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

Ripley did not realize Francis was there until he was leaning up into her space, his wide eyes glued on the pen. She leaned away, watching him incredulously. Then he looked at her and seemed to realize what was happening, hopping away with his usual weird greeting. He was grinning at her like an absolute baffoon, seeming clueless about why she would be here. Was he really that oblivious? Apparently.

"Hey, Fred," she greeted him, once again getting his name wrong by accident. "Oh, you know, just... checking out these..." She gestured around the room. "Pens and things. They're just so... good at writing," she finished lamely.

"Francis." he corrected under his breath. "Really? I didn't know you were interested in these sorts of implements! This looks like an excellent place to augment my organizational capabilities! We're not here for pleasure though. As it turns out, our friend Jared frequented this place."

"Are you investigating him too?" Visia asked her. She wasn't very good at social deduction either, but even to her it was obvious.

"What? No, no, she already expressed her preference for us to handle the investigation, don't you remember?"

"Oh, well, you know, in those social pictures you showed me, I saw a lot of pens in the pictures," she said. "My dad has a pen like this, so I know what they look like."

She knew very well what they looked like because the only time her father had ever yelled at her was when she'd borrowed one of his incredibly nice, three-digit price tag pens to do some sketching. She didn't think she'd hurt it, but he had not been happy.

"This place was kind of on my way," not really, "so I thought I'd stop by and look around, and if I thought I was in the right place, I was going to let you guys know," she said brightly.

The salesman looked between them. "Are any of you going to buy this?" he asked.

Ripley gave him a look. "Dude, I'm eleven. How am I going to afford a seventy-dollar pretty pen?"

The only time Francis had made his father angry like that was when he attempted to disassemble the TV. That and he wasn't all that happy his son hadn't turned out more masculine. Gadgets instead of football.

Once again, Francis took the explanation at face value. He even looked to Visia as if to say, "See?" She didn't say anything further. Maybe she believed it, or maybe she didn't want to press any further.

"I'm...quite bankrupt at the moment." Francis admitted. He'd just dumped the rest of his finances on onion rings. "But we were hoping that you might be able to provide information on one of your patrons. Our parents are friends with a man named Jared Gunter, and they asked us to locate him. Are you familiar at all?"

The salesman looked over Francis, Visia, and Ripley. "You guys want to know about Jared?" he repeated, brow furrowing in confusion.

"I'm just here to look," Ripley said quickly. "But, you know, since I'm here."

The salesman - a rather large and slightly balding man - grunted and turned his attention back to Francis. "You are looking for Jared because your parents asked you to find him," he repeated. He eyed Francis firmly. "I'm sure you've got some beachside property in Arizona to sell me while you're at it, too. Am I right?"

Francis nervously tugged at his collar. Clearly, this man didn't believe him, but he'd had to lie to enough adults to know that the best course of action was to stand his ground. "Sir, I c-can assure you with absolute certainty t-that I am being comprehensively sincere. He's been m-missing, and they're deeply concerned."

At that point, he wished they'd brought Livia along, just so she could corroborate his story. Although, lying was one of her least favorite parts of their activities. She was still clear on eight of the ten commandments, at least. Visia wouldn't speak up unless he directed her to, which would be a dead giveaway that they were lying.

"Right," the salesman said. His expression clearly said he wasn't buying it, but, for whatever reason, he decided to go along with Francis and answer his question. "Yeah, Jared used to be a regular. He was a dab hand at calligraphy, did it in his spare time, but I haven't seen him in... a few months now, come to think of it. It's not uncommon for people to stop showing up for a while and then get back into the craft, so I didn't think much of it. But if he's missing, I'm not sure what I can tell you. I didn't know much about him. He'd come here on his bike on Tuesdays, usually, maybe skip a week here and there, and I think he was some kind of cook or chef. Had a girlfriend, I know that much. She didn't think much of his hobby, I don't think. Other than that..." He shrugged. "Maybe he got a new job. If he did that, wouldn't he tell his parents?"

This salesman wasn't nearly as intimidating as Emma, so Francis got out his notebook to start taking notes. Although, there wasn't much new information to speak of, at least nothing they could use. The fact that Jared did calligraphy didn't help them find him. But the mention of his bicycle made Francis think of something. There was a possibility that Jared was riding his bike, since his body was found near a bike trail. Maybe if they locate the bike, they could locate the killer.

"Yes, one would assume that he would tell his parents." Francis agreed. "Can you describe the bicycle to me? Perhaps that could help us locate him.

The salesman had to think a minute before naming the model of the bicycle. "Silver body, black trim. It wasn't fancy or anything, but he kept it nice. Polished it regular and stuff. Said if he treated it right, it'd treat him right, and it was the least he could do since he never could save up for a car." He studied Francis for a moment. "Are you going to tell me why a bunch of kids are really looking for him, yet?"

Francis made sure to note these details down. The fact that Jared couldn't afford a car made it all the more likely that he was on his bike when he was killed. His writing hand abruptly froze when the salesman once again asked about their true intentions.

"Um..."

He's dead and we're finding out how he died so his ghost can move on.

Yeah, Francis couldn't see that going well. There were some adults that knew what they did. The majority simply didn't believe them. Some of them thought it was a horrible "lie" to tell. Of the tiny fraction that did believe them, many thought it was too dangerous for kids their age. He wracked his brain for a different lie to tell, but couldn't think of one.

"As I said our parents requested we prospect for him anyways we have to vacate thank you for speaking with us!" Blurting out those words, he grabbed Visia's hand and all but dashed out of the store.

The salesman raised his eyebrow at Francis, wondering if he knew what the words he was using meant, but he let the kids run off without stopping them. He doubted there were any parents involved in this, but he couldn't think of how a couple of kids trying to find a guy who'd never struck the salesman as being in any way dangerous could be a problem. So, he decided he'd leave the kids to do whatever they were doing and hope they weren't getting into real trouble, just kid trouble. Every kid deserved to have the freedom to commit kid trouble.

Ripley watched them leave in amusement, and when she saw the salesman glance at her, she decided to beat it out after them before he could ask her questions or try to get her to buy a stupidly expensive pen. "So, learn anything? I learned a few things," Ripley said once she'd caught up with them.

Francis had stopped by his bike, bent over and trying to catch his breath. Visia stood by, calmly watching him. But when Ripley showed up and asked what they'd learned, he perked right up and pulled out his notebook.

"Quite a bit!" he responded. "Emma Fay was just as intense as you ascertained her to be. She made the claim that she was the one who terminated her romantic engagement with Jared, but I'm not certain she was being entirely factual." Ripley's statements he took at face value, but it seemed he was able to cast doubt when it came to a murder suspect. "She had many, many grievances with Jared, though she showed some remorse at the fact that he was missing, unlike Cory. It sounds as though she and Jared bonded over a mutual cycling hobby, which is why I asked about the bicycle. I highly suspect Jared was riding his bicycle, since that bridge is part of a bike trail."

He looked up from his notes. "What about you? What have you learned?" Conveniently, he momentarily forgot that she supposedly didn't want to be involved in the investigation. He was too excited about sharing clues.

"Okay, I don't think I learned anything you didn't already know," Ripley admitted grudgingly. "Jared had a girlfriend who didn't like his calligraphy - what kind of guy has calligraphy as his hobby, anyway? - and he rode a bike everywhere because he couldn't afford a car. He was probably spending all of his car money on calligraphy stuff. I mean, he must make decent money at the cook job, right? So why wouldn't he be able to afford a car? Unless his girlfriend took it all." She shrugged. "Just throwing it out there, but maybe he was bad with money, and that's why he died."

In Ripley's mind, all adults with a job could afford a car. If you didn't have a car, you were either "A Weird Hippy Person" according to her father, or had some form of money problems. That was just how things worked in the adult world. Whether or not that was actually true was still up for debate.

"That is quite peculiar, not being able to afford a car." Frances agreed. Like Ripley, he had a childlike view of adult life and finances. Any adult job would surely provide sufficient income for necessities, like a car. He chewed his pencil, thinking about the situation. "How do you figure being bad with money would incite his murder?" His eyes widened. "Do you think...he borrowed money from the mafia, and they killed him because he couldn't pay it back?"

Ripley stared at him for a minute. "Last I checked, this dorky place wasn't exactly a hub for mafia activity," she said as if she had authority in the matter. She tapped her chin in thought. "What if it was gambling? Maybe there's like a secret gambling den around here or something. Or online? There's tons of stuff online. Maybe that's what it is."

"Thank goodness..." Francis sighed. "This investigation is harrowing enough without involving organized crime." He paused to consider her suggestion. "Again, I could only see that resulting in homicide if it was being run by unscrupulous individuals. As you said, this area isn't..."

His gaze landed on something behind her. Just to make sure he was right, he cross referenced his notes. "Silver body, black trim..." he muttered under his breath. "That's it!" He sprinted over to another part of the parking lot, where a group of four teenage boys were hanging out, drinking sodas. One of them had the exact bike the salesman had described. It had a dent in the wheel, as though it had crashed. "Excuse me sir, could you please inform me where you acquired that bicycle?"

They looked down on him with disdain. "Your mom's house." he said, causing the others to snicker.

"Um, that's not..."

"Get the hell out of here, nerd." another teen said. Francis shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to proceed. He needed this information, but they weren't talking.

Ripley started in surprise when Francis suddenly let out a yell and jogged off. "What?" she asked empty air, bewildered. She glanced at Visia, who'd mostly seemed nearly as much of a ghost as the spectre who'd haunted her recently. There were no answers coming from there, so she shrugged and started to walk to her bike. She stopped when she heard the teens laughing and yelling at Francis.

"That fool's going to get himself hurt," she grumbled to herself. She abandoned her bike and stalked toward the group. The teens were all older than her and bigger, but that didn't stop her from marching forward and standing next to Francis. In her mind's eye, she was Ellen Ripley. If she could take on an alien who ate people, these punks wouldn't be a problem. "Hey. The kid asked you a question," she said in a steely voice, glaring at the teens one by one.

As expected, Visia didn't even notice Ripley looking at her. She was curiously watching Frances run up to the group. Francis stepped back, bewildered, once Ripley joined the interaction. The teens tensed up when she confronted them, clearly intimidated. But the one with the bike was determined not to let himself be intimidated by a girl, let alone one younger than them. He bent over her, putting on a false bravado.

"And we told him to **** off." he said. "What are you gonna do about it, little girl?"

She smiled up at him sweetly, like any little girl should, but her eyes flashed in anger. She hated to be called a little girl! This kid had crossed a line. "Why, me?" she chirped, putting on her best, "must impress Daddy's guests" voice. "Whatever could little, tiny, insignificant me do?" Her voice suddenly dropped to a growl. Still a little kid growl, but a good growl, nonetheless. "Other than mess you up for talking like that. Now, answer the question before I do something worthy of juvie again."

Ripley had never been to juvie. She wasn't even certain what "juvie" was, but she'd heard it whispered among her mother's friends, and she'd discovered that if she added "again," it did very strange things to people. Especially people who did know what juvie was. She wasn't fully bluffing, though. The way the guy was bending down put him in perfect aim for a good punch to the face, or maybe a headbutt, and kicking was always a good option, but Francis needed info, and people who got punched weren't always interested in talking.

Her sweet voice actually had the guy fooled, reinforcing his false bravado. But that dropped quickly when she growled and threatened him. He recoiled, eyes wide with terror, as though he also expected a punch or a headbutt. His friends were no less terrified. They weren't going to back him up.

"Okay, okay, chill out!" he pleaded. "I found that bike a month or two ago, in the forest, near that bridge over the creek! It was dinged up real bad, like someone had crashed it! I took it and fixed it as best I could so I could ride it!"

Normally, Francis might have had more questions, but one part of the teen's testimony was spinning around his head. Like someone had crashed it. Slowly, he put the pieces together. He had a far off stare, as though he was realizing something important. Eventually, his gaze turned to Ripley.

"What if...we haven't been investigating a murder all along?" he posited. "Perhaps...this was a simple bicycle crash?"