Morningstar Manor

Such a sad thing really, Angela getting shot. Figured that the one morning Loki hadn't been loitering in the square something exciting happened. Though in all honesty he'd have prefered it not been the dark haired woman who'd been hurt. She was fiesty. He liked her.

But it had happened and apparently at least one of the other employees was considering trying to take advantage of the situation (lawyers, he knew what level of the Underworld they'd be going to) and that was leaving the cute little gallery owner in a bind.

Well Shaw had offered him a job once...

The bell above the gallery door jingled as Loki opened it. Gone were the baggy jeans and netted shirts. Today he wore fitted black slacks that looked as if they'd been made just for him, polished black boots and a black silk button up that, while a bit on the Victorian or Renaissance side with the slightly baggy sleeves, looked very posh. Gone were the black nails and his bright red hair was brushed until it shown and pulled back in a tail at the nape of his neck.

Selling art. Oh yes that was something he could do very well.

It had been a long week. Andy wasn't used to being cooped up and by Wednesday was almost at screaming point. But today she felt perfectly capable of hobbling down to the Mocha where at least she could see other people and listen to other conversations.

"I love adore and cherish you dearly," she said to Erik as she lowered herself into her seat, "but OH it's nice to get out of the apartment!"

It couldn't have been easy for him, either. She knew she wasn't the easiest of patients.

Erin was down in the laundry room again, doing the sorting dance. It basically consisted of dumping everything into a huge pile and tossing things into one machine or the other. Some things found their way back in the basket though. Stuff that wasn't meant for machines to wash.

Her feet were tired and she was seriously contemplating laying over the machines to take a nap. The spin cycle would likely wake her up. Or maybe somebody would start to wonder where she was. She laughed out loud. "Yeah right, there's a story and a half." She said, her hands pushing down the laundry mountain in the designated "coloreds" washer.

Someone was loitering in the eighth floor hallway, hanging supiciously around the door to 8150. In her hands was a thick envelope, and she tapped it restlessly against her palm as she paced back and forth in front of the door, obviously deep in thought.

Once, she turned, began to reach out to the door, then changed her mind and started to walk away, only to turn around after a few feet and return. She might have stayed there all night-pacing, tapping, thinking-if it hadn't been for the sudden soft rush of the elevator lifting into place and the cheery "ding!" of it's arrival.

Startled into action-she didn't want to be caught-she stuffed the envelope into the jam, between the knob and the frame, and took off, scampering into the stairwell without looking back.

Off duty and with the remains of a monumental hangover niggling behind his eyes, Vincenzo lay back on a lounger and tried to read his book.

Tried because the letters kept blurring, also because his concentration was shot. He kept thinking back to last night and his final encounter with Emily and felt that he had handled it very badly.

Okay, she had stood him up. Not the first time that had happened, was it? AND she was a career chef, and he should know how driven they were. And she had seemed quite happy until he had mentioned playing pool with Rosa and Sonia. THAT had been just stupid - mentioning it, not the game.

He sighed and turned a page then frowned and turned back, realising that somehow he had missed the villain committing the murder, and then was distracted all over again by a splash from the pool.

[ooc: also up for WEEKS!! because I got my dates muddled up]