"I can get one of the demons to drive us most of the way," says David, as their group splits off from the others. "Unfortunately," he adds dryly, "and for obvious reasons, I can't drive us."
". . . nobody usually asks that, you know?" David laughs a little under his breath. "Sure. My apartment's along the way, so we can stop there. Actually . . ." He trials off thoughtfully for a moment. "Yeah, we'll do that."
Instead of trying to cram you into a small car, you guys get to take a limo.
David lives about five to ten minutes away, where the countryside starts to turn more into city. It's basically something like this. He directs Fon to park the car in the garage, then takes the elevator up to the top floor.
"So . . . yeah . . . you guys can just make yourselves at home for a second if you want." He glances at Mikado. "I can get you some clothes that fit if you want to come with me. Fon, you can use the laptop that's on the desk there. I'll give you access to everything—you can pull up the police files, too."
You head to the office building; David stays behind, but you may feel a sort of . . . uneasy chill in the vehicle.
It may be a bit rough to find parking, but eventually you find yourselves at the gated entrance to a four-story office building. The grounds are sparse and treeless, the architecture old but the technology very new. There is an intercom and computer interface set off to the side of the gates.
The lobby of the building is spacious and quite posh, with low leather seats and expensive decor. There is a wide, circular desk dominating the room, and behind it, a set of stairs leading up.
There is a man at the desk, appearing in his early thirties. He is wearing a bluetooth headset and is drumming ring-covered fingers on the desk, manicured nails going click, click, click in a steady rhythm.
"Let's hear it, then," he says—it's undeniably the same voice you'd been speaking to before, with careful, clipped pronunciation and an underlying sense of exasperation. "Who are you, really?"
Grey arrives upstairs (taking the steps two-by-two which is terribly undignified, I'm sure), with the others following close behind (presumably), just as Hunter, Lulu and Mikado start poking around the office.
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Is there anything else you can tell us about the murder?
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Hi! This is gonna be nostalgic!
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David's Apartment
David lives about five to ten minutes away, where the countryside starts to turn more into city. It's basically something like this. He directs Fon to park the car in the garage, then takes the elevator up to the top floor.
"So . . . yeah . . . you guys can just make yourselves at home for a second if you want." He glances at Mikado. "I can get you some clothes that fit if you want to come with me. Fon, you can use the laptop that's on the desk there. I'll give you access to everything—you can pull up the police files, too."
Re: David's Apartment
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This—is quite impressive.
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[gets to work immediately]
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Or you could know them and can figure they'd be here, anyway.]
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Re: David's Apartment
The Office
It may be a bit rough to find parking, but eventually you find yourselves at the gated entrance to a four-story office building. The grounds are sparse and treeless, the architecture old but the technology very new. There is an intercom and computer interface set off to the side of the gates.
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The Office (II)
There is a man at the desk, appearing in his early thirties. He is wearing a bluetooth headset and is drumming ring-covered fingers on the desk, manicured nails going click, click, click in a steady rhythm.
"Let's hear it, then," he says—it's undeniably the same voice you'd been speaking to before, with careful, clipped pronunciation and an underlying sense of exasperation. "Who are you, really?"
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Seriously.
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The Office (III)
"How—?" he splutters.
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Uh.... S-sorry...?
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