fawnward-blog

[fawnward-blog]

murdered psychic in pensacola lead: fawn ward assisting: ellis boothe

nadia hilker as………maisie sparrow jessica lange as…….tammy hess zoe kravitz as……….safia howe amy adams as………aoife connely

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ellisboothe‌:

He can’t help but huff a laugh at her comment, the true irony of her words ringing truer than she’d ever know. The wixes of the Collective were notorious grudge holders, and the older members would no doubt remember his surname. However, little did Fawn know, it was the very nature of his bloodline, and how he came to half of it, that brought about the entire ordeal in the first place. That part of the story she didn’t need to know though. 

“I’m sure there are a few we could trust, but as a whole, I would be careful. If the investigation should threaten the Collective at all, then you’ll see how quickly they’ll turn against us.” He hopes it doesn’t come to that, not only because it’d make the entire process far more complicated than he wanted it to be, but also how much of a bitch it’d be trying to find any evidence to prove such a thing. That was a concern for later though, when they actually had something to pin on the group in the first place. 

“We can try the tarot reader,” he suggests, “she’ll be able to give us an idea on Maisie’s mental state during the days leading up to her death- and fill us in if there was anyone in the Collective that had any reason to want her dead.” Pausing to take a drink, he laughs to himself before swallowing down a good mouthful of the dark brew. He’d been on this case all of forty minutes and already he’d spent more time thinking about it than his last several combined. Why exactly, he couldn’t say for sure, but wasn’t exactly hating it per say. 

“But I’m fine either way, you’re the sergeant, I’m just here for the free vacation.” 

Fawn nods, considering the case carefully as Ellis talks. She does not need a coven of backbiting witches specializing in Divinations and dodgy magic holding a grudge against her. There are enough shady characters from here to Vegas and back again who have her name on their list. Or, at least, a name she gave them as her own... “Right. Well, I’m not looking for anyone to be making a voodoo doll of me or anything,” she says, eyebrows up. “So we’ll hope that it wasn’t someone else in the group who killed her.”

The tarot reader: Safia. Fawn studies the picture of the witch, a little on the younger side, gorgeous. Fawn nods. “Probably a good idea to start with her anyway.” Looking up to Ellis, she goes on, “She’s the whole reason we’re investigating this thing.” If it wasn’t for Safia raising a stick about seeing doom in Maisie’s future or whatever it was, it likely would have been lodged an accidental death and that would have been that. A rough laugh from Ellis has her glancing up at him again, an eyebrow quirked in question. 

She gives her own laugh at his last comment. Shaking her head, she takes a long swallow from the beer. “Oh man, Boothe. You have got some misgivings about Florida if you think it’s the place for a vacation.” Pensacola is better off than someplace like Jacksonville, but not by much. “Anything that close to Alabama is gonna be a bummer, y’know?” Fawn has been in Florida on more than a few occasions: lots of criminals, lots of decay, not a whole lot going for it. Except, maybe, the seafood, but you can get that and the beaches plenty of other places. Places that aren’t Florida.

[fawnward-blog]

frankbarnes‌:

“Hmm,” he hums, in response to her question tilting his head to get a better look of the small creature. “I dunno what does she look like to you? I named a few of my old farm cats after road names, then again she’ll probably just get stuck with a number if we do that.” As the kitten’s kneading intensifies, he shifts her slightly, so her small claws dig more into the denim folds of his jeans, rather than sinking straight through the fabric and into his thigh. She lets out a small mew in retaliation of the unwanted movement, but complies soon after, as she resettles herself in her new spot. 

“Hmph, sassy little thing isn’t she,” he chuckles warmly. Resettling himself back into the cushion he lets out a soft sigh as he tries to wrack his brain some more of possible names. “My sister used to always name her pets after famous mythological figures and creatures,” he says without really thinking, not realizing until after he’s said it that it was the first time he’d ever mentioned his sister to Fawn or anyone in New York for that matter. Instead of quickly covering the small slip-up though, he smiles at the fond memories of his sister and her endless trail of pets she’d owned in her short life. “She was usually much more creative than I was when it came to naming things obviously.” 

Fawn makes a little face at Frank’s naming process. “That’s awful,” she judges, shaking her head. “And you’re right -- I don’t think she looks like an ‘East 2nd Street’.” The quiet laugh she gives after is as much at her own joke as it at the huffy little protest the kitten gives to being moved. “Guess she told you.” Reaching out, she scratches between the ears of the still-unnamed cat. “She’s not sassy. She just knows what she wants.” The kitten stretches then, rolling onto her side a little and tucking her head under. 

The mention of Frank’s sister only just pings at Fawn. Mostly because he had never mentioned a sister before. There’s a soft smile on his face, though, and Fawn likes it. “That’s a much better idea,” she says, thinking. “Maybe she could be Medusa, or Penelope.” She thinks, then, of the storm that had been roaring through the day she found the little thing. “What about Charybdis? A big name for a little thing, but I always liked the sea monster.” As if in answer, the cat gives a wide yawn and then begins to lick at Fawn’s fingers.

After a moment of quiet between them, Fawn prompts, “I didn’t know you had a sister. What’s her name?” It’s quite possible that Frank has merely not mentioned the sibling until this point. Something in her chest, though, tells her that’s not quite right.

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janusharley‌:

It takes her a moment to explain, but somehow Janus feels like he already knows what she’s about to say anyway. There’s something about her body language… as undetectable as she is out in the field there’s something here and now that he recognizes in her, plain as the daylight on her face that’s cutting in sharply through the blinds. The simplest term he has for it is heartbreak, but the truth is he doesn’t know the depth of her feelings, really. He can only guess, can only compare it to the pieces of his own heart he’s still trying to reassemble. He assumes it’s pretty bad, if it was enough to pull her from the case entirely. That should make it easier to relate to her in this moment, but instead he finds himself painfully clueless as to what to say. He reaches out and covers her hand with his across the table, and squeezes lightly to let her know he’s there even though he can’t find the words right now.

Janus understands more than she probably realizes, but then again he supposes that’s part of the disconnect- she’s maybe gotten close to someone else before, but not like this; not to the point that it’s still affecting her even now when Trip’s probably 400 miles away or more. But in his case, it’s something he’s encountered enough to be… almost used to it by now, in a strange way. His entire life has been a series of entanglements that blur the lines between who he’s meant to be as an auror and who he truly is when it comes down to the crucial moments. It’s been a long time since he was newly heartbroken… it feels like eons now, and so that’s why he’s lost for a moment as he looks at her.

“I’m sorry darlin’…” He can’t help the hint of the southern drawl that colors his words, especially not when it was how he always spoke around Fawn before. “You’re not stupid,” he says seriously, shaking his head a bit. “You got emotional… happens all the time… It doesn’t make you any less capable and intelligent than you are, Fawn. This kind of work can be isolating even at the best of times… Especially when you spend so long with someone, I think it’s inevitable that you’ll develop some connection to them.” He pauses, unsure again where to steer the conversation from here. He supposes an honest question wouldn’t hurt, but as it’s not entirely an innocent or law-abiding question, he decides to keep his voice down.

“Do you… want to go back? I mean… ignoring the protocol and the case and everything else… How do you feel about it now that it’s changed?”

Fawn feels the start of a smile as Janus dips into the familiar accent. But he’s wrong, however comforting he means to be. He’s wrong because she has been stupid and it doesn’t happen all the time. Not to her, at least. Never to her. She’s supposed to be better than that. Smarter. A connection with Trip was the point of the assignment, but it should have only been real for one of them.

She shakes her head at his assessment, knowing they’ll just have to disagree on this point. Janus always was a romantic at heart. “I know better,” is all she says to counter his soothing. She knows better. And now she won’t forget it, ever. She’ll pay her dues, bide her time and when she earns the necessary trust back, she’ll get back into the field. Prove it to all her higher-ups that she can be the agent they saw at the beginning of her career. Full of promise and efficiency.

Janus’s question makes her jerk up suddenly, eyes wide at the thought. It isn’t a possibility, so she hasn’t let herself consider it -- going back. Seeing Trip. Explaining what happened, who she is, why she’s back. Even if he didn’t hate her for it... “No.” Her eyes dip to middle-distance and in her gaze, she’s imagining a different return -- finishing the job. Arresting Trip and the rest of the faction leaders. Dispersing the whole of the group. “I feel...regret,” she answers, snapping from her fantasy to meet Janus’s eyes. “I’m mostly just pissed that I let myself screw up so completely.” He made it clear that he doesn’t feel the same way about her mess-up but Fawn knows just how bad it was. Just how disappointed everyone was with her. Still is.

“Besides, this is better. I don’t want to be-- to have feelings for someone like that. It was a fluke thing, really. Time away will give me the chance to get my head straightened out.” Someone like that. Someone like Trip, with his wild hair and his freewheeling laugh and the way he would call her “sensational” and then pull her in for a kiss... No. This is obviously better. She just needs the time. Making herself smile, Fawn adopts a more cheerful tone, “And, you’re here. That’s a very welcome surprise.”

[fawnward-blog]

ellisboothe‌:

With his own draft of Stimson’s in one hand, and the case file in the other, Ellis slides into the nearest booth, and plops the file down between them. He makes no move to open the thing though, already having a pretty good idea of what it was going to say based off the short description alone. Murdered psychic, no one in the Collective knows who could have done it or why, he was sure probably at least one of them mentioned the old saying “no one in the Collective has enemies.” He can practically hear his mother laughing now, even from where she lay six feet in the ground back in Mississippi. 

“And what makes you ask that?”, he questions, tilting his head as he shoots the witch a look of mock suspicion. “You think him wanting me on a case is so unbelievable he has to have some reason to?” Shaking his head he chuckles to himself before taking a drink of the still magically steaming stout. He does get it, all teasing aside, if he were in her shoes and actually gave a shit about his job, he’d want to know why his chief threw someone like him on a higher profile case like this. 

Looking back up towards her he shrugs his shoulders, figuring she might as well know the truth before some Collective member spills the beans first. “Believe it or not, I apparently am the resident divination expert- at least until they find someone better suited for the job anyway. My mom used to make a living off of it, she was once even a part of this fun little group” he adds, nodding towards the file between them, “that is until they kicked her ass out anyway. I don’t know what all they said in that file of your’s but half of it is bullshit, even I can tell you that.” 

The file stays closed between them. Fawn has already read it through once, familiar with it enough for this conversation. He counters her question with one of her own but Fawn can tell it’s a ploy. It makes sense that she would ask about his assignment -- they both know that. So she just waits him out, blowing mildly at the cloud of steam rising from her bottle to dispel it. With Snow, it was hard to know what to expect, really. Fawn figured that sticking Boothe with this case was an effort to get him off his ass a little, something as simple as that.

She is not, in anyway, expected the story that spills from Boothe -- a Seer for a mother and she used to be a part of the very Collective... When he mentions that she was kicked out, though, her eyebrows go up. “Well, hopefully they don’t hold a grudge against your bloodline,” she comments. A frown comes to her face as he dismisses the testimony. It’s always difficult dealing with things of this nature -- divination and premonitions and etc. It definitely wasn’t Fawn’s strongest field. But the Collective is known to be...exclusive. She’s hoping that the murder of one of their own will open them a little to the law enforcement. Boothe doesn’t seem to be too convinced though.

“You don’t think we can trust any of the Collective?” she asks. Reaching over, she flips open the file and scans a glance over the photographs of the persons of interest. “What do you suggest for our plan of attack, then? Gonna be pretty hard to do with no witnesses...” There was the witch who was in the room with Maisie when she died, but she claimed it was just a seizure of some kind... Not much to go on. Flicking back a page, she reads over Snow’s note and makes a face. Not much help from him, either.

[fawnward-blog]

fitzwilliamburke‌:

He had expected, when Fawn showed up, to be greeted with the same pleasantly agreeable woman he’d gone on a hunt for the bar with at the President’s Gala – easy conversation, a fairly no-nonsense and low-drama approach to getting their case solved. He’d heard good things about her work as an auror. But when she approached, he could already feel a difference, one he couldn’t account for.

Something about her greeting was cold – and maybe she was just tired, or overwhelmed, but he suddenly felt a lot less certain about whether or not she’d be amenable to letting the case run cold intentionally if they happened to come across a missing person who didn’t want to be found. 

Either way, he reassured himself, he was lead on this case. If he had to make a call she didn’t like, well, at least he had some of the authority to do so. 

     ‘I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by how good I am at pretending,’ he replied, slipping the badge back into his breast pocket. Frankly, he didn’t appreciate the insinuation: he’d been working as an auror for just as long as she had, if not longer. He’d worked his fair share of cases with no-maj involvement. Sure, he was a pretty face and a pureblood, but that didn’t mean he was an idiot. 

Something flashed hot in her stomach at his comment -- she couldn’t help but think about Frank. Was that just pretending? Her guard shivered and grew a few more feet. “Right,” she agreed, teeth nipping at the "t” sound. “Well, I guess we’ll see.” She tipped her eyes to the street-sign and really tried to swallow her ill-will. Her personal feelings had no room here, on the case. And, even still, those feelings were entirely unfounded. Burke shouldn’t have to deal with her bullshit.

Blowing out a noisy exhale, she met his eyes languidly. “The boy is just around the corner, yeah?” She had looked up the address already, scrawled in the margin’s of the file, and was sure that Burke knew it as well. But it was something to ask that was easy and simple.

A girl was missing. She just had to remember that. They had a job to do -- find the girl. Or, at least, make sure that there wasn’t anything dangerous going on. If this ended up being some kind of soppy Romeo and Juliet teenage love story, Fawn was willing to just walk away from it.  Even if there were Rappaport implications. That was a parent’s job, not an auror’s. Heading off in the direction of the Lehman residence, Fawn shook her head a little. “I almost hope this was just some stupid teenager running away from home or something.”

Maybe, if that was the case, they could wrap up quickly and Fawn could go back to avoiding the situation like she so desperately wanted.

[fawnward-blog]

camdensavage‌:

midmorning, closed case files, floor 57       ( @fawnward )

He had no real desire to do any actual work before leaving for the case back home, but he was also woefully aware how ill-equipped he actually was to handle things if they did get out of hand, a thought that he had realized once Margot mentioned stakings. And while he doubted he would be able to drastically improve his aim with wooden weaponry in a matter of a day or two, he had his own strengths. The plan was to make certain there was no possible way the beasts would have a chance to escalate things and put either of them in danger, by knowing exactly how to handle them.

And so for the first time in his years as an auror, Camden ventured down to the closed case files, in search of any previously solved cases involving the part-humans, and how they were solved. He turned the corner the house elf had instructed him to head down to find the right house elf to give him the relevant files, when he nearly ran right into someone else, scaring him half to death.

“Shit, Jesus Christ,” he cursed. It took a second to regain his composure, registering that it was Fawn Ward he had nearly hit. He didn’t know her personally, but there was plenty he had heard, still he reserved judgement for God. And himself. “Forgive me, Miss Ward. For the language, and sneakin’ up on you. I didn’t realize anyone actually came down here.”

More and more, Fawn was finding herself absolutely devoid of any goodwill toward her colleagues. It wasn’t fair, she knew, because it wasn’t their faults. They weren’t doing anything more annoying (than usual). She had just been with waning patience lately. And, if she was to be honest, it all stemmed from an anger and frustration she had with herself. That was another topic altogether, though, and either way she wasn’t able to handle even the most well-meaning of small talk or actual shoptalk. So she had retreated to the Closed Case File room with the folder from the Pensacola case and a few packets of Chuckles Chuckling Jelly Candies (charmed to no longer chuckle, though).

She was still searching for a perfect little corner to hole up in, debating whether she should forgo the candy and case review and just shift to a puma to take a nap, when she ran straight into a body. The file slipped from her grasp, but she managed to save her box of sweets -- obviously the more precious of cargo. Under her breath, Fawn cursed a blue streak. As she bent to retrieve her slightly scattered papers, she recognized the voice, the particular Kentucky drawl, as Camden Savage. “It’s all right,” she replied, getting the last of the pages in order. Her own slight accent came out as it often did when speaking to someone else with an inflection.

She smiled a little at her feet at his last comment. “Yeah, I know. That’s kind of why I come here, I guess. Sorry, too, for sneaking up on you. Like you said, not a lot of people come here so you probably weren’t expecting...me to be here.” She suddenly felt silly, with her boxes of candy and her bad attitude that sent her hiding away. “What are you doing down here, anyway?”

[fawnward-blog]

ellisboothe‌:

location: the moaning maiden 

time: 2:30pm, tuesday afternoon 

status: closed to @fawnward​

During his time in the Eastern Squad, Ellis had adopted a particular set of rules when it came to what cases he’d pick up, and which ones he’d pass down to the next poor bastard in line. Well, there was just two rules really, the first being to never pick up a case that couldn’t be solved easily either one way or the other, the second was to not take one that involved going anywhere where the heat index could climb into the triple digits. 

This case broke both of those rules.  

It intrigued him though, for more reasons than one. The Sagittarius Collective was not unknown to him, due to his mother’s run-ins with the infamous group of witches, both good and bad, although largely the latter. And then their was the lead auror, Ward was her name if he remember right. It wasn’t the rumors surrounding her colorful history that piqued his interest about her though, but more her own seeming interest in having him as her assisting. That was something he hadn’t experienced in quite some time, usually when an auror came to his desk it was with a look of mild annoyance, or if he played his cards particularly right, complete distaste. Which was by design more often than not, working solo always favored his particular methods of solving cases, partners tended to ask too many questions, both directed towards him and towards their witnesses. 

His curiosity gets the better of him with Ward though, and after a quick flip through the file she hands him, he stands up rather unceremoniously and motions her to follow him. If he was actually going to dig into this thing for real, he was going to need a drink- or several. And what better place to find a drink on a Tuesday afternoon than at the Maiden? 

Stepping under the bar’s figurehead that hung outside the establishment, he immediately hears what he can only assume to be a slew of French obscenities from the wooden beauty herself as he holds the door open for the blonde behind him. “Don’t know why they call it the Moaning Maiden,” he chuckles as he looks up at the figurehead, “I’ve been a regular here for about five years, and all she ever does is yell her head off.” 

At first, Fawn balked at the case when it landed on her desk. Psychics, and all of them living on some kind of commune, in Florida... It sounded like a nightmare, honestly. But it piqued her interest and the more she read, the more interested she gets. There is something fishy about only having one witness. And Fawn isn’t really one to believe in premonitions but there might be something to this foul play claim.

Plus, Snow dropped a partner in her lap along with the case and she has long been intrigued by Corporal Ellis Boothe. He’s an utter disaster as an auror, legendarily lazy, but something about his rough-around-the-edges quality reminds Fawn of her time undercover. Not every good person is shiny and unblemished she’s found. And when he waves her out of the office and leads her off to the Moaning Maiden, Fawn finds herself smiling. Anyone who wants to work over a drink is good in her book.

She’s never been to the Moaning Maiden but is immediately comfortable in the slightly shady interior, the low-slung rafters and the patrons hunched over their drinks. She laughs at Boothe’s comment about the figurehead. “She’s got quite the vocabulary,” she quips quietly, raising an eyebrow. The figurehead continues to rant about Boothe’s slimy face as the door swings shut, making Fawn chuckle. She heads for the bar without waiting and orders a Simison’s -- it was a little early for mead after all. 

Once they’re both settled, Fawn opens with the most prominent question on her mind: “Why is it that Snow pushed you on this case?”

[fawnward-blog]

– Murdered Psychic in Pensacola 

CASE LEVEL: Three

POINTS REQUIRED: Three Hundred 

OVERVIEW:

The Sagittarius Collective is a commune of clairvoyant witches located on a small, hidden island off the coast of Pensacola, Florida, known throughout wizarding America as the most promising place to go for psychic assistance or interference. It is comprised of anywhere between a dozen and twenty witches at a time, with its members coming and going as they please, each with their own speciality, and each happy to provide their service for a cost: one important, personal item with a strong memory attached.

The Collective has always had a peaceful relationship with those around it, rarely seeing any kind of trouble. That is, until Maisie Sparrow, the resident medium, fell into a seizure during the middle of a seance and died shortly thereafter despite all attempts to save her. Her death – unforeseen by any other member of the Collective – has cast doubt on the legitimacy of the Collective’s true clairvoyant ability and, beyond that, one member of the Collective has come forth insisting that she foresaw evidence of foul play, insisting that Maisie’s death be given a full investigation as a murder case.

PERSONS OF INTEREST:

Maisie Sparrow:  the victim, Maisie was a member of the Sagittarius Collective, known for her ability to communicate with the dead. According to several other members of the Collective, she had no enemies – or, more accurately, that “no one in the Collective has enemies.”

Tammy Hess: the current leader of the Sagittarius Collective, Tammy has held her position as leader for nearly two years. The position is a rotating one, chosen by lot from the members of the Collective on the night of every blue moon – one of which is coming up just next month.

Safia Howe: another member of the Collective, and a specialist in tarot, Safia is the one who contacted the aurors with news of Maisie’s death and suspicion of foul play. She claims to have done a reading for Maisie that very morning and seen something dire on the horizon, trouble caused by a dark figure, and premeditated harm.

Aoife Connelly:  the only other person present in the room when Maisie died, Aoife Connelly came to the Sagittarius Collective hoping to contact the ghost of her recently-passed mother in order to find closure regarding the years of abuse she had suffered at her hands.

CHIEF’S NOTES:

Great, a psychic case. Keep your wits about you on this one, you don’t know what these wixes are capable of, or what in fact really happened to Maisie. If you need her, our medical examiner Antonia Ortega, is on stand by. She’ll be able to give you some more insight than some self-proclaimed “seer” can, that’s for sure. 

Good luck out there, 

-Allen Snow

CASE STATUS: TAKEN

| RPG HOME | PLOT | WANTED CONNECTIONS | OPEN CASES |

[fawnward-blog]

frankbarnes‌:

He smiles back at her thoughtfully at her small remark, it felt nice to finally talk to someone else about Fitz, although there were still some aspects of their relationship he figured were best kept between the two of them. But even just mentioning the little he had, suddenly made it feel more real than it was before, and not some dirty secret or fabrication. He was curious though if Fitz had done the same yet, or if his subtle comment in passing to Fawn was the most he’d talked about him to any of his own friends. 

One-time thing or not, he’s pleased to hear she’d begun to reach out for something new. Something that could possibly make her feel the desire to stay, rather than leave once she’d been okayed to go back on undercover work. His reasons were both selfish and for a concern over her. Despite her claims to the contrary, he feels like maybe this kind of field work is better for her, after so many years of having to pretend to be someone else. 

Taking a drink of his newly poured drink, he settle back into the couch with her, the kitten in his lap making a small mew in protest to the movement, before settling back down again. Scratching the back of its head gently he smiles. “So, we still gotta name it right?” He asks, only to realize he wasn’t even sure if it was a boy or girl. He’d never been particularly good at naming animals, the few barn cats he’d had at his old house were all named after simple things, such as the street he’d found them on, or a name related to their fur color. With growing up on a working farm, he was raised on the notion to avoid naming anything until you knew for certain you were going to keep it. Something he learned the hard way on several occasions, and resulted in his naming capabilities to be quite stunted.  

Despite her usual MO -- or maybe it’s just the whiskey talking -- it is nice to talk about all that has been roiling through her. Especially all the confusion that is her thoughts about Trip. Some of the pressure that had inhabited her chest since leaving the commune is relieved. It’s a little easier to breathe. Though, Fawn has found that it’s usually a little easier to breathe with Frank. Something about his gentle touch and how his smiles seem to lurk beneath it all before brimming forth...

She takes another healthy swallow to stop thinking that way and giggles a little as the kitten makes her presence known. Despite the relief, she’s happy to turn the conversation away from Winter and Trip and Burke. “We do,” she affirms, running a careful finger down the teeny things nose. “Once I decided to keep her, I realized I had just been calling her ‘Kitty,’ and that’s no good.” The kitten was a rangy little thing -- skinny with long limbs and paws that indicated she would grow to be big. She was black with a few white patches and had bright green eyes. But it was her perfect, little pink heart-shaped nose that made Fawn stop and collect her from the street.

“I prefer names for pets, you know. Not like... Fluffy or Spot or something.” Something about that practice seems indignant to Fawn. She has more respect for the little creature than that. The kitten took that moment to yawn hugely and start kneading against Frank’s lap. “Isn’t she precious? I’m not one to be swayed by, like, cute animals but honestly. Look at her. Fawn makes a delighted coo and tucks herself even further into Frank’s side. “What do you think?”

[fawnward-blog]

frankbarnes‌:

Frank returns Fawn’s gaze at the mention of the plant, giving her a silent nod in confirmation. “Do you know how long she’d been taking the drug?” He asks trying to establish some kid of timeline. 

“Not for certain, but I started to notice her acting strangely about oh- three months ago? She gradually became worse, until finally she came out to us, and mentioned she wanted to get help.”  If Zelda had indeed been trying to get clean in the last month, she must have been experiencing some relapses, what with the drug still present in her system, and so much so she still had seeds in her stomach at the time of her death. 

“When you say ‘getting help’, what exactly do you mean?” He’d read of numerous drug therapies, some more legitimate than others. Perhaps knowing what exactly Zelda had been trying could help give them a clearer picture of her mental state in the days leading up to her death. “Was she seeing some kind of licenses mediwix?” 

“No not exactly,” the woman shakes her head, “she was seeing one of the town elders, his name is Donald Meake. They were more therapy sessions really. Donald had a daughter of his own that passed away from a drug overdose about fifteen years ago. She was such a lovely little thing, and when he heard of our Zelda having the same issues he offered to start meeting with her.” 

The mention of Donald Meake’s name, not for the first time, but second time that day causes Frank to immediately turn to Fawn. Donald hadn’t mentioned anything to the local division about him meeting with Zelda about her addiction, or at all for that matter. 

“Did Zelda talk about these therapy sessions at all?” 

“Yes and no,” the woman sighs, “She never really told us about what all they talked about. Just said they usually talked over coffee in his office. She usually visited him on Tuesdays and Thursdays for about a couple hours in the evening before coming home for supper.” 

It’s nice to know that they were on the right track with it all. Fawn rubs at her forehead a little, letting Frank process the information about timing and drug intake. But her attention perks again when they turn to talk about the help that Zelda was getting. When the mother mentions Donald Meake, her blood runs cold. Frank turns to her and she can only offer a wide-eyed look, something like anger starting in the pit of her stomach.

“What was Zelda like after the sessions? Was she animated or upset?” It wasn’t likely that Meakes would be straightforward with them, so they need all the information they can get from the family.

Mrs. Pickering frowns. “She was...normal, mostly. Usually a little tired. Mostly, on those nights, she’d eat her dinner and then go right to bed. But I know something therapy like that, talking and all, can be exhausting.”

Fawn nods, hoping to reassure the mother. She doesn’t want to alert her to the suspicion of Meakes. He’s respected, it seems, so an indication that they’re considering him would likely make them clam up and fast. “One last question, Mrs. Pickering. Do you know if Mr. Meakes was offering his services to anyone else?”

The woman nods. “I know he was, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you who. Zelda just mentioned that she wasn’t the only one going to him. But she never said who any of the others were. It’s so awful, you know, to think of any more of our babies caught up in all this...”

Fawn reached across and laid a hand over Mrs. Pickerings. “I know, ma’am. But we’ll get to the bottom of this. And maybe we can help save a few other children on the way.” The woman sniffles and gives Fawn a nod. With that, Fawn pulls back and turns, nodding to Frank. She’s ready to go, unless he has any other questions. She wants to go to Meakes. She wants to look him in the eyes, see just what this is all about.

[fawnward-blog]

– Missing Witch in East Harlem 

CASE LEVEL: Two

POINTS REQUIRED: One Hundred Seventy-Five 

OVERVIEW:

A local witch has gone missing, with no-maj involvement suspected. Stella DelCiello was home for the Ilvermorny summer break when she apparently disappeared from East Harlem, her home, one night. Stella has a reputation of being a bit “wild,” though. She’s a common sight at the local dance halls and she’s familiar with more than one boy around town and at Ilvermorny. Hesitantly, her mother confirmed that those dalliances might include some local no-maj boys. Despite that, her mother insists that Stella would never run away from home, especially not in the middle of the night.

With tensions high in the wixen community, particularly in New York, an incident like this must be approached with caution. While it could very well be that Stella simply took off from home, there could very well be something more sinister at foot. While no-maj involvement is suspected, there aren’t many leads to determine what has happened. As ever with missing persons cases, time is of the essence.

PERSONS OF INTEREST:

Graziella DelCiello: Stella’s mother, a single mother with four other children. Working long hours, Graziella admits that Stella more or less has been left to her own devices this summer. She knows that her daughter has been out many nights, but she’s always been in bed come dawn, when Graziella herself rose for work. When Stella wasn’t home the night she disappeared, Graziella didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary.

Kathleen Casey: One of Stella’s closest friends, also home in Brooklyn for Ilvermorny’s summer break. The two have been exchanging letters almost every day. The week before disappearing, Stella had gone to Brooklyn to visit Kathleen for lunch. Kathleen reluctantly admitted that Stella mentioned a no-maj boy she was planning to meet at a dance.

David Lehman: The no-maj that Kathleen claims Stella had plans to meet. Kathleen was unsure when or where this meeting was to take place. David is the oldest of three and lives with his family, mother and father included in the Bronx. He’s also on summer vacation from his no-maj high school. As far as records show, they have no connection to the wixen community.

CHIEF’S NOTES:

Merlin, do I have a bad feeling about this. My suggestion is to really dig into this no-maj and see when and where he last saw Stella. Even if he’s not somehow involved in this, the relationship no doubt spurred whatever happened to this girl. We’re dealing with no-majs again, so you’ll need to approach this cautiously and form some kind of cover for yourself. The department has set up a P.I cover for you both, including a pair of fake P.I licenses if you’re wanting to use them. 

Good luck out there, 

-Allen Snow

CASE STATUS: TAKEN

| RPG HOME | PLOT | WANTED CONNECTIONS | OPEN CASES |

[fawnward-blog]

fitzwilliamburke‌:

     location: East 128th Street      time: morning           ( @fawnward​ )

He was considering the forged P.I. license that had come attached to the case file when he received it, while he waited for Fawn to arrive. Detective Hamish Simeon – that’s who he was going to be, at least to the no-maj boy that the missing girl was supposed to meet, and his family. Maybe, he thought, he’d put on some kind of old-fashioned accent to help him play the part, have a little fun with a case that he was almost certain was going to end up being a wild goose chase trying to find a girl who had simply decided to run away from home.

He had very little interest in chasing down runaways. He’d made his mind up about that already: if they found Stella, and she didn’t want to be found, he’d make something up so that she could stay lost for as long as she wanted. He was an auror, not a dogcatcher, and if she’d really run away it was likely there was a good reason for it. Teenagers didn’t run away for no reason, and when they did, they usually saw reason before federal law enforcement got involved. 

He leaned against the corner of the building he was standing in front of and lit a cigarette as he considered the forged ID in his hands, taking a drag as he finally saw Fawn approaching at a distance.

     ‘Morning,’ he greeted, lifting the cigarette in what was not quite a wave.

If she examined her feelings honestly (not one of her most favorite pastimes), Fawn would have to admit that she was dreading this case with Burke. And when she was finally able to confront why that was... Well. It came along with more examination of feelings, and confrontation of certain feelings. All ending with Fawn ignoring the whole thing, having one or two too many glasses of whiskey, and then going to bed.

But now the day had come and she had to meet Burke out in East Harlem. At least there was a different identity in her pocket. Someone else she could slip into for a little while. Detective Flora (haha, very fun, Snow) Wheeler. With a sigh, she came upon the corner she was meeting Burke on. He greeted her and she nodded once in return. “‘Lo,” she muttered back, eyes skipping down to her feet. East Harlem, too, was a useful place for this -- full of bustle and sounds and smells. It reminded Fawn, in some way, of the commune, with Trip. Life and community.

Tipping her eyes back to Burke, she jutted her chin toward the badge in his hand. “You’ll be able to play a convincing NoMaj, yeah?”

[fawnward-blog]

frankbarnes‌:

He nods his head at her suggestion, agreeing with the fact that if he really wanted to know- then he was going to have to make that particular leap himself. Something was telling him, that like Fawn, Fitz wasn’t exactly accustomed to more formal relationships, and that if either of them were going to bring up the topic of labels it would ultimately have to be him. But there was one extra complication to the matter between him and Fitz, one he didn’t feel comfortable bringing up with Fawn. It was the reason why he thinks he’s run into the issue he has, when its not one he’s very used to. 

His and Fitz’s shared history complicates matters when it came to discussing just what exactly was going on between them. Part of him wonders if they should even be doing what they’re doing in the first place, that maybe he’s doing more harm than good getting as involved as he has been with Fitz. But there’s another side of him that thinks maybe, just maybe he’s actually helping. It’s fairly obvious which side he’s chosen to listen as of late. 

He smiles behind the lip of his whisky glass as she mentions running into the other auror at the Gala, a smile that only grows more sheepish when she mentions Fitz’s comment on his appearance. None of its new information exactly, if Fitz hadn’t thought him fun or attractive he doubted they’d have gotten as far as they had, but it was still nice to hear it- even from a secondhand source. “Well, that’s good to hear,” he chuckles, before taking another drink.

His question for her seems to help take her mind off her ex, which he was hoping it had. She does manage to pull yet another surprised look from him though at the mention of Winter. He remembers seeing the two of them together, shortly before he and Fitz left the crowded ballroom to find somewhere more quiet. He didn’t realize though the two’s seemingly polite conversation was anything but that though. 

“And here I was feeling guilty about leaving you by yourself,” he laughs gently as he looks down at her. He would have asked her if something had been going on between the two of them before the Gala, but something- being it the fact it was Winter, or her own attitudes about the short fling, was telling him this had been the first time something had happened between the two of them. “And do you feel good about it? I mean, like you might want to get back out there again after your ex?” 

There’s a smile that lingers on Frank’s face and Fawn has to admit it’s nice to see. Not that she hasn’t seen Frank smile before, but this was a different sort of smile. Pleased and soft and a little embarrassed. A laugh pressed from her chest and she ignored the fact that underneath everything else, there was a current of something sad running. “I thought it would be,” she murmured. Sitting up, she reached for the bottle of firewhiskey and poured herself another before refreshing his glass.

Frank’s gentle teasing still raises a blush to her cheeks. It isn’t that there’s anything wrong with Winter. But Fawn is fairly certain that everyone on the squad interested in his gender has had a go. Which doesn’t speak toward his character, but it might say something about hers. Falling on the one person that was an easy answer. And she let all those stupid needling dares and comments get to her... As stupid as ever, Fawn thought to herself.

She takes a healthy swallow of her drink before shrugging and flopping back against the couch. “No. And I wouldn’t really call rutting up against Winter in a dark hallway like a teenager ‘getting back out there’.” She huffs a sigh and is about to cross her arms before she realizes just how petulant she sounds. Loosening a little, she sways to lean against Frank once more. “It wasn’t bad. And it was nice to...get it out of my system? But it didn’t feel...like anything?” That wasn’t entirely true. Sure, when they were actually in the act it didn’t feel like anything more than what it was. But leaded up to that, the flashing eyes and the barbed comments and the leaning closer and closer... She liked that. And maybe, after, checking on him despite his denials. Hearing his grinding assurance that he was fine... Well. It was nice, but in a way that was entirely different from the nice that this was -- sitting in the comfortable dark, leaning against Frank.

Sighing, she tilts her head to pass Frank a smile. “Either way, it’s not as if I’m going to be in your place, wondering what exactly we’re doing together. If I know Winter, that was a one-time thing.”

[fawnward-blog]

frankbarnes‌:

“Yeah, I think so,” he nods to her question. His life would be so much different now had he stayed with Claire, but he wouldn’t necessarily consider it better. He couldn’t see himself budging on the kid issue, at least not for for a while, and given Claire’s desire, it would only would have pushed them apart further. No, ending it sooner before the turn for the worse was probably the best for all those involved. Besides, Claire was happy now, with the family she always wanted. He was at a place in his life he was feeling good about, he had no regrets in how it ended. Not anymore anyway. 

When the conversation moves on to his most recent romantic endeavor, he has to stop himself from choking up the bit of whisky he’s just swallowed when Fawn immediately brings up Fitz’s name. “Is it that obvious?” he asks, laughing a bit at his own reaction. It’s not like he and Fitz were actively trying to keep the relationship a secret, at least not as far as he’d known. They weren’t exactly holding hands in the middle of the office either. 

He pauses at her next question though, honestly unsure what he wanted- no, that wasn’t true. Deep down he did know what he wanted but thinking it, and voicing it aloud were two completely different matters. “I don’t know… just something, you know? That way I have some idea how to operate without thinking I’ll either scare him off or make him think I don’t care. I haven’t even mustered up the courage to ask him if he’s seeing anyone else, as stupid as that sounds. So it’s my fault really.” 

Fawn’s own relationship dilemma gives him a needed break from his own, although its no less complex, if not even more so. Moving his arm back to wrap around her, he rubs her back gently as he listens. He couldn’t imagine being in Trip’s or her’s position, of having to confess to, or be told the person you loved really wasn’t that person at all. Obviously Fawn really did care for him though, despite the cover. But that didn’t necessarily mean Trip would forgive her either. Would he if he were in the same position? 

“Have you been with anyone since then?” he asks, mirroring her own question to him earlier. 

Frank’s obvious surprise makes her grin a little, though she does feel bad for distressing him. “No, not really,” she assures him. “Only something he said at the Gala made me think that it would be him.” She shrugs, adding, “It was more process of elimination than anything else, though.” She might not be the best at party games, or drinking games, but she could reason out real things like this in no time. Honestly, though, thinking back, there hasn’t been any indication that Frank and Burke were anything more than friends and coworkers. Fawn thought those around the office might be less surprised to learn that Frank and herself were dating.

She nods, brow furrowing in thought. “Just some kind of definition, right?” Relationships were clearly not Fawn’s strong suit, but she knew the uncertainty of attractive well enough. “It’s not your fault. I mean, it’s no one’s fault. You just need to…communicate what you want. Both of you do.” Easier said than done, of course. Fawn is not one to talk about anything, really, but especially not her feelings or needs.

Licking her lips, she considers her options. It wasn’t like she and Burke were speaking in confidence the other night. And he didn’t really tell her anything of much importance… But he did speak about Frank and it was largely positive. She thinks that maybe Frank might like to hear that. Were the roles reserve and she in his shoes, she’d like to hear it. “He was looking for you,” she finally says, feeling a bit like a teenager, gossiping about crushes back at Ilvermorny. “The other night, at the Gala. We both were, and he said something about things being more interesting when you’re around. And then he said that you were very attractive.” She leaves out the part about the primary school teacher.

Frank’s offer of physical comfort warms her from the inside out and she leans in close, tucking her face into his shoulder. She won’t admit it (well, maybe to Frank but only to him), but thinking of Trip does still hurt. And not just because of the shame of failure and the distance of loss. It just hurts like she imagines a broken heart might. Reaching across, Fawn strokes the velvety head of the kitten in Frank’s lap -- now all curled up and purring rhythmically.

His question to her is only fair, as she asked the same of him. That doesn’t make her any less awkward though. Sitting up, she looks to her lap and hesitates a moment. “No. I mean, not really.” She blows out a sigh through her nose, frustrated at her own fumbling through words. “It depends on what you mean by ‘been with,’” she finally articulates. She can’t put her finger on the why, exactly, but something in her rears up to tell Frank about what happened with Winter. For some reason, she doesn’t want Frank to know about it.

Contrary as always, Fawn powers through, ignoring the feeling and admitting, “Winter and I...sort of...necked a little bit. At the Gala.” Her eyes stay down, fixed on her fingers playing with the now-empty glass in her lap.

[fawnward-blog]

frankbarnes‌:

“Zelda’s family seems the next best route to go,” he nods in agreement. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to Meake after what Gina had said, but it would be better to get as much as they could from Zelda’s family first. Who knows, maybe Donald would know a thing or two about whoever this mystery person or persons who were supposedly helping Zelda. “We could check her room while we’re there, we might be able to find something to clue us into what she was taking and from who.” 

Following Fawn’s reach, he nearly forgets about the file under his arm until she taps it. “Oh, um yes and no. They found lead in her system, which that paired with the angel’s trumpet would account for her physical symptoms.” The evidence didn’t bring them any closer to just what all happened to the poor girl, but he supposes it was better than nothing. If anything it helped rule out any other options they could potentially run into. 

Reaching into his pocket he pulls out the notepad where he’d written down Zelda’s address, as he holds out his arm for Fawn to grab before they apparate. “We can stop by the Pickerings first, see how much we can get from there, and see where that takes us next. If it’s another dead end we can try talking to Meake, I’m sure he’s the type to know all the town gossip, no matter if it’s involving no-majs or not.” 

Fawn nods along at Frank’s suggestion. A teenage girl’s room was usually a wealth of information about her life. Something squeezes slightly in her chest to think of just what had happened to Zelda. Poisoning twofold... And all she had been trying to do was get clean. “That all sounds smart to me,” she agrees. “But I make no promises not to punch him if he gets annoying.” She smiles softly to show it’s a joke, and then Apparates to the Pickerings.

Once Frank shows up just beside her, Fawn heads for the house -- it’s a normal looking house if a little untended recently. Which was understandable, considering they had lost a daughter. Licking her lips and taking in a deep breath, Fawn reaches forward to knock on the door. After a few long moments the door opens in, revealing who Fawn can only assume is Zelda’s mother. “Yes?” she asks, eyes red-rimmed and hair unkempt.

“Hi, Ms. Pickering. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Fawn Ward, and this is my partner Frank Barnes. We’re with MACUSA. We were hoping to talk to you about your daughter.”

A look of distress passes the woman’s face but she recovers and nods. “Oh. Yes. Come in. Thank you, for coming.” They all move through a short hallway and into a kitchen. There are dishes still crowded in the sink -- all around, signs that the family and house has taken a halt since Zelda’s death.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Fawn begins, voice level and soft. “We were told that you knew about Zelda’s substance abuse. Is that right?”

Ms. Pickering shifts in her seat before nodding. “Yes. I mean, not at first. But it became obvious quickly. Zelda has never been very good a lying, keeping things from us. But she was acting so differently and things started to add up... Well, it was Jeremy, her brother, who first suggested that it could be...drugs.” Tears leaked quietly, but the woman ignored them. “We were getting her help. I swear, the past month or more, we were helping her. She was going to get clean. It’s what she wanted, too.”

Fawn looks from the woman to Frank, eyebrows up a little. It seems Espinoza was right. “Could you tell me a little more about the drug?” she asks, nodding to Frank. “My partner has some ideas about it, but it would help if you told us all that you might know.”

Ms. Pickering takes a moment to wipe her face before answering. “It was a tea of some sort? She’d keep a vial of it around her neck, like a pendant, and take a little bit through the day.” She shakes her head, sighing. “I guess the drug itself though was a plant. I can’t remember the...the proper name for it. Zelda called it angel’s trumpet.” Her eyes darted to Frank, as if looking for confirmation.