as written by Ronin, Sentry, and Tiko
It was midday. The Lutetia police department was in full swing, the lobby and office of the precinct drowned in a cacophony of ringing phones, droning dialogue and shuffling papers. Outside, an overcast blanketed the streets of the city in a silvery grey. It looked like it was going to rain.
The doors to the precinct opened, permitting entry to a thin, pale man in a long, black coat. The shoulders and sleeves were gilded in silver, an insignia resembling a many-branched oak tree sewn into its arm. The Inquisition. He looked bored, regarding the civilians and officers in the lobby with slow, monotone nods.
The Paladin who entered at his side looked like she would just as soon rather have been somewhere else this afternoon. It was boredom so much as distaste. The LPD's strained resources and ineffectiveness in handling the growing crime within Vargera was no secret, but Sylviane didn't begrudge them it. It wasn't incompetence, so much as lack of proper funding and resources. They didn't have the numbers needed to bring order to Vargeras. It left a bitter taste in her mouth in regards to why they were here. The orders had come down though.
Jeanne sat in her office, chair leaned on its back legs, eyes reflecting the glum afternoon. The fingers of her right hand tapped her thin lips, while the other fiddled with an empty glass bottle. So lost in her thoughts, she never took notice of the perturbing figures at the edge of her vision until the last moment. Loose bangs dropped into her eyes as she turned to face them. An eyebrow went up.
And so it begins, Jeanne thought. I was starting to wonder when he'd drop by.
The inquisitor's cold eyes waded through the sea of faces before resting on Jeanne's. A light smile touched his lips. He moved towards her calmly.
"Inspector Bonheur," he offered her a slight nod, "a pleasure. I did say we'd see each other again soon." He tugged at the fingers of his gloves and popped them off. "I'm afraid it's been quite some time since I've visited the department. Would you mind telling me where I might find the precinct captain?" He stopped. "Oh, goodness. Forgive me, I haven't introduced my companion." He turned and nodded to the woman. "Inspector, this is Dame Sylviane of the Monastic Order. Dame Sylviane, Jeanne Bonheur - the Bloodhound."
Jeanne stood up from her chair slowly, holding a hand out to the Paladin with the flattest of smiles. "The pleasure is all mine," she replied.
Sylviane took the offered hand and offered a nod of her head in return.
"I've heard about you," she told Jeanne.
The words were neutral enough to make it difficult to ascertain whether her impression of the rumors were good or bad. Likely a mix of both.
"The name floats around," Jeanne said. "May I ask what brings the Faith here? Must be important if you'd like to see my superior. Most detectives can take care of anything else." Her tone became stern.
"Indeed," Archard nodded, reaching into his coat and retrieving a parch of paper, sealed with the Lutetian fleur. "I've been tasked by the High Inquisitor to ... relieve you of some of your cases in the Lupaix district. The inquisition has taken a keen interest in the area. I'll be personally overseeing the investigation." He offered the paper to her. "You are to relinquish every document and piece of evidence you've compiled on the cases delineated in this order." His red lips waxed into a thin smile. "But of course, I'm overstepping myself. Where is your captain? I really must have words with them."
Jeanne's lips slowly parted, tongue sliding across her teeth with venom. Her fingers closed around the paper tightly, and she looked him straight in the eye as she whipped it out of his hand, jaw set. "Ah," she breathed. "Interesting, really. The church certainly took its time. A man is dead, Inquisitor. I thought the Church didn't like sullying their clean little hands with dirt. With... blood, Inquisitor. A man is dead. A man has been dead for a week." Oh, that smile on her face. "And what have you been doing? Sipping tea?"
The situation was beginning to draw more than a few looks from her co-workers. None of them were too surprised to see her getting into it with the church, but it still offered a distraction from the afternoon's paperwork.
But Archard only smiled back - no venom in his lips, only a quiet, humorous laughter. He had been willing to let the ordeal pass quietly ... but now that Jeanne had escalated the situation, he saw no other route. Eyes were on them. The precinct was watching.
"There are worse sins than lethargy, inspector," he reached forward and delicately slid the order out from her fingers. "While I apologize for the inquisitions lateness in this matter, I assure you I haven't been twiddling my thumbs at my desk, 'drinking tea', as you put it." His eyes gleamed. "Or going to bed with case suspects, for that matter." He almost chuckled. Almost. "Mr. James Guiscard was most hospitable during my interview with him. Something must have put him in a good mood."
He neatly folded the order and returned it to his jacket. "Now then. Your captain?"
A storm unfolded behind Jeanne's eyes, but the Bloodhound stood her ground. The corner of her lip curved up in a sneer, which turned into a laugh. "I do hope this case treats you well, Inquisitor. This case isn't just about Baron- because it looks like you've got eyes for him more than I do." She snatched her hat from her desk and sat it atop her mess of curls. "Second floor, third door on your right. Good day, Inquisitor. And you, Paladin."
The words were empty as she slipped out of the office, just as the first droplets of rain began to fall.
"Good day, inspector," Archard bowed at the neck, stepping aside as she left the office. He watched her leave. The small crowd of officers who'd been pretending to check reports dispersed in a mist of murmurs and quiet chuckles.
"That woman is one of the best detectives in this city." The tone of his voice made it difficult to discern whether he was making a statement or asking a question. "This was your first time meeting the inspector wasn't it, Paladin?" He turned to face her. "What do you make of her?"
"The woman's got balls," Sylviane remarked. "It's a shame she wastes them bedding curs."
"If James Guiscard was a simple 'cur', we'd have him in silver by now," Archard turned and began walking the length of the precinct towards the stairs. "An injured woman is found in his cellar. A corpse in the alley next to his bar." He rounded a corner. "He spent a few days behind bars. Three. He's smart. He's spent years building his pack in this city. He knows how to work the law."
Whatever Sylviane's thoughts on that particular matter were, she opted to keep them to herself as they walked in silence. Some things were better not spoken.
Archard began ascending the stairwell. "Jeanne was right, though. This is about far more than Guiscard." He stepped out into the second floor. "If my hunch is right, Lutetia's urban packs are on the cusp of a very dark, very bloody era." He counted the doors and paused at the third. "So." He wrapped his hands around the knob and knocked twice, a light smile touching his lips. "Let's make sure that, by the end of it, the Bloodstones are either behind bars, or cremated on a pyre."
He opened the door.
