faderift | Weekend at Ferdie's

It seems like a simple mission, Ellie thinks. Get in touch with the contact, secure the informant, escort them safely back to Riftwatch.

Practically babysitting.

Except... well...

The murder scene. The scene of murder.

That Ellie just came across, after climbing up to one of the windows and wriggling it open to slip inside, since they found the front door locked. The dude's definitely dead, if the half-carved table leg sticking out of his freaking back is any indication.

Ellie compares the face of the corpse with her memory of the agent description, and swears under her breath, sitting back on her heels. She drags both hands down her face with a low groan, then gets up to unlock the door and let the others inside.

"Good news," she says, leaning against the doorframe. "I found Ferdie. Bad news..."

She grimaces.

"Well... you'll see."

Ellie gets out of the way, shuts the door and locks it behind them.

The room smells. There's the blood, first of all--thick and coppery. There's the pleasanter smell of a woodshop beneath that, and the more unpleasant smell of a blood-and-sawdust paste. And death, of course, which smells both sweet and stale. Most of Nikos' senses have been blunted by wine. You don't need a sharp or well-trained nose to smell any of this.

He crouches, somewhat ungainly, and leans in look at the place that the fucking table leg protrudes from their informant's back. Clumsy, ugly, and, yes, bloody. The makeshift weapon sticks out from the dead flesh like a stunted limb fixed in the wrong spot. The place where it's punctured the flesh looks sick, if mostly obscured by thickening blood and his tunic and shirt.

"They couldn't have waited?"

Kostos might have been asking the same rhetorical question, had he beaten Nikos to the corpse. But he didn't. He isn't. Nikos is asking the question. So it's a terrible question that he doesn't allow the privilege of being rhetorical, actually.

"I know you're used to murders happening on your schedule."

He hovers near the door, arms folded across his midsection in a way that would make his hands disappear if he were wearing robes. He breathes through his teeth. Corpses don't bother him—not when they're cleaned, dried, mummified, in places that smell only of dust and soap. This is different. But his glower is only infinitesimally more uncomfortable than it always is.

He breathes in through his teeth, not his nose, and starts moving, searching the perimeter for anything useful.

"Question, are we— " Suspended from the nearby window like a cat hanging from a ledge (forearms folded) over the open sill, feet likely propped on a lower feature or outcropping, chin comfortably resting somewhere around the midpoint of his own crossed wrists, he's clearly taking his role as lookout very seriously, which—

"Ah."

Cue one pause for pursed lips. Another for raised eyebrows beneath white curls.

"Is that the fellow we're after?"

"It's our contact," Ellie answers, offering Astarion a hand inside, because the last thing they need is some neighbor seeing an elf hanging out at a window.

"Ferdinand."

Which puts a hell of a kink in their plans, actually.

"Think somebody figured out he was talking to us?"

Ellie glances around the room at the various furniture projects. The guy was a spy, but he looks almost depressingly normal otherwise, and he can't have offed himself, could he? Considering all the saws and carving implements, he'd have had much easier and less weird options than a table leg.

Nikos first takes the time to roll his eyes at his brother. The stupid fuck. But as it seems as if Kostos has pivoted to trying to be useful, instead of standing in the back making idiotic commentary, Nikos decides to take the high road and limit his response to that eye roll.

"It seems the most likely reason," he says in answer to Ellie's question. "And as his killer didn't even bother to make it look like an accident, it seems also likely that they want the body found. Good way to send a message to his network, and to the whole fucking neighborhood besides. We need to make this disappear."

Now aided by a wisp as he pulls open drawers and pushes aside cushions, Kostos does not immediately say anything when he succeeds. He does make some noise about it, though. The half-open drawer squeaks and thunks as he jerks it out the rest of the way, the false bottom makes a hollow thumping sound when he knocks his knuckles against it, wood scrapes and the few things that had been resting on top of the bottom clatter as he pulls it out.

He flips through the hefty stack of papers inside, too, for a pleasant thwick thwick thwick of victory.

Then he looks at them.

Looks at them a little longer.

And finally he interrupts the others' discussion by dropping the lot of them on the flat surface nearest to them, unceremonious and annoyed.

"They're encoded," he says.

Not too difficultly, but he can—sullenly—admit that someone else will make quicker work of them.

Still sullen: "There is no body-vanishing spell."

Ellie looks between the others and the body a little incredulously, before she blows all the breath out of her lungs.

"Shit. I keep forgetting there's... consequences for getting found with dead people heeeereokay um- we should hide this. And get rid of the blood."

Because that's not normal either. Right. Fuck. Okay.

Ellie bends down to the corpse, picking up one of the arms to drag, realizes that'll spread the blood.

"Someone help me."

Edited 2022-09-08 04:54 (UTC)

Consequences for getting found with dead people is met with a no shit sort of look from Nikos. But at the same time, "If you're good at your job, there's no consequences or dead people."

The dry smack of the papers on the table is a siren's call. Nikos wipes his hands on his legs, in case any blood has been left behind, and pushes himself to his feet with a quiet grunt of effort.

"One of you." He jerks his head toward Ellie and the flesh vessel formerly known as Ferdinand. Help. "If there's no body-vanishing spell, make it vanish the old-fashioned way."

He begins to look through the papers--skimming at first, then with sharper eyes. His mouth moves as he soundlessly reads some parts aloud. After another moment, he's casting around for something to write with, something to write on. This is almost fun, except that it's very serious Riftwatch business, and Nikos isn't a child looking to be amused.

This was a mistake.

Ferdinand's corpse shuffles, more than it walks. It requires assistance to keep upright. The tiny-minded wisp occupying the body has successfully learned how to turn the head this way and that, to open the mouth and flutter the eyelids, but it's so enamored with its success that it won't stop doing all of those things, over and over, with a discernibly steady rhythm.

Somehow, it is the smartest wisp Kostos was able to find. He sent three back before having to accept this one as good enough.

Escorting the body through the streets was successful enough, with the corpse dragging between their supportive shoulders and occasionally moaning like a drunk. But now the body is in a room with decent lighting, about to be face to face with someone who will want it to speak. Evergreen is due any moment.

"Shit," Kostos says. "Shit. We need another plan, this is. Shit."

"No, it's... it's not that bad."

It totally is that bad, Ellie.

"Fuck," she mutters, and leans in to wipe away a dribble of drool leaking out of the corpse's mouth.

"... has any of you ever done... like puppets," she says desperately. A beat. She puts a hand in the air like a sock puppet, making a mouth.

"Be his voice. Like- my name's Ferdinand."

She affects a super low voice, but unfortunately she makes a stupid face while she does it. She would not be the best candidate.

Nikos laughs. Not loudly--he doesn't want to draw any additional attention to them. Two streets back, Ferdinand's corpse had moaned very loudly, and a woman in an elaborate hat had looked around with mild alarm. That was more disturbing than a laugh, but a laugh would still garner attention. He's moving a little ahead of the group, clearing their path with his presence, but he takes this moment to shoot a glance over his shoulder.

Met with the sight of the shambling reanimated corpse--not yet graying, but on the verge of doing so, its jaw hanging open so low it looks grotesque--he pulls a grimace of a smile. They're so fucked.

"Kostos," he suggests. "He's great at voices. Used to put on these brilliant little puppet shows. Mostly about one puppet murdering the others--or slaughtering a dragon--but they were good. Always thought he's missed his calling. Go on and show her, Kos."

They're so fucked.

Weekend at Ferdie's

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

it's alive!!! (we swear)

no subject

no subject