ArchivedLogs:Private Dick

Private Dick
Dramatis Personae Murphy, Melinda
In Absentia	2013-05-15 '
Location <NYC> Melinda's and Tag's Apartment - Lower East Side
The living room is mainly furnished by found pieces, two chairs and a couch. None of it was constructed at the same time, but it all has been reupholstered with the same cloth, the surfaces colored similarly and with a regular weave. The wood has all been refinished as well, dark and able to hide stains well. The walls are colorful, but that goes with the territory of having a mutant roommate with Tag’s ability. Today, it is a sage green with some abstract blue and orange intermingling in different places. Tomorrow it will be different. A cursory inspection shows that five people live in this four bedroom apartment, so it’s difficult to pick out what belongs to any one person. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. If Melinda has any glasses of water out in her apartment, the surface of water might be delicately rippling beneath the vibrating force of Murphy’s fist against her door. JUST LIKE THAT MOVIE. If - and when - she opens the door, she’ll find. Uh. A /man/. Bedraggled, haggard, with eyes that look like they haven’t been closed in a week; a steadily growing layer of stubble - a black coat, a wrinkled black tie and shirt - a crutch underneath one of his arms, a bandage around his left head - and an unlit cigarette in his mouth. “Murphy Law,” he announces to her, before adding: “Jim’s missing.” As it is after midnight on a work night, it takes anyone a while to work up the will to get out of bed and desire answer the door. Melinda takes the precaution of looking through the peep hole first, to confirm the identity of the person on the other side before opening the door, chain across the gap. "I know who you..." Melinda begins, sleepy tired, decked out in soft cotton sleeping shorts and an oversized tee shirt. Her words dry out in her mouth when he continues, lips hanging open a centimeter as she tries to process those words. "What." “Yeah. Most people remember me,” Murphy replies, and now he’s -- oh, God. Is he trying to /come/ in? He is. Just kind of - wedging himself - through the doorway. Like, SHOVE. But, even as he does, more information - like little morsels - are dangled in front of her. Like an attempt to /placate/ his sudden intrusion, even as he sniffs around. For Jim-smells. “Missing. Since - last Tuesday. Got himself into some deep trouble. Trying to dig him out. /Find/ him,” Murphy adds, as if this is a sore point. Rubbing his nose as he says it. "For fuck's sake, Murphy, are you going to break my chain? Give me a second." Melinda starts pushing the door closed, eyes definitely confused even if more flabbergasted expressions are taking over her face. Once she gets the door closed, she unchains it and opens it up once more, letting Murphy in. Why? Because her door would be destroyed otherwise, that's why. Once inside, Mel's arms wrap around her torso and she steps back, closing the door behind him as he wanders in. She's quiet, processing. "Since Tuesday? I .. I haven't seen him since Sunday last. He was here. Didn't stay long." Her fingers grip her arms. "What was he working on, do you think?" Whump, whump, whump. This is the sound of Murphy’s shoulder /hitting/ the door. Not hard, just. WHUMP. Why is the door not open. It is kind of like someone politely walking into a wall, not realizing the wall is there, and continuing to walk into the wall. As soon as Murphy’s inside, his eyes are scanning the room - /devouring/ its contents. Memorize, memorize. Need more input. Murphy /survives/ on input; he sinks it into his mind and immediately starts sorting through it. Looking for - things. That might point him in the right direction. There are probably no things that point him in the right direction. “Finding a kid,” Murphy responds. “Mutant. Thinks he’s a superhero. Moron.” This last word is spoken - not like an insult, but just a /factoid/. ‘Blonde hair, blue-eyed, moron’. “Managed to track his scent to the last sight of the kid’s sighting. Then, poof. Gone.” A beat, before he adds: “You remember me talkin’ to you about disappearing mutant kids.” It’s a question, but. Murphy asks questions like people make statements. "Yeah. I remember. It was a while ago." Melinda sort of melts against a nearby wall, letting it hold her shoulder and back while her legs seem less like legs and more like clunky bits of timber. "I thought that situation got fixed -- but I guess not. Not with all thre.. four of them missing now." She has to take a moment and a deep breath to keep her composure, blinking rapidly as she looks away. She coughs and clears her throat. "What about it?" “Four?” Murphy asks - this time, it’s an actual /question/. He’s. Moving toward Mel’s kitchen. Without permission. Continuing to sniff around there. Maybe see if she has any food sitting out in the open. Maybe a can of beans; maybe Murphy wants to pull a Rorschach. Mmm, cold beans. RONCH, RONCH. “Related, maybe. Think someone’s nabbing mutant kids - maybe not just mutant kids. /Mutants/. Somebody sloppy. Been tracking a lot of disappearances lately. Mostly, people nobody gives a fuck about.” Now, he’s opening her CUPBOARDS. Looking for that can of beans. Once Murphy’s got a thought in his head... “You work at the soup kitchens. You hear anything? See anything? Somebody snooping around? Besides me,” he quickly adds. “You got any beans?” Clunk, clunk. "Four that I know. Peter, Shane, Sebastian... Jim." Melinda follows Murphy into the kitchen and looks over his shoulder. "What do you want? Coffee? I can make you some coffee. There's sandwich slices in the fridge if you want a sandwich." She exhales and opens the correct cupboard and pulls out a can of baked beans. Then she finds the can opener in another drawer. "If you're not in a hurry, I can heat them up." LUXURIOUS, No? Hot food? "No, I haven't seen much, but I did meet a girl who was searching the city with pigeons for Peter. I … don't think she was going to get much from it, but if you leave me a card, I'll call you if she does." She leaves the can opener by the can and gets a spoon and a bowl. “She’s got my card,” Murphy responds, moving to take the can - SHOVE it in the can opener, and... CRNKT, CRNKT. “Don’t need ‘em warm. Good like this,” he tells her, putting some ELBOW GREASE into it. Warm food’s for chumps. Murphy likes it cold; cold like his /heart/. “Alright. Same ones I’m looking for. Mmm. I got the data on the Parker moron,” Murphy says, popping the can open after a few more crnks - reaching for the spoon. Oh my God, he isn’t going to...? He IS. COLD BEANS STRAIGHT FROM THE CAN. Nrrrrm*munch*. “Tell me about Shane and Sebastian. Sharktwins, right. Holland’s brats,” Murphy says. “Just anything. /Babble/ about them.” "Um, Sunday. Things were getting better around the home, supposedly. Had seen Shane at work the day before. No one thinks they ran off this time. They just stepped out to get coffee sometime that Sunday afternoon and then never returned. Wait a second." Mel heads back to her room and returns with her cell phone. She gives Murphy a time of day. "That's when Jax texted me, asking if I had seen them. I called the shop to make sure, but no one there saw them that day. Doesn't make sense that they would go all the way from East Village to SoHo just for some coffee on a Sunday afternoon. Evolve is closer... and decent." Murphy /peers/ at the text message. Taking another scoop of beans. RRRnch. There’s just this way... he seems to /devour/ everything around him. Food, light, cheer, /information/. Digesting it into something miserable - but focused. “Ran off ‘this’ time? They run away from home before?” Rrrnch. Chew, chew. “Holland don’t strike me as the sort you feel a need to run from.” Murphy’s only met the man once, but. Apparently, for Murphy, that’s /more/ than enough. "It's not necessarily him that they run from. Child Services got involved. Things got messed up. They're teenagers, Murphy, and they look like sharks. Things were bad for a while. I haven't exactly asked for the details, but as Jax is the only one they really care to mind, I believe child services finally agreed to let them stay with him. I don't know if you have connections with the police, but they have files and access to the child services information. I can only give you general impressions and feelings. Personalities. Shane works for me. He's a great kid, rough on the exterior, but really cares. He only missed work when he was out in the bay helping his brother with a broken heart." Melinda stops for a moment, reaching up to rub at her left eye and the bridge of her nose, barely taking this well. "Fuck, I probably shouldn't be telling all this, but... they have to be found." “You shouldn’t,” Murphy agrees with her, taking another spoonful of beans. “But you’re worried. Kids you care about are missing. Jim’s missing. You’re vulnerable, and maybe I’m exploitin’ that a little.” RNCH. RNCH. He’s just so. Casual about it. “But I’m on your side. I want Jim back. I want the kids back. Tell me about Sebastian. Brother with a broken heart?” Rnch, rnch. FEED ME MORE, MELINDA. “They got any interestin’ enemies? ‘Sides everybody in the city who hates ‘em on account of bein’ blue.” "Enemies would be people who wish to lock them up and study them. Unfortunately, I don't actually know much about that. I do know that their group has a tendency to really mess things up for that group, if it's a coherent group anymore, but I'm shooting in the dark." Melinda starts giving less detail, being a little less free with opinions. "Sebastian is studious and polite. He hasn't really opened up around me much. He would study in the cafe when they had lousy fosters. They are very close with their little brother, but he is fine and with Jackson. The girl... a classmate, I think, i... I should check in on her." She eyes her phone, then changes her mind. "In the morning." Murphy seems to pick up on that sudden sense of caution she’s got around him. He doesn’t seem to - /disapprove/, really. Just keeps eating his beans. RNCH, RNCH. CLNK CLNK; spoon’s hitting the bottom of the can. “You mind tellin’ me the girl’s name?” he says, /staring/ at the can of beans, like - it’s done him some wrong by ending up spent so fast. Regardless of her answer to his question, he follows it up with: “M’gonna get Jim back. Others, too. If not me, somebody else. He’s...” What’s the right word, here? Eyes lift up from the beans to /stare/ at Melinda. “...friend.” The word is spoken like. It’s a naughty word. Except Murphy doesn’t really /give/ a fuck about naughty words; this one, though, he seems - almost ashamed of. "He does that, doesn't he? Get under your skin even if you don't like him." Melinda admits, hollowly. She consider quietly for a moment. "Shelby. She'll give a shit about Jim too, but I don't think she knows anything. really, the best source of information about any of this is going to be Jax. You may have to talk to him." She puts the bowl away at last and crosses her arms over her chest again, waiting for the next onslaught of questionstatements. “Nnngh.” The beans descend for the counter with a metallic *clkt*. “I don’t /want/ to talk to him,” Murphy admits, like some petulant child refusing his spinach. “But, yeah. You’re probably right. Nngh. You’re /right/,” he corrects himself, fishing the spoon out of the can and just - /tossing/ it into the sink. CLUNK. “Just putting it off. I hate cheer,” he adds, with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose, like even /saying/ the word made him feel a little nausea. “Alright. Thanks. You still got my card?” Marching toward the door. Shuffle, shuffle, STOMP, STOMP. "No. I could use a new one, to be honest." Melinda admits, taking another deep breath. "I was just going to use Jim for all my private investigation needs." She gives a small dry laugh, but there's no real feeling behind it. She follows him to the door to lock up after him. Murphy pauses by the door - fishing in his coat pocket. Pulling out - another one of those war-battered cards of his. MURPHY LAW - PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. Phone number, fax. No email. Murphy hasn’t entered the digital age, yet. Rather than handing it to her, he just kind of - /shoves/ it into the corner of her door. Squeezed between the doorframe. “If you need something,” Murphy tells her. “...or if you hear anything. About Jim. Or the others.” He proceeds to /mop/ at his face with his unbandaged hand. “Gonna go dredge me up a rainbow.” "Good luck." Melinda replies quietly. "Find them, please." It probably goes without saying but it is said anyway.