I'm itching to write in this RP.  I am doing some side work on Ardur, maybe a look into the average day of "po-po" so when the story drops I have a better feel for my character and his motivations.

[hider=Three weeks prior to the start of the RP: A job starts]

 

[center]Ardur tried to ready himself for what was coming for him, and he knew in his mind he was never going to be.  It was twelve thirty in the afternoon as a bright, sunlit sky illuminated the office portion of his apartment.  His apartment was originally like your standard Arcadia style two room set, with the main door being connected to a living area (in this case his office) that was also connected, via a hallway, to two separate rooms; one being his living area while the second is his bed room; though, he frequently gets the two mixed up at night.  His office was well kept with a regal but polished oak desk situated on the far side of the room just in front of a large, single pane, window that provided sufficient natural light for his office during the day time when he was open. His floor was clean and polished while the walls were adorned with both modern and reproduction classic art from the early two-thousan's on Earth. This “job” as he calls it is a simple one, people would go missing or they would have something priceless stolen from them and Ardur would consider helping them locate them.  Consider, a loose word, as he is very strict when it comes to the clientele that he chooses to serve.  His rules were simple, if either the client or the potential missing person belonged to a gang he would refuse them.  If either the client or the potential missing person was currently wanted for murder, rape, kidnapping as well as various other serious charges, he would not help them.  If both the client and the potential missing person was of good moral standing, but could not pay Ardur's fee, he would work the case for free if he felt he could complete it. 

Simple rules for a simple business.  Sure, Ardur was forced to constantly carry his pistol in his office just in case some unruly mobster got offended that he couldn’t hire him.   

Today wasn’t simple, however.  Today was scary.  The bright sky that illuminated his office had already caused a splitting headache to form in his hungover mind, and a distant pounding that drew closer every second did not help it’s cause.  To make matters even worse, he had misplaced his normal hangover cure, the “hang-OVER” pill that he takes every morning after yet another heavy night of drinking and was forced to use an older, cruder, hangover cure, the “Pain-Away Anti-Hangover Smoothie”.  It’s not just the taste that Ardur hated, though the fact that they had the audacity to label it a smoothie and not something more accurate like “tar” or “sewage water” for the sludge like consistency and taste that it had, he hated how long it took to work.  Already, fifteen minutes into the day and he still felt the throbbing pressure building in his head as thirst for more and more water plagued his mind like a rabid infestation of mice plagues a crop field.  This was problematic as his first client, a young lady whose brother went missing a few days prior, who mind you was scheduled to arrive at one-o'clock, had arrived thirty minutes early.   

She knocked on the door every..other...minute, each pound of what Ardur assumed was either pure muscle or a cybernetic implant pulled on a press that was growing tighter, and tighter, and tighter, around his brain before he was left with little option but to answer the door; or face the splitting migraine that was threatening to spiral out of control.  As Ardur threw the door open, he was brought face to face with the enclosed fist of his client, nearly finishing yet another crude knock on the door with her armored cybernetic implant.  The girl had, thankfully, stopped the momentum of her arm just inches in front of Ardur’s face. 

“[i][b]Can I help you[/b][/i],” Ardur asked coldly as he slowly shifted his eyes from the fist, to the young woman’s eyes.  Though she did not accept the eye contact, and shifted her gaze to the floor as her hands came together.   

“[i][b]Yes, I am your one o’clock apoint-[/b][/i]” She started. 

“[i][b]I know[/b][/i],” Ardur interrupted, “[i][b]how can I help you right no-*hiccup* right now?[/b][/i]” Ardur finished as he used his hand to shield his eyes from the somehow brighter lights of his apartment's hallway. 

“[i][b]I thought we could meet earlier, as my matter is very ur-[/b][/i]” She started. 

“[i][b]And my hours are how they are for a reason,[/b][/i]” Ardur paused, “[i][b]I’ll be ready here soon enough, take a seat right there,[/b][/i]” he said as he gestured to a simple wooden stool that sat right next to the door frame, “[i][b]and I’ll be ready for you when I am ready,[/b][/i]” he said as he quickly pulled himself back into the office and locked the door behind him.  He dealt with that a lot.  He walked slowly, and with a bit of a stutter step here and there, across the room and sat down at his desk.  He looked around and examined the familiar scene in front of him, and reflected on the glory days of his private investigator business. 

Once upon a time his office was open from eight in the morning until he decided to close down at night.  Simpler times, for a simpler Ardur.  While he was always a heavy drinker, the pills and his focus on doing a good job always helped him weather the storm in those early years.  He had clients lined up at the crack of dawn, hoping that he could be the savior that the Peacekeepers weren't.  While he was good at what he did, he refused more clients than he accepted, and those that he did accept were often enough not able to pay the bills.  After running behind on his rent for the third time in four months, and a threat of eviction, Ardur had to change his lifestyle for the better.  He did that by using his other skills by becoming a bounty hunter.  His method was simple, he would find a number of scum-bags wanted on a Dead or Alive bounty, and bag them at range and tag them with the PA-195's on-board camera system that was sufficient enough in the eyes of the peacekeepers.  Though that meant he had to stay out late.  That also meant he stayed up later drinking.  He quickly realized that even with the hangover cure, he was not very effective running on just a few hours' worth of sleep.  That’s why he opens later now.  He knows his weakness. 

And he knows when the hangover cure, as bad as it may be in comparison, starts to take hold.  The pained fangs of dehydration are gently soothed away by warm, angelic like, streams of chemicals and other overly-engineered means of curing a simple problem fast.  The intense weights placed on his minds are lifted, and thrown aside to allow normal mind functions to resume.  And most of all, his focus returned.  “[i][b]Cybernetic arm, seemed decades old and in a state of disrepair, grease and mud stains on hands, head and clothes,[/b][/i]” he paused his thought for a second, “[i][b]mechanic? Unlikely but a scavenger more so,[/b][/i]” he paused again as he let out a small chuckle, “[i][b]not getting if I accept this one,[/b][/i]” he whispered. 

That was alright for Ardur.  Last night he bagged a big bounty and had plenty of money to waste before he needed another one.[/center][/hider]