High Steaks! A Job Well Done?

[Vio]

It was your typical day on Shell Island, a small island perhaps best known for its Marine base – home to the 153rd branch – and its small size. It was a nice day, sunny with a few patches of cloud that provided brief bouts of respite from the late morning heat, but perhaps ‘nice’ and ‘typical’ were not the best descriptors to use in this instance. For Temperance Jacqueline Marlowe, the island and its aptly named Shells Town were meant to have been a brief stop-off point, but duty always seemed to have a habit of finding her. More precisely, the locals seemed to be rather perplexed by a peculiar occurrence and, not being the type to let a puzzle pass her by, the freelance detective had decided to linger a little longer than she had initially intended.

“Hmm, how mysterious,” she pondered as she stood in the middle of the street, notebook held open in her left hand as she tapped at her chin with the eraser of a pencil in the right. Normally, a detective would have gotten closer to the scene of the crime to observe things more precisely, but not T.J. Rather, she preferred to stand several yards away at first and observe the scene as a whole, getting a feel for the site before delving deeper into the evidence available. Purple hues took in the stage before her; the outside wall of a small restaurant and the street around it, the tang of cooked meat gracing her nose as she tried to make sense of the situation. But the offending item – the reason much of the town was quite confused – hung against the wall at which she stared intently. A cut of steak, cooked to some degree which she had yet to assess, had been… well, it had been staked to the wall via a clean metal spike.

“Restaurant exterior… street side… metal spike… steak…” Whispering to herself as she jotted down a list of noticeable things in her notepad, moving her glasses down from atop her head so that she could actually perceive her own scrawl, Miss Marlowe questioned the focal point of this offence. First of all, was it really a crime to pin a steak to somebody’s wall? Did local law enforcement have any particular procedures for dealing with such a thing? By her standards, it was considered a form of vandalism – property damage, not to mention dabbling in a few other laws related to food quality and littering. Still, of all the mundane cases she had solved in the past, this one was perhaps the most bizarre. It was not a murder – or at least she hoped not, given how barbaric the crime would have been – nor was it theft. Even if it was an act of robbery, she was sure a hanging steak would have been quickly reclaimed or forgotten about.

“No blood trace, either,” she finished, quickly underlining the last item in her list before stowing paper and pencil in the pocket of her jacket. Formal attire was a preference, and today’s choice of outfit was no exception to that rule. A pale lavender jacket and matching trousers, complete with white shirt and shoes, and accentuated by a lavender tie to match the frame colour of her spectacles; the entire garb was well pressed and clean, trace of neither stain nor crease upon it. Even her tie was held in place by a small silver clip on the button line of her shirt, though the accessory itself had been tied in a strong and professional full Windsor. Her face, now adorned with her glasses to support her far-sightedness, was dressed with light makeup – a small amount of blush to make her look less pallid, a little mascara, and some light lavender gloss lipstick. Finally, as was usual, her lavender-blue locks were tied back into a tight bun on the back of her head, small hairpins holding its shape and keeping any stray strands from falling to her face.

“So then,” Temperance said to herself, stepping closer to the evidence. “What purpose do you serve…?”

SPOILER: Click to show

A short opening, I'm afraid, RK.

Temperance J. Marlowe (b378d3)

[RK]

This is radically unfair.

Quinn stood outside the main office of the 153rd branch's main base. He was told to arrive in casual attire to the main office and await further instruction. However he's been waiting for almost 15 minutes with nothing. Was he getting discharged? He had just been transferred from Loguetown, so it seemed unlikely, but Quinn knew better than to cast off an obvious answer to a problem! Perhaps his recent mishap regarding dropping his fork in the mess hall 3 weeks ago had angered his C.O. and he was getting reprimanded for it. Of course, it was all so obvious now! Quinn could take it however, this isn't the first time he's been rejected. He would just need to find another way to carry on his brother's legacy. A single tear shot down from the silver sleuth's eye as he saw his brother, Bert, in his mind. "Quinn" He always promised in his heart that he would make sure to be a good, justice upholding marine just like- "SEAMAN RECRUIT QUINN MADIGAN"

Quinn's inner focus was disrupted by the sound of his superior, an Ensign who's name escaped him at the moment. "Y-Yes Sir?!" The detective regained his focus and saluted his superior, ready for whatever fate he may be dealt. "Uh, its your day off, so you can go do whatever, we just needed you to pick up this letter sent from uh...Loguetown, from Mr. Y.I." The Ensign handed Quinn his letter and walked back into the office, motioning for the young marine to scram. "Y.I.? That seems oddly familiar..." Quinn spoke to himself as he walked towards the front door of the base. He opened the letter and pulled out a note. "Good Whenever, Quinn Madigan. As you may or may not have heard, I have been promoted to Chief Petty Officer for my exemplary work here in Loguetown! I'm sure they're treating you well, hm? Anyway, I have mailed you this to inform you that in 2 months time, I'll be transferred to a currently undetermined branch of the marines stationed in, queue drum roll, The Grand Line! Yes, I, Yardley Ingram will reach the Grand Line before you, and after that, I'll be on the road to becoming a Captain of my own division! Take care, Mad Again." Thus concluding Yardley's letter. The other thing inside the envelope appeared to be a picture of Yardley. It looks as though he's laughing in the picture, as if to mock Quinn. "What a jerk..." Quinn spoke quietly to himself as he exited the base.

It was a beautiful day out, the scent of the ocean breeze was fresh on the air, and it was just hot enough to go for a swim. Maybe he'd do that. Quinn's current attire consisted of a buttoned up dress shirt of deep blue. Over it he was wearing one of his "Lazy Ties" which was adorned with tiny cartoon cows. Quinn was also wearing a pair of casual sandals and a pair of brown shorts. Last but not least, Quinn was wearing his glasses, which he needed to see things far away. This was surely casual enough. The Marine on break ran his left hand through his hair, which seemed to be growing back now. Quinn's naturally silver hair was often a topic of embarrassment for him, and almost always kept it buzzed off. "Ehh, I'm gonna have to cut this again soon..." Quinn mumbled as he placed both hands in his pockets and began walking down the street, towards a rather peculiar smell. It smelled savory...like beef!

Quinn rushed over to the source of the smell, hoping to find a fresh morsel waiting for him. Most people in this town liked to off discounts to marines, however Quinn only ever went out to eat if he was wearing casual clothes, to avoid this. He didn't like the idea of using his status as a marine to make people feel as though they should give him cheaper prices. It, to him, wasn't the right thing to do. However this didn't seem to be what he thought it would be at all. It appeared to be some sort of...steak...on a wall. There was also a woman taking notes on a small notepad and mumbling to herself. "Is uh...everything okay here? Do you mind if I take a look at this?" The Super Sleuth spoke softly as he got closer to the steak. It was still warm, he could see it emanating steam. That explains how he caught the smell from so far away. "Hm...this steak is well done...not only that, its also a specific cut...Fillet Mignon." Quinn backed off and scratched his head. "What a waste of a good steak, not only did they nail it to a wall, but they cook it well done! It's basically the same as eating a hat...that someone nailed to a wall, of course." Quinn nodded and thought about this for a moment. He only really knew that this was Fillet Mignon since its such an easily recognizable cut, very simple, a thick, round chunk of beef. Not only was it recognizable, but it was expensive as well. Quinn came to three logical conclusions. "The way I see it, there's three possible reasons this steak is here." Quinn removed his glasses and looked down at this woman, who was only a few inches shorter than him it seemed. "Possibility number one, some new guy in this restaurant over cooked this steak and the head chef propped it up here to make an example of him. Possibility number two, some lunatic with more money than he knows what to do with is trying to start a island wide food fight. Possibility number three, there's more to this than meats the ribeye." Quinn placed his hands on his waist and stood proudly. "My name is Quinn Madigan, and if you're anything like me, then you wont rest until this case is solved, am I right?"

[Vio]

To be completely frank, Temperance J. Marlowe was not too much of a steak fan. She much preferred finer cuts of meat – easier on the palate, but appropriately filling. However, a good percentage of the population was fond of steak, and it had long been the cause of countless debates as to what the best way to cook such food was. Now that she was closer to the offending offering, her eyes observed the seared exterior of the circular cut, well browned and dried in look. In fact, it could well have been burned had it remained on the heat for much longer. A light leathery hue was indicative of its texture, but with little to no real experience with steak as a common meal, the detective could not really discern much else about it with her eyes alone. Luck would have it, however, that another sleuthing sir was approaching fast.

“Is, uh… everything okay here?” asked the stranger, drawing the eye of the investigator from the well-cooked cut. He was a tall man – approximately six and two by her brief calculations – with a fair complexion not unlike her own fair skin, and a head of short silver-grey hair that seemed to defy the reality of his age. By looks alone, T.J. placed him as a young man, perhaps in his early twenties in contrast to her age of twenty-seven. Dressed in a deep blue shirt and brown shorts, he looked a rather casual individual – a local most probably – but such notions were quickly offset by the cheesy tie he wore around his collar; a comedic cast of cartoon cows. Immediately, her mind started to work on a possibility that this man could well have been the culprit, but she reserved her suspicions for now. It was a little soon to jump to conclusions, after all, and the more formally dressed femme really didn’t have any facts or evidence to go by other than the stray steak.

“Be my guest,” she gestured. “I’ve not long stumbled upon this myself, but it caught my eye.”

How odd it is that he’s the first of all passers-by to actually approach this… Musing to herself about the sheer lack of attention many had paid to this peculiar picture, Miss Marlowe continued to assess the situation was due diligence. As a freelance detective, she received very few of the high profile cases on the islands she visited, often settling for the more subtle but similarly important investigations – simple thievery and such. Though the mystery of the staked steak had yet to be actively deemed an investigation by anyone other than herself, she was certainly treating it with all the same respect and caution as she would a murder. As she saw it, every case was different, but in the end no case deserved more or less attention than the one before it. Of course, such things as grand jewel heists and cold-blooded murders would take priority, but even petty thievery and simple acts of vandalism deserved the same degree of fine-tooth combing.

“It’s basically the same as eating a hat,” the stranger commented, “that someone nailed to a wall, of course.”

“Well done… Filet Mignon… Still warm…” Temperance muttered, jotting down the new information into her recently retrieved notebook as her unknown company prattled on about possibilities. It seemed he was something of a steak connoisseur, or at least had a greater knowledge of such dishes than she did; such terms as ‘well done’ and ‘filet mignon’ were not alien to the lavender-haired lady, but she would certainly not have been able to attribute them as according to the methods and manners of cooking steak.

I suppose that immediately rules him out as the vandal, given his distaste for the quality of cooking… Further dismissing any notions of the silver-haired surveyor being the criminal whom she had begun to pursue, a lightbulb flickered to life in the back of her brain. Perhaps, she inquired to her inner reasoning, this individual could prove himself an asset to her investigation? The idea was a trivial one, but brought about for good reasons that she had already assessed; she knew little about steak, and while it would be fruitful to devote some research into the ways of the meat, it was far more efficient to have someone else who could assist her where she fell short. Two heads were often better than one and already he was starting to provide small crumbs of information that could further her endeavours.

“My name is Quinn Madigan,” Mister Madigan said proudly, standing tall with his hands on his hips and honestly looking more ridiculous with his tie than he probably realised. However, all the while the wondering woman could not help but be more practical and assess his statements. It did not take her more than a second to realise that the last of his assumptions was nothing more than a bad pun, but aside from the subtle raising of an eyebrow she said nothing in regards to it. It was probably better that way. Clearing her throat, she turned to face Quinn.

“Detective T. J. Marlowe,” Jacqueline introduced herself as, stowing her notes again before politely bowing a little towards the rather eccentric individual before her. “Firstly, I assume by ‘like me’ you are also a detective? Secondly, of your possibilities, I’m more inclined to believe the first one… though the third may also be true.”

How on Earth he arrived at the second conclusion is beyond me… Humouring him a little in her introduction, Detective Marlowe soon returned to ‘work’, giving the dainty cut one last look over for any little imperfections or features that could be used to further her knowledge. There was none save for the distinct criss-cross pattern (#) seared onto the meat’s exterior, but it did not take a skilled chef to know that such a grill design was commonplace – if not a world standard.

“Mister Madigan, are you interested in assisting me in my investigations into this act of ‘vandalism’? You seem to know more about steak than I do, which would be beneficial to the cause,” she explained, though still holding some small degree of caution. If Madigan was actually the culprit, then maybe he was just baiting her into believing that he was an innocent party? But then, again, he was hardly going to receive much in the way of a criminal record if he was guilty – perhaps a small fine for littering and property damage issued by the local Marines. In fact, according to his apparent distaste for thoroughly cooked steak, the closest thing to murder that had taken place was overcooking the cut, and that hardly warranted time spent in jail. That depended on who you asked, of course…

SPOILER: Click to show

T. J. Marlowe (b378d3)
Quinn Madigan (abcdef)

[RK]

Hm? So she was in fact a fellow detective. Quinn snickered as the woman's name ran through her head and into his memory. Detective T.J. Marlowe. What a vibrant name, one could only wonder what T.J. stood for. Quinn probably wouldn't ask, he didn't want to pry too deep into this woman, and would rather hope that it comes up in conversation. Quinn's eyes shifted towards the steak again...it was still there. What a find. The silver haired sleuth straightened his tie. He surely did notice that Ms. Marlowe had taken a look at it. There was no doubt that a tie such as this one, with so much character, might be a bit too much for some people to handle. Quinn could say that his ties even emit a certain...otherworldly pressure...nah that's nonsense.

"Yes, I am also a detective, and in regards to my three possibilities...I usually find there are three possibilities to any situation." The marine detective explained. Quinn put his glasses back on and pointed to his own face. Though such a display may have been confusing to outsiders, he was certain that Ms. Marlowe would understand. "You see Ms. Marlowe, I look at everything with 4 eyes. 3 eyes see different routes and possibilities to any given situation, and ways in which to go about investigating it. That's just how my brain works. The fourth eye...sees nothing." Quinn tapped the rims of his glasses as he spoke, trying to get this woman to understand his crappy metaphor. Quinn hoped she would however, as she also wore glasses.

“Mister Madigan, are you interested in assisting me in my investigations into this act of ‘vandalism’? You seem to know more about steak than I do, which would be beneficial to the cause.” Ms. Marlowe questioned Quinn, who couldn't help but blush a bit. She was asking lil ol' Q for help? How nice. Quinn rubbed his face, trying to get the obvious red flush to go away, however that of course only made it worse. Quinn turned around to conceal his face. "Y-Yes! Of course! I am always willing to assist a fellow-" Quinn took a moment to swallow, sweat running down his face. "-investigator." Quinn's anxiety was most likely attributed to the fact that no ones ever actually been the one to ask him for help, its always been the other way around...

The super sleuth placed his hands in his pockets and rummaged around. There was nothing in them but he enjoyed the sensation. He didn't have any of his normal plastic bags or gloves with him so that he could take evidence with him, which was bothersome. He would probably have to leave this steak here...unless.

"You wouldn't happen to have any plastic bags on you...would you?" Quinn asked his extremely dumb question to the woman he was standing next to. It was imperative that they would be able to collect evidence. "Eh, uh, it's just, If we end up getting into a predicament with someone...and that predicament involves combat, I need evidence..." Quinn scratched his head, hoping that Ms. Marlowe wouldn't get up and walk away right there. "My fighting style revolves around it...uh...evidence I mean." Quinn's voice was delayed in some parts, this was quite the subject to explain.

"I'm just asking because both this steak, and the spike that's kept it clung to the wall are both important pieces of evidence, I'd say." Quinn placed a finger on the spike, he could feel a little bit of steak juice on the end...which means that whoever did this...placed the stake on first...then the steak...weird. "Uh, I think it would be most effective if we found out the origins of where this metal spike came from first." Quinn rubbed the steak juice off on the nearby wall and rubbed his hands together. "I haven't been here long, but I can guarantee you that it's much easier to get a steak than a stake here." The super sleuth explained. "Well, Ms. Marlowe, do you know of any places in town that one could procure a metal spike such as this one?"

[Vio]

“Y-yes! Of course! I am always willing to assist a fellow… investigator,” Mister Madigan replied nervously, suddenly seeming rather flustered at the prospect. Immediately, Temperance J. Marlowe was starting to have second thoughts about her decision, but at the same time it was worth having another pair of eyes – or two – to look over any and all evidence that she came across. Regardless, now was not the time to dilly-dally, and at least her associate seemed to recognise that as he pointed out the need to ‘bag and tag’ the important items. Prepared as always, the sleuthing siren nodded, extracting a couple of standard plastic ‘pockets’ – transparent bags with a folding seal opening on one side – as well as a pair of gloves. Quickly donning the latter, as was proper etiquette for the handling of evidence, she handed one of the bags to her comrade.

“We can at least retrieve the steak,” she stated, “though I’m not certain on whether it’s a wise idea to extract the metal, or even if we alone are capable of such a thing. There is no effective way of telling the exact proportions of the spike as long as it remains embedded within the brickwork, and I’d rather not try to forcefully pry it out…”

How good it would be if they invented some sort of warning tape – black and yellow, perhaps – for cordoning off crime scenes… Once more musing to herself about the intricacies of modern investigation and what it lacked, T.J. soon gestured for Quinn to assist her in bagging the steak, gloves fingers easing the meat up and off the metal which impaled it and slipping the offending filet into the waiting mouth of a plastic bag. At least, of the two detectives, they had something which was willing to partake of such a well done cut. According to the eccentric gentleman’s previous observations, well done steak and a plastic bag were not too dissimilar.

“Well, Ms. Marlowe, do you know of any places in town that one could procure a metal spike such as this one?” Detective Madigan’s question was a good one, no doubt, and it was actually rather paining to the lavender-haired lady that she could not come out with a decent answer. She had hoped that this man was a local, or at least came here on a regular basis for whatever reason, and thus could present her with useful pieces of general knowledge about the island, its establishments and the inhabitants. She too had only been here for just over twenty four hours, if that, and had had very little time to do much more than make a quick once over around the town. There was much more to be explored and uncovered, even if Shells Town itself was only small, though her subconscious mind was plagued by the prominent presence of an almost cylindrical tower that watched over the land.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Madigan, though I am East Blue born, I’m not native to the Yotsuba Island region. As such, this island is just as much of a mystery to me – perhaps more so – as it is to you,” Temperance explained quickly and professionally. Though she was not willing to disclose too much in the way of personal information about herself unless explicitly asked, she was at least not the type to hide things about her lack of knowledge in certain regards. This was foreign soil, even to the experience investigator who had travelled much of the East Blue in her career.

Ideally, I’d like to examine this skewer more closely, but removing it could be an issue… Purple eyes scanned the now bare protuberance, its smooth and dark steel form indicative of decent craftsmanship. Though it bore the right colour and composition, it was too thick to be a standard spit – and who cooks a steak on a spit? Clearly not this unknown criminal, for the searing of the meat was most obvious. Even then, whilst the rod was thick enough to be one of those longer spits used at hog roasts and other such events, it seemed far too short. Those spits were several feet in length, often as long as a man was tall (if not longer), and logic dictated that sticking a spike of such length through a brick wall would require; (A) incredible physical strength, and (B) that the spike itself protrude from the other side.

“It could be possible,” Jacqueline quizzed Quinn, refusing to take her eyes of the skewer as she examined the decently sharp tip and the subtle trace of juice, “that this spike in particular has been cut and filed to size. I honestly can’t think of any instance in which a spike of this apparent length and diameter would be used. It’s too thick to be a standard skewer or spit and – unless it’s actually sticking through the wall on the other side – too short to be the type used for a full roast…”

Weighing up qualities of the evidence provided was something of a gift of Temperance’s, her eyes scouring the protrusion for signs of being sawn and such, but finding nothing. Not even the slightest imperfection revealed itself as, with a small cloth, she daubed away the remaining juices that the steak had left behind. It was a clean, steely skewer, and now a potential hazard due to the lack of steak upon it. It just so happened to be at around average head height.

“Hm…” Once more reaching into her little bag of tools and tricks, the detective retrieved a length of red ribbon and carefully wrapped it around the spike. Whilst police warning tape had yet to be invented by any bright spark, the vivid scarlet fabric dangling in the breeze was enough of a warning for those passing by to take notice of. It was better than leaving the spike out in the open, even if they had no way to effectively cover the point and protect the public from the possibilities.

“Honestly, I think the best course of action to begin with is to see whether or not the owners of this establishment know there was a steak speared to their outside wall?” Marlowe questioned, bagging her gloves and remaining ribbon with one hand whilst pointing towards the restaurant itself. It was only sensible to consider the side effects that this act of vandalism may have had, and where better to start that with the more likely ‘victims’ of this ‘crime’…?

[RK]

The Silver haired man watched at Ms. Marlowe slowly but surely placed the steak into the plastic bag. While it was still the same steak, it became oddly more noticeable thanks to the big round whole in its center, drawing quite a bit of attention. It was also a good thing that Ms. Marlowe had bags and gloves on her at all times. Quinn didn't expect to do any work on his day off, so he didn't prepare any equipment for today. However, that wasn't important right now. Right now there was a case to solve! It didn't matter if he was working the busiest day of the year or had become a total shut in, Quinn Madigan is on the case! 

After a moment of out loud thinking and speculation on the part of Ms. Marlowe, it became quite clear what they were up against. This spike was very likely custom made, meaning that one wouldn't just be able to parade into any old spike shop and buy one of these. They most likely had it commissioned in advance. However, the next step would be to find out just exactly what this steak was doing spiked to the wall of this establishment, and in the process, hopefully find a perpetrator. "I'm going to head inside the restaurant to ask some questions...I think it'd be wise if you came along, and brought that evidence with you as well." Quinn's voice seemed rather flaccid at the current moment. He even noticed it himself, however he could not quite determine the exact reasoning behind the lack of power in his speech. Who knows, maybe as this investigation got stronger, so too would his voice. 

The inside of the restaurant was quite homely, to put it bluntly. It looked as though it was built out of someones home it had such a cozy feel. However, where Quinn's eyes might see a cozy grub joint, the eyes of a critic would mostly see a shabby grease wallow. Though the place didn't exactly look greasy, the middle aged man at the front desk did have quite a bit of grease slicking back his hair. The man was slightly overweight, with tanned skin is thin eyes. His cheeks puffed up on occasion...it appeared as though he was chewing an extreme amount of gum, judging by the litter of wrappers lying on the desk. The man seemed to notice Quinn however, and looked up from the newspaper he was reading. The man took a moment to make sure his three piece suit was looking nice, and sure enough it was, bar one little stain on his pants. 

-Hanger Munch-

"~Well?"

Well...what? Quinn didn't know what this guy wanted, hell he didn't even know what he was trying to look for in here exactly. He just knew that he had to ask about the steak...right.

"Excuse me, I'm not sure if you or any of the other staff noticed but...there was this Filet Mignon spiked into the wall..." Quinn spoke softly, motioning to the steak in Marlowe's hand when his speech deemed it appropriate. However this man seemed so...out of it. Quinn couldn't put a finger on it...it was almost like he wasn't completely here. Maybe it was something in the gum...who knows. 

SPOILER: Click to show

{Note}Arguably the worst post ever, D':

[Vio]

Restaurants varied, that much was certain, and this particular establishment seemed to have been formed with the intent of feeling rather homely and warm. Though small, as no doubt many of these places were, it was relatively spacious and comfortable, with no more than four tables – three for two, and one for four. This was likely a family restaurant, low budget but well regarded by the locals, but it certainly lacked the overall feel of higher class joints. Still, it at least had the benefit of diligence, even if the sleuthing couple did not receive the most open of welcomes. The building itself seemed to have been split into two distinct halves; the public side housing the main entrance and the tables for the diners, separated from what was likely the kitchens via a desk and wall with a pair of open doorways either side, covered by small curtains.

“Excuse me,” Quinn Madigan stated toward the rather strange-looking man at the counter, “I’m not sure if you or any of your staff have noticed, but there was this filet mignon spiked into the wall.”

This one seems rather bored, but I suppose I can understand that being the case when work is slow… Assessing the diner’s lone staff member and his contrast of lethargic persona and professional dress, Temperance J. Marlowe presented the offending filet as appropriate. However, she also took the time to scan the surroundings, duly noting the lack of custom experienced by the place. That was something easily explained, however, for this was hardly your typical breakfast establishment. This was a place for hearty cooked lunches and evening meals, so did the atmosphere scream.

“Oh… Uh… weird…” Clearly, this gentleman was not going to be very cooperative without some persuasion, for both his greeting and his answer to Mister Madigan lacked much in way of enthusiasm or openness. Distant was he, seemingly caring little for the fact that there could have been potential custom, and even less for their true purpose within these walls. Quite frankly, it was off-putting, and only served to further the explanation as to why there was not a single other soul within the building to the best of their knowledge. Placing the bagged and tagged steak upon the counter, the lady in lavender decided it best to approach the situation from a more professional standpoint and make her and Quinn’s duty known. Maybe then the greasy-haired grub joint owner would snap out of his trance?

“Sir, my name is Detective T.J. Marlowe – and this is my associate, Detective Quinn Madigan – and we’re here in regards to this steak,” she explained. “We found this speared to the far outside wall of your establishment using a metal skewer of sorts, an act of vandalism I’m sure you’re not too fond of, given the potential damage the stake might have caused to your building-”

“Steaks can cause damage to brick walls…?” he interrupted slowly, his eyebrows defining the questioning look in his eyes as he finally raised his head proper and looked to the investigators. As annoying as it was to be interrupted, Temperance humoured him sceptically.

“A metal stake can, yes.”

“Oh! I thought you meant this steak,” he chuckled weakly, pointing to the meat with one surprisingly beefy finger. Much as she had anticipated, there was a little bit of wordplay involved in this case that could well impede progress on more than one occasion. This was likely to be the first of many, and so she made a quick mental note to refrain from using the word ‘stake’, instead selecting a series of synonyms including; stick, pole, spike, skewer, rod and stave. Picket or stanchion would have also been good choices, though such words tended to imply a part of a fence or barrier, of which the offending protrusion was not. Wordings aside, there was a case to solve, and discussing the lethality or damage potential of a piece of meat was not going to get them very far. Admittedly, if Quinn’s assessment of it being well done was correct, then it would have probably hurt quite a bit to be slammed into with a filet mignon.

“No, sir, I meant the spike kind of stake. Now, said skewer remains embedded in your wall – it was quite firmly jammed into the brickwork by whoever placed it there – and I would like to see your kitchen area, if you’d please?” Miss Marlowe asked, wanting to stick to the business side of things. However, her request provoked even more attention from the man at the counter, his face visibly paling and eyes widening as a sense of realisation seemed to sweep over him. He swallowed rather loudly, probably due to the fact that he had just downed a piece of gum that he had been chewing, and seemed to step back a tad before straightening his back and pointing at them.

“You… I know who you are! You can’t fool me. You’re food standards, aren’t you!? Come to shut down my business, haven’t you!?” he yelled defensively, clearly misunderstanding the situation (again) and becoming excessively hostile about it. That behaviour in itself was suspicious, piquing the interest of the sleuthing siren further still as the owner tried and failed to look bigger. Standing around the same height as Mister Madigan certainly wasn’t helping, the casual inspector still capable of maintaining equal height without seeming to need to put any effort into it. Either that or the rowdy restaurateur was actually shorter than he looked.

This turned bizarre rather quickly, T.J. mused, adjusting her glasses somewhat before taking a moment to straighten her tie and jacket whilst the woeful gentleman continued to rant and rave pointlessly. Fortunately, despite the hostility of his words, he did not seem the type to actually want to risk an altercation. Little nuances in his behaviour suggested that he had spent most of his life as an introvert, forced to try and become less enclosed as he settled into business, but so far struggling to manage such things. Perhaps he was a good cook, or had inherited the place from his father before him, and thus was trying to live up to a standard he would otherwise have no achieved. Such things could drive people to be defensive about what they loved and treasured – human nature at its best and its worst.

“Please, sir, calm down. I assure you we’re no-”

“You can’t hide the truth from me! Don’t pull the wool over my eyes!” This was starting to get extremely difficult; for the owner’s misguided tenacity and lack of reasoning were forming an even greater obstacle for the dual detectives. Pressuring him into making a move was only going to make it worse and trying to be reasonable was clearly not getting them anywhere.

“This isn’t working,” Temperance whispered to Quinn, clearing her throat before speaking to the man at the counter once more. This was a final gambit, and hopefully one they’d get an answer for. “Then I’ll ask you this, sir; did you or did you not cook this steak…?”

SPOILER: Click to show

{*Spoiler*}

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[/font] (b378d3)
Quinn Madigan (abcdef)
Hanger Munch (00aa00)[/ul][/ul][/spoiler][/div][/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]