empathicfault | IC Inbox

Will’s grin and then the kiss only make his grin larger and the fact that it’s just them means he doesn’t have to try to school his features like he would try to at a real crime scene.

“She’s the second in twenty-four hours and the media have already dubbed the killer ‘The Bridal Butcher’,” he explains excitedly. “And you’re not wrong about perfection; we’ll discover at the autopsy that this woman actually has heterochromia iridum. The reason both her eyes are blue right now? One of them has been replaced.”

He steps back a step from the display to give Will room to examine it from any angle he likes.

"Replaced? I wouldn't have guessed." He steps around the corpse display, placing himself the way the killer would want to once everything was set. One final perfect picture before they left. "There's a lot of white in the flowers, too. Projects innocence, virginal beauty. Not always what people want if they're getting married nowadays, but this is an idealized version. Almost childlike."

He circles around her, not seeing any wounds. She really looks like she's sleeping with her eyes open- or will until the body starts to decompose, anyway.

He crouches down around her head, notes the slight mishap with a false eyelash and reaches out to touch one eye. He taps it with his nail. Glass. He dips it in and tugs it out without hesitation. There's a thrill to messing with a crime scene like this, after the tape is up and everything. "The color matches perfectly. Do prosthetics lean towards glass anymore?" He looks up at Malcolm. "I would think it'd be medical-grade acrylic now."

Malcolm is almost giddy that he gets to tell him "It would be. It's a doll's eye. Custom made."

Edited 2023-12-21 21:46 (UTC)

"Really?" Will half-smiles at the glass eye, as he rubs a little eye-based viscera off of it. "So, this was either created by the killer or someone ordered it with our beauty in mind. They probably found someone who makes life-sized dolls. Hmmm."

He holds the eye out for Malcolm, who certainly doesn't need to see it, since he's solved this one already. But it's part of the fun, honestly. He quirks an eyebrow up at Malcolm. "You think we should try solving this normally, or should I...uh, do what I usually do?" It should work, with the amount of detail Malcolm's clearly put into this place. And this shouldn't mess with him like the Dragon did. It's not only been ages, but he's learned how to keep it from sticking quite so much.

Malcolm takes the eye from him without flinching, tossing it up in the air and catching it again with a grin.

“I think we should solve it whichever way you want to do it,” Malcolm tells him. “Because it’s your present. And also watching you work is extremely attractive either way.” He tosses the eye up and catches it again with a cheeky look.

Edited 2023-12-21 23:44 (UTC)

Will looks down with a small grin, almost looking like he's shy. ...he's not shy, he's just holding all the pleased feelings within himself and enjoying them. "All right, well. Guess I'll do my 'trick,' in that case. I'm not sure if it'll come 'out' or not, since I'm comfortable. Either way..." He looks up and smiles. "Give me a minute."

He looks down at the body, his expression smoothing over into something blank. He takes a deep breath in, closes his eyes, and the pendulum of light swings. And swings, and sweeps away anything not relevant, anything that time changed. Eventually, even the body is gone.

"I didn't kill her here," he murmurs, eyes still closed. "No, that would be disrespectful. Only the best for these girls, always. I drug them, lightly, so they're resting, then suffocate them slowly. The body doesn't even know it's dying. It's all...gentle." He sees himself bridal-carrying her into the area, set her down on the tarp, and move to grab bundles of flowers. "They might have rejected the strive towards perfection, but I haven't. I'm helping them...transforming them into their best selves. It's important that I do this."

He crouches over the body, like he's sleepwalking. His hand moves vaguely over the tableau. "I've watched them a lot, and I know what they need. I do her hair, I slide her gloves on, I arrange the flowers. I...flinch as I take out her eye, as I sever the optic nerve, but it must be done. She will be beautiful in ways I will never be, and she will be seen by all. This is my design."

His eyes flutter open and his head shakes- twitches, really. But he's back. He rubs at his face as he shifts to standing, part of his ritual to return to the real world. "Was I saying that out loud?" he asks Malcolm, genuinely unsure.

Malcolm is smiling a fainter but warmer smile. He nods. “And you’re right. My sister was covering this story and - in passing - I mentioned the gloves. She’s the one that recognized that these girls weren’t dressed as brides. They were debutantes.”

Another clue that he only learned by being told. His substitute for the crime lab Will had given him access to.

The reaction (or more, the lack of anything negative) is unexpected, even with knowing that this is how Malcolm would logically respond. Even with knowing that he only let his conclusions out for everyone to see because 'everyone' was Malcolm and he felt comfortable. Even with everything they can relate to each other on. And he realizes he'd been assuming that it was just 'off-putting,' the thing he does and there was nothing to be done about it.

He takes a moment to wrestle with the emotion that wells up. At the same time, the rest of the killer's feelings start to take their leave, receding into the background of his mind. He looks momentarily like he might cry, and it makes his eyes a bit shiny as he smiles warmly back at Malcolm.

"Debutantes?" he asks, his voice pleased and growing steadier with each word. "That's still a thing? I would've figured that'd be a little too embarrassingly traditional for the current 'rich elite.'"

It was remarkable and he lets Will compose himself afterwards, but when he picks up the line of questioning again, Malcolm steps over to give him a tender kiss before he answers, not stepping far out of his space to do so.

"Debutantes. My sister actually went to a hundred year old finishing school to learn etiquette and... other fake ways to be 'perfect'. But she never debuted. She dropped out of the program before that. Fun fact: both victims went to the same school. And so did the next one." He gives Will a cheeky look. "There isn't much that's too embarrassing for the rich elite."

The kiss wouldn't belong in this scene, except for the two of them here. Will basks in it, this unspoken support. The connection. And he breathes it in, settling and finding calm as he watches Malcolm's face.

He looks down with a chuckle at the last note, and adds, "I guess not. Did the victims 'debut'? Maybe this was supposed to be it for them." He quirks an eyebrow and looks at Malcolm. "Did you have to do anything like this? A...finishing school?" He honestly doesn't know how most of it works.

“Finishing schools are for girls, but I did go to an elite boarding school that was founded by my mother’s family and for which she still sits on the board. The incident I told you about - the boy that locked me in the janitor’s closet and my… retribution…” He doesn’t call it his murder this time. “That’s the school I got expelled from for it. I don’t think my mother has ever had much hope that I could be ‘perfect’, even if it were an option. She’s at the point where she’ll take ‘alive’ and ‘reasonably functional’.” He shrugs and smiles a bit. “I’m not sure I could gave sat through etiquette class with a straight face anyway.”

Will actually cracks a smile as Malcolm finally calls it something other than a 'murder'. Retribution sounds like the proper word for it, and he's proud of Malcolm for not taking that unearned guilt. But still- ugh. That place. "I would've been thrown out of both places before the end of the day, I imagine," he admits with a sly smile. "I feel bad for your sister's plight, though. Especially..."

He trails off and tilts his head. "Was she targeted too? Or- is asking spoiling the case?"

"It's not directly related. She was targeted too. Not... to that extreme of an extent, but... whispers. Comments. Snubs. We all were." He gestures to the body on the ground. "Do you want to see the school or the doll maker's workshop?"

Oops, Will had meant to ask if she was targeted by the killer, since she didn't 'debut'. But this is better for him to know in the long-term, anyway. And yeah, that's probably spoiling some things.

So he just rubs his chin for a moment, then says, "The school. A dollmaker would be a good candidate for a killer- someone who literally objectifies women, but...in this case, the eye is a 'fix.' Just like the murders are. The real heart of the matter is that they were imperfect girls, so let's check out where they-" He makes a face and his fingers come up to make air quotes. "correct that."

Malcolm grins because it's the right answer. He goes to the control panel and presses some buttons and now they're standing in the formal (kind of Victorian) entry hall of a so posh it feels musty mansion come school for girls. He looks at Will to decide where he wants to go.

Will just stands there for a long moment, somewhat disoriented. He blinks as Malcolm returns to his side, then starts looking all around. The way his eyes move, one might think he was uncomfortable in the space, and- well, that's true. However, more importantly, he's also gathering information. Small hallway, old building, smells like harsh, old-fashioned cleaners and perfume.

Eventually Will starts moving. He's not looking for people to talk to- even if this wasn't the Enclosure, he'd be peeking around every corner and gathering information for as long as he could without interacting with anyone. However, he is used to people taking some issue with this, so he's near silent as he does it. He walks through the hallway, exploring the first floor and hoping to find some offices. Some places with records.

Malcolm follows him, also silent as long as Will is doing his thing and not asking any questions. There is an office on this floor. An old fashioned desk. An old fashioned telephone. A filing cabinet. Old fashioned everything; the records aren't on a computer.

Perfect. Will starts opening the drawers to look into the records. he asks for the names of the victims and starts looking through them, also keeping an eye out for Ainsley. It doesn't take him too long to find all three and he notes, "They're very close in age. That might be significant. The headmistress here has been doing this for decades..."

"She has. Miss Windsor started this school when she was a young woman," Malcolm tells him. "But obviously she's in her fifties now. She considers all the girls that pass through her school her 'family'."

"Mmmhmmm. But does she consider the 'failures' her family?" he asks pointedly, albeit to the air. "Even the girls that don't debut? I'm sure that's not something she'd speak to polite company about, but maybe..."

He starts looking through other drawers and any daily planners he can find. "She'd have something written around that gives away her feelings..."

“She also lived here,” Malcolm tells him. “Her suite is on the second floor. And then there’s another room in the attic, where her assistant lives.”

Will's eyebrow raises and he stands up from his rooting around. "Oh. Well, no wonder there's nothing personal here. Let's go take a look."

He heads to the stairs, adding, "Her assistant lives here, too? That's...a little different. Not a debutante, I take it?" Because none of the girls who come here would need to take an assistant job. No, any job they did would have them front and center, most likely.

“No, indeed,” Malcolm agrees, following him. “Only the daughters of the finest families in the city could afford Miss Windsor’s School of Etiquette.” He could say more, but watching Will deduce it in real time is so much better.

"'Finest,'" Will repeats with a sneer, as he walks up the stairs. Upon reaching the top, his features soften, and he smiles at Malcolm. "Well. One of them produced you, so I suppose they're not all bad."

But Malcolm's answer did highlight the strangeness of the assistant being here. It's not really a live-in position, is it? More Miss Windsor's house, so unless the assistant was acting as a maid to Windsor-- he realizes an assumption he was already making. "She wouldn't have a male assistant living here with her. Too unbecoming. So-"

He sweeps past the living quarters for Windsor to find the access to the attic. That's the room he needs to see.

Malcolm grins as Will sweeps past Miss Windsor’s rooms to look for the attic.

“Many things are ‘unbecoming’ for a perfect lady. One must be proper. Silent. Chaste. Well-mannered. A gracious hostess.”

The attic bedroom is both old-fashioned and… childlike. Fairy lights. China dolls. Soft pastel bedding. Lace doilies. On a table by the door is a telephone. Beside it, a list of names, including Ainsley Whitly. The victims’ names are crossed off.

Edited 2023-12-27 03:03 (UTC)

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