Collab With RedDusk [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/rAeleWp.jpg [/img][/center] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/RSa9tCb.jpg [/img][/center] After Valorie’s departure, Sander found himself back in his room, lying on the bed while his legs dangled from the edge. A small part of his barely functioning rational mind nagged at him about the mess in the basement, but he brushed it aside. He wasn’t sure he could stand to be in that place right now. Not when his thoughts were all tangled up into one great mess, and he began to wonder if a gunshot would fix that. Probably not. It would just end the day with brain leaking out of a hole on his head. It was not a desirable outcome. He groaned into his hands, finally came to the realization that he had come up here to mope. It would not do. So he closed his eyes and decided to take a nap instead. Oblivion would be welcomed, at least, for now. This mess could be dealt with later. Coward, said his thoughts. [color=lightblue]“Coward.”[/color]- He found himself echoing. Later that evening, Sander woke to his darkened office. Groggy from his untimely nap, he sat up, vaguely realizing he was in his chair, instead of his bed. It set off a few alarms in his head, but he brushed it off. Sleepwalking. He used to do that. Maybe the habit was just returning. A trip to the basement later, Sander had already finished tidying things up with Mr John Doe, but the man’s final words still haunted him. The deceased man mentioned Nichole in a manner that suggested they were lovers in life. Sander would have preferred to contact the next-of-kin, but in situations like these, this Nichole would do. He just had to find out who she was first, before sending the body bag over, since it sometimes conveyed the wrong message. Time to go digging through Marco’s contact list. It didn’t take long. Information brokers were quite common in this city, but not many of them managed to stay long in the business. At least, not that he knew of. They were all forced to retire one way or another. Hopefully, this guy hadn’t. He wrote the address on the back of his hand in thin, scratchy letters, grabbed his keys and wallet from a nearby bowl before leaving. The thought of calling in first crossed his mind, but he dropped it. He needed the fresh air anyway, might as well get out while he still could. It didn’t take long for him to find his way over to Gish’s place. Macro took him here a few times in the past, but he had never entered. The old man always told him to wait outside. The goblin was probably not a very nice person. Then again, what would he know? He had never met a goblin that was actually moving. The building loomed over him as he approached the door, but in truth, it was just your standard dump. After all, the people of Santa Somabra didn’t care much for architectural aesthetics. He knocked the door exactly three times, then stood back. ------- Gish sat at his workbench tinkering as he often did. Experimenting with different gun parts and cartridge loads just to see how much he could get away with without having the firearm become a small grenade. Different chambers, different barrels, different calibers, whatever happened to be scattered across his counters at the time would make for a new prototype. Today's creation was a small 12 gauge pistol. Gish had taken the barrel and trigger mechanism off an old shotgun, sawed it down so short that the shotgun shell poked out the end of the barrel and attached a small pistol grip. He thought it would make a nice last resort concealed weapon. The weapon seemed like an interesting concept, though some critical mistakes had been made. Gish decided to test his new creation and fire it dry with a spent casing in order to make sure the trigger mechanism was functioning. Only problem was Gish grabbed a loaded shell for his test. He slid the shell into the chamber and snapped the break action closed. Not expecting any recoil, he gripped the weapon loosely and tested it. *BANG* The weapon went off, peppering one of his kitchen cabinets and sending the weapon flying out of his hand. Outside dogs could be heard barking as Gish went into a fury shouting and cursing, his fingers stung from the lit powder that had been blasted all over his hands. As far as his neighbors were concerned he was a metal fabricator, he hoped they would be accustomed to loud noises here and there from his suite. That being said the sound of a gunshot was about as common as a barking dog in this part of the city. People usually only became concerned when yelling and screaming followed the sound of gunfire. Once his flesh and jacket stopped sizzling Gish had himself a discarded cigar. He often took to ashtray mining during his walk through the city. He much preferred cigars to cigarettes, packed more of punch for him and had more taste to them. It was his lucky day too, as this cigar had only been half finished. After a few drags he heard 3 deliberate knocks from the back door of the kitchen that went out into the alley. That was the usual entrance for people who wanted to conduct "business" but he wasn't expecting anyone. It couldn't be the cops or neighbors, they would have used the front door. Gish stood up straight on his stool and gripped his workbench with both hands, ready to duck at a moments notice. [color=green]"Entah!"[/color] He groaned, cigar pinched between his knife like teeth. ------ The gruff voice was muffed somewhat by the door, but it beckoned him inside, or so he believed. The door was indeed not locked, and he closed it behind him after entering. A few more steps and he was standing before Gish, the proprietor of this little ‘shop’. [color=lightblue]“Good evening, Mr Gish.”[/color]- He said evenly, all while eyeing the work table behind the goblin, gaze lingered on the modified weapon. He brought his handgun, of course. Walking around unarmed in this city was akin to going in public without pants on: both socially inappropriate and likely to land you in trouble. After a short pause, he continued, choosing to skip straight to business. He didn’t want to stay here for longer than strictly necessary. Something here rubbed him the wrong way; for a moment there, he thought he saw black smoke again.-[color=lightblue]“I believe you can help me find a friend?”[/color] ----- Gish had one quick look at the guy standing in his kitchen and let out a quite sigh of relief. The kid didn't look like a heavy hitter there to cave his head in, hardly even fit the part of a wannabe gang-banger type. As odd as Gish's first impressions of the man were, the 'direct to business' tone in his voice were money to his ears. [color=green]"Mistah Gish eh?"[/color] he hissed [color=green]"Now I haven't been addressed like that since my time in the homeland."[/color] He took a drag from his ash stained cigar and relaxed a bit [color=green]"Ooh is this friend you're looking for then son?" [/color] ------ [color=lightblue]“Her name is Nichole.”[/color]- Sander said, his shoulders slightly lifted in a shrug. After a moment, he added his own speculation-[color=lightblue]“Also might have a boyfriend, tall guy, about six feet, caucasian. But before you tell me, how much?”[/color] This felt like a long shot to him; however Sander decided to take it anyway. Poking around was not a healthy hobby in Santa Somabra, but as long as he didn’t do it for too long, he would be fine. After all, he couldn’t let John Doe rot in his basement. Might as well find an address to send him to. If all else failed, there were always the acid vats. ----- Gish's eyes narrowed and teeth clamped down so hard on his cigar that he nearly shredded it. Only one person comes to his mind when he hears the name Nichole, and every time he thought of her he got a little more disgusted with every recollection. Gish gave a hard glare at Sander and sized him up. He could see neither ire nor vengeance in his eyes. Could this guy be curious about her? Sander didn't look eager or nervous enough for that. All the more reason to question why he would seek her out. His bargaining tone left much to be desired so he couldn't be any sort of professional hired out on a contract to kill her. Gish simply couldn't plant a motive as to why he would seek Nichole. Gish took a long drag from his cigar and spoke in a low, serious voice. [color=green]"Alright son. I'm betting you're not here to find some mate that went missing from a stomp out at a pub. You'd not come in ere' and ask me bout' someone less they'd be known in the underground."[/color] He flicked the end of his cigar and felt himself die a little inside thinking about the next few sentences he would utter. [color=green]"I'll give this one to ya on the house son, cos' there's only one Nichole to know about in the underground and that's Nichole Vielsiti."[/color] Gish took another look at Sander. He could tell all this was news to him, all the more reason to ask questions as to the why. However, Gish knew he didn't need to know why, it wouldn't change anything and there was no coin to be made shaking him down as to why he wanted her. [color=green]"She's a vampire, a damn sick one at that. People tell stories about her, and how she lures men and women into a sense of trust with her only to kill em', rob em', and worst of all eat em'. Apparently some nobs say she's part of a cult called the Mieamangeur, an independent group of vampires that eat people. I used to ask around if she was in with the Nyctari or Nyte Kings but from what I hear the cult is sovereign from em'. Nasty bit of work she is, can't say I know where to find her sadly."[/color] Gish tapped out the reminder of his cigar of the workbench and gave a small grin to Sander. [color=green]"I heard she's not fond of the way Goblins taste lucky for me."[/color] He let out a quick laugh and smacked his hand on the workbench. Metal parts and pieces chimed with the impact.