#prodikill

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Every step she took echoed in her ears, the whole building was silent and each hallway had a deathly weight of horror behind each of their closed doors.  The men kept here were monsters, locked in here because they were a danger to the rest of the system while they were awaiting their trial.  Crimes so gruesome and despicable that it would send chills down Micheal Myer’s back.

With a slow deep breath Dani opened door 109, stepping inside to find the man who terrorized her home, terrorized the NYPD, and terrorized one of her best friend’s and his family, chained to the table.  By just looking at him it was hard to believe he was capable of all the harm he’d done...but wasn’t that most killers? Bundy, Little- hell and The Surgeon himself had no monster appearance.  

“Mr. Watkins, my name is Detective Powell with the NYPD major crimes unit.  I was called over to discuss your charges, give you one last chance to tell me what happened before your trial, that and I’m going to go over the charges filed against your grandmother who’s trail is next week.  Would you like a lawyer present Mr. Watkins?”

in the low light of the dim street lamps, the smile that curves upon the doctor’s lips ( shadowed by the slight forward bow of his head, eyes finding more interest upon the ground for the moment ) is nearly devilish. he wonders if the comment indicates his companion is feeling, perhaps– playful! it’s a delightful thought, and one he entertains for the next passing moments until his observations settle upon their surroundings. those ‘not good places’ to be.

empty sidewalks, dotted intermittently with gated storefronts and a lump of clothing and full, plastic bags indicative of a more unfortunate soul than his own. an overcast night sky ( must be a storm blowing in! ) shielding the moon and stars from the atrocities brewing below. even the angels don’t wish to witness THIS form of art. of passion.

“quite right you are.” cheery disposition remains, even in the gloom of his own intentions. smile brightens, widens, as he focuses upon john. “we should proceed with caution.” after all, it is a delicate and precise hand which creates the highest quality works. and if this part of town is to keep its reputation at all, they must not let their guard down.

“i would HATE for my night to be ruined by an unfortunate accident.”

Nonverbal RP Starters -- 🔪 Point a weapon at my muse

Malcolm shifted off the hard ground when the heavy door creaked open. He’d become accustomed to the sound of Watkins’ footsteps approaching his ‘cell’. Of course it was the only sounds he heard anymore. No one was coming. No one could hear him yell. He’d thoroughly exhausted that possibility. The heavy chains keeping him tethered to the floor jangled as Bright sat up, staring tiredly at the face looming over him now and the knife pointed towards his chest. The profiler let out a breath.