(no subject)
*somewhere in the main room of the mansion, the body of Erebus Hades (messofinnocence) is pinned neatly to a wall with two knives through his shoulders; he's been shot in the forehead and through the heart, at point-blank range, so the wounds are messy and the blood is copious, and Dio hasn't bothered to clean them up*
*next to said corpse is tacked a sheet of paper, nondescript, on which a message has been scrawled in black ink:*
To whom it may concern:
Do not fuck with my angel.
-- Diomedes Hades
*below that, in smaller letters:*
Omnia, Dies, Meg: I'm sorry.
Tristan Pendergast: He loves you. He's sorry. I'm not, but I want to talk to you anyway.
*if anyone wants the responsible party (one Diomedes Hades, yes), he's flopped somewhat listlessly on a couch in the opposite corner, picking at his nailpolish, looking blank more than anything*
Typist: Mmm. Doubling as Erebus's death post and yet another open-ish post for Dio.
*next to said corpse is tacked a sheet of paper, nondescript, on which a message has been scrawled in black ink:*
To whom it may concern:
Do not fuck with my angel.
-- Diomedes Hades
*below that, in smaller letters:*
Omnia, Dies, Meg: I'm sorry.
Tristan Pendergast: He loves you. He's sorry. I'm not, but I want to talk to you anyway.
*if anyone wants the responsible party (one Diomedes Hades, yes), he's flopped somewhat listlessly on a couch in the opposite corner, picking at his nailpolish, looking blank more than anything*
Typist: Mmm. Doubling as Erebus's death post and yet another open-ish post for Dio.