loch lemach gives zero fucks (cutandthrust) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-11-03 09:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, !playerplot: a building of rooks, loch lemach, ofelia zhou |
I'm behind you, I'm watching your back, I'm gonna find you, look in every crack...
Who: Loch Lemach & Ofelia Zhou
What: Loose ends.
Where: Ofelia's office in the Commoners' District
When: September 21st (backdated)
Rating: PG
Status: Complete!
The heels of Loch’s boots stabbed the cobblestones with every step. As the sun receded behind the buildings and an orange-lit haze hung low, she made her way through the streets of the Commoners’ District toward number 198 on Mandragora Ave. The smoke from her cigarette coalesced with the tendrils of evening mist hanging in the air. Around her, the city was coming alive for the second time in the day: now, it was time for respectable types to retreat and make room for the night-owls to come out and play. Loch arrived in front of the office building and stopped to finish her cigarette. The evenings were getting cooler, but it wasn’t yet so freezing she’d toss away a half-smoked butt just to get inside. All those years since she’d got off the streets, and the premonition of winter still unsettled her, weighing on her like a bad omen. Once an urchin, always an urchin. With one last drag, she dropped the cigarette and crushed it under her boot, then entered the building. She climbed the stairs to the second floor and found suite #2. A familiar nameplate with a simple ‘Z’ was the only clue as to the office’s owner’s identity. Loch raised a hand and rapped sharply on the door, twice. “Come in,” was the response, crisp and curt and ringing through the door. The office was chilly when Loch entered—the radiator was on and plinking away, trying its very best to heat the room, but it was having some difficulty. Likely because the window was shoved open and the room’s occupant was perched on the ledge, also enjoying a cigarette. (Menthol, if the wintry smell drifting into the room was any indication.) Ofelia exhaled into the air above the alley, stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray (already peppered with dozens of burnt cylinders), and flashed a small, prim smile at her client. “Good to see you,” she said, sliding off the ledge. Loch touched two fingers to her temple in mock salute and gave a half smile. "Good to see you too, Ofelia." She withdrew an envelope from a pouch and placed it on the desk. Ofelia's eyes followed the motion, and Loch's smile widened a fraction. "Got the documents you asked for." Without waiting for an invitation, she settled into the chair in front of the desk like a queen sitting in her throne. Ofelia took her own chair at the same time (it was larger and quite a bit more comfortable), the two women moving as if mirror images of each other. “I’ll need to check it first,” Ofelia said, leaning over and pulling the envelope closer. “You know how it is.” She could’ve sounded apologetic just then, but didn’t: the woman simply busied herself with sliding a fingernail under the tab and ripping the envelope open, withdrawing the slips of paper and skimming the lists. Departure times, names of ships, number of passengers, manifests and names. Exactly what she needed. She breathed a small sigh (contentment? relief? hard to tell) and re-folded the paper, setting it back into the envelope. “Looks complete enough. I’ll go through the rest of it later. And as for what I owe you…” For her part of the trade, Ofelia withdrew a (much thicker) stack of papers from a drawer in her desk, dropping it on the table with an audible thump. “What really matters is the top page. Do any of those names look familiar?” Loch snorted. Not even halfway down the list, she’d already found ten familiar names. “Sure they do. Some of these people are clients.” She would not reveal who each of these people had sought to remove, however. Even had she wished to tell Ofelia, she may not have been able to explain every single case; she did not much take an interest in what happened to her wares after they were in her clients’ hands and the gil in hers, so in some cases she really had no idea. She counted the familiar names. “Thirteen people I have dealt with on this list. A couple more I have a passing acquaintance with.” She fished out a red pencil from a pocket and ticked these names. “Ain’t necessarily a sign, though. Just business.” And Ofelia wouldn’t have called her in for a meeting if that was the extent of the information she’d weaseled out. The rest of those papers would have something promising—and if they couldn’t narrow down the list, well. Better to err on the side of caution. Better thirteen than herself. The information broker watched closely as Loch annotated the list, whittling down the names further and tightening the net around their prey. “Whoever this backer is,” Ofelia began, “they covered their tracks incredibly well. Like I mentioned, there are all sorts of pseudonyms, aliases, and shell companies leading from the source. I imagine you’re not surprised to hear how many firms in the warehouse district aren’t legitimate—just a front, a name to put down on the shipping contracts.” Her hands folded flat against the top of the desk, Ofelia gestured towards the pile of papers in Loch’s grasp. “Those were the best leads I’ve pulled up so far, the most likely people funneling money into Conti’s accounts. Six of them have a professed interest in machinery, as well. But the further I follow it, the more watered-down the information becomes, so I’ll need to monitor them now that I have a smaller list. Turn over one stone, find a dozen different cockroaches scuttling away – or thirteen, as the case may be.” Lemach’s case was a curious one; most people in Ofelia’s casebook seeking vengeance were for personal sleights, and she hadn’t known that Loch and Ash were quite that close. Another little tidbit to file away in her records, perhaps. Funding the project out of an interest in machinery. That was a line of thought best left unpursued; it led nowhere good. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that Conti had been a shit machinist, but Loch had not hired Ofelia to learn who’d built the Rooks in Conti’s stead. The less she knew about that, the better. “I don’t give a flying fuck why they funded the project,” she said. “Those cockroaches ain’t going nowhere. All I need is for you to tell me which ones to crush under my boot.” Her smile flashed teeth. From a pocket, she withdrew a small purse and left it on the desk. It jingled when it hit the surface. “There’s your fees. If you need any trinkets to make your job easier, let me know.” “Ones?” Ofelia echoed, even as her hand instinctively shot out and scooped the purse into her lap. (Her fingers always itched for cold hard gil.) “No need to worry, miss Lemach. I’ll narrow it down to the one. Singular. The less messy we make this retribution, the better: you’ll have a name by the end of all this.” Loch did not say that her retribution would be anything but messy, that no one would be any the wiser by the end of it. Instead, she nodded. “I’ll wait for that name, then.” Not too long—but she’d give Ofelia time to work her particular brand of magic. “Now that that’s settled,” she leaned back in her chair, “let’s discuss your missing girl. I jotted down every possibility in those papers, but I have some favorites.” She fished out her cigarette case and asked, “Mind if I smoke?” “If you don’t mind the cold,” Ofelia said. She opened the window a fraction for ventilation, and retrieved the documents Loch had brought from her desk drawer. When Loch lit up, the information broker gave an imperceptible shrug and brought out a cigarette for herself. While the two women pored over the papers, the autumn breeze drafted in through the window and wrapped its chilly fingers around the smells of smoke and menthol, dragging them with it, out onto the streets. |