(no subject)

[marcato]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, SATURNSCHILD. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 001.00.653.90 *** SATURNSCHILD has joined 001.00.653.90 <saturnschild> Hello. <saturnschild> I'm listening.

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<Showman>

[puppetmurder]

I reside at the Lucky 38 Casino. In the penthouse suite.

[Giving up your address online, Dandy?? He is obviously not as cautious as Aunamee is.]

<saturnschild>

[marcato]

I'll be there.

[And he is, even though stepping outside in this form makes his bones cold in a way that leaves him feeling unbalanced. He's alive -- truly alive -- and the more he exists outdoors, the harder it is for him to ignore.

He knocks on the door with three, firm raps.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.]

[puppetmurder]

[When Aunamee knocks, there's a bit of a delay in answer. It sounds as if there are cautious, albeit heavy steps taken behind the door. After a moment it opens and the face that greets the man is red and wet with tears. Dandy's red tartan suit is rumpled, and his combed hair hangs in his eyes, mussed. His furrowed brow is stuck with his anguish, his typical blue gaze bloodshot and his jaw is clenched so tightly anyone could practically hear the way his teeth grind together.

Dandy sucks in a breath with a sniff, and tucks his head towards his shoulder, using his sleeve to wipe his sorrow away.] Come in. [It's a pitiful croak and he turns without another word.

The palatial suite has been turned upside down in tantrum. Tasseled pillows lay strewn about, curtains hang, pulled halfway off of rods. There are several potted plants knocked over, some of the ornamental vases cracked and some completely shattered from where they had been thrown against the wall. Dandy paces around the room, restless, and his shoulders are still raised to his ears with his tension.

In his hand is a revolver, with its hammer drawn back under the white-knuckled tension of his thumb.]

Everyone thinks I'm a fool — that I am just some spectacle to laugh at! I am no comedian, Aunamee. They will pay for thinking they could lead me by the nose and threaten me. Killing them isn't enough. They need to suffer... suffer as I have.

[marcato]

[His eyes immediately lock onto the gun, that deadly glimmer catching in the overturned lights, and his chest tightens in response. He loathes that feeling, the bubbling terror of being alive. He pictures himself suffocating it with one of those tasseled pillows.]

They will.

[He's still focused on the gun, on Dandy's thumb and its precarious position. It would be so easy for him to shoot him and send him back into the darkness.

He swallows dryly.]

Place the gun on the table, dear Dandy. [He hates the way his voice sounds, the way his fear colors his syllables in subtle shades.] Your enemies aren't in this room.

[puppetmurder]

[Like a soothing balm to his soul, those words relax Dandy so easily, as if it were the whispering of a doting parent in the ear of an upset child. His shoulders that had been pinned to his ears, round downwards into boneless arms. His pinched expression falls slack and serene with a childlike bliss. A breathy laugh bubbles up from his chest as he turns his gaze, pinched at the corners with sudden comfort, towards Aunamee.

His thumb lifts from the hammer and it snaps forward with a loud click that almost breaks the tension between them like a twig snapping. Dandy's arms lift, pulled into the lazy gesture of a relaxed shrug as he sways towards the man.]

Oh, Aunamee, I would never shoot you! [His heavy brow knits up, his expression no less manic with mirth than it was with anger just seconds prior,] but fine, I will put it down. I only held onto it, just in case you were followed.

[And he does just that, turning towards where a brass and glass rolling cart is lined with liquor in crystal decanters. He sets the gun down and glances over his shoulder.]

Care for a drink?