Who: Tim and Daryl What: A little break-in between puzzle buddies Where: Aubade 405 When: Tuesday, around 5 in the afternoon Warnings: Daryl is so creepy sometimes. And Tim says graphic things when he's trying to gross her out.
On October 18th, 2010, Daryl engaged in a forum conversation with one T. Pecker. The conversation was limited to the discussion of different media and their benefits and weaknesses in transmitting information. It was a mildly interesting conversation, one Daryl later found she had unintentionally halted by missing her last reply. Thus, the conversation had ended abruptly with nothing fascinating to note. On November 4th, 2010, Daryl received a private message from the same T. Pecker. It contained a riddle. Over the period of the next four days, T. Pecker continued to send riddles whenever Daryl (easily) solved one. Though she attempted to engage him in conversation concerning his motives and reasons behind keeping up this game, he never responded. By midnight on November 8th, Daryl had tired of being in the dark. She was going to enlighten herself.
Quick forum skimming had given her adequate information to begin her search. His name was Timothy Pecker, and he was a wealthy man. He indulged in all things cultural, to an almost disgusting degree, and seemed to have a great amount of time on his hands for the enjoyment of these pastimes. Clearly, he wasn't a man who spent his days hard at work. Pecker liked to play. That had effectively eliminated the Hamartia complex - nobody who could afford to languish his days away looking at art and complaining about boredom would be living there. His messages were usually grammatically correct, and articulately expressed. He was an intelligent man, likely also educated. The Bathos and Aubade were both possibilities, but his mention of living in constant comfort turned her towards the latter. The Aubade was where the disgustingly rich thrived, of course.
And so it came that Daryl found herself in Northeast Bellevue. She had come prepared, wearing two jackets - one shorter leather jacket and one longer peacoat - a scarf, and carrying a series of hair accessories in her purse. The morning was spent scouting the social areas of Northeast Bellevue, taking advantage of the gossip that flew through it. The socialites loved to talk, and Daryl loved to listen. Most of the time, she was silent in the corner, listening when the speakers had no idea of her presence. On occasion, she would boldly venture forth to strike up a conversation. Daryl was never personable, but she was a fantastic liar. She always spoke with conviction, always came off as authentic - if not a bit robotic. Hair clips and headbands all created a series of "looks" that left her different every time, alongside glasses and an ever-changing use of her scarf. Those that spoke with her or saw her never realized that it was same small brunette. People were so ignorant.
A morning and early afternoon of information gathering had lead Daryl exactly where she needed to be. Timothy Peckman lived in Aubade 405, as a few cushy aristocrat ladies were all too eager to point out. Many of them knew where to find the gentleman, who had certainly caught many eyes during his one-year stay in Northeast Bellevue. It wasn't terribly difficult to find the apartment complex and gain admission, either. With her hair held back by a yellow headband, Daryl looked the part of a posh young woman. She had even done her makeup to blend in, remembering what Jane had taught her to create the illusion. Her dark gray peacoat was nice enough looking that no one glanced at her twice. The doorman, though he didn't recognize her, greeted her kindly. After all - she looked like she fit in.
She easily took the elevator up to the seventh floor, where the 400's started. She knocked on the door to 405 once, rapping loudly. Nothing. She rapped again. Nothing. Not wanting to subject her knuckles to the pain of a third knock, she decided to let herself in. Thankfully, no one was around as she pulled a lockpick set from her purse. Ever since becoming a private investigator, Daryl had learned that a good set of lockpicks and the knowledge of how to use them would go far. Kneeling with mild difficulty thanks to her pencil skirt, she set to work. After a few minutes, the lock gave, allowing her passage inside.
Shutting the door behind her, she began to explore the apartment without shame. The decor was sparse, yet tasteful - if she could ever use that very subjective term. Pecker's appreciation of art was obvious in the way he decorated his home. There were a number of pieces she recognized as respectable. They were the kinds of pieces that Mr. Morgenstern would delight in stealing. Bitterly pushing away thoughts of her horrid rival, she returned focus to Pecker's home. After taking a brief tour on her own, she found the kitchen. It didn't take her long to find the exquisite cappuccino maker. For a normal person, using it would be daunting. Daryl merely touched the opposite counter, sifting back in time until she was able to watch Pecker use it - he provided a live demonstration.
After making a cappuccino for herself - she preferred black coffee, but the fact that she had used his own expensive cappuccino machine flawlessly on her first try dictated that she expand her horizons - she took the mug into his living room, targeting a very nice laz-y-boy chair. She removed both her jackets - the complex was very nicely heated - and settled in the chair, carefully crossing one leg over the other. Dressed in thick stockings and a nice blouse, with heeled boots, she almost looked as if she belonged in this beautiful home. Once the cappuccino had cooled, she sipped its lukewarm goodness, staring intently at the entryway into the living room.