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Raphael Cousteau LOADING...

TIP: The Republic of Vesper, formerly the Republic of Vesper-Messina, was once a dual kingdom. An amicable partying of ways produced two constitutional monarchies. Vesper, the richer of the two, is an Occidental nation known for its proximity to the pale and its exotic financial derivatives.

...

Alright, here we go. Welcome back to...Revachol. It's still wintery, it's still full of people of varying degrees of quality. Nothing is offlimits, it's basically two cityblocks wide. But if you're not sure where you want to go, here are a few possibilities you may each want to investigate. Separately, or together, the choices are yours.
    SUGGESTION #1 - THE LORRY LIMBO
Basically right in front of the warp gate. There's a traffic jam of semi-trucks from all over the world here, all waiting to acquire or drop off goods. None of them are succeeding. Joyce L. Messier, senior Labor Negotiator for Wild Pines, has suggested that there is some kind of drug ingredient trafficking affair taking place here. The lorry drivers range from your run-of-the-mill racial theory enthusiast, along a man clearly just selling everything out of his truck, past a man who's just kind of quietly humming, to an old woman who barely seems to notice the world around her. DETECTIVE WORK, GO!

    SUGGESTION #2 - The Old Church By The Boardwalk
Why would you go to this rundown church just across the river? The one with the wooden door, right next to the tent out on the river ice that's playing very loud electronic music? That's an incredibly good question. On the other hand, it's the current known whereabouts of Ostensibly A Police Officer, Raphael Ambrosius Cousteau, and the Definitely Competent Police Officer, Kim Kitsuragi.
    SUGGESTION #3 - The Whirling In Rags
The murder happened, ostensibly, right behind this building. The Concord's listening devices on the first floor have brought at least to their attention that Union dockworkers --IE, the Most Likely Suspects, definitely congregate down here. The ones on the second floor transmitted increasing amounts of disco, one at a time, as if each one was found and left in a pile somewhere.

    SUGGESTION #4? - a blue car in the ice i guess
It's a little bit southeast of the church, across the canal from the sign that got smashed into the river. It's what happens when you drive over thin ice, just half-embedded in a pool of freezing cold water. It's almost guaranteed not related to the murder, any startling implications about the universe, drugs, or anyone named Raphael Ambrosius Cousteau.
All-Seeing Eye      Eye is on a strict timetable, here. He has to solve this murder before the snarling dogs decide to bite. The best way to do that is some old-fashioned Soulsteel legwork. He pauses, standing outside of the Whirling-in-Rags. ...perhaps not 'old' fashioned, he thinks. His colleagues are even more... fervent than he is, when it comes to hunting criminals.

     His walk takes him to the LORRY LIMBO. Before he talks to any of the drivers, he makes use of his MASS-PENETRATING SCAN to surreptitiously peer through their cabins and trailers, searching for anything which might incriminate.
Staren     Two cloaked figures make their way to the Whirling in Rags. They walk up to the front desk, and one pulls back their hood -- Staren. "Excuse me, are any of the dockworkers home? I'd like to talk to them."
Pazkar Pazkar has his own way of solving a drug smuggling case. The man in massive golden armor, with red jewels built in, approaches the LORRY LIMBO. He walks at an even pace, and then stops at the man selling everything out of his truck. Pazkar begins looking through what he's selling, and then asks him.

Hello. I am the unbreakable Pazkar. What do you have for sale?

Maybe some of it will be a clue, as he looks in his inventory for those Credits he got from the Paladins.
Lilian Rook     Having already checked out the Whirling in Rags before, and having negative interest in dirty truckers sitting around a filthy roundabout to a run down port peddling drugs, Lilian's recent interest remains examining the mysterious Inspector assigned to this town and his thankfully straight laced and cop-like partner. Joyce *had* actually suggested she speak to the latter in terms of something she'd already wanted to know, but the former retains her interest as well.

    So she has to go to the OLD CHURCH. She hasn't really varied up the utility of her outfit much, just cycled through a few different similar styles and colours of jackets and accessories, seeing as they 'blend in' fine and keep away the slushy coastal cold. She pretty much just struts right on in, only pausing briefly to tell if the electronic music is actually a real bop or just hot garbage.

    "Kitsuragi. I suppose I should ask if you prefer Officer or Inspector." she opens with, removin a gloved hand from her pocket and waving in that royal half-assed way. "I've been told you can answer a question of mine. Specifically, how this area is supposedly policed, where you come from, and why it was such a pain to get you two here in the first place. I've heard it's 'complicated', but I do need to know a little more."

    Thankfully, she is oozing greatly less dark uncanny energy today. Whatever it was, it seems to be under control. Under the surface.
Raphael Cousteau     AT THE TRAFFIC JAM..
Well! The good news is that the scan absolutely works. Nothing here is magically scan-proof. The bad news is that there's a lot of stuff to sift through. There's one truck with posters and books that feature an image of a sun, and talk a lot about unity and the importance of a nation and of cultural integrity. Fwee fwee, went the whistle. These trucks also contain... all kinds of perfectly ordinary goods. Apples. Trackwear. Electronics. It really does seem that a vast quantity of the world's trade absolutely passes through here. Honestly, besides one truck having a startling amount of radio equipment in the driver's seat, nothing is sticking out. It's entirely possible that the drugs haven't been loaded from the harbour yet. You know, what with the strike and everything.
Pazkar finds himself talking to a man with wide sunglasses, sitting on a cardboard box. He doesn't seem remotely fazed by the giant suit of armor, and he grins widely. "Hey hey, happy shopping, knight man! Everything is -cool- here. I'm selling the coolest goods in Revachol. I've got sneakers, speakers, *extremely* comfy pants too. Probably a lot comfier than that armor you're wearing." He pops off finger guns at the man. "What're you looking for?"

    MEANWHILE, AT THE WHIRLING-IN-RAGS..
The inside of the Whirling, at least this floor, resembles a cafeteria. there are several tables with benches to eat on. Some non-functional pinball machines in the corner. A lady in a wheelchair patiently waits for something. A side room hosts a boisterous party of men congratulating each other on..something. A man prepares food in the kitchen. The karaoke bar sits sad, unused, alone.

Staren finds himself talking to a man with curly black hair, and a tired, distressed sound to his voice.
"The dockworkers are *here*, yes," He pedantically corrects. "They're having their meeting in the bar." It takes him a moment, before he fully recognizes what he's talking to. "...wait. Weren't you the one here the other day with that man in the suit?"
He puts down the taxidermied bird he seems to be trying to repair. This is a meek man, trying very hard to be brash and dangerous.

    THE CHURCH
The electronic music, for the record, isn't strictly speaking that bad. It's pretty danceable, but there's something odd about it. It just sounds different, vaguely alien to the kind she's come to expect. The inside of the church is..about what one expects from an abandoned old church. Tall, with wooden rafters branching outwards further up into a pitch black void. A stained glass window taking up most of a wall, with some female saintly figurine with glowing lungs on it, half busted with snow pushing its way in. Kim Kitsuragi and Raphael are standing in the middle of an intricate..something. There's wires, and bowls of water. Kim puts a hand to his ear, looking at Raphael, before stepping forward to address Lilian.
"Apologies. It is..very hard to hear anything in that part of the church." On the assumption of a vague repetition of request, he endeavours to usefully explain. "Officer will be fine," He clarifies first. "...but very well, let me explain the situation. Martinaise does not have ..official police coverage. It has been an ill defined space between the 41st Precinct, from where the detective hails..." He indicates Raphael with one hand. Raphael is staring up into the void, hand raised as if to attune to it somehow. "...And my own 57th precinct. This case is an..imbecilic *pissing competition* to see who gets control of the area." He does not seem particularly happy about the competition. "To avoid unnecessary geographical clutter and history, we're from nearby...districts. As for getting here..the bridge was damaged when someone smashed the sign over the canal. There are signs that a motor vehicle was involved, judging by the tire tracks. I think someone..tried to jump the canal. In a car."

He does not seem happy that someone tried to jump the canal in a car.
Staren     "I see. Where is this bar?" Staren asks. "And what if I was? Do you think we should lay off investigating a murder? I mean, when people are randomly killed for no reason, isn't that worth looking into? What if I'm next? What if /you're/ next? We've got to catch them."
Pazkar Pazkar should ask him about the drugs. But Pazkar has no idea how to phrase that properly - that was what Adachi was for! So instead, Pazkar thinks...and his brain catches on another track.

How much for the pants? Do you take credits? They're the popular currency in the Multiverse, I hear.

And then, if there's a quest associated with this man, Pazkar wants it. It'd give him a title, a brief description, and a brief list of objectives to follow. Pazkar is unsure if this man is involved in drug-dealing, but at the least, he might be able to help better things in Revachol.
All-Seeing Eye      Eye is very used to sifting through lots of stuff. He's always at least a little suspicious of others by nature, and very meticulous. And while that does make him an asshole, it also makes him a decent detective. He wrinkles his nose in distaste at the dogwhistle posters. "May the Great Maker protect them if they ever try /that/ mode of government," mutters the Alchemical.

     There is one other truck that catches his eye, though. One point of interest about this world is its reliance on radio technology. To see one inside a truck seems no unusual thing, to him. Surely, with this 'pale,' there's a need for a reliable means of communication. But to see a great deal of it all in one truck is... a little strange. He's already here, and he's blessed with the ability to look at things without /looking/ like he's looking at them. Why not?

     He focuses his vision on the truck with the RADIO equipment. Is there anything else of note inside the truck? Residual traces of far-off places, hidden compartments, that sort of thing?
Raphael Cousteau     AT THE WHIRLING-IN-RAGS
The man's eyebrow slowly raises. "You're..also investigating the murder. Oh, good. Maybe you'll be as useful as the first officer. Did you want to drink the rest of my alcohol as well? Maybe you'll even pay for it," He grouses. "..I'm sorry. It's been a hard time." Garte takes a breath. "It's not that I don't want to help you. Honestly. It's that I don't really know anything. The girl who *was* here when the police were called--I'm filling in for her. She quit. All I know is that a body was hanging up for seven days before you.. 'Elites' came by and fixed it. I don't think I'd be murdered, anyway," He cleans a glass, idly. It seems like the thing to do.
"I'm a *cafeteria manager*, and the Union likes me. The dockworkers --they're the ones who have been bragging about stringing him up. Maybe go talk to them." He says, tilting his head towards the makeshift 'Union Hall'.

A girl--the blonde girl from earlier, descends the stairs a moment, before returning back up with a languid hurry after seeing Staren.

    LORRY LIMBO..
"Credits?" The man asks. "Hmm. Alright, we can work something out with that! I'm easy-going. I take all kiiinds. Anyway, for you...hm. Hard for me to guess your *size*, friend! But I'll try my best. Tell you what, I got a pair of these FALN tracksuit pants. I bet you'd run way faster in those than in that clunky armor, eh?" He smiles winningly, giving a price. It's... not a *bad* deal, in Pazkar's estimation, but it's not a great one. The forces of 'off the back of a truck' have collided with 'good luck finding another source here'.
TASK: Beware, These Be Wares
The fact is, Pazkar, you don't know a lot about Revachol. A great way to learn more about a place might be to learn what sort of stuff he's selling. This guy has about four boxes worth of junk to look through. Who knows what kind of treasure you might find?
- Search 4 boxes (0/4)
- (Optional) Buy Something
Staren     "Alright, alright, fair enough. Sorry the last officer was a jerk, but I've nothing to do with them. I'll go talk to--" Suddenly he runs, superhumanly fast, trying to get past the girl and stand in her way. "Something wrong, miss?" He starts to put on a menacing smile, then just sighs. "Look, I'm just trying to help. If you've got a good reason for me NOT to, I'll hear you out, but what I said to him still applies. A murder for no reason... how can people feel safe here? How do they know they won't be next?"
Pazkar It's not a great deal. But Pazkar isn't aware of great deals, because his game didn't have a Discounts system.

He hands over the credits with a clawed grip to buy some tracksuit pants, and then begins to shift around the boxes. The man will notice immediately - he can probably get Pazkar to buy more, as he begins to remove his armor. Rapidly. It just disappears into space and what is left is a fluffy-haired young man, not nearly large enough to fit in that armor, with light eyes and a missing right arm. Where his right arm should be is a prosthetic, made of clockwork and wires. Pazkar's dressed in a white jacket and black jeans.

He promptly moves out of sight, disappears his pants into his inventory, and pulls on the tracksuit pants. He makes sure no one's /watching/ him, because that's rude, before starting to look into the boxes. He needs to fulfill this quest.
Raphael Cousteau     MEANWHILE, on the other half of the LORRY LIMBO..
The truck is plastered with old movie posters, featuring various actresses. The radio transmitter is missing its key, but looks capable of a remarkable amount of communication. While there's no hidden compartments of note, there's absolutely a toolbox. Further investigation reveals to All-Seeing Eye...

Nothing. there's a newspaper in there. The rest of the tools have been all scattered on the floor of the truck, haphazardly. Did you want to keep going, Exalted? There's no smoking gun here, but someone definitely was in a hurry.
    BACK AT THE RAGS...
Garte, Cafeteria Manager of the Whirling-In-Rags and two other locations, has absolutely no words to say when the strange cat man decides to rush up the stairs, so instead he looks to the other man in the cloak. "Is...he your..police partner?" He offers, trying to make conversation. He doesn't know what to do, here.
He catches up with the blonde woman just as she's getting back into her hotel room. She stops. She looks him over, lighting a cigarette. She looks glamorous, in a sense, but tired. She's seen too much. Far, far, too much. She adjusts her dress, and exhales smoke into the air. "... The world is wrong. All of it," She says. "But that's not got a great deal to do with me, mister." She purses her lips to have another puff.
"I'm not here to stop you from investigating."
Staren, meanwhile, hears a familiar tune. It's the disco music a bunch of his bugs have been hearing. If he looks around, there's a radio next to rumpled newspaper playing it. If he's especially clever, his bugs are all scattered in a pile directly underneath it. They're not even broken.
"...Did you want me to answer some questions for you, then?"
Staren     The other cloaked figure wordlessly heads to the stairs. Staren.... 'interrogates' the woman. "Just to tell me what you know. You say the world is wrong, do you want to make it a little more right? Are there problems /besides/ the murder that need to be solved? I don't even know for sure the murder wasn't just -- maybe the police here are corrupt. I'm trying to get a feel for the place and noone wants to help. If you don't have anything to say, then let's stop wasting eachother's time and I'll get going." One ear turns towards the radio, but he won't interrupt the conversation to retrieve his bugs.
Lilian Rook     Lilian decides the music is . . . something that kids too young to be going to a club would be dancing to in a weird hole in the wall sort of 'avant garde' club anyways. She doesn't like it. It feels too many generations advanced and makes her feel somehow old, despite not even being out of the equivalent of college yet. Screw that.

    "And you don't have . . . boats?" Lilian says. "Well, ice breakers, I suppose. Or a personal plane? That seems like an oversight for a police department." she sighs, even while sort of getting the picture. "So you two are technically competing? Or rather, a vicarious form of competition between your bosses. I know 'departments' are sometimes like that." she glances to Raphael, and . . . whatever he's doing. "Albeit, it doesn't seem like much of a competition so far."

    "What is . . . this thing, anyways?" Lilian asks, motioning as if to tap one of the wires, but not making contact. "And who is that supposed to be?" she also adds, gesturing towards the broken mural.
Raphael Cousteau     UPSTAIRS, in the WHIRLING IN RAGS...
The woman studies Staren for a moment longer. She offers a faded smile. "Alright, officer." She looks to the side. "Is this a new technique? Usually, cops ask about the crime they're investigating..." The admonishment is gentle. "Call me Klaasje."
It comes not quite as a command, but without the hint of it being an offer. She looks amused, faintly, as she continues. "The world is full of problems. But...if anyone can fix *all* of the world's problems, I think it's you," She says. "Call it a hunch, cute kitty."

She ponders the rest a moment. "Oh. Of course the police are corrupt. The dockworkers are corrupt. The Wild Pines company is corrupt. I'm corrupt. Maybe if you're lucky, you're the only thing in this world right now that *isn't*." Another puff of the cigarette.
"So, why don't you tell me what you want to know, and I'll tell you what I can..." Her eyes lid a little.

    ADVENTURES IN SHOPKEEPING, GO
Pazkar now has new pants. "Hey, no shame here," The man says. "It's good to try 'em on now to make sure they fit, right?" The arm gets his notice for a moment. "Hey, cool cybernetics. I really like that *retro* look you've got going, there." He nods agreeably. "Maybe you should get some cool sunglasses to match them, right? I've got tons of sunglasses in one of these boxes, I'm sure some of them might fit your style."

There's all kinds of equipment here. Shoes! Track pants. Track /jackets/. Sunglasses! This is an armor store! Also, one mysterious item--a box with a round mesh on the front. It appears to be emitting music. If there's any chance, whatsoever, that this store sells a Key Item, that absolutely must be it.

    BACK TO THE CHURCH
Kim Kitsuragi shakes his head. "We..were not appraised of the drawbridge situation in advance. There are plenty of boats in this archipelago, but...at any rate, is this really connected to the murder investigation, in your view?" He raises an eyebrow towards Lilian, trying to regain some control from the inadvertent misstep.

The stained glass gets Kim's attention again. "This church is dedicated to one of the Innocences. Dolores Dei, in particular." He points to the glowing lungs visible through the woman's clothing in the image. "...Think of her as a religious icon of our world. If I understood my briefing correctly, she is somewhere above one of your 'Catholic popes'." He nods firmly. There is a sense he is particularly proud of having successfully done his homework on Multiverse religion.
The other question gets a shrug. "...I am unsure what the 'dealio' is with the bowls of water and wires," he admits. "The detective seems to believe they have to do with the 'hole in the universe'," air quotes with fingers, "He has found here."

Something seems to be climbing down the rafters with almost inhuman agility.
All-Seeing Eye      Interesting. The owner of this truck, as with many others, is certainly open about their interests. What really brightens his day is the tools. This is someone he can respect! Though... their sense of organization is certainly at fault.

     He shoves his hands into the pockets of his long coat, looking quite pleased as he appears to idle in the gridlock. There's one last thing he needs to look into, and then he can simply ask one of the drivers about the one who drives this truck. Do any of the tools appear to have been used recently? He makes this observation, makes note of the result, and then searches for a nearby driver to question.
Staren     Staren looks... skeptical. Actually suggesting so readily that he really CAN solve all this world's problems and calling him cute is overselling it a bit. No one EVER does those things. Staren doesn't even try to NOT look suspicious, but he asks anyway: "Why might he have been killed? And what do people here /want/?" His silent partner waits by the stairs.
Lilian Rook     "Slightly." Lilian replies to Kim, confidently but dispassionately. "At any rate, it's something I feel I should know. There's no reason it should be a secret."

    The murals being of a religious figure seems fairly obvious for a church, but it's immediately clear that it's a religion that Lilian knows everything about. For some reason, on this topic, she brightens up just a little bit. Her gaze seems a little more awake, absorbing the artwork more intently, and her voice perks up with interest. "*Above* the Pope? What is she, some sort of messiah? Prophet? Demigod? And why is she depicted with light issuing from her lungs." She actually wanders over to the shattered glass, removing her glove, and touching her fingers to the--

    The clambering in the rafters draws her attention first. Her head snaps upwards at the source of the sound clearly too swiftly to be by anything but pure reflex. 'Could be an animal.' is what she thinks to herself, admitting that it's quite probable. She could easily leap up there and check, but she kind of doesn't want to start doing things like that right in front of the pair *just* yet. Then again, the broken mural is really bothering her. She takes a quick look around to see who else is in the church right now, and paying attention, still while keeping a close ear on the rafters.
Pazkar Pazkar counts his money in his head. He has enough for two more purchases, roughly, though if one of them is Expensive, he'll go broke. Which, as a JRPG adventurer, he is perfectly liable to do. As he searches the crate, he takes a pair of sunglasses he likes, makes sure they fits his head, and then pays for them.

And then he finds the round-meshed box that emits music. A Key Item, absolutely. This is big. It might solve the case.

What is this? How much? I must have it.
Raphael Cousteau     WHIRLING IN RAGS:
Klaasje responds to the suspicion with a slight smile. "..Forgive me. Maybe I'm just being hopeful. Something very big is going to happen soon, and unless someone does something, we're *all*.. well, fucked." Cigarette puff. Then the question of 'why he was killed' comes up.
"I think the boys downstairs would tell you he died because he sexually assaulted a woman they cared about," Klaasje offers. "...and as for what people want, you're going to have to be more specific. People want a lot of different things. Some of us want to drink for three days straight and forget the entire world. Some of us want to be forgotten. What do *you* want?" She offers, by way of example.

    LORRY LIMBO, EXALTED EDITION:
None of the tools appear to have been used recently. If there was a tool needed, whoever needed it took it with them, and discarded the rest. As for the drivers, Mister Eye has, we'll say three options.
1: A fat man who keeps eyeing him and keeps mouthing something that looks like 'There's some of you weevil coal' whenever the Exalted isn't explicitly looking. He undoubtedly will be the second of three racists. He is not the lucky one. Not yet.
2: An old woman who is staring into space, vacantly.
3: A friendly man leaning against a truck, quietly singing to himself.
SO many choices.

    BACK AT THE 'SHOP':
The 'shopkeeper' is suddenly reticent. "That? Oh, the speakers? Are you sure you don't want the lovely sneakers atop them instead?" He asks. "I really don't *want* to sell that. I'd have to charge a hefty premium, you know, they're top quality. They keep me -going- throughout the day..."
Pazkar may note that the speakers look..older than the other technology he's seen. Maybe even, comparatively.. *ancient*. The price he's given is..significant. He may have to go kill some monsters for a while to get the required cash.

    GET ME TO THE CHURCH ON TIME:
Kim Kitsuragi seems to accept that answer. "..Just asking. As for Dolores Dei, she was an 'innocence'. They are..." He pauses for a moment, trying to decide how to put it. "They are considered to be the highest historical personage possible. It's considered an exciting honor just to live at the same time as one is in power." He looks at his notebook, checking something for a moment. "When she was anointed as an Innocence, her lungs started glowing, they say. This is commonly attributed to mass hysteria and religious psychology. I doubt it really happened."
Lilian's related intuition tells her this absolutely really happened.
"At any rate, they are considered utterly infallible in all things--specifically, that everything they would do would have happened anyway, just that we have the benefit of having the changes in decades, instead of centuries. We have only ever had... *six*," He seems to recall. "..in all of recorded history. They're a big deal."
Raphael Cousteau On a side note, the church is..empty. Unless you count the weird spider-like man continuing to make his way down the rafters, or Raphael wandering over to the radio computer and sort of squinting at it curiously.
Pazkar I see. I do not have enough money. I will return for it when I do. He pools the rest of his money, takes his sunglasses, puts them on, and then promptly starts wearing them in-doors. On the plus side, he looks human, now, instead of a weird armor man.

Pazkar enters the Whirling-in-Rags, notices Staren, and steps up to him. He is also trying to solve the murder, right?

I am the unbreakable Pazkar. Have you found any news on the murder?

Looking at Klaasje, he tilts his head, having come in on the last sentence. What are they talking about?
Staren     Staren sighs. "So it may have been just... well, kind of. Who can say if that means he should /die/? I'd make that call if I had to, with more facts, but I don't have them." He shakes his head. "It sounds like a thorny mess, and I could be spending this time helping way more people. Maybe I should stay out of this mystery crime-solvin' business in the future."

    "What do I want?" He'd sort of started staring off into the distance, but now he looks at Klaasje's face again. "I like solving problems, and helping people get what THEY want, as long as it's not hurting people who don't deserve it. I like solving problems, and someone wanting something they don't have -- especially if they think it's impossible -- is just another form of problem."

    Staren begins to pace. "I say that, broadly, I like to increase the quality of living of people across the Multiverse, but it's not because of some vague principle of goodness or making numbers go up. It's because there are countless people out there who are unhappy -- Whether because tragedy befell them or their friends and relatives, or just that they never had the opportunity to find their place in the world. Maybe it doesn't even OCCUR to them that the world could be different.

    "Maybe someone born to medieval dirtfarmers has the talent to be a great webpage designer or music mixer or doctor, but they'll never get the chance to discover that and they go through life thinking they're not great at anything. Maybe their beloved died to a tragic injury and all they know is that such injuries kill people all the time, not that it could have been prevented with antibiotics and better safety practices."

    Staren stops, spinning to face Klassje and waving his hand vaguely. "There's trillions of people out there in need, and so many of them have stories like that. I just want to help them. But I don't know how..."

    Staren shakes his head. "Sorry, I guess I got off track there. What do you know about the victim and HIS victim and the probable killers, and what do YOU want? Since I'm mixed up in all this now I've still got to at least give it a go rather than just walking off, you know?"
All-Seeing Eye      The old woman is likely the wisest of them. If she's a trucker, too, then perhaps she is also something of a leader among them. She would be the rational place to start, it seems. He approaches proudly, ignoring the fat racist. He imagines, based on the murmuring, that he can easily guess which truck belongs to him. The old woman and the singing man will likely be more cooperative. In other words, he'll save the /fun/ one for last.

     Eye introduces himself. "Greetings, c..." He wrinkles his nose in distaste. They don't like that word. "...citizen! My name is All-Seeing Eye. I was wondering if you could tell me about the driver of that truck over there?" It is a direct question, with no clearly discernible motive. If she asks why, he has no problem giving an explanation--but why waste time be pre-empting it?
Raphael Cousteau     PLAY THAT RAGS-TIME:
Klaasje gives a nod. It seems very sincere. "...the dockworkers around here don't like it when a man lays his hands on a woman the wrong way. They like it a lot less when it's a man sent to break their strike," She helpfully guides him along. "But you're a police officer, aren't you? Crime-solving is what you do." She's sounding encouraging, at least,
Staren proceeds to deliver a long rant. Klaasje nods slowly, listening intently. She seems to have some kind of epiphany along the way. "...I see. You don't meet many good people in Revachol. You must be from behind that Gate everyone's talking about," The woman says. "...I don't know what a 'web-page' is." She admits. Her cigarette taps along an ash tray. The scent of menthol permeates the area again.

She's also got a curly-haired man in track pants she's never seen before. He gets a nod, and there's the subtlest squint, as if she's trying to determine something, but it passes, and her attention moves to Staren.
"Trillions of people, like infinite stars, across infinite galaxies..." She lets a little awe drift into her voice. "...Maybe you're the kind of man Revachol needs, cat ears or no. I like you."

Then comes the rest of his actual questions. There's a moment of thought. "...alright. I can trust you. We slept together. We had a party together, and we slept together." There's a deep drag of the cigarette. "The dockworkers didn't like him very much, and it was an excellent excuse to have a lynching." Klaasje betrays no particular deception. Not a single untrue word was spoken.

"...I just want to be forgotten."

LORDY LORDY, THEM LORRIES:
The old woman stares into the distance. All-Seeing Eye's first attempt to get her attention with a hearty, 'hello, citizen!' gets nothing. It takes some doing to get her attention, and she does not seem happy about it. "...Oh. I'm back here again. I was somewhere much better. What do you want...?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know who was there. I don't much care anymore. This," She waves her hands about, "Is all going to vapour, in the end. I'd rather be when things were better. Where things were better." Her eyes close. "Some lady, I think. She ran in a right hurry about... when everyone started yelling about some kind of murder. Is that enough? I want to go back."
All-Seeing Eye      "Then I won't keep you," says Eye courteously. He is perceptive enough to realize the 'here' she's speaking of is likely a mental state. She was daydreaming, perhaps, or deep in thought. "Thank you for your information!" If everyone was that forthcoming with information, well... he supposes it'd be a mixed blessing. Certainly more efficient, but perhaps less fun, too.

     He grins. That's one down, two to go... the next driver he visits is the singing man. He extends his palm. His skin splits open in one neat seam, and out from his hand emerges a whole ass musical instrument. It looks like some kind of fiddle, made perhaps of jade? Eye sidles right up and gives the singing man an instrumental accompaniment. It sounds like an erhu.

     "Excuse me," sings Eye, harmonizing between verses of the man's song. "But I wonder/ If you could tell me/ About the lady driver?~"
Staren     Suddenly, Pazkar is there. "News? Not exactly..."

    Then Klassje reveals her own part in all this. Staren stares blankly for a couple of seconds, and then the pieces start falling into place. "I see. You don't mention any assault, so it sounds like it wasn't remotely justified. Also you don't sound broken up about it, so I guess you weren't really close."

    Staren begins pacing again. "You want to be forgotten? It sounds like they don't know you that well, if they did this with no prompting from you." He doesn't assume she's entirely truthful, but he'll take her words as truth for now. He'll just try to avoid going with any... unwarrantedly permanent solutions until he's more certain. "Maybe you can basically be forgotten here, and of course there's plenty of places in the Multiverse where you can get a new start if you like."

    "As for the dockworkers... I care more about what happens in the future, than about revenge. I'd rather they become productive and helpful members of society than rot in jail or die because they comitted a crime. I don't know if they can be reformed, though. I also don't know this world. I don't know its people."

    Staren sighs. "I don't even know what the strike is about. Gods this is getting complicated..."
Lilian Rook     "Hmmmm." is the only noise Lilian makes for quite a little while. Even without looking directly at him, the loaded silence of contemplation she radiates is so intense that Kim can tell she's taking in his every word and thinking on them several times over, tapping the inside of her elbow in her crossed arms.

    "But you don't place much stock in them? Or simply the mythopoetic elements?" she asks. "Oh, and is this one still alive? Or a posthumous piece?" Lilian then adds.

    But the sound of someone climbing around in the rafters is really bothering her right now. With a cursory visual sweep confirming that nobody else is really paying attention, she waves towards the 'apparatus' Raphael has set up, says "Excuse me for just a moment. Continue with . . . whatever you were up to before." and turns around. Eyeballing the height to the lowest set of cross arches, she bends her knees a little bit, the air very faintly shudders against, or rather 'on', her legs, and then just sort of takes off up to them. It's a quiet and unobtrusive sort of super jump, from someone highballing the jumping power so they can use only a fraction of it, rather than lowballing and straining to use all of it.

    "Okay, get down out here." she calls into the dark ceiling vaults. "You're being creepy and disruptive."
Pazkar Klaasje says why he died. Pazkar radios it in, and then speaks. Do you know how he died?

And then, Staren says he wants them to be recuperated. After talking to the Paladins... They will be taken in by the Paladins. What happens from there depends on the exact circumstances of the case.
Raphael Cousteau     Tommy, The Singing Truck Driver:
All-Seeing Eye is even waved over. Tommy seems to like his chops. "..Hey, man. ...I like your style." He nods. And then the question about the driver. "..Look. She's..not in trouble, is she?" His concern is palpable, and he's even squeezing one hand with the other. "I mean...you're kinda weird-lookin' for a cop, but so was the guy from before." He points out with a tilt of his head towards the canal.
"She's not a bad woman. She likes her radios. Likes women the same way I do. Something scared her pretty bad a bit ago, and she left. She's..gonna be okay, right?" It doesn't sound like love. It sounds like genuine concern for a friend.

SPIDER-MAN, SPIDER MAN, CLIMBING AROUND A CHURCH SPIDERMAN

"I have never lived in the time of an Innocent," He explains. "The last one died at the turn of the Current Century. Dolores Dei died three centuries ago. She was shot by one of her bodyguards. That said, this is likely one of the Seven Sister churches--it may well have been made while she was still alive."
Raphael, for his part, nods firmly at the radio computer, clapping Kim on the shoulder. "I have *absolutely* no idea how to use this, but I think it's connected to the water bowls."
Kim just nods. "Yes." He agrees. "And I have *absolutely* no idea how it's related to the murder investigation."
"It's all..entroponetic, Kim. It's all *connected.*"
"This is exactly why I did not want you to learn that word," Kim says, writing something down in his notebook. "This is *exactly* why."

The spider--actually, it's more like a crab crawl, now that Lilian can see him more closely, finally settles on a low enough rafter. He almost looks made of the same wood, his skin tone--possibly makeup--helping him blend in."
"You're the one disrupting, homes. But that's alright. Everything's gonna be alright. You're in the right place. Here, you can receive the Mother's love, and when you're ready, she will take your hand and lead you away from your crazy ambition. Your body's fine, but your spirit's yearning. Yearning for something you shouldn't have, homes." His voice is friendly, at least. Mesque, a Revacholian would say. Hispanic, by Multiverse standards.

    STILL CLASSY WITH KLAASJE:
Klaasje looks Staren over as he offers. She keeps a small smile on her face, having another long puff of yet another cigarette. "Sexual assault wouldn't be the worst thing that's ever happened to me, officer." She gives him a sudden eye contact, betraying something. Some deep, unfathomable sadness. "But deciding whether murder is justified...I think that's the judge's problem." She tilts her head.
"The dockworkers are plenty productive. Much of Revachol would tell you they're the *real* police around here. A man committed a crime, in their eyes, and they took action. As for the strike..." She says, taking care not to breathe smoke *directly* on Staren, "..The union wants 'democracy now, for everyone'. That's what all the pamphlets say. "
Staren might, in fact, recall Joyce Messier from the other day. The Union asked for, among other things, every single worker of the terminal to be on the board of directors of Wild Pines. That would be twenty two hundred workers from a single terminal making top-level decisions for Wild Pines, a world-wide agency of seventy-two thousand workers. The demands are clearly meant to be impossible to meet.

Pazkar gets a tilt of the head. "...are you also a police officer, Mister Unbreakable Pazkar?" She asks. "I'm starting to count a lot of police here."
On a side note, there's a cool breeze wafting down from her hotel room door. Who the hell would have their window open in the middle of winter?
All-Seeing Eye      "And I like yours!" Eye giggles, tucking the Fiddle of the Populat against his arm. He listens intently.

     "I'd like to think I'm /good/ looking, for a cop. Despite what fiction would have you believe, most of us are..." He purses his lips playfully. "Aesthetically challenged. It's tragic, really." After that gentle deflection, he continues.

     "She is clearly a talented artisan, if her tools are any indication. But the fact that they were strewn about the floor of her automobile /does/ coincide with your account." Eye lifts his free hand, and strokes his chin thoughtfully. He angles his head towards Tommy. "Few people are inherently 'bad,' citizen. Do you think perhaps it was the murder that scared her?" He nods in the direction of the tree, the spot where the corpse hung. Other questions will follow--but he knows well enough to keep them under his ushanka, for now.
Staren     Staren looks to Pazkar. "Indeed. People keep acting like judges are some kind of special people..." He looks back to Klassje, "But if the Paladins want to take the criminals into custody, I don't have enough stake in this game or an alternative to fight them over.

    "Oh, right. They wanted direct democracy of the company by all of them. Hmm. I wonder if a sort of comprimise could be found? LET certain decisions fall to them. Those that won't destroy the company but WILL impact them. But, that's not your concern. And I guess it's not gonna matter since they're all going to jail."

    "Do you have everything you need, to be forgotten, or is there anything else we can do to help? And isn't it a bit cold, for open windows?" He reaches under his coat for something.
Pazkar Pazkar is asked if he's a police officer. He's about to explain he's a Paladin, when he notices the open window. Something's odd. This woman...is hiding something, isn't she? She just deflected his question by asking if he's a cop.

Klaasje knows something, and there's something wrong with a window open in the cold. He might not know what winter is, but he can understand that much. He removes something from his inventory.

It's a Paladins badge.

I'm investigating your hotel room. This entire area is a crime scene, and as such, I am deeming this related to the investigation. Step aside.

If she refuses utterly, Pazkar takes his clockwork hand and moves to force her out of the way and step in. This is part of his Quest. He's /much/ stronger than a normal person, even out of his suit - his physical stats are high.
Raphael Cousteau     THE EXALTED KEEPS ON TRUCKIN':
Tommy chuckles. "Well..alright. Fair 'nough. It wasn't at the time of the murder, though. I'd say..four days after the murder happened." --Valuable point of order, All-Seeing Eye's hypothetical Logic skill might have pointed out, if he had an abnormal brain: That would line up with the time the police were called, and with the arrival of Inspector Raphael Ambrosius Cousteau. So whoever this Lady Driver is, she left when the cops showed up, not when the guy died. "So...maybe? A bit of a delayed reaction, though." Tommy shrugs.
"I don't really keep that close an eye on things."

HOTEL ROOMS ARE A DISH BEST SERVED COLD:
Klaasje steps forward. "...Alright. Listen. ..Both of you, come upstairs, then. I'll...tell you the truth." She steps behind Pazkar, looking decidedly nervous, now. Staren's questions are a little bit of a smaller deal on her plate than dealing with this. The hotel room itself is fairly plain. One living area, kept neat. A bathroom. The cold air is coming from the second floor, and as Pazkar steps up...

There's a clear as day bullet hole in the glass door that the cold air is coming through. Klaasje sighs. "...He died on top of me."

She steps past him. "...I didn't..want to get accused of the murder. I panicked. And then a woman I..knew..said that she had a plan to save me." She smiles weakly at that. She pops a pill she must have taken from the bathroom on the way up. "...so we went to the dockworkers, and...they didn't like him anyway, and they helped get him dressed, and then Ruby and them brought the corpse out and hung it. And I had to stare at him. Dead. For seven days."

She steps out onto the roof of the Whirling-In-Rags, doubling as a patio. There's a clear line of sight to where the corpse was, hung in the tree. Without any /real/ analysis, it would mostly look like the bullet came from outside, into the room. "...It just..you know, I hadn't seen any *badges* up until now, and..."
Staren     Staren takes his hand off the hilt of his laser pistol and stares intently at the bullethole. "So you AND the dockworkers conspired to hide the true evidence of the murder and delay an investigation, helping the killer get away."

    Staren sighs and shakes his head. "I hope the judge is inclined to be merciful because of your cooperation." Staren turns around, away from Klassje. "I'm not a cop. Just someone trying to do the right thing. But everything that started with your actions? That's the Paladins' business now. I don't care."

    He gets halfway to the stairs before he remembers to go collect his bugs. THEN he and his silent partner go outside.

    Staren HAD been considering telling Klaasje about the body double and asking for help with a plan to best use it to get the dockworkers, but that was based on a pile of assumptions she just invalidated.

    At least he can go take a look at wherever that bullet came from on the off-chance the shooter left some evidence.
All-Seeing Eye      Eye doesn't have an 'abnormal' brain, but he does have an Exalted brain. Specifically, an Alchemical brain.

CHRONOLOGICAL ORGANIZATION COMPLETE
PRESS WITNESS? Y/N

'Y' flashes.

     "Even so, that information is quite helpful, dear. Thank you." He smiles, turns, then pauses in his tracks. Slowly, he turns to face Tommy, one index finger lifted. "There is one more thing." It's likely that she was afraid of the police, not the murder. Which... is suspicious. At least, to an avowed authoritarian. "You felt the need to defend your friend, as if I were here to arrest her. Why is that? There is, of course, the usual and unfortunate distrust of law enforcement personnel so common in the Multiverse. But this is something different... isn't it?"
Lilian Rook     A complete nutjob painted in 'rafter camouflage' giving her a cult pitch up here, out of all the myriad things Lilian could have been expecting, was not one of them. In the dim recesses of the church ceiling, she stares at the crawling man with open bafflement, her eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, lips apart, wordless. She'd have been less shocked by some strange, many-legged creature than this.

    "Is that supposed to be a reference to Sherlock, or do I look like a realtor?" Lilian finally falls back on, substituting vague, dry sass in lieu of any sane way to start this conversation. "I . . . assume, you're not doing anything criminal just by being up here. Weird as it is." she says, without even the slightest cushioning. "I just can't possibly comprehend *why*. Do you have a doctor? A psychiatrist? A prescription for any kind of medication?" It occurs to her that he *could* be a mental patient, which softens her tone slightly. "You know it's really dangerous up here, right? If you slip, you'll get hurt quite severely."

    "I'm not so certain I should be playing into this cold reading, but who exactly is the Mother?" She points at the broken window. "Her? I suppose I . . . appreciate the concern, but trust me, it's best if I keep going after the things I'm after. Better than the alternative." she adds, suddenly, for just a moment, a little forlorn, and a little dark.

    Raphael wants her to come stand in some strange auditory dead space between all the bowls. She has at least some small opinion of his intuition after the bullet stunt. "In a minute." she calls down. "Are you sure it isn't an acoustic thing?"
Pazkar Staren laeves in frustration, as Pazkar takes in the clues. That's...problematic. But his face only shows sadness, not anger at Klaasje. I see. As she explains the woman, Pazkar nods.

I need to find this Ruby for more information. She is not under arrest unless she has something to do with the murder itself. Do you have any idea where I can locate her?

Whether Pazkar gets a yes or no, he leaves afterwards. But not before removing one more thing out of his inventory and handing it to Klaasje. It's a pamphlet for Paladins services.

I received this when I first came to the Multiverse. You want to be forgotten . . . but if you need any assistance, please call us.

And then, he's gone.
Staren     Staren stops leaving when Pazkar explains Klaasje's not under arrest. He turns back around. "Well, I /do/ care, just not enough to fight the Paladins over it. Hopefully between all of us you can find a way to get what you want."
Raphael Cousteau     TOMMY@TRUCK, FILM@11:
Tommy looks panicked for a moment. "Y..you're cops. I think. There's the guy in the armor, who I guess I just saw change into trackpants and run off into the hostel, the guy with the mercenary armor but in red and yellow, the two guys in cloaks, you, that one woman..." He trails off. "If there's this many cops around here asking about people, why *wouldn't* it be about an arrest?"
He seems honest about this, at least. He's looking very worried, now, his gaze firmly on the Exalted. If he IS lying, and he's hiding something, he's absolutely stone-cold actor power level nine thousand.
    THE MURDER SCENE: Klaasje just sits on the bed. She's staring at the wall. There's another pill in her hand, and then down her throat. "...Thanks. I appreciate it." Her eyes close. Whatever's going on with her, it's pretty deep, complicated, and probably has very little to do with a mercenary getting shot.

Staren finds nothing in particular but some white flower petals. If he's /super/ fast, and, for some reason, possessed of a burning desire to grab onto flower petals(?), he can catch them, but the breeze might snag them away, otherwise, leaving you without, uh, flower petals. That said, the lack of evidence is itself rather interesting. There's no footprints in the limited amount of snow on the roof--it's been a while, but it has been below freezing this entire time. If someone tread through the snow, the marks would still be there. This opens up a variety of possibilities of where the bullet could have possibly come from, but you'd need to have some means to analyze the hole much more intensely for more specifics on that one.
Staren     Staren glances around for any obvious source of flower petals, since that is potentially a LITTLE odd if there are no flowers out here. He tries to suck them into the matter manipulator and may end up on an embarassing chase to catch them. But it's not like the crime scene is getting any COLDER if he leaves for a bit.

    He absolutely will scan the hole with lasers and nanites and stuff to get the exact angle the bullet came from. Maybe it came from another building?
Raphael Cousteau     CHURCH OF THE CRAB-MAN:
The weird crab-man sounds affable enough, though it's hard to see his face in the darkness. "Hey. There's no need to be angry at me, *wey*. I'm just the messenger of the Mother of Silence's love. I'm just here to welcome you to the Church of the Mother of Silence, homes."
    OH OKAY. CHURCH OF THE MOTHER OF SILENCE, THEN:
"I don't know anything about real estate, girl. I'm sorry. I'm just a *flame*, flickering about these halls. I don't need a doctor anymore. I used to be like him," He says, pointing to Raphael, who is very busy staring intently at the stained glass of Dolores Dei. "I used to be a slave to *el vino*. Then I found the Mother, and now I'm at peace."

"Nope!" Raphael calls. "Pretty sure it's a hole in the universe! Probably goes straight to the roof of the church! I got a *feeling* about this one." There's a two plus two here, honestly.
    THE HOTEL ROOM:
Klaasje shakes her head. "No, she..skipped out on town when the...other officer arrived. The...the alcoholic one," she explains. "He arrived, she fled, he drank for three days, stumbled around town, and then all of you showed up. That's the last I saw of her." She takes the pamphlet. For what end, who knows.

Staren successfully acquires The White Petals! There are absolutely no flowers anywhere near this roof, so it's a little weird. And then he does *science* at the bullet hole. Judging from the nearby buildings, there are about three different places from which the bullet could have possibly come. The first is the roof. While it's unlikely that anyone can fly, there *are* a lot of balloon-esque technologies. Heck, there's a giant airship up above that basically looks like a blimp with jet engines, peacably just drifting by.
The second is a distant island with a dilapidated old stone bunker on it. Noone's visible by drone, if Staren sends one over.
The third, though--there's a boardwalk across the canal. It's not too far from the church everyone else is at, though sending a drone over will reveal it's broken down and literally nothing is open. Still, it's also a possible vantage point.

Congratulations, everyone now understands less than when they came in.
All-Seeing Eye      "...yes," he says, nodding with the mention of each other visiting person. "I know who you mean."

     His arms are folded behind his back. The fingers of one hand trace gingerly across the palm of the other. He's considering making use of the Personality Override Spike. Perhaps. He's feeling generous today--merciful, even. He'll give Tommy a chance.

     "We're not cops. Not strictly speaking! We are a peacekeeping corps, and while we are free to pursue that goal as we see fit, we /are/ guests here, and everything we do must be carefully considered beforehand. Image, you see! It's just as important to us as keeping the peace. If we have the appearance of people who come and... simply strongarm their way through things, no one would trust us."

     "Yes, we're here to solve the murder--but not to punish. Our primary concern here is the dissolution of /that/ cascade failure." He utters 'cascade failure' like someone else might say 'clusterfuck.' He's pointing in the direction of the strike and the scabs. "Wild Pines, in their infinite wisdom, has decided to hire mercenaries to agitate the scabs. The deceased was one of theirs. If the culprit isn't found soon, they'll snap their leashes and kill whoever they think is responsible." His expression is grim.

     "I need to be able to rule your friend out, if I am going to prevent that. Please provide me her name, her last known whereabouts, and any other information which would allow me to rule her out as a suspect." His fingers twitch, behind his back.
Raphael Cousteau AH, TRUCK IT:
Tommy looks absolutely petrified at this point, shaking his head. "Ruby. She was in the truck. She left. That's *really* all I know about this." The idea of these mercenaries shooting everyone is really freaking him out, it appears. "I don't know, okay? I didn't ask a ton of questions. We just talked a few times, while we've been in this endless limbo hell of a roundabout. I..don't think she'd shoot someone. That's all I have for you." It is entirely possible that he is being completely honest, and the Exalted may have exhausted this *particular* line of inquiry.
Staren     Drones don't find anything else meaningful, but knowing where the shooter may have been will surely* come in handy later.

    "So who IS this Ruby person everyone's suddenly talking about? Seems I missed a memo."
All-Seeing Eye      Eye brightens up immediately. "Thank you for your compliance in this matter! Although the scabs have declined my offer for fear of communism--" He flatly injects, "Don't ask--" Then returns to his chipper tone. "Do be advised that the Paladins will provide for your food and shelter for a period of up to four days, as negotiations between the union and Wild Pines commence. If you'll excuse me, I should continue my investigation elsewhere. Good day!" He offers a bow at the waist.

     There's no need to investigate the reactionary. Not when he's evidently found a friend of this Ruby. That's probably the best source of information. There is one more... the newspaper in Ruby's toolbox. Eye leaves Tommy alone for now. He focuses his attention once more on Ruby's truck, but now attempts to /read/ the newspaper. Regardless of what Tommy says, he has his suspicions. That paper might have a lead he can use.
Raphael Cousteau     THE RUBY TRUCK:
It's a newspaper! The date coincides with the day Raphael would have arrived on the crime scene. The alchemical eyes look closer, to find a piece of paper tucked away inside of it. It's some kind of article from a magazine about radios. Specifically, complex equations about something called an 'ULAN frequency system'. Whatever that is. It sounds incredibly obscure and hobbyist, even by the standards of a world where literally everything functions by radio.
Lilian Rook     "I'm not angry." Lilian says to the weird crabwalking man. It's the truth. Even a person pretty strange in the head can tell that. It *feels* like she has no reason to lie about it. "Concerned, maybe." she says. "About you, and also by you." Once again, that's the naked truth. "But I can't be your doctor or your mother or your officer of the law, so I suppose it doesn't concern me." Another pause. "I'll . . . ask about that Mother of Silence, ominous name as it is. Please be careful." she then finishes with, backing away and slipping back down to ground, almost without a sound.

    Approaching the broken stained glass mural, she stops beside Raphael and stares up at it herself, taking it in as she would one of Europe's few surviving great works of this sort. Eventually, she seems to decide on something, given by the slow release of held breath and the subtle rotation of her shoulders. "Excuse me, I'll be one moment." she says to the Inspector.

    Laying her hands on the intact portion of the broken glass, she leans her weight forward, as if she were about to push on it, tilts her head down and closes her eyes. She remains stationary like that for a whole thirty seconds, then sixty, then ninety, and then rather abruptly, lost pieces of glass artwork disappear from the floor and under the snow, and pop right back into their proper places. Like a time lapse video of the thing being assembled, albeit outside its regular lines, the window fills in with the jingling clatter of fitting glass, or perhaps, broken up slices of glass shattering in reverse, though it'd take the keenest of attentions to notice that.

    Dusting off her hands when the depiction of the Innocence is finally complete, Lilian follows back to the bizarre apparatus of bowls and wires, and finally obliges with an "Okay, let's hear it. Or not hear it, I suppose."
Raphael Cousteau     THE CHURCH. THE CHURCH. THE CHURCH.
"...It's no easy thing to explain her, ese." The crab man hops to another railing. It's about the same distance away, it just seems like he felt the need to move. "She is one who can't be painted or sculpted. She is a cavity, in the dark, beyond sense. She saved me...but I couldn't describe her to you. Noone can, homes. Noone ever will. The past is *gone*, up here. It's the only place you can't find it, anymore."
This seems like something that isn't crazy, at all, and absolutely has relevance to the murder. Surely.