[OTA] I will eviscerate you in fiction
It's a foggy, rainy, less than pleasant sort of day to be sitting at an outdoor cafe with a laptop, but that's where you can find Alasdair DeWitt today, tapping away. The assumption from nearly everyone is that he's writing his latest magnum opus; perhaps a story of love and life and coming of age in Barcelona (everyone uses Paris and New York) that Alasdair just knows will be the next Gatsby or the next Catcher in the Rye. Except, that's not at all what he's writing. Alasdair has a deadline.
August Zauberer was one of those men. You know the ones. Charming, handsome, quiet and enigmatic. Certainly always polite, never making a wrong move, that sort of thing. Dabney Rush had met him once or twice, and he couldn't put his finger on it, but there was just something about the man, something infuriating superior that always had Dabney wearing his blandest expression when they happened to meet.
He still wasn't happy to find him dead. Not in these times, not with who they were chasing after.
"Never would've thought it," said Timmy Sandoval next to Dabney, chewing on his cigarette. "Zauberer always struck me as the type to, I don't know, be into whips and chains and shit before this kind of thing."
"I hope you haven't been spending your free time thinking about that," Dabney said as he circled Zauberer's body. Death by his own hand, albeit accidentally and in pursuit of pleasure. The paper was going to have a field day. "I might have to set you to reorganizing the library if that's the case."
There was something off here.
It was going to be an excellent day.
August Zauberer was one of those men. You know the ones. Charming, handsome, quiet and enigmatic. Certainly always polite, never making a wrong move, that sort of thing. Dabney Rush had met him once or twice, and he couldn't put his finger on it, but there was just something about the man, something infuriating superior that always had Dabney wearing his blandest expression when they happened to meet.
He still wasn't happy to find him dead. Not in these times, not with who they were chasing after.
"Never would've thought it," said Timmy Sandoval next to Dabney, chewing on his cigarette. "Zauberer always struck me as the type to, I don't know, be into whips and chains and shit before this kind of thing."
"I hope you haven't been spending your free time thinking about that," Dabney said as he circled Zauberer's body. Death by his own hand, albeit accidentally and in pursuit of pleasure. The paper was going to have a field day. "I might have to set you to reorganizing the library if that's the case."
There was something off here.
It was going to be an excellent day.