[Game Thread] 1. Catch As Catch Can

[PopCultureBard]

The shake of his head is accompanied by a chuckle and a bit of fumbling as he seeks out a small metal case from his pockets. Thumbing it open, he slides a single cigarette from within. The ends are twisted tight, the contents less uniform than tobacco, and he bites the paper off one tip as he strikes a tindertwig with his free hand.

"You do the lifting, I'll do the talking and hopefully we can avoid the fighting altogether." He smiles at Jakob as he touches the twig to the paper, the end turning red almost immediately. The smoke that rises is fragrant and heavy, his inhale held for several seconds before he releases it to form a haze around his head. Shaking out the twig and tossing it aside, he glances to the gathered as they move across a busy thoroughfare. A slow grin splits his features and he holds the flayleaf out for anyone else to partake.

"Never been a huge drinker but I like my recreation just the same." Whether the smoke is taken up by another or not, he slips back up beside the investigator. As she shifts her weight to avoid a broken stone in the path he catches sight of the pistol, prounounced against her ribs. "Whoa. Are you expecting trouble or do you walk around that heavy all the time?" He taps a hand against her coat, feeling the grip of the weapon as his eyes widen, then narrow in scrutiny. He takes another pull from the cigarette and cranes his neck a bit to look behind them.

[slapstick]

Darcy waves away the flayleaf. "You're taking to this murder rap awfully well." She jerks a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the direction of DuRepree. "That Hellknight isn't your pal. Till we catch whoever did this, you don't have any pals. Remember that."

At Dmitri's question, she pulls her coat closed and side-eyes the actor. "People in my line of work aren't popular and there's a lotta folk that consider us disposable if it means less questions get asked. With Desna's favor, I shouldn't have to pull it."

[phinar]

Ungliano's theater, the Majestic, once stood three tall stories high. Pieces of it still do, their charred timbers reaching up into the late afternoon sky like supplicants pleading for dying mercy. Here at the outer edge of the Coins, a slow buzz of commerce weaves around the theater's charred corpse, the stink of stale smoke still thick.

Remarkably, the buildings to the left and the right of the theater were relatively untouched by the fire. On the north side, water damage is evident. On the south side, the building is scarred with char, but remains proof against the elements. The landscape features which previously dotted the Majestic's entryway -- some shrubberies, mainly -- still stand. The story of this fire is confined to the theater alone.

The theater was built in the circular style popular two decades past: a stage that looks out upon an open floor; three galleries of seats ringing the standing room. Behind the stage, stands the tiring house. Within it is the backstage and the business office; dressing rooms and prop storage are on the upper floors.

The entire upper gallery has burned away, and only charred timbers roof where props were once stored; the walls there are partly destroyed as well. The middle gallery still stands on the northern side of the building, though the seats have been destroyed and the floor seems hard to trust. On the southern side, the seating has burned away to the lower gallery; nearest the street, it has burned to the ground, offering a cutaway look into a blackened shell.

The stage itself has survived, but the walls behind it are perforated with burned holes, providing a glimpse into an empty backstage.

Loitering out front, leaning against one of the surviving shrubberies, Darcy sees soldier Antony Mancini of the Rego Pena dottari. Mancini isn't a bad guy, for a dot. Darcy ran across him when chasing down a thief in House Chard's kitchens. Mancini knew to look the other way when it mattered.

How an upright guy like him ended up in the dottari, that's a real mystery. Maybe a family tradition. Or maybe he's a bigger shitheel than he seems.

[ogamodyna]

Oh dear, that's going to make for some awkward performances. How can people pay attention with that charred wood smell all about. Not to mention how the weather will affect the temperament of the clientele. Wondering around and looking at the theatre from across the street, Trystienne seems completely unaware of the figure lounging nearby. See though? I was correct about it cooling down already! No dangers in poking about it seems.

[PopCultureBard]

"The innocent man has nothing to fear." Dimitri takes another pull from the flayleaf before stubbing it out on a nearby wall. As he returns it the case, his eyes narrow on the theater's shell across from them. "Especially rich, innocent men." He turns his eyes, slightly glazed, back to the investigator. "Besides, your reputation is at stake here and that's far more of a risk. Flub a high profile case like this and your name is mud in Westcrown. Well, moreso anyways." His shoulders shift upward in a half-hearted shrug as he starts across the cobbled street. "If I'm executed I'll just be dead."

The guardsman catches his attention and he turns his feet that way, purposeful strides carrying him toward the man. "You there, the one holding up that shrubbery. Any angry ghosts pass this way?"

[slapstick]

Darcy blinks through the flayleaf smoke, mouth twisting to the side at Dimitri's assertion. The innocent had plenty to fear in this town, but the kid would figure it out sooner or later. Rich helped, but it looked even better if you wore it with righteousness. Her veneer cracks a bit at his jibe, and she chuckles. "So you used up all your sugar on the executioner."

The detective ambles along behind Dimitri, catching the guard's eye and nodding at him. "Been awhile, Mancini. Heard you caught the woman who pulled that bank job. Mind if we have a look around?" She jerks a thumb at the remains of the theater.