Shir. Locke Houmes: Private Investigator

Growing food and eating it occupied most of their time.
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Esquire of The Mark
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Welcome to the office and abode of Shiriff Locke Houmes, private investigator & mystery enthusiast! Have you been the victim of a prank by an unknown prankster? Have mushrooms gone missing from your gardens? Have you been receiving mail calling your feet hairless? Then you need the services of Shir. Locke Houmes. An expert investigator, a tireless hound for truth, and a Hobbit who only takes one breakfast a day (when the case calls for it, but that is rarely the case as second breakfast is vital in keeping a detective energized and on their feet)!

Please feel free to RP along with Shir. Locke Houmes (@Ta'leus Shieldsong), joining him on a mysterious adventure or investigation! You may bring your own RP's here and ask for his assistance, or simply roleplay yourself pursuing leads. I do intend on staying quite active in this thread and have no issue with more than one investigation occurring simultaneously in the thread (as we can always RP them at different dates). And I welcome anyone else joining the thread as another Hobbit with an aptly punny name for Dr. John Watson.

You may also leave letters and notes for Shir. Locke Houmes, addressed to him and sent to house 221 on the Bee & Baker's Street in Hobbiton.

RP Rules
-Please don’t post in all bold - TR (@Ta'leus Shieldsong) will do that.
-Cases will be investigated in the order brought, unless stated to be at a different date & time.
-Don’t barge into someone else’s case unless you are invited. To assist with this, please put a heading at the top of your post to make it clear what you’re involved with.
-Upon conclusion of the investigation, the TR will nominate a Hobbit to play as a judge to pass judgment on the culprit (if there is one).
-The judge’s decision will be final unless of course, you want to arbitrate to prove your innocence.
-No godmoding except by threadrunner, unless agreed upon.
-Fairness absolutely guaranteed, to the very letter of the law.

Arien
Arien
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Silas Hardwick
The Missing Diary (Newcomers welcome, tag me in an OOC if you want to join)

A furtive hobbit, shrouded in mystery and an over large cloak, crept up to the round door of the office. He knocked twice, quickly, and swung himself in without waiting for a reply.

Noting that the Shirriff was in residence, he pushed his hood down: to reveal none other than Silas Hardwick, cheeks pink from

a) the enormous, too-warm cloak
b) all hobbits are adorable and pink-cheeked
c) embarrassment.

He wrung his little hobbit hands and blinked at Shir. Locke for a minute before finding his tongue. Silas was sorely in need of a counsellor. The Shirriff wasn’t it, of course, but you have to take what’s on offer.

“Er... er... I wonder if you could help me?” he burbled out. “I have a very sensitive problem at hand.”

His cheeks flushed even hotter.
cave anserem
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Esquire of The Mark
Points: 373 
Posts: 256
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:40 am
Shir. Locke Houmes
The Missing Diary:
A Game Is The Foot

Shiriff Locke Houmes had recently bought himself a wonderful little Hobbit hole in Hobbiton. It was built into a hill that shared its space with a nanny on the southside and a family of nine on the north. It was a quaint little home on Bee & Baker's Street, which was very convenient for him as he was now able to wake up to the smell of baked bread each morning. Every day he would wake up early in the morning to read his letters, but the first thing he would do was walk a short way down the road to one of the local bakers and get fresh rolls for his breakfast. It was a very simple pleasure, but one that was quite enjoyable. He hadn't fully adjusted to living in his new home though. His office was still somewhat sparse, having only the bare necessities: a desk, a lounge chair, four additional chairs, three coffee tables, a small couch, a half dozen shelves of books and boxes, and a secret hideaway door to the pantry. He would have to do something about that, as the place seemed hardly furnished! Nevertheless, it would have to suffice for the time being until he could sort things out.

He had just sat down in the office for afternoon tea and a bit of an early pre-lunch meal, just biscuits with jam and scrambled eggs and some leftover bacon with a side of roast vegetables from the night before. Something light, of course, perfect for tea time. As he was about to take his first bite, there came two sharp raps at the door. He was about to get up to answer the door when he heard it swing open and close, and suddenly a Hobbit was before him in the office. A young Hobbit in a large, perhaps too large cloak, flush-faced and obviously in some sort of hurry or distress. They asked him for help, saying they had a sensitive problem, and immediately he was on his feet! He stepped forward and said, "Indeed! Well welcome, I am Shiriff Locke Houmes, and I am ready and able to help solve whatever problem you have!"

"Now, clearly whatever this is, is rather important to you. You've gone out in a cloak that isn't yours, correct? Or if it is, it is a hand-me-down, as it is two sizes too big. What's more, it is a heavy cloak, more suited for the winter-time and today is far too warm and mild for it to be needed. This of course can explain the color in your cheeks, partly from...excuse me."
He trailed off speaking for a moment and stepped back around to his desk to grab a fork, stabbing a bit of sausage and biting a little off, thinking as he chewed. It was good sausage, he had just got it from a new butcher two days ago. He always judged his butchers by the quality of their breakfast meats, and this one had far surpassed his expectations. He wondered how their steaks were. He would have to get a cut of beef and make a good steak and potatoes meal at some point, or a rich stew. A full minute had passed before he realized he was still standing there with the hand-wringing Hobbit. He dropped his fork down and picked back up, saying, "My apologies, I got uh...got distracted for a moment. Anyways, yes, what was I saying."

"Ah yes! Your cheeks are colorful, a bright rosy pink! From being too warm, the other part from your embarrassment at this issue, I'd wager. Am I right? What am I saying, of course, I'm right! So, now, who are you friend and what can I do for you?
"

Arien
Arien
Points: 2 263 
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Silas Hardwick and the Missing Diary

The delightful scent of roasted vegetables filled the air. Discreetly, (or at least, so he thought,) Silas flared his nostrils and huffed in. Mmmm, was that rosemary? Garlic? Bacon! Mesmerised, he watched the Shirriff’s mouth move as he elucidated on the reasons for Silas’ outerwear and also simultaneously chewed a sausage. A hobbit so skilled at multitasking would surely be up to the job.

Silas realised he’d had no idea what Locke was saying. “Um, no, I don’t have any coke,” he agreed, before coughing and hastily moving on. “My name is Silas Hardwick - I work in the Mathom House, normally doing categorising?”

He waited for any glint of recognition in the Shirriff’s eyes but Locke was probably too important for that sort of thing.

“Anyway,” Silas hemmed, “I, I, my issue is of a slightly sensitive nature. You see, my diary has gone missing. And I’m not sure if - no, I am sure I didn’t misplace it. But I can’t ask Ma, because if she even finds out I have a diary, she will CERTAINLY read it. In fact she may have taken it in the first place.

And I also may have written some poems in there.

Inferior poems.

Inferior love poems.”

He groaned and dropped his curly head into his hands.

“She’s going to kill me,” he confided, slightly muffled by his palms and the fact he was drooling over the sausages.
cave anserem
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Esquire of The Mark
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Posts: 256
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:40 am
Shir. Locke Houmes
The Missing Diary:
A Game Is The Foot #2

So, it was young Master Silas Hardwick who was before him this day. The Shiriff did not know the young lad personally, though he was vaguely aware of his mother. She had a bit of a reputation around Hobbiton of the nosy, snooping kind. It wasn't that she was a bad or malicious Hobbit, far from it! She simply enjoyed a bit of gossip and the goings-on of others as much as her own. A Hobbit like that would certainly love to get their hands on someone's private diary, and if it was her son's diary, well...that could be awkward. As the young Hobbit continued on he told the Shiriff why it was that this particular diary must be found immediately. Love poems, eh? He thought to himself. Well I can certainly understand why he's in such a hurry to find them. Even the best of poems sometimes need an explanation, and if these poems are as bad as he says...they certainly will need an explanation for whoever the subject is. The poor lad seemed so dejected as his hands cradled his head, mumbling now.

"Hear now, young Master Silas! I will most certainly find this diary of yours, but I will need more details. Firstly though, you look like you need a bit of a pick-me-up. Wait here for just a moment and I will return."

He moved away from his desk, patting the Hobbit on his shoulder as he passed, and made his way down the hallway to his kitchen. It was a simple one, even as Hobbit kitchens go, as his work often took him all over the Shire, so much so that he ate many of his meals at local inns and pubs. But it was well-provisioned, as he had not two but three pantries and larders in his home, stuffed to the brim with whatever food he could preserve and keep. He still had a bit of his breakfast left. It wasn't much, but he gathered what he could onto a plate. Two sausages, a few broken pieces of bacon, a splattering of the roast vegetables, and some blackberry jam. He grabbed a biscuit from within a jar on a nearby shelf and set it down next to the jam. There, that should be enough for now, he thought. He then lifted open a hatch on the floor and descended down into the cellar with a mug in hand, pouring a glass of apple juice he had procured not two days ago. He came back up, juice in hand, and with his other, he grabbed the leftovers and returned to his office.

"I'm afraid it's not quite a full meal, young Master Silas, but I reckon you could use a little something regardless. It might have gone a little cold now, the meat and vegetables, but they should still taste quite alright. I've also got some fresh apple juice for you, and some biscuits from the baker two doors down."

He set the plate and glass down on the front side of his desk, pulling a fork out of his left pocket and placing it beside them. Strolling around to the other side of his desk he sat down in his chair and grabbed his fork once more, chomping down onto the sausage he had left.

"So, this diary of yours. I'll need to know a few things from you. You don't need to worry about answering them all if you can't, or if you're embarrassed, but remember...the more I know the sooner we can find this diary of yours. So! When did you first remember it being gone? And when was the last time you wrote in it? I also need to know, what does it look like? It is big, small, or medium? What color and material is it made from? Are there any identifying features that would make it easy to spot?" The questions were more rapid fire than he meant them to be. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't overwhelm the lad. "But the most important thing, and this is very important mind you...is there anyone who would want to take it from you? You said your mother, which is certainly possible, but is there anyone who doesn't like you or you've angered? A coworker at the Mathom-House or an old schoolmate perhaps?"

Arien
Arien
Points: 2 263 
Posts: 1843
Joined: Thu May 07, 2020 8:56 pm
Silas Hardwick and the Missing Diary

Silas was so lost in his tortured imagination, running through dozens of scenarios which became ever more unlikely and tragic, although some of them resulted in Silas running away and becoming a famous pirate and never being mocked by anyone again, although of course he could never see his true love again because of The Incident where she shouted at him for two hours that his blank verse was more like redacted verse and how dare he rhyme her name with that word,...

... that he didn’t even notice the Shirriff quietly leave and re-enter the room until the delicious scents of blackberries and bacon were being wafted under his very nose.

“Oh! How very kind,” he stammered, putting a forkful into his mouth. This immediately settled his nerves. If there’s one thing that can be counted upon to make a Hobbit feel better, it’s food. Silas masticated slowly as he considered Locke’s questions.

“Well,” he mused thoughtfully, “it wasn’t the day before yesterday, so perhaps the day before even that, I scribbled a note in it? And put it in my coat, I think, before I went out to work, though ordinarily I leave it under my pillow. It wasn’t until yesterday I missed it, and then searched for it all day until I came to see you. It’s just a small leather book, brown, about so large,” Silas sketched out with his hands (Around A5, your helpful narrator estimates for you modern readers). He shrugged helplessly. “It’s just a plain book. There must be dozens of them around. Looks similar to the ledger books used at any inn, or even the accounts we keep at the Mathom House. But I don’t think I could’ve replaced it with one of those: I keep those safe in the drawers there.

As for enemies: why, what a thought!” Silas shuddered. “I... can’t think of anyone in particular? And why would anyone take it unless they knew what it was?”
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Esquire of The Mark
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Posts: 256
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:40 am
Shir. Locke Houmes
The Missing Diary:
A Game Is The Foot #3

The Shiriff nodded his head slowly as he listened to the young Hobbit answer his questions. When Silas had finished, the Shiriff stood up from his desk and began pacing back and forth. "So...so...so, it seems the mystery is even more mysterious than I thought! Your journal is very common looking, which will make it even harder to locate. And it's been missing for over seventy-two hours, which doesn't bode well for us. I don't know how to tell you this Silas, but in over ninety percent of all missing journal related cases, the first forty-eight hours are critical. Usually, by the time they're gone that long, we'll never recover them. " He patted the boy on his shoulder as he walked past him, giving him a slight squeeze on the third pat. "However! You have the finest criminal investigator in all of the Shire at your disposal, and I promise you I will find your journal, or may all the hair fall off my feet!"

He turned about, leaving Silas still seated in his office, and made his way to the foyer of his home. He took a light coat of dark blue from his hangers and pulled it on, grabbing the lapels and giving them a quick pull to fit the coat properly. He then returned to the office, stepping around Silas and going to his desk, pulling open a drawer on the right side. From within it, he drew out a handkerchief, a small coin-purse, a little black journal, and a charcoal pen. He grabbed the various objects and tucked them into different pockets in the coat, before kneeling down behind the desk and grabbing a small dagger that was secured underneath the desk. As he stood up he slyly hid it behind his back and tucked it into his waistband. Of course, he wasn't the only Hobbit in the Shire who carried a dagger, there were many on the eastern boundaries that did, but theirs were more a practical tool than a weapon. He carried his because even in the Shire, you never knew what might happen next.

"Well Silas, I must see the Mathom-House first and foremost. There's a good chance your journal was lost or taken there. From there we'll formulate a new plan if it cannot be found there. What do you think?"

Arien
Arien
Points: 2 263 
Posts: 1843
Joined: Thu May 07, 2020 8:56 pm
Silas Hardwick and the Missing Diary

“Yes, yes of course,” Silas mumbled, swallowing the last of his bacon and nodding. He lurched to his feet. The Shirriff had waltzed briefly out of the office and returned, heroically garbed. Silas managed a weak smile. Once he would have been as proud as punch to be seen walking with the Shirriff to his place of work; now he just felt faintly embarrassed. What if someone asked him what he was doing with such a prestigious and important person? Locke certainly didn’t look undercover, not with his fashionable cape which was sure to draw the admiration of many. He shuffled his toes and led the way out to the Mathom-house.

At The Mathom-house

Silas had his own key, and let himself in. He wasn’t in charge of the whole place - that title belonged to Gaffer Burrows, but the old chap’s eyesight was going and he relied on Silas to do most of the filing and paperwork. Gaffer B mostly did something mysterious called “curating” which, by Silas’ observation, was composed of making many cups of brandy coffee, some light dusting, and making up stories about the items which Silas was then required to write down.

“Well, here we are,” he said, spreading his arms and turning in a half circle. Shelves upon shelves. Tables, covered in things, half categorised. Glass cabinets. And several huge filing cabinets...
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