― augustus grover.

Gus had a plan — admittedly, it was a difficult plan but it outweighed not having one at all. He needed his informant to be kept out of jail. That, and Gus wasn’t convinced there was enough evidence that Kanta could have killed the investor. Of course, if the clues and a motive were somehow to magically turn up and incriminate the suspect? He would deal with that plot twist later. For now, the private investigator needed to shuffle his cards, keeping the odds in his favor. 

Especially when the odds involved dramatic queens, the corrupt police force, and a nosy crowd. 

Rumors were spreading fast — it was only a matter of time before they caught the cat. Which is why Gus found himself traveling down the narrow path to the Under ( down the path which he very much disliked ). But you couldn’t avoid the inevitable in Wonderland, which is why he was about to ask the monster of the underbelly for an odd favor.

His hands twitched in his coat pockets, tempted to pull out a cigarette. However, it was too soon to be indulging — not when he had to leverage for and against both his informants. Vin might not like the suggestion of hiding Kanta from law enforcement, but there was no place worse than the Dollhouse to disappear without a trace. 

And he needed Kanta to stick around, needed him for intel. 

It was late — the sun had long set and the streets were quickly being filled with nightlife. Usually, he turned the other way when the dark escapades began but Augustus didn’t have to go down to the Under. No, no when he was meeting his client in the Mangled Mermaid — even though he was fairly certain she shouldn’t have been allowed inside. 

The 25 year old tried not to take clients that weren’t at least 18 years of age for legality reasons. However, this was Wonderland ( where beggars couldn't be choosers ). That, and the private investigator was only in the beginnings of his career. He couldn’t upcharge people without building a name for himself, a reputation. 

Not that money ever mattered to him ; he just needed enough to pay his rent. 

Gus walked through the pub, glancing at the tables and booths which he passed ( trying to find his client ). He eventually spotted her in the corner, her silhouette almost hard to notice underneath the dimmed lights. It almost felt as if he were meeting a ghost, a ghost who wanted intel on her own father. Could be worse, he thought, sliding into the seat opposite of her. 

Aren’t you? He doesn’t say it out loud, but the angle his head falls to speaks volumes about how little he believes that claim.

“’Might be’. Even you do not know her whims, but that’s not surprising. I do look forward to seeing her try her best to ‘hunt me down’ as you say, should make for an entertaining diversion until the next disaster hits, and you all go back to being dogs chasing their own tails.”

Fingers have been pointing though, that much is correct, and rumors are spreading through Under. All fine by him—his job isn’t to quell the circulation of information, false or otherwise. They both know that. The grin this time is mocking and more than a little cutting.

“Is that a question, Augustus?”

“I figured you didn’t like dogs,” Gus replied, dryly. If Mina wanted to hunt down Kanta, there was nothing anyone could do about it. But knowing how the Red Queen operated, she would send someone else to do the dirty work ( that much even they both knew ). 

“A rhetorical question, Kanta.” He took another sip of his coffee, finding himself in no rush ( for once ). Although the beauty of interrogations lasted in patience, the private investigator found that most people were willing to talk if you gave them ample amount of time and space. Gave them enough silence that they started filling it up with words — with confessions. 

Of course, Kanta wasn’t one of those people. 

@chvshre

The crescent-moon curve of his grin takes on a decidedly predatory tone, razor edge warning to tread lightly here. Wouldn’t want to make a scene would we? The shop’s proprietor is notorious for being an ill-tempered thing these months.

“Have you now? Interesting the kind of talk that comes out when people are bored or paranoid. And here I thought you were smart enough to know how to play after all this time. Pity.”

Supposedly, he could be nice and give over easy this once—the payment does fall within the required parameters, but it isn’t much to cut his teeth on. Besides, it’s not in his nature not to toy with his food.

“Percentage-wise, I would say 14%, maybe 14.5% if you want to get really technical with the details, but no one cares enough for that kind of effort. Or would you prefer fractions? Don’t look at me like that, I’m only giving you what you’ve asked for. Really Gus, I’m a little disappointed you didn’t think this through more.”

“You should know by now that I’m not bored or paranoid,” Gus replied, taking a seat across from the rumored suspect himself. Kanta was many things, but he tended to be a conversationalist ( more so than the others, that is ). “14% is nothing.”

Gus takes a sip of his coffee, enjoying the small moment before he had to continue fetching for answers. The bitterness of the drink sat on his tongue, yet the spike of caffeine immediately helped the rest of his body. “But it might be enough for the Red Queen to hunt you down.”

It’s really no fun messing with Gus. Maybe that’s a good thing in the man’s line of work—being a private investigator can be pretty grim he imagines, with little room for antics—but he still feels compelled to give a warning. “You keep pulling that long face, you’re going to get dull and gray real quick.” Unlikely it’ll go heeded, but that’s no longer his problem.

He pauses, arms raised to his hair mid-adjustment, and turns to level an incredulous stare at the man sitting on his bed. “You want me to be your spy?” Of all the ridiculous—there’s soft thud as he throws his hands back down to rest on the duvet, eyes never leaving Gus. “And just what do you think I’m gonna be able to get? Vin doesn’t exactly trust me y’know. Hell, I’m pretty sure I’m the last person he’d ever tell or show anything of use to, so if you’re looking for blackmail intel, you have got the wrong Doll for the job.“

“Don’t hold your breath,” he scoffs, loosening a few more curls shaking his head. “I may not like him much, and I definitely don’t like being stuck in this place, but there’s plenty of Dolls who do prefer this to the alternative. I mean, for most of them it’s work here or end up on the streets, so…yeah, lesser of two evils I guess.“

“I already am,” he replied, dryly. Dull and gray didn’t seem so bad after a while, better than all the neon lights and temptations of the underbelly. He hated all of it ; all of the deception that worked its way down here, from aesthetics to appearances. 

“Exactly. He doesn’t trust you, so he won’t suspect you,” Not immediately, anyway. But they could cross that dangerous bridge if and when they got there. “You just have to keep your eyes and ears opened for intel. Nothing else.” If Vin wasn’t indulging Zion with important information, all Zion had to do was find someone who Vin did have loose lips around. Or keep his ears pressed up against doors. “You’re a runner. You’ll know how to survive down here.” 

Gus nodded, eventually standing up from the cramped bed. “I have to leave now.” The last thing he wanted was Vin to spot him here, with a Doll no less. The private investigator rummaged through his coat pockets, eventually pulling out his business card. “Call if you need anything.” 

monster is a word that means nothing in this part of the city. what are we but the residue of humanity sculpted into the nightmare of survival? all your monsters are just your reflection, and if they move without your permission then you’re merely on the wrong side of the mirror.

“yet bein’ the key word down here. our Time is limited, you ‘nd me. not hard to piss off the wrong people with the shit you do for a living.” said as a fact, no concern lacing syllables. people like them come and go; spawned off gutters and lost hope, dying from their mistakes only start all over again. the City is consistent like that. 

“nothin’ to be worried about. waste of energy when we both know what’s comin’ for us.” another shrug, another drag. “ain’t shit down here that means anything. cerisse throws her little fits so often that it’s hardly any use trying to keep track anymore  —  all i know is that her little sister’s been more trouble lately but that isn’t worth a crime like that. sounds more like somethin’ done by someone who wants to shut the entire place down, not just a little girl tryin’ to run away.” 

he flips his lighter, the small flame matching the red of the door behind them in its edges, wavering. “have you tried askin’ the tweedles? ‘m sure they know a thing or two about it.”

“Same goes for you,” Gus responded, knowing it was no secret that Vin managed to run a business that rubbed most people the wrong way — even evil had its own tiering system, and Vin could sit on the top of that kingdom ( crown and all ). But, at the same time, Gus wasn’t any better than the rest ; and getting intel from the devil of the underbelly was merely part of the job. 

“Her sister?” There was always something in the family, something brewing. “I’ll keep that in mind. Might have to talk to her.” If the ice queen didn’t throw a fit, that is. He was used to working with Mina, but Cerisse was a new client — then again, weren’t these queens all the same at the end of the day? “Sounds like someone wants to cut into their business. Might be another queen. Unless the Wishbone has any direct rivals.” 

Gus takes a final drag of his cigarette before tossing the bud aside. He pulls out another one, before offering the pack to Vin. This was the closest they’d get to having something in common —  toying with death, in all forms and vices. “I did. They said it could be anything, but business tends to be personal.” They also said the private investigator wasn’t good at his job but, Gus couldn’t blame them for that. 

Nothing did get solved down here, not at this pace. 

closed to @gryphon-gus location: henrik’s office

he’s always found private detectives to be a crapshoot, unlike their public counterparts. the police in wonderland are bumbling, blind bloodhounds, too easy to lead off with a false scent; the private detectives he’s encountered, and there haven’t been many at all, prove their worth by finding him at all. but they never stay for long - lists and lists of alibis and explaining away his connection to the person they have in mind. he knows many people, traversing between the cloister of professionalism in over and his work with the church - many people both ways need help, reach out to him because he’ll acquiesce regardless of their ability to pay.

(but they always do pay, one way or another). 

there are few people he doesn’t know in wonderland.

this one, he finds, is different. leagues above the police, more perceptive than one might find in the average amateur detective - not to say that he is an amateur, just that everyone else is. 

but he finds his position with this one switched from the usual charade - he comes to augustus grover with an inquiry of which he’s reluctant to let go without an answer. 

reclining in his chair, henrik surveys gus watchfully, curious, prompting. “you’ve no doubt heard of the fire, no?” one long fingers taps at his chin. “no doubt there are many parties interested in the fate of those missing children, but few can claim an intrinsic tie to the orphanage as i do, you’ll find. i don’t suppose anyone’s already asked you to investigate? to dive into the miasma surrounding this mystery?”

x

Gus had a wide array of clients — some had unfortunate families, some were wealthy elites, and some were scraping to get by ( desperate for any sort of answers related to their sorrows ). All that being said, he never expected Henrik to enter his office and show concern about the recent church fire. It was suspicious, surely. Especially when he’d heard the rumors surrounding the notorious lawyer. 

All the court cases that never finished ; all the witnesses that mysteriously disappeared. 

And yet the prime suspect stood right in front of him, inquiring about a fire. About something that didn’t even necessarily impact him ( unless there was a connection there, another red string of fate ). Gus nodded, gesturing the lawyer to sit down. Not there was much room — just a few wooden chairs, while the rest of his desk and bookshelf were stacked with case files. There was a fan blowing in the corner of the room, trying to circulate the air so it didn’t smell of nicotine. 

“Yes, I have,” the investigator answered. “And despite law enforcement closing the case, I’m sure people have their suspicions.” 

Because nothing around this city could be a mere accident. Things ( good or bad ) happened for a reason, whether people liked it or not. The church fire might’ve hurt many, but it also benefitted some. It was simply a matter of finding out who gained the most from this tragedy. 

“On the record, I can’t investigate this case,” Gus replied. “Off the record, I plan to do some witness interviews.” Since you never know if any of the bystanders might’ve had a keen liking for arson. “You seem curious yourself. Worried about the missing children?” Or was it something else? 

“Yeah, obviously,” the words come out muffled, lips having difficulty forming the syllables around the hair-tie clenched in his teeth. He’s decided that the tangled bush atop his head is about as tame and sequin-free as it’s ever going to be, and the new task at hand is scooping the mass up into something resembling containment, a whole different struggle on its own. “Can’t just let him get away with this, y’know? I gotta return the favor, one way or another.”

The bun he finally manages to shove his curls into nearly comes undone again when he falls back heavily into the duvet with a sigh. Compensation huh? Well that was to be expected. Problem is getting the money to Gus without drawing Vin’s attention. Last thing he wants to do is dodge an interrogation over where he’s funneling what little he’s got in savings off to.

“I mean, I can suck your dick if you want?” he wiggles his eyebrows at the older man from where he lies, smirking. “I’m kidding. I don’t have much, but I’ll figure out how to get the money. Unless, you’d like a favor instead? Dunno what I can do for you cooped up here, but hey, it’s an option.”

As for what he plans to do with his brother…the smile falls from his face, curtains drawing over dark eyes sinking. “You don’t gotta worry about what comes after. Just get him to me, or get me to him, that’s all I need.”

Of course, it was a revenge plot. Gus had seen plenty of those instances around the city — crimes of passion ( of obsession ). Whether it be targeted at your ex lover, your backstabbing business partner, or any poor soul who managed to piss off the beasts of Wonderland. In this case, it was revenge against a wrongful brother — which is rather poetic or drowning in too many literature tropes. 

Gus blinked, not responding to his offer. Sex and business weren’t in his realm of comfort, nor did the private investigator necessarily enjoy the shady establish that Vin was running. “I’ll need money.” Cases took time, and effort, and he still had rent to pay at the end of the day. Gus managed to do cases in order of importance to his clients — which meant the paying ones got their deeds done quicker. It might’ve seemed cruel, but that’s the way things worked in Wonderland. 

“I can add your case to my pending list but . . . until then, keep a close eye on Vin.” 

The more information he had about his questionable informant, the more leverage Gus would have against the man that no one could dismantle. “You’re the first one to talk to me, but you won’t be the last.” Not when he considered how many people were trapped here, trapped and waiting for a way to escape. 

The bars between you—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It functions no more than a sign that you would never quite see eye to eye. Not that you would try to do as much. Your meetings were and have been tangential—or perhaps correlated, criminal and investigator—but the man in front of you was hardly as straight-laced as he seemed from first glance—this much you knew.

Though, fool me once—  

“Well,” you crack your shoulders, stretching out, coming alive, before relaxing into an easy posture, hardly in a rush anywhere it would seem to the untrained eye, “I was hoping I didn’t have to get to the needing a lawyer part.”

They say the straight route is fastest but you have to disagree. It hasn’t ever gotten you anywhere; you, a wanderer of many roads, all circuitous, none ever so direct. “How have you been, though? My situation is pretty explanatory, as you can see, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to call up an old friend or sorts. Must be a busy month for you with everything going on, a little chat could hardly hurt you.”

You gesture to the door with a quirk of your lips, thumbing ambiguously at something still so far away, “Any chance we could get some privacy?”

For however long he had known Arthur, he knew the man in jail was stalling. Miserably so. There was part of him that wanted shake his head and walk out — he could’ve been asleep, could’ve been anywhere except at the precinct in the dead hours of the early morning. Or maybe the private investigator just needed another coffee ( everyone had vices, his were simply laced with caffeine and nicotine ). 

“You used your one phone call to chat with me?” He didn’t meant to come off as judgmental, but it was hard to be anything but skeptical around Arthur. Gus shook his head, finding the request for privacy to be valid ( yet ridiculous ). This was a jail — which meant privacy was tossed out the door by wavering cops who were paid far too much for their incompetence. 

CLOSED: to @gryphon-gus for event 02 LOCATION: Overland, Precinct #32 DATE & TIME: 9/12 @ 2:11AM

On a typical night, there are many more long faces behind the bars at the back of the precinct. Stuck in the space after capture and before judgement—limbo, a watered down purgatory in your opinion, turning the thoughts over before you begin to play through the night in your head as you sit there, arms crossed, eyes closed. 

All you have to say is that the entire series of events was unexpected, as if slipping at the sound of the starting gun, each step after the onset had grown increasingly precarious until you find yourself here—behind bars—for the first time in many months. 

(It is a simple thing, really. It goes like this: you can’t help yourself or maybe you can but don’t know that yet. A nighttime wanting, it fills itself with jewels that shimmer unseen in your pockets until they are turned out. It uses your arms and hands, though from a third perspective, you lend yourself to it—accomplice and victim the line between them grows until you can no longer belong to both.) 

Suddenly, the sound of a door opening and closing. A sound you know well—  

Open your eyes, one such as you must be alert. 

In front of you passes a familiar face—a chance for freedom, so close you can nearly touch it—he has you on your feet, straightening out, hands in your pockets, a glint in your eye and too-quick smile, “Hey pal, long time no see. Have a few minutes to spare? I know I do.”  

It’d been a long night — and little did Gus know now, but the night would stretch into the early hours of the morning, with the flames of a church fire replacing the morning sunrise. Until then, the private eye found himself stepping into the precinct, the police officers all nodding at him in greeting ( probably assuming he was helping on a case ). If they actually did their jobs, they would be asking him about which case, and request to see his identification. 

Instead, the investigator navigated to the lock up — to where someone used their one phone call to reach out to him ( and whether or not that was a foolish mistake would be determined ). Gus opened the door, finding his caller abruptly stand up, as if he hadn’t been rotting here prior. 

to a stranger, they could be nothing but two shadows of smoke by a door that no longer opens; another smudge upon the city that will not be wiped clean. their footsteps are stained with their sins  —  ( action, inaction; the two are opposite mistakes with the same consequence )  —  that led them here. 

“your damn morals only scare me with how fuckin’ stupid they can be. stupid gets you killed. stupid ruins things for others.” he snorts derisively. playing by the rules is nothing but a binding for those too weak to do what needs to be done, and vin has no time for such foolish considerations. 

“no paparazzi, but god knows the City is always listening. might wanna be careful, investigator, ‘cause god knows you’ve got more to lose than i do by bein’ seen ‘round here.” he breathes out smoke around grins, almost-threats, almost-warnings. take your pick. 

he pauses as gus’ question, almost as if considering. “don’t know her at all  —  all of ‘em fighters are the same after a while. probably visited the dollhouse a few times after whatever fighting adrenaline rush, but hardly someone that mattered much to me or my business.” 

Vin wasn’t wrong — which might’ve been the most scariest part of him. The Dollmaker knew this city, knew how to survive ( and thrive ) within it. Although none of that came at a moral price that seemed digestible for most people. Murder, corruption, power were one thing . . . being the monster of the Underbelly was another. 

“Haven’t been killed yet.” Mostly because the private eye kept all his playing cards close to his chest, knowing one wrong move could easily land him in trouble. There also was a twisted part of Gus that realized if something were to happen . . . nothing would be done about it. It’d be another shut and done case by law enforcement, while his whole life would disappear into the dust ( into another file of papers ). 

No one in Wonderland had value, no one. 

“Worried about me?” Gus wondered, not sure if Vin even had capacity for that. “I’d say being spotted with you would give me enough street credit around here.” That, and people would think twice about helping him. There were consequences to everything, including the company you keep. 

He waits a few seconds longer before turning to frown at Gus, half confusion and half impatience. “What are you doing just sitting there? Don’t tell me you don’t know how to use a comb…” Even as he says it, his eyes find their way to the veritable nest that sits on top of the older man’s head, and much as he’d like to believe otherwise, part of him has to admit it is likely his incredulity might be well deserved.

“Okay forget it,” a sigh and he takes the comb, resigned to slowly untangling his curls on his own and hoping for the best where he cannot see the back of his head. As he works, yanking the wooden teeth through knots with a vengeance, he fills Gus in on what he remembers of his brother.

“Keep in mind I haven’t seen or heard from the bastard since he basically sold me to Vin to save his own hide, and that was a little over two years ago. He’s a lazy, spoiled brat though, which is saying something coming from me, so I’m sure he hasn’t actually learned his lesson and has managed to get himself into trouble. Again.”

A particularly stubborn tangle centered around a chunk of sequin distracts him momentarily, words devolving into muttered curses and promises to get a haircut soon.

“Anyway, he’s got just about every vice under the sun, and he’s terrible about keeping money in his pocket, so I’m sure if you just ask around Under, you’ll hear about some dumbass running up debts he can’t accord. For the most part, I don’t think our family has anything to do with him anymore, so he should be pretty isolated now. Could be easy pickings, if you get my drift. Anything else you need?”

Gus didn’t care about the comb and his hair looked fine, fine as it could when he was busy working all day long. Frankly, if you had time to care about your appearance in Wonderland — you were either being paid to do so or far too privileged. But that wasn’t the only twisted part of this place, not when it involved family selling their own siblings. There really was no day where he wasn’t surprised by this city ( and it’s despicableness ). 

“You want to find your brother, even though he sold you here?” Gus asked, wanting some  clarification. He could do his job, yes — but he wasn’t a family counselor or therapist that wanted to get involved with the rest of this drama. In which case, having all the details helped — like where to start looking ( diving deeper into the Under ). 

The man looks so out of place and disoriented, deposited in a sea of fluffy blankets and brightly-colored cushions, that he can’t help but laugh despite his own fleeting trepidation. Possibly not the most appropriate response, given their location and relationship—nonexistent though it may be for now—and what he’s about to ask of Gus next, but he’s always found it hard to behave as expected.

“Jesus, you look like Vin’s going to pop out of the walls and eat you right here and now.” Alright, so that’s not really an exaggeration; the Dollmaker could very well decide to drop in at any moment for any reason, or no reason at all, but technicalities never helped anyone. “Relax, I’m not gonna tell him you’re here if you don’t tell him I’m meeting you behind his back.”

He gets up briefly to dig a comb out from the vanity drawer. “Or do you think we’re hiding some big, dark secret from you and the rest of the city in my room of all places? Even you can’t be that paranoid.” Prize in hand, he flounces back into his vacated spot on the comforter, unceremoniously shoving the comb into Gus’s hands and turning to gesture vaguely at his tangled hair in a ‘go on’ motion.

“Anyway, I wanted to talk business, and lucky for you, it’s not the kind where we have to get naked.”—another laugh, decidedly less humorous and more bitter this time, before he continues—“I’d ask you for dirt on Vin, but that might be biting off more than either of us can chew, so I’m gonna ask you to help find my brother instead. What do you need from me for that?”

Given that he was actually inside of Vin’s crooked establishment and caught inside one of the rooms — Gus was slightly paranoid that this would change the nature of their relationship. While Gus chose to look the other way in how Vin conducted his affairs, he didn’t want the other to think that they had other commonalities beyond what was already discussed — a strange arrangement in which both of them were simply trying to stay above water. 

“Good. Keep it that way.” The less Vin knew, the better. Despite that, Gus still didn’t know what to do — especially when the young man shoved a comb into his hand. The private eye blinked, not bothering to fix his hair. Not when Zion began to speak about his predicament ( about his wishes to find his brother ). 

“Finding dirt on Vin is like trying to catch ghosts. No one in the Dollhouse speaks against him, and if they do, they usually end up dead.” There wasn’t much justice achieved if the systems in place prevented keeping such innocent souls safe. And in a twisted way, even Gus understood that the desire for survival outweighed the need to bring down a big, bad man such as Vin. 

Still, he was listening. Listening to the cracks of the Dollhouse.