#beherrrscht

As he collected his change, he couldn’t help but notice him yet again.

It was that pale man with the white hair, buying something at the shop, too, though he couldn’t tell what. Trying to not seem too nosy, he stuffed the crumpled bills in his pocket, and the receipt in the other, then taking his goods from the counter and scurried off. 

Antonio kept running into this man, and he always felt those eyes on his body, but as soon as he tried to meet his gaze, he always averted his stare! The curiosity was driving him mad! Who was this guy, and why does he pop up everywhere?

He decided to finally meet this man, and wait by the exit of the store, that wasn’t creepy, right? Antonio and his newfound resolve were going to finally put an end to this mystery and figure out who this man was. He found himself humming as he waiting for the man to exit the store.

The day so far had been fairly quiet. Roderich was cooped up in his room, as usual, scouting as the Phantom. He sat as his piano, playing a soft melody, while simultaneously being out and about, somewhere in the city, making his rounds. Generally, it was a peaceful day.

At least it was, but then someone burst into the room quite unexpectedly. Roderich hit a sour note in his song, and, stopping, he glared at the intruder with a frustrated huff.

Örjan was aboard the S.S. Minverva. Why? He felt like it. Sure, Viktor was busy and he couldn’t hang out with him at the moment, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to loiter about the ship and enjoy its free snacks for as long as he could. The Rats hideout was nice and all, but the food on the Minerva was just objectively better. Except for the hot dogs. Nothing could beat the hot dogs at the Mouse Trap.

Today, Feliciano’s focus was the Guild. 

Investigating the Guild was a lot different from investigating someplace like the Mafia. They were much hush hush and secretive, and it could be hard to even figure out who the active members of it were. But luckily for Feliciano, getting information was his specialty, and he’d zeroed in on a certain Gilbert Beilschmidt. And even luckier, the man hadn’t been hard to find at all. Now all that was left was to talk to him a little, tag him with a kite, then follow him around for a bit before being on his way!

Business in the restaurant was slow. 

It often was at this time of day, that odd time between lunch and dinner. Francis didn’t mind so much, but the time did seem to crawl. Though, there was one patron in the restaurant, a man Francis was certain he recognized. Perhaps he’d dined there more than once.