wasted youth

@boneyardstarters capped [ 0/5 ]

location ; cafe

Daveed had all the papers one could possibly find at the kiosk on the street corner laid out before him on the table of the 4-seater at the cafe he was a regular at. A cup of refilled steaming hot black coffee sat at the edge, next to his notebook and a pen that was so empty he kept on using spit and the sole of his shoe in the hopes of resurrecting it. He was going through the motions. In his position, he had the very real possibility of making changes to the company. The Las Vegas Sun was the biggest and most respected news paper agency in the city, and all the smaller ones were barely a blip in the rearview mirror.

But he knew keeping an eye on them was in his best interest. Just in case they ran a story that he was trying to keep under wraps. And sometimes that included investigative journalists who didn't want to stop. But most - if not all - people could be convinced by money. All he needed to do was hire the journalist in question and make sure they would look the other way. One way or another.

He pretended it was to hire new talent.

Daveed looked up from his work to find someone at his table, and a quick look around suggested he was taking a lot of space. He offered an apologetic smile. "I am sorry, would you like to sit?" he asked, as he moved some of the papers to the side to create space.

ZELIHA TRIED THEIR BEST TO KNOW of as many figures in Vegas as they could. And that wasn't restricted to only those who were public figures, though their keen eyes were often on them as well, but including those who could possibly know information that could be valuable to their own line of work. And because of that, they had made themselves aware of the key players in Sin City's top paper that seemed to reveal information at the quickest of speeds, assuming they had plenty of connections making that possible which the private investigator could potentially track down themselves and use to some future advantage. Daveed Jackson was a name close to the top of that list, especially considering he was in charge of press release--that was practically the central of all the most important information, was it not? Giving their most charismatic smile when he looked up, they gestured to the open seat across from him that was currently partially blocked by whatever he was working. Their eyes were curious to get a glimpse but made sure not to linger, nothing that would make their intentions too obvious. "Busy day at the cafe, isn't it? You look mighty busy, but I promise I'll be as quiet as a mouse if you could spare a seat." Usually it would be out of their character to offer such charisma, but previous work life had taught them how to easily turn it on when necessary, however fraudulent. "Trying to get a change of scenery by working somewhere other than an office?" They asked casually in reference to all the work.

"how nosy?" it was too soon to lay it on thick, to snatch up that eye contact at first opportunity to twist her way, when words could first work. "'cause everywhere's been talkin' about this missing racer character but i'm more curious about the ones they haven't been shining the spotlight on." more specifically, one missing cat. "why's that, you think?"

JOANNA COULD MAKE THE ARGUMENT that it would simply be impossible for her not to pick up on tidbits of information when working such a position. When a resident hadn't shown up with a request or for an appointment or there wasn't some sort of elementary school trip on a class tour, the building was much too quiet, too many echos. She was told her headphones went against the employee handbook, looked too inattentive, so instead her ears were left open to pick up on whatever passing conversation was happening, no matter the content. So when the two word question was posed, her hands slowly came to a complete halt on the papers she was sorting in front of her, a shine in her eyes as they raised to the other's noting her interest. "I'll take whatever I can get," she responded with a shrug of her shoulders, entirely honest considering she was willing to collect even the smallest bits of gossip as if she was collecting litter off the sidewalk. The runaway had always been good at finding something where others saw nothing. "Guess he has the most interesting story to run with; your guess is as good as mine. Not much else to report on if no one has any info, right? Isn't that why you're asking? You don't really look like a journalist to me, exactly..." One of her eyebrows rose, taking in her appearance. "Who are you interested outside of the racer?"

THE RUFFLING OF PAPERS SLOWED IN HER HANDS, unfamiliar with the question being posed, as many people came in and out the doors of city hall, but rarely was her opinion ever requested. If anything, Joanna spent majority of her shift dodging the strongly-held opinions of others, promising she was taking note of them while mentally cursing anyone who acted as if she had any real power to change policies that were complained about. "I've only been there a handful of times, but it really depends on who's performing. If you ask me, they're charging way too much for their drinks, though." She'd much prefer spending an evening at the library with her sister, even if she didn't entirely fit in with the quietude of the environment. Skepticism pulled at her facial features at the apologetic smile, learning months into the position that there'd be those who would try get whatever they wanted by buttering her up. (As if she had any real power, outside of maybe the chain of keys behind her desk and a wealth of overheard information.) Finally, recognition hit her. "Oh, yeah, yeah. I remember thaaaat-" Joanna's voice trailed off as her eyes peered around for the particular sticky note the phone call had produced, nodding politely but really only half-listening to the details of the project, just as she had done on the phone. "Uh huh. Yup, here's my note to do that," A brief pause. "And I entirely forgot. Tell you what, I'll give you a tour of the room I think it's in and help you look. Half this place is full of useless stuff anyway." Picking up the previously mentioned keys, she rounded to the front of the desk. "Not yet, but I'm this-" She held up her hand, middle finger wrapped around the pointer. "With LVPD's receptionist. Hoping that means I get something first."

JOANNA WAS WELL AWARE that nearly every time she saw her sister or the man that had once upon a time taken them both in, that she was tearing herself in two with her loyalty to both of them. It wasn't a feeling she liked, exactly, as they were just about the only people who had such an immense level of dedication and faithfulness to, as even those she worked for would be thrown under the bus or taken advantage of if the circumstance ever arose for it to be necessary to do so for Joanna's own personal gain. The levels of duty she felt to both were in constant battle: for what she owed Vyv kept her lips sealed, while what she owed Tig had her heart bleeding to let the information of the lounge singer's whereabouts. A rock and a hard place didn't exactly begin to describe it. Alas, she refused to take sides in the entire situation, keeping Vyv's secret but not agreeing with the decision and never once offering to turn on their parent in a similar way. "Hey," she greeted, voice probably just an octave too loud for the woman who relied heavily on her ears more than most and the soft atmosphere of the library and bookstore. At least her next sentence had a lowered volume for the sake of everyone. "It wasn't bad. Actually kind of boring. The most interesting thing to happen all day was this old woman coming in to complain about some new lit up sign being right outside her apartment's window and wanting the mayor to do something 'bout it. As if she doesn't live in Vegas." Just about every community complaint had secretary ready with one of her own, even if she only thought most of them. "Do you work tonight?" Loosening the tie around her neck a bit, she made herself comfortable in the chair she had plopped down in. "Didn't get the chance to look for long, but so far, no dice. Guess I need to really hunker down and play Scooby Doo better."

"Great. Really fucking great. Brilliant. Fan-fucking-tastic, exactly what I needed!" These words were, of course, hissed under his breath. His daughter, Hana, had of course been asked to stay inside the trailer already and, despite her impulsive streak, was generally well-behaved enough to do as she was told but he was still hesitant to go swearing up a storm at a volume loud enough for her to catch it. Kael was used to rain and wind. Of course he was, he was English. But his own experience wouldn't change that the trailer park was not built to resist this weather. However, dragging sandbags around was boring, tiring and annoying, as much as it was deeply necessary.

THE RAIN HADN'T EXACTLY MUCKED UP any plans for that evening for Joanna; in fact, that would have actually required her to have plans for them to have gotten ruined by poor weather. Instead, she had a bowl of microwavable popcorn and a movie marathon of thrillers that was just waiting for her on the cinema channel, planning on sitting her ass down directly onto the small love seat she had in her trailer and not moving an inch until the imprint was left right there. It was practically the only thing that had gotten her through that day of work, besides rolling her eyes every time someone showed up to city hall with either the dumbest question she had ever heard (that certainly didn't require a trip down to the city's central government building) or a complaint she would always promise to make a note of, that was promptly forgotten as soon as the person walked back out the front glass doors. Just as she was getting invested and the suspected killer was rounding around one of the dark corners in the movie, a flash of lightning outside her window would be the last thing she saw before her television turned to nothing but static. This was not the type of weather she wanted to wrangle with her cable dish in, and yet, there she was, attempting to look for a ladder to climb up atop her trailer despite the pouring rain. Her intent was to ask to borrow someone else's but instead, she was met with nearly her own death via a bag of sand.

"Are you trying to take someone out with those things? Don't we got 'nough problems right now without dodging those, too?" While annoyed, her voice was notably lacking any true venom as it called through the rain. "No, as a matter of fact, I'm not. This storm's taken out my cable, and I'm not gonna sit at home without that to entertain me. You wanna earn your redemption by helping me with a ladder?"

TAKING THE CUP GRATEFULLY, which wasn't exactly openly expressed but a subtle nod of approval and gratitude that could only be picked up upon from someone who was used to their behavior, a sigh left their lips. "I have, and the most frustrating part is that I have absolutely nothing to show for it." Not once yet had Zeliha even had a reason to pull the small leather-bound notebook from their expensive handbag, nothing even remotely worth writing down been shared with them yet. "Only oat milk is in this?" They asked, before taking a sip and accepting that it was made correctly, no room for error when undesired calories of full fat cow's milk or added sugar was on the line. "Of course anyone I know personally is of no help in regards to this family. What about your dogs? You hadn't taken them to that veterinary clinic the victim worked at in town, did you?" Such a connection was so loose that it really proved they were grasping at any and all straws to find someone who at least knew her, to give them a worthy direction to start in. Clearly camping out in front of the newspaper's office wasn't doing them any favors. Zeliha didn't want to think about how embarrassing it would be to return to their own office with nothing but metaphorical empty hands. "Beginning to think I've ran the Jo river dry, I need something more." And needed it before the newspaper got their greedy hands on whatever that was. "Nothing lines up, which, unfortunately for me, leaves too many doors open to walk through, all of which have any credible reliability to even begin on talking about. My listeners expect me to come with some sort of integrity and not just whatever." Mauve painted lips pressed into a line, yielding to the suggestion. "I suppose I can take a break for a moment, lead the way. I think the receptionist has started giving me the stink eye through the window, anyway."

Bernadette had spent the last several weeks walking through town like an apparition, a even emptier shell of the already anxious and distrustful person she was by nature. Nothing around her seemed real, least of all the reality that her biological sister had been taken away from her, but the supposed reality was even more absurd. She couldn't fathom the image of Eliana being snatched away from her entire family the way that she was, couldn't reconcile her initial suspicion that it had been Richard, trying to sink his talons back into her after all these years, replaced with the town's apparent insistence that Ros was actually the one to blame. It was all... too bizarre, too nonsensical for the illustrator to wrap her head around. Tired of sitting all day in her apartment, the walls of the Marionette starting to close in on her after so many weeks spent locked in her home, the illustrator decided to head into the office that morning, desperate to regain a semblance of normalcy. What she certainly didn't expect was to be accosted on the way in. She nearly turned right back around, too weary to censor herself the way she normally would around strangers. "I think that they were real people, and the town should stop trying to sensationalize this," she blurted, heaving a long-suffering sigh, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she reached down to adjust the cuffs of her coat. "No, it doesn't make sense to me... nothing makes sense anymore."

IT WOULDN'T BE THE FIRST TIME Zeliha had been met with disdain for what they did or, much more commonly, how they went about what they did. The word insensitivity had been thrown around enough times that could have been stamped down as a synonym for the name of their precious podcast, but sensitivity and empathy didn't get questions answers--nor did it bring in the sponsor deals that paid the bills. The investigator had thick skin, if there was ever one compliment to give their mother, that was one, the cold-hearted and harsh woman had at least prepared them for that much, as there was nothing anyone could say that could pierce the brunette the way her words did growing up. Chin staying high even through the accusation that they were turning a murder into a sensation (and if they didn't, someone else would anyway, wouldn't they?), their voice did at least lose the hurried and stoic tone to put on an attempt at sympathy to the person who had to be close to the incident to have such a reaction. It wouldn't help them to create an enemy out of them, of course. "I think most would just like to know the correct person has been put away for such a crime. If not, there's still danger out there that could repeat itself." Oh, how cruel for them to frame their poking and prodding into a service for the community. "I suppose no one could see such a thing coming. It must've been such a blindside." The agreement would hopefully keep her talking...

IT WAS FRUSTRATING, to put one's blood, sweat, and tears into something just to have it squashed like a bug by a bigger publication or broadcast who both had more budget and resources. The podcaster had a very obvious bias when it came to the topic, and a much more sympathetic eye when it came to themselves (as that was the center of majority of their thoughts anyway), but it was impossible for them not to take it incredibly personally when they weren't able to be the one to break every single case, as if such a feat were possible, when so much of their hard work went into their passion project. With an overly dramatic sigh, as if having to give a salutation was seen as a trivial matter, they gave a curt, "Hello." A roll of their perfectly made up eyes, the mention alone of their other sworn enemy in all of Anchorage would have had steam pouring out of their ears had they been a cartoon character. "Don't get me started on that fool! Do you think he does anything besides get behind a mic and spew whatever poor joke he can think of? That's the only credit I'll give him for actually doing something himself, because I don't think once he has actually made anyone laugh." A better criticism possibly would've been that his comedy was poorly centered on a sensitive subject, but Zeliha themselves didn't have credibility for being the most tactful concerning the same subjects. "'Who knows' is the exact question I'm out here trying to answer. Someone has to." And if ground work was how it would be answered, then so be it. "You don't have any interest in knowing the truth?"