Don't You Cry No More [Guinevere]

[Richard Hauser]

From the Office of RICHARD HAUSER, P.I.
    SEPTEMBER 2014

~~~~~~~~~~

[SETTING: RICHARD HAUSER'S OFFICE, BROOKLYN, N.Y. The camera comes into focus from a black screen, caddy-cornered in a high space inside the room, pointed down and across for the most coverage. Everything is in grayscale, like an old noir film. The room is somewhat bare: a file cabinet, a coffee pot and heater, two wall shelves filled with various photos, objects and mementos, a coat rack, two chairs and a desk are all the furniture seen. A plastic clock hangs from one wall, ticking audible in the silence of the room. A leather coat and fedora hat hang from the rack. Various folders and papers rest on the desk, along with an older model phone and typewriter. Sitting back in one of the chairs, the one behind the desk, is man who appears to be in his late forties, gaunt and pale, as if he hasn't gotten any sunlight in the last ten years. He is dressed in a white button-up shirt and black tie, and is also wearing suspenders. His brown loafers are propped up on the desk, and he holds a copy of the New York Times in his hands. Although he only has one eye, the other being covered with an eyepatch, his vision has still remained as accurate as it ever was, if not better. His inner monologue is clearly heard to the audience.]

[Shame there hasn't been a decent copy of the Times since the 70's. Vamps can't do it like the newsies could.]

[He closes the rag, setting it down on the desk and letting out a short sigh. He hasn't had anyone knock on his door in a few days, and what cases he did have laid out before him he's already figured out long ago. He picks up one of the folders, leaning forward and spreading the information inside out on the tabletop. Letters and photographs are lined up in the order they fell out.]

[I'm gonna be following around cheating husbands for the rest of my miserable life. This shit doesn't even seem hard anymore. Kevin Dawson, 48, married. At least, he is for now. When his wife sees these love letters and photos, she's gonna flip him upside down. He could have at least tried to hide his affair better. Even I'm not stupid enough to drive around with flowers in my car AFTER my wife's left for work. If I had a wife.]

[The man looks up at the clock, checking the hour for the umpteenth time that day. It reads five-oh-five, and he sighs once again. He'd close up shop early again today, just like yesterday and the day before that. He stands up with a groan, moving from behind the desk to the coffee pot. By now, coffee was the only thing keeping him awake - at least, he liked to think so. He didn't need sleep, honestly, but drinking coffee and pretending that it kept him awake was just a way to stay a little more normal. His arm extends to pick up the pot, and as his hand curls around the handle, his thumb falls off and lands on the floor. He looks down, visibly annoyed but otherwise unphased.]

God dammit.

[He bends down and picks his appendage up, shoving it back into place on his hand. He takes a breath and is about to begin cursing, but a knock on his door quickly silences him. Through the fogged glass he sees a figure, and he quickly moves back to his desk, replacing the files into the folder. He moves the clutter all to one pile, then takes his position in the chair once again. He makes sure his thumb is screwed back on correctly before calling out.]

Come on in, door's unlocked.

~~~~~~~~~~

word count :: 628::
notes :: none::
tagged :: Guinevere Cassidy ::
outfit :: here ::
mood :: solemn ::

[Guinevere Cassidy]

Guinevere wasn't sure why she was there. 

She didn't need to know where Joseph was; she knew. She knew he was always right behind her, always just one step too close to her. If she was in New York, he was in New Jersey, creeping and crawling closer and closer. She didn't need a private detective to tell her how close he was. She needed someone to deliver letters to her mother, or to smuggle her out of the country. She needed someone who could help her.

This was helping her, her mind argued. Lady Charlotte of the Vampire Council had taken Guin under her wing, claiming that she knew how Guin felt, and that someone had to help her. Charlotte didn't seem like the battered wife stereotype, though; in fact, she was quite the opposite. She was a strong woman, leader of the Vampire Council. She could keep hundreds of men under her feet. Guin was lucky if she could even speak to one. 

She couldn't run anymore. Working for the Vampire Council meant living in New York, or Paris -- wherever they decided to station her. She would not be able to run at the slightest shadow anymore. She had to know where her husband was, and she had to tell Charlotte. After all, it was Charlotte who had directed her in Richard Hauser's direction, claiming that, while he wasn't exactly human, he was the best option they had. 

He would find Joseph, and he would report back to them. That was all they needed. 

Taking a deep breath, Guinevere wrapped her fingers around the doorknob. She closed her eyes, counted to three, and pushed open the door. "Mr. Hauser?" She stepped inside, shutting the door behind her quietly. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I know it's probably past closing, but I... Lady Charlotte said you might be able to help me? I can come back tomorrow, though. If that's better for you."

God, she sounded like a babbling idiot.

WORDS ;; 351
THOUGHTS ;; God I sound like a frigging moron.
OUTFIT ;; [ CLICK! ]
TAG ;; Richard Hauser
CREDIT ;; pretty funny in dogfight

[Richard Hauser]

From the Office of RICHARD HAUSER, P.I.
     SEPTEMBER 2014

~~~~~~~~~~

[The woman stepped into his office, softly closing the door behind her. She addresses him by name, and he obliges an answer.]

Yes, I'm Mr. Hauser.

[While she spoke, Richard did what he always did when people wandered in: analyse. She was tall for a woman, almost as tall as Richard was, with black curls framing a pale face. She cut a rough figure, but not so much that is was unnatural. He watched her body language, picked up on the tones she used while talking, followed her gaze to see where she looked. By the way she spoke, and the fidgets that accompanied, it almost seemed like she was nervous to be in the office. Or maybe Richard himself made her anxious. Whatever it was, the second the words "Lady Charlotte" left her lips, Richard's entire attitude shifted. He leaned forward in his chair, interlocking his hands on the desktop.

[So the Vampire Council sends another one my way. Great. I might just have to start charging Charlotte herself for these "referrals".]

[Richard waves his hand over the chair opposite his own, inviting the woman to sit down.]

Don't worry, I'm still open. I was about to call it an early day, but I've got plenty of time, especially for a friend of a friend. Please, sit down if you need to. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee? Feel free to help yourself, there's cups the pot.

[He leans back in his chair, reaching down and opening one of the desk drawers and pulling out a large stack of blank paper. He hefts it onto the desk, then pulls a single sheet off the top and rolls in down into the typewriter.]

So, what can I do for you that Lady Charlotte and the Vampire Council can't?

~~~~~~~~~~

word count :: 301 ::
notes :: hashtag where'd it go ::
tagged :: Guinevere Cassidy ::
outfit :: here ::
mood :: slightly intrigued ::