Shen's Diner.

Hot bowl.

Greasy chopsticks.

Pasty noodles.

Coppers on the Yuan.

If you didn't have two silver pieces to rub together you could still afford Shen's.  It also helped the Yawai knew the venerable owner, knew his son, Chung, and his grandson, Liu. The son and grandson largely ran the place now, but Yawai personally went out of her way to see the old patriarch of the establishment when he was running things in the late morning.

The stool creaked as she shifted, shoveling in the cheap fair as fast as she could while still maintaining a modicum of proper poise.  The slurping was mandatory, otherwise, Shen would scowl at her and start asking about whether the noodles were okay.  At this point, food of any kind was rapture.  So, Yawai slurped, and loudly.

Shen smiled, coming down to her end of the counter top and hovering.

"Enjoying the noodles, I take it?"

Yawai wouldn't talk with her mouth full, she nodded emphatically.

A laugh drifted from his lips, sounding as gravelly as his words.  His white, cobweb like hair floated as he turned to the sink and went about several bowls stacked next to it.

"How's work?"

He asked, tipping the bowls into the sink, the sound of splashing immediately followed.  Yawai swallowed, patted her chest and then washed down the noodles with a chaser of lukewarm tea.  Shen pressed on as he scrubbed.

"Turned down Mrs. Lin I hear."

A sigh of satisfaction exhaled, Yawai answered back.

"I took her up for a day worth of work...a fools errand, in and out of soup kitchens across the city. Several of my peers took this case up before me...got burned..."

Shen nodded, setting a clean bowl on the other side of the sink.

"Taboo on the lady?  Didn't think the Agreement still practiced that..."

Not answering right away, Yawai ruminated on how fast events traveled by word of mouth. Satomobiles would have to pick up speed to match.

"It's rare, Mr. Shen, but I think in this case it was mercy.  Poor woman just wants her daughter back, but until Avatars figure out how to bend life itself, Hime Lin's remains will stay put in the cemetery.  No shifty investigator needs to be bilking the lady's coffers."

Another bowl plopped on top of the last one, Shen turned slightly.

"You could've used the money, though.  I don't scold you for having ethics, but maybe virtue signaling should take a back seat to survival, Ruckus."

Managing a laugh,  Yawai cocked her head, and tucked her thumbs into her obi, considering the statement.

"I can't compromise ethically."

Shen scoffed.

"That's Bull-Turtle turd and you know it! You more than compromised for Shiraga."

Yawai suppressed a wince, giving up a shrug.

"You got me there.  In that situation, I compromised a great deal for a friend."

Another, final bowl stacked on the prior two, and Shen turned to greet his next customer, the bell at the door rung on his entry.  The newcomer sat himself down next to Yawai.  Scruffy coat, unkempt shirt, messy hair, boyishly handsome despite himself.  He fixed sky blue eyes on Yawai.

"Ms. Hono, my treasure..."

Immediately, Yawai held a finger up to him.

"No."

The young man smiled wider.

"Don't be that way, Ms. Hono."

Yawai wagged the finger held.

"Whatever it is Gon-Zho, no."

Gon-Zho ordered a bowl, tossed down the notes and coin, then leaned in towards Yawai as she sipped her tepid tea.

"I'm taking Mrs. Lin's case."

It took every ounce of her upbringing not to choke on her current gulp of tea, she slowly lowered her cup to the counter, and side glanced at her fellow PI.

"Yes, I know you hit her with the taboo, but the money I'll have over the coming days for case expenses will cover all the necessaries."

Shen laughed again.  Yawai scowled.

"You think you'll fleece the woman, Gon-Zho, you're just going to end up burning bridges and getting locked up in jail.  RCPD is already watching you closely after the Koku Club fiasco.  I can't bail you out this time."

It was Gon-Zho's turn to laugh.

"A am done with this town.  I'm doing this one case for the cash, and me and my Lu-Si are leaving Republic City for good...there's this nice place in Omashu that I've-"

Interjecting here, Yawai stared hard into the Water Bender's blue wells.

"Don't tell me anymore, Gon-Zhou.  Instead, listen..."

She paused, holding gaze with him.

"Nothing good comes from jerking people around, and fleecing them.  This woman is no fool, she's hurting, and distraught; every investigator she has hired has delved into a different set of establishments. I did soup kitchens, the two before me were restaurants and watering holes; what she will ask for next is unknown but could be dangerous if her mind invents some sort of fantasy for her dead daughter, like her being kidnapped.  The triad are hair quivers right now, and social tensions in this city are at an all time high.  Now is not the time to be asking questions that appear to point blame or cast suspicions, especially in the seamy areas."

Lecture finished, Gon-Zho looked undeterred with his smirk and smug eyed stare.  Teeth clenched unseen behind her pursed lips, Yawai turned away from him.

"I remain unconvinced, my dear Ms. Hono."

A groan issued from Yawai.

"Do what you will, Gon-Zho, but don't tell me anymore..."

Shen plopped a plate of steaming noodles down before Gon-Zho, who, stirred them with a set of his own chop sticks that he drew from his coat pocket.  He brought some wispy strands up out of the bowl and blew on them.

"I was born here, Ms. Hono.  This town won't kill me with anything other than its tackiness."


****

The following morning...

Republic City Morgue


How many times had Yawai been in this cold room?

Detective Shao had the mortician pull back the tarp, and Yawai stoically made the positive identification of the man on the slab, the cover promptly replaced over the deceased Gon-Zho after.  He'd left Republic City alright.

"Has anyone notified Lu-Si, his fiancée?"  Yawai asked, Shao turning to her with a furrowed brow.

"No."

Yawai needled for what she knew she wouldn't get.

"Cause of death?"

The detective practically growled at her.

"Your kind have your own confidentially practices, we have ours; don't push your luck with us Ruckus."

Holding up her hands and bowing her head slightly, Yawai took a small step back.

"My apologies, I should not have pried."

Shao looked mollified.

"Besides, this con man of an investigator is a small priority for you right now, I'm sure."

What made him say that?

For the last four months, weird little inferences and remarks of the like had been directed at her.  It was like everyone, every source, acquaintance, and adversary in her field assumed she was already on a case.  Which may be the explanation behind the lack of clientele.  Striking while the iron was hot, Yawai shot back.

"What do you mean by that, detective?"

"You know what I mean, Ruckus."

"No, detective, I don't."

"Stop playing dumb; we all know why you've been living on the streets and staying on the move - keeping a super low profile.  We aren't all idiots down in RCPD like you assume."

"I assume nothing, detective, but I appear to be at a disadvantage.  What does everyone know that I don't?"

The rapid fire conversation ended there.  Shao turned to his constable, handed him his notes, then turned back to Yawai.

"We'll need you to come to the station; whatever you can tell us about the vic will be helpful."

OOC: Sorry about the large posts everyone and some of the unnecessary flashback/interior writing - still getting a feel for the style here; thanks again Kami for cluing me in to what I was doing wrong. Hopefully, this post will be open enough for somebody to jump in with me! XD


Back at Shen's, Yawai sat at a table in the corner of the old diner, sipping tea and watching the floor boards warp.  The old dive had become her office in the wake of her old one burning down.  Cheap food and the owners knowing her made the place as close to home for her as she could find.

Battered, circular tables, cobbled together and rickety seating, peeling wallpaper, the aforementioned warping floor boards; the place probably should have been condemned but had become the go to for the thrifty and poor.  A bastion of sorts for deal making to be done outside the eyes of the disapproving, many PIs came here to meet prospective customers with cases to be solved.  Yawai's little corner was ideal for this, and those looking for her skill set knew she would be there.

An often ignored corner because of the break in the wall that tended to draft, it wasn't particularly comfortable to sit there during cold or inclement weather. Yawai had become used to it. Not expecting anyone really, Yawai figured she would spend her afternoon sipping tea, reading the paper, and trying to sort out the surreal moment with the monks from yesterday, and Gon-Zho's death from this morning.

The door to the establishment had a bell that sounded whenever somebody entered.  It rang, and Yawai glanced up from the twisted floor boards instinctively, no longer dwelling upon faceless masks and lifeless colleagues.

Was it someone calling on her or just another patron of Shen's?

Stakeouts were the worst thing about being a private investigator. Even before the Yao sisters had stopped accepting missing persons cases, a majority of the people who sought their services wanted the dirt on someone — a significant other, a co-worker, a family member. Mei-zhen was always the voice of reason during these inquiries. As much as Ling didn't particularly care who she investigated, the older Yao sister refused to allow the company to get themselves involved in cases where their work would be used as blackmail or any such activity.

But not even Mei-zhen could turn down a tearful woman, sobbing that she thought her husband might be having an affair with her best friend, pleading with the sisters to see if it was true.

So the sisters dutifully accepted their retainer fee and the information the woman provided, and set out to follow their client's husband the following day. Everything seemed to be normal until mid-morning, when the husband suddenly broke from routine to place a call. From here, he went in the opposite direction of his office and disappeared into an old building. For hours, Mei-zhen and Ling sat in their rented Satomobile, waiting for him to emerge. When he did, he was disheveled and attempting to straighten out his tie. Eyebrows identically raised, the Yao sisters glanced at each other when a few moments later, a young woman also exited the building, equally dishevelled.

Ling dropped Mei-zhen off at the office to sort the paperwork, then headed over to a local dive to grab some lunch. Sun... Shin... Sheng's something-or-other, a diner of some sort that sold greasy noodles. It wasn't Mei-zhen's cup of tea (so to speak), but if Ling knew her sister she had packed a lunch and was already eating as she typed up their report.

The younger Yao sister, on the other hand, ate greasy cheap food like her life depended on it. Figuring she owed herself a treat after sitting in a satomobile for hours, she slipped into the diner, only faintly registering the ring of a little bell on the door.

Someone greeted her and tried to tell her the specials. She waved them off, flashing a gap-tooth smile. "Just give me whatever the chef finds particularly delectable today," she said. She slipped into a booth, grey-blue eyes taking in their surroundings with keen interest. The freckled woman nodded in appreciation as a glass of iced water was brought to her. She fished out the lemon slice with her finger, then popped it into her mouth to suck on it.

Nicer clothes than usual patrons.

Gregarious disposition.

Casual air and body language.

Something slightly awkward in presentation.

Ordering omakase while Chung was helming the kitchen.

Brave.

New and brave, this was a face that didn't populate Shen's until now.  Most didn't come to the establishment because the food was a draw, but because it was out of the way, out of sight.  Those who frequented Shen's were looking for quick loans, contraband fixes, or a cheap PI.  The seedier sources were regulars, as were the roughs and toughs, and ne'er do wells of small gang outfits.  This woman didn't seem to fit into the stereotypical destitute or desperate that was looking for a particular, seedy skill set.

But, appearances could be deceiving.

The way she ordered was typical of a frantic money mark calling an audible on anyone who would be willing to help in the restaurant.  Yawai needed the yuans, so she stood fast, tucked her last meishi into one end of her newspaper, rolled it tight, and walked over to the table.  She set the paper down card end first, and pushed it subtly towards the center of the table as she leaned in.

This was orthodox signaling, proffering her card to the customer in an inconspicuous way.

"I beg your pardon, but that draft in the corner is killer; may I sit down?  A copper piece for your thoughts, and I'll toss in my open ears free of charge."

This was verbal signaling, a sort of code to the potential client to state their business, what service they required.  Yawai hoped this was an infidelity case, or maybe a missing pet even.  Yawai wasn't picky.  After turning down Kuu Lin and the easy money she offered, Yawai would've been lying if she wasn't feeling a bit of regret.

Ethics were ethics, though.

"How's that deal sound?"

Yawai finished, waiting for a reply.

Ling raised an eyebrow at the sudden intrusion, her grey-blue eyes bright and curious. The newcomer pushed a business card surreptitiously at her asking if she could sit a spell.

"Go on then," the freckled woman gestured to the seat next to her. She then picked up the card delicately, plucking it from its semi-hidden spot in the rolled up paper; her eyebrow raised further at the contents. Wordlessly, she reached into her coat pocket and held out her own card to the woman, holding it between her index and middle fingers in a pseudo-casual way until the other woman took it. Yao Sisters Detective Agency, the card read in embossed letters, then under it: Ling Yao, Private Detective. On the reverse was the telephone number to the office, and their address.

The waitress brought over her food, a non-descript bowl of greasy noodles. Ling dumped almost an entire wedge of lime juice over them, then topped it off with some green onions that came on a little plate on the side. She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. Not great, but not terrible. Probably would come here again for quick, cheap eats.

Pointing to her card with her chopsticks (an impolite gesture, but Ling didn't figure this type of joint to be so concerned with etiquette), Ling moved a bite of food into her cheek.

"There seems to be a little misunderstanding, as you can see," she said, her voice slightly muffled through the food. "I'm here for lunch." 

Yawai nodded presently.


"I see that.  Many pardons, Ms. Yao; I assumed you were looking for a worker, not a worker yourself."


Pocketing the card into her Obi,  Yawai ordered her typical bowl of noodles, just a size smaller, and got her tea refilled.  She turned to Ling, her regimented stoicism on display, and sipped her tea.  Regarding her fellow investigator, Yawai concluded this was what she must have looked like herself a year ago before everything turned upside down with the Equalists.

Happy.

Proud.

Confident.

Content.

Assured.

Before Amon's revolt, Yawai had carved out a territory and was sometimes turning down work, deferring to others under the Agreement because she was so busy.  Not now though.  She had to admit that she wasn't at her best.

Not by a long shot.

"Us freelancers under the Agreement are starving for cases when we're not disappearing or ending up dead on the rare job that comes our way.  I hear that the practices, large and small ones, are profitable right now because the public and the RCPD consider them more legitimate and lawful.  Is this true?  Is work good right now?"

Ling gave a half-hearted shrug, shoveling food inter her mouth. Stakeouts always made her hungry: eating and drinking during a stakeout just meant you had to use the restroom a lot, which, because the spirits of fate had a sense of humour, meant that your target always changed locations or did something worthy of notice while you were relieving yourself.

She swallowed, then took a few sips of water. "We get our fair share of work, but no more or less than a year ago." The woman left out that the agency would actually be getting more work if they didn't have a blanket policy against missing persons cases. "But we don't work closely with the RCPD — mainly infidelity cases, background checks for employers, things like that."

There weren't enough yuans in the world to tempt Ling into sauntering into the police station with her former gang affiliations. Someone might think she turned snitch, even though many years had passed since the warning the Triads gave to her crew leaders. The Yao family had paid its dues, and Ling wasn't about to bring the fury of the Triads, no matter how neutered their presence may have been, on her aging mother's and waterbending sister's heads.

Taking another bite, Ling gestured vaguely out the window with her free hand. "If you're looking for leads or other jobs, check out the Golden Fan Saloon here in the Dragon Flats district. It's that decrepit old yellow wooden building in the farthest quarter. Plenty of folks there that need help that don't trust the police."

Which also was the general sentiment of the Flats as a whole. No one had forgotten Councilman Tarrlok's nonbender curfew against the district (which had the highest nonbender population of the city), Avatar Korra's failure to stand up for their rights, or Chief Bei Fong's unquestioning enforcement. The new chief of police was a more cautious type, preferring more to delegate than involve themselves directly, but the trust between the RCPD and Dragon Flats residents had been frayed, if not severed, a year ago.

"I can't really say if all the work is 'lawful', exactly." Ling swept her tongue briefly over her teeth to make sure they were free of food before flashing her gap-toothed smile. "I'm sure at least some of them are, though."    

Yawai nodded presently.

"No doubt."

She liked Ling.  Her smile was good natured, kind and carefree, uninhibited. Yawai didn't know Ling, not at all, but was getting a strong impression from her already that when the chips were down, she was loyal and stolid.  That was hard to find.  Courage under fire, grace under it too; of course she didn't know for sure if these were her qualities, but on gut feels and first impressions, Yawai knew she was rarely far off.

Ling was good people.

Ling could be trusted.

As far as acquaintances went anyways.

"Golden Fan Saloon...I know it, didn't realize that most of the clientele had decided to shift so far as the Dragon Flats; that Saloon used to be the frequented establishment of shifty peddlers and shady men giving out shadier loans. But then again, it kind of sounds like home I guess..."

Yawai's food was placed down in front of her and she dug in heartily, but with a sense of proper poise and refinement.  Fast. Clean.  Plenty of slurping to impress the cook.  Yawai repressed a grimace.  Shen's noodles were superior to Chung's, his son.  But politeness had to be upheld.

She washed down the noodles with a steady draw from her tea cup.  Then she regarded Ling once more.

"If I may be so bold..."

She purposefully paused, making sure her next words were as direct as possible.

"One of my late colleagues made the paper this morning.  He died last night according to authorities. His name was Gon-Zho, a cad of a man who got around; he used to brag that he worked angles with the Agreement and the practices...did he ever come to you for information?  You don't have to answer, naturally, Ms. Yao, but I've been trying to piece together the wild young rapscallion in my head all morning, deciphering what was bravado and what was actually honest truth."

Mouth full, Ling shook her head. After a few moments, she swallowed, choking just a little bit at her overeager mouthful. Coughing, she reached for her water and struggled to sip it between fits.

"Kkkchh... ahem. Sorry about that. The name doesn't ring a bell, but perhaps he used an alias?" She flagged down the server, gesturing for a refill on her water. "My sister is the one that keeps the books though, so I'd have to ask her when I get back to the office. D'you have a description of the man?"

She reached into her overcoat, withdrawing a small notepad and pen. The woman was wary; Yawai explicitly stated he died last night according to authorities. In her experience, that sort of verbiage was generally used when the cause of death was either undetermined, or possible foul play. With her history, she loathed to get involved with the police. But if this fella came to their office, she could at least pass along the information to a fellow detective.

After all, they were all just trying to keep their noses clean and make the city a little better, one case at a time.

"Sky blue eyes. Tan skin. Messy hair and messy way of wearing his clothes; kind of unkempt appearance and boyish good looks.  He was two inches shorter than myself, with an athletic stature.  He strutted like a Peacock-Flamingo, had a wolfish smile and, perhaps, maybe too much of an appreciation for the female form; he didn't mind giving a woman a very obvious look up and down, he practically broadcasted it like pro bending games over the radio."

Yawai scooted her bowl and cup away from her, took out a handkerchief from her overcoat and dabbed her lips.

"He went by his given name, but it wasn't uncommon for him to go by his moniker, Riptide; he was a pro bender before picking up the PI gig, it's where he got the nickname from, and it followed him."

Finished,  Yawai regarded Ling with a nod, taking out several small Yuan notes and dropping them down on the table in front of her.

"Incentive for info, not an investigation;  I'll see to that myself.  Just let me know if you and your sister ever had any dealings or knew anyone who had dealings with him in the last twenty four hours.  He took on the Kuu Lin missing daughter job, a case that was tabooed by me yesterday, so the Agreement banned anyone from helping him.  He could have only got help from sources outside that sphere of influence."

Ling dutifully wrote down the description, using a shorthand method her she and Mei-zhen had created when they were children. Yawai set some yuans down on the table 'for incentive for info'. Casually, Ling reached out and used some slight of hand to accept the cash.

"I'll ask my sister, but he doesn't sound familiar to me." She pocketed both the money and her notebook and dug back into her noodles. "You keep talking about an agreement or something," she said as she slurped up a particularly long string of noodle. "Our agency's only been in business for about a year or so, is there something I'm missing here?"

Ling wasn't sure she felt comfortable with all this talk of solidarity amongst private detectives. The only other private detective she knew was a tough skinned woman who had recently left the city after a particularly disheartening case. No such 'agreement' had ever been mentioned by the other woman, so Ling wondered if something new had cropped up — and if she should avoid it. As much as the private investigation idea had been to stay out of trouble, the truth of the matter was that trouble always seemed to find you when you were investigating shady characters and situations.