Realistic or Modern An Invitation [lillymity]

[clostridium]

Many people claimed that they found rolling hills and forest vistas peaceful, but Etienne Bernard, on what he swore was his third pass through this same featureless stretch of woods, could not accept that anyone actually believed it. There was something uniquely unsettling, he thought, about the quiet, the isolation in a place like this. Etienne was at his most comfortable in a crowd, where he could decide to be seen or invisible according to his preference. To be the only living soul in sight was a burden that led to introspection, a more terrifying fate than any wannabe murderer.

As he passed what had to be the same tree for the fourth time, he felt a wave of panic so severe that the corners of his vision fizzled black. Only two things stood out clear in the haze of his mind: he did not want to die, and he was not in any state to be driving. He seriously considered whether he should stop when he broke free of the woods and his car emerged into a clearing. He was so relieved to see a building that he let out a high, cold laugh as he pulled in close enough to tell if this was the place. In an incredible stroke of luck, he had finally arrived. He staggered out of his car and slammed the door, closing the hem of his embroidered silk robe in the gap, then having to yank it back open, gather up the fabric fluttering around him in the wind, and slam it again.

Well…he supposed this place had been what he wanted. He needed something out of the way, with a head detective who was not a member of fashionable society. His “friends” would certainly recognize any such person. After all, he could hardly pass a week without being regaled with the latest story of theft or infidelity exposed by Crenshaw or Hope, to whom his social circle seemed to turn at the slightest provocation. No, this was a project that would rely on secrecy if it was to succeed. One among the eleven people closest to him had tried twice now to kill him, and the third time was supposed to be the charm. How brother would tell him he was a superstitious fool - but then, his brother was one of the guests at each party where an attempt on his life had been made. Blood was supposed to be thicker than water, but the story of Cain and Abel was told for so long for a reason.

Despite the late hour, Etienne beat loudly at the door, then let himself in. He looked a bit of a mess; everything he wore was ostentatiously expensive, but his matching silk trousers, dress shirt, and robe looked more like pyjamas than proper clothes to anyone not embroiled in his Bohemian social scene. There was an art to dressing, to be sure, but the true challenge was always in feigning insouciance about one’s own wardrobe, and that of others. When it came to pretending not to care about things, Etienne prided himself in his skill, but even that had been tested of late.

When the man gained entry to the foyer, he muffled a cough, then peered around at his surroundings. It was a little bit too quiet for his liking. The proprietor had a taste for dark curtains and heavy oak furniture, the kind that spoke to reliability rather than undue expense. For the first time, Etienne felt a fluttering of doubt about his plan. Could someone who did his work all the way out here possibly hope to blend in at the sort of dinners he threw? More importantly, if this was what he could afford, was he any good? No - he would trust in the intuition he had relied on when he was less impaired. This was a good idea. It had to be. He had no other choices, after all.

After a cursory look around the place, he found the door to the office, which he shouldered open, talking at a million miles an hour even before he had laid eyes on the occupant.

“-you simply must help me, I’m afraid that - well, afraid is dreadfully melodramatic and a bit gauche, so it is not the proper word, I would just say that I am concerned that I am going to be killed, and I would really like to take you into my employ to put a stop to it, as it has been a serious strain on my sleep, my business, my personal life, my—you must understand, I am not a dramatic sort of fellow, I do not tell tales, you know—you see— I…I just need someone reliable, and you came so highly recommended, so if you—well, you’ve caught me at a moment where I really am desperate to take…you know, to hire you.” The man’s words were frenzied, with all the logical progression of a train crash as sentences collided with one another as they tumbled out of his mouth. He was very slight and of moderate height, with black hair that was just a bit shaggier than was socially acceptable and an indeterminate accent that tinted his words. To an experienced detective, damn near every word he spoke seemed likely to be a lie, but there was one thing in his voice that was unmistakably real: the fear.

 

[lillymity]

The office smelled like cheap whiskey, stale cigarettes, and regret. Adam had never been much for interior decorating, which was obvious from the way his desk was cluttered with old case files, an ashtray overflowing with half-smoked butts, and a battered typewriter that hadn’t seen fresh ink in weeks. The whole place looked about two bad choices away from being condemned, but he didn’t mind. It kept away the kind of clients who expected their private detective to have a polished manner and a clean conscience.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand down his face as he considered the latest sorry bastard to hire him. Some rich sap in the city who thought his wife was stepping out on him. Predictable, boring. He’d already tailed the woman to some swanky restaurant uptown where she’d been dining with — get this — her own damn sister. The case would wrap up fast, which was good for his wallet but bad for his patience. He hated these domestic jobs. They always ended in tears, and he wasn’t getting paid enough to care.

A half-empty glass of whiskey sat on his desk, catching the dim light of his desk lamp. He reached for it, rolling it between his fingers. The radio in the corner crackled with some jazz number, all sultry horns and the kind of slow rhythm that made a man think about things he shouldn’t. Adam took a sip of his drink, let the burn settle in his gut. He was just about to consider calling it a night when the front door banged open.

Jesus Christ.

It wasn’t often that people let themselves in. Most folks knocked. Hell, most folks didn’t come at this hour at all, not unless they were desperate or drunk — or both. Adam didn’t get up. He just sighed, watching as the mess of a man came tumbling into his office like a nervous wreck in silk pajamas. The stranger looked like money, but the kind of money that had been living too fast and was just about ready to crash.

Then he started talking.

And talking.

And talking.

Adam took one slow blink as the words crashed over him like a goddamn hurricane. He caught the important bits — someone wanted the guy dead, he wanted to hire Adam, something about sleep deprivation — but mostly, he just waited for the man to stop. It took a while. The kid looked jittery, his hands twisting in the expensive fabric of his robe like he wasn’t sure whether he was meant to be standing here or running for his life.

Adam let the silence stretch for a long moment once the word vomit finally stopped. Then he exhaled through his nose, set down his drink, and ran a hand through his slicked-back blonde hair.

“Well,” he said flatly, “that was exhausting.”

He finally stood, rounding the desk with a slow, deliberate gait. Up close, the guy was even more of a mess — shaggy hair, expensive but ridiculous clothes, the kind of manic energy that suggested too many sleepless nights and maybe a little something extra in his bloodstream. Adam had seen his type before. Rich boys who played fast and loose with their own lives, never thinking they’d actually lose.

He leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “So let me get this straight,” he drawled. “Somebody wants to kill you. You don’t know who. But it’s happened twice already, and you’re still alive, which tells me they’re either real bad at it or you’re real lucky. And now, instead of calling the cops like a sensible person, you’ve come to me. A guy you don’t know. Out in the middle of nowhere. To what? Solve the case? Be your bodyguard? Hold your goddamn hand?”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

 

[clostridium]

For a split second, Etienne’s features contorted into a mask of anger that didn’t quite seem to fit on his face. It dissipated into an even more pathetic expression than he had worn when he had crossed the threshold, like he was a dog the detective had struck instead of tossed a treat. His shoulders slumped, and he opened his mouth then shut it again, momentarily lost for words. Frankly, he had expected this low-rent-looking detective to trip over his own feet in the rush to take the case. Especially now that he was looking around the room - his own home was frequently worse in the aftermath of one of his many parties, but that was all part of the charm. This detective wasn’t winning customers with charm or neatness. Hopefully his work made up for it.

“I—am not certain that I like your tone, Detective. The police are not an option. If they caught the perpetrator, they would jail him— or her. But what you must understand is that these are the closest people in the world to me! When the culprit is discovered, I would like to resolve things properly between us.” Etienne almost continued, but his brow furrowed barely perceptibly for a fraction of a second and he diverted the torrent of his speech. He crossed his lithe arms across his chest. “Clearly, you think I’m a fool. But I’m not particularly interested in dirtying my hand with yours. In fact, I have a proposal. An invitation for you, if you can manage to pretend to be civil.”

Acid rose in Etienne’s voice, and he turned and snatched up the cup of whiskey from the desk, swirling it slowly at his chest like it had been his all along. His breath was already sharp with the scent of liquor, but his nerves were frayed and he wasn’t quite thinking straight. Up close, he was in rough shape. He was probably in his early thirties, with elegant features worn down by too many late nights and too much laudanum. His eyes were so dark that they looked black in the dim light, and they seemed to flit around as quickly and inconsistently as his mind. As if something unseen startled him back into motion, he looked the detective in the eye and took the remainder of the glass in a large gulp, then released a long hiss of breath like a deflating balloon. He let his eyes fall shut for a few moments, then continued.

“I would like you to accompany me to my next party so that you can uncover who is out to end my life. I need…if you blend in, if you come across like a real guest, you can discover what’s happening, and this nightmare can end. I need…I am not lucky, and they are not bad at it, they’ve very nearly succeeded and… I am at the end of my rope, and… I need to know that there is someone on my side. I need help. I…I need another drink.”

Etienne’s free hand rose to smooth back his rumpled hair, then returned, shaking, to his breast pocket to pull out a pack of Gitanes. He drew one out between two fingers, placed it between his lips, then glanced up at the detective and tentatively offered the box. Like his clothes and his car, his imported cigarettes were expensive, and particularly strong.

“Clearly, you smoke.”

 

[lillymity]

Adam didn’t move when the man snatched his whiskey. He just tilted his head, one brow arching slightly, unimpressed. Etienne talked too fast, thought too much, and clearly didn’t trust a soul in his circle. That part, at least, Adam could respect. You didn’t stay alive in this business if you thought everyone at the table had your best interests in mind.

“Right,” Adam muttered as Etienne finally trailed off and the silence settled again. “So what I’m hearing is: someone tried to kill you twice, you don’t want them arrested, and your solution is to throw another goddamn party to find your killer.“

He stepped closer, took the cigarette offered without breaking eye contact, and slid it between his lips with a casual motion. His lighter clicked open with a practiced flick, the flame casting flickering shadows over his sharp, unsmiling face. He lit the cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled a slow, heavy plume of smoke toward the ceiling. Only then did he speak again.

“You should be dead,” he said, voice low, gravelly. “So either your would-be killer’s got a poetic streak and wants to see you squirm…or they’re in no rush. Which makes them dangerous. Because that means they enjoy this. The planning. The failure. The anticipation.”

He stepped around Etienne and leaned against the desk again, tapping ash into the tray, giving the man a long once-over — his rumpled elegance, his scattered desperation, the black flicker in his eyes that suggested maybe he’d danced too close to the edge for too long.

“You’re right. I do think you’re a fool,” Adam said finally. “You’re wearing sleep like a funeral shroud, and you reek of fear and perfume. You trust nobody, and yet you want to throw a cocktail party with your killer on the guest list. That’s not strategy. That’s madness.”

He took another drag.

“But.” He paused, cigarette burning low between his fingers. “You’ve got one thing going for you: you’re desperate enough to be honest. Even if you dress your truth in silk and melodrama.”

He looked up, meeting Etienne’s eyes. His were a cold, unreadable gray.

“I’ll come to your damn party. I’ll smile and drink and pretend I don’t think you’re three-quarters mad. But I’m not one of your little society lapdogs. I don’t ‘blend in’ unless I want to. And if I get bored, I will leave before the third course.”

He took one last drag, stubbed out the cigarette, and exhaled with a sigh that might’ve passed for agreement.

“Now pour yourself another drink and tell me everything. Everyone who’ll be there. Who you trust. Who you don’t.”

A pause.

“And if this party’s got a theme, I swear to God, I’m walking.”

Adam settled in his chair again, getting a bottle out of one of the drawers and placing it firmly on the desk. Along with a new glass for himself.

 

[clostridium]

Etienne took a deep, unsteady gasp of breath and shut his eyes for a few seconds. He steadied himself, pressing his anxiety down to prevent it from spilling out in another desperate tirade. The detective was going to help him. That was what mattered. The man could be intolerably abrasive, as long as he was going to help him. He opened up the bottle of whiskey and filled each glass, hands shaking so badly that he sloshed a bit on the desk around them. He stared at the liquid seeping into the scattered papers, helplessly frozen in place. He was already completely out of his mind on a blend of alcohol and cocaine, not to mention the overwhelming anxiety that drove him deeper into the arms of both of those and more. After a pause, he used the end of his silky sash to mop it up, mostly pushing it into the floor. He held out his own cigarette, standing very close to Adam for a long moment as he lit his own cigarette off the end of the detective’s. Finally, he sunk into the chair in the corner of the room. With one hand, he clutched the glass of whiskey to his chest, and with the other he lifted the cigarette to his lips to take a drag. His eyes fluttered shut for a couple of seconds, and his hollow face almost looked peaceful.

“…If you get bored, Detective, I will have little reason to pay you. If you are bored, then you are not paying proper attention. …For your sake, though, costume dress will not be required. Although if you cleaned up a little, you could be a suitable Capitano to my Arlecchino. If you believe that you can get results while making absolutely no effort to look like you feeling…well, you are the detective. The professional…” Etienne raised a brow, pursed his lips slightly, and made a show of looking around at the shabby state of the room. “If that is the way you would choose to define yourself.”

Now that he had arrived, and he had secured the detective’s agreement, even if it seemed tenuous, the first hurdle had been passed. He sipped his drink, and he smoked continuously at he spoke. It was a relief to sink into the buzzing in his head rather than confronting reality.

“…I’m not mad. I am…I nearly died, the first time. I was dosed with something, and I became very ill. The second, I…no matter, no. My guests, I…trust them all, as far as they can be trusted. They are the only people in the world who I care for, and who care for me. That is why all of this…why it is so painful for me. There are eleven, total. First, my…brother. Thierry LeBlanc. He resents me deeply, of course, but I do not want to think that my own brother would…he…is a financier, or he was. He is…struggling. Then there is Léonie - you know, the film star? Perhaps not, she tends toward experimental, artistic films.”

Etienne slipped his feet out of his slippers and tucked his legs up under himself in his seat. A little shiver ran through his slim shoulders and he took a gulp of whiskey to warm himself. He rubbed his cheek with the back of one hand and swallowed hard.

“Léonie, she is…capricious. She is a friend of mine, but when she is angry, she is very angry. It is difficult to tell when she is sincere and when she is acting. Then, James Greene. He is a novelist of some small renown. He is a bit obsessed with his own fame, but he seems generally harmless. His sister, Henrietta Blaine, is my spirit medium. She is…well, of course I trust her, but she was there. Her husband is a cowardly, lying little bastard - Henry Blaine. I mean—we are friends, but I am…upset with him, at the moment. Next, Irina von Dien, she is a society lady, sort of a…party enthusiast. Fabulously, ostentatiously wealthy. Her father is nobility, so she is the same. My friends in childhood, long before I came to this country, Kélian and Galatee. They are brother and sister. Miss Galatee is a reporter. Kélian, he loafs about at art shows. I have known them longer than anyone else; Kélian and I were in school together.”

Again, he took a second to pause. He spoke incredibly quickly, and he hardly seemed to breathe except for the moments when he stumbled over his words. He took a few long drags on his cigarette, and a bit of ash tumbled from the end into the floor. It escaped his notice. Many things did. His hazy, dark eyes drifted around the room, and he shifted in his seat. He was freezing all of a sudden, and he looked it.

“Polina Petrovna, she is a visionary poet in three languages. She lives with Augie, who is an incredibly talented painter, a Surrealist. Scenes of horror. Augie has a secretary called Jen, Jen Something, I’ve known her several years, but I admit I am unsure of her family name, and I could almost promise that she does not know mine! She’s incredibly efficient, a bit stiff, you know, but we’ve actually become quite close. And then there is me, and that is our part of twelve! Then - well, I have a butler, but Nelson would not try to poison me at a party. Or, rather…if Nelson had wanted me dead, I would have been killed a hundred times over, you know, if this makes more sense. Now, all of these people, I value them deeply. We have been through numerous ups and downs together, and I…it would destroy me to turn any of them in to the authorities. I cannot. I…God above, I cannot. I am…I just…I do not want to die, I…”

Etienne bit down hard on the insides of his cheeks and his body heaved twice, like he was coughing or sobbing, but he didn’t make a sound. He curled up tighter in the seat and swallowed hard, then took another drink of liquor, making himself cough.

 

[lillymity]

Adam watched him, silent and still, like a wolf who hadn’t decided whether the trembling thing in front of him was prey or problem. The detective didn’t interrupt. Didn't reach out. Didn’t soften. He let Etienne unravel until the man was a bundle of silk and bones and desperation, slumped in the corner chair like a broken marionette someone had dressed for a masquerade and forgotten about.

He lit another cigarette off the stub of the first and crushed the old one out with a flick of his fingers. No ceremony to it. Just a habit. One among many. Smoke curled around his face, catching in the low light as he listened to Etienne spill out his parade of suspects like a jittery medium reading off a list of spirits at a séance. Eleven friends. All with motives, all too close, all too adored.

Jesus.

The kind of party where someone tries to kill you, and you still serve the good champagne the next time.

Adam finally moved. He dragged his chair over from the desk and dropped himself into it across from Etienne, setting his cigarette on the lip of the ashtray. He picked up the second glass of whiskey, inspecting the slosh marks left by Etienne’s hands — on the paper and the desk — and took a small sip. A grimace followed. Not from the drink, but the weight of what he'd just heard.

“So,” he said, voice low, steady, rough as gravel. “You’ve got a dozen people under one roof, two murder attempts in, and every last one of ‘em is someone you’d die to protect. Literally.”

He studied Etienne, eyes narrowed, like he was trying to see past the bloodshot haze and sweat-slicked cheekbones to the logic hiding underneath all that affectation.

“You say you’re not mad. But that’s the exact thing a madman would say. And a coward. And someone who’s just realized he doesn’t know the difference between love and danger anymore.”

Adam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, cigarette balanced between two fingers. Smoke wreathed his face.

“You don’t want the truth. You want someone to show up, make it stop, and not pull the thread that unravels your pretty little world. But I’ve got bad news for you, sweetheart.”

He took a drag and exhaled hard through his nose.

“If I do this, I will find out who’s trying to kill you. That’s not the hard part. People are sloppy. Secrets bleed out when no one’s looking. The hard part…is what you do after. Because I’m not walking into that party to make friends. I’m walking in to tear something open and see what comes out of it. And what comes out might not look anything like what you want to see.”

He finished his drink, set the glass down with a dull clink, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’ll need a guest list. Written. With full names. What you know, what you suspect, what you’re lying to yourself about. I’ll need a place to stay, somewhere inside the estate. I don’t like being out of earshot when people get clever at night. And I want to meet the staff. Every one of them. Butler included. I’ve got no patience for ghosts hiding behind white gloves.”

He leaned back, voice softening just enough to cut a little deeper.

“You’ve got style, Etienne. Drama. But style doesn’t stop poison. And fear? Fear makes people stupid. It makes them drink too much, say too much, trust the wrong damn person.”

He looked him over — how small he looked now, curled up in the chair like that, shivering despite the alcohol. It was hard to imagine this was the same man who had burst through his door just earlier.

 

[clostridium]

Etienne deflated into nothing as Adam spoke. All his bombast evaporated into the air, and he was left staring glassy-eyed at the wall behind the detective, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers in the same off-hand that still held the smoldering butt of his used-up cigarette. His heart was hammering out an unsteady rhythm and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The panic - among other things -that fueled him on the way in had left him behind, and he was laid bare for what he was: terrified and bereft of hope.

Because this was not the first time that he had been forced to consider what he would do when he knew. These were the only people who he had ever believed cared for him. If one of them wanted to kill him, the reason why - and he had to know why - would come up like a swallowed fishhook, trailing his guts behind. But the alternative was - what? To isolate himself and live in fear? To die? He couldn’t roll over and allow himself to die, and he couldn’t justify continuing to torture himself like this. He didn’t want to believe that any of this was reality, but he had little choice. He didn’t want any of this to be real. Maybe he was mad. Maybe he was a coward - but maybe he was something far worse. A paroxysm of something wild and vicious showed through on his face for less than a second as he imagined exactly what he might do if he got his hands on the person who wanted to destroy him. That, too, faded, and his eyes looked lost and dull once again.

“…At least I am stylish,” he mumbled. His eyes fell shut while he took another sip of whiskey, and he barely stopped the glass from slipping free of his grasp, jerking up suddenly in his seat as he caught it. “I can.. Yes, I can find you rooms at my estate. You can speak with anyone there, you…We can say you are…well, you are the detective. Tell me the lie, and I can tell it well. I can provide you with addresses to…tomorrow. You may call on anyone ahead of time, if…if you can do so discreetly, if you can put aside being all hard-boiled. We have…there are a few days to prepare. I scheduled before, I…j had another plan, and I scheduled it in the grips of that, but I realized that it was…well. I changed my mind. I…tomorrow, I can get you anything you ask for. I can show you the moving walls, the…all of the little things like that. I…can speak no more of this tonight. I cannot stand it. I simply cannot…not for a moment longer.”

The cigarette butt, no longer smoldering, tumbled unnoticed from between Etienne’s fingers and rolled away slowly across the floor. He shifted in his seat again, unable to find comfort while he was wadded up like a crumpled ball of newspaper, but much too chilled to move. His eyes moved across the array of files scattered throughout the room, and it was impossible to tell just how much attention he was actually paying. His bleary gaze finally settled back on the other man’s face.

“Detective,” he said after a pause, raw and uncharacteristically solemn, “please tell me…I have not trusted the wrong person, have I?”

 

[lillymity]

The blonde’s hand lingered on his upper thigh, thumb pressing down like he was weighing the moment, feeling its grain the way some men feel the edge of a coin before deciding whether or not to spend it. The kid’s voice — because that’s what Etienne was now, in that tone, in that shape — hit him low, tugged at something under the armor. Not enough to peel it off. Just enough to make him hesitate.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, last bits of smoke curling down like the edge of a sigh, and turned his head back up to face him.

Etienne looked like hell. Folded up in silk, a picture of a man who’d built his life out of glass and now had to sit and watch for the sound of cracks. Adam didn’t pity him — he didn’t do pity — but something else flared low in his chest. Something more dangerous. Understanding.

“That’s up to you to decide,” Adam said, quiet and even. Not threatening but also not calming. His tone didn’t warm, but it stopped cutting. Like he’d set the scalpel down now that the surgery had begun.

“You don’t have to trust me. That’s not part of the deal. But you did the right thing walking through that door. You knew something was gonna kill you — either whoever’s making a game of your life, or the waiting. You picked the side that might fight back. That counts for something.”

He paused. Eyes flicked to the fallen cigarette, the half-empty glass. “You’re not built for this. Not the blood and grit of it. But you’ve got just enough bite left in you to try. That’s more than I can say for most.”

Adam stood up and came a step closer and crouched down, snatching up the cold cigarette from the floor, rolling it between his fingers before flicking it into the ashtray with a little metallic clink. “You don’t need to play host tonight. You don’t need to sell me anything. We’ll talk in the morning. Addresses, blueprints, names. You get me everything you can remember, and I’ll start tearing this thing open.”

Adam's voice dropped lower, almost unreadable.

“And if one of them tries again before I’m done, I’ll make sure they don’t get a next chance. That’s not a lie.” Adam’s coat shifted slightly as he got up again, the weight of something metallic tucked inside brushing against the fabric. His whole presence spoke of what was inside: quiet menace, sharp instinct, a man who’d done worse things than pull a trigger and kept going.

“Get sleep, Etienne. Don’t think too hard. Don’t drink too much. Try not to fall apart before the party. We’re gonna need all the pieces.” Then the blonde went back to his table, put the liquor back and pushed the stack of files neatly in place. "And most importantly, try to not get caught by your mysterious killer." The sarcasm was heavy on that one as he snatched up his fedora from a lamp, which immediately illuminated the room a tad more.

 

[clostridium]

When the light illuminated Etienne, he winced. He felt like his head had been converted into a hornets’ nest when he wasn’t looking, and the light was beginning to agitate them. Besides, he, as well as all the people with whom he kept company, tended to prefer soft, diffused lighting. No one wanted to show themselves in too much detail, physically or emotionally. Etienne certainly preferred a softer focus. After all, thirty-three was no twenty-two. Until recently, he had thought that growing old terrified him far more than dying young. While he still wanted to capture himself as a snapshot rather than being forced to progress, dying had been suddenly revealed as a painful, terrifying, and humiliating ordeal that put wrinkles and liver spots to shame.

“The morning,” he echoed. For a brief moment, something sharp and composed appeared in his expression, but it slipped away before it could make itself known.

He sure as hell didn’t feel comfortable around the detective. He was used to a certain level of consideration - or downright deference. Money made things simple. He did not need to be trustworthy or likable. No one particularly expected him to. Even still, he could maintain an environment where everyone was, at least on the surface, nice to him. Sure, his close friends were smarmy and sarcastic, but the only real sharpness exchanged between them was humorous. Etienne had gone to great lengths to sand all the sharp edges off his world, and it was

But he felt safe, and that was no easy feat. For a man who had spent the past few weeks, ever since he had been back on his feet from the poisoning, trying to force himself to stay awake overnight just in case, safety was a commodity more valuable than anything else he could be offered. His eyes flicked down to the weapon in Adam’s coat, and he swallowed. He didn’t want anyone in his life to be killed. The thought nauseated him…but the thought that someone was willing, if it came down to it, was incredibly reassuring. If something happened…well, it wouldn’t be his fault. It was a damnably selfish thought, he realized, but he thought it all the same. It would be over, he wouldn’t have betrayed anyone, and all of his secrets would remain at rest.

Etienne listened to the best of his ability - which, at the moment, was fading - and nodded along, staring at the ground. There were a lot of things that he was not built for. But he had tried. Now, and always, he had. Maybe it did count for something. Or maybe he just looked so wretched that Adam was compelled to lie to him to make him feel better. He took a contemplative sip of his drink, which was tasting worse and worse as he continued. A shiver rocked his lithe body, and he dropped the glass against his chest, sloshing dark liquid down his chest and stomach and setting him off shivering in earnest.

“…I’m tired,” he muttered. He held his silk shirt, tacky against his abdomen, off his body to keep himself as dry as he could. Slowly, he unfolded himself from the chair and pushed to his feet. With his long legs and lack of balance, he resembled nothing so much as a baby giraffe trying to navigate a watering hole. He stepped toward the door, staggered, and fell on his side, dropping the glass in earnest this time. His head hung, and his hair shadowed his face as he pressed his eyes shut, trying to keep the room from spinning. This was the worst he had been in…well, it hadn’t been as long as it should have. “…I don’t think I…can drive.”

Etienne looked up at Adam, utterly miserable. “Give me a…a blanket, I’m freezing. I’ll just…I’m going to…right here.”

 

[lillymity]

Adam didn’t sigh. Didn’t curse. Didn’t roll his eyes or flash any of that trademark grit-for-show. Instead, he moved.

Three steps and he was beside the wreckage of Etienne, glass glinting on the floor like the aftermath of some genteel apocalypse. He bent without hesitation, tugging the soaked fabric of the man’s shirt gently away from his chest and inspecting him for anything worse than wounded pride. The shirt was ruined. His pride probably wasn’t far behind.

“You can’t drive,” Adam confirmed, voice low and edged with something dry — half-grim amusement, half a deadpan acceptance of how far they’d already slipped past normal.

He stood again, stepped away briefly. A blanket ? Where the hell should he get a blanket now ? Wasn’t like his office was a bedroom.
Okay, he sometimes stayed here over night. But he slept very well without a blanket.
Adam stepped over Etienne and out of the room. A few minutes later he came back — without a blanket. "It’s not like I throw pyjama parties here, you know ? I don’t have a blanket." , he stated, standing in front of the wreck on the floor.

“Floor’s not great, but it won’t kill you. Seems like you’ve had enough people trying to do that already.” , he muttered then. Etienne wouldn’t die one night without a blanket, but then again — looking at him — he might.

He straightened, gave the room a slow once-over. He’d seen people like Etienne before — men trying to stay beautiful as their world frayed at the seams, clinging to glamor and gilded lies while everything underneath turned sour. What he hadn’t seen often was someone like Etienne asking for help. Not because they wanted to, but because they’d run out of anything else to give.

Adam moved again, this time to the window. Checked the locks. Then the front door. Quietly methodical. Etienne wasn’t the only one with a sleepless habit. He made sure all the lights were low. The blonde didn’t ask permission to stay — just dragged his chair over near the door and sat down in it, lighting a cigarette like he meant to keep watch.

In his mind he was still debating the topic of blanket. He couldn’t let the in whiskey drenched wreck stay on the floor like this. Adam took a long drag of his cigarette, before sighing — the smoke curling around his face. He took off his leather jacket — it smelled like endless sleepless nights and cheap cigarettes. "Here, take that and get some rest." , he grumbled and crossed his arms. Adam now sat there in just a shirt — which originally was white but already drifted off into a grey color.

 

[clostridium]

Etienne watched from the ground, not even bothering to try and get up as the detective ensured that everything was locked up. He took a deep breath to try to steady himself. It only made the world around him heave into soft focus. If Adam was keeping watch, he could sleep. It was going to be alright. He wasn’t going to die. He clung to that desperate thread, trying to convince himself, in his addled state, that it wasn’t all going to fall apart. He took the coat and clumsily shrugged it on, missing the hole of the sleeve several times on one side before he gave up and sealed the coat shut with his arm inside, then curled himself into a little ball. The jacket only emphasized that his frame was a little too slim to look altogether well. He had been fashionably lean before this ordeal; when he was poisoned and hospitalized, he hadn’t been able to keep anything down, then he came back to live in terror under threat of his life, and he didn’t recover all too well. Paranoia and opium were a poor combination when it came to recovering from an illness. Most days, he didn’t look sick; he was incredibly careful to make every aspect of himself look purposeful and glamorous, if eccentric. When the care fell away, it became uncomfortably obvious how far out of his own control his life had spiraled.

Etienne slept soundly, although the first part of the night he muttered and shook in his sleep. He looked a bit like a broken marionette from his place on the ground, all odd angles and perfect stillness. It was as if he had hired the detective too late, and someone had already finished the job.

———

As the first light of dawn shone through the grimy windows of the office, Etienne awoke, neck and shoulder aching from how twisted up he had been. His memory of the previous night was riddled with gaps. He didn’t know how he got here, but he remembered utterly humiliating himself as he sought the other man’s help. He could only count his lucky stars that he wasn’t prone to fits of reckless honesty when he was intoxicated. Some things couldn’t be taken back once they were said.

He pushed himself up on his elbows and blinked slowly around at the room, forcing it all to come into focus. For better or worse, his body was used to rough treatment, so the pounding behind his eyes was mild. Tolerable.

“Detective?” he started, sounding a bit like his mouth was stuffed with cotton, “I think I’d like a coffee.”

 

[lillymity]

A random fact but alcohol either made Adam very productive or very sleepy. The latter was the result now. It didn’t even take the blonde more than five minutes after Etienne to drift off to sleep as well. So much for keeping watch.

Being sober, he was a very light sleeper — that’s why he drank at least one or two glasses before going to sleep. To get at least a few hours of sleep and not flinch at every little noise, paranoid to something or someone catching up to him. The whole night he slept soundly, head hanging over the lean of the chair, his arms resting against his chest — still crossed.

— — —

Adam got two hours maybe three hours of sleep before he woke up again, groaning in pain. For the love of god, a chair was no bed. And his sore, old — though not so old actually — bones made him feel that with every movement. He couldn’t sleep 'here, that was for sure. But he couldn’t leave that little wreck of nothingness behind as well. Etienne looked like he wouldn’t even win a fight against a raccoon.

Getting with a still sleepy groan, the blonde made its way over to the millions of scattered files on and around his table. Some cases he successfully managed, some ended rather quickly with the easiest way — though he wouldn’t call them unsuccessful just because of that. He sorted most of them into a shelf — a case of a missing woman, some nobody wanting his enemy dead, Adam's gaze lingered on the file of the little girl he saved from some rich man — before disappearing into the room across from his office.

The kitchen. If you could call a room with a sink, a coffee machine and a table a kitchen. He made a big pot of coffee, drinking at least two cups, while just lingering in that room. The third was to be enjoyed with a cigarette, watching the sunrise through the pine trees.

It was quiet here, peaceful in a way. For the blonde it was rare, he actually watched the sunrise. Either he was still sleeping or caught up in some work in his office. No time to watch the nice things in life. Adam was leaning against the wall, door still open so he would hear when that clumsy little guy would wake up.

And soon after he did, demanding some coffee. "Come and get it yourself, Arlecchino." , he answered with a low, growly voice. It wasn’t on purpose that it sounded that grim and asshole-y, that was just Adam's normal morning voice. And maybe still a bit of his asshole-y personality. "I'm not your personal butler." , he added then, blowing out the smoke before taking another sip of his coffee.

The coffee wasn’t good and the only option was taking it like it was — no special additions — but it did its job.

 

[clostridium]

Etienne’s lip curled in irritation, and he pushed himself up, incredibly slowly, to his feet. His hair fell in messy waves around his face, shading his eyes, and he didn’t bother pushing it back. He finally got his arm through the arm of the jacket, and kept it on, finding himself cold as soon as he got off of his warm spot on the ground. He scrunched up his nose. The coffee smelled like battery acid - not particularly appealing. Clearly, Adam thought that it was suitable for himself, but did he seriously think that it was suitable for a guest? A guest of Etienne’s caliber? Absolutely not. It was offensive to consider. Not only that, he bristled at the tone. His elegantly arched brow set into a hard line and he crossed his arms, standing in front of Adam.

“You’re supposed to be saving my life. Not trying to poison me again. If I am to put together your dossier, I’ll need a real cup of coffee. Some sort of breakfast. Surroundings that are not quite so…grim. My death is depressing enough without having to sit in here drinking bad coffee and listening to you gripe at me. A touch of compassion wouldn’t kill you, you know.” Etienne’s tone was sharp, and raw with strain. He was in the process of pulling himself together, so the empty, broken note that had been in his voice the prior night was well-disguised, although he was far from pulled together properly.

His eyes traveled critically around the room, landing on the scattered files, the cigarette butts, and the cheap furniture. Well…at the very least, he could be certain that none of his friends had come here to sort out their problems in the past. Adam’s attitude was just something he would have to deal with. His eyes traveled down to his own chest, and he realized with a start that he was wearing the other man’s coat. He flushed a bit, then glanced back at the detective. Well. Maybe he was a bit considerate.

 

[lillymity]

"Please, I drink that stuff for eighteen years now. Do I look dead to you ?" Adam looked unfazed, taking another sip. "It tastes better than it smells, but if I were you I would reconsider my words." , he grumbled and put his cup down. "I'm certainly not the one who lives in danger of a third murder attempt."

Without further words or waiting for an answer, the blonde vanished in another room. Some minutes later, Adam came back out, now wearing a long dark-brown coat. He locked that door again, as well as the others before returning to Etienne. "If you feel too fancy for that coffee, I would recommend stop standing around like you wait for a better one to arrive."

Adam wiggled his car keys in his hand, leaning against the door frame. They could drive to the nearby diner down the road if Etienne really insisted on a better breakfast than his put together coffee. Well, it wasn’t exactly down the road, more like a twenty minutes drive through the dark parts of the forest and then off to the side. The usual spot for a break for transients — only foreigners were dumb enough to stop at such a place.

But they knew Adam and wouldn’t do their scrappy little tricks with him. After all, he had helped them, when they were knee deep in a very bad situation.

 

[clostridium]

Etienne looked resentful and gloomy, standing with his shoulders hunched up around his ears and a bleary-eyed scowl. He was not a morning person; he was scarcely seen before noon, and the circumstances didn’t lend themselves to easing his bad attitude. It wasn’t that he usually slept late, not exactly - it was his practice to lie staring at the ceiling, out the window, or at a book read a thousand times before rather than dragging himself down the stairs to loaf around outside or call on friends. He preferred to be active late into the night; all the socializing he preferred to do could be conducted then. His morally upright neighbors wouldn’t come to call on him then, and he wouldn’t have to cope with prying questions about his lifestyle, about where he moved from, about his distant family, yada yada yada.

“You look a touch more professional in that. Sharper,” he said begrudgingly. He adjusted the leather jacket on himself, then took the silky sash from his robe and arranged it around the collar like an oversized cravat, looking somehow more eccentric than he had when he staggered in the previous night. He combed his fingers through his hair to make sure that at least it wasn’t tangled. Artfully messy was his usual preferred style, so he didn’t actually look too unusual, by his own standards. The shadows under his eyes looked dark, and his features looked sharpened now that his dark eyes held a focused intelligence rather than a vague, drifting despair. His eyes didn’t seem to belong to his body; there was something incredibly purposeful and astute in his stare that stood in sharp relief to his lackadaisical overall air. It was subtle enough that most people probably couldn’t see it, but a particularly perceptive observer could tell that something was off.

“Hm. Looks like standing around waiting for a better option worked out quite well for me, after all, if you’re volunteering to be my driver.” Etienne flashed a haughty, playful smile and led the way out of the office with a quick, almost loping step. He hopped in his own car and quickly secured the top back in place in case of rain while they were away, then lingered around the passenger side of the detective’s car, apparently waiting for the other man to open it for him.

 

[lillymity]

"No need for unnecessary compliments.." , Adam grumbled rather low, patting down every pocket of the coat — even the hidden ones — to make sure everything he needed was in its place. After all that area was not friendly. Only the people that had to live here, lived here. The ones that didn’t have enough money for something safer. The ones that enjoyed their sweet little crimes. The forest was far from safe — and the problem was not only the animals. The blonde’s area around the office was on the rather calm side, though. Nothing for the ones that got scared easily and you always had to have your gun close, but far better than the suburb.

Adam slowly followed Etienne, taking his sweet time when looking the door. "Don’t get used to it. I won’t be your chauffeur." Observing the other man, he looked much better today. Not the desperate little wreck, crashing in his office, stumbling over his own words. At least on the outside he looked much steadier.

While spinning the car keys, the blonde slowly walked over to the driver's side, looking at Etienne while he walked. The silky sash kind of fitted to the leather jacket, giving it a softer touch — but somehow it was a thorn in Adam's side. Wasn’t the usual look that jacket represented.

He opened the black Duesenberg Model J, plopping down on the seat. Before the other could even turn to get in the car, Adam quickly took a bottle from the passenger seat, throwing it in the back. But beside from that his car was very clean. Not looking anything closely like his chaotic office.

 

[clostridium]

Etienne scrunched his nose with irritation when Adam silently declined to open his door, but he was impressed enough by the car to avoid commenting. He wasn’t really sure how the detective had acquired such a vehicle, but he didn’t want the other man prying too close into his financial matters either, so he decided not to ask. He slipped into the passenger seat and stretched his legs. His eyes drifted to the side, and he took in his crooked parking job the night before. His eggplant-colored V-63 Phaeton would always be the apple of his eye, he was certain, but the Doozy had her perks.

“Perhaps you do have taste,” Etienne teased. “You may want to reconsider, though. The alternative to being my chauffeur is being my passenger, and I’ve been informed by trusted sources that it’s not for the faint of heart. My last, though, I wasn’t even the one to crash it. Last time I will ever allow a friend to use a vehicle of mine. You know - that was one thing I was worried about, just in the back of my mind, whether you could bring your own vehicle and have it blend in alright, but you’ll do fine. I will say, depending on exactly what you decide that your story is, you may need to be outfitted a touch more…thoughtfully. I think it’s quite chic that you don’t pay much attention, you know, but you do look…oh, you know. I’m assuming you have papers, too, for my little spy document. It all barely feels real. Like…I am floating. What sort of restaurant are you taking us to? A pastry would be nice, something light, nothing to make one fall right back to sleep…”

The danger of Etienne feeling better was that he could live up to his full conversational potential. Words seemed to flow from him freely, occasionally drifting between topics without acknowledging it, like a stream splitting against a rock. He was not a man who liked silence. In fact, he privately felt like anyone who claimed that they did was probably lying to themself.

 

[lillymity]

"Oh no, no no. I will not be your passenger." , he stated dryly. Then the driver’s side was the better choice. And after everything Etienne told him, Adam was certain he will never be his passenger. Not even if he was bleeding to death or something. The blonde already didn’t like not being in control of a situation but giving it to him — the person that couldn’t even park straight and just did his little sleepover party on his office's floor. No, then being the chauffeur was quite a good choice.

Adam rolled his eyes in an annoyed way. He could never stop talking, could he ? Need to be oufitted ? Where were they going ? Some kind of high society party ? But the blonde stayed quiet. It was far too early to be up and talk that much.

"It’s an off road diner, nothing special. Don’t expect me to take you out to some fancy breakfast palast, I'm not your boyfriend." , he grumbled, staring at the road ahead and trying to avoid talking as much as possible. "You can be glad if they have croissants and some jam." But coffee, they had great coffee — always.

After some minutes, Adam couldn’t even really listen to Etienne anymore, he just let him chatter about this and that. But Adam already felt the headache calling in, normally his life was peaceful, quiet. Normally he would enjoy his awful coffee right now, enjoyed the silence, only noise maybe the breeze rustled through the trees.

"You always have to talk, do you ?" , the blonde suddenly interfered, looking at the other as serious as always. But just for a second before he took a sharp turn to a parking lot. Maybe he drove a little to fast but nothing that car couldn’t manage. He parked in front of the little red and grey diner, the open-sign flickered like a candle. From the looks of it, you would already guess bad food and bad coffee but you would be surprised once you take the first bite or sip.

 

[clostridium]

“As if you would be so lucky,” Etienne grumbled, mostly to himself. He kept his eyes focused on the woods outside, but the way they grew closer the deeper he stared made him feel a bit ill, so he looked at Adam instead. He wondered about the detective; he wondered very much. There was no way that the man could possibly be prepared for the reality of just how many gentlemen were perfectly happy to take him to a nice breakfast, and how many of those gentlemen turned out to have previous commitments. Really, it was a wonder that this was the first time someone had committed to murdering him. Well - first time in a while, at least. The tangled web that he found himself in the center of would hardly be comprehensible to anyone who wasn’t well-versed in high-society politics. Etienne hoped for his own sake that Adam would be a quick study.

When Adam interrupted him and fixed him with a rather intense look, he stared back with a wry little smile. It still played across his lips as they pulled into a parking spot and stopped. An unassuming exterior, to be sure. Peeling paint, dusty windows, a neon sign that had about as much life left in it as Etienne did without any assistance. He was not expecting miracles, but…the coffee had to be better than the coffee at the office. He wasn’t sure if it was possible for it to be worse.

“Yes, actually. You know, some people find my tangents amusing. Charming, even. Or at least they’re polite enough to pretend. You don’t seem to have been overburdened with consideration for others, you know. I could be talking because I’m afraid. Or because I like speaking to you. Ha - did I keep a straight face?” Etienne let out a high, tittering laugh, the sort that no one did wholly naturally. One of his cheeks dimpled, and he looked a little bit too amused by his own joke. “Here is the real question. Are you always so bothered to have to listen, or am I special in that regard?”

Without waiting for an answer, Etienne hopped out of the car, much too chipper for someone who had been as miserably wasted as he was the night before. usually only began to feel ill around noon after a night’s revelry, and that felt late enough in the day for a touch of revelry to begin again. As he led the way inside, his posture shifted, becoming haughty and aloof. Wherever he went, he tended to invite colorful commentary on all aspects of his person, and, the more aristocratic his bearing, the less likely that anyone would make their snide remarks within earshot. It paid to be rich; sometimes, it even paid to seem it.

 

[lillymity]

Adam let out a small scoff. Charming ? Such a chatter box ? He didn’t believe someone really found that nice for a longer time. The blonde got out of the car after Etienne — a little more cumbersome than the other. He locked the car and put the keys into his pocket. "You’re special. Normally my clients don’t talk that much to me like I'm their therapist. And normally they don’t get wasted in my office and throw a sleepover on my floor." , he shot back.

Adam walked after Etienne rather slowly, taking his time, he already had his breakfast coffee. And he also wanted to see Etienne's reaction to being in the diner alone for a moment.

And as the other stepped inside, the show was about to begin. There were only a few staff members — maybe two or three. They didn’t have enough money to pay more — or even the ones working there to begin with. And that showed in their attitude. They gave Etienne an annoyed death stare. He looked way too prestigious to step in such a diner. "Are you here for breakfast ? We just have coffee and scrambled eggs today." , an annoyed voice ringed from the back.

Seconds later a tall man with broad shoulders walked into sight. He gave Etienne a disparaging once-over. But then his expression turned into confusion. He could make that leather jacket out everywhere. Before the guy could say anything, though, Adam walked in, giving him a slight nod as greeting.

The guy's expression lit up immediately. "Adam! Fancy seeing you here these days. I see you brought someone with you. We just have coffee and scrambled eggs today, but you’re used to that, aren’t you ? Your usual coffee ?"

The blonde nodded. "And make it two coffees for me." Then he looked over to Etienne. "You need food to give me all the information about everyone ?" The scrambled eggs didn’t look great but tasted like five-star restaurant. It was confusing how something looking this bad, could taste this good but better not to dig too deep into it, right ?

 

[clostridium]

Etienne’s icy aloofness grew each second he was alone. His narrowed eyes surveyed the peeling vinyl and faded decor. Unsurprisingly, presentation mattered a lot to him. He could scarcely imagine the point of having something good and refusing to make it appear even better. He spent amounts of time that most men would envy in the company of high-profile actresses and chanteuses, so he was rarely challenged in his image-is-everything worldview. He could handle being disliked. In fact, he thrived on vitriol as much as praise. As long as he made some sort of impression, he was thriving.

He looked a bit surprised at Adam’s warm reception. With his attitude, he couldn’t imagine that he was welcome anywhere. But Etienne was incredibly flattered whenever he was brought somewhere with an insider, in any context, so his pride was puffed up enough that he managed a dazzling smile at the man who pointed them toward a booth. He ordered eggs and bit back his espresso order, replacing it before it was out of his mouth with a full pot of coffee with cream on the side. His smile turned wry when he slid into the booth opposite Adam.

“Never told me you were an honored guest. You’ve been holding out on me. No matter - I’ll keep holding out on you for the foreseeable future, so I suppose that makes us even!” Etienne flashed another radiant smile when the coffee was delivered, happy now to shift into the gear of Adam’s guest rather than suspiciously well-heeled out-of-towner. “And don’t look so surprised. You saw me last night. I’m not the sort who finds time for three squares a day. I’m dizzy.”

Etienne prepared for the worst as he dug into the eggs, but he was pleasantly surprised, and he made no attempt to conceal it. He served himself cup after cup from the pot of coffee until it was nearly empty, being a bit excessively liberal with the cream and sugar. Decadently overdressed coffee was typically most of his nutrient intake before the sun went down and he could find his way onto a guest list or two for dinner and drinks. One of the many paradoxes of being rich - most of the time, for a good time, one had to spend very little.

“You know, it’s much too nice a morning to have so bad an attitude. It’s unbecoming,” he teased. Drawing forth the stack of papers he brought along to write up his overview, he furrowed his brows with thought. “So…what all do you want to know? Name, address, primary reason they might want to kill me?”

 

[lillymity]

"You never asked." , he just replied very bluntly. Adam wasn’t the guy to talk a lot about himself. Only if ever necessary or if asked, but usually his replies were very short even then. The blonde kept everything rather to himself, dealing with it himself than getting any help. The less people know things about him, the less vulnerable he was.

"He'll talk more, when you broke his hard shell." , the guy said with a small smile, placing down the pot of coffee and two cups, looking innocent like normal coffee. But in fact there was not only coffee but also a decent amount of whiskey in those cups. It was Adam's usual order here, made the sleepiness vanish the quickest. The blonde took a small sip, when the waiter went back to the kitchen again. "Don’t listen to him, he’s just nice because you seem like big money." , Adam grumbled.

He watched Etienne eat, his gaze switching between him and the eggs. Adam wasn’t the guy for breakfast, never ate anything in the morning — he physically just couldn’t eat right after waking up. "Surprised about the eggs ? That’s the only thing they can do."

Watching Etienne pour cup after cup, he sipped his own little wake-up-mix. When the other asked him about all the information, Adam just looked to the side for a second. The guy was watching them from the kitchen, almost unnoticeable but the blonde knew when someone was watching. "Just everything you know about them." He chugged down the last sip of his first cup and turned the cup in his hand.

Adam cleared his throat before continuing. "Names, addresses, everything from how you met them to what you are now, interests…just everything. And whenever you ask yourself if it may be important — yes it is." The blonde cleared his throat again, talking that much, being up this early, coffee, alcohol and cigarettes weren’t a good mix, clearly taking a toll on his voice.

 

[clostridium]

“I am big money,” Etienne said smugly. “That’s the only reason you tolerate me - one cannot judge him for doing the same. He’s doing a much better job at being nice to me than you are, actually, and I’ll probably be paying you significantly more than I will him, unless these admittedly delicious coffee and eggs are horrendously overpriced. Perhaps you should try a little bit harder at your customer service. Catch more birds with honey than vinegar and all that, you know?”

Etienne finished his eggs and sighed. It was the largest single meal he had eaten in a while; he was one for picking at little plates of hors d’oeuvres rather than full plates. He heavily suspected that he had been given a larger-than-average serving, which he might be tempted to complain about, but he did look a little wretched. It was probably an attempt to be nice, since he knew that high-society mind games were probably not a factor in a place like this. He swirled his pen on the corner of the paper a few times until it produced ink, and he let out a dramatic sigh. This was a lot of information he was being asked for. Frankly, it seemed a bit unreasonable. He always got a little bit of an attitude when he was expected to put in any real amount of work, and this was worse, because it was work that set his frayed nerves alight with electricity. He set his shoulders and began. His penmanship was artfully messy and highly purposeful, just like the rest of him. Halfway between cursive and print, impractically loopy, like a nest of particularly elegant dancing spiders colonizing the blank page. He wrote for a while, only occasionally interrupting his thoughtful silence with a hum or quiet sigh, then handed his paper across to Adam, looking a bit more subdued than he had when he started.

Thierry LeBlanc
~40
Half-brother
Financier
Temporarily resides in my guest house
We were not raised together; he was in boarding school by the time I was born. We share the same father. His mother passed away, our father remarried my mother, I was born, and Thierry and I only tended to see one another on school holidays. We were not particularly close, but there was no great resentment, at least on my end, although I do not know what he felt at this time. He entered finance and did reasonably well for himself, I think. Our relationship was mostly uneventful until he faked illness to avoid draft. Father, who values little more than his past as an officer, disinherited him completely. They fought terribly until my father died and he took his mother’s maiden name. He made a series of bad investments, many at the card hall rather than the boardroom, and has been in debt of some form or another since. His dire straits are secret, please do not mention. It is his hope - and, somehow, his sincere expectation - that he will wed an heiress entirely for love and all of his woes will be forgotten in one fell swoop. He enjoys games and is talented in manners of sport. He likes to be the most intelligent individual in the room, and will go to great pains to seem such.

Léonie - this is an assumed name for the sake of fashion
~25-35
Friend and colleague
Actress
4000 W Astor Avenue
Léonie is a provocateuse who prefers notoriety to all else. Maven of avant-garde fashion and collector of interesting friends. Composed almost entirely of many layers of artifice.
Carries a pearl-handled revolver and has used it on several occasions, mostly for show, once fatally, but the fellow who lost his life deserved it (irrepressible sleaze) and she is without any legal reproach. My ceiling has been an innocent victim of her caprice, however. We compete for everything, and are fairly evenly matched. In fits of pique after she particularly wanted something that I claimed, she will occasionally threaten to end my life, but she has an artistic temperament and I do not think it sensible to take her entirely seriously. She is not open about her background; she says she is French, but her pronunciation is more Quebecois than Quatre-Champs.

Jen Something
~28
Friend
Secretary
Duck Pond House
Jen is VERY intelligent with money, and very adept at dealing with strong personalities. She does not express when she is angry or frustrated. I can read her far more easily than her employers can, I can tell you that without any doubt! Previously engaged to be married to a fellow we only refer to as “that damnable hypocrite!” and lost her previous higher-paying position around the same time. I know this to be because she was embezzling (another delicate secret which she has confided in me!) She gets along very well with her employers. She is determined to direct Thierry in his finances, and is unaware that he has nothing to direct. In fact, I believe it likely that she sees him as a potentially appropriate match. I’ve advised her otherwise. She does not drink or smoke, so it is baffling how she stands me. We play a lot of rummy together, and she is something of a backseat gardener. Incredible at darts.

Augie
~45
Friend
Surrealist Painter
Duck Pond House
She can be a bit of a painful optimist. Fond of practical jokes. Has no patience at all for media attention or rumor. Plain, a bit frumpy, brimming with interesting stories that she swears are God’s honest truth. She can fish, she can hunt, and she is a terror on a horse. She’s got plenty of connections in all sorts of different contexts. Acquiring anything one might want on an accelerated timeline, illicit or otherwise, is quite effortless for her. Artists tend to be that way, as a rule, you know. She’s absolutely rolling in it, more so whenever she actually finishes something and is willing to sell it. Few and far between, since she’s such a perfectionist.

Polina Petrovna
~35
Friend
Poet
Duck Pond House
She was initially a friend of Kélian’s. They met at some gallery event years ago and corresponded by post for quite a long time, as they were frequently not in the same country, or even upon the same continent. I was introduced more recently. She is a neurotic sort of person, with a lot of largely irrational fears. She’s very particular about the way she likes things, she’s quite vain in a way that it’s endlessly enjoyable to poke fun at, and she’s prone to mercurial moods. She and Augie are very much devoted to one another. Quite adorably so. She pretends that she’s ill from time to time, but she’s such a treat that we all sort of play along and let her.

Irina von Dien
21
Friend
Socialite
222 Devlin Court
Truly, absurdly, obscenely wealthy. The only person in my immediate circle who puts my coffers to shame. She’s a bit silly, nearly naive socially, but she’s quite scientifically-minded. A real career is several stations beneath her, but she’s bought herself a tutor to learn chemistry to a professional degree. She’s a bit difficult to get a read on, since she seems so doe-eyed and over-sincere that it comes off as sarcastic, but I really think that she is, somehow, just like that. Her trust just matured a few months ago, so she’s been throwing money around like the dollar will be abolished next year. Her mother and father dote on her to an absurd degree, and she can truly do no wrong in their eyes, but her affairs are (mis)managed by a deeply unpleasant dowager aunt. I feel a degree of obligation to her as well as friendship, since she is young and rich and pretty and generally unwise, which tends to make one easy prey to the world.

Galatee Diallo
36
Childhood Friend
Magazine Reporter
1445 Trice Circle (Downtown)
Undecorously rude in an uproariously amusing way. She is sort of like a more glamorous, more charismatic version of you, in a way. She’s currently relegated to ladies’ magazines and the topics covered therein, but her goal is to move to harder-hitting news. She is no longer welcome at certain society scenes because of her tendency toward provoking others. She and I have had our ups and downs in our relationship. More so than most. She and Thierry were friends when they were very young, part of a larger group. She has a bit of a history with attempted blackmail, but she is otherwise quite honest and reliable.

Kélian Diallo
31
Childhood Friend
Art Appreciator and Acquirer-for-Hire
61 Brouvard Street
Kélian and I have known one another since we were both very small, and have been friends since we were boys. His father and mine were friends in the Armed Forces, and became neighbors later in life. Both of his parents remain alive, and he supports them financially, since they were never particularly well-to-do and their investments have done quite poorly over the years. He is rakish, a bit of a flirt, and loosely strung. I have only ever seen him serious when in real peril. He is a sleight of hand magician, far from professional but good enough to entertain at most parties.

Henrietta Blaine
~30
Spirit Medium
“” “”
912 Greenaway Boulevard
Hen has been no small comfort to me recently! She has a very real gift, and she has become a confidante of mine after many conversations. At first, I brought her to parties more as an idle curiosity, but she is a real fixture nowadays. I frequently need spiritual guidance, and she is more than happy to provide. There are several skeptics among us, but only Irina is completely unwilling to even play nice with her in public, having told her before to her face that she is a charlatan preying on my “weaknesses.” I do not think that this is a fair assessment by any means, and it upsets her greatly.

Henry Blaine
~35
Henrietta’s Husband
Attorney
912 Greenaway Boulevard
Henry is a special case! He is a supportive, doting husband, and he has little personality outside of Hen. He is sort of like the moon reflecting the light of the sun - he takes on attributes of others to make himself act more like a real human being. Perhaps I am being too harsh. He is an excellent pianist, and he is incredible with plants. He is uncommonly elegant, and has a talent for public speaking. He is fundamentally dishonest. Recently, he was embroiled in an illicit extramarital affair. This must not be discussed.

James Greene
~25
Henrietta’s Brother
Novelist
7174 Armitage Lane
A silly fellow! I like him very much. His egoism is astounding, especially in the presence of someone such as Polina, since her sales outstrip his a hundred times over. He’s a bit like a dog, you could do damn near anything to him and he would forgive and forget without making a fuss at all. He writes contemporary novels about people loafing about and being depressed in artful ways. I’m damnably certain that I’ve had a fellow based off of me in one of his books. He’s expressed an interest in writing a fictionalized version of things that should not be put to pen, so he must be reminded every now and again.

“…Is this…sufficient?”

 

[lillymity]

"You think I just tolerate you for the money ? Oh boy, I have enough money, I don’t need to take you case because of that. Besides they would have already robbed someone like you, if I wouldn’t play your silly little bodyguard." The last part was just a low grumble as he took his second cup and looked out of the window.

After a big sip, Adam put the cup down, looking back at Etienne. "I don’t have to be nice if I only need to get your soon-to-be murderer. My customer service hasn’t even started yet without the information from you, so don’t expect me to put on a happy face." It didn’t seem like the blonde would get nicer any time soon.
Maybe it was just because he was still sleepy ?
But no, Adam had behaved like that yesterday as well. One could only wonder, how he even managed all his cases with this salty attitude. But it worked, weirdly enough.

Letting himself sink into the hard booth even more, Adam almost looked like a fluffed up sparrow in his coat. He just watched the other writing up all the possible suspects but from time to time his eyes flicked to Etienne's face, he watched his eyes skim over the paper, how every now and then he frowned or scrunched his eyebrows, took in the fragile features of his face.

But only so long till the waiter came back, asking if they needed anything else. And Adam ordered another special coffee of his.

Three more coffees later — luckily the waiter guy, Adam didn’t even know his name, put in less and less whiskey in each without the blonde noticing — Etienne was eventually finished with his list. The blonde snatched it from him, skimming over the text. "Seems good enough." He didn’t bother to read it now, his head was spinning and he felt a little nauseous. No surprise, when this was the only thing his body could process — no food or water or anything healthy till now. But Adam thought that was the only way to endure the constant talking.

"And that’s everyone I need to know about ? And everything I need to know about ?" , he asked, his voice a little more quieter and softer than before.

He really tried to read at least a bit to get a good overview, but the already sway-ish handwriting made it only harder if the letters were already spinning. Adam tried to blink a few times, but it didn’t help the slightest. So he just pretended that he read everything and put the paper in the inside pocket of his coat.

 

[clostridium]

Etienne could immediately tell that Adam did not read all he had wrote; there was plenty that he was sure that the other man would want to demand more information about, if he took it in. Perhaps he should count himself lucky. If Adam pored over his notes while alone, Etienne would not be immediately confronted by the judgements made about him, his friends, and their character. He considered them each - aside from, at the moment, Henry - to be of irreproachable character, despite a history of theft, affairs, and general duplicitous behavior. It was difficult for him to hear derision directed toward anyone he cared about - as long as it was not from within. The people he treasured were a nest of vipers, constantly striking out at one another, including Etienne himself.

“Mm. You didn’t snap at me that time, dear, are you feeling quite alright? Yes, that is…well, those are the guests. The house staff, I can introduce you in person tonight. You must be polite. Your attitude is endearing when directed at me, but if you are a terrible houseguest I shall not be the only one with cause to fear for his life.” Etienne directed a wry little smile at Adam. Hm - he seemed badly hung over. Etienne had assumed that he had been the drunkest person in the office the prior night. Was he mistaken? “You know, with your attitude, you will either get along swimmingly with my sister Galatee, or otherwise you will be sworn enemies as soon as you lock eyes.”

It was the same jovial tone as Etienne took with the rest of his teasing, but he was probing, assessing whether he was correct. Galatee was, after all, not his sister, as the documents would attest. His detractors called the little conversational minefields he built manipulative. He preferred the term fun. After all, it wasn’t his fault when someone embarrassed themself. It was like a racer slamming into a hurdle and tasting the track because they hadn’t kept their eyes open. It wasn’t the fault of whoever laid out the track.

He contemplated another coffee. Really, he shouldn’t. He was going to make himself ill…but what else was new? A little indulgence often hurt, but the excitement tended to make up for it. He flagged down the waiter.

“Could I have one like his?” he asked brightly.