Smokey Silhouettes: Legacies

[Classic Noir]

Smokey Silhouettes: Legacies

a private Classic Noir, Undo-Redo RP

[Classic Noir]

It had been over a year and a half since he had settled back down professionally into his Private Investigation business. Things had settled down since then and were now more normal than ever. He had just closed a big case that morning involving a big time gambling and prostitution ring in St. Louis and was now sitting back with his feet propped up on his desk. He wanted a cigarette. Instead of the usual Prince Alberts in his pocket he unlocked a small drawer hidden inside his desk, from it he took out a pack of old clove cigarrettes. He lit one up and took in the sweet intoxicating smell of it, it always reminded him of her. She was gone, gone in a hail of bullets and bad decisions. He took another puff and tried to remember the good times, the small ramshackle hotel rooms, the smell of her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder. It had been a long time.

Less than a month ago he had heard rumors of a woman matching her description and copying her methods in Illinois. He hadn't had time to really get into any detail with the way his work load had been piling up. Just a copy cat killer anyway, but still, it bothered him. Now that he was done with the Faller case he finally had some time on his hands. If their truly was a woman out their copying OK's look and methods, she had no idea what she was getting herself into.

[undo-redo]

After becoming a media sensation even a return from the grave wasn't enough to coax most of her underworld contacts into helping her get the paperwork for a new identity. An outcast among outcasts- both for her affair with the detective and for her short career in vigilante justice. She felt tired and lost- particularly so now that Eden had left her on her own. She'd continued to occupy the apartment they'd been squatting in, but it had been nearly two weeks and he hadn't returned. She'd smoked all the cigarettes and spent her days alone wandering streets and parks and lying listlessly on the bare mattress that seemed so much colder without his warmth. Olita had always been able to find her own way, but for now the disciple missed her deity.


She dressed and headed out for a hot tea and the day's paper. It was a sad routine and she barely had the money left to sustain it but she couldn't find the energy for anything else. Settled into a park bench, she leafed through the paper, searching for the latest update on the exploits of her number one fan- a copycat clown killer. If she was the wake up call to a world a sleepers, it had seemed, at least on the surface, that someone had heard the call. More likely though, it was some wayward girl with an appetite for the glamor. A true kindred would've made their own identity.


With nothing to keep her here any longer, she couldn't think of any good reason not to drop in on her doppelganger.
Certainly there was the law to think of, but she'd never been at a loss for a clever getaway.

[Classic Noir]

He took an old black box out from the back of the closet. It had been a long time since he had reason enough to take it out and so the box was covered in a fine layer of dust. Noir wiped the dust away and blew on the box, a cloud of dust filled the air in front of him. He got up and brought the box to his bed and openned it. Inside was the old black and white suit he used to wear, along with the old mask sitting on top. He took it out and put it over his face, "no worse for wear," he thought to himself as he took it off again. Noir put it in its proper place in the box and closed it again.

All his other things were already packed and ready to, the car was gassed, and he had left word with the precinct that he would not be in contact for a while. They had started asking for assistance with certain cases lately, the ones they couldn't figure out themselves, and the ones involving masks.

He switched the open sign to closed and headed down to the now not so new Chord Phaeton out in front. It had taken ages for Dan to fix those bullet holes, and more than a little expensive.

[undo-redo]

Although time had passed since she was headline news and she was technically dead, she knew her appearance was anything but discreet. If she was going to travel, it was most prudent to make an effort to be less recognizable. She hadn't been willing to admit any of her arrogance had been sacrificed through the ordeal in front of Eden, but the truth of the matter she still wasn't feeling like her usual brazen self. For now a box of temporary black hair dye was both her small peace of mind and a severe blow to her ego. OK rinsed, dried and looked at herself for a long time in the dusty medicine cabinet mirror with a cold sense of defeat in her eyes. She tossed her locks back and blotted coverup over her tattoo.

Catching a hitch out of town she couldn't help but wonder what would possess someone to steal her identity, and if they had even considered the repercussions involved. They were going to retire the title, one way or another. Maybe a murder would make her feel more like herself.

[Classic Noir]

Noir blew smoke out the window as he drove, he had gotten almost half way before he had to refill the car and his stomach. "This place is farther than I expected," he muttered to himself while he glanced at the map beside him. It was so much easier when you had a navigator. Next to his map was a news paper and under it his old Viola case.

[undo-redo]

Headed down the long stretch of highway, she couldn't help but notice her driver eyeing her. He was middle-aged, wearing an ill-fitted suit and the backseat seemed loaded with boxes and suitcases. He could have just been moving, but the man's severely scuffed loafers and overbearing smile implied traveling salesman.

"Rick Anderson." He grinned again, taking the opportunity to survey her a little more closely. "Going my way?" Rick chuckled in a way that grated on her nerves, and his expression quickly changed with the observation that she was not amused. "Just kidding! I'm just kidding with you. Where 'ya headed Sweetheart? "

OK mused that if Rick knew he was riding with a fugitive serial killer, he might have chosen his words a little more carefully. She really hadn't intending on killing anyone until she reached her destination, but fate loved to tempt her. Slouching in her seat she slid off her boots and stretched out her legs, resting her heels on the dashboard. Rick fumbled with his expression as she simultaneously reached across him to steal a cigarette from the pack tucked into his breast pocket.

"You don't mind, do ya RRRick?" She smirked, rolling the 'R' in his name so it came out resembling a slight purr. Without waiting for a reply she rolled down the window and lit up. "I'm headed South. Going to go see if I can't track down that lady serial killer the papers have been talking about."

"So you're like a reporter or something-?" He smiled, but his tone of voice implied he didn't quite believe his own words. A young girl hitchhiking, no luggage, long black hair worn down around her neck and shoulders rather than in the the tight buns and curls favored by professional women of the times.

"That's it exactly Rick. I'm a reporter." She returned the smile as she took a long pull of the cigarette, but his grin quickly faded.

"I... uh... I didn't catch your name there Darlin'."

"That's because I didn't toss it."

Ignoring the sense of worry that seeped into his features, OK turned up the radio and slung her arm out the window.

[Classic Noir]

After checking into a small dingy motel room he drove to the latest crime scene. He searched the area for anything the investigators might have missed or the culprit may have left behind. There wasn't much there besides the traces of blood splatter the owner of the motel hadn't quite been able to get up. It had been quick and clean the papers had said, just like something OK's usual work. But the fact that the man was a Doctor, a man who was doing something with his life, meant he was not OK's usual prey. He could also pick up the distinct smell of some kind of sweet calla lily perfume, not like the wonderful full smokey smell of clove cigarettes.

[undo-redo]

He was a sleaze and devoid of anything she's consider substance, so Rick could thank her own lingering sense of apathy for the fact that she'd let him make it out of their chance meeting alive.

Brushing back her new dark locks, she frowned at the sight of them. Even though nobody would mistake her for model citizen, she still felt terribly ordinary. Consoling herself with the reminder it was only temporary, she went to go find the nearest bar. She needed a drink, and to hear the buzz about the serial killer that was trying to revive her unwelcome celebrity.

All of this was her fault. Her inability to follow her own code and the self-indulgence of taking up with Noir. It had felt so delightfully taboo, taking up with the detective who was supposed to bring her to justice. Although he succeeded, in his own way. She'd hunted down quite a few killers in a gesture that had meant to ingratiate herself to him- like the cat that leaves dead mice on your doorstep. Truthfully she'd been alone for a long time before she met him. The same part of her that demanded substance craved something with someone she wasn't just using, or who was just using her. Not that having a police escort didn't have it's advantages, but that wasn't why she did it.

Not wanting to dissect her responsibility for the situation at hand any longer, she was glad to find the warm glow and hum of a bar open up ahead.

[Amelia Raven Aves]

_______________________________________
It had been 2 days since her last killing, Raven was tired of all this waiting and especially tired of the scharade she had to put on. She could appreciate the need and responsibilities of it but it made the itchy wig and clown makeup no less bearable.

If she is coming, OK should be here soon. It's been more than a month and so far not a sign, but from what I've heard about her, she'll be here. Raven had rented a small apartment a few weeks prior to the blood spree so as not to cause suspicion. She sat down at the ratty old table and cleaned the small hand gun she normally carried, the rhythm of cleaning helping her think.

He wants to see her, that's enough for me. He always has a plan.

She had seen OK only a few times and from a distance, and that had been more than a year ago, although she remembered her perfectly. You had to have a good memory for detail if you wanted to stay alive long in her profession.

[Classic Noir]

Noir had now been to every crime scene since the murders had started, he felt he had the culprits profile figured

Definitely a professional, she works slow and there are usually a few witnesses. She was definitely being seen on purpose. She was waiting on something, or someone, is it me?

he looked at the map next to him where he had marked out each crime scene.

She has a hunting ground, she is staying within the same 20 block radius.
She's been getting closer to home.

He had her placed within a 5 block radius because of the newest killings.

"I'll search every one of those buildings if I have to," he said as he circled the area on the map with a red pin.