(no subject)

[anewlanguage]

[PRIVATE to DEAN and IRIS]

Bring me up to date on these murders. I was assuming they're like all the other slash and run numbers we get when it's too quiet, but sounds like people are all on edge about this one.

[PUBLIC]

Hey, kitchen staff, I say we get a little festive.

As a globe trotter, I don't really put much meaning to seasons; one hemisphere's fall is another one's scorcher, and all. But hell, maybe it'd help calm down the psychopaths if they had something regimented to focus on. They had some bullshit program like that in the prison I landed myself in back home.

Comments

[private]

[routemistress]

No. This is a different kettle of cats. Dissected very careful, and they weren't dead when it 'appened. And bits missing from each of 'em. This is... summat a bit special.

[private]

[anewlanguage]

How'd I know you'd have the newest gossip, darlin'?

Same bits missing on all victims? How many've there been, so far?

[He's on the case.]

[cw: gore][actually, filtered to Dean too because detectiving]

[routemistress]

Slevin and Alpha. No: thymus and liver gone from Slevin, kidneys from Alpha. Eyeballs on 'em both. Cut Alpha's ears off and garnished drinks with 'em.

[She's kind of amused by that bit, and here, in private, she doesn't try to hide it.]

They were both... Slevin's chest cut open like a blood eagle from the front without the lung bit, Alpha's belly. Neat work, really neat; 'alfway between a surgeon and a top class pork butcher, and they weren't dead when 'e ...when it were done. This isn't - there's no one 'ere I know whose style this might've been. I might've pegged Alpha for it meself if 'e 'adn't been knocked off. Mister Dent's fretting that 'e'll get blamed but I don't reckon it's 'is style at all.

[There's an unspoken question in that; Cain knows Two-Face better than she does, or at least has known him longer.]

It's too messy for one of 'im and too calm for the other. Steady 'and. I don't see it. This is someone really good at 'iding in plain sight and bless 'im, neither of Harvey's like that at all.

I've 'ad 'im working with me on the investigation so far.

private; to Cain, Iris, and Dean

[anewlanguage]

[Cain is amused, too, just smirking a bit. He's much, much too old to be disgusted by creative serial killers.]

When Two-Face gets going, there's a reason, he always flips that coin of his first. These people would've known it was him, that their luck went sour with him. He's big on proving chance.

This is showy, which means the perp wants to get caught, or wants to flaunt. How'd he keep them down? Tranqs, ropes? How'd they not see who was doing it?

private; to Cain, Iris, and Dean

[routemistress]

Oh, 'e did; it's the wrong one I've got 'elping. Still weren't 'im.

[The smallest shrug; she's still letting him help and he's actually being helpful.]

Slevin says a grown man, strong but not a professional; took 'im down from be'ind and dug 'is eyes out before 'e saw the face. Might be the only reason 'e's going for the eyes. Tied 'em up; there were rope marks on Alpha. 'Old on, the Captain sent a picture.

[She forwards a video clip from her own comm: Captain Bush's transmission from the pub.]

Slevin didn't know 'im. This is someone that's been 'iding in plain sight, but I can't believe 'e's been 'ere that long. I thought I'd start with a quiet chat with all the grown men that've arrived most recently. 'Ow'd you feel about working with Dent? One good cop, one bad one, one watching on a sneaky comm transmisson, per'aps?

[No, she's not specifying who should do which.]

private; to Cain, Iris, and Dean

[anewlanguage]

[He watches, frowning, rewinding and rewatching some parts.]

...Sorry, darlin', but I don't want to get my head blown off for stepping on his shoe laces. I'm pretty happy to do damn near anything else, but I've never done the partner thing well, and he's a rabid dog.

private; to Cain, Iris, and Dean

[routemistress]

Aye. I know. 'E followed me home while you were asleep; please can I keep 'im?

[She's mostly joking.]

...Not like that. I'm not quite sure what it is like. Still. All right. Ryan, Arkin, Stark, Hobbs, Nathan... am I missing anyone? Pick one and we'll check 'im out.

private; to Cain, Iris, and Dean

[anewlanguage]

Lordy, what'll you bring home next?

[He doesn't really recognize any of the names, so he picks one at random--or not so random, since he goes alphabetically.]

I'll take Arkin. Anything I should know about him first?

Re: private; to Cain, Iris, and Dean

[routemistress]

[She grins, a little shamefacedly.]

I'll walk 'im regular and keep 'im off your trousers. Arkin's Elena's warden and... my gut says no but I can't rule 'im out. 'E's definitely a hardarse and 'e's one of them iceberg types. You know. Not much showing.

Oh, and Morgana says Nathan's turned up missing. Not a good sign.

private; to Cain, Iris, and Dean

[anewlanguage]

Let's see what new kid's missing, then. Time to start searching.

private; to Cain, Iris, and Dean

[routemistress]

...Dean, when you get round to this, d'you know of any spooky reasons to be collecting human offal? Sweetbreads and kidneys don't seem very symbolic of owt. I'm guessing the eyes is just to stop 'em seeing what's what.

You, watch your back. Go armed. Slevin and Alpha might've been off their guard but they weren't soft touches, either of 'em.

[She knows he has guns. She never asked for them back after Port Clusterfuck.]

private; to Cain, Iris, and Dean

[anewlanguage]

Some untrained git playing Surgery's not the worst I've been against. He touches me he's losing more than his eyes.

You two, I need a news feed.

private; to Cain, Iris, and Dean

[surfaceshine]

[Dean hasn't taken back anything he's ever handed Cain or been aware of him having, either, except his personal Glock. He says nothing about that, instead jumping in right where he's been namechecked.]

Spooky reasons, huh? Not unless they're feeding zombies, which I might add Arthas has been raising in the CES, or an extremely high level voodoo priest or priestess I don't know about.

But most the spells I know that call for animal organs are meant to be helpful, so I doubt it.

[spam. later]

[routemistress]

[It's ridiculous, Iris tells herself sourly, that any grown woman should be sitting in her room wondering whether or not to text a man. More ridiculous still at her age; and yet that's exactly what's happening.

If he's not here, it's surely only because he's getting Ned settled in. Ned, whose need is greater than hers, if not the same need, and she's being selfish to consider herself next to that horror.

...That doesn't convince her either. Finally, she tells herself she's being an idiot, and goes and fetches some tools and a Lassiebot skeleton from the laboratory. If she's going to sit around being an emotional fuckwit, at least she can do something useful while she's fuckwitting.

Ned's Lassiebot is going to be a honeybee, symbolic both of his beekeeping lover at home and of Ned himself, working tirelessly to bring sweetness into others' lives. She can see it already: the body banded in gold and ...onyx or black enamel? She decides on enamel, both shinier and more practical, and the wings will be tiny panes of toughened glass with an opalescent finish burnished onto them.

The work is, as she knew it would be, a perfect distraction. By the time she's settled at her desk, a slightly scorched and stained labcoat pulled on over her scarlet silk babydoll nightie, peering through her protective goggles at the sliver of glass she's soldering into place on the tiny wing, she's almost forgotten what she was setting out to distract herself from.

Well, no, she hasn't. But she's doing a fairly good impression of it.]

[spam. later]

[anewlanguage]

[It takes some time for him to be satisfied that Ned will be all right alone for a few hours. He had questions to ask, but the majority of them will have to wait; the kid is rattled to the point of breaking.

Once he has Ned settled, he heads out, and he knocks twice before he walks in.]

Still up?

[spam. later]

[routemistress]

[She's right in the middle of a fiddly bit of welding, so she doesn't jump up, doesn't hurl herself at him; Iris only smiles down at her work, a small dimpled smile that feels like an inadequate seal on the fullbody golden-retriever happy bubbling up in the back of her mind.]

Been asleep for hours, can't you tell? I'm doing Ned's Lassiebot. 'Cause slamming the door after an 'orse's arse is me favourite 'obby.

[She tries and fails not to sound bitter; and she tries not to ask how Ned is, because she knows the answer.]

Ned settled, is 'e?

[anewlanguage]

[He moves in behind her, arm around her waist, a kiss to the back of her neck.]

As settled as he can be. He's safe, but I don't know if he feels like he is yet. It'll be a rough time for him, we'll see how he pulls out of it.

And I need t'hear you say something. For me.

[routemistress]

[She lays down her soldering iron before letting herself lean into it; the great solid strength of him, the rumble of his voice coming through his ribs into her body.

She doesn't want to think about Ned any more and perhaps that's selfish of her; but they've done all they can. It wasn't and might never be enough, but that can't be helped; especially here and now.]

I 'ate to say it, but that boy needs to learn to guard 'is borders. What? I'll recite Jabberwocky in Ancient Martian standing on me 'ead if it makes you 'appy.

[anewlanguage]

[Cain agrees, of course. He's seen too much to believe that anyone can make it through life being as guileless as Ned is. But he hates having to say it.

So, like Iris, he just sets that aside for now. His hand gently cups her jaw and turns her face up to his, baring her throat.]

Say 'What happened to Ned wasn't my fault'.

[routemistress]

[She loves the way he holds her, loves how she can go pliant in his hands - as she is now, her head tilting back to catch those ridiculously blue eyes on hers.]

Jabberwocky might be easier.

[But it's not a real protest, and she lets her head rest against him.]

What 'appened to Ned weren't our fault.

[Keep her at it and she might start believing it, in time.]

[anewlanguage]

[He smiles with one corner of his mouth. It's a start.]

You wanna try it like you're convincing me?

[routemistress]

[She draws a deep breath and lets it out, slow and soundless.]

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves... no, all right.

[She reaches for his hand then, and holds onto it, carefully feeling along the bones, the tendons and calluses.]

I know it weren't. Even if I'd stopped it, 'e were threatening Ned's dog; I might've saved Ned, I might even 'ave saved meself, but I couldn't've managed Digby as well. So it were for the best. I'm very angry.

[anewlanguage]

So am I. A couple of years ago I'd have Hannibal drawn and quartered and thrown overboard before anyone knew he was missing, too. That doesn't seem quite right, and I guess you feel the same, since you're here talking to me, eh?

[He moves around, pulls her up, and moves them to the bed where they can be face to face.]

So what do we do instead?

[routemistress]

[She presses close, her hands on his ribcage; she's pliant still, moving with him, but this close, the bristling tension under her skin is palpable.]

I usually do. Right now I only wouldn't let you do it for your sake. I told you once, the best revenge is living well; I did mean it. We 'ad a version of Lecter 'ere once before: graduated. So I 'ave to believe this one can.

[She twists her hands, very deliberately, into the fabric of his shirt and pulls, sudden and violently, hard enough to pop buttons loose.]

Oops.

[anewlanguage]

[He laughs, listening to buttons bouncing on the floor.]

You are the real reason I thank God and my old sergeant I know how to sew.