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Jake Fenton
Jake Fenton

Aug-19-2005 17:38

<Jake Fenton slammed the door lazily behind him and poured himself a bourbon. No ice. Rather too casually, he slung his jacket and shoulder holster down on the cot in the corner of the room, and slumped tiredly into his chair.

Almost by instinct, he reached to the breast pocket of his shirt and brought a cigar up to his mouth. He chewed off the ends and spat them onto the floor, where the detritus of the last few busy days had been building. What the heck, it was somewhere to lay his head.

His expert fingers flipped the zippo alight, and casually tossed it in the air to light the cigar, before catching and closing it in one movement. He took a sip of the burning liquor, and turned to gaze out of the window at the rain-sodden streets, below. The streets teemed with people, covering their heads with newspaper as they scurry their way home to their wives or off to their mistresses. He found himself idly wondering who they all are, what they all do... What makes them tick...



Replies

Lady Emerald Devon
Lady Emerald Devon
Nomad

Sep-5-2005 08:19

The Lady Devon frowns slightly as she really has but a little recollection of the bloody man at her feet.
However, the ambulance worker is extremly handsome and she puts some of her sweet talking into practice. Assuring them both that she and the esteemed Professor Woo know little, Professor Woo is more than free to go to meet his ship while the Lady now has a dinner date.

Jake Fenton
Jake Fenton

Sep-5-2005 08:58

(ooc) Professor Woo, nice of you to join the fun! You forgot to mention R Anstett as a suspect... Danniella gave him a motive, I believe. :)

P. Rockwell
P. Rockwell
Well-Connected

Sep-5-2005 11:24

The thunderous applause still echoed in his ears. For a moment, it was all worth it. Sure the plot was weak, but Gilbert & Sullivan always packed the house.
That did it. The moment was gone. Memories of why he needed to pack the house flooded back to him. *deep sigh*
The polished black car with tinted windows showed up twenty minutes after the last curtain call. He could feel his jaw and right hand tightening before the back door even opened. "Not now....," he thought. "I thought we were square."
A large man unfolded himself out of the back, he had a black eye. Rockwell couldn't help smile at that, he knew they deserved more then a black eye.
Skipping the after party, he headed to the straight towards the car and got in without a word.
In ten minutes, he was in front of Isabella Santanelli, there was hardly anything Dona about her. "I've arranged some guest conducting for you to do. Itís a tour, but we left most of the scheduling up to you. However, first place you'll start in is with the newly formed Delhi International Opera," she croaked. "I couldn't decide on which opera to play though..."
'Well," he thought, "at least she does her research." Although he knew she did it just to bother him more.
Isabella continued, "...either Madame Butterfly or Carmen..."
"We'll do the Bizet," he interjected. "However, I believe we were already square."
She full out laughed. How he loathed that laugh.
"You know, I did get you a present though," she continued. The beat-up goon held out a long slim box. Inside, Rockwell saw a baton. It had a thick bulb at the end and as he picked it up it noticed it was properly balanced. "Nice," he thought "She does do her research."
"OW! Dang!" The blasted thing was sharp! It was a deadly knife ingeniously crafted.
"Careful, a miscue with that could get messy. What? You do know why itís those works, right?" she asked.
"Yeah, I know" he growled. "The dame gets it in the end."

P. Rockwell
P. Rockwell
Well-Connected

Sep-5-2005 11:26

"So we'll do the Bizet," he interjected. *another deep sign* "And then we will do Beethoven's opera."
Another less-then-feminine belly laugh. "I don't know if we can schedule THAT work, but..... well....we'll just see."
He turned to head out. He hated what always came next.
"Oh Rock!" she chimed. "A dear friend of mine, the lovely Miss Giry, has consented to the title roll. The private boat is waiting in the back and dear...Don't worry," she said with a smile. "Jones here will drive you and he wouldn't dream of ...missing... even...one...rehearsal."

Madame Giry
Madame Giry

Sep-5-2005 11:57

"Thank you.", sai Madame Giry in a vioce resembling a babbling brook, softly flowing over an edge. She needed some money, and help. She missed New York. The Danger. The Social Engagements. The Cosmopolitans. But alas, one cannot live in the past. She was "delighted" to see Isabella. She love to sing. She needed the money. But she hated Isabella. They were friends a long time ago in the Opera Populaire' in Paris. Daniella's mother was a chorus girl who got her chance when the lead soprano got strep. She filled the part, and became an instant sensation. The conducter, known as the "Phantom" in close company fell in love with her, and her voice. Thirteen years after Daniella was born, she was singing while doing a plie' for the ballet segment. The Managers then put her in solo with her mother. Isabella was a leech, and liked to live off of fame. So she became instantly attached to Daniella. Daniella was approached by terrible news. er parents had died, when the chandelier fell in the middle of Act Three. She was fifteen at that point and had to get away from the grief. Isabella had disappeared from her life and was, unfortunately, back again. When she sang, the sweet beauty of her her mother's voice, and the warm echo of her father's meshed together once more. It was too much to bear. Losing, a new loved one. Jake. So odd. He despised her. And yet... if only she could go back in time. She would rewind her parents death, to never meet the evil in store. But life never does... Soprano... bravissima....

Jake Fenton
Jake Fenton

Sep-5-2005 13:32

Jake paid the hospital with some of that cash he'd gotten from Giry and discharged himself against doctor's orders that evening. Still feeling faint, and just dimly beginning to recollect the morning's events he made his way back to his apartment. It was lucky he'd paid the rent up front, he wasn't going to be doing any work with his arm in a sling. That can put you at a real disadvantage when the lead starts flying.

He took off his shirt and put on a 78. The Goldberg variations.

Jake layed down with his feet towards the door on his bed, already made from when he left in the morning and closed his eyes.

His revolver laid in his right hand as he slept.

Madame Giry
Madame Giry

Sep-5-2005 16:23

But he wasn't alone...

Lady Emerald Devon
Lady Emerald Devon
Nomad

Sep-6-2005 07:11

It was a hard day. The Lady was worried as a Gal in her part of town had disappeared. The people in her part of town were a close knit group bound together by bounds of being the "outsiders". Bounds where trust was automatic. Where people trusted each other without even thinking about it. She sat in the bar alone, a slight frown on her as she drank her favourite Mexican Beer. She wondered if perhaps Riding the Lopez Pony might be better...
The more she thought, the better a tequlia sounded.

Madame Giry
Madame Giry

Sep-6-2005 18:59

Better yet, vodka straight up...

Madame Giry
Madame Giry

Sep-13-2005 13:39

Bump.

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