StormWolf

Task Force: Sentinel - Occult Covert Operations

Last week was a slog, but in the next day or so I'm looking to get this up and running :)

High Castles, Ivory Towers

When Jacqueline ducked into the alleyway, Ben kept on walking a few paces, snuffing his cigarette and slipping a nickel into a newspaper stand. The fresh press was the same crock of shit that Ben had come to expect from propagandist media - everything is fine, nothing has been better than they are now under your glorious leadership. Turning the brim of his hat to the sun, Ben leafed through the paper absently. Just another John waiting in the heat for his commute.

Seeing movement from the alley in his peripheral vision, Ben tracked his mark, now in one one of those wide-brimmed sun hats that the European women so enjoyed. It was only natural, Ben suspected, for the wife of a kraut politician to dress like she belonged on the other side of the pond. Everyone who was anyone going anywhere dressed the way the cultural committee wanted. What Ben found peculiar was that she was traveling alone. Ben would have expected attaches and hangers-on stretching all the way to San Fransisco, but here Jacqueline was, running solo through the streets of Los Angeles.

"Curiouser and curiouser, Missus Schultz," Ben muttered to himself, watching her hop on the street car. Folding his paper and tucking it under his arm, Ben crossed the street with the next gaggle of pedestrians to return to his car. He was in no particular rush. Cable cars could only follow their particular routes at their strictly mandated speeds. Everything had to run on time, all part of the 'grand machine'. Pulling out from his parking spot on the curb, Ben cruised at a casual speed as he followed the rails.

It wasn't long until he was a few car lengths away from the same cab that Jacqueline has hopped on, so generously numbered and labeled. Eyes pinched against the glare of the sun, Ben continuously searched for the ostentatious hat that Jacqueline had hidden herself under. It was somewhat brilliant, he had to admit. So overt, it was covert.

Tailing a mark was inglorious, but such was the job. Ben followed the line for as long as his mark was aboard. When they came to stop at an intersection, Ben snapped a picture of the trolley, sure to frame the numerical designation and the destination of the line. He could see her hat in the viewfinder of the camera like the pale bloom of an edelweiss.

High Castles, Ivory Towers

The stormy tirade drew more than just Ben's attention as the portly man scurried after the dame like a pug looking for a handout. A hush of whispers and muttering bemusement drifted through the heated California air, loud enough to mask the click of a camera's shutter. Ratcheting the lever, Ben snapped another, and another; a slideshow of Mrs. Schultz's ire and discontent.

Jackpot, Ben thought with the faintest smirk of self-satisfaction. Easy money for the books. Tilting his head to watch the woman move and lend an ear to the conversation between Jacqueline and the writer. It was no small wonder that she got into films. She was a looker and then some, putting the pin-up gals his fellow soldiers ogled on the long boat ride to Italy to complete shame. She was art in motion and living color, all pale skin, bright eyes, red lips, and hair like dark silk.

And killer gams... Ben thought, appreciating the woman's shapely legs as she stormed back into her trailer for a moment. Ben took a gander at another photo of the trailer, snapping the number. Deftly slipping his camera back into his jacket, Ben polished off the last fingerling sandwich on his plate as he crossed the warehouse plaza and avenue just as the surly starlet was making her exit. Keeping his hat low, Ben kept pace in a casual stride, letting his long legs make up the difference at first, but quickened as the crowd failed to pay the same deference to Ben's bulk as they did to Jacqueline's sheer force of presence.

As he moved, Ben catalogued the information he gleaned from the spat between talents. Jacqueline was just as concerned with the paparazzi as her husband, fiery enough to stick up to the writers and directors of the studio in her first picture. A kraut-fable, no less. At least it wasn't some post-war propaganda. From the sound of things, Ben didn't presume that Mr. and Mrs. Schultz spoke much about their day jobs over dinner, but if the writer, Jerry, was any indication, this wasn't the first time that the esteemed Mrs. Schultz raised some cane over the production. The gal was smart and knew what she was worth to the studio, and shrewd enough to put pressure where it counted.

Ben found himself smirking, a dimple flashing at his cheek as he followed the steady staccato of the starlet's heels. Now all he had to do was tail the broad and see what her haunts were outside of work. There was no evidence or indication of on-set indiscretion, but Mrs. Schultz was an actress. If she wanted to, she could slip on a different demeanor like a shawl if she wanted to. Mr. Schultz, the luck bastard, wouldn't be satisfied unless Ben dotted every "i" and crossed every "t" in his investigation. As it stood, this was quite a haul for a first day of work.

Keeping several paces behind, Ben followed Jacqueline out of the exit, tipping his hat to the gate guard before snapping off the badge and slipping it into his pocket. Ben paused for a moment, shaking out a cigarette from his case and lighting up with a flick of his lighter. It allowed him to keep eyes on his mark and put some distance, just in case she got wise to her tail. A cool breeze from the Pacific brushed against Ben's cheek lazily, as if ushering him on in the wake of the starlet. Taking a long drag, the pale smoke curled along ahead of Ben as he resumed the casual chase.

High Castles, Ivory Towers

Being so removed from his element, it took a deliberate effort of will for Ben to not stick out like a sore thumb. Existing on the outside of such environs, there was a mystique that surrounded movies - a magic. It was perhaps a comfort for a salt-of-the-earth man like Ben to see an average, blue-collar working man lighting up a smoke in spite of the Reich's disapproval. Leave it to Fritz to tell you what to do, what to think, and what to feel with every step you took.

The handy-looking man seemed as disinterested in Ben as he was disdainful for what was probably "another yahoo" doing whatever it was they did. As he meandered, Ben couldn't help his inherent curiosity in passing enclosed set within the warehouse. He couldn't see much - the back-end of some grandiose set piece, and a perturbed looking technician shooed Ben away with his clipboard. Doing his best to look meek, Ben grimaced and mouthed a "sorry" before moving on. He hadn't seen his mark on set, limited as his view was.

Continuing in a purposeful pace, Ben kept a count of his steps and the route he took from the entrance. A habit he developed in forming a sort of mental map of "unfamiliar enemy territory." The disrepair of the Colored facilities wasn't lost on Ben. Inglewood was getting cleaned up, which meant that the Reich was driving out whomever they considered undesirable. It was the way of the world, now. Ben shrugged to ease out a sudden knot of tension that twisted between his shoulder blades when he found the trailers, all set up like little aircraft, and Ben's pulse quickened.

Bingo, he thought, eyes pinching against the glare of the California sun off the aluminum fuselages of the trailers. Reaching into his coat pocket, Ben ratcheted the lever of the little Nikon, priming it to snap his first shot. Mingling with this sort of crowd was never easy for Ben, or any sort of crowd. Given his size, stature, and overall bearing, he was pretty easy to pick out. During the war, it was always the damned buzz-saws that swept his way first. The Jerries didn't like a giant with a gun anymore than the Italians did.

The smell of fresh food, the sort that was made on the spot and far too rich for Ben's blood, drifted to his nose and made his stomach grumble fiercely. What the hell, he figured. As long as I'm here, I might as well be comfortable. It was mostly finger food, cocktail party stuffings, but far fancier than Ben had ever experienced. Then again, a handful of peanuts or a street dog didn't exactly set the bar high. Even the napkins were nice. Piling a tiny plate with a sampling of everything he could fit, earning a glare from one of the cook staff in the process, Ben continued to aimlessly wander, at least that's how he looked. Drifting like an autumn leaf between pockets of stars, staff, and busybodies, Ben found a spot in the shade to lean against a warehouse wall. The little Nikon was hidden beneath the plate of food, partially veiled by his napkin.

It wasn't exactly a sniper's nest, but it was the best he could do under the present circumstances. Eyeballing the trailers again, he scanned for Jacqueline's name, or her smile, over the swirling crowd.

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk RP)

Color me interested!

High Castles, Ivory Towers

You would know all about carrion-eaters and blood-suckers, wouldn't you? Ben thought with another wayward twitch of his eye as he watched those knobby knuckles venture into the folds of his Boss jacket. Instinct roiled inside of Ben, rousing a pinch of tension between his broad shoulders. Instead of a gun, a knife, or another bottle of pills, Schultz procured a photo. Ben had expected a picture in a wallet or a locket, not this. It was overly-professional and eerily banal for what Ben normally encountered in his line of work.

Taking the photo, Ben studied the woman - Jacqueline - for a long moment with the faintest furrow of his brow. Photo grain did no favors for anyone's looks, but the dame's brilliant smile still shone through. Young, beautiful, and full of life, by the look of her. Te kind of gal who could brighten a room. And married to a fellow old enough to be her father, Ben reminded himself.

His hard blue eyes saw the play of noon-day light over the photograph, noting the faint impressions on the other side. Turning the polaroid in hand, Ben scribbled a few more notes. It was something he'd discovered in is grade-school days; Ben had a mind like a steel trap once he wrote something down. As soon as he scribbled it somewhere, even if he never saw the note again, he'd remember every detail.

"You've given me a lead, Mr. Schultz. That's enough," Ben said, slipping the photo into the pages of his notebook before regarding the older kraut in a long span of silence. Of course, the man had to drive the nail home and flex his wealth and the depth of his resources. When Schultz leafed two bills casually onto the desk, Ben's mouth quirked as he started to say something, but the kraut was already leaving. Ben had said the consultation was free, but when money was of no consequence, a display of theater was worth more than the money itself.

Ben waited for the door to shut and to hear Schultz's hobbling step descend the stairs before burying his face in his hands. Stubble rasped against Ben's rough palms. The photo of the dame peeked at him from the pages of Ben's notebook, taunting, daring him to pick up the money, and by extension accept the job. After a deep breath and a moment's contemplation, Ben took the crisp bills and shuffled them into his pocketbook.

"After lunch..." Ben muttered to himself, and drained his glass.

* * *

Parked across the street from the Glamor Hawk lot, Ben surveyed the property and the milling busybodies coming hither and thither, flocking like tropical birds. After a solid meal and a chance to freshen up on the kraut's dime, Ben felt fresh as a spring sprig. Dressed in one of his nicer light grey suits, Ben fanned himself with his stetson fedora while he cased the joint. The paparazzi was already out in force, drawn like flies to stink. Was Ben any better, though?

With that chipper thought, he drained the last of his coca-cola and snatched up his little Nikon camera. In the years since the war, the dinky little thing had gotten more use than Ben's pistol or his Ford. Such were the times. The car door groaned as Ben stepped onto the sidewalk, settling his hat onto his head and his camera into his coat pocket. The Glamor Hawk could pass for a military compound if not for all the glitz and glam. A tall gate flanked by walls and hedges, designed to keep prying and predatory eyes at bay. They couldn't make it easy on me, could they? No siree, Ben grumbled inwardly as he casually tread the sidewalk, counting his steps as a means to measure the length of wall.

Traffic paused as pedestrians crossed the intersection like milling ants. Ben could probably make it if he ran, but discretion was the finer point of valor in the preliminary leg of the investigation. Haste always made waste. Fifty feet of wall on either side, single guard at the gatehouse... Ben's eagle-keen eyes darted from detain to detail, drinking it all in, looking for a weak point in the Hawk's perimeter. His attention had been consumed, drawn to a pinpoint when he suddenly felt a crash against his chest,

"Hey! You stupid mook, look where you're going!"

Snapping his attention to the sidewalk, Ben's expression fluttered from terse to apologetic as he saw a short, round man throw up his hands in fury at the handful of office material that had just been dumped on the sidewalk. Ben hissed and breath,

"Sorry about that, mack. Here, allow me," Ben took a knee to shuffle the papers together as neatly as he could. Blocks of typewriter scratch were red-lined and blacked out, notations for revisions on scenes and dialogue. A script...? Ben thought, then eyed his golden ticket. Amid the papers and folders, there was a laminate Glamor Hawk Staff badge.

Haste makes waste, indeed, Ben thought to himself, compiling all of the surly little fellow's materials together, deftly slipping the badge from the bottom of the pile up his sleeve.

"I'm real sorry about that, mister," Ben said, laying on the drawl. The red-faced writer sneered and snatched the stack of his work back.

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for nothin', Huckleberry. Stupid fuckin' hick." Ben just tipped his hat to the fellow as he stormed off, smirking softly. City of Angels, indeed. Waiting to be in the crowd that meandered across the cross-walk next, Ben clipped on the staff badge, and hoped. He tipped his hat to the gate guard, who gave no further regard than a cursory glance to the badge before nodding Ben in before returning to his crossword. Tucking his hat back down, Ben made the most of his long stride to cover ground in the busy lot. Now that he was inside, Ben just needed to move from building to building, looking for one dame among the rest. Keeping in mind that stellar smile, he imagined it wouldn't be too hard.

Task Force: Sentinel - Occult Covert Operations

@Klumsykrow357PM away!

Task Force: Sentinel - Occult Covert Operations

<Snipped quote by StormWolf>

!!!

_{runs to have the first non-dm character in characters tab}

@WaywardK

I definitely didn't hear the MGS alert reading that. Nnnnnope! :P

High Castles, Ivory Towers

The office door squeaked as it opened, a fine start to what was surely going to be a stellar first impression. Whatever Ben had suspected would be coming through his door, the sharply-dressed and world-renowned Ludwig Schultz came in right after 'little green men from the moon'. The picture Ben still held in his head came from his Army days, which aged far better than the weary kraut did. If it wasn't for the knowledge of just who and what the man was, he had an almost uncle-like demeanor. Ben regarded the man silently as he hobbled over to the desk, taking in every detail. He would be a terrible investigator if he didn't notice the bum leg, and a brief bubbling of something dark within Ben Carter's core had his finger caress the slide of his heater.

Only a kraut would have the audacity to insult a man in his own office, Ben thought bitterly. Ben met the older man's dangerous gaze with one of his own, a faint twitch pinching the scar on Ben's cheek; courtesy of a Kraut rifle butt. Swallowing his bile as well as his pride, Ben gestured to the seat across from him, hand drifting from the pistol in the drawer to a notepad. Leafing to a clear page, Ben snatched a fountain pen from the catch-all tray on his stationary.

"All of my energy goes into my work, Mr. Schultz. The appearances are that of a dedicated professional who simply can't afford a maid," Ben said tightly, putting on his best professional guise and mustering a tight-lipped smile. Ben, unlike the woman now in question, was no actor. His smile had all the appeal of a tiger's. Still, Ben firm hand made the nib of his pen dance across the notepad in his own messy shorthand.

For the most part, Ben remained silent as the aged German explained his desires for a case. Not so much out of professionalism as out of propriety. The wrong word would see this prize catch out of his reach. Kraut War-Hero-Politician money spent as well as the rest, and rent was overdue. Schultz's liberty with price was noted with two giant dollar signs in Ben's notes, as if he'd need reminding.

"You wouldn't be the first man run afoul by the Hollywood tabloids, Mr. Schultz. It's where journalism goes to die, so naturally they're all vultures," Ben drawled in a steady pace, every word as gentle as a New York slugger upside the head.

"I charge five dollars an hour, plus expenses, though this first consultation is free of charge," Ben said, hating himself for being so goddamned honest. "Though my average rates don't generally presume that I'm racing against the likes of Hearst. Do you know the name of the studio that Mrs. Schultz has signed on with, sir? The more candid you are with me now, the less I'll have to dig on the clock. It'll save me time, and you your money." It almost hurt to say, but it was that integrity that kept Ben apart from the krauts, wasn't it?

"A photo and her projected itinerary too, if it isn't too much trouble..." Ben finished, his pen making and audible thud of punctuation before knitting his calloused fingers together atop his desk.

Task Force: Sentinel - Occult Covert Operations

@WaywardK@The Harbinger of Ferocity

Combing through your characters, I think they're both ready and welcome for the character tab. I'm already interested to see how the characters will mesh and conflict.

Once we've got a solid spread, I'll poke everyone about making character bonds :)