Life After Noir

Jadeling Hawkins · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Jadeling Hawkins** on Thu Feb 04, 2010 12:12 pm

"Right here! How was Tommy?" Sang a voice directly behind Ben, as Jo stepped in through the door. Her bag was slung heavily over one shoulder, one of her shoes and a broken heel was held in one hand, and her clothes were smattered with streaks of gray-green paint. Her curls had a few ends sticking out at odd angles and her brow was dotted neatly with sweat.

Jo swept into the room humming one of the recent Cab Calloway tunes from the radio, and deposited her heavy bag with the stolen papers onto the coffee table, and quickly shed her blouse and skirt, folding the articles in on themselves so the paint wouldn't touch anything, then tossed them into the waste bin. She dropped the busted shoe and kicked its mate off beside it. Now clad only in her shift and stockings, she headed towards the bedroom (still humming) to fetch herself some fresh clothes. On the way, she stopped, took one look at Ben, and crossly set her hands at her hips. "What in God's name have you done to your trousers?"

-----------------------------------------

Francisco remained silent, stonily silent, and Rosetta listed off her arguments. He was affected by her words, that much was clear in his eyes, but what struck him more than the facts was her sincerity in it all. Somehow, even when he had been 'The Wolf,' she had come to truly believe that he was more.

And then came her confession, and Frankie's face shifted with a spasm of surprise. It was certainly not the first time a lady had said such words to him--he had always been very generous with gifts; golden jewelry, fine perfumes, fancy dinners. And the women he had typically dated had been easily enough won over with such displays. It had always been an easy, amusing side-bar from his usual life.

But with Rosetta...those same, simple three words had meaning. Any fool could see that.

In the back of his mind, Frankie realized that this could be his opportunity to leave her for good; perhaps even shake her senses so that she would soften her opinion on any of the men her brother rounded up. If he had but refused to look back at her since he had first pulled away, it would have been easy. But now, with those soft eyes pleading with him for some sort of understanding, she had him trapped.

"You should save your love for a better man," Frankie murmured, lifting his hands to hold hers. He leaned forward enough to press an unusually gentle kiss to her brow, "But since it is mine, how can I refuse it?"

NorthernSoul · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **NorthernSoul** on Thu Feb 04, 2010 1:22 pm

Ben interrupted his appreciation of the enjoyable sight of Jo only wearing her slip to let out a snort of laughter.

"I don't think you're a position to talk, Levard," he said, hooking his jacket onto the peg on the back of the door and putting his arms around her waist. "What... the... hell... happened... to you?" he asked, in between kisses down the side of her neck. "I thought getting hold of Tommy's birth certificate would be difficult, but I didn't think it would involve paint," he said, with a grin.

"And I did this," he added, gesturing to the huge grass stains on both knees. They somehow seemed to have grown larger during the walk back home. "Playing catch with Tommy. With the baseball you gave him. So it's your fault, really."

He grinned again and decided to kiss her before she could get a smart comeback out of her lips (a strategy that tended to delay, rather than prevent, such occurrences). Still, it had other benefits. As interested as Ben was as to what exactly Jo had managed to unearth (if anything at all) from Effie's boarded-up house, he thought he might be able to leave it a few moments before he found out.

Jadeling Hawkins · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Jadeling Hawkins** on Thu Feb 04, 2010 2:16 pm

Jo tried to remain cross, with her spine stiff and agitated with the upcoming difficulty of getting grass stains out of reasonably new pants, but by the third or fourth kiss leading down towards her favorite necklace (a lovely silver thing with a green stone that matched her eyes, ornately set and picked by the same man who now had his arms around her) her stern look dissolved into giggles. She settled her arms around his shoulders and quipped back, "It only involved paint if you were doing it right. Apparently the side of the Knowles' old building was in the middle of being painted when I dropped by."

She opened her mouth to argue against Ben's logic, but was cut off. She went on letting him cut her off for a few moments; long enough to make up for the unpleasantness of the outing, the loss of her clothes, the broken shoe, and the fact that she'd once again broken the law. Then she let it go on a little longer, until she was in a decidedly better mood. Then she tugged her hands down out of his hair and pressed them flat against his chest, pushing him back just enough so she could give him a stern look.

"Oh, break it up, Goldberg. I'll bet Mister Tommy managed to make it inside without grass stains all over his trousers. I'm taking the time it's gonna take to clean them out of your allowance, you hear me?" She grinned, tweaked his nose, but kissed him again all the same. Then she slipped out of his arms as if she were made out of smoke, and headed once again towards their room.

"So are you going to beg, or do I have to just tell you what I found out of my own accord?" She called from the closet.

Kohananinja · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Kohananinja** on Thu Feb 04, 2010 9:39 pm

For a few agonizingly tense moments, she thought he might just leave, not turn back, and she’d never see him again. That was the only thing she found terrifying in this situation, come what ever may, but the only thing she was truly afraid of in this moment was loosing him again, and this time if he left, she knew there would be no second chance at what they’d missed out on seven years ago.

And then she saw it in his eyes, his surrender, and it made her glow with happiness. She gazed up at him with doting eyes as his big firm hands held her smaller soft ones, and felt utter bliss at his (in her mind at least) reassuring gentle kiss. “You ask the impossible amore.” A better man? She felt the need to scoff. There was no man as wonderful as Frankie, or made her feel the things he did. No, her love and affections would always stay firmly planted at his feet, whether he deemed it a wise decision or not.

“What happens now?” She asked, reluctant to break the affectionate atmosphere, but she needed to know. She’d confessed her love, and he’d accepted this, but where did they go from here?

Irish Wolf · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Irish Wolf** on Fri Feb 05, 2010 1:33 am

Cards slumped at his little table, too frustrated to even play with his own deck of playing cards. So far, nothing about this trip to New York was going right. First and formost, the woman his uncle had requested him to help/protect, had dumped him off in his little apartment (taking a nice big house for herself, there were plenty of rooms there, he could have gotten one) and only called him once. It had been an age and a half since he had heard from Fiona, the house he was staying in was now empty and he had no clue on his to contact her (one just couldn't go around asking if the passerby's had seen a dead woman).

Second, he hadn't been in a single gun fight or any fight for that matter, that he hadn't either started or gotten into when someone he had been mugging fought back. It was truly disappointing. All of uncle's stories had been filled with battles between gangsters, tommy guns and BARs blazing, the lead flying thick. The best he was getting were unforefilling fist fights. Hell, he was beginning to wonder why he was even packing heat in the city anyways, he never got to use it.

Saved the worst for last though. The Sheba he met a few days ago, well Cards couldn't find her again. Every time he grew too tired of being led in circles, looking for the dame the boss wanted him to find, he'd try one of the gambling joints from her note (true, he hadn't managed to make his way over to the other address on the list but after he found out that it was a catering place, well, the lovely lady wouldn't want some disheveled gambler showing up at her place of work, now would she? A good way to get fired that, for having some bloody knuckled male caller come knocking on her boss's door). Damn, it was hard to track down pretty girls, when no one in the city is either your friend or owes you a few favors and there was no way he was going to abuse the fact that he could all on his family's business contacts down here for help. No way, then dad and gran might know he liked a girl. They'd be on him, just like how they had been on uncle Pat to get married and add more good O'Keefe babies to the world. Oh sure, that would come but not for some years yet. He'd follow his favorite uncle's path in life and have plenty of fun before getting shackled.

"Bored" muttered the young, wannabe gangster, wondering if there was any wine left.

NorthernSoul · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **NorthernSoul** on Fri Feb 05, 2010 1:50 pm

Ben stuck his tongue out at her as she slipped out of his arms and drifted back towards the bedroom. He supposed, really, he should be following suit.

Going in after her and, in contrast to Jo who was currently dallying indecisively in front of her open closet, he went over to the chest of drawers in the corner, opened the second drawer and took out the first pair of trousers he could see. Clothes were clothes, in Ben's eyes there wasn't much more to it than that. Except when it came to ties... Ben classed those less as an item of clothing and more as an instrument of torture.

"Oh, please?" he said in a sing-song voice, as he changed his trousers and dumped the grass-streaked pair into the washing basket on the far side of the room. "Pretty please Miss Levard, will you show me whatever it was that you found?"

He stood up and, going up behind her, snaked his arms back around her waist once again and added:

"Though, to be honest, I'm starting to think you didn't find anything at all. I always said your investigative skills were second-rate, Levard. Even worse than Wallenstein's, and that's saying something. I think you should wear this."

He reached into the wardrobe and picked out a particularly old-fashioned bright yellow dress.

Jadeling Hawkins · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Jadeling Hawkins** on Fri Feb 05, 2010 3:11 pm

Jo's reaction to outright criticism--especially when it was from her greatest rival and greatest partner at the same time--was potent on all levels. Even her curls seemed to tighten aggressively. But her only active response was to casually allow one hand to linger over a different dress--one with a great deal more 'slink' and 'sway' in it, as certain admirers had been apt to say; one that she rarely wore because it was far less comfortable to wear than it was to look at--then casually slip back over to grab the yellow one Ben had pointed out. "Well, if that's the one your really like, Goldie. You always did have odd taste, I guess..."

Jo twisted in his arms to face him, her chin lifted at that defiant angle which she usually saved for Edison when he was questioning that source or admonishing this foolhardy scheme. She managed to wriggle into the plain daisy-colored thing (purchased for the sole purpose of having lunch with her mother) without breaking his hold.

"But since you did ask so nicely--I guess I can share my findings. I--oh, damn." Jo sighed as she struggled to fit her casted arm through one of the slim sleeves of the dress. Eventually she gave up, giving Ben a mock-apologetic glance, and picked something with looser sleeves. But the slinky dress stayed on its hanger. "Where was I? I was making dinner, right?"

With something very similar to a triumphant smirk, Jo once again slipped out of his grip, this time marching off towards the kitchen. She talked as she went, casually listing off ideas for a kosher meal, until she had a few pans sizzling with different ingredients for some dish Missy, Ben's cousin who was more of a sister, had taught her a couple of years ago when Ben had been having a rough patch and Jo had wanted some sly way to cheer him up.

When dinner was on its way, Jo ran out of detractors and sidled over to the couch, where she flopped out with her feet up so she could give them a pitying look. "Lawd, my feet are killing me. Serves me right for scaling a damn fire escape in heels."

With that, she had little place else to go but straight into an explanation of her activities. She started off explaining how timing had got her there just as the fuzz were leaving. She left out the part where she had exhausted herself in a simple stair-challenge, and glibly explained walking past the police tape. "It's a small place--bigger than that closet you use to live in, but still pretty small. But judging from the fancy clothes and posh perfumes that Effie Knowles owned, I'd bet my gams she had herself a regular egg of a sugar daddy. I mean, her shower curtain was a used tablecloth, but she had some of the most expensive makeup an actress could dream of...alongside some of the cheapest chalky stuff a dame could find on a street corner."

Jo paused, trying to pick up in her mind from the part where she'd gotten sick without saying it out loud, then continued, "There was this little toy chest there that she stuck all her papers in. I went through about half of them, and guess who Miss Knowles was apparently pals with? At least, a few years ago. A Miss Sofia D'Elia."

-------------------------------------------------------

Before Cards could even finish that one syllable, a knock came at his door. It was average as far as knocks went, despite the cold look of harsh annoyance on the face of the knocker. Fiona Muirenn was once again wearing a casual dress, but there was nothing casual about gun waiting in her bag. Things had finally evened out somewhat with Adolpho--now she knew what she was going to be doing in between looking for her father's killer. She had sent note to Remy to stay in New Orleans with their son and his family. Now she just had to hope that she survived this whole thing...and being unable to do much more than 'hope' for it was very discomforting.

But in the meantime, she had Cards to deal with.

Apostophe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Apostophe** on Fri Feb 05, 2010 4:52 pm

"And I'm certain that people will be too busy swooning over your pretty face to think about the quality of the plot," Nate replied, his smile turning the slightest bit wolfish. It was both a compliment and an indirect stab at her acting skills, but he doubted she'd pick up on that. She was intelligent, yes, but not that intelligent.

He downed the last bit of his coffee, and stood up as she made to leave.

"No need to apologize," he assured her, his expression half gracious and half condescending. "It's been a pleasure. I'm certainly looking forward to working with you."

Only when she had left did the smile drop off of Nate's face, to be replaced with an amused smirk. However much she had managed to irk him in those short twenty minutes or so, there was certainly something fascinating about Miss D'Elia. Whether that was good or bad...well, he'd find out on Monday.

Irish Wolf · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Irish Wolf** on Fri Feb 05, 2010 9:06 pm

Cards looked towards the door, confusion written all over his face. Who on God's green earth was that, knocking upon his door. He hadn't ordered anything and no one knew he was living here.......except, his Sheba! A bright smile spit his lips open, as he all but leap to his feet and nearly knocked the table. Before he had gotten more then two steps to the door, the young man halted, words of warning (jumbled together from his uncle's stories and true life warnings he had gotten before leaving for the Big Apple) brought him to his senses. Maybe there was a reason that the big house was no longer being used and whoever had caused it, was coming to tie up loose ends.

Doubt hung heavy in his heart for a second or two, as the O'Keefe reached into his vest and pulled out the Colt Vest Pocket model he had tucked away in there. Maybe today was the day he was finally going to get into a gunfight with some Italian, Jew or Polack gangsters. A tremble ran down his spine, as he checked to make sure the firearm was loaded and slowly walked over to the door. Straining to keep his breathing level, he peered out the tiny peephole in the door and nearly slumped with relieve.

"Boss" exclaimed Cards, pulling open the door, gun still in his right hand, "I was gettin worried about ya. I hadn't heard a thing in days, the big house as empty and you hadn't called. I thought ya might have set me chasin a wild goose and ditched me like a dead soldier."

Apostophe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Apostophe** on Sat Feb 06, 2010 10:38 am

"Fruit and Veg, the best in the city!" so claimed the sign above the small produce cart, in yellow paint that had long since lost it's cheeriness. Angela scanned the selection of produce with a critical eye. It was late morning, and she had just dropped a reluctant Teddy off at daycare. ("But you promised I could go to Uncle Calvin's house!") And now she was attempting to solve the conundrum that single mothers everywhere had been tackling since the beginning of time: what to make for dinner. Angela had been faced with the dilemma more and more as of late, as Teddy had entered his "picky" phase. Vegetables in particular were difficult; only when they were cooked to absolute mush would her son eat them without protest. Personally, Angela couldn't see the appeal, but whatever got him to eat his carrots.

She picked up a tomato, running a finger over it's firm, red skin. The weather old chap manning the stall was eyeing her hopefully, and when she looked up he offered a toothless smile. Angela smiled back, half out of politeness and half out of sympathy. Like the man, the cart seemed to have long since passed it's prime, now losing out to newer, larger, and infinitely more successful shops. Well, either that or Angela happened to have come at it's slowest hour, but she doubted that. It was 11:00 in the morning; even in New York, most people were out and about by then.

"I'll have Half a dozen tomatoes and carrots," she said, pausing only a beat before tacking on a "please" for good measure. The man nodded with a happy smile, and set about getting her selection together. Angela tucked a stray, dark hair behind her ear as she watched him bag the vegetables in slow, deliberate movements.

NorthernSoul · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **NorthernSoul** on Sun Feb 07, 2010 2:59 pm

Ben, who'd not expected her to take his suggestion seriously (and when he'd so clearly chosen that very dress for the sole reason that he knew Jo hated it), raised his eyebrows in surprise as she slipped it on. Or at least, tried to slip it on. Fortunately, her cast got in the way and she chose another dress instead. Unfortunately, it was not the one Ben had been opening for, over which her hand had (purposefully, he had no doubt) lingered over for a few moments.

Jo seemed set on keeping Ben on tenterhooks for a few minutes longer however, as she set about making tea. Once delicious smells were wafting through the airy apartment (a feat that certainly would not have been achieved if it had been Ben who was cooking dinner), she sat down and recounted the events at Effie's apartment.

At Jo's suggesting the actress might have a sugar daddy, Ben shrugged.

"Wouldn't surprise me," he said, taking a seat next to her on the sofa and dropping her feet into his lap where he set about massaging them thoughtfully. "But Sofia D'Elia definitely does. Huh, I guess she's got humbler roots than she likes to make out in magazine interviews."

He paused to lean over the arm of the sofa and retrieve the pile of papers Jo had dumped on the table. He split them into half and handed one pile over to Jo.

"Let's see what Miss Knowles was hiding, huh?" he said, his lean fingers rifling through the documents. Bills, a lease for her flat, a card from Tommy's first birthday, flyers for a play she'd starred in...

Kohananinja · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Kohananinja** on Mon Feb 08, 2010 12:16 am

Jamie was quite sure she never wanted to look at another potato ever again,…well perhaps not ever again (as potatoes were a healthy part of her diet and she was quite fond of them with the right amount of butter) but undoubtedly a month! One could only hand the mindless handling of one starch for so long in one morning before they got sick of seeing it. Peeling potatoes for two hours was nearly as bad as the summers she’d spent in Alabama tassuling corn (an equally mind numbing and labor educing starch), and almost welcomed that job instead, if just for the variety. Almost.

The street she’d come upon was filled with plenty of produce shops and stands, but one in particular caught her eye. Some might have called the stand she moseyed up to shabby, outdated, or ever rundown looking. She called it earthy and honest, and reminded her of the stands one would find back home down south on market street. Admittedly the stand looked like it had seen better days, with it’s faded yellow paint and lettering, but then who in this city hadn’t? Hard times were all around, and given the choice, she was more than happy to help out the little guy, having been placed under that stigma a time or two herself.

“I need five dozen potatoes Mac…or as many as you’ve got!” She said cheerfully to the older gent running the stand. Perhaps five dozen was a bit over kill, but Lee said he needed a total restock, and had given her a crisp five to do so with. She intended to spend every cent of it to be as annoyingly literal as she could. Lee was snooping into her off hour personal life with an annoying amount of tenacity as of late, (undoubted by request of her equally tenacious Gran) and she was itching for an outlet to vent her displeasure. If Gran found out about her more lucrative “job”, (for lack of better term for her excellent luck at dice) there was going to be a major problems between her and Gran. The last thing she wanted was to fight with the old bird, she loved her. Gran, for all her high handed and over barring faults, always had her best interests at heart. When her father had died, she’d been left virtually alone. Obviously her mother hadn’t cared, she’d proven that twelve years prior (and she knew nothing of any other O’Malleys’ that might be related to her mother), but neither had any of her father’s distant cousins. None had even bothered to reply to the letters the city of Fairhope had sent them. Only Gran had cared whether she ended up in a southern orphanage, earning keep working in the near by cotton farms.

For that she’d be eternally grateful to the old bird, despite the willful spats they got into with each other, but she couldn’t and wouldn’t surrender her independence to anyone. She’d had a taste of that before, having absolutely no choice in what happened to you, and she despised it. She loved Gran, but she’d fight tooth and nail before she let Gran pen her in, or anyone else for that matter. She shook off those unpleasant thoughts when she noticed the other woman at the stand, and southern manners demanded she not brood in public. “How about that morning rush, huh?” She said mildly joking, as they stood at the nearly deserted cart.

Jadeling Hawkins · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Jadeling Hawkins** on Mon Feb 08, 2010 1:40 am

When Ben first started working magic on her feet (something he was good enough at that she actually felt inclined to compliment him on it when the occasion arose) Jo shifted where she lay like a cat that was greatly considering a hearty purr. She soon sank into a disappointed relaxed state, however, when he reached for the papers and left her feet be. Still, the work at hand was exciting enough!

"Oh, and...try not to get any fingerprints on these, jake?" Jo commented idly as she began flipping through her own stack. It was as close as she could get to pointing out that the lot was stolen evidence. And even with that, she was beginning to get a sinking feeling in her gut; Effie Knowles seemed to have had an immense stack of playbills and carefully highlighted, frustration-crumpled scripts and bills, and every now and then a scribbled on scrap from her son or letter from a friend (though most of the ones she had saved had been from Sofia). Maybe Jo had risked jail time (again) for nothing.

"You wouldn't think it would be that hard to find, would you?" Jo sighed, setting down a third of her looked-through stack, and licking her fingertips to make flipping papers go a little faster. But just then a sizzling, popping sound came from the kitchen. Jo gasped in surprise and hurriedly shoved her stack onto Ben's lap, leaping to her tired feet and hobbling as fast as she could over to save the thick sauce for dinner. She called over her shoulder, "Tomorrow's my day off, y'know. That should give me some more time to look through that mess."

--------------------------------------

Fiona's look darkened a tad as she pondered how offended Pat would be if she kneecapped is nephew to teach him a lesson. She decided against it, snorting quietly and elbowing past him into the apartment. "Oh, keep your voice down and put that peashooter away, you eejit! And you're damn lucky I didn't abandon you like a dead soldier...only slightly luckier that you aren't one already!"

Fi took her place in the middle of the floor, planting her feet firmly and gripping her hips with tense hands. She scowled at Cards for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he was worth the trouble of something or other or not. "Tell me something, Cards, what have you been up to the last few days? No, nix that: Have you ever heard of a man called Antony Silvestri? Better known as 'Jaws?'"

NorthernSoul · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **NorthernSoul** on Mon Feb 08, 2010 12:27 pm

"OK," said Ben, wincing as the heavy stack of papers landed fully in his lap. He put them back onto the kitchen table and went over to where Jo was concocting something that smelt... well, it smelt good even if it didn't smell as if a chef at the Ritz had made it. Not that he was complaining, of course.

"This is your gig," he said, shrugging. "I look forward to coming home to a revelation tomorrow," he added, with a grin, before reaching around her to gently grab her wrist and guide the spoon in her hand into the pan then back over her shoulder to his mouth.

"Mmm- Needs more seasoning. Here, why don't you try some..." he said, dipping his finger into the puddle of sauce in the spoon and accidentally missing her lips to smear a dollop of it onto her cheek. His grin grew broader as he tried, unsuccessfully, to keep a straight face at his own juvenile joke. For all the literary quips and puns in the world, sometimes the funniest things were the simplest. Such as smearing tomato sauce onto your fiancée's cheek.

"Er... Levard, you've got a little something on your..." Ben said, with mock innocence, hastily backing away from what was likely to be a vicious retribution. It was going to be one of those evenings; he could tell.

Jadeling Hawkins · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Jadeling Hawkins** on Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:11 pm

Jo stood there for a moment, her mouth still open in preparation to taste the sauce so she could tell Ben he didn't know what he was talking about. Then, for a fraction of a second, her eyes narrowed with deadly intent, as if to say 'challenge accepted.' Then it was gone, and her expression melted into one equaling, if not exceeding, the innocence of Ben's.

"Oh, jeepers creepers, would you look at that?" Jo sighed dramatically, and lifted a hand to wipe the smudge off. The hand that still held the spoon which, minus the bit Ben had tasted and the smear on her cheek, was still full. She rotated her wrist sharply in the act of swiping at the smear, which had the spoon fling like a catapult in the general direction of Ben's head. The spoon stayed in her grip; its contents did not.

Jo casually sucked the sauce off of her fingers, trying desperately to hum in order to keep her laughter at bay. With great care, she moved the sauce off of the burner, turning large, innocent eyes towards Ben. "I don't know what you're talking about, Goldie, it tastes just fine to--Good Lord, whatever happened to you?"

It was almost too much, seeing the splatter effect across his face and upper torso. A single snort of laughter escaped her, and Jo quickly dropped the spoon and attempted to dash past him with a stream of giggles. "Keep stirring that, Goldie, I'll get you a clean shirt!"

------------------------------------------

Francisco frowned at nothing in particular, giving the question serious thought. He had no idea what was supposed to happen 'now.' He was a man who made plans, and then carried them out precisely. This did not factor into his original plans at all.

"I do not know," He was forced to admit after a while. He shifted his head so he could rest his chin in her hair. "There is much I must do. And I must keep you safe. Is there some chance that you might stay with your brother, for a short while?"

NorthernSoul · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **NorthernSoul** on Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:32 pm

Ben grimaced as a large glob of tomato sauce hit him square in the face and dripped slowly down onto the collar of his shirt. He raised an eyebrow at Jo's angelic expression (which quickly turned to one of almost-believable surprise when she saw the mess she'd made).

"Nah, I think I've got a better idea," said Ben, side-stepping to intercept her with mischief in his eyes. When he'd first met her, he would have never have thought Jo Levard would be capable of such a girlish stream of giggles as the one she had just emitted in her attempt to get away from what she must surely know was coming next.

"You look so copacetic tonight, with that streak of bolognese down your cheek," he said, with mock restrained passion. "I'm not sure I can help myself..."

With that, he pulled her to him and proceeded to lock her in a silver screen-esque clinch that involved the inadvertent (of course) distribution of a large amount of the tomato sauce from his face onto hers. Once he'd judged that the majority of it was now currently smeared over the ivory skin of his better half, he stepped back and promptly burst into laughter. She looked a sight. But he was willing to bet he looked worse.

"So how about this shirt, huh?" he said nonchalantly examining the splatter of orange across his torso. "I'll probably need some help taking it off..."

Irish Wolf · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Irish Wolf** on Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:42 pm

That look of confusion was back on Cards face but this time was mingled with hurt. There hadn't been anyone around to hear him call her boss and even if there had been,who on Earth would they have connected it to her identity? Its not like he had screamed her name from the rooftops and put up a big sign with flashing lights, declaring her return to the city. Plus, he thought he had made a very good call, answering the door, with pistol ready for action, he didn't know who had come knocking on his door. Frowning, his sudden good mood deflating and feeling like a child that was scolded for trying to please his parent, he closed the door.

"Antony Silvestri" mused the young O'Keefe, turning to face Fi as she asked her question, "I can't say that I..."

His voice trailed off, as she spoke the dreaded nickname. Oh yes, he had heard of Jaws, from his uncle, over games of cards or bedtime stories. Antony had earned his name, years and years ago, during a shakedown of a man that had borrowed money from Adolpho. The man had pulled a knife and was going to stab the wicked bastard, when Jaws had tackled him, pinned the hand with the knife to the ground and torn the fellow's throat with his teeth. That was bad enough but then uncle Pat had passed along the rumors, that once Jaws had grown tired of his latest dame, he would cut the poor girl up and eat her, with a bottle of bathtub gin to wash his meal down. Those were the kind of rumors that one just didn't believe because they were too terrible but no one could ever find an old girlfriend to prove otherwise....

"Yeah" said Cards, swallowing, "I've heard of Jaws before. Heard about how he earned his name and just how he likes his dames."

Jadeling Hawkins · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Jadeling Hawkins** on Mon Feb 08, 2010 4:26 pm

No amount of squealing or struggling or tickling did Jo any good in trying to escape Ben's clutches; in the end, she was almost as covered as he was, and breathless to boot. As a drop of squished tomato leaked down the downward curve of her nose, she decided that maybe they were just about even. She didn't want to have to throw away another dress tonight, after all.

But then, it wasn't her favorite dress...

Jo sighed, beginning the business-like work of undoing the sauce-slickened buttons of Ben's shirt, which now smelled of dinner as well as ink from work and grass from playing with Tommy. "You're such a pill, Goldberg. I swear, it's a wonder my hair ain't white yet after a decade of your bushwa..."

With an offended sniff (which she had to perform carefully, for fear of getting sauce up her nose) Jo peeled the shirt off and tossed it casually over one arm, heading back towards the room so she could throw it in the basket with the dirty clothes. Just as casually, she swatted at Ben's backside with the spoon, causing another splash of red to appear on his clothes. Then she made a show of wiping her face off with the unsoiled part of his shirt....

Somehow, dinner got eaten that night. Somehow, the pair of them managed to find a place to call truce, and somehow, they made it into bed and got to sleep reasonably clean. It took a few tries, but finally Jo had herself as tangled with her fiance as she could get without requiring medical aid to get free in the morning (as per usual, though the cast on her arm required a bit of extra effort).

About half an hour after she had dozed off, however, Jo reopened her pale green eyes. She blinked a few times, frowning. She shifted her head around so her other cheek was squished against Ben's chest, and shut her eyes once more. She moved her legs a bit so they could soak up a bit more of his warmth, frowned and tried harder to remain asleep. After about an hour of repositioning herself and failing to get back to sleep, Jo very carefully climbed out of bed, and eased herself over so she was lying on the opposite side of Ben. Since this was technically his side of the bed, there wasn't much room, but she managed it in desperation.

No dice.

The clock ticked and tocked its way along through the night. Jo couldn't get back to sleep; something kept prodding at her consciousness, begging her to focus and puzzle it out. Something red...something tart...

At four in the morning, with the sky still so dark out that Jo couldn't even see the outline of the blinds, she suddenly sat up with a victorious grin. Immediately her mind began to race--she knew what the problem was now, but was there anyone who could help her solve it? Thank the Lord it was Autumn, and so they were in season if she recalled correctly, but would any produce stands be open at this obscene hour?

Jo scrambled up and rested her hands determinedly on Ben's arm and shoulder. She shook him with building desperation. "Ben! Ben, wake up!"

NorthernSoul · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **NorthernSoul** on Mon Feb 08, 2010 5:21 pm

"Hmm-"

Ben muttered something indistinct into his pillow and attempted to roll away from Jo's incessant prodding. He'd been having a particularly satisfying dream that involved him as editor of The Times, Wallenstein and Edison as his personal assistants and Jo in the dress she's almost picked out earlier that night and he was eager to return to it as quickly as possible before he slipped out of the clutches of sleep.

But Jo continued to shake him and, reluctantly giving up on his dream, he opened one pale eye to look at her blearily in the darkness. She was a dark shape above him, curls silhouetted against the moonlight that filtered in through the window.

"Jo- Wh- What the hell are you doing? What's wrong?" he managed, levering himself up onto his elbows and leaning over to click on the lamp. Light flooded into the bedroom, casting a soft glow onto the sheets, the texture of their skin and the iron frame of the bed. He squinted against it, afterglow dancing on his retina. Once it had cleared, however, Jo's desperate-looking features were revealed to him and he sat up a little straighter.

"Are you OK?" he said in mild concern that might have looked comically coupled with his unruly bed-head and drooping eyelids. He could think of no other reason why she'd wake him up (well, not no other reason, but she tended to do it with an entirely different expression on her face and in an entirely different manner if she wanted that) unless she was ill or something. She didn't look very ill, though...

Jadeling Hawkins · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Jadeling Hawkins** on Mon Feb 08, 2010 5:42 pm

At last! He was awake. Jo was excited for a conclusion to this night-long frustration, and opened her mouth to eagerly explain, when it suddenly occurred to her how silly it might seem. And Ben looked--well, like he had been shaken awake at four in the morning. Well, he was already awake anyway, and she could certainly use an ally.

"I want--I need--do you know any produce joints that would be open right now?" Jo asked, her voice breathy and eager the way it was when she was sinking into a particularly juicy story. She leaned on her good elbow and propped her chin in her hand, looking up at him through eagerly fluttering lashes. "I've been going half crazy just thinking--you know those fruits that come out during Autumn? They're red, and they've got all those little berries in them--pomegranates? Lord, I think I'd about sell my seat at the Times for one right now!"

Jo was grinning; her mouth watered just saying the name, now that she'd finally thought of it. With her free hand she tugged at Ben's arm to keep him from falling back asleep. "So, come on, let's go see if we can find one to split!"

Life After Noir

a topic in Realistic Roleplay, a part of the RPG forum.

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