#lucy001

He wanted silence.

He wouldn’t have traded his life now for anything, but between the monotonous droning of an airplane engine, crowded hotel lobbies, and screaming crowds of people, he was beginning to notice there wasn’t a lot of time delegated to peace and quiet. 

It was strange; he’d grown up hating how hushed this place was. The halls were always empty, rooms nothing more than bare skeletons: remnants of what once was. It was pristine in the worst possible ways. The luxurious furniture was uncomfortable to sit in, the stone floors kept the house just about as frigid as it looked, and rather than the walls displaying pictures of the family who lived in it, it was frosted with lavish golds and ornate oil paintings. It was a museum, not a home.

Beau felt this house die a long time ago; it was irksome that everyone else had only just caught on. Though, he supposed, it did take death to put things into perspective for some people. Part of his job at one point was knowing things like that.

He sat cross-legged on the bathroom counter with a slice of cold pizza in his hands. His damp hair was being styled by a floating hair drier and a comb, neither of which he paid any mind to. It wasn’t silent, exactly, but it was closer than he’d gotten in a while. Plus it was a decent enough hiding place from his siblings. Lucy in particular. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to talk to her after all this time, especially with the way they had left things. Not that he needed to hide from her, but—  

Complicated, he thought.

Because he was Beauregard Hargreeves and that meant Fate really enjoyed laughing at him, he didn’t even bother looking up from his pizza when he noticed the shadow lurking in the doorway.

“Just needed some quiet,” he explained between mouthfuls. The hair drier and comb floated down to their rightful place on the counter, finished with their job. He stood, inspecting their work in the mirror. 

“I have a rehearsal tonight, so there’s not gonna be a lot of it until I get back.”

[A few weeks after* Scarlet went missing - @pridefulpuff​]

You see, before that day, Claire didn't really know Lucy Weasley. Before some basic information she bad because of connections and her job, plus the knowledge that she used to know Scarlet, that wasn't much she could say about Lucy. But she did recognize the woman once stepping inside a wizard coffe shop, and was quick to decide what to do next. Claire had to talk to her - for Scarlet, who was missing, and for herself, who wanted to investigate as much as possible.

"Good afternoon. Do you mind if I take a seat?" She smiled, trying to use a formal tone but still be friendly. Claire didn't want to piss her off or anything, but at least the empty seat in front of Lucy could be of help. She just hoped Lucy would listen to whatever she had to say - and maybe add something important to Claire's investigation (or more than one thing, who knows?).

“What?” Emily held her arm to her chest. “No, really, it’s fine. It’ll heal up and I really don’t think it’s deep enough to need stitches or anything.” She was cradling her hand which was bleeding from a cut she’d made while trying to prep for dinner. “Wow, that stings. Can you get the first aid kit out of the bathroom closet?”

{ ✂~ }     It’s never fun to actually wait for something exciting to happen. It’s usually better to do things yourself. Which was exactly what Gunji had planned to do. Waltzing down one of the Hive’s lonelier alleyways was where the executioner liked to reside the most. It was quiet, and more importantly, it was the best place to nab someone. Usually the lost souls or the ones thinking they’re able enough to walk around on their own. Those were the ones he liked the most. The ones that made the most noise. 

Dangling from his usual spot on a fire escape was where he could get a good look in on people he could get his hands on with ease, or at the very least stir up some fun for him. Eyes scanned the empty alleyway for what felt like hours, before someone actually decided to roll up. Was that... A girl?

Now, in Toshima it was very, very rare you’d see a female among the streets. In fact he’d not caught a glance at many in most of his life. This could prove to be right interesting. Hopping down from his little spot, he jumped straight before the girl, and with no regards to personal space at all, he placed a pair of clawed hands upon her shoulder, likely to steady her still in case she would want to turn around. Blond hair blocked his eyes from sight, though through the messy locks he could get a good look at her. With a brief chuckle, he spoke up to the girl with a lower, more hushed tone.