✖Undo/Noir✖ <<•private•>>

[undo-redo]

Art Credits. My Rabbiteen & Cerenacat_________________________________

[Classic Noir]

Name: Noir
Given Name:
Male
Age: 24
Height : 6'1
Personality: Debonair and dashing ladies man, He is all about the rules and getting the job done. The perfect investigator and interrogator.
Appearance: black and white striped suite with a grey tie. He wears a white mask with a black design on it.
Tattoos: he has that classic clean cut look.
Brief History: Noir works for the government and is sent in when other people can’t get the job done. He started investigating organized crime rings after the St. Valentines Day Massacre in Chicago.
Likes: investigating, finding the truth, solving crimes
Dislikes:
Abilities: resourceful, ruthless and in excellent physical condition, as well as a talented investigator, infiltrator, and fighter. He is also an excellent shot with any gun.

[undo-redo]

Name:OK
Given Name: Olita Kade
Female
Age:19
Height 5'6"
Personality: She's despises authority figures, especially police. Although that probably has alot to do with the fact that violence is her favorite hobby. She's mischievous, and not all her pranks are in good fun. She's got an extremely addictive personality and will seek out her hearts desires by any means necessary. OK has been called a sociopath, as people do seem to take a quick liking to her despite her destructive nature. She's reckless, she'll do most anything, anywhere, anytime and is always covered in cuts and bruises because of it.
Appearance: Candy-apple red hair and clown makeup that's usually a little worn. Electric green eyes. Pretty features, almost like a doll. She'd got a thin build and an ample bust. Her outfits are usually schizophrenic, bits and pieces of things she likes with no real coherency.
Tattoos: She has a star tattoo above her left eye with a line that runs down from it like a paint drip.
Brief History:A troubled youth who joined the circus. Then later became increasingly more troubled and burned down that circus. She's here and there, living off the kindness of strangers. Occasionally she'll perform a few nights in a circus, a old style vaudeville act, singing in a lounge, bartending - anything that will give her a little cash for her traveling expenses.
Likes: Violence. Sex. Drugs. Freedom. Clove Cigarettes. Old Horror Movies.
Dislikes: Authority. Rules. Most people. Hospitals. Emotional Intimacy.
Skills: Manipulation. Lockpicking. Building home-made explosives. Pick-Pocketing. Moderate Acrobatics.
Family/Friends: Tyler Kade ( Father- Deceased), Priscilla Kade (Mother- Deceased), Eden Kade (Brother).

[undo-redo]

She'd been impossibly restless. Nothing seemed to excite her and although she'd been in this particular city a little too long she couldn't even find the will to move on. In a completely related event, the front page of the day's newspaper reported that local police had called in 'a specialist' to help hunt down the perpetrator of the recent brutal serial murders. So far detectives had been unable to find any connection between the victims and no witnesses had come forward.

Hanging out the window of her motel room, the wind passed through her hair and carried her cigarette smoke off into the night. As she turned back to snuff out her nicotine delight in the gaudy green glass ashtray her eyes caught the headline of the paper again. Below it, the picture of a masked man, the police's so-called 'specialist'. He didn't look anything like a police officer. No face, no first name.

They must really be desperate if they're resorting to scare tactics.

Then all of sudden, something stirred inside her. A playful mood was about to strike. At the bottom of the article a phone number read to her like a party invitation. 'If you have an information regarding these crimes, please call our anonymous tip line ( 618 ) 555-2770'.

And nimble figures were already dialing.

[Classic Noir]

He exited the plane with his usual easy stroll, his viola case in one hand, the other holding his old black fedora on his head to keep it from being whisked away in the noisy wind of the engines. He had been given the case and relevent files less than a day ago in St. Louis; although he found the files rather lacking in any real substance he did not complain, just nodded and went where they told him to go. Now he was here in some back water town, apparently someone had been butchering citizens. It was his job to figure out who, and he was good at his job.

A local LEO was there to meet him when he got of the plane and give him a ride to the police station. Noir declined and asked to be taken to the first crime scene, he also asked that one of the original investigators was there to meet him.

[undo-redo]

Victim number one had been a musician at a local jazz bar. Erik Amestead. 21. Multiple witnesses had seen him leave the bar, unaccompanied, around 3am. He was found the next morning in the ally behind the establishment, strangled with a guitar string. The crime scene turned up no fingerprints or other significant clues.

Erik. Talented jazz guitar player. Mediocre singer. Beautiful, in a non-traditional way. I'd been watching him for almost a week before curiosity overcame me. He lit my cigarette and stuck around to make small talk. I was disappointed almost immediately. He was dull, directionless, predictable. It turned my stomach. When he played guitar it had been a religious experience, but talking to him left me faithless again. All that talent and no passion. That was the real crime.

[Classic Noir]

He went over every inch of that crime scene, looking for anything that would lead to the perpetrator that the investigators might have missed. He found nothing, the murderer was good. This had definitely not been their first time. Noir looked at the black and white pictures in his hand and compared them to the crime scene. The murder weapon had been the mans own guitar, definitely a weapon of convenience. That or the perp had done it as some sort of sick joke. According to the file the man's life had always been about the music. There had been no defensive wounds on the body, he had known his attacker.
The contradictions were definitely starting to get the best of him. No physical evidence, the killer was definitely a professional and yet they had used a weapon of convenience, they didn't plan this out. He went back to the Police Station with these things still on his mind. He had just walked in when the phone rang.

[undo-redo]

"You've reached the ****** Police Department confidential tip line..."

"Yes. I need to speak with the man in the paper-? ...Detective Noir." Her voice conveyed worry, and carried lighter and sweeter than her natural tone. It was the type of voice that would make you picture a gentle housewife.

"I don't think he's available mam'. I can take a message."

This was not the game she wanted to play. She hadn't called to play 'guess who' with the badge-wearing phone monkey. Had they really misplaced their savior already?

The female detective turned to the sound of a door opening behind her. As if on cue it seemed the man of the hour had arrived.

"Anonymous tipster on the line Sir... she's asking for you."

[Classic Noir]

Noir took the phone from the female detecive, giving her a nod.
"Yes, this is Noir, do you have any relevent information on the case?"

[undo-redo]

No greeting? No concern for a good samaritan? There was little warmth in his voice. She figured it had been a long flight, combing through the case file. The crime scene photos alone were probably enough to rob anyone of an in-flight nap.

You're all business then Mr. Noir?

"Hello. Yes, yes. I think I might've..." She trails off in her thought. The inspiration to make this prank call more than she'd intended struck. "... I don't feel safe talking about this here. Do you... you think you could meet me somewhere?"

[Classic Noir]

"You must understand how many calls we get here. If you can tell me something I don't already know then I'll meet up with you as soon as possible. So can you give me something?"

[undo-redo]

"I'm not wasting your time here!" The faux housewife snapped back indignantly. "You people are incredible! I wasn't even going to call. I know it's better to keep your mouth shut. You think I don't know that?"

Her rant ended with an apologetic little squeak. A woman who'd built her life around maintaining a ladylike composure, clearly embarrassed for having let her emotions get the better of her.

"Listen. Detective. I'm sorry. I'm under alot of stress. I haven't slept in days...please."

[Classic Noir]

He was starting to get perturbed with this women all ready but decided to play along anyway.
And who knows, maybe she will actually know something.
"Alright Ma'am. I'll hear you out. Where would you like to meet?"

[undo-redo]

"The Starlight Diner?" The sense of relief in her voice was apparent. "In a half hour?"

Picking up the paper she'd wandered over to the mirror, the only thing adorning the walls in the dank little motel room she'd been calling home for the past two weeks. Laid out on the vanity table underneath was her bag of makeup and the cosmetics themselves, in disarray across the surface. She sat down and gently opened a tube of lipstick, letting it hover over the stoic picture of Noir printed in the newspaper.

"Thank you Detective."

Hanging up the phone before he could protest, she drew him a big, red smile.

[Classic Noir]

Noir hung up the phone and got ready to go, loading his .38 colt detective special and placing it in the small of his back. He then told an officer where he was heading and got directions, picked up his viola case and walked out the door.

He strolled down the side walk, locals eyeing him in his black inked mask as he passed by.
Noir walked into the diner and found an empty booth, he sat down with this back against the wall.