Club Pauktis Laimes

Two weeks after the disappearance the once great club, Pauktis Laimes, the "Bird of Happiness" now a shell of its former self without its actual songbird. The jazz playing over the sound system isn't helping matters either. The few club goers here currently are mostly small-timers. Petty crooks or just some goons down on their luck. Well... mostly so. Hard to tell from the rest of the riff-raff are the rented badges, hired by the Don, likely still thinking the culprit will just burst back in out of habit.

Put to work, Don's second youngest, Rosaline, tends to the tables, she's dolled up though, wearing a fancy hat and dress, makeup, boots, dainty gloves, jewelry, and even contacts making her eyes look brown, and human. It is almost as if she's ashamed of her heritage. The one bit of pride, however, is a lone red rose that adorns the brim of her hat.

"Bet she offed the bird," a dirty looking patron says as she walks by. "Jealousy that she took her daddy's attention from her."

She hears it, but she tries to ignore it, carrying glasses to serve to guests.

"Didn't turn out so hot, did it, babe?" The patron says, gesturing to Rosa.

Rosa stops, glancing over her shoulder at the man. The sound of the glass clattering together can softly be heard.

"Don't know what you're talking about, sir." She coldly responds.

"You better ease up," the patron's friend warns, nudging him. "She's the Don's kid after-all."

"Whatever," the man responds, leaning back in his seat. "Hey, you ain't bad for a freak, maybe you and me could work on that dying breed issue ya got?"

Before he could take another breath a glass hits and shattering in the man's face causing his chair to topple over. He writhes on the floor holding his glass riddled face, the alcohol that was in it doubling the pain. His friend drops down to attend to him, picking the bits of glass embedded in his face.

"Maybe first you should get a doc for your bleeding problem, sir." Rosa responds with a crackling cold tone and a wild grin. "And for the record, I'm going to find her, and I'm gonna own this city, and I'm going to own you."

As if led by the scent of blood and pain, Faustus stepped through the doorway and cast a glance around the bar. His gaze lingered on the pained man taking in the details of the wound but he paid it no heed. That was not why he was here today. The doctor had only just returned from a trip outside the city and had returned only to learn that he missed out on an interesting occurrence. The "Nightingale" they called her, supposedly bringing calm and peace to this foul city through her singing. Faustus had learned that she resided here but given the desolate conditions of the place it was obvious she was long gone. But where? Faustus knew everyone was asking that question. The doctor could almost sense the shadows of her powers, quickly dissipating as it's swallowed by the miserable aura emanating from the surrounding masses. He took out his pocket-watch, flicking it open with a practiced roll of the wrist. The large hand had not struck yet, he still had time.

Not wanting to linger at the doorway, Faustus turned to look at the bleeding man as he struggled not to touch his marred face. His friend seemed to hover at his side picking at the shards in a vain attempt to help. Odd, the doctor thought it was only worsening the damage. With a cluck of his tongue, the dark-clothed man strode over to the injured human and his friend and methodically, mind you it was to not catch the attentions of those goons sitting in that dark corner over there, took a small bundle of herbs out of his coat pocket and dropped them into the lap of the man's friend. He was going to grind the herbs into a salve but apparently Fate dictated that this man needed it, and of coarse the doctor was going to oblige even if it seemed that the man only had his foolishness to blame. He had other reasons for helping though. It would do no good to have the scent of blood permeating through the already stale air especially when he was going to order a drink or too. The doctor was unsure of whether the lavender would mask the smell of blood he was keen to.

Banishing those thoughts, Faustus turned away and walked towards an seat at the bar. He studied the shelved bottles behind the bartender, idly wondering what to drink.

Jay turned away, quickening his pace as his target lie on the wet ground in an alleyway just east of the club, his throat cut, ear to ear. The man had recently been discovered to be a government whistleblower, and has been snooping around the club for the last two nights. Jay took the man's ID, cash, and watch, and destroyed them. A simple mugging gone wrong, was all the news reports would say.

Jay quickly walked into the club, ignoring the man lying on the floor with a face full of glass. He probably had it coming. Jay found a seat at the end of the bar, looked at Rosa, knocked three times, and held out one finger. She looked at him and nodded, and he made his way in the back. A small envelope lie on the kitchen counter in the back room, simply labelled "J". He opened it, although it had already been opened once, the seal was broken. Odd, the Hawthorne's always seal their envelopes. There was a different colored piece of paper in there also, with an address on it. The usual in there aswell, 250 dollars cash, and an IOU for the remaining 250. He wasn't concerned, the don had never cheated him before, and this was not the first IOU he had received. Although the address concerned him. This was new. It was also across town. 1103 Ledder, 12pm sharp.

A meeting, maybe? He didn't like the idea, and he definitely didn't like the handwriting. it was, unfamiliar to him. Clearly not The Dons' writing. Maybe something to do with this "Nightingale" He'd been hearing so much about. Someone who'd just, drifted into town, and drifted right back out. Soothed the town, even made Jay feel alright. Alright enough to take his mask off and have a drink. He was unsure of what happened to her or where she went, but it was none of his concern.

He made his way out into the bar, and sat quietly at the end of the bar, awaiting an appearance from Bella, or The Don.

Behind the bar is quite a sight. A tall figure, a very tall figure, the eldest son of the Don, Amaranth Hawthorne. He's always been bent on keeping straight. Being something of a people person he's gone on to take the bartender position while business is strained.

"Apologies to enter under such conditions," he says to Faustus while turning towards him. "Our selection is still quite varied."

Rosa walks over and places glasses in the sink then leans over the counter next to a wilted bouquet of flowers.

"Easy to supply where natural talent provides," she says somewhat cryptically as she pokes the vase springing the flowers back to life.

"Yes," Amaranth responds nodding. "What will you have?"

The creaking sound of heavy footsteps can be heard. Coming down from the upper section is the Don's eldest, Belladonna, far from a daisy and daint she has a presence and glare to her that puts a chill down most men's spines, not too unlike her father on a bad day, and there have been many bad days as of late. She steps into the proximity of Jay.

"Don's tied up up with some odd badge, wish this city would get over that Jane." She says as silently as possible to Jay, clearly referring to the Nightingale incident. "But for now, it is me."

"We'll talk upstairs, I'd rather avoid prying eyes and wandering ears."

"Yes, there have been too many," Belladonna says, getting up and heading towards the stairs. "Let us care not to disturb my father's session."

She clearly meant her father's current meeting with the detective. She clearly had some misgivings about this person aside from them being a detective, an uneasiness. As she walks up to a room across from the Don's of the upper floor she turns on a radio, likely to give eavesdroppers trouble.

As they go upstairs Rosa looks on with her head rested on her arm. In her eyes another juicy thing she is barred from by her elder sister. She looks over at Amaranth as he passes a drink on to Curtis

"There have been better days," he says answering Curtis as he begins drying a glass. "But there will always be better ones."

He always had an odd "the glass is half full" outlook, one that young Rosaline can only roll her eyes at.

Bella looks at the letter, a twinge of fury in her eyes. She had never had someone slip by her like this and she knows she can't be getting dull. In her mind she surmises that it must have been in that moment she was in with her father. She can't have people taking advantage of them.

"They took a risk, best not to disappoint." she says with a short breath.

As she says this the sound of floorboards come to her ears. It was the man in a dark trench who was talking with her father. A fairly tall man with distinct facial features partially covered by the brim of his hat. He was a former soldier turned private detective carrying with him a reputation for being too stubborn to die.

His deep green eyes set aglow as he lights a cigarette. She does not know how long he had been standing there. The man's presence was disturbing her.

"I get that it is a survival instinct," he says in a gravelly voice.

"What was that?" Bella responds.

"You being so secretive," he says as he blows out a fine stream of smoke. "I'm not your enemy, and I'm not here to bust any kind of operation you got going on."

He turns his back and places a hand on the stair railings. Bella looks on intensively, the man put her at unease, there's no sign of fear in him in their presence, almost as if he saw himself as an equal, or even above them in some manner.

"Oh yeah, something really off about this night, got my scars all itchy'."

With this cryptic warning the detective heads down the stairs and out of the establishment, Rosaline and Amaranth watch as he leaves.

"Who knows, now with Nightingale gone, maybe we'll get back a Parrot or a Lark."

"A parrot singing? We don't want people more agitated." Rosaline jokes back.

"Well, wouldn't hurt to have a new talent." Amaranth admits. "But there was always something... untouched... about that girl, like she wasn't from this world of ours."

Belladonna gets a first aid and begins by disinfecting the wound.

"A gash, deep but clean... you were in a hurry... you got noticed." She deduces, a marvel of instincts not too unlike her father. She starts to work at closing the wound using the suture kit, something she's become good at... though doubtful she'd make a good nurse.

"What happ-" She was abruptly cut off as a tone plays over the radio, an important message.

"A new victim in a line of brutal ritualistic murders was discovered just now in an alley way. Cause of death? Cubed. You heard me right, he was cut to pieces. Before I got thrown out by the badges I caught a glimpse of the... er... head of the victim... get this: it was Philippe, the youngest son of our favorite neighborhood tyrant. No shocker he'd be offed. However... this gets weirder... the psycho wrote a message in that poor slob's own blood. 'Monster.' The heck does that mean? Whatever the case, they'll be putting Humpty Dumpty back together for a few days so keep an eye out for some missing... pieces. The hell? Seriously, who wrote this? You laughing? Isn't funny.Don't touch me."

The broadcast cuts off. There's a bit of silence, some of the patrons seem suddenly in no big of a hurry to leave. This chain of murders has always been some criminal, big or small. Rumors have started spreading about some vigilante got tired of living in fear... others a bit more fantastical of a rogue angel purging the streets of the impure.

"Hey... isn't he one of them that killed..." Rosaline begins to blurt out before Amaranth casts a glare.

Amaranth pours up another drink for those at the counter. "No charge..." He says quietly, his voice almost cracking. This looks bad for them, real bad, and the last thing they want is another gang war.