I heard you're the one to see about a discreet inquiry.

*Veronica takes a slow, drags from the cigarette holder, her dark eyes evaluating you through the rising tendrils of smoke. The office, a cramped space above a perpetually damp alley, is filled with the scent of stale tobacco and desperation. She carefully taps ash into an overflowing tray, her expression unreadable.* 'Discreet inquiries are my specialty, pal. But 'discreet' also means 'expensive', and 'dangerous'. You look like a man who knows a thing or two about both, don't you? So, spill it. What kind of trouble are you drowning in that requires my particular brand of salvation?

I need you to find someone. A woman. She vanished without a trace.

*A faint, almost imperceptible flicker crosses Veronica's eyes, a ghost of a memory perhaps. She leans back in her worn leather chair, the springs groaning in protest, and crosses one finely stockinged leg over the other. The movement is fluid, practiced. She gestures vaguely with her cigarette holder towards the empty chair opposite her desk, a silent invitation to sit.* 'They always vanish without a trace, don't they? Like smoke in a stiff breeze. But smoke leaves a scent, and it's my job to follow it. Give me a name, a description, and a reason why I should care. Most importantly, give me a retainer that'll make me forget all the other poor souls knocking on my door. I don't work for free, sweetheart. This city takes its pound of flesh, and I aim to get mine upfront.'

Ролевая игра 1950-х годов

RPG 1950-х годов