血も涙もない

#𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐢.                 hi, welcome. this is a private, selective, oc & crossover                friendly roleplay blog for dahlia hawthorne from 𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲.  mature themes may be present.  dash-only.  please read my rules prior to interacting. written by cyan ( 21+, she / her ).

                                  「 guidelines  /  about  /  verses 」

i.  beautiful and bad - nicole dollanganger. i don’t give a fuck about love  /  never did, never will  /  wanna take you out on a date with death  /  kiss you with a power drill  /  ‘cause beauty don’t mean shit to me  /  only when it’s a weapon and deadly  /  think you’re big and bad but you got nothing on me

ii.  sleep awake - mother mother. out on the street i keep a started car  /  who only waits for me  /  conveniently

iii.  if i had a heart - fever ray. this will never end ‘cause i want more  /  more, give me more, give me more  /  if i had a heart, i could love you  /  if i had a voice, i would sing  /  after the night when i wake up  /  i’ll see what tomorrow brings

iv.  snake - nicole dollanganger. in the hazy blue, you look so sweet  /  i almost forget what you’d do to me  /  if i let you  /   ‘cause even blood will run  /  like the tears of a saint  /  with a face like that  /  you could get away with anything  /  and i know you know that

v.  fucking crazy - skylar grey. who knows why i did it, baby  /  i’ve been told a thousand times  /  that i’m just fucking crazy  /  who knows, it’s the way god made me  /  and i’ve been told a thousand times  /  that i’m just fucking crazy

“ Yet…?”

” I can’t advise on actions not yet taken, but any suspicions you have on a person who might be harmed or those in danger should be directly reported to police, I-” Now, surely, a woman who was aware of a plot or conspiracy would not begin to contact peoples that were usually unarmed and had cozy, well padded offices, as comfortable as a resume is in darkness after more than a few years serving the people; he had basic job security,  enviable to those who didn’t know the underlying stress of a courtroom and the knowledge paychecks for defense clients were slim these days.  That ruled out the possibility of being robbed and then killed by the most unlikely, doll-faced woman he’d ever had in his office. She was almost too perfect, complexion seemingly flawless and a shine to her smile that unsettled the soul; he took this to be the typical nerves when confronted by those who were ‘easy on the eyes.’  His hand that had been near a drawer halted there, tapping on the lip of the desk’s edge. “…”

“  ….I  can’t imagine the, exact circumstances, that would lead someone to have that kind of information.” His fingers slip down to the second drawer, though his flitting gaze had steadied to key points; her hands, most pointedly. Apollo had no sherlockian talents to glean much from training onto them, but they seem even cleaner now, clinically so.  He was not reaching in directly, but underneath what sounds like paper, a heavier folder, perhaps. “ Excuse me a minute-” His searching fingers don’t reappear above the line of the desk before he slips down, halfway bent to reach the third drawer.

        How delightful, to watch the little lawyer become infected with panic as he tries to make sense of her words, the implications that reside within their shadows. His anxiety is a cloying thing, permeating the space between and around them. Dahlia watches him with big, curious eyes, her smile receding. What is he feeling for inside his drawers — his phone? A panic button? A gun? She swallows the giggle that threatens to spill from her lips. Although the prospect of falling on him now is delectable, she refrains, like a cat pawing its prey, enjoying the chase before the catch. Not yet, not yet, she tells herself. Let’s see him writhe with uncertainty.

          “The exact circumstances... ?”  She parrots softly, allowing surprise, then shock to bleed into her expression.  “Oh... Oh!”  A delicate hand shoots up to cup her cheek.  “You don’t think I... Oh my goodness. I’m sorry. I have no such information.”  In the face of her apparent blunder, her gaze wilts, falling to the floor like a rose losing its petals.

This village, too, is unchanging. Still a ghost town, after all these years, and she's the un-living proof.

Plainly put, she wants all people involved with her death to suffer the same anguish she had to suffer at their hands. While she was still alive, her murders were motivated by the need to cover up her original crime, the staged kidnapping. As such, they were more “business” than pleasure, though that’s not to say she didn’t derive gratification from her deeds all the same ( she might not have started to kill if it hadn’t been for her circumstances however ). Now that she’s back once more, she doesn’t only want to get rid of the people she despises, she wants to torment them, before granting them, one after the other, a slow, painful death.

 His claims to fame were  based on his abilities to spot the  truth; though that was a gross oversimplification of all the facets. Aside from a buzzing from the bronze that he was sure indicated her hesitance,  none of these come to his aid, and appearances of this stranger was  blatantly innocent, certainly nothing to note, other than her doe-ish eyes and  nervous aura that he could not place outside of ordinary. Every one of her movements or words had a fit to the box of personality he expected of her type.  She was nearly like Miss Woods, in  only lacking some sneezing and more hurried way of getting to the point, though this shyness could only be more dire, he felt. “ Oh.”

“ Well, let me extend the courtesy of granting that. Erm, do know, of course, I’d never risk making an appointment that unauthorized ears would be privy to. Everyone employed at the WAA is  vetted  for your confidence and client confidentiality.” At least one key was granted to him for his after-hours work of cleaning, or taking care of that last stack of whatever the prosecutor placed on his desk for sorting, unlucky days those were.

Click. “ There is tea if you want- I have a few that are pretty good for the nerves.”

        Demurely and very patiently, she nods at his explanation, his reassurance. It’s wasted on her. Her need for privacy doesn’t stem from coyness, nor any confidentiality concerns, but the desire to prevent any potential interference. The clicking of the lock sets fire to her blood, warming her corpse-cold veins with excitement, and rousing her borrowed heart. He took to her little act like a fly does to honey ( now entrapped, soon suffocating under the folly of his decision ). It’s almost amusing how much he reminds her of her dear Feenie, back when he was nothing more than a pathetic, sniveling University student. She’s never harbored anything but contempt for his ilk, the goody two-shoes.

          Nothing of her giddiness shows upon the fledgling’s return, save for a slight shift in her position as her legs graciously uncross.  “Oh, in that case... Which one would you recommend? I think it’ll be direly needed...”  Her interest in his opinion could not claim even an ounce of honesty. Questions like this one, the kind to make a man feel useful, as if his guidance and expertise are not only wanted but needed, tend to swell their egos to the point of bursting with idiocy.  “Now, the reason for my coming here...”  she says then, eager to progress this farce.  “I seek your legal advice... on a murder.”