[He probably isn't in the habit of leaving a window wide open all day, and yet one has been in the living room. Although it still smells faintly of smoke and tobacco, the further into the his home he steps. There are other small things out of place, picture frames and the like, almost all easily played off as remembering their exact placement wrong (and anyway who knows where everything in their house is placed within an inch right?) but the intent is for there to be too many instances to entirely ignore.
His dining table, however, has been laid out nicely. Candles lit, a full course meal set out. A fine embroidered silk tablecloth in red only vaguely hides the puddles of blood leading to the centerpiece: a kidney on a serving plate with garnishes. She isn't crude, it's fancy.]
[The window is absolutely the first clue that something isn't right. Rafael feels the night breeze, which should be impossible. He also catches the scent of tobacco, the kind smoked in a pipe, like the old men used to have down in front of the bodega where they played cards and told dirty jokes in raspy Spanish.
He freezes, hand halfway to the bottle, and quietly pulls the taser out of his silverware drawer instead. His steps are as quiet as he can make them as he approaches the living room, though he knows he's made enough noise coming in that there's no way to pretend he hasn't come home. Finding the window open and the night air moving his curtains isn't so much a surprise as finding nothing in the room out of place; his expensive electronics, the paperwork he's left on his coffee table, none of it is missing or notably out of place. Something about the walls bothers him, but he can't put a finger on it.
It's the light from his dining room that catches his attention next, the flickering under the door a tell-tale clue that candles have been lit inside. Rafael eases it open with his free hand, the taser still held in front of himself protectively, but even if he were lunged at right this second he wouldn't use it in time. He's too stunned by the imagery. He doesn't have a tablecloth like that. He doesn't need to see the spots of blood when he can smell the tang of iron, and he's had just enough education in anatomy to recognize a human kidney when he sees one.
He has just enough wit left about him to put his back to the wall in case whoever left the gift is still in the brownstone and grips the weapon until his shaking hand goes white at the knuckles, his other diving into his pocket to pull out his phone and call Liv or 911, whatever he can manage first.]
how many tags does it take to get to the centre of disgusting
[That's the problem nowadays, you can't just cut phone wires, everyone has a cellphone on them. Oh well, just a little hurdle to jump over.
There's the giggle again, accompanied by a golden butterfly lighting on is hand. Not a monarch or some such either, the thing is pure gold and glimmers in the candlelight. As it crawls along his thumb to the phone, bit by bit the room lights up with more, five, ten, twenty - a hundred or more dancing about into formation to build a witch from the ground up.
Her gown hardly fits in the doorway, but that does nothing to lessen her smirk, or boldness in reaching out for the phone - and yet it's with careful grace, trying not to spook an animal on guard.]
[When there's just the one, it's easy to think it some kind of odd trick, some laser art, though this would all be a very elaborate prank if so.
But then there are more of them than he can count, and Rafael watches with wide green eyes, caught somewhere between his brain trying to make sense of what he just saw, trying to come up with some logical explanation, and a very small part of it replaying the hysterical babblings about a witch.
He doesn't scream, and he doesn't run, but he does inch along the wall, putting more distance between them, grip on the device not loosening any.]
I think we both know that isn't happening. What do you want?
[He sounds a lot calmer than he feels, but for all that his voice is quiet and unwavering, the words come out very quickly.]
[Well, she does want something though, so he wouldn't be wrong in that assumption.]
What I want can come later. Why don't we chat first?
[It isn't actually meant as a question, of course. That's what she intends to do, so that's what they're going to do. She bustles past, to the table. If she didn't look smug already, she certainly does by now.]
Considering the setup, either you want something or this is a date. And taking the fact that I have no idea who you are into account...
[A polite way of saying this is not a date. Rafael gives her a look, but once again, he isn't stupid. He pockets the phone and gingerly sits at the table, taser placed where he can easily and immediately grab it again if he needs to.
He doesn't look at the kidney. He keeps his gaze focused only on her, it makes everything easier.]
Sorry, cannibalism doesn't do much for my appetite. Does this chat have anything to do with my murder case?
[He almost says "unwilling," but decides the distinction doesn't make a difference. But for all that he's blunt and honest, Rafael never lets his tone or his expression cross the line into blatant rudeness. He does suspiciously accept the wine, inhaling lightly through his nose so that he can catch the scent of it without outright sniffing the silly thing.]
[Rafael says so simply, without insult, taking a cautious sip of his own. Wine isn't to his preference to begin with, but he's had enough of it to know when something is wine and when it isn't.
And then he blinks at her, genuine confusion flitting over his features.]
He's not my prisoner, I don't have the authority to release him, and he's a criminal. I'm not dropping the charges, he deserves to pay for his crimes. And if you're confessing to multiple counts of murder to a US prosecutor, then so do you.
[Witch smitch, she seems to have pressed a button. Rafael glares at her, setting the glass down so he can resume plan A: call the cops. He is very dedicated to justice. Isn't it cute? It's so cute.]
But also extremely foolish. Her chair scrapes on the floor and clatters before it settles as she jumps up to snatch up his wrist the moment he goes for the phone. But although it might seem she's worried, she laughs.]
I don't think you really understand, Mr. Barba! First of all, he will certainly pay. But more importantly for you right now, you can't bring me in even if I confess to a thousand crimes.
[He doesn't trust easily, and he doesn't like being touched by those he doesn't trust. Rafael immediately tries to snatch his hand away as though her touch is like a hot stove, but when he finds her grip far stronger than expected, he immediately ceases to struggle.
Some behaviors are so deeply ingrained that he can't shake them no matter how much he distances himself from an abusive childhood.]
I said you deserve to, not that I expect you're going to.
[He hates her a little for it, but on some level he understands that she's an entity that can't be held in a steel box to account for her crimes.]
[It's amazing what a little politeness can achieve, he supposes, though the thought is sarcastic. Still, he has taken the hint, and doesn't reach for his phone again. Fast learner.]
Then let me do my job instead of hindering me. Thanks to you, this is significantly more difficult than it would have been otherwise.
[And obviously hers matter more. But he would be right in thinking his witnesses aren't all that meets the eye.]
But I think you know the reason I killed those four. Didn't you hear about how he summoned a witch...? He wanted them gone, he needed someone to do it.
[This is getting into territory he isn't comfortable with, and whether or not Rafael believes in witches, or did before this evening, he's still perfectly well aware that she's dangerous in a way as of yet impossible to explain. So he doesn't tell her to her face that witches don't exist. He doesn't deny what's right in front of him.
So he turns the conversation back to what is familiar and safe instead.]
Okay, setting all of that aside, I still don't understand why you're involving me. I've already told you, I can't drop the case. If I let it go, the feds will pick it up. It's not my call. So what do you want from me?
I want your help. I need for you not to drop the case, but to release him. No, it doesn't even need to be a release, just away from all those prying eyes with guns.
Or maybe you could just give me a name of a crooked cop who will cooperate. Someone a little trigger-happy?
[Okay she didn't really think that would work but, you know, gotta check anyway.]
I see, I see. Do you think you can prosecute that man properly, without your witnesses? It's going to become an awfully circumstantial case. And yet, there's no doubt he's committed audacious, disturbing crimes.
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who knows, it's schrodinger's thread
His dining table, however, has been laid out nicely. Candles lit, a full course meal set out. A fine embroidered silk tablecloth in red only vaguely hides the puddles of blood leading to the centerpiece: a kidney on a serving plate with garnishes. She isn't crude, it's fancy.]
It's like the tootsie pop commercial
He freezes, hand halfway to the bottle, and quietly pulls the taser out of his silverware drawer instead. His steps are as quiet as he can make them as he approaches the living room, though he knows he's made enough noise coming in that there's no way to pretend he hasn't come home. Finding the window open and the night air moving his curtains isn't so much a surprise as finding nothing in the room out of place; his expensive electronics, the paperwork he's left on his coffee table, none of it is missing or notably out of place. Something about the walls bothers him, but he can't put a finger on it.
It's the light from his dining room that catches his attention next, the flickering under the door a tell-tale clue that candles have been lit inside. Rafael eases it open with his free hand, the taser still held in front of himself protectively, but even if he were lunged at right this second he wouldn't use it in time. He's too stunned by the imagery. He doesn't have a tablecloth like that. He doesn't need to see the spots of blood when he can smell the tang of iron, and he's had just enough education in anatomy to recognize a human kidney when he sees one.
He has just enough wit left about him to put his back to the wall in case whoever left the gift is still in the brownstone and grips the weapon until his shaking hand goes white at the knuckles, his other diving into his pocket to pull out his phone and call Liv or 911, whatever he can manage first.]
how many tags does it take to get to the centre of disgusting
There's the giggle again, accompanied by a golden butterfly lighting on is hand. Not a monarch or some such either, the thing is pure gold and glimmers in the candlelight. As it crawls along his thumb to the phone, bit by bit the room lights up with more, five, ten, twenty - a hundred or more dancing about into formation to build a witch from the ground up.
Her gown hardly fits in the doorway, but that does nothing to lessen her smirk, or boldness in reaching out for the phone - and yet it's with careful grace, trying not to spook an animal on guard.]
Why don't we just put that away?
1...2....
But then there are more of them than he can count, and Rafael watches with wide green eyes, caught somewhere between his brain trying to make sense of what he just saw, trying to come up with some logical explanation, and a very small part of it replaying the hysterical babblings about a witch.
He doesn't scream, and he doesn't run, but he does inch along the wall, putting more distance between them, grip on the device not loosening any.]
I think we both know that isn't happening. What do you want?
[He sounds a lot calmer than he feels, but for all that his voice is quiet and unwavering, the words come out very quickly.]
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[Well, she does want something though, so he wouldn't be wrong in that assumption.]
What I want can come later. Why don't we chat first?
[It isn't actually meant as a question, of course. That's what she intends to do, so that's what they're going to do. She bustles past, to the table. If she didn't look smug already, she certainly does by now.]
I made dinner.
no subject
[A polite way of saying this is not a date. Rafael gives her a look, but once again, he isn't stupid. He pockets the phone and gingerly sits at the table, taser placed where he can easily and immediately grab it again if he needs to.
He doesn't look at the kidney. He keeps his gaze focused only on her, it makes everything easier.]
Sorry, cannibalism doesn't do much for my appetite. Does this chat have anything to do with my murder case?
no subject
[She frowns, pressing her lips together, hands on her hips. But soon she sits opposite him, after pouring two glasses of wine.]
Don't worry, it isn't blood. [Another little self-satisfied grin before moving right along.] Yes, that's right, how did you know?
no subject
[He almost says "unwilling," but decides the distinction doesn't make a difference. But for all that he's blunt and honest, Rafael never lets his tone or his expression cross the line into blatant rudeness. He does suspiciously accept the wine, inhaling lightly through his nose so that he can catch the scent of it without outright sniffing the silly thing.]
Lucky guess.
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[After a sip of wine, she leans an elbow on the table, chin in her hand.]
To be entirely blunt, I want you to give him to me.
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[Rafael says so simply, without insult, taking a cautious sip of his own. Wine isn't to his preference to begin with, but he's had enough of it to know when something is wine and when it isn't.
And then he blinks at her, genuine confusion flitting over his features.]
Excuse me?
no subject
I want your prisoner. Until you give him up to me, your witnesses are going to keep dying. It's quite simple, really.
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[Witch smitch, she seems to have pressed a button. Rafael glares at her, setting the glass down so he can resume plan A: call the cops. He is very dedicated to justice. Isn't it cute? It's so cute.]
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But also extremely foolish. Her chair scrapes on the floor and clatters before it settles as she jumps up to snatch up his wrist the moment he goes for the phone. But although it might seem she's worried, she laughs.]
I don't think you really understand, Mr. Barba! First of all, he will certainly pay. But more importantly for you right now, you can't bring me in even if I confess to a thousand crimes.
no subject
Some behaviors are so deeply ingrained that he can't shake them no matter how much he distances himself from an abusive childhood.]
I said you deserve to, not that I expect you're going to.
[He hates her a little for it, but on some level he understands that she's an entity that can't be held in a steel box to account for her crimes.]
Let go of me, please.
no subject
[She releases him without a smile, hopping up onto the table to sit sideways, feet and skirts dangling.]
You see, I think criminals deserve to be punished too.
no subject
Then let me do my job instead of hindering me. Thanks to you, this is significantly more difficult than it would have been otherwise.
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[Still she smiles, but the witch's tone is firm.]
No, it would be better to say I hold the rights to that man's body and soul. It's my legal right to perform his punishment.
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[He sounds nonplussed. Almost bored.]
And in any case, if that's all you want I don't understand why you haven't just murdered him instead of four innocent people.
[Obviously she has the means. It makes Rafael wonder how innocent his lost witnesses truly were.]
no subject
[And obviously hers matter more. But he would be right in thinking his witnesses aren't all that meets the eye.]
But I think you know the reason I killed those four. Didn't you hear about how he summoned a witch...? He wanted them gone, he needed someone to do it.
no subject
So he turns the conversation back to what is familiar and safe instead.]
Okay, setting all of that aside, I still don't understand why you're involving me. I've already told you, I can't drop the case. If I let it go, the feds will pick it up. It's not my call. So what do you want from me?
no subject
Or maybe you could just give me a name of a crooked cop who will cooperate. Someone a little trigger-happy?
no subject
[He's almost stunned she has the audacity to ask.]
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I see, I see. Do you think you can prosecute that man properly, without your witnesses? It's going to become an awfully circumstantial case. And yet, there's no doubt he's committed audacious, disturbing crimes.
no subject
Except that you've shown your hand and now I know what to do to keep you from killing them. Thank you.
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ahaha.wav, her heart says]
Whaaa-at? That isn't fair! That was off the record!
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