Welcome to Gaia! ::

When the questioning period passed, various event workers ushered the guests towards the planetarium lobby. Each player was given a form to list their name and their guess as to the identity of the murderer, and instructed to place their completed form in the lockbox at the center of the room.

((You will have until 9:00 EST on Friday to roleplay casting your vote. Remember, the suspects are:

The Rivals - Christa and Lysander
The Collaborator - Bebe
The Intern - Tate
The Financial Backer - Chris
The Ex-Wife - Paris
The Lover - Morgan

On Friday night, the identity of the killer will be revealed and the winner will be rolled! Remember, you can only participate in this portion of the event if you have participated in questioning!))

The evening was swiftly drawing to a close, and Jack radiated with an uncontainable sort of energy. His already senseless ego was inflated so much that it was a wonder his head, pumped full of hot air by the curious murmurs of the crowd, didn't float right off his neck. He imagined they were saying sweet things about his commendable performance as the indomitable Detective.

Most of them just wished he'd throw out that soggy cigar. It dangled from his lips, clamped between his teeth, and served only one real purpose: to annoy.

The more time that passed, the more Jack lost himself in his roll, and the more ridiculous his performance became. He strode about the museum as though he owned the place, with his hands on his hips, and waved his notepad at anybody who dared interrupt him during an interrogation. Unless, of course, they happened to be a pretty girl.

On one occasion, upon spotting a particularly lovely face in the crowd, Detective Stark broke away from the script completely and endeavoured to question her.

"Where were you," he'd pointed at her nose, "the night of the murder, sweetheart?"

"Uh," the girl was at once startled and confused. She'd flushed ten shades of red. "Here?"

It was a moment before Jack realized his mistake. He'd blinked, and then blushed, and shoved his little book of paper and his pen into her hands. "Right. I knew that. Now, write down your phone number in case anybody from the bureau needs to contact you."

To Jack's great joy, she'd returned his things a moment later and there was a phone number scrawled across the page. Whether or not it was real remained to be seen, but it hadn't occurred to Jack, who thought himself a veritable catch, to wonder.

The investigation continued. The game was, in Jack's not so humble opinion, a raving success. He was incredibly smug by the time everyday had filled out their ballots, and all but bursting at the seams at the dawn of his big moment.

"Ladies and gentleman," Jack seemed to have misplaced his accent, but he was still as confident as ever, and held out his hands to gather everyone's attention. "It has been a long and trying night. We've been through a lot together."

Jack paused for a heartbeat, sought out the blue eyes of the pretty girl who may or may not have given him her phone number, and was disappointed when he did not find them.

"…we've been through-- oh s**t I already said that."

A couple people in the audience laughed. Jack cleared his throat, shook his head, and then continued;

"We all saw a man die here tonight," his voice boomed, and then cracked. He coughed. Somebody giggled. "A good man, and a good doctor. He was my friend."

Detective Stark hung his head, in grief. But only for an instant. And then he was looking straight up again, struggling to keep the smile off of his face.

"But not everybody loved Dr. Spekter," Jack started pacing about the room. He brushed up against Gigi, purposefully, and looked at each of the suspects in turn. "We know this, because he was murdered."

He paused for dramatic affect, in case somebody happened to gasp. Nobody did.

"After a lot of handwork and deductive reasoning I, your most humble servant, have realized the identity of his killer!"

Detective Stark continued to pace. The heels of his boots thunked ominously against the floor. He glared at everyone, because this was serious ******** business, and lifted his arm. Any moment he was going to reveal the truth; to save these poor people from the wonderful agony of not knowing that accompanies all of the greatest mysteries.

Jack spun sharply, the tails of his overcoat flying around his waist, and then jabbed his finger in Tate's nose.

"It was you!" declared the Detective. He raised his voice over the sudden shocked murmurs of the crowd. "Yes, that's right people. Dr. Spekter was murdered by his very own intern. She's in his will! She did most of the work! And he's more useful to her dead than alive!"

"Isn't that right," Jack glowered at Tate, though his eyes were lit with an excited fire, and not true wrath. The corners of his lips twitched. "Ms. Konstantin?"