Author's note: First time writing a story! Yay me!

I own absolutely nothing except my OC. Because if I did own Criminal Minds, I would steal Reid in a heartbeat.

There was another case.

Not that the idea was foreign to the BAU team, many people die every day, what struck them is the almost impeccable execution of the rather brutal murders.

"This would make 6 now, and again with no apparent evidence of a murder. Besides, you know, the bodies of dead women without any skin." Penelope Garcia informed the rest of the group, disgust wrinkling her nose.

"The ability of the UNSUB to have enough patience and strength to subdue and skin the victims alive suggests that the person we are looking for is most likely male." Spencer Reid commented, as the other nodded their heads in acceptance of his theory.

"Do the police know what the UNSUB did with the skin?" JJ asked almost hesitantly.

"No, and thank god. It already ruined my appetite for lunch, it's not ruining my dinner." Garcia quipped.

Rossi closed his folder, adding, "Even so, the timing of this killer is perfect. Mardi Gras time has one of the highest death rate in New Orleans festivals."

"Approximately 20 per year, actually."

"And Boy Wonder strikes again." Morgan smirks. "Any more information, Baby Girl?"

"I didn't bother with anything more, my dark chocolate muffin."

"Call the local police in New Orleans and tell them that we should get there in about two hours." Hotch ordered, standing up. "I assume we all have decided to take this case. I say we have our work cut out for us."

A young Cajun woman slammed the quality-grade sugar bag on the ground of the restaurant kitchen, wiping the sweat off her face.

"Rosaline Estelle Boisseau, you better get 'yo crosse in here immediately, I only get 'ta see 'ma grandbaby once!"

Rosaline wrung out her sore hands, walking to the dining area of her recently renovated restaurant.

"Mamere Boudreaux! What 'choo doin' here on the other side of the Bayou?" She said with astonishment, running up to hug her grandmother.

"I been hearin' some talk on the Island-"

"You mean you overheard Papere Boudreaux make the veiller?"

Grandmother Boudreaux gave her next of kin a cross look, making a show of clearing her throat. As I was sayin', befo' a bebette interrupted me..." The elder glared, and Rosaline giggled lightly, elation playing in her dark eyes. "I been hearin' of a murderer ova' here killin' pretty young negresse's. I jus' don' want ta' find my bouillee gone." The elder finished, wiping away an emotional tear.

Rosaline smiled slyly, though trying to hide it behind a mocha-colored hand. "Mamere..." She began, as her grandmother looked up at the taller woman. "I've been the one killin' all them people."

Grandmother Boudreaux's eyes grew to saucers, and grabbed a napkin as a makeshift fan, flapping it quickly. She looked away from the younger woman, (who was on the verge of bursting out laughing) muttering a mix of English and French that best described her disbelief.

Rosaline couldn't help bursting laughing, to which the elder woman looked at the other as if she had grown another head.

"Oh pauvre defante!" She laughed loudly, pulling her grandmother into a hug. "I don' know what's worse! There is a serial killer runin' loose, or that you would think me to be one!"

Grandmother Boudreaux smiled, boxing her granddaughter's hands away. "'Ya bonne a rienne!" She teased, glancing at the clock. "Mon dieu, it's already dinner time! 'Ya goin' 'ta cook me some boudin for the road? Afta' all, you did almost cause my fragile heart 'ta break."

Rosaline laughed, running her hands through her hair, then tying the loose curls into a bun. "Shu' thing mamere. You can listen 'ta some jazz while I'm cookin', they should be here any minute." She replied, walking into the kitchen.

Author's Note: So, first chapter. It's short, I know. If I get enough reviews, (*winkwinknudgenudge*) I will continue the story. With longer chapters and whatnot.

Crosse: Bottom.
Veiller: Means chatted with friends.
Bebette: Kind-of like a demon-child. Naughty, mostly.
Negresse: Not actually a racial term. Used when talking to other Cajuns. Usually a term of endearment.
Bouillee: Pudding.
Pauvre defante: Poor mother.
Bonne a rienne: Good-for-nothing-woman.