump before, mind you. It's constantly on her mind, and she has to fight the temptation to ask )for now). Right now, they need to focus, and grilling him for information again would be detrimental to both the mission at hand, and the idea of less talking during a stealthy operation.

Once Alec is in, Emily slides down the rope with ease. Her boots land softly on the ground, with a practiced, muffled thud. Glancing around, it was obvious this was a man of wealth; one could tell by the tall paintings that hung on walls that were not being utilized by bookcases. It was no Dunwall Tower, of course, but it was certainly opulent enough for even Emily to quietly raise a brow.]

If you told me exactly what you're looking for, I could actually help you.

[A letter? A photograph? Both sides of blackmail could entail any number of things.]

[ He’s leafing through a pile of papers when she brings that up, and he pauses, tongue poking at the inside of his lower lip as he thinks it over. He’s deeply unsure about giving her the name of his client, but without it, there’s little she can do other than take up space. ]

Letters, mostly. Especially doctor’s notes. Anything that references Edward and-slash-or Leona.

[ Whitney Monroe, the sleazebag who owns the manor, had been sweet on Leona Baxter for some time, and when her husband, Edward, took ill, Whitney pounced. The Baxters had very little by way of money, and Monroe offered to pay for his hospital expenses in exchange for… well, Leona. Out of love for her husband, she agreed, but by the time Edward passed, the guilt was eating her alive.

Which was why she went to Alec. Alec was able to dig up just enough to believe that Monroe was keeping Leona’s husband ill in order to prolong their arrangement, but went one step too far and ended up doing him in.

Murder is a far more serious charge than blackmail, to be sure, but with no proof, Leona could not go to the authorities, and did not exactly want her infidelity to become public knowledge. And even then, with all of Monroe’s money and charm, there was reason to doubt he’d stay in prison for long- provided he was even found guilty in the first place.

Alec’s job is to find irrefutable proof that Whitney Monroe killed Edward Baxter, but more than that, his job is to leave the man nothing to fall back on. No contacts, no money. Complete alienation from his social circles and his funds.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that Emily is along. If she’s too busy putting Monroe on trial, she won’t be around to interfere as Alec turns the world against him. ]

[Letters, then. Easy enough.

She moves quietly, crossing the room to the other side, where a stack of papers lie askew on an end table next to an armchair nearby. A neighboring lamp illuminates the crispness of the white parchment against the golden hues of the observatory.

Emily picks up the stack, rifling through for something that might look like a letter, or the names of Edward and Leona. The signature of a doctor. Anything suspicious. Her eyes scan through the scrawled sentences, the notes and scribbles. So far, none of it stands out as what they're looking for. She sees the name of what she assumes are old contacts, and some miscellaneous information concerning new developments in medical practices. This is the house of the aforementioned doctor, then, she can only guess.

She speaks, her tone still low, but carrying far enough to be heard by Alec.]

Why did you take this... "job" on?

[ He leafs through some more papers before moving to the next drawer in the desk; it appears to be locked, which is promising, so he crouches and begins etching out a few runes as he talks, voice low. ]

I’m not exactly gonna share my whole resume with you, but this is kind of what I do. Jobs like this, I mean.

[ Click. And he slides the drawer open to begin going over its contents. ] Why do you run around on rooftops?

That isn't what I meant. [She frowns, putting the papers down on the table where she found them. Nothing of use to them there.

She walks along the walls lined with bookshelves, trying to eye if there's anything well hidden in-between the tomes. She had known of a few people in her time to harbor hidden rooms with a well-placed fake switch in the shape of a book -- that would be a bit... well, excessive she thought, but Emily wouldn't put it past these ostentatious types. And besides, it wasn't as if the Tower where she lived wasn't without its own hidden alcoves.]

I mean this one in particular. Or does it not matter the details of a job, just as long as you're paid? Completely mercenary?

[She crosses her arms, ignoring his question to her.]

[ Without looking up, ] What’s it matter to you? Also, if you’re gonna dodge my questions, I’m gonna dodge yours.

[ He rifles around a bit more, lifting a pile of papers from the drawer. Something small tumbles out of the stack, landing back in the drawer with a metallic clatter. He sets the papers aside in favor of picking it up- a small brass key. ]

Well now. I wonder what’s so important that our friend needs to keep the key locked up.

I'm trying to get an idea of what kind of person you are.

[There's something exasperated about her tone, as if she should be used to him sidestepping her questions by now. To be fair, she hasn't exactly been upfront about her habit of running across the city rooftops, but to Emily, that was neither here nor there. It had little bearing on the actual task at hand.

The subject is derailed when she catches a glimpse of the brass key in Alec's hand. Emily moves forward to get a better look, then reaches out to grasp at it.]

That's promising. Let me take a look at it.

My question still stands. I’m not trying to kill you or screw you over, that’s usually enough for most people.

[ He really doesn’t like people trying to get personal. Just who he is and what he’s about isn’t really relevant to his job- people know he gets things done, and he’s able to rest on his reputation just fine.

Still, in the spirit of cooperating to get this job over and done with, he offers her the key when she asks. ]

For most, maybe. [But not for Emily Kaldwin, comes the implication.

Her fingers curl around the brass key as he hands it to her, and she feels its texture and weight. It's simple and unadorned, yet heavy, like it belongs to a large door or contraption of some sort.

Then she looks at him for a moment, sharp eyes considering. It's with a vaguest of hesitations that she concedes to his previous question. For the sake of the argument itself, perhaps.]

I train at night, dashing across rooftops, so no one can see me. It isn't exactly a pasttime that most expect from an Empress. [What manner of heart attacks would happen if the Court itself found out? Void only knows.] I want to be able to defend myself and help others if I can, outside of being completely bound to politics and certain social expectations. I don't ever want to feel useless, and being as well-rounded as possible helps me avoid that.

[ Well… damn. He hadn’t been expecting her to actually up and answer him, and so honestly too. That’s deeper than he wants to go with anyone, let alone someone he’s known for barely an hour or so.

Needless to say, his own response comes off as shallow, which is just how he likes it. ]

Two things.

One, I still don’t believe you’re the empress of anything.

Two, the pay is nice, but in the end it comes down to who I get to screw over.

[Emily had answered honestly. Even if he cannot manage to do the same (his own shallow retort is barely surprising to her), at least Alec cannot throw it back in her face. She was truthful, and perhaps it was foolish of her to be so open with a man who was hesitant to do the same.

Regardless, anything she can sketch of his character, she'll take for now. Even if the details are often small and lacking thus far.]

I've told you the truth. If you don't believe me, that's your own problem. [She's not going to stand here and convince him otherwise.] And why is this doctor someone worth "screwing over"? What exactly did he do?

He’s got more money than sense. [ Or morals. ] I don’t need much more than that.

[ He shrugs. That’s not the half of it by far, but in the end, he really could not care less about her opinion of him. ]

So, you got an idea about that key or what?

[She scoffs.]

You've just described maybe half of the wealthy population; that doesn't mean all of them deserve to have their homes broken into.

[She tosses the key at him. It arcs in the air slightly.]

It belongs to something big. Not another little drawer or even a strongbox. More like an entrance to sizable compartment, or a cleverly hidden door to another room. I'd keep an eye out for furniture that looks out of place, or maybe an odd break in the dust of the bookshelves here. Whatever he's hiding, it must be quite the secret.

[ He bites back the urge to retort I bet they do, but it’s a close thing. Shit like this is why Alec works alone, why he only keeps company with people just as angry and amoral and broken as he is. He does not need this holier-than-thou crap ever, and he’s going to come very close to stepping over a line if Emily persists.

Thankfully she doesn’t, at least for the moment, and he snatches the key. ]

Are you saying our doctor friend has a secret lair somewhere?

[ He waggles his fingers at her. ] Spooky.

[Emily had been raised to be moral and upstanding to the best of her ability. No, she had chosen to be; a stern guiding hand for her people, to help when she could, to keep a perfectly tenuous balance between mercy and justice. On the outside, she performs this well, carrying herself with the dignity expected of royalty.

Only to her closest does she allow her frustration to peak through the cracks, to allow herself to feel the weight of her responsibilities. There are times when she feels nothing short of stifled, and then it's like she's eleven all over again; wanting to learn about pirates and sword fighting and fantastic adventures, not boring tenements such as rules and philosophies and histories and-

Naturally, Alec will not be privy to any of that. She will be the stern Empress if she has to, reflecting his sarcasm away with a royal deftness, even as her own writhes just under the surface.]

"Lair" might be an overstatement. It could be nothing bigger than a broom closet.

You managed to raise my hopes and expertly dash them in one fell swoop. Congratulations.

[ But they have a clue, or at least something solid to look for rather than shuffling aimlessly through papers. (A lot of Alec’s jobs involve shuffling through papers. It’s kind of nice to have something a little different now and then.)

He pockets the key and moves to the wall nearest the desk, running his hands along the wall to look for seams. Now and then he’ll pause and quietly rap a knuckle over one section of wall, then the next, to look for hollow places. ]

You were giving that bookshelf a look earlier. Maybe check that out.

It's what I do. [She can't help but retort dryly, even as she makes her way back to the large bookshelves.

There are far too many books to check each individual one without spending far too long, so Emily opts for what she hopes is the shorter solution first. She examines the sides of the shelves, looking for conspicuous places where it might look like things have shifted in the past. She doesn't see anything at first, but there's something strange about the way the light glints off of a certain part of the flooring-

Emily bends down to get a closer look. It looks like scratch marks, as if something had been swung out in an arc, like a large door. She looks up at the bookcase in question, furrowing her brow.]

Unless someone's been moving furniture around, these scratches in the floor don't make much sense.

Really?

[ Alec ceases his inspection of the wall, and comes over to inspect the scratches on the floor. He lets out a little “tsk tsk” noise. ] Looks like somebody doesn’t pay his housekeepers well enough.

[ His eyes drift up to the bookcase in question, roving over the books for an inconsistency. Anything that stands out. There is a book in particular that catches his eye- not only is it on the end of the bookcase that appears to swing outward, but it’s relatively clean and free of dust. Larger than the others as well. It would probably be difficult to spot if he hadn't been actively looking for it.

He reaches up and gives it a tap with one knuckle, and is rewarded with a hollow sound, instead of the dull clunk of leather and pages. He futzes around with the book for a second, pushing and pulling, and the spine slides away, lifting on a small track to reveal a keyhole. ]

Looks like we have a winner.

[Emily frowns, despite the current of curiosity running through her. Whatever this was, the doctor was going to a lot of trouble to hide it. That never boded well. She leans in, invading his personal space for the sake of her getting to see what he's referencing. A keyhole. Not surprising, given the key they found minutes before.

Emily squints to see if she can peer through it, but the shadows of the books next to her obscure her vision. She glances at Alec.]

Then let's see what he's hiding.

[ Alec inserts the key into the hole and turns. He’s rewarded with a satisfying click, and the bookcase swings away. It does scrape the floor a bit, and in the relative silence of the study, the noise sounds louder than it probably is. Alec makes a face, waiting a moment to make sure no one is coming to investigate the sound before peering in.

What’s in the hidden little room is… well, it’s frankly more than Alec bargained for.

It’s a small space, barely bigger than a closet, but the walls are plastered with photographs of a smiling brunette, clearly taken without her knowledge. Mostly the pictures feature just her, but on the rare occasion they do not, the other party has either been torn out or scribbled over angrily in ink. Letters sit in piles on an old crate in the center of the room, though some are pinned to the walls as well- everything from flowery love letters from the doctor, as evidenced by the handwriting, to pleas for help in a flowing, feminine script. Please, they say. Please save my husband. ]

Well, this is… creepy.

Edited 2016-10-31 19:44 (UTC)

[A strange mixture of disgust and concern bubbles up in Emily's stomach as she eyes the photographs pinned to the walls, interspersed with letters adorned with calligraphic handwriting. Photographs of a woman, though some were not -- the unknown subject's face had been scrawled away, face censored with harsh lines of ink.

Encouraged by the uncomfortable sight, Emily takes a step into the hidden room, reaching out to one of the letters and removing it from the wall with a flick of a wrist. It creates a sharp tear in the paper where it had been pinned, but she doesn't care; her eyes scan over the words, and she frowns.]

What is this?

[She lowers the letter a few moments later, gaze flicking over to Alec.] She was sleeping with this doctor so that he would save her husband?

[Of course, that's only half of the story, isn't it? It still feels incomplete in her head.]

[ He steps into the little room after Emily. Leona never mentioned this level of obsession when he took the job, but it’s extremely possibly she didn’t know either. The thought makes something hot and angry settle in his gut. So help him, he’ll ruin this guy if it’s the last thing he does. ]

Funny, the things people do for love.

[ He says it blandly, his anger remaining deeply buried. He moves to the notes, and begins shuffling through the papers with purpose. The love notes and the pleas for help aren’t what interest him. It’s the professional papers, and if they’re not in here, Alec will eat his shoe.

At last he starts to uncover them, scrawled doctor’s notes outlining Edward Baxter’s condition. The intention is there, at first, to administer a proper treatment, but as Monroe and Leona’s affair continued, the treatment took a very different turn. Alec leafs through lists of symptoms and how to induce them, how to prolong them, how to start a steady but gentle decline of the other man’s health.

And at last, at the bottom of the pile, a newspaper clipping of Edward Baxter’s obituary.

He hands the pile over to Emily. ]

You might find this to be engaging reading.

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