[center][h1][color=8882be]Ashley Gallagher[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][h2][color=8882be]8:22 AM - Club Carousel[/color][/h2][/center]

Ashley strolled up to the base of the club, his true destination being the dingy apartment complex perched above it like a scraggly old bird. He took a long drag from his cigarette as he waited for Smith to catch up, eyes scanning the doors of the club with a newfound intensity as if he could somehow make out red lips and green eyes from behind the red curtains. He mulled briefly over the sudden idea that perhaps the body he was called to investigate was hers— left there by an angry employer after hearing of her day trip to the Police Station. He didn’t have long to ponder this however, for a flurry of Smith flew by him at a brisk pace. “Stop dallying, Gallagher and let’s get in there before the vultures show up.”

Ah, [i]vultures[/i], Ashley Gallagher's personal favorite passtime. Why? Because there was something so satisfying about having the power of knowledge over information-hungry fiends that he simply couldn't live without. Nonetheless the scene would be significantly easier to investigate if it were lacking the crowd and unbearable noise of reporters. He pressed his cigarette into the pavement with the toe of his shoe before entering the club.
	
It was somehow lifeless, in the daytime. Like a hollow shell of its potential. It was not daylight that brought it to life and health, but the thick light of carelessness and neon that it had grown so accustomed to. Seeing the dust particles flutter through the golden glow filtering in through the windows disturbed Ashley in a way he couldn't really explain. Perhaps it was the essence of normal. The idea that something so fantastical yet poisonous was essentially the same as his own damn apartment when the light of day touched it. An implication that no matter how full of vibrant life something can be, it has the potential to be just as limp and dead.

And there she was.

A smudge of charcoal against an empty crimson backdrop, wrapped in a thick black coat and a distant expression. Emerald was seated across the room, at the uninhabited bar, the only other soul in the cavernous club. She met his eyes for a moment the flickering of a smile teasing the corner of her lips, but it was fleeting and died almost as quickly as it began. She swept her gaze over the two of them, but made no move to otherwise acknowledge their presence. Ashley wondered briefly why she hadn't been removed from the building by authorities, but let the thought slide away as their brief dalliance of eyes came to an end and he started up the stairs.

Crime scenes were always the same for him. Slow. Muddled. Yet oddly focused. Time seemed to move at the pace of molasses around him, voices and present distractions mixing into a general, bubbling white noise like sounds through water. It was the details, the small ones that could take him back to the moment of violence, that stuck to him like gum to a shoe. Peeling wallpaper patterns, the broken lamp with a dark shade, a misplaced, heeled shoe.

Time caught up with him in a sudden impacting wave as his eyes fell upon the obviously distressed girl. Ashley caught Smith’s shoulder with a palm. “You take a look at the bodies, I’ll talk to the girl.” He nodded in her general direction before moving towards her, careful to keep his stature smooth and unthreatening. It was a moment before he spoke, filled with the familiar sounds of a notepad slipping open and pencil-tip meeting paper. “Hello Miss, I’m Detective Gallagher,” He paused, giving her an extended moment to take this information in. “What can you tell me about what took place here last night?”