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falseroar · 2 months

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Murder on the Warfstache Express

Part 7: Incriminating Investigating

((Abe and Wilford continue their search of the passengers' rooms as the clues continue to pile up.

Links to Part 6: Room by Room and to Part 1 if you'd like to start from the beginning.))

While Richard’s room was far bigger than any compartment on this train had a right to be, his assistant’s felt smaller than any of the other single rooms they had seen so far. It might have had something to do with the collapsible desk and chair that took up the available free space not already occupied by the seat turned bed.

Both pieces of furniture felt flimsy and cheap to Abe, although that might have been because just brushing up against the chair made the thing collapse into an easy-to-pack heap at his feet. The desk was a little sturdier at least, which was good news for the stacks and stacks of papers and accounting ledgers covering it.

Abe could hear Wilford nosing around through the rest of Mack’s belongings while he focused on trying to make heads or tails of all of these numbers. Wilford had quickly taken to invading people’s privacy, but then he didn’t have a firm grasp on the whole “personal space” thing before this so it probably wasn’t much of a stretch for him. By now, Abe had completely given up on trying to convince Wilford to wait out in the hall, both because it seemed a futile effort and because he couldn’t trust him to stay put or not cause just as much havoc out there where he couldn’t keep an eye on him.

Not that having him in the same room made it any easier.

Despite his being uncharacteristically helpful so far, Abe still found himself tensing every time he caught a glimpse of the other man out of the corner of his eye, or heard some small sound or humming that reminded him he was still there. The detective’s fingers twitched often as he restrained himself from reaching for the gun he knew wasn’t there, his instincts going haywire at the insanity of turning his back on a known killer.

Instincts that screamed and hit every panic button his body had when a loud, metallic snap went off just behind his head, screams that might have become a little more physical than Abe meant them to be as he whirled around and found Wilford poking at a snarl of metal on the floor.

“What the hell is that?!”

“Why are you shouting?!” Wilford had the audacity to shush the detective as he added, “This is supposed to be a stealth mission, isn’t it?”

Abe’s fingers were twitching again, except instead of the grip of his gun he imagined them closing around Wilford’s neck. Shaking it off, Abe asked again, “What is that, and where did you find it?”

Wilford shrugged. “I dunno. Fell out from behind this wall panel after I poked it a bunch.”

“…Why did you poke the wall?”

Another shrug. “Looked weird. I like poking weird things.”

Abe slapped Wilford’s hand away before he could demonstrate by poking the detective’s nose and took a closer look at said wall panel. Like the rest of the compartments, the walls were a mix of wood paneling and sections covered by red and gold patterned wallpaper that looked nice enough, if a bit worn out in some spots. Someone had either found a loose panel or pried it away from the wall to reveal a small space between the compartment wall and the backside of the wall facing out into the hallway, used to run pipes and wiring up and down the car along with a bit of extra insulation by the looks of it.

It also made a convenient hiding place for…whatever this thing was.

Abe knelt down to get a better look at the metal contraption, pulling a pen from his pocket to turn it over without getting his fingers close to the sharp, jagged pieces.

“This looks like a booby trap,” Abe said.

“Oh, tell me more!”

“Like something a hunter would use. Set it up, hide it under some brush or leaves or whatever’s out in the woods, and some animal goes and steps on it and bam!” Abe hadn’t meant to punctuate his words by triggering the trap he’d accidentally reset, but at his words the metal jumped again, except…

Except while he had been thinking about metal jaws clamping shut, the metal sprung up into the air about an inch and a blade shot straight upward before swiftly retracting back into the confines of the contraption.

A blade that still bore traces of blood on the edge.

“Seems a bit convoluted, if you ask me,” Wilford said. “What happened to just a good, old-fashioned stabbing? No need to go and make it complicated!”

As much as Abe hated to admit it, even in the privacy of his own mind (although with Wilford around that didn’t seem to count as much as it used to), Wilford was right. The thing was needlessly complicated, for what basically amounted to a six-inch stabbing range once triggered, if that. It also seemed like a devil to setup and remove, judging by how the moving pieces tried to take his fingers with them at least twice in just the minute or so he’d been handling it.

There were other signs of the previous victim, aside from the obvious bloodstain—a few threads poking out, connected to a small piece of fabric wedged tight within the gears.

“Speaking of stabbing, can I borrow your knife?” Abe asked, flinching when Wilford flourished the butterfly knife before taking it and using it to pry the piece of fabric free.

“You sure don’t play nice with other people’s toys, do you?” Wilford muttered as he took his knife back and closely examined the blade for any sign of damage.

“Knives aren’t toys, and neither is this thing,” Abe said, gesturing with the device in hand and hesitating.

Up until now, he’d been stashing away evidence in his pockets to keep it from disappearing, but this seemed like a monumentally bad idea for this particular piece. As much as he hated to do it, putting it back into the wall cavity behind the loose panel was probably the best move for now.

“And if someone comes in here to move it, that should be incriminating enough on its own,” Abe said.

“Someone like us?”

“This isn’t incriminating, this is investigating,” Abe protested. “Although yes, sometimes they can and do look like the same thing at a distance…”

Something itched at the back of Abe’s brain and he looked back at the desk covered in ledgers and notes, until the itch turned into Happy’s voice, repeating what he said back over dinner: “owner and CEO of multiple enterprises, at least seven of which are currently under investigation for money laundering and fraud…”

Happy had known a lot about the rich idiot off the top of his head. More than the kind of observational stuff you could just pull out of your fedora after looking at someone for a bit. No, that was someone who had done his research before getting on this train.

Shame then that the agent hadn’t kept a notepad or anything similar on him that might’ve given away what else he’d been looking into, although considering Abe couldn’t even read his badge it would have just been another tantalizing clue he couldn’t do anything with.

“Just three rooms left,” Abe reminded himself. “Although I think I’m already starting to get a picture of what happened…”

“Then what’s the point of searching the other rooms?” Wilford asked as he followed the detective out of Mack’s room and across the hall into Ms. Dorene Whitacre’s room, quickly identified thanks to the open trunk full of dresses, shawls, and other clothes underneath the window, along with a heady whiff of the woman’s perfume lingering in the air. What looked to be a hand-made quilt was draped over the foot of the bed, along with several extra pillows, while the other seat in the room had some half-finished knitting left out on it. Wilford picked this up, admiring both the needlework and the very sharp and pointed needles that came with it.

“I said I’m starting to get a picture, but there’s still a few corner pieces missing, and some bits of sky I can’t make heads or tails of,” Abe said, but he was barely listening to himself. He knew no one was above suspicion, but something about being in the older woman’s room left him with a feeling of unease despite the complete ordinariness of it all.

He could feel a judging stare on him as he looked inside the trunk, and when it became too overbearing, he glared back at Wilford and said, “Could you knock it off?”

“That is a lady’s bloomers you are handling,” Wilford said, and the detective quickly dropped the piece of fabric he had pulled out without being able to see it clearly by the lanternlight. “And I don’t see what the big deal is. Dorene is a lovely woman, who cares if she does a little murder on the side?”

“Literally everyone! Being lovely or nice or whatever else doesn’t matter if you go around killing people!”

“…Huh.” Wilford tilted his head, as though this were a new concept to him. “No, no, that doesn’t sound right at all.”

“Yeah, well, good thing you’re not in charge of this investigation then, isn’t it?” Abe asked as he continued his search, although being a little more careful about where he rummaged.

There was nothing too out of the ordinary in the trunk, aside from the pouch filled with an extraordinary amount of medicine. Then again, he supposed that wasn’t too out of the ordinary for a lot of people either, but he still took the time to check all of the labels just in case.

Heartburn meds, aspirin, eyedrops, antidote for poison, allergy medicine…

Well, one of those things was not like the others.

Abe tilted the bottle to better read the label. It wasn’t a regular pill bottle like you’d pick up at the pharmacy, obviously, and the label didn’t just come out and say “antidote for that rare poison you’ve got in your pocket, detective,” but Abe recognized the name.

“Why do you know so much about poison?” Wilford asked.

“Comes up a lot when your average rich jerk with a recently changed will turns up dead,” Abe said, pocketing the bottle as he straightened up. If he was going to be carrying around a bottle of poison, he might as well keep the antidote with it just in case. “Among other things, but that’s usually the big one.”

“Well, good thing we don’t have any of those around here, now isn’t it?”

Huh. That was some pretty blatant sarcasm in Wilford’s tone. He really must have taken Richard’s comment about his fashion sense at dinner to heart.

“Oh, please, like I’d care what someone who decorates a room like the one we saw back there has to say about fashion,” Wilford said with a roll of his eyes. “Can we move on to the next room already? I’d rather Dorene not find us poking around her boudoir, if you catch my drift.”

“Do you even know what that word means?”

“Not a clue! But I like how it rolls off the tongue: boudoir.”

Abe shrugged, but felt like he’d found all that he was going to, and they really didn’t have the time to spend too long in any one room. He wasn’t sure how long Benjamin could keep the guests happy in the lounge before they got antsy enough to start wandering around or heading back to their own rooms, whether or not the murderer had been found.

“And just what do you think you’re doing there, friend?”

Although Abe would have hoped his luck could have held out a little longer, especially when he turned to see Illinois pushing the brim of his hat back to get a better look at the detective caught in the act of closing Dorene’s door while the petite professor behind him folded her arms and shook her head with disapproval.

Two rooms left, and of course they would belong to the two people who just caught him in the act of snooping around.

“For shame, whoever you are,” the professor said. “Poking around in a lady’s room without her permission?”

Wilford said, “That’s what I tried to tell him!”

“I’m not poking around,” Abe said, and she wasn’t the only one who scoffed at him.

“He was looking for clues to find the murderer,” Illinois said, in his usual, unhurried tone. “What any detective worth his badge would do in this situation. I suppose you were planning on looking in our rooms as well?”

Abe cleared his throat and instead of answering that asked, “Just what are you two doing out here, anyway? I thought Benjamin was supposed to be keeping everyone gathered together in the lounge car for safety.”

“Little missy here said she had something important to check on in the baggage car, and I could hardly let her go alone.”

“Do not call me ‘little missy,’” the professor said, and drew herself up to her full if still not very intimidating height as she explained, “I have something very sensitive and valuable stored in the baggage car, and if it was damaged during the sudden stop or tampered with in any way, we could have a very serious situation on our hand.”

“More serious than the murder?” Abe asked.

The professor scoffed again and said, “Oh, you have no idea. To be fair, I’m not entirely sure what would happen if it got damaged either, but my projections say it would definitely be on the side of ‘not good.’”

“Professor Beauregard was very insistent about that,” Illinois added. “And I thought it couldn’t hurt to check and just be sure. But if you’re wanting to take a look around our rooms, I think we’d be glad to take a little detour and open the doors for you so you don’t have to go sneaking in, then we can all go to the baggage car together. Safety in numbers and all that.”

Clever son of a gun. It’s not like Abe could turn him down now that they both knew what the detective was planning on doing, and of course Abe would want to know what the professor had up there that was so precious and dangerous she just had to check on it. Framing the offer as an invitation meant Abe could save some face and still look around their rooms, which meant he had to be grateful even while Illinois ensured he and Professor Beauregard could keep an eye on him at the same time.

Illinois’s smile was disarming even in the slightly unsteady light of the lantern, his voice so friendly and genuine that Abe almost immediately forgot his suspicions as Illinois gestured toward his own room and said, “Well, shall we? I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Abe nodded, silently yelling at himself to get a grip. He could not let himself get distracted by a pretty face during the middle of an investigation, not again.

“Not that there’s much to see, of course,” Illinois said, in direct contrast to the strange array of items littered around the room, from a coiled bullwhip hanging on the coat hook by the door to the map pinned to the wall, its surface littered with so many pins connected by bits of string that even Abe thought it was a bit excessive. He gestured toward the locked trunk sitting to one side and said, “Just a few odds and ends I’ve picked up on my travels, on their way to a museum where they belong.”

“Yeah, I can’t just take your word on that one, pal,” Abe said. “Mind opening the trunk?”

“Not at all, friend,” Illinois answered without batting an eye. He pulled a key from one of the pouches on his hip and unlocked the trunk, opening it to reveal a lot of packing straw and several bundles carefully wrapped in leather and string to protect their contents. “This little beauty I picked up at a temple in Ohio. For some reason the locals begged me to take it from there—usually it’s the other way around with these things, but who am I to judge?”

Illinois unwrapped the covering, and for a split second the lanterns Abe and the professor were holding illuminated the glimmering jewel, a second too long as both recoiled and begged him to cover it, cover it now, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Illinois said, rewrapping the terrible, terrible jewel. “Eye of the beholder situation, everyone else who looks upon it is ‘filled with madness’ or something like that. You know how local legends can be sometimes.”

“Don’t…don’t ever do that again,” Abe said, barely able to get the words out as his lungs struggled for air.

Beside him, Professor Beauregard was doubled over, and he could just barely hear her say, “I think I’m going to be sick…” before lurching toward the bathroom.

“Would you like to see what else is in the trunk?” Illinois asked.

“No!” Abe and the professor shouted in unison, possibly the only time either one of them didn’t want to know more about something.

Illinois shrugged and relocked the trunk while Wilford said, “I don’t get what all the fuss was about. Just some fancy little piece of jewelry. I want to know more about this!”

Abe reached out one hand and grabbed the back of Wilford’s collar before he could get his grabby little mitts on the bullwhip, asking Illinois as he did so, “The conductor let you bring that on the train?”

“What, the whip? Of course, I never travel without it.”

“But he didn’t make you put it in the weapons safe?” Abe pressed.

“There’s a weapons safe?”

Abe scowled, wondering if he was the only person on this entire train who had his weapon taken from him, and took out his frustration by pacing the room and checking every other corner he could find, even tapping the walls to be sure of no more hidden compartments before finally having to relent and admit there was nothing else worth noting in the adventurer’s room. At least nothing related to the current murder situation.

But, while he had the man at hand, he might as well try to get all the information he could.

With that thought in mind, Abe carelessly picked up an ordinary enough looking rock and turned it over in his hand as he asked, “Did you know the victim?”

“No,” Illinois said, plucking the rock from Abe’s hand and returning it to its place with undue care. “Couldn’t even tell you the poor soul’s name. Saw him in the lounge car yesterday and I meant to introduce myself, but never got a chance to so much as say hello. I’d hoped to get to know both of you better after dinner, but he wasn’t too keen to chat at the bar and you were…well, I don’t like to wake someone sleeping that well.”

“You were snoring very loudly,” the professor added, returning from the bathroom and already looking better now that the jewel of Ohio was locked away again. “I had to go back to my room just to be able to concentrate enough to work.”

“What about you, did Happy talk to you?” Abe asked, trying to ignore that remark.

The professor paused, brow furrowed. “Well, yes, he stopped by where I was working in the lounge before dinner, but I could have sworn he used a different name. Then again, I’m not the greatest at names and I was so focused on working out the math behind a particularly tricky theory at the time, so who knows?”

“And what did he say?” Abe was trying to be patient, he really was.

“Oh, that I missed a coefficient!” The professor clapped her hands together, eyes lighting up. “Silly me, don’t know how it happened, but that was just the thing to prove without a doubt that—that, um…”

She cleared her throat and admitted, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it, but let’s just say it was a really big deal, and proves I was right, and that’s all you need to know about that. Anyway, of course I had to ask him how he spotted that, but he just said he was good with numbers, which, okay, sure buddy, and he started asking me all of these questions about my work? He knew so much I think he has to have been working for—for someone who’d like me to say more than I should, not that I would ever do that, of course. Luckily the dining car opened then and I could make an excuse about wanting to sit with Illinois so he’d leave me alone.”

“Oh,” Illinois said, looking a little crestfallen while Abe was still trying to parse that firehose of information. “And here I thought you wanted to get to know me a little better.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’d still love to take some samples of your artifacts before you take them to the museum or wherever it is you’re going, and maybe do a brain scan while we’re at it,” Professor Beauregard said, adding in a low voice to Abe, “I suspect radiation or some kind of hallucinogenic gas would explain some of the things he claims to have seen on his ‘expeditions.’”

Abe nodded without really listening, still thinking about the agent who somehow managed to catch a mistake in the professor’s notes and knew all about whatever confidential project she was working on. Was she the reason he was on this train?

Now that he thought about it, swapping rooms with Abe would have put Happy just as close to the professor’s room as Richard Moneybags—maybe he had been a little too quick to assume Happy had decided to work for the rich idiot.

Speaking of the idiot…

“Did either of you know anyone else on the train before yesterday?” Abe asked, and their hesitation and waiting for the other to answer first said a lot all on its own.

“Actually, I knew Dorene—or rather, knew of her,” Illinois said, cracking a smile as he said, “Imagine my surprise when I found one of my biggest benefactors here on this train. She’s donated a lot of money to museums, and helped fund more than one of my expeditions to get a relic back where it belongs. Lovely lady, which is why it’s a shame we’ve only ever communicated by letter before yesterday.”

“You two just happened to be on the same train?” Abe asked. “A train that literally has less than a carful of passengers?”

Illinois shrugged. “I was in the area for work, she was doing some sightseeing, and we’re both headed to a grand opening of a new wing at a museum—she helped fund it, and I’m helping fill it with that trunk over there.”

“Please tell me the Ohio thing isn’t going on display,” Abe said.

“That? Nah, that’s…” Illinois paused. “Actually, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. Usually it’s either take it to a museum or return it to its place of origin, I’ve never been in a situation where neither one wants anything to do with it.”

“You could sell it,” Professor Beauregard pointed out, before adding under her breath, “Not that anyone in their right mind would ever pay for something like that…”

Illinois grimaced and said, “Selling to a private buyer is always a dangerous road to go down in my line of work. As soon as you’re willing to put a price on something, there’s always someone who thinks that means it’s open season to bid for any and everything else you discover. Besides, who cares about the money?”

Spoken like someone who hadn’t taken more than a few dirty jobs just to make ends meet, but Abe sensed an opportunity and took it to suggest, “Well, you’ve got one person on this train rich and stu-er, adventurous enough to make an offer if you change your mind.”

He didn’t even have to say the name “Richard Moneybags” to get a reaction out of both of them.

Illinois grimaced while the professor all but gagged again, but it was the adventurer who admitted, “Yeah, thank you for the suggestion, but I think I’ll give that one a pass. If I’m being honest, Dick and I don’t exactly see eye to eye when it comes to matters of…ownership. Namely, that he thinks anything has a price if you push the right people hard enough.”

Well, that sounded enough like a euphemism for even Abe to catch it.

“’The right people’ as in someone willing to steal it if the owners aren’t selling?” Abe guessed.

Illinois just shrugged and said, “Nothing that can be proven, but word gets around. Although judging by what he’s got on display in his room over there, my guess is that his dealers can’t always deliver what they promise and make do with what they can—bit lucky for them then that he’s not so good at telling the real from the fake.”

“Sounds about right,” Professor Beauregard said with a snort. “All looks and no depth.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Abe said, turning on the professor. “What’s your deal with Moneybags?”

“My ‘deal’? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She managed to say that with a straight face, and behind her Wilford rolled his eyes and took the opportunity to pull a large sip from a flask—Abe’s flask, which the detective suddenly realized wasn’t in his pocket.

Abe scowled at Wilford but had to let it go for now and focus on the professor. “Sure, like I couldn’t see the way you were glaring at the guy last night. Look, I get it, the guy’s an asshole, I’m just curious how you figured that out for yourself.”

The professor stared at him, jaw working as she started to answer only to rethink it over and over again until she finally settled on saying, “Mr. Bags has made a lot of money by having a lot of ‘ideas,’ and then paying other people to make those ideas happen. He’s also made a lot of money by making sure those people don’t waste time thinking about little things like the consequences of those big ideas until they belong to other people. I mean, this is just hearsay and of course I wouldn’t know anything personally, certainly not anything I could legally share with anyone here, but you get the idea, right?”

“Uh…sure,” Abe said.

“I guess you’ll still want to look at my room,” Professor Beauregard said. If she was looking to change the subject, she still managed to sound and look equally unenthused at her own idea. “This just seems like a waste of time though, you know? But I know it’s important to be thorough, and Illinois had to go ahead and let you look around his room, so it’d look bad if I didn’t do the same. Sorry in advance, I like to work while I travel and things are a bit all over the place because of the train slamming on its brakes and everything.”

As Abe had already discovered, once the professor got to talking it was very hard to get a word in edgewise, especially when she managed to say all of that in the space of time it took to leave Illinois’s room and walk across the hall. Still, once she unlocked the door and pulled it open for the others to see the interior, there was just enough of a pause for the detective to comment on the sight.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Abe crossed over the scattered papers and books, hardly paying them any mind as he stopped and pointed at the very large and very obvious blaster sitting on the couch that no one had bothered to convert into a bed. “What is this?!”

Professor Beauregard shrugged. “Just a little something for self-defense. You can’t be too careful traveling alone these days.”

“She’s right,” Illinois chimed in. “I like to keep an open mind toward my fellow travelers, but there are some dangerous folks out there.”

“But—but this is…” Abe trailed off, looking from the gun that might as well have fallen out of a sci-fi pulp novel to the others in search of some sign anyone else saw the obvious problems here, but with no luck. He settled for muttering under his breath about the conductor and his stupid weapons policy before asking about the other “equipment.” “What’re all these machines for?”

“Monitoring equipment,” Professor Beauregard answered, slapping the detective’s hand away before he could press any of the large and inviting buttons. “Among other things. It’s all to aid my research, although now I’m mostly going through and trying to put all of the data together into something that even a bunch of monkeys in suits can understand.”

Illinois asked, “Are we talking metaphorical monkeys here, or…?”

He shrugged when the others stared at him and said, “I’ve seen enough to know better than to make assumptions.”

“Investors,” the professor with the same tone of voice she’d use to describe something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. “I technically can’t talk about it, and I don’t see that it has anything to do with what’s going on here. What is it you’re looking for again, detective?”

That was a good question. If there was a clue here, he’d be hard-pressed to recognize it among all of the gadgets and gizmos, never mind all of the notes written in the professor’s neat handwriting, the notations all perfectly legible and yet still beyond any hope of Abe understanding a single word of it.

Still, he made the same show of walking around the room, checking under the bed and standing by while the professor opened her bag to prove there were no additional weapons hidden among her clothes, or among the currently unoccupied cases for all of the equipment arranged around the room.

There was only the very obvious blaster she just had lying out where anyone could get it, but seeing it reminded Abe of Happy’s strange, toy-like gun, currently tucked away in his belt under his jacket.

“Did you make that thing?” Abe asked, gesturing toward the blaster.

“Yep!” Professor Beauregard hefted the blaster up on her shoulder, the thing nearly as big as her torso, and seemed oblivious to the way Abe and Illinois both flinched away at the sight. “I put it together while I was testing some potential uses of the—uh. I probably shouldn’t talk about that, either.”

She hesitated and Abe asked, “So you didn’t have a source, or know anyone who might make other…unorthodox weapons?”

“Nope, can’t say that I do. I don’t really care much for guns or stuff like that, if I’m being honest.” The professor shrugged and added, “Not bad for my first time though, right? Still working on the balance, and it has a tendency to pull to the right a little when you pull the trigger, but that shouldn’t be hard to correct for. Not that I’m planning on needing to use it much, of course.”

She beamed at Abe, who hated to imagine what she could make if she were a gun enthusiast. As it was, she seemed a little too comfortable wielding that giant blaster, which made it a relief when Illinois was the one who pointed out, “You may need to leave that here while we’re at the front of the train. Sounds like the conductor fellow isn’t a fan of blasty things.”

“Oh, of course,” Professor Beauregard said, setting the blaster down while behind her two of the men breathed silent sighs of relief.

Wilford, on the other hand, kept shooting such covetous looks at the blaster that Abe decided he better cut this search short before the man got any funny ideas.

((End of Part 7. Thanks for reading! And my apologizes to the Ohioans (excepting Mark, for obvious reasons).

Also that puzzle reference Abe made is 100% something Sam Vimes has said before. Cannot recommend the Discworld City Watch books enough if you haven't checked them out before.

Link to Part 8: What the Engineer Didn't Hear.

Tag list: @silver-owl413 @asteriuszenith @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @95fangirl @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-star-eyes @shyinspiredartist @avispate @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard))

#markiplier #fanfiction #wkm detective #wilford warfstache #professor beauregard #ahwm illinois #murder on the warfstache express #the jewel of ohio

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eljayetc · 10 months

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Today, during my forest therapy session, we picked black raspberries and made tea out of them

Nature is magic ✨

#nature #forest therapy #nature therapy #raspberry tea #foraging #foraging in Ohio #urban foraging #blob #merr #jewels #therpy

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freshthoughts2020 · 1 year

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At my latest art show

Follow instagram.com/the__corner

Visit gettothecorner.com

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savage-kult-of-gorthaur · 1 year

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TOYING WITH THE AUTHORITIES DURING A HEIST JOB -- ALL IN GOOD FUN.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on a 2003 Mid-Ohio Con sketch of DC's Catwoman, artwork by Adam Hughes, from the collection of Mike Rice.

Source: https://comicartcommunity.com/gallery/details.php?image_id=5590.

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holley4734 · 1 year

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Cold Case Quest: Jewel Rogers

@ColumbusPolice @CrimeOhio #truecrimecommunity #coldcase #truecrime #unsolved #columbus #jewelrogers #coldcasequest @BlazedRTs @bloggingbeesrt @sincerelyessie

View On WordPress

#cold case #cold case blog #Cold Case Quest #Columbus Ohio #featured #Jewel Rogers

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pwlanier · 1 year

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Vintage 10K Gold Masonic Past High Priest Jewel, dated 1929, presented by the Royal Arch Masons of Ohio, Martins Ferry Chapter, No. 173, centered with the breast plate of Israel and containing twelve colored jewels, with black enamel Hebrew lettering, red and white enamel highlights, surround engraved with Masonic symbols and scrolls.

Thomaston Place

#freemasonry #masonic

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vintage-every-day · 1 month

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A look around Paris Jewelers, Toledo, Ohio in the 1950s.

#vintage #daily life #lifestyle #ohio

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zodarii-dae · 1 year

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more hivewing hcs!! we see in the books that the different hives have very different cultures bc of the different rulers. so, they have stereotypes and jokes based on the hives.

tsetse hive is like the florida of pantala. the news is constantly ridiculous headlines like "tsetse dragon spotted shoplifting with lion rug on head, making lion noises" it's memed to hell and back.

a very common joke is that yellowjacket hive doesn't exist. it's right in between two of the most interesting hives, and is generally ignored. 'yellowjacket hive? what's that??' is usually the response when it's mentioned. it's also sometimes called the hurricane hive, bc it's right in the path of weather coming from the northeast, and not as secure as wasp hive. flooding is common, and repairs are often needed.

wasp hive is obviously the most strict hive, and also the most expensive. dragons there are seen as snotty and stuck up. jokes tend to be avoided during wasps reign.

jewel hive is, of course, the fashion hive. it's kind of similar to california. it's right next to the beach, and it's the most progressive hive.

bloodworm hive is known as the worst hive to live in. all of the strictness of wasp hive, with none of the benefits. dragons from here are seen as grumpy.

mantis hive is canonically the smart hive. they're seen as the nerds, and can be kind of annoying. 'um actually,,' is often used to make fun of them.

cicada hive is the normal hive. they're called boring, and treated like ohio. a lot of jokes about how everyone hates them. there's a popular candle shop that made hive candles, and theirs was unscented.

hornet hive lives up to its name, in that everyone there is always angry. hornet dragons will fuck you up. they're always ready to fight, and most of the news is 'fight at public event'. they're sorta like new york.

vinegaroon hive is the actually ignored hive. everyone always forgets about them, including the queen. poor vinegaroon hive.

feel free to use these in your work! add on any of your own ideas!!

#hivewings #hivewing wof #wof #wof headcanon #wings of fire #wings of fire headcanon #wof hivewing #wof hives #hives wof #zdae thinks

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sunny-mercya · 2 months

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Casino Blues

02. Royal Flush

Rusty Ryan x Male Reader | Platonic! Danny Ocean x Brother Reader

Fandom -> Ocean's Trilogy

Masterlist | Previous / Next |

The Royal Casablanca was not just a mere simple Casino—which thankfully isn't located in meek old boring Viva Las Vegas, wouldn't have fit the aesthetics—but it's The Casino of all Casinos—located on a ship, the ship itself being the establishment—for the high society of the world's wealthiest people.

Royal Casablanca, nicknamed Royal Bianca for short sayings, is a highlight for every Gambler—and auctioneers, who love to present their antiques—from past decades all the way to jewels of the modern era—you name it, they bring it, you pay and if you can't pay, well in simple terms; your life is not worth of living anymore—an thrill of excitement and ecstasy like experience.

So when Danny had knocked on your hotelroom—in the early hours of lunch, after yesterday's failed attempt of a heist to pay Mister Benedict back and you're still pissed at Danny and Rusty for that, because now you're on his hit-list too—greeting you joyfully, with a tight hug and ruffling your hair, stepping inside—amused at your husband, who eats a stack of pancakes, like the glutton he is—you were surprised when Danny said, he wanted to gather the team for another heist.

You're even more surprised, interest highly piqued though, when Danny mentioned the Royal Casablanca.

The guys, besides Reuben, looked only mildly confused—save for Linus, he had yet again no clue what's going on—with the mention of the name and you couldn't help yourself but to chortle out laugh.

»Could someone please explain what joke I missed?«

»Oh Linus, bless you, but Danny and Rus really needs to teach you some basics of the Casino and Gambling world« you said, getting up from the couch and standing next your brother now.

Linus didn't mention it, holding his tongue, how—in a way—unsettling it was for him—how fast you had changed personality by the mention of a mere Casino. Had you gone from bystander husband—who knows about the little hobby of illegally, like Tess—to professional informant within seconds.

And informations about Royal Casablanca you had.

»Gentleman's, when Monaco the Royal Palace of gambling is, than is Royal Casablanca the Crown itself,« you begun, starting—full in your element—to explain why this Casino is such a grand event of highlight.

From Europe, to Africa and all the way to Arabian and Asian east, the Casino would anchor at a specific location of country and stay there for maximum three nights, before it sail's away towards the next destination.

Since they have their own special bank inside the ship, the security is high but not high enough; which means, if played right, you can—in a metaphorical sense—rob it without being caught.

»Wait, how's that even possible?«

»Royal Bianca belongs technically to Monaco, in any of these three nights they make enough money—explosive enough—that if you might win a longer round of games in there and getting one of the grand jackpots and leave, it wouldn't hurt them.«

»So, hypothetically speaking, if one of use wins—although this time, truthfully without any tricks—let's say, 500.000.000 Billions, it's legally ours.« adds Danny and the others shrieked in shock.

»How's such a sum, in legal terms ours? What the hell is Royal Casablanca?! The devils home?«

»Nah, it's not the Devil's home, I would know—was there for years, although people say, it's also located in Ohio and somewhere else—but anyways. No, the reason why is; if you win, doesn't matter what sum, it's all yours. A wins a win, those are one of the few rules in there.«

»And who of us will be the lucky guy?«

»That's gonna be [Name].«

»That's right. It's me, who's not only an expert, but also the best of the best when it comes to Royal Bianca.« you boasted gleefully, fully proud and overflowing with confidence.

Royal Casablanca was your realm.

~~~

Danny, Rusty and you were in one of the many empty—to such an hour—lounges of the hotel, you're staying in for tonight and tomorrow.

From Amsterdam to Monaco was just a day trip away and since Danny and Rusty had to do a short visit in France anyways, their planned casino heist—in one of Europe's most prestigious establishments—was just the start of something great.

»You wanna tell me the real reason, how you lost thirty millions of thirty-five? It can't be just the hotel thingy of yours«

You poured yourself another cup of coffee, but stopped midway from drinking it, when Danny had asked Rusty that question.

All you wanted was to discuss the plan once more, taking a short nap afterwards and then getting ready for your performance—but not to talk about this theme again or having to break up one of their heavier arguments.

»Well, it was just twenty for my hotel, the rest ten millions had to be paid for [Name]«

The way Rusty had said it, sounded as if it was something he never wanted to actually do, but had to—as if being forced.

»Well, you never had to in the first place.« you replied back angrily, glaring at your husband, clenching your hands into fits.

»Why so snappy now? You weren't even part of it the last time, so you have nothing to worry about Benedict.«

You inhaled sharply, standing up from your seat. Even more furious now.

»Excuse me? I might be not part of it last time, but I am now and you wanna know why? Because your Mister Benedict came to me, to our house—where I, we, should be safe—and threatens me, that if I don't repay the money—I apparently have stolen too—to him, he's gonna bring me back to him.«

You weren't having any of this. Not with such blatant heinous disrespect towards you, after you were finally being free from that hells place—finally feeling safe enough. So you thought at least.

»Hey, hey, [Nickname] how about we grab a bottle of Cola and go outside for some fresh air?« Danny took your hand, taking a bottle of Cola from the table and was on his way outside to the small hotel garden outside.

Danny gave Rusty a pointed look, who only looks remotely guilty at the moment.

~~~

»So, whose [Name] exactly?« asked Linus, fumbling with his Bowtie. It's a question which burned on his tongue, ever since he saw what a kind of enigma source of information you are—when it comes to Monaco and Royal Casablanca.

»My Husband.« replied Rusty, looking just a tiny bit anxious and impatiently towards the bathroom, where you went in to get ready dressed.

»Yeah, I already knew that, but I meant like, personality wise? What's his job? Is he like us? Yeah know, all that stuff«

»Do you wanna tell them or should I?«

Rusty inhaled deeply, annoyance rising and patience running thin. He knew Danny's still just a tad angry at him, for upsetting you hours ago—Rusty himself feels the guilt coming up, ruining his appetite—but really, in all honesty, why do they—especially Linus—want to know information about you?

Were your personal information useful or necessary in the current situation? No.

Do they ask out of pure curiosity? Perhaps.

»[Name]'s my husband, he used to work in a rather expensive and fancy establishment of brothel business and is a merciless gambler when it comes to any sort of Casino games—so fair warning, never play against him.«

»Wait, wait, hold on! So, [Name]'s a Who–«

»Linus, we like you and so does [Name], but if you dare to finish that word or ever say it again—around us or him—I will punch you so hard, till your bones crack.«

Rusty wouldn't let anyone, be it stranger, family or friends, say such disrespectful and shameful term about you.

Words could hurt just as much, but when carved into your skin—they're a constant reminder for the someone's mind.

Linus had gone quiet instantly, when Rusty gave him one of the those stern looks.

»Ignore him, Linus. It's still a sensitive topic.« added Danny.

»Alrighty, Gentlemans! I'm ready.«

When you stepped out of the Bathroom, dressed in a mix between causal suit and old money look—heeled boots, which makes you appear taller—and the few added jewelleries, a clutch-purse and sunglasses—was such a look of pure professional, that Linus had to hold in a whistle. Rusty or Danny would've whacked him upside the head.

But damn, Linus thought, you know how to get dressed fancy.

#male reader #x male reader #fanfiction #malereader #xmalereader #rusty ryan ocean's trilogy #ocean's trilogy #rusty x male reader #rusty ryan x male reader #rusty ryan

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sundayandsunday · 4 months

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Hi! Welcome to our Tumblr! We are Ed and Carolyn Sunday and we specialize in fine antique and estate jewelry, vintage and antique watches, and a general line of antique and vintage home decor. I have earned GIA (Gemological Institute of America) certification in: Diamonds, Diamond Grading, Colored Stones, and Gem Identification. We are now in our 42nd year of business.

My husband has been repairing and restoring jewelry and watches for over 4 decades. He learned the business and craft from his dad (Big Ed), who was also a jeweler/watch repairman. His mom (Agnes) was a general line antique dealer, so this is a second generation business. We carry on the Sunday family tradition.

We are members of ASJH (American Society of Jewelry Historians), ASJRA (American Society of Jewelry and Related Arts), NAWCC (National Association of Watch and Clock Collectors), OGCA (Ohio Gun Collectors Association), and OVMS (Ohio Valley Military Society), as well as the Jacksonville Gem and Mineral Society.

With a lifetime of experience in the jewelry industry, we look forward to helping you find that extra special gift, or perhaps add a treasure to your own personal collection. Thanks for visiting and for taking the time to read about our career. We are here to help you, just reach out and we will get back to you promptly! Eddie and Carolyn Sunday

#antique jewelry #jewellery #jewelry #fine jewelry #vintage jewelry #antiques #victorian jewelry #estate jewelry #art deco jewelry #antique #vintage

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dailyunsolvedmysteries · 1 year

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Halloween Incidents that got mistaken for Decoration

Five days before Halloween in 2005, the corpse of a female suicide victim was hanging about fifteen feet about the ground in full view of the public for hours in Delaware, and it was not immediately reported because people thought it was a Halloween dummy. Instead it was the dead body of a woman who’d deliberately hanged herself.

For the better part of one day in October 2015, people assumed the human-like figure leaning against a fence in a small Ohio town was a gory Halloween decoration. It wasn’t until that evening that they realized it was the battered corpse of Rebecca Cade, whose boyfriend had beaten her to death with a large rock. Her face was so bloodied and disfigured, neighbors at first assumed it was a Halloween prop.

In mid-October 2009, the body of a California man who’d shot himself dead and was slumped over a chair on a balcony for THREE DAYS garnered no suspicion because neighbors in the apartment complex thought it was a Halloween decoration.

In October 1990, a 17-year-old male worker at a Halloween haunted hayride event in New Jersey accidentally died of strangulation while attempting to performing a “gallows stunt.” The hay wagon’s tractor driver grew suspicious when the boy, Brian Jewell, failed to deliver his scheduled speech when they arrived at his stop. It turns out that Jewell was already dead.

In 2001, a 14-year-old Michigan boy who was working at another haunted hayride—and whose friend claimed he “felt awkward simply jumping out of the woods to scare passers-by…[and] decided to take the place of a hanging skeleton.” When he struggled to remove the noose, observers thought this was part of the performance.

In September 2013, a 16-year-old boy from Kentucky died after spending a whole day decorating for Halloween after he decided to pretend he was hanging from the noose as a “prank.”

#halloween #murders #true crime #accidental death

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handeaux · 8 months

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Without Booze Or Ballyhoo, The Fall Festival Thrilled Cincinnati A Century Ago

Way back in 1976, Cincinnati’s Downtown Council announced a brand-new event. With less than a month’s notice, the Council decreed that Oktoberfest would occupy Fountain Square and Government Square for a weekend that October. The Enquirer editorialized support for the idea but noted that the proposal was “overdue.” Northern Kentucky, the Germania Society, and Kings Island had all entered the gemütlichkeit market years earlier. Today, of course, we know that Zinzinnati now hosts America’s largest Oktoberfest with attendance surpassing 700,000 revelers annually.

Hardly mentioned at the time, in fact, not mentioned at all, is that Oktoberfest filled a gap in the Queen City calendar that was once occupied by a major annual celebration known as the Fall Festival. Long ago, when Cincinnati was still warily warming up to its Teutonic inhabitants, autumn was capped each year by the city’s largest extravaganza, the annual Fall Festival, which filled Washington Park for a couple of weeks at the end of September and beginning of October.

Cincinnati’s Fall Festival grew out of a tradition of autumnal celebrations. The Saengerbund, one of the choral organizations that helped create the May Festival, sponsored a Fall Festival as early as the 1870s and annual events to benefit the Catholic and Protestant orphanages emerged about the same time, but these were all confined to a single day or single evening. The Ohio Mechanics Institute sponsored a number of very successful industrial expositions from the 1870s through the 1890s to highlight the city’s manufacturing prowess.

Community spirit really ramped up in 1900 when the Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce got involved. In January of that year, the Chamber announced plans for a fall festival and exposition of several weeks duration. The word “exposition” maintained a link to the previous industrial showcases, but the emphasis was on festival and festivities. Every year from 1900 to 1906, grander and more spectacular carnivals blossomed at Washington Park and Music Hall, drawing visitors numbering in the hundreds of thousands. The financial panic of 1907 placed those celebrations on hold until 1910 when a brief revival of the old industrial galas, the Ohio Valley Exposition, entertained the region for most of September and featured the premier of a specially commissioned opera, “Paoletta,” by Pietro Floridia.

One hundred years ago, Cincinnati again endeavored to revive the autumn celebrations of the past by staging an elaborate Fall Festival, again centered on Music Hall and encompassing the old City Hospital grounds across Central Parkway and the entirety of Washington Park. According to the Cincinnati Enquirer [6 January 1923], a major emphasis for the revitalized festival would be electricity:

“Superb electrical illuminations and ornamentation of the jewel and flood light types will be among the features of the display. Washington Park will be devoted in great part to this electrical display and multicolored beams will be thrown into the heavens at that point.”

The Cincinnati Post [27 August 1923] echoed this theme in its coverage of the first day of the Fall Festival:

“The children who visit the electrical display in Electric Hall will be fortunate. Electricity has just begun to make great strides in everything. The fact that these boys and girls will be able to see how electrical appliances are manufactured, how to operate them and to keep them in working order, will be of great benefit.”

At the center of the exposition was a $50,000 “Tower of Jewels” erected in Washington Park, bathed in colored floodlights throughout the evening hours and surrounded by miles of tinted party lights in celebration of the electrical age.

There was one huge component missing from the 1923 Fall Festival – beer. This was the dawn of Prohibition and the newspapers were full of breathless reports of raids on scofflaw saloons, including a Cincinnati establishment that had converted one of its gas fixtures into a moonshine dispensing spigot. Previous Cincinnati fall festivals trumpeted their selection of fine local brews, served up in booths decorated to look like British pubs or German Bierhäuser. Also absent were any of the unsavory sideshows associated with prior festivals:

“There will be no ballyhoo or carnival shows or other objectionable features of a festival, according to W.C. Culkins, who is Secretary of the organization.”

Despite Mr. Culkins’ assurances, the Law and Order Committee of the Cincinnati Federation of Churches announced that they would lodge official complaints against any sort of entertainments on Sundays during the two-week run of the Fall Festival because, well, this was Cincinnati and of course someone had to object if anyone was having fun.

The 1923 Fall Festival kicked off inauspiciously when a major storm blew through the city on opening day, with hail “the size of walnuts” reported. Nasty weather plagued the two-week run of the exposition. In spite of the almost daily rain showers, the crowds were good-sized and appreciative, even folks who were deaf and blind. Samuel Dean, of 1228 Vine Street, was, in fact, both sightless and hearing impaired, but reportedly enjoyed the exhibits described to him by his wife tapping details onto the palm of his hand.

Crowds thrilled to high-wire and trapeze acts at the hippodrome built on the vacant lot left by the demolition of the old City Hospital across Central Parkway from Music Hall. The formal garden planted by nurseryman William Natorp got a lot of traffic, as did the electrical train system set up by the Southern Railway to illustrate the 3,000 miles of track served by that system. The Cincinnati and Suburban Telephone Company presented a series of “playlets,” starring actual operators demonstrating how to make telephone calls. Concerts by local singers and musicians including Helen Kessing, Helen Nugent, Richard Pavey and Herbert O. Schatz filled the Music Hall auditorium and the Hippodrome theater.

The Cincinnati Post, while dutifully promoting the Fall Festival along with all the other Cincinnati daily newspapers, managed to deflect most of its coverage to its own entrant in the new Miss America competition. The Post selected Olga Emrick, age 22, of 913 Vine Street, as Miss Cincinnati. Miss Emrick spent most of her time before traveling to Atlantic City at the Fall Festival, giving the Post the opportunity to promote her and the exposition in the same articles. (Miss Emrick lost to Mary Katherine Campbell, the only Miss America to win the title twice.)

With no beer or booze for sale, there were no arrests for public drunkenness, but the pickpockets were out in force. A special detail of plain-clothes detectives led by Cincinnati’s celebrity sleuth Cal Crim escorted a dozen or so to the hoosegow almost every day.

When the Fall Festival ended, attendance topped 300,000 and included the governors of Ohio, West Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee. Plans were announced for a repeat of the Fall Festival at some future date, which never arrived, with or without ballyhoo.

#cincinnati fall festival #cincinnati exposition

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