Sleuth Home - Message Boards - Role Playing Stage

Mar-8-2010 20:54

Hi, this is my first RPG here on Sleuth. For information on my character please look at my profile (or read Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead, whichever you please). I'm not entirely sure how to construct a mystery here, so I'd like to start with something and maybe get a little help, seeing as I would love to become a regular on your lovely boards!

In other news, I'm not a fan of anyone speaking for anyone else's character, unless you have previously discussed it. If I happen to foul anything up, kindly let me know--I won't mind.

Dominique

Mar-8-2010 21:21

How had she not heard of her father's passing? She had contacts all throughout the city, she had men following her father everywhere he went, and she had been told he was healthy as a horse! And she had heard nothing of his death.

Something was wrong in an extreme sort of way, and Dominique was determined to find out where the lines of communication had been severed. Once she knew, she would sever something as well, and it would not be as sweet as just a line of communication.

Mar-8-2010 22:45

Corelli was tired, every night was shorter that the one before, and the things with Lillian were worst than ever, he couldn't blame her, he was a heavy drinker but the last few days he was drinking more than ever, getting drunk on every chance that he had... and that was when Lillian told him that she was leaving him, she couldn't stand it: the way Corelli used to drown his conscience, the nights in where he was rolling in bed without sleeping...

That was the reason he was there, waiting outside that little cafe: Cafe Fortuna, Corelli smiled, maybe that was the way the Fate was telling him that it was there where he was going to find redemption.

He sighted, looking both sides of the streets before approaching the cafe, trying to look for that girl, the fugitive daughter of the old man, then a burlesque dancer and some other things, 'a really beatiful girl' as the few that knew her told him. Corelli felt in his pocket the picture that some gypsy sold him, he doubted that the girl on the picture was the one that he was shadowing, but it was worth the try.

He entered the cafe, took a sit near some bussiness man that was preaching the marvels of some product, and started to look around.

That's when he saw her, the same girl as the one in the picture: long legs, black hair, the way she was holding the cigarette, and that distant look in her eyes, the exact definition of a looker. Corelli produced a cigarette.

"Excuse me, Miss, do you have fire?"

Mar-8-2010 23:01

Dominique watched the man come into the cafe with disinterested eyes. Another tired-eyed victim of the city. If she had seen one she had seen one thousand, this man was nothing new. Yet this man approached her. She placed her empty hand on her beaded handbag, inside of which she carried her pistol--one of the reasons she declined for a man to carry any of her belongings for her.

"Yes," she said, replacing her lips to their tight line after replying. "Here you are."

She carefully opened the bag, so as to shield the contents from the man, and retrieved a box of matches.

Dominique quickly realized that the letter from Callahan was still open on the table, and remembering the threatening note at the end of the letter--"No one must know"--she cooly folded the paper and returned it to her bag, which she placed on her lap.

She went back to her coffee, stirring it with a dessert spoon and looking out across the street, trying to hide the vulnerability and nerves building within her with a bored expression.

How had Callahan found her? This was the question that plagued her the most presently. It lunged itself at the sides of her skull, swelling her brain. She had left the country, studied in secret, written under the protection pseudonyms. She had left clues to her own death, and her life had fallen into such disrepair that she was sure not a single human being would care to seek her out.

Noticing that the man had not left her table, Dominique turned to him once again, attempting to clear the questions from her mind for the time being.

"Excuse me, could I be of service to you, sir?"

Mar-8-2010 23:03

edit: under the protection of pseudonyms*

Mar-11-2010 06:33

That was the moment.
"Actually, yes, you can help me, Miss Francon"

Dominique Francon was a hard one to read, she didn't even show the slightest surprise, but her hands were in her purse so everything was possible.

"Who are you?" she said in a calm tone.

"Mind if I sit?" Corelli didn't wait for permission, he took away his fedora, a trick that he used to employ so he could look more approachable, yet he wasn't expecting that the trick could work, especially since his curly black hair looked like a mess and there was this issue with his growing beard over his olive skin.

"My name is Andrew Corelli and I'm a private investigator" he said, flashing his badge, "I need some information about your father, the deceased Guy Francon"

"What do you know about him" and that cold tone again.

"Well..." Corelli started, unsure of how to continue,