We're sorry, this isn't a pleasant spectacle

[not_snake_bite]

Well, Steerpike is dead.

He had at least the good grace of not needing to be buried - well, he’s currently splattered on the front lawn of the Mansion. The only clue as to the identity of the, er, human jam on the wall is probably the broken pieces of his mask, recognizable enough for someone who’s met him before.

SP, rest in peace (or rather,

Comments

[hardlyagravated]

Laurel, of course, finds the mess and looks a little ill. She'd hurry away... but does recognize the shards, some. She very carefully picks one up, to look at it more closely.

T: Apologies. Feel free to delete the above.

[not_snake_bite]

Oh, there's plenty of Steerpike splattered on there, do be careful with your gown.

The mask's shard is large enough to be recognizable, if you try really hard, Laurel darling.

He'll be back, though, don't worry. He's just taking a break, and reacquainting himself with what it is to be dead.

One might actually find a gold watch's remains in the blood, if one is observant. Sorry, Monsieur Lascelles.

[eye_and_heart]

--oh, yeah, and, hey. D:

[eye_and_heart]

Funny how that works, isn't it?

--also, this message must have been brought to you by the typist, because Lascelles is (also) (still) dead.

[not_snake_bite]

Quite. This typist was quite pleased for a chance to kill Steerpike, because he creeps the typist out.

And we're sorry about the watch, Monsieur Lascelles. You're welcome to try to look for it when you come back.