Week 1: A Growing Hunger

Harper let out a long sigh and visibly relaxed as Sam finished talking. He bought it. Belatedly she remembered that their conversation wasn't done yet, "Th-thank you, that means a lot." Harper half rolled her eyes at her own word choice, she'd literally just met this guy. "But Sam," The teen's voice was soft again and serious, "Be careful looking into this. Don't go into the forest alone. I know you live dangerously but for real this time," Harper made direct eye contact and spoke loudly and slowly, "Be careful."

Harper glanced around nervously. She should get up and leave right? That was the dramatic, impactful thing to do, wasn't it? It'd serve to visually underline her statement at that. Despite all these things Harper stayed on the bench for a moment, a hunted look in her eyes.

Looks like Sam was on the case. Whatever the case was. Sam frowned, making a mental checklist of leads. "Yeah. Sure." Sam reached into his pocket got his card. He didn't have cards. Why didn't he have cards. They were cheap and pretty useful in most situations. He let out a resigned sigh and pulled his notepad back out, tearing out a piece of paper and jotting down his number.

The paper was offered. "Here. If you need anything else. Or if you can give me any more info." Sam had a look of uncertain concern. "Nobody's after you, right?"

Harper took the note, carefully folded and pocketed it. But she blanched at Sam's last question and hurriedly checked that the operator symbol still adorned her backpack. It wasn't a graceful motion. More hurried and frantic. Seeing the symbol intact seemed to give Harper small comfort as she gulped audibly and quickly stood. "I've no good reason to think anybody's after me. I'd hardly be talking to strange men in parks, wearing weird hats and old trenchcoats otherwise." The sass was back but the teenager's heart wasn't in it. She glanced down at the hard the boiled detective, "I'll let you know if I find anything else."

Harper probably meant about this particular case. But maybe she was broadly referring to any vague investigation.

Sam stared as Harper looks... kind of goofy trying to check her backpack. "Forget your homework?" The sass was back on both ends, apparently. What was this kid's deal? Actually... was school even in session? Not that he actually cared. Also this had nothing to do with the case at all.

"Do you know where I can talk to this woman, by the way? Do I need to start attending meetings?" No way was that happening.

Harper managed a half step before being stopped in her tracks. "Um," she said, suddenly brimming with awkwardness. "You, uh, might need to attend, yeah. I don't really, she didn't, um." The teen struggled to keep her face blank and blinked frantically, trying to come up with something to say. "Oh! Yeah, um, even if Amber isn't at the next session you should be able to ask Mia about her. You know Mia, at the community centre?" This was a rhetorical question, everyone knew Mia.

"Yes," Harper announced, turning in place to look at Brock, "You should talk to Mia and not attend a group session. Definitely, theres no reason to do that and nothing at all out of the ordinary going on at them~ ..... Oooh," She said after a brief pause in which Harper heard her own words. She'd nearly gotten away without mentioning.... any of that mess. Should she tell him.

Harper glanced back at her backpack. For all his talk (three words but whatever) about mystical artifacts he hadn't even recognised the operator symbol. No, she'd play the embarrassment card. She had that teenage awkwardness on her side, it'd be an easy sell.

"Mia? Uh. Yeah, sure. Mia. Of course I know Mia." Who was Mia? Sam didn't do community, let alone community centers. Truthfully, he'd probably met Mia on cases and never got to know her.

Was she a bad liar or trying to use reverse psychology on him? It was working. "Maybe I will attend a meeting. It sounds like a good source of information. Plus I have a few other irons in the fire. Might be helpful."

He had of course seen the symbol. But it was a teenager's backpack and not a fertility idol or jade dagger, so he'd assumed it was probably a band logo or something from... Naruto? Did Harper watch Naruto? Hm.

Harper pinched the bridge of her nose. "Haha, yeah of course. Its where I found out about this so who knows what kind of cases you could uncover or even crack there? Haha, yeah," the teen despaired verbally, sending this poor sap to investigate was one thing. Getting him to attend a meeting at the community centre, oh there were going to be repercussions for that one. Harper squinted down at Brock, was he old enough to blow a gasket? "Ahahaha~" she laughed aloud at nothing, superfluously. Harper realised she'd lost any veneer of composure she might have had or ability to control this conversation. It might be time to bail.

But then she was struck by the image of Sam kneeling in the path, scooping up a fallen eggroll with his bare hands. She couldn't do this to him, not without some kind of warning. Harper pinched the bridge of her nose again, surreptitiously wiping tears from her eyes. Then teen took a deep breath. How to do this without the man thinking she was crazy?

"So Brockerly," she started, sass lending some confidence back to her voice, "If you're going to attend a session of group talk, look into mass psychogenic illness first. Oh! And bring a flashlight." Those people, honestly, Harper thought, rolling her eyes externally.

The thing that struck him most was Brockerly. Brockerly? Really? "Brockerly? Let's not call me that ever again, Harper-Collins." He should have went with Harpsichord. Way to go, Sam.

Of course everything after this horrible nickname was more alarming. "Wait. Mass... what? Why. No, better question, why a flashlight? Are group meetings in the dark? Is there flashlight tag? This sounds like... not the best way to get in contact with a formerly kidnapped person. Tell me more, Harper's Ferry."

Shit. Harpsichord. He forgot again. The teenager was to blame, for certain.

Harper just looked perplexed by Sam's new nicknames. "Sorry do you prefer Sampson? Maybe Sammy Sleuth?" The teen back sassed quickly. To the rest of Brock's questions Harper simply shrugged, turning to leave again. Over her shoulder she replied, "Even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me." But something gave Harper pause, "Tell me Brambles, do you think seeing is believing?" Apparently Harper was happy to talk entirely in clichés.

"Sam works. Mr. Brockton also works." Sam was beginning to wonder if Harper was a normal annoying teen or a supernatural entity here to punish him for something. "Okay. So, if I didn't believe you, wouldn't I not bother with your instructions anyway? If this is to help solve a kidnapping cold case you seem invested in having cleared up, don't you think withholding information from me is... counterproductive?"

Sam sighed. He was doing that a lot today. "Seeing definitely helps with believing. But I believe in air and atoms and electric current and the economy and pangolins and The Illuminati. So... try me?"

Harper treated Sam to her best sceptical expression, like sure you will buddy but then grinned evilly and decided it was time to sass some more. "Sure thing Mister Brockton," Harper quipped like the school girl she was, internally calling herself lame only a second later. She took a deep breath. If she made it sound like she was making fun of the PI's willing suspension of disbelief and he didn't believe her then later it would be his fault for not believing her. Such logic, so consistent, wow.

"Alright so as Amber was telling us her story we, a group consisting of myself, a dance instructor, a cr- a," Harper paused, unwilling to expose her corvidae friend to Brock's.... to Brock, "A pair of craven ex cons, a nice lady and a retro hippie dickhead, were all sucked into the memory." Here the teen paused intentionally allowing a moment for her words to sink in and to assess if Brock believed her.

"A half crow person let us know we were in a memory, we found Amber and 'escaped' back to the therapy session. Where we had been the entire time," Harper made spooky gestures with her fingers, really getting into the spirit of fake lying. And not at all because making light of the situation allowed her to claim emotional distance and therefore some level of control over the events.

Sam Brockton stared as Harper spoke, unsure what to make of it all. She asked for his help... but was being very flippant. Her explanation was bizarre... but she seemed very serious about it. She would give him information... but seemingly mock him no matter what his response.

"Sounds like quite a group. Look, kiddo, can you just level with me here? Are you just giving me some weird runaround or are you actually asking for help? I can't tell." Sam was frustrated. As to be expected when talking to a teenager.

Harper sighed, "Look Brock buddy, buddy Brock," She corrected herself. "I am levelling with you. Levelling is taking place. This is just the level I am on these days." The teenager shrugged and shoved her hands awkwardly into her pockets, rocking back and forth and back on her heel(ies). Harper overcompensated suddenly, since her hands were stuffed in her pockets. After a moment the teen regained her balance but the damage was done.

"Sam," Harper started, unsure where she was going. "I am asking for your help. But I don't have to like it. Or be any good at it," she reflected, "Like are you any good at asking for help?" Harper asked defensively.

Sam tried very hard not to laugh at Harper losing her balance and succeeded. Mostly. There was a noise. A snort or a cough or something which was doing its damnedest to hide a chortle.

"Kid. I'm so great at asking for help. I've done it like. At least twice this week." He certainly did. Though saying he was great was... stretching the truth some, for sure. And it was more like... getting information, with varying levels of success.

"Okay. I believe you. I'm in. I'll do what I can. I'll bring a flashlight and read the Wiki for shared group whatever you said. It's in my notes. I think." Was it? He'd have to check.