Lumin

As the thunder struck the ground so nearby, it should have been enough to startle anyone out of their skin. The lamps would flicker as the door creaked open, allowing in a small hint of the sheer downpour outside the building. The robed figure that entered was indistinguishable for the most part other than being soaked from head to toe. “Late night?”spoke the smooth voice with only a hint of odd accent curling at the edges. “Can I help you?” The woman answered, suspicious. Not just anyone walked into the office. And no one was due for quite some time while she finished filing away reports of her findings. “Perhaps,” the man answered. The hood was pulled back and he gave a small shake of his head at the disturbance the change gave his furred ears. At least the fabric kept most of the moisture out. The woman looked a bit skittish. The thunder struck again and while she jumped, startled, he merely tossed a look back towards the windows looking out at the horrid weather. “Not a fan, are you?” “What?” The woman asked. “Of the storm,” the miqo’te reiterated. “Oh.. They are alright. It’s just been a long week. But -- why are you here, sir?” “To pick up my sister’s wedding dress,” the miqo’te answered. “I was told one had come in a few days ago -- to come give it a look. I would have stayed home given the weather but… Well.. You know how insistent women can be. The storm made no difference to her.” The woman seemed amused. She even laughed. The male miqo’te only grinned after her. “I think I do remember you coming in before.” But there was a protocol. She followed it as well as she could manage with the man remaining so close and distracting nearby. “C’jihro Tia?” she asked, repeating the name given to her as she checked through the forms. “Odd… are you not a keeper?” “Nothing escapes you, does it?” The dark miqo’te chuckled. “Stranger things have passed through your doors than someone of mixed clan heritage, I would hope.” “I’m sorry,” the examiner gushed out apologetically. “Sometimes my mind gets away from me. Nature of the job.” With the report left at the counter, the examiner waved towards C’jihro to beckon him after her. “This way then, sir. Let’s see if this is your sister’s missing dress.” The miqo’te followed behind silently. He kept to himself and did not seem overly interested in anything on their way to what he could only assume was the storage room for collected evidence. Even then, he waited patiently near the doorway and did not go inside as the woman searched for the proper container. “Here we are,” she announced. The long box was brought out and set on the nearby table. It was only then that she realized an important detail to disclose to the man. “I really hope this is -not- the dress you’re looking for,” she said as she lifted the lid off and view the ruined clothes herself. The veil was still bloodied. More importantly, the dress had been cut to have removed it from the body of the deceased. “No, this is the one,” the miqo’te said with a grand smile. “No mistaking it.” “Really?” The examiner asked, surprised. Was the man not at all fazed by the state of it? The blood? “Are you certain this is the one you filed a report about?” “Yes. C’jihro Tia. Did you not check it out before?” The examiner gave pause. Had she? She offered a long sigh. The lid was placed back into place. The box was shifted across the table to allow for its collection into her arms on her way back towards the door. She handed the box towards the man and offered her apology once more, “I’m sorry, you’re right. It really has been a long day. I must not be thinking straight.” After all, why else would she have so readily brought him back to the evidence storage without having confirmed that? She could remember taking out all the proper papers at least. “Well then, how about a break?” C’jihro suggested. “What about your sister’s dress?” The examiner countered, though she smiled. “I think she can wait for it a bit longer,” the miqo’te replied.

Victim 8 A tender song played in a sea of white. The only disruption came after the set notes had been played where the clockwork device would click over the track and began the tune anew once more. The floor crunched beneath any steps taken around the area of the room. Tiny seeds were strewn about in an almost decorative fashion. As before, it was all set around the center-piece -- the bed. The difference this time was that the room had not been paid for. It was the bedroom in the victim’s small apartment dwelling. This time, there were no drinks involved. The bed sheets were not even crumpled. Instead, the white comforter was somehow kept smooth beneath the elegantly dressed figure left resting atop it. At first glance around the room, one might not have even noticed that any wrongdoing had occurred at all. However, beneath the white veil, the horror could be found. The red seeped through, but only made it seem that the veil was dyed in that particular fashion perhaps. The merry song clicked to a stop before it resumed its steps back again. There was one more detail about the body that wasn’t readily noticeable due to the blinding scene of white all around. A small touch of red did taint the scene enough for the trained eye to manage, however. The bride’s wedding finger was missing. Where the cut had been made, it was bound in white cloth in an attempt to keep with the rest of the decor. But there was something else wrong with the picture. The dress, while it was clearly high-end, did not fit the wearer’s body as a tailored fit might have. The miqo’te’s original clothes would eventually be found outside the bedroom elsewhere -- folded in a rather neat pile and with an envelope resting atop it all. Within the envelope, a small engraved key -- one matching the music box still playing away in the false-bride’s bedroom. Once the key was used, inside would be found the bride’s wedding band. Attached to that band, was another bow of tattered cloth -- matching the previous victim. The wedding band was bloodied, but the finger that once resided within it was nowhere to be found.

By that time, the artist was already well enough away from the scene. While he would have preferred to stay and admire the aftermath, he had plenty enough experience to know better. This did not mean he was entirely without a manner in which to enjoy hearing just how much his work had been appreciated. For a long time, the pearl he held had remained painfully silent. Then, there was a shrill loud enough to cause odd looks in his direction at the bar he chose to spend his coin at. The dark-skinned keeper hardly batted an eye towards the attention he was being given. It was short lived. Any other sounds that came from the pearl were muted in comparison to the first scream of shock. Someone had finally found his masterpiece. But where was the true critic? Time passed along and as the ice within his glass began to settle, deprived empty of its previous contents, the man could hear movements within the room so far away almost as if he were still there. Within time, a voice that stood out had entered the room. With the pearl cupped against one silver-furred ear tipped in black as though it were dipped in sooth, he listened. A small chuckle broke out now and then as he listened. The inspector was quite the lady’s man. No surprise there after what he had seen. He could still recall how the man lifted a certain enfeebled miqo’te into his arms and carried her away. The inspector, Desmond, only wanted to believe he was the shining knight. But wasn’t there still darkness? Oh everyone had it. And he was determined to wring out Desmond’s light until there was nothing else left but that darkened core. When the smell was noted, he only smiled further. The pearl was crushed and the pieces were dusted away neatly into a napkin. “Oh, let me get that for you, sir. And a refill for your drink?” Called the young waitress that practically flew to his side to attend to him. The miqo’te’s golden eyes gazed upon her. She was tall, slender, and quite beautiful. But hardly his particular interest. This did not mean he was completely without any interest at all for her, of course. The napkin was handed over for her to take. “These things are so fragile… Luckily not everything is as delicate.” The woman took to blushing quite readily and their hands touched a bit longer than necessary. “Nevermind the drink,” he answered. “My name is Ehvar. When do you get out of here?”

((This RP is intended for the community to read and hopefully enjoy. Below you will find a link to Tonberry news stories that will allow the community to interact with as this is a closed RP. That being said, there is a disclaimer: The following stories do not depict any actual person or event. The content within is intended for mature readers. Reader discretion is advised. Please enjoy!)) -Lumin -desmond28 Ribbon Maker News Thread (May digress to NSFW) Victim 7 Time ticked by. A picture had been painted in the room left still and quiet. The artist had masterful brushwork and knew his medium quite well. There were two glasses left on the nightstand. The flavorful drinks inside were gone, but the scent yet lingered. They were not cheap buys and clearly did not go to waste as both glasses had been emptied completely. There was an imprint upon the rims of both glasses. If the color was to be any judge, the lipstick undoubtedly came from the same pair of lips. A smell much stronger than that of the liquor pervaded the air. The presentation had staled… spoiled. It was perfect and ready for its audience. The bed sheets were crumpled and used. Clothes had been removed in such a fashion that they had been torn and left in tatters. But those tears would be proven purposeful. A single strip of cloth was missing and nowhere to be found through the folds of the sheets would they be searched. But it would not have been that simple. The sheets, once pale, bloomed brightly beneath the doll-like figure left on the bed in tattered clothing. But the shade spread widest and appeared deepest near the top. This doll was nearly without a face. The tool used for this particular piece was undoubtedly the same as the last and the one before it. Whatever it was, it was not left behind anywhere near the doll with the long hair gunked in meaty red. The scene remained unmoving. The picture was left, intended to be found by the same eyes as always. And it was. And, as before, there was one oddity left behind. Upon the ticking clock, a strip of fabric was left tied neatly in a bow despite the frayed edges. But it did not match the fabric of the deceased miqo’te left broken and used on the bed -- only distinguishable as such due to the lengthy furred tail. The fabric found on the clock belonged to the previous victim. But how long before the new tattered ribbon was found? How long before another female miqo’te was gone from the world in such a gruesome manner? And even when the new missing tatter was found, along with another body, it would only promise more faceless miqo’te women. Again and again with no end in sight.