Forums » General Roleplay » Ripley and the Ghost Club (1x1)

Ripley craned her neck to see. The woman was a dyed blonde, reasonably tall, and very angry. Without asking, Ripley reached over and scrolled back several pictures. Even when she didn't look angry, she always seemed peeved about something. She could have been pretty, but that constant look of annoyance and dissatisfaction stole from that beauty. Jerad was usually somewhere in the picture, smiling brightly, but many times it seemed forced. The exact reason for why they broke up was absent from the feed, but it seemed pretty obvious.

"The question is, I think, who broke up with who," Ripley announced. "I mean, look at her face. She's so not happy, so if she broke up with him, all good, but if he broke up with her? Man! She doesn't look like the type to allow that. Not one bit!"

The waitress stopped by to refill Ripley's cup and glanced at them curiously. She raised her brow at the pictures but said nothing. What kids got up to was none of her business.

Frances didn't object to her scrolling. It wasn't that he didn't mind, but more so that it caught him off guard, and he was too conflict averse to speak up. Regardless, this was public information she was scrolling through, nothing personal of his. His attention was more so on all the pictures of this woman.

"A highly accurate assessment." he said, nervously tugging at the collar of his polo shirt. "We've run afoul of more than a few adults like this during our ghost investigations. It's not a pleasant experience being on their bad side, let me tell you." To find out more about her, he tapped to bring up her profile. "Looks as though she frequents a local bike trail that- wait a minute..."

He brought up a map of the trail. After scanning it for a moment, his eyes widened. Tapping a particular spot, he gave Ripley a significant look. The path included where they'd found Jared's remains.

Ripley looked at Frances blankly, not sure why he was looking at her so weirdly. She looked between him and the picture a couple of times before the light dawned. "Oh! That's that spot with the-" She caught herself before blurting out the word "bones." It was probably not a good idea to go around talking about bones, especially human bones, around adults. Adults got funny about things like that. "With the bridge," she finished a little lamely. She took a long drink. "So. What are you going to do next? Stalk Miss," she squinted at Frances' phone, "Emma Fay, totally not a fake name, until you can figure out where to find and talk to her?"

Already, before she caught herself, Frances was frantically gesturing for her to cut it out. Adults certainly did get funny when kids talked about death and things like that. His club had found that out from personal experience. But he nodded to confirm it was, in fact, the spot with the bridge. He looked down at the woman's picture, not relishing the idea of interviewing her. Once more, he poured over her profile.

"No addresses listed here..." he mused. "I'll do some more digging to see if I can locate one elsewhere. Otherwise, our only course of action will be to stalk- to...to stake out the bicycle path in the hopes of finding her." He pocketed his phone. "I'll keep you up to date if- oh, I beg your pardon. You did say you'd prefer to let us do the investigating. I should have been more respectful of that preference. Just leave it to us, and soon Jared will be able to move on."

"Oh, you know, whatever's good," Ripley said, shrugging nonchalantly as if it didn't actually mean anything. "Updates are cool. That way you don't have to explain everything from the beginning. I guess. Good news is, ever since I put the bone back, he hasn't been stalking me, so that's cool." She took a long slurp. "Have fun with your own stalking!"

She turned her attention to her drink and pretended like she was perfectly happy and content there. She was itching to know more about the lady they'd found and what her deal was in all of this, but that wasn't cool. She should let the dorks do all the uncool stuff like she'd meant to all along.

"Oh! Okay." France said, still ignorant to Ripley's wanting to investigate with them. As one might expect, social cues weren't his strong suit. "Capital! I'm sure we'll be able to bring peace to him soon." He was in the process of walking out, but had to turn around to defend himself. "It's not stalking!" His comment attracted more than a few curious glances as he left the diner.

It took some digging, but he managed to find the address of Emma Fay's apartment. Maybe once he got older, he would be disturbed by how easy it was to find someone's location. For the moment, he and Visia made their way to the building. His posture was stiff as he made his way up to her floor, then to her flat. He stared up at the door as though it would fall over and crush him. After taking a deep breath, he knocked.

Ripley snickered and rolled her eyes before holding out her cup for more soda. Another soda down and a quick visit to the bathroom later, and she headed back home, unhappy at being left out, but how was she supposed to figure out where they left? She wasn't good at tacking people down. She'd have to wait and see what happened next. She hated waiting!

Later and in another place, Francess knocked on the unassuming door of a fairly typical looking apartment. After a while, the door opened, revealing a striking blond woman dressed impeccably and somewhat more revealing than most people might while hanging out in their own homes. She looked ready to go clubbing. Thankfully, it was nothing too bad, but definitely not something a babysitter would wear. She frowned down at them, somehow managing not to wrinkle her face as she did so.

"Yeah, I'm gonna stop you there, kids," she drawled before they could say a word, "I'm not interested in buying anything. No Halloween candy, no kitchen stuff, no whatever else to support whatever club you guys are in."

Seeing the woman, Frances froze up, for multiple reasons. All things considered, she wasn't wearing anything that revealing, and he wasn't quite old enough to start having those kinds of feelings yet, but this would likely become a formative moment for him. That being said, she also scared the crap out of him, and her demeanor still would have even if she wasn't a murder suspect. It took a moment for him to recover after her shutdown.

"Um, I, er, that is..." he stammered. "We're not, um..." Still trying to form words, he rubbed the back of his head. "Our uh...our parents are friends with...Jared...he's been missing, and...we're looking for him?" He couldn't meet her gaze. Part of him was expecting her to snap his neck right then and there.

"Ugh," the woman said, tossing her hair, the sound seeming way too big for someone a petite as she. "That guy. Seriously? You want to find him? Why?" The tone said "that's super lame" as she drawled it out. Huffing, she turned, leaving the door open, and walked into the apartment. "Jered. I don't want to talk about Jared! There is nothing to talk about with that jerk. Other than the fact that I never should have dated him ever. Such a waste of my time! Jared. No, I do not want to talk about Jared or his stupidity. He called me high maintenance, you know. Me!"

A mere grunt of annoyance from her was enough to get Frances to flinch. As she walked back into her apartment, he glanced down the hall, considering escape from this situation. But she left the door open, both figuratively and literally. He had to find answers, for Jared's sake. Hesitantly, he followed into the apartment after her. It was due to pure fear, but he managed to put on the perfect, pandering facade.

"You? High maintenance? What an absurd notion! Why would he propose something so preposterous?" As always, Visia impassively observed the situation through her overgrown bangs. This woman didn't seem to scare her, nor did most things.

"Right?" Emma Fay scoffed. "Yes, it takes time and effort to look this good, but it's like building a piece of art." She smiled down at him and decided to wave him through to the living room.

The apartment was small, but perfectly kept in a highly minimal state. The kitchen was attached to the living room, and there were two open doors, one leading to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom. There was a large white sofa, a glass coffee table, and a fluffy white rug in the living room and a television above the fake fireplace. The kitchen gleamed and had absolutely nothing on it except for one bowl of oranges and a cookbook propped open. It all seemed normal, if freakishly clean, except for the filming setup in the corner of the living room. There was a comfortable chair, an expensive-looking piece of art on a stand next to the chair, and a window offering natural light and a tiny view of the sky. A glance into the highly lux bedroom showed a second setup by the makeup stand.

"Do you kids need anything?" she asked, flicking long, beautifully manicured nails at the couch. "Milk or... water?"

The smile only made her slightly less scary. Now the spider was inviting them into her web. Francis returned it with a nervous smile that he tried to make look as friendly as possible. They sat down on the couch when she indicated for them to. It certainly was comfortable. He didn't think he'd ever sat on anything so nice in his life. His hands were folded in his lap, trying to look as polite and casual as possible.

"Water would be capital, thank you!" he said, fidgeting a moment before speaking up again. "So, um...was Jared the one who terminated your entanglement?" He hoped that she would be willing to talk about it for the sake of venting about her ex-lover. So long as he kept taking her side, they might be safe.

"Ugh, Jared," she moaned unhappily as she fetched two glasses of water. She handed them to Frances and Visia before putting two coasters on the glass table. "Why do you want to talk about that no-good lout? I broke up with him, obviously!" She was a little too emphatic in her statement. She sat down in a second chair facing them and tucked her feet delicately under her. "He was such a slob. Always leaving dishes around, never changing his socks, saying I took too long to get ready, telling me I was always late and that was rude... Stupid little things like that. He was so inconsiderate of me! I was glad to be rid of him." She sniffed and tossed her head. Then she glanced at Frances, seeming to remember something. "Wait. Why do you want to find him?" she asked quizzically.

"A perfectly understandable decision on your part!" Francis said, continuing to suck up to her, mostly to protect himself. Normally, he would be taking notes, but he was afraid to at that moment. He took a drink of water to keep his nervous hands busy. When she asked why they were looking for him, he froze up. For a moment, he forgot his own cover story.

"We, um...our parents are friends with Jared! They requested we attempt to locate him! B-but, I mean, from what you've elucidated, who would want to? It sounds like he was- he is a vexatious malefactor!" There was sweat beading on his forehead as he took another drink.

Emma looked at him blankly for a moment. Then she laughed. It was actually a very beautiful laugh. "You sure talk funny, kid," she giggled. "It's too bad he's missing, I guess, the jerk, making his folks worry, but I haven't seen him since we broke up." She frowned thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, I thought his parents lived in LA." Then she shook her head. "I guess they must have come for a visit. The jerk for not seeing them while they're here. Have you tried his job? It's this trashy little eatery down by the woods. When he's not there, he sometimes hangs out at, um, oh, what's that place called? It's near the mall." She tapped her chin in thought and then brightened. "That's right! Oh-Em-Eye! It's that weird little store, so nerdy, and they do, like pens and junk and some, like, bags or something. I don't remember. He talked me into going once, and it stank real bad. And it was super boring. He's probably drowning his sorrows for losing a girl like me by looking at paper or something." She looked incredibly proud of herself.

Francis blinked, looking more surprised than scared for the moment. She showed basic concern for Jared, which is more than he could say about Cory. Maybe she wasn't as perfect a suspect as he thought. The next sip of water was more contemplative than nervous.

"We have checked his place of employment." he confirmed. "We'll visit this 'Oh-Em-Eye' as well. That's advantageous information, thank you." His eyes wandered around the apartment, landing on a fancy-looking bicycle. That reminded him of the bike path that contained Jared's remains. Maybe he could stand to find out some more information about that. It could paint her as a more likely suspect, or it might exonerate her.

"You're a cyclist?" he asked.

"Huh?" She turned to look at the bike. "Oh! Yes. I'm a pretty avid cycalist. You would not believe what it does to your-" She remembered the age range of her audience and adjusted what she was saying. "It is really healthy for you and good for your figure. That's how we met, actually, Jared and me." She actually smiled a little at the memory. "The path I used to take is the same trail he takes to get to work. We had sort of a race thing going for a few days. Actually, I thought he was a stalker at first, and then I realized that didn't quite work since we only shared the path for a specific distance. Well, I realized that after I yelled at him in front of his workplace when we both stopped. We laughed about it later." She cleared her throat. "Anyway. Yes, I cycle. Not that path anymore, though. I didn't want to run into him."

Francis was blissfully unaware of what she was about to say before stopping herself. He knew that cycling was good for you, though he didn't have to worry about his figure, at least not in the sense of needing to slim down. He'd been a "twig" most of his life, as the bigger kids liked to call him.

His brow furrowed in thought. Jared took the same trail to work? Maybe she was unrelated to his death then. It could have been a crime of opportunity on his way to work. Then again, she could be lying to cover her own tracks. Investigating crimes was hard. He wished that the police could be involved.

"That's understandable." he said. Taking one more sip of water, he set the glass down on its coaster. "We had better investigate the Oh-Em-Eye you mentioned. Thank you for the water, and for speaking with us." After hopping down from the couch, he gave a casual wave before leading the pair out of the apartment.

He was familiar with the mall already. Some of their ghost investigations had taken place there. Once they arrived, it was easy enough to find the store Emma had been talking about. Without hesitation, he locked his bike up outside and entered the building.

Oh-Em-Eye was an unassuming store from the outside. It looked like a million other small stores looked like, and other than a rather flourishing sign with the name clearly blocked in to state who they were, there was no indication of what they were or what they sold. As soon as Frances stepped inside, they were enveloped in a warm, low-level light and the harsh smell of metal, ink, and leather. The carpet on the floor dampened sound, and the dark walls seemed to be made out of acoustic tiles or something similar. Several individual stands or short racks dotted the room, allowing for ample browsing opportunity and with no clear flow of traffic. There were only a handful of people in the store, so crowd control was not exactly an issue right now. Several stands held leather goods. Some of them hung, and some of then sat or lay on display. All of them were clearly handmade with great care and precision. There wer planner pholios, notebook and journal covers, bags designed like medic bags, pouches for pens, and so, so much more! But only one or two of each items, so while the variety was overwhelming, the store was not crowded.

There was a clear theme to all of the items on offer, but it might not have been clear what it was until deeper in the store where several glass casses held displays of pens. Not ordinary school pens, oh no! Very fancy, top-of-the-line fountain pens in a variety of colors and styles. There were also nibs, ink bottles, and other devices that went with the fountain pens. The most terrifying thing about the store was the price tags. Three figures was pretty standard at a glance, and nothing dropped below at least the mid-to-high two figures.

Most strangely, Ripley stood by one of the cases with one of the salesmen as he showed her a sparkly white and pink pen, grinning away as he turned it this way and that to show it off. She, in her scruffed jeans and tangled braid and oversized T-shirt, watched him with a flat expression. She hadn't noticed the other two enter the store yet.

The harsh smells assaulted Francis' sensitive, allergy-ridden respiratory system, provoking a brief coughing fit. But his eyes lit up when he saw the things they were selling. Planner folios. Pen pouches. Nerd shit. His organizational skills would be enhanced a thousandfold. He darted to each case, face all but pressed against the glass. Soon, his excited perusal fixated on the pen that was being shown off to Ripley. This resulted in an awkward moment where he was fully in her personal space before even realizing she was there.

"Oh! Salutations again!" he said, finally stepping back to a respectful distance. "Amusing how we keep running into each other. What are the odds?" For all his book smarts, his social deduction and common sense could use some work.