Bel Merenska
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: Peacekeeper Investigator - Third Precinct
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Post by Bel Merenska on Feb 29, 2016 12:33:40 GMT -5
Whack!
Bel’s fist hit the canvas bag with enough force to send it swinging in a violent circle, the 100lb hanging fixture coming around at its assailant with as much of her own force as it could manage to redirect. Merenska was ready for it, though, and even as her left fist was pulling back, her muscles coiling and tensing for its next shattering shot, her right swing out and around in a hook, meeting the swinging bag head-on, as far as momentum was concerned, causing it to shudder to a stop and twitch back away from the Investigator’s cloth-wrapped fist. The stunned inanimate object wouldn’t even have the time to collect its sand-filled wits, however, as Bel’s left fist rocket forward with all the strength the woman’s lean body could manage to put behind it, her left knee following only a second behind to add a bit of lower-insult to the higher injury caused by her striking fist.
Whackwhack whack!
The third strike came from Bel’s swinging right elbow, a solid strike that had a generous amount of torque from her waist propelling it forward. The bag shuddered back again from the three-step combat, clearly dazed, and Merenska took a moment to step away from her swinging opponent, taking in a deep breath and holding it as she tried to drive her heart rate back into a more normal range.
The woman hadn’t even bothered to take off her jacket before she had started assaulting the bag – acting on automatic pilot, Merenska had removed her stun weapon, wrapped her hands, and laid into the bag for long enough to build up a steady sweat which had already begun to stain her work shirt. Once again, bel thanked her foresight in favoring black shirts – they tended to make it easier for her to consistently look professional, even when she was running around and exerting herself in ways most other Investigators wouldn’t even consider.
Gritting her teeth hard, bel lashed out one more time at the bag, putting the full force of her body behind her left fist to hit the canvas square in its center mass. She relished the pain that throbbed through her fingers as she struck, and let her fist linger pressed into the fabric of the bag for a few seconds before she stepped back and started to unwrap both of her hands.
As she tucked her wraps away in a desk drawer, Bel glanced through the front, glass wall of her office out into the bullpen, taking note of how quickly more than a few other Investigators suddenly found something remarkably interesting to look at on their desks. A group of admin staff sudden scattered from where they had clearly been watching her, going about their duties with a sudden and violent sense of efficiency. The Investigator growled under her breath and turned away, drawing her fingers through her hair in an attempt to bring it back under control as she worked to stamp down the rising heat within her chest. Her rage was threatening to turn her into a raving maniac, and more than ever, bel was struggling to keep herself in check. The office knew it, and that meant that the Investigator would be given a wide berth when she eventually ventured back into the thick of the floor – everyone else knew when not to get on Bel’s bad side.
Taking a series of deep breaths, Bel sat herself behind her desk and pulled up the report she had been writing on her terminal for the fourth time in the past half an hour. For a long moment, the woman stared at the blinking cursor at the end of her last written line, rereading it over and over again, as if trying to force her mind to make sense of its implications.
Victim was found alone on kitchen floor with extensive wounds that forensics consider animalistic in origin; there was no signs of forced entry at the scene.
The image of Tëruan’s body, sprawled out on the floor, with his chest opened up and essentially empty flashed into Bel’s head as she read the line again, causing her to violently spin her seat away from the terminal and stare at the blank wall behind her desk with increasing intensity.
No signs of forced entry.
Tëruan had been attacked by some kind of animal, but there wasn’t a scrap of evidence that anyone but him had been in the apartment: it was like he had been murdered by a ghost. There wasn’t even a track to be found in the expansive pool of blood that had seeped across the kitchen floor, something that was impossible given the amount of time it must have taken to inflict the injuries Tëruan had suffered after he had fallen to the ground.
Animalistic in origin.
Not a scrap of evidence. Not a scrap – it was almost as if Tëruan had violently ripped himself apart. Bel couldn’t make any sense of it, and therefore had nowhere to focus her rage, no adversary to fight. She had no one to track, to find, to hurt. Bel was left with nothing but her anger, which is exactly why her bag had been paying the price for its proximity to her a few minutes prior.
Bel took a deep breath, spun her chair, and settled in to finish her preliminary report. She had to get a grip; she had to control herself long enough to get the right information. The first hours after a murder were critical when it came to catching the killer, ghostly or no, and Merenska knew she couldn’t afford to fuck herself over by having a breakdown. She had to keep it together and be professional . . . even though it seemed utterly impossible.
Glancing past her terminal, Bel looked through her window toward the lift across the bullpen. Soon enough, Slade should be here to talk, and that potentially meant that bel could find herself a lead to go on. Surely Slade knew something – she had been the last one that Tëruan had talked to before he was found, she had to be important. Soon enough the little wisp of a journalist would get off the lift at level 22 and scamper past the cubicles of the admins and lower rank Investigators to reach the glass door of Bel’s office.
No signs.
Hopefully, Merenska could hold it together until then . . .
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Post by Slade Bronden on Mar 1, 2016 21:08:00 GMT -5
Slade Bronden didn’t pause as she came up on the comparatively stocky building, actually tucking her chin under as she entered the Hub. This was probably one of her least favorite places in the City to be though why she found the headquarters for Vascxious Sigma's Peacekeepers to be distasteful had almost no logical reasoning behind it. Sure, she was something of a functioning drug addict― not that she would describe herself that way― but recreational drug use wasn't actually illegal in the Trade City. It just wasn't precisely smiled upon in her profession.
Slade sighed.
Maybe it was her association with Tëruan's on-again-off-again lover and what Peacekeepers were generally like. Merenska wasn't the easiest woman to interact with, Slade's introverted and antisocial tendencies aside. The Journalist had never been given specific reason to identify Merenska as bad for him, but then she'd always gotten the sense that their relationship was the kind of toxic she herself could fall into if she were the pairing-off type. The truth was that Merenska had always set off a sort of alarm for Slade and not only in the "I'm introverted and don't want to make new friends" sort of way: the woman had a temper. It had never been explicitly directed at her but it had become clear pretty quick that she had no problem directing it at Tëruan. She'd not given it a terrible amount of thought while he was still alive mainly because she knew her long-time colleague wasn't any sort of paragon of purity himself. They'd fit together in their own fucked up way. If she were honest with herself Slade would cop to having a vaguely similar dynamic with Jax. . . Also, she figured Slovchk and Merenska were adults: they could deal with their own shit without her input. Slade's cutting insight and eerily accurate level of perception was what made her a great Journalist; it was her "weary-of-the-world" in its smaller context that kept her searching for the next wild ride.
Slade cleared her throat, pushing off the too-honest internal running monologue and adjusted how her bag settled against her body, moving toward what functioned as a security checkpoint. After flashing her media ID card and answering a couple of questions she was directed to the Twenty-Second Floor. After sidling into the main elevator Slade's posture lapsed into something more befitting of her already-lanky frame. When the lift doors opened she compulsively patted the heavy folder Odette had given her, ensuring it hadn't somehow left her person without her knowledge. The Journalist straightened and walked out into an open office space with rows of desks and chairs and papers and really, what seemed to be controlled chaos. Keeping her eyes averted Slade approached the glass door with Merenska's name on prominent display.
Knock, knock.
A pause, then she reached for the knob.
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Bel Merenska
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: Peacekeeper Investigator - Third Precinct
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Post by Bel Merenska on Mar 2, 2016 17:34:35 GMT -5
. . . and preliminary investigation revealed no other evidence indicating foul play outside of the grievous injuries sustained by the victim. Interviews with neighbors revealed that no one heard the victim being attacked, calling for help, or anyone arriving at or leaving the premises besides the victim himself. Further-
Merenska visibly jumped when there was a knock on her door, a reaction that would have looked like an involuntary twitch to any outside observer – though a twitch strong enough to cause the Investigator to suddenly be on her feet. Bel took a long, slow breath in an attempt to disarm her nerves when a quick glance through the front wall of her office revealed that the knock had come from Slade. The journalist had been expected, but she had taken just long enough that Bel had been able to get in the proverbial zone while writing the Investigation report on Tëruan’s murder. Starting had been hard enough, and now that she had been forcibly shaken from her matter-of-fact trance, Merenska wasn’t sure if she was ever going to manage to complete the thing. Bel shook her head and blanked her screen before rounding her desk and reaching for the door – she would have to worry about the report later: the visit with Slade was potentially far more important.
Her expression as even as she could make it, Bel opened the door and beckoned Slade in with an unintelligible set of sounds that roughly translated to ‘come in’. Once the little whip of a writer was fully through the doorway, Merenska would seal and lock the door before heading to the corner of her office, just past her tiny workout corner, and unceremoniously pulling a chair out from under a stack of papers and report files, all of which scattered on the floor in the corner of the room. With a thud!, bel squared the fabricated chair up with the front of her desk, gestured for Slade to sit in it, and then found her way back to her own seat across the desk, making sure to slide her terminal to the side so that she could look Slade right in the eye over the wooden expanse of her workstation. Laying her arms across the desk and clasping her hands in front of her, Bel again tried to mimic what she thought was an even expression; however, the observant Slade would likely be unable to miss the strain in the Investigator’s expression, and the barely-buried pain behind the woman’s eyes.
“Thanks for coming, Slade. I assume you’ve probably caught the story in the papers, right?”
The Tribune had run a cursory, bereft-of-details news bulletin in their morning publication, the kind of classy, matter-of-fact reporting that Bel had hoped all the different publications would stick to. However, the story was first broken by the Gazette, whose reported had some ‘unnamed source’ which fed them some key details that the public should have read from a Peacekeeper Official Statement, not a sensationalist trash journalist trying to trump up a great, city-wide murder mystery. Speculation was already abound as to what happened, and that meant that Tëruan’s murder would be the talk of barrooms and social clubs for the next week, at least, with the conspiracy theories and media attention climbing with each passing day. In a way, Tëruan might have appreciated the publicity – he had always liked the exposure, which was a big part of why he had jumped to the Times at the height of his career, to move up into more important social circles. Depending on how the investigation went, bel was sure at least one murder mystery novel, something that was all the rage in Azalethan society at the moment, would be written about the case. The thought made Bel sick, but she could see Tëruan’s stupid little grin over it. ‘There’s really no bad press, Bella,’ he’d say.
The little fuck.
Bel took a sharp breath in order to reinforce the wall holding back her emotions, and pushed the pain and anger back down into her chest just enough to keep it from escaping out of her throat. Bel Locked eyes with Slade.
“I’ll cut right to the chase, since I know commiserating isn’t really your speed. Tëruan’s last article, and the story he was working on expanding, had to do with Ouroboros, and I know he at least talked to you about it. You know him, his contacts, his methods – is there anything you can tell me about what he was looking in to that can point me in the direction of somewhere to start asking questions?”
Bel kept her voice even, but she couldn’t keep herself from hurrying through her words, the manic energy she had felt since finding Tëruan’s body not willing to take a vacation just because she was talking to another actual, living human being again instead of herself.
“Anything you know- anything – could be helpful. Right now I’ve got nothing to go on in finding the fuck who did this to my- . . . to Tëruan.”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Mar 2, 2016 19:53:42 GMT -5
The Journalist lifted her downcast gaze to more sidelong when Merenska opened the door to let her in. Strongly fighting the urge to just not make eye contact Slade finally forced herself to look up, gunmetal eyes fixing on a point near enough to the other woman's eyes to suffice as "contact" before letting her stare slide away as the Investigator moved to usher her inside the office. Stifling a wince when she heard the click of the lock behind her, she masked the subtle tell with a straightening of her posture instead and moved to take the seat Merenska pulled out for her. Slade paused, an afterthought, to remove her messenger pack and settle it on the floor next to her.
"I haven't actually." She cleared her throat before continuing, "Or rather, I hadn't. I scrolled through to confirm after I read your message, but I wasn't of the mind to linger on it. I figured I'd skip the secondhand sources and wait until I spoke to you."
Her response was even, carefully measured, but that wouldn't be out of the ordinary to Merenska: Slade had always been withdrawn and reserved when she'd been put into a position to interact with the investigator― especially when Tëruan saw to it that she was caught off-guard by the presence of his lover. The Journalist seemed to have a hard time settling in the chair which, under the circumstances, shouldn't warrant attention. Slade was already fairly awkward in social situations with people she wasn't close to and this specific situation was that much more discomforting: her colleague was dead. Merenska's lover was dead. Slade didn’t miss the rawness just under the surface of the other woman's stare. It mirrored the haunted hollowness of her own. Truthfully the Journalist wasn't in peak condition either. The bruising of her lower lip was blossoming into something quite brilliant already and the dark circles etched into the space under her eyes seemed permanent. Though Slade always had a sort of gaunt look about her she looked especially undernourished today. At least she didn't look strung out.
She held her breath when she caught Merenska's sharp inhale and averted her gaze. She'd never particularly cared for Bel, but when faced with this kind of stoicism in the face of a mountain of pain Slade found it difficult to choke down her own emotional response.
Fucking hell. Get it together, Bronden.
The Slade that let her gaze be held had become stone and was slowly releasing a breath. Her question was absorbed and the Journalist's thoughts immediately began racing. If she were asking her this, did that mean she hadn't read any of Tëruan's messages to her? Or was this a temperature check; had she already reviewed those messages and was testing to see if she was going to mislead right out of the gate? Her mind buzzed with the effort of going back through his first set of messages and sorting through the information as she constructed a response that wasn't too quick, but not too delayed either.
"He sent me the article on Ouroboros, yes. Yesterday, earlier in the evening."
She sat up, inching forward just a touch and letting gunmetal eyes slide out of focus as if she were recalling the specific details.
"Tëruan got me to read it and then asked me over to talk about it. He seemed nervous about talking about it T2T. Honestly, I didn't blame him. He leveled some serious accusations in Ourorboros' direction, and our terminal encryption is pretty good, but maybe not private industry good." She sort of swallowed a half-hearted laugh at that.
She can verify it all with his terminal messaging. . .
"I went over to discuss it with him. He told me his editor, Rynd, had told him to shelve it. Too much pressure. "
Totally verifiable.
She fidgeted, scarcely able to keep her fingers from tapping out a rhythm on the arm of the chair.
"He was trying to hand me his source."
Still the truth.
"I. . ." She sighed, letting her gaze completely drop before meeting Merenska's stare. "I told him I didn’t want it. Too risky. There are enough Journalists in the City full of piss and vinegar enough to take on a story like that."
Not a lie.
In the time it had taken her to get this far Slade had already gone back and forth several times on whether or not she was going to disclose that Tëruan had handed her his source. Mainly, she weighed the probability that Ouroboros was behind his death and the likelihood that she could survive long enough to find out the truth if she let it be recorded anywhere that he'd handed off his source on the Ouroboros story to her.
"I'm going to guess that Tëruan's death wasn't accidental." Her words were fairly even as she spoke. No uptick, but her brows raised and her voice hitched slightly on the last word.
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Bel Merenska
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: Peacekeeper Investigator - Third Precinct
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Post by Bel Merenska on Mar 2, 2016 21:29:59 GMT -5
Once Slade started talking, Bel no longer had to fight to maintain her eye contact with the slim journalist opposite her- instantly, Merenska’s instincts kicked in, allowing her feelings, her anger and pain, to fade to the back of her mind as her Investigator training and instincts took over. Her eyes traced over Slade, catching and cataloguing tics, subtle movements, and other features that the average person might not think of as ‘telling’, but together could help Bel tell the story of what the truth was in a given situation. The Investigator stayed silent while Slade relayed her answers to Bel’s questions, and each answer was carefully filed in order, and associated, as Slade wrapped up her responses.
Bel set her jaw and ground her teeth for a few seconds after the Journalist finished talking. Superficially, what Slade was telling Bel made complete sense, and matched overall with what Merenska herself knew. Tëruan's editor had told him to shelve the project, a fact that her lover had lamented and whined about for hours into the night on the day it had happened. The editor had been scared of pushback, or legal action, against the publication from Ouroboros, and as a financial publication, the Times didn’t have a stake in the kind of social activism Tëruan used to thrive on.
Tëruan was stubborn, though, and he had clearly been trying to find ways to continue the story, while also not jeopardizing his position at the Times. Slade was an idealist – Merenska had never agreed with, or even really respected the journalist’s stance and love of social activism, but she also knew that the slender woman’s drive was much, much more uncompromising than Tëruan's had been, and that’s why Bel immediately didn’t buy that Slade had told Slovchk to back off and drop the story: it was too big, too important. From what Tëruan had mentioned to Bel, the implications were huge – which is exactly why Merenska had told her lover to do what his editor had told him to and drop it. But Slade wouldn’t have, Bel was confident.
There was clearly more to the story, but Merenska didn’t immediately hone in on that fact in her conversation with Slade. Instead, she kept her tone even, almost conversational, and pieced through the information Slade had given her thus far.
“Tëruan was paranoid about his stories, and really careful about his encryption. So much so that, even with department resources, I can’t get into his private files.”
Bel wasn’t outright lying: Slovchk’s files were heavily encrypted, but the encryption wasn’t the problem. Upon inspection, Tëruan's terminal had been completely wiped – none of his files were there to decrypt. Whether he did it himself, or whether it could have been done by a third party is something Slade might be able to answer. Merenska sighed in apparent frustration, and slumped back in her chair, gripping the arms and cocking her head to the side to gaze over at the Journalist.
“If you sent him away, without taking the files he had from him or looking into it any further, I’m not sure how much help you can be after all then. I’m surprised, though; I wouldn’t have thought you’d be able to put down a story like that. Clearly it was a smart move, though: if you had taken it up, you might be in danger too. Assuming the story is why he was killed.”
The last sentence might have been said through clenched teeth as Bel fought to keep her rage down in her stomach as it threatened to rise into her chest, but otherwise, the Investigator’s demeanor was resigned, and almost casual. Absently, Bel opened a desk drawer to her right side and began fishing for something, still keeping her eye on Slade, though she offered the Journalist a slight, almost kind smile as she found whatever she was looking for, palmed it, and closed the drawer again. Bel stood and walked around her desk, coming to stand at Slade’s right side, and casually leaning the edge of her bottom against the corner of her desk, her body rotated towards the Journalist.
“I don’t think Tëruan's death was accidental, no,” Bel said flippantly, setting the item she had fished out of her drawer down on the desktop right in front of Slade. The item was a small, grey disk with a blue circle on the top that was faintly lit – a device that the Journalist might recognize as a Echo, a sound-based image mapping technology that the Peacekeepers often used to record crime scenes. “But I’ll let you decide for yourself.”
Merenska casually tapped the top of the disk, and into the air sprang a, extremely detailed blue, three dimensional image that was an exact copy of Tëruan's body. Slade might be able to make out the particular diamond tile pattern of Slovchk’s kitchen floor, and the way Tëruan's legs and arms were splayed out every which way. He was laying on his back, his head cocked to the side at an unnatural angle, his eyes and mouth open and lifeless. Most striking visually, however, was the fact that Tëruan's midsection was apparently ripped open: his ribs were broken, spread, and jagged, and where his vital organs should have been, there was nothing but a cavity.
Merenska didn’t bother to look at the image: she didn’t need to. Tëruan's body, and how it had looked would be burned into her mind, and probably her nightmares, for the rest of her natural life. What the woman watched, instead, was Slade’s reaction. She watched it very carefully, all casual manner, and all emotion, rapidly draining from her face.
“What do you think, Slade? Should I consider this accidental?”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Mar 2, 2016 23:58:49 GMT -5
The tension that had been building in the waif-like Journalist's body hadn't eased, especially not when Merenska started talking. It didn't surprise her that they'd had a problem getting into Tëruan's files. Even when they'd worked together at the Tribune he'd been especially particular about his work and who had access to it. Knowing he hadn't changed at all in that regard would have brought a faint smile to her mouth under different circumstances. Instead, it forced liquid to well at the corners of eyes that were customarily piercing. Slade's gaze cut away for a moment as she steeled herself to continue the conversation. She looked back to the Investigator just in time to watch her frustration become apparent.
Slade deflated a little, losing some of the tension. Merenska was having a pretty hard time of it, clearly. The Journalist wanted to help her, truly. But only in ways that would ensure the survival of everyone involved. . .
Slade shook her head at Merenska's next set of remarks.
"No, I didn't get the sense he was trying to give me files. He was trying to literally make me the handler for his contact, his source for the Ouroboros story. If he wouldn't talk to me T2T about what was going on, I don't think he kept anything on his terminal."
Gunmetal eyes glazed over for a moment as she reviewed what she'd just said. Even if they could de-crypt his files Slade thought it was a safe bet that they'd find very little past the drafting for the published article. Odette had given her hard copy documents; Slade had to assume she'd given Slovchk the same sort of material. The Journalist had no idea how to point Bel in that direction however. When Merenska flashed her the smile Slade's brows knit together faintly, the tension in her expression loosening further, just enough to let a little confusion show through.
I don't think Tëruan's death was accidental, no.
Slade's lips parted as if she meant to respond, her brows drawing together in true uncertainty.
But I'll let you decide for yourself.
Time froze for a moment. The seconds felt stretched as Slade scrambled to process the minute details, somehow sensing that something was about to change everything but not being able to think quickly enough to predict what. Instinctively she leaned slightly closer to look at the disk Merenska had procured.
Slade blinked, the tiny gesture seeming to last an eternity.
And when she could focus on what the Investigator's tap revealed suddenly the speed of time was not only restored― it was moving far quicker than it should have been.
Slade's mouth was beginning to drop open as her brain registered what exactly she was looking at. See, the delay in recognition happened only because she couldn't process the image as a person at first. Once her jaw was slack and her eyes were as wide as what horror could coax out of her Slade was lurching to her feet, her body propelling backward at the force of her reaction. The Journalist stumbled backward over the arm of the chair, her bottom thudding hard against the floor. She could hear her own gagging as if from far away.
The next thing Slade knew she was on her feet, vision blurred, and screaming hoarsely.
"FUCK YOU, BEL. FUCK YOU!"
Her expression had long since crumbled and tears streamed down her face unchecked. There was horror there, of course. Contempt for Merenska. And fear. Raw, primal fear.
"Fucking hell, Tëruan. . . Fucking. . ."
A ragged sob clawed its way from her throat. The realization that the flurry of movement and yelling had re-opened the cut on her lip was so far away.
It didn’t even look like him anymore. If there hadn't been the tile there. . . So much blood. How could one man contain so much blood? Another sob racked her slender form. Where was the rest of him?
"What. . ?"
Slade swallowed, her mouth so dry just now, and tried again.
"What happened to him? What could. . Why is his. . ?"
Her eyes squeezed shut and she had a sudden flash of Odette's eyes just before she bit her.
"Turn it off." The words came through clenched teeth.
"Please." The word was just barely coherent.
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Bel Merenska
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: Peacekeeper Investigator - Third Precinct
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Post by Bel Merenska on Mar 3, 2016 11:08:09 GMT -5
Bel didn’t take her eyes off Slade the entire time. She knew what was coming – the Investigator knew exactly the kind of reaction to expect, because it was just what she was going for. Fear. Pain.
In a twisted way, bel knew her tactics were inappropriate to be using on someone like Slade. After all, the journalist wasn’t a criminal who needed to be cracked, she was a generally law-abiding citizen who Bel just happened not to get along with. But Merenska wasn’t under any illusions that she was what could be considered a good person. Bel was selfish, and in pain – and when selfish people feel pain, they inflict pain on those around them in order to make themselves feel better.
Guess what? It worked.
Slade wouldn’t have to ask for Bel to turn off the image – once the journalist had sprung from her chair and started shouting expletives, Merenska turned off the device on her own, having made her point. The Investigator kept her manner deadpan, but it was all Bel could do to keep herself from screaming right back at Slade and taking advantage of the fact that her office was essentially soundproof. Instead, Bel’s wild eyes locked on Slade’s, the Investigator’s teeth showing and clenched as she forcefully constrained her voice’s volume to something akin to normal. That restraint, however, didn’t carry over to keeping the harsh, angry growl out of Bel’s words when she stood and began advancing on the slim woman opposite her.
“I don’t fucking know what happened, Slade. He was ripped apart, and I’ve got no evidence and no motive!.”
The way Merenska was advancing on Slade, there was a good chance that the Investigator would back the journalist into a corner. Bel’s fists clenched reflexively as she continued.
“You’re the last one who saw him alive, Slade! I know he gave you something. What happened to your lip? Where is his research, his files? Who the fuck did this to my Tëruan! I know you know something! TELL ME!”
Bel couldn’t stop the roar that her words morphed into as she bore down on Slade: all she could see was the anger, the pain, and the singular knowledge that Slade knew something, and Merenska had to get it out. She had to find something.
“I can’t fucking protect you or catch the son of a bitch who did this if you keep lying to me, Slade: tell me what you know!”
Bel would loom over Slade, but didn’t move to lay any kind of hand on her – the force of her anger was usually enough to get the answers she was looking for, and though Merenska wasn’t in good control of it at the moment, she knew better than to actually threaten an innocent person with real violence, especially when that person likely weighed 30 pounds sopping wet. With any luck, Slade would come out with it fast so they could get on with the interrogation: if the journalist kept on withholding, Bel wasn’t sure she would be able to keep such a good wrap on her actions in the future.
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Post by Slade Bronden on Mar 4, 2016 8:55:56 GMT -5
Slade's gaze dropped for a moment in relief when Merenska turned the Echo off, but her mind was still traveling at light speed. Her colleague hadn't just dropped dead: he'd been shredded apart, and it had come right on the heels of a heavyweight article that had shaken the City already. Combined with the fact that Tëruan had been told to stuff the story and that his completely disturbed source for the story in the first place had handed her pounds worth of material for more stories Slade was at a loss.
Her entire life had changed in one night, and she realized that what was happening qualified as a fight for survival.
The Journalist heard the Investigator's remarks, but they were at a distance. Slade was in shock, just staring first at the spot where Tëruan's body had been lying and then― a few moments later― at Merenska. Something was in the process of snapping in Slade.
Ouroboros had been accused of fixing markets, of padding their own bottom lines. Tëruan hadn't wanted the story to die; he wanted to reclaim some of the prestige from his activist days. Odette was aiming a proverbial cannon at Ouroboros because 'no one should have so much power.' And Merenska? Merenska was in pain because her lover had been murdered. Slade was appalled by the Peacekeeper's tactics, but she also knew the woman was reacting to heavy stimuli.
There it was.
The clarity.
The sense of purpose that always came to her when she had enough information to understand there were larger pieces that fit together and she was the only one with the vantage point to do it. Until now she hadn't decided what she was going to do with the documents Odette had given her. She hadn't processed the assault or Tëruan's motives― his murder changed everything. It made Ouroboros more frightening and Odette even more horrifying. She couldn't even be sure those were the only two sides involved for now. What she did know was that if she disclosed to anyone that Tëruan had successfully handed off his contact and that she was now the handler for the woman known as Odette there was a very strong chance that she was going to be found in her studio apartment with her chest cracked open and nothing inside. . .
Most of the tension eased out of the Journalist's frame when she made eye contact with Merenska in all her frenetic energy. Slade shook her head, blinking back more tears.
"I don’t have what you need, Bel. He didn't give me any files. He didn't show me any research." She paused as her voice hitched. "He made me pastry bombs last night in an attempt to woo me into taking over the story. . . "
"The only thing I know right now is that the Ouroboros Story can't be a coincidence, and if I― an activist Journalist― is connected to what he was working on I will be found and―" Her voice caught as she made a small gesture to the Echo. "And I will be the next report on your desk."
Slade held her ground.
"Bel, no one can protect me if I have what you think I have."
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Bel Merenska
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: Peacekeeper Investigator - Third Precinct
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Post by Bel Merenska on Mar 4, 2016 18:47:55 GMT -5
Bel clenched her fists as Slade tried her best to stand up against the tidal wave of her anger, clearly showing no intention of backing down. The journalist had something, and Merenska was determined to get at it. Slade might have thought her little show of staying stoic against bel would cause the Investigator to back off, but all it meant was that Bel would have to modify her tactics slightly.
“Then where were you last night after you met with Tëruan? What happened to your lip? Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?”
Bel’s manner had quickly shifted from angrily, violently forceful to caustic and more subtly threatening – the Investigator made a show of clenching her left fist several times in succession, drawing attention to what Slade would recognize as her weapon, a series of rings on each of the fingers of her left hand connected to a controller band around her wrist. Merenska narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice, but shifted her body forward just enough that Slade would likely be forced back into the corner of her office, between the door hinges and the blank, solid adjacent wall.
“You were the last person to see him alive. Maybe I should get a warrant to search your home, just in case you forgot he gave you something important.”
Merenska’s voice got systematically lower as she spoke, each word exhibiting more of a growl as it rolled past her chapped, bleeding lips.
“You know how this shit works, Slade. Now, don’t think that for a second I believe that you just told Tëruan ‘no, thanks’ and sent him on his way without getting something else, or finding something else out on your own. That means you’re involved, and like you said, you’re a potential target. So you can either cooperate with me and give me something to go on, a lead of some kind, that will make it so I can leave my suspicions, and your name, out of the report I’m going to file in a few minutes, giving me the opportunity to catch who did this and keep you from meeting the same fate, or I can fucking hold you under suspicion of being involved, search your place, and get what I need anyway, and hold you in custody until I catch the fucker who murdered my lover.”
Bel’s eyes were manic, but the Investigator’s demeanor was still extremely serious and controlled. Slade’s knowledge of how the Vascxious Sigma justice system works would tell her that Bel could accomplish what she said, at least temporarily – the ball was being put into her proverbial court, but Bel clearly had every intention of getting what she wanted regardless of Slade’s own choice.
“You’ll be safer either way, but I can’t imagine being locked up on suspicion of being involved in the murder of one of your former colleagues would look all that great to your editors. So maybe, you should think about cooperating with me here instead of fucking me around right now!”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Mar 7, 2016 10:29:52 GMT -5
Merenska wasn't going to let up. If anything, Slade's resistance was making her more manic.
Think think think.
Gunmetal eyes, watering with the effort it took to keep her emotional response in check, dropped to the Investigator's fist and lingered for a moment. The Journalist should have known better. Merenska had always been aggressive and shown a need to be in control― whether of Tëruan or anyone around him. That was probably a good chunk of reasoning as to why Slade had stayed the fuck away. The Investigator was in a tail spin right now: Tëruan's murder had blindsided her, just like it had Slade. What it came down to was that both women had known what Tëruan was doing was dangerous and that there would be threat aimed in his direction but neither of them could have guessed he was going to be murdered the very night he published a piece targeted at one of the most powerful corporations in Vascxious Sigma.
"Bel. . ."
Slade had looked up to make eye contact, slowly raising both hands palms facing the Investigator.
"We're on the same side. I am not your enemy; I would never stand in your way or keep you from finding out who did this to Tëruan."
The Journalist fought against the urge to take a step backward as Merenska's voice became more and more threatening. Truthfully, she did take a half-step backward, as if she couldn't handle the force of Bel's presence without some distance.
Whatever will give her the sense she's got control. . .
"Please don't do this. You're right. You're right, but I don't have what Tëruan gave me anymore, but I will tell you what he told me last night."
She looked at Bel, pleading with her silently to listen, but not asking for the threats to stop. The threatening made Merenska feel better: Slade knew better than to try to get her to treat her as an equal.
"Tëruan seems―seemed," Slade corrected herself quickly, but paused for a moment as she struggled to continue, "to think what he was on to with Ouroboros runs much, much deeper than the first article. If that is true then Ouroboros has a very large stake in how this turns out. Rynd told him to shove it, but clearly that's not what he wanted. If Rynd was in communication with Ouroboros and they asked him to silence Tëruan. . ? If it got back to Ouroboros, what would happen then?"
Slade paused to let Bel think on it for a moment before she continued.
"I haven't been in the loop with Tëruan for months, Bel. This is the first he's reached out in an age. I haven't had enough time to do any digging on my own, but apparently Tëruan did. He was trying desperately to give me the contact to his source, and yes, I accepted it because I thought it was worth continuing the investigation. If Ouroboros finds out that he was successful and they are responsible for his murder then they will stop at nothing to make sure any investigation is stalled permanently."
The Journalist dropped her hands slowly, as if all the air was being let out of her.
"If Tëruan kept any files at all it's a safe bet he kept them at the Times, Bel. I'd check there and hope that Rynd hasn't cleared out his things already. Look for hard copies. He wouldn't have tried to secure something this big terminal-side. Too paranoid."
Slade didn’t dare to breathe just yet.
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Bel Merenska
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: Peacekeeper Investigator - Third Precinct
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Post by Bel Merenska on Mar 9, 2016 20:48:23 GMT -5
“Then tell me what the fuck you know, Slade!”
That the Journalist relented was a step in the right direction, but Bel quickly noticed that Slade’s efforts at placating her, and her state of seemingly-blinding rage, were just that: placation attempts. There were a few key nuggets of information she let slip in her hurry to redirect the Investigator’s attention, but her major bait wasn’t taken: as far as Bel could reason, Slade’s ‘lead’ didn’t make any sense.
“Rynd has nothing to do with it – if there was more that Ouroboros didn’t want released, Tëruan’s first article was more than enough to tip them off that he was a potential threat without the help of a back-stabbing editor. Besides, you fucking know how private T was – he never gave his editors any more actual information than he absolutely had to, in order to preserve his ‘journalistic integrity’.”
Slade might not have thought much of the fact that Tëruan ‘sold out’ to a big financial periodical, but she knew that, at one time, Tëruan was a hard-hitting investigative reporter: even when he cashed in social justice stories for a bigger paycheck, the man worked adamantly to keep himself independent and un-influenced in his writing. That was exactly the reason Bel hardly knew his stories’ bylines before they were published – Tëruan didn’t want a city official’s input to in any way influence his writing.
Bel narrowed her eyes menacingly as she stared the Journalist down, having not missed the slight shift backwards Slade’s body had taken in response to her anger.
“I’ve already sent officers to collect all of T’s files and belongings from the [Times: they’ll be in the evidence lockup within two hours. It’s highly unlikely, even if you’re right in suspecting him, that Rynd will have had time to hide anything.”
Merenska’s tone and mannerisms had obviously calmed, but the fire in her eyes noticeably hadn’t. Her anger existed as a simmer instead of a boil, but the two states seemed ready to be interchanged at a moment’s notice.
“Give me something real, Slade – What did T give you? Who is his source? You just said he gave you something, and that you agreed to take on his source: give me both so I don’t have to charge you with obstruction and put you in holding.”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Mar 9, 2016 21:59:49 GMT -5
"Yes, but Rynd's order came after Tëruan published. Rynd's the editor— meaning he had to approve what Tëruan was submitting before it could go to press. Tëruan would have kept the topic of his article to himself, but only until publishing time. I certainly wish we could print every story we decide to investigate, but it doesn't work that way. Rynd had to field the complete draft first." Slade spoke earnestly, as if offering a gentle reminder of the timeline of an article's life rather than criticizing the Investigator's summation.
"Rynd might have everything to do with it if someone who represents Ouroboros persuaded him to cut Tëruan out at the knees after he's published. Look, I'm not saying Rynd is responsible for what's happened, but I do think it's worth finding out if he had a line of communication open with Ouroboros. Tëruan told me he tried to talk Rynd out of his decision, but he was very firm. The bottom line is that Rynd knew what he was publishing. What would make him change his mind on Tëruan's pursuit?"
Slade's expression didn't shift as she watched Merenska closely. Really she was silently praying that the Investigator would see that there was a genuine question in what had changed in Rynd's mind for that to be the chain of events. What was fucking up everything already was that Merenska seemed to be convinced she already understood the variables. Just like she thought she understood Slade and how she would react. . . The Journalist slowly nodded when Bel spoke, confirming that Tëruan's things had already been collected.
"Then the only way anything would be missing is if Rynd took Tëruan's research from him when he left the office yesterday. Rynd knows how stubborn he is." The last was more or less murmured under her breath, more rueful than anything else.
When Merenska pressed her again, threatening to hold her Slade shook her head, strands of electric blue coming loose to frame her face.
"He gave me a keycard to a drop box at the Transport Station. Apparently that was how he'd been communicating with his source." Gunmetal eyes met hazel, the tears only now beginning to subside. "I went, because it was on my way home anyway. I found the drop box. There was nothing in it. The key was stuck in the lock; I couldn't take it with me."
She paused for a second, shaking her head again.
"I don't know what that means. He didn't tell me how he got the keycard, and I didn't ask. At the time I just took it for granted. I figured it was sent to him by post. To be honest, I thought he was fucking with me after I opened it up." Her voice hitched slightly and her gaze dropped. The emotional response was authentic. "I just didn't think the article was this serious. The accusations are heavy, but not worth killing over. . . Tëruan wasn't even taking it seriously. At least, not with me. He wanted me to take over his source, yes, but he was making jokes the whole time. Is it. . ." She slowed, looking up at Bel earnestly, "Is it possible at all that his. . . His murder has nothing at all to do with his investigation? What could even do that to a person. . ?"
Her eyes became incredibly shiny at that point but Slade managed not to break down. She looked hopeful, truth be told, that Merenska could offer any other explanation.
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Bel Merenska
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: Peacekeeper Investigator - Third Precinct
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Post by Bel Merenska on Mar 11, 2016 19:28:30 GMT -5
Bel gritted her teeth as her anger visibly surged. Who did Slade think she was, that she was going to fucking lecture a goddamn Investigator as to how she should do her job? The fact that she wouldn’t let go of her ‘theory’ that Rynd was involved just proved to Merenska that the Journalist knew more than she was letting on – she was trying to throw Bel off by giving her somewhere else to look. If that somewhere else had been a new piece of information, then Slade’s strategy might have been more successful; for now, all it was managing to do was piss Merenska off.
“Do you really not think that we thought to question the fucking editor, Slade? It’s part of normal goddamn protocol, but I’ll tell you that right now, Rynd isn’t nearly as much of a POI as you are!”
The majority of what Slade had laid out about the editor’s possible motive had already mostly been discounted by Merenska, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to follow up on the line of questioning. However, Slade didn’t need to know that, so to the Journalist, the Investigator angrily silenced the line of questioning out of hand. Instead, she immediately latched on to the new information the Journalist had come out with, her eyes narrowing and her voice getting more cutting as she honed in closer and closer to the truth, as far as she was concerned.
“What drop box, in what district?” Merenska could pull the records and see who had owned the box, if it was that type, or at least try and pull prints off the box and its interior. Both were a long shot, but Bel wasn’t planning on leaving any stone unturned. “His source obviously was passing T info on dirty dealings within Ouroboros, and that means he had to have more information that they didn’t want to get out. What else did he tell you about his source?!”
Bel’s voice had very quickly escalated again in volume, but inwardly, a cool, calm focus was coming over Merenska as she ran the variables through her head. Ouroboros was still the most likely culprit, and that meant that anyone else with access to the information T had was another potential target. That meant Slovchk’s source could already be dead, or could be the next target for elimination, assuming T hadn’t managed to share real information with anyone else . . . like Slade. Bel knew the Journalist was lying about something, but she was running out of room to find what it was without more information.
As to the last bit of Slade’s teary-eyed expression, Bel sneered, but that didn’t stop the image flashing back into her mind from causing a shiny tint to come to her own eyes.
“The simplest explanation is usually the right one with this shit, Slade. The brutality of it was meant to send a message, and the most capable party who stands to gain the most from a display like that is Ouroboros. Now, if I don’t find that source, they’re probably next – or, if anyone else knows T met with you about the story, it might be you who’s next- so I need you to think really fucking hard about whether you remember anything else that T told you about his source!”
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Post by Slade Bronden on Jul 6, 2016 14:39:57 GMT -5
It took every shred of competency Slade had to keep from just breaking down right there. She had to get out of there. She needed time and space away from the unpredictable typhoon that was Merenska to sort herself out. All she understood right then, with the Peacekeeper's onslaught was that she needed to get away. The more Bel was able to press at her, the more Slade's emotional reaction was going to escalate and the higher the probability that she was going to land herself in custody.
"Bel. I want to help. I understand if it doesn't mean anything at all to you, but this is hell for me too. I wasn't as close to Tëruan as you are, and I realize that this is a special kind of pain for you."
With that being said. . . She eyed Merenska's clenching fist for a moment before looking back up at the Peacekeeper.
"You don't need threats to motivate me to help you. Tëruan was my friend. I want to find out what happened to him. I just don't have working contact with his source, Bel."
Even if she did, their source was a major whistleblower. She wasn't legally obligated to name her source to the Peacekeeper: there were laws in place to protect Journalist/News Source confidentiality, especially in cases like this where retaliation might be a factor. Bel knew that; Slade just didn't feel like it was necessary to antagonize her by reminding her.
"I don't even know where the source is from, whether they are, or were, employed by Ouroboros. Nothing. I don't know."
Slade held Bel's hard stare.
Just breathe just breathe just breathe.
"I don't remember all the numbers. Just that it ended with "654." The Dropbox was in the Transport Station in Third District. I can show you which one."
The Journalist paused for a moment.
"Look, I can't operate being threatened on all sides— I don't think anyone can. If Ouroboros is responsible for Tëruan's murder and they find out he was trying to pass me information, do you think it will matter to them if I actually have something? If they're bold enough to outright murder a Journalist reporting their dirt they won't hesitate to do the same thing to any of his contacts. If you put my name in his file I'm iced. Detaining me only delays my death sentence."
Slade wasn't being cavalier about her circumstances. Clearly the Journalist was afraid.
"If you keep my name out of it I might actually be able to help you. I don't need Tëruan's source to take a look into Ouroboros myself."
Goddess she hoped she was making the right call. What was she getting herself into?
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