Everyone in life comes across a common feeling no matter how careful they might be. Asking for help or aid was already hard enough for people who had too much pride or anxiety so bad that they would rather suffer alone than reach a hand out for others. But if the party they were asking for help from was someone they wronged or felt wronged by? It made things simply impossible for all but the thick-skinned or the desperate. But for most, it probably felt like returning with their tails tucked between their legs.
'It's gotta be worse than that.'
Albert thought, shame welling itself up to the surface like a bubbling cauldron. He honestly wouldn't be shocked if his face as a red as a tomato at that moment, maybe it even grew brighter as his destination came into view. That same goofy door that looked completely out of place surrounded by abandoned buildings had an incredibly fragile appearance about them. Frankly, it reminded him of those old live action kid's show with puppets and extremely colorful designs to attract their energetic minds.
'Enough of that, you're stalling.'
He knew that clearly, his hand rising and falling back to his side as thoughts tried their damnedest to distract or dissuade him from what needed to be done. What he'd been doing had been completely unprofessional and fully expected a full dress-down from his client, it was like running off with their money without showing any results. Or in simpler terms, it made him a thief. And thieves at the end of the day, couldn't be trusted.
And he was no thief, that aspect of himself had been thoroughly beaten out of him after a particular event as a child. Look at what history did to thieves; hands cut off, flogged, fined or even hanged if they got on the wrong nobles' bad side.
"How long are you going to stand out there?" Snapping his eyes back up, he locked gazes with a pair of eyes looking at him through a small rectangular slot. Eyes enlarged to multiple times the size of any normal human through the use of goggles with a single crack running through one of the lenses. They didn't hold anything close to judgment but honestly..they more looked annoyed than anything else. "If you're not going to knock then go away, you're causing the sensors to distract me. Do you know how difficult it is to concentrate when you have something beeping constantly in your ear?"
In stark contrast to the rather cool and uncaring attitude from before than reminded him heavily of Ivy, Dillon sounded a lot more animated. Her voice not even trying to hide the clear irritation that oozed into every word she spoke.
His eyes darted to the side, seeking the sensors that could track his movements only to come up empty. The door was designed with a multitude of strange attachments that matched its rather cartoon-ish nature, handles and lights with notches and switches that probably each had their own function he had no idea of. If there was a visibly sensor anywhere, it was probably hidden among the chaos.
"I came to speak to Olivia, is she home?"
There were a few moments of silence as those bulbous eyes just looked at him before the slot slid shut with an audible click. At first, he feared the worse. If his client was just done with him after all the dodging he did then it wouldn't be all bad. He hadn't sunk in a lot of resources in this case and it would be a good chance to see what happened if a Case was failed. It was better for him to get dropped now than later when he was deep in the trenches.
A series of sliding metal could be heard from the other side, running down from his height and falling all the way down to his feet. Chains rattled, metal scrapped against each-other and even what sounded like a few cords were pulled. After what felt like an hour, the door opened inward on an a skewed axis and in the middle of the door frame stood a figure a tad bit shorter than he was.
They were what looked to be a heavy dark gray overcoat covered in light layers of some sort of metallic dust, baggy jeans that covered over a pair of steel toed boots he knew were several sizes too large for her. Along side that, she wore a single black glove that went up her arm and over the overly large sleeves with the other glove laying discarded on the floor nearby. And to top it all off, on the top of her head laid an old and beat up slab of metal with what looked like a thin window of shielded glass. Short cropped black hair was practically glued to her skull from the mixture of grease and sweat.
"Come in." Dillon waved him in with an un-gloved hand covered in a few band-aids. "She's been in a bad mood, hopefully you have some good news. I'm tired of hearing her rant."
"Sorry." He couldn't help it, that guilt had always been there. First forming the moment he found out exactly what Malcolm had been doing but growing with every ducked phone call. This wasn't how he wanted to run his agency, it made him look like a fraudster.
"You don't need to apologize to me." But despite that, from how her stance eased a bit it had some positive effect. "You know where she is...good luck."
With that, the pre-teen closed the door behind him and just like that, all the locks snapped right back in place. A massive battery on the interior blinked once and all he could hear was the sound of servos spinning. She, not even waiting to see the rather impressive sight, made her way back to nearby room.
From his position, he could barely catch a glimpse of what exactly was going in on in that room before the door was slammed closed. On a table, what looked like a strange frame covered in wires, springs and odd canisters running along its side. Whatever it was, from the heavy rings around her eyes, it must've taken a good few sleepless nights of her time.
'It's none of my business.'
Shaking his head, he filed away that little oddity and begun his journey down the dark hallway. It didn't take long for him to pick up on low music coming in from one particular room, it sounded like something even grandparents would find too old school for them. There was a slight warble to the music, not something intentional if the way it completely overshadowed the rather upbeat lyrics.
Now right up on the door, Albert took in a steady breathe and knocked three times on the wooden entrance way.
"It better not be you Dillon." The voice was low and even had a bit of a bite too it, like a snake bearing it's fangs to the careless tourist. "I don't want to hear anything about my music, especially not with all that racket!"
"It's Albert..the private investigator?"
The silence that followed his pronouncement was almost similar to the awkward pause one had when speaking to a crowd of strangers. His lungs constrained as skin began to warm to the touch, and he was sure if there was a mirror nearby, he would be nearly red in the face. There was no reason to add that last bit at the end, his voice alone was enough to know who he was. He'd suspected the number of people even allowed to step into their abode could be counted on a single hand and still have room to spare.
"…" There was frantic movement heard from within, the sound of ruffling cloth and the ear piercing shriek of metal against metal ran havoc on his eardrums even through the thin wooden door. After what felt like an eternity, she spoke up once more. "Come in."
Pushing open the door, the sight before him painted an entirely different picture that the girl was desperately trying to paint. There she sat in that same plastic chair wearing a bright red narrow brimmed hat that did wonders to shade her eyes under it's embrace, a loose dress covered in pins and bits of loose thread laying over a simple pair of sweat pants and a black t-shirt. Surrounding her were large balls of thread or yarn, some unspoiled and still rolling across the floor.
From out of the corner of his eye, he saw a new unorganized stack of designs that somewhat coincide with what she was wearing now. A sleeveless, sleek black dress with a low hanging color and ending at about halfway down the calf. Honestly, as someone who knew nothing of fashion, he thought it looked like a pretty accurate design for the time ecstatic she seemed to be obsessed with.
"You've got a heap of gall returning to this joint." That same airy tone with a bite like the sharp breeze on the eve of blizzard, her words clipped and coming out fast like time was money that he was wasting. "What d'ye fancy after skedaddling off with my dosh?"
It was like he'd been flung back into the early 19th century, where conversations were quick and to the point. Like everyone was a radio host competing with whoever could spew out the most in the shortest amount of time. Her speech hadn't been so hard to understand before, but maybe that was just her annoyance coming in.
"I have come with news."
"Well?" Olivia waved her hand imperiously his way, inky pools staring a hole right through him. "Don't let me stop ya."
"After following Malcolm for awhile, I can safely say that he is not going out to meet with any girls. You can put your worries to rest."
He knew that single sentence wouldn't be enough to sate her curiosity, espeically not after leaving her in the dark for so long.
"…" It seemed he did in-fact possess some form of prophetic visions. "'s that it? There's gotta be more...less ya tryin' ta pull da wool over mah peepers?"
"I'm not trying to trick you or anything like that..and honestly, from what I could tell women seemed to be the last thing on his mind. I don't think the guy has the energy for it."
"Oh…" Her shoulders slumped in a mixture of what looked like relief and..guilt? If anyone would know exactly how exhausted Malcolm was, it would probably be her and Dillon with no real competition. From what he told Albert, anything less than a twelve hour shift was out of the norm. And with a lot of that being back breaking labor as well? Yeah, they probably both saw him home drained despite his effort to hide it and it was likely that he could barely get some food in his belly before passing out somewhere until the crack of dawn to do it all over again. "Then...what is he doing when he leaves out of here?...I sure hope he isn't going back out there to work.."
It seemed that mask she put up was finally slipping away and for the first time since coming into this room, he didn't need a moment just to process the words she spewed out with the same speed as a run away machine gun. The lack of slang from a century ago also helped.
The tanned girl looked small in that moment, her shoulders hunching in on herself as she awaited his answer to her fears.
"He's going out to earn more money." It was the truth, the man literally got off a twelve hour shift and went out late at night just to earn more money. And from how she only further curled in on herself, it didn't look like she was going to ask anymore questions. If anything, that frosty mask had slipped away and was replaced by genuine sorrow. Sorrow for a loved one practically killing themselves to make sure they would have a better life. A helpless rage that had no real outlet, there really wasn't a thing she could do about it given her age.
Looking at her, he couldn't help but feel some levels of guilt. He wish he could tell her everything, to gather an ally to turn Malcolm away from the death trap that was The Circuit..but at the end of the day, it wasn't his secret to tell. He'd gotten greedy in the moment and now this was his just rewards. It honestly made him feel slimy, like a used car salesman after selling an absolute lemon to some schmuck.
"Well…" Olivia, with her held still drooped, motioned to the door. Eyes not rising to meet his as she dismissed. "I can see why you were hesitant to tell me this...it's not the best news and honestly, I would've preferred him going out to meet some hu-nevermind, that would've bad as well. But..thank you for all your work, as you can see I am unable to pay you anything unless you want my jar of coins. I would feel bad about it, but you did kinda dodge me."
[Case Closed: No Good Men!
Requirements: Follow and make sure Olivia's 'man' isn't going behind her back to meet up with floozies!
Difficulty: F
Reward: 1 IP]
Normally, a client refusing to pay would earn them a big red mark on their files making it impossible for them to hire him for another job but this was different. It wasn't that she wouldn't pay, she just didn't have anything substantial to pay him and he certainly wasn't going to snatch someone's make-shift piggy bank. With the funds from his weekly readings, he could afford to do a job or two without expecting payment.
But, there was something she could do for him that would not only help him but also provide an opportunity to help herself as well.
"Before I go," It was an incredibly shameless thing to do but he really didn't have a choice. Sure, he was sure Madame Clements probably had someone under her that could help him but he didn't want to rely solely on her. Their relationship might not always be as it was now and it certainly wouldn't help things if he couldn't do anything on his own. Besides, networking was the name of the game. "I have a favor to ask you."
"I'll lend an ear but I'll tell you now, I'm carrying a torch for Malcolm."
"...Okay?" Albert wasn't even going to try and figure what she meant by that, just having her listen to his proposal was more than half the battle. "I got invited as a plus one to a get together with some of the city's most prominent people's children. But as you can see, I do not have a tailored suit. I could go get a ready to wear suit but I believe it would be pretty obvious."
"They'd razz you right out of their swanky big house."
"They would," If security didn't get to him first, plus one or not if some heir got offended by his poor clothing then he would be on a one way trip back out to the curb. "So that's why I want to ask you to help me...I'm not asking you to make me a suit but tailoring it would make things somewhat better...And if you wanted to add anything like a flare or insignia, I wouldn't argue. I would pay you, of course but if you had a name you wanted to go by or a business card I could pass it around there if anyone asks."
The Roaring Twenties might not had been the most kind for Americans everywhere, especially since it was the lead up to The Great Depression, but if there was one thing most people could agree on it was how ascetically pleasing the fashion was. In fact, a lot of the clothing back then probably wouldn't look out of place in the modern era.
"Whose your date?"
She sounded somewhat interested, but it seemed like it could go either way.
"Barbara Gordon." He kinda felt the need to continue. "It's not a real date, I think she's just doing it-"
"Barbara Gordon." Her voice was just as flat as her expression as she looked at him. "Baloney! Do you think I'm some kinda patsy? If ya do, sneak!"
"I'm serious." There wasn't a lot he could do to prove the truth. He had no pictures of them together or really anything to show that the two might have a connection...but there was a way. "Here, I'll call her."
With that, he shook out his phone and scrolled down his admittedly short contacts list and pressed the call button. But not before putting it on speaker. That ringing began. Once, her expression was a mixture of disbelief and interest. Twice, that look of interest fell away and was replaced entirely by annoyance. Thrice, his own face grew a bit flushed as he felt like he got caught with his pants down. Fourth, the girl looked ready to kick him out for wasting her time and just as she opened her mouth to give him what he suspected would be a barely understood tongue lashing, an audible click could be heard.
"Hello?"
In that moment, the teen nearly wanted to fall to his knees in relief. How believable would his statement be if his said 'date' wouldn't pick up the phone, even if she had been busy and called him back later it wouldn't have helped any. What was going to do, run back here to prove he was in fact telling the truth?
"Hey, it's Albert."
"Oh hey! What's up? Are you calling to tell me you're ditching me?"
Glancing over at the girl, he expected her to look on with shock or really anything to point to her believing him. But what he saw was a bored expression on his face before he realized the problem, most people knew Barbara's appearance but the number of people who knew what she actually sounded like was quite limited. Hell, no reporter had dared coming after her for an interview without fearing her father's wrath coming down on them.
So from his ex-client's point of view, it was like he was trying to pass off talking to a random person in his phone as the newly crowned princess of Gotham.
"No, I'm calling to check to see what time and date the party is." His mind scrambled as he tried to find some way to prove himself true, a multitude of plans came and went. Video chatting wasn't a thing yet, having her meet him somewhere nearby sounded like a particular bad idea. What was he going to say, please follow me to some undisclosed place so that he could prove his words true? It would sound like he was preparing to kidnap them or something. "Also, how are you doing?"
Willow did say he came across a bit brusk, like it was a chore for him to at least attempt at niceties. So he felt it was a good first step to add that last bit on the end.
"I'm doing good, just got done picking out my dress." Straining his ears a bit, he could hear her shoes slap against the old asphalt. "Well..More like I got fitted for it, they said they'll drop it off when it's ready. I'll be by your place next Friday at around eight at night. But with that said, have you gotten your suit together? I don't have a lot but I can probably split it's cost with you."
"No, I think I'm good but thank you though." He could tell he was losing his potential tailor, her gaze looking off into the distance as though this conversation wasn't even the least bit interesting. Suddenly, both a rather brilliant and idiotic idea came to mind. "Actually, could you do me a favor? I think it would good for you coordinate with my tailor, I don't really know the first thing about stuff like this so it might be good for her to know what I'm getting myself into."
"Sure, I don't mind."
With that, he handed his phone to the suddenly incredibly weary girl who just looked at the device as though she expected the device to snap out with fangs or something. Smiling reassuredly, he motion for her to take it.
"Hello?"
Olivia greeted, her voiced falling down an octave in some way to disguise her age. A venture, he knew would fail especially with who was on the other end. Standing to her feet, she begun to walk in a square formation.
"Hello," Barbara paused for a moment, the silence awkward before she spoke once more. "You're his tailor right? Could you take us off speaker real quick? I don't want to spoil anything."
"Yeah sure," If anything, she sounded even less convinced as the conversation went on but nonetheless the girl pressed a button and just like that, only one side the call was audible. "I'm guessing you want to match some so itt would help a lot if you could send a picture of the dress, I'll delete it afterwards before giving the phone back to him but I do need to know what I'm working with."
If Albert was lying, or this was one massive ruse then this would be the time where he would be sweating bullets and maybe even move to snatch the phone away before he could get caught in his own fib. Maybe that was why the girl had begun to pace, to make things harder for him to do exactly that. She was cautious, he could admit that much.
But instead of that, he stood still as the pair fell into silence until a slight buzzing chime could be heard. And when she finally took the phone away from her ear and actually looked at the newly sent message, her wide black eyes swirled in his direction. Mouth held agape at whatever she saw, to further add insult to injury, she even looked back and forth between him and the newly sent image. That shock growing with each passing moment.
"What the hell?!"
The flapper mouthed his way, each word emphasized to the extreme to make sure he got not just the general message but also he could feel and see the disbelief oozing off her.
'Maybe she took a picture of herself in the dress?'
It would remain a mystery but given her expression, it was very likely that was the case.
"Yes I'm here, doll." Her mood took a complete one-eighty, and even that quick paced was of speech was back in the place. "Lemme just say this, you're gonna make his peepers fall right outta his head. You're a looker and that dress is somethin else. What's the feel you going for?"
"You want to be a dame hanging off a goon? Or do ya want a more gigolo feel?"
"Uh-huh, really now?" At whatever she heard on the other end, it resulted in a rather frosty glare to be sent his way. "Only his second time calling you? That's no way to treat a tomato like you! I got my own blockhead, so I can understand. Yeah, I agree...definitely gigolo feel then! Gotta make sure everyone knows whose the boss. Do you have any accessories you want to match as well?...I'll save you the trip, a pearl bracelet would work. Don't gotta be real just look real, go down to the arts and crafts store across the street from that hole in the wall soup place..yeah you know the one, they have these pearls that look exactly like real ones but a quarter of the price...Yeah, I'll right your number down somewhere. We can talk later when your beard isn't lookin' like he's gonna turn into a puddle..Uh-huh, okay. Bye."
And just before handing the phone back over to him, she double-tripple checked to make sure the image was truly deleted. Leaving him nothing but curiosity that niggled at the back of his mind.
'I'll see it eventually.'
"So…" He began, but the teen already knew the answer. There was no way she would be willing to miss a chance like this, especially now knowing his words were true. It didn't even matter to him that Barbara had somehow spun it in such a way to make things look like he was some love interest who wouldn't get the hint. A falsehood easily proven just by looking in the mirror but nonetheless, Olivia seemed to have believed every word. Maybe she drew upon parallels between the two situations. "Are you going to do it?"
"I'm going to make sure you two blow the roof off that joint…." As though first seeing him for the first time, she quickly corrected herself. "Well, she's gonna like it and that's all that matters. What's your size?"
"Uh.."
"Never mind," Sighing in exasperation, she strode over to her desk and picked up what looked like a rolled up tape measure. "I'll measure you myself, doff that coat and strike a pose, will ya?"
"How much is this going to cost me?"
"I would like to just design and produce your suit from scratch, with what you going in that swanky place with all the big cheese and all." The girl clicked her tongue, frustration obvious on her face. "But given the time constrains and my unwillingness to bump myself off, I'm gonna have to be a bit more flexible. I have just enough time to tailor your suit and add something special...how much would you say is a fair sum?"
"Five hundred."
"Oh wow.." Her eyes widened just a bit. "You mean dosh, cold hard jack right? You not trynna to be funny by meaning nickles, dimes or pennies?"
"I mean five hundred dollars." It was a fair price for something like this, besides it wasn't like this suit was going to be worn only once. There would surely be moments where he needed to dress up to the 't', and properly paying a craftsman of Olivia's level was more than the initial investment. And most importantly, it was an amount he could somewhat comfortably acquire. Just taking a few more readings would more than make up for this expenditure. "I'll eventually come to you to get a custom made suit but as you said, there's not enough...but could I leave a deposit here and pay the rest when I swing by to pick it up? I don't carry that much money on me."