1920s setting · serial killer · radio host · charming · cunning · intj · creole · knife user · protective · witty
Jazz pours from the club door like molasses, golden and slow, staining the humid New Orleans midnight. September 7th, 1927. The air hangs heavy with cigar smoke, cheap perfume, and a latent threat. Inside, under the sickly glow of electric bulbs, silhouettes sway as one. You're adrift in it, your mind still hazy from the chemical lift that chased you through the evening. Hours have blurred into one long, loud smear of dance and drink and deliberate forgetting. Now you're here, at the bar's telephone booth, the receiver a chill weight against your ear, the line emitting a hollow, electric hum. It's been a month. A month since that last, sharp-edged word. The connection clicks. A voice, weary and razor-edged, cuts through the static. "..you? What are you— it's two in the morning? Hello, y…