Hello people. As I am uploading this, I am probably home again. I am very ashamed to say that after two weeks in Italy the only thing I have to offer you is this enormous chapter that was an absolute bitch to write. I will split it up in 2 parts because it is just to long (Almost 3000 words! That is huge compared to the usual size of my chapters!) Tomorrow I will upload the second part of this, so today it's only this tiny chapter. Hopefully this doesn't bother you too much! I hope you'll still be able to enjoy it in a way!
Vash had always had a bit of trouble with social situations and gatherings, but all of that was nothing compared to the struggle of attending a funeral of someone he hadn't even known. This was downright devastating. The teary faces, speaking fondly of a person he had nothing to say about, a man who was at first nothing more to him than a picture in an investigation folder, who was becoming more of a human now.
Vash's mind was strictly organized, diveded in two sections: Work and Feelings. Work and Feelings were like two large cupboards, with countless little drawers, each one labeled. Vash carefully placed everything he was attached to into the Feelings cupboard, and he never allowed those things to end up into the Work section, because he simply couldn't, he didn't know what would happen after. The Closet Case, as Alfred called it, turned his whole system into goo, the cupboards crashing into eachother, Work colliding with Feelings and turning into an emotional mush, as he listened tp Sesel Bonnefoy talking about her brother, begging to remember Francis Bonnefoy as the kind and loving man he was, not the deformed corpse he was found as, cruelly murdered by one of his friends.
Her words hit something close to home, as he suddenly imagined losing his sister. Only the thought of Lily lying in Francis' position, ghostly pale and bloody, was enough to make the mess in his head leek through his eyes, rolling over his cheeks.
Vash let out a shuddery gasp, closing his fingers around a cool glass, not even looking at the liquid, dawning the entire thing in one big gulp. A chair scraped beside him and he quickly looked down, staring intently into his glass, pretending he was invisible.
"What a tragical day it is today, isn't it?" A familiar and flat voice. Vash grumbled something in agreement, reaching for another glass as Lukas sat beside him. "Especially if you realize one of those mourning people in here is the one who murdered poor mister Bonnefoy."
"I know." Vash said hoarsely, quickly scanning the other attendents, who were giving eachother their condoleances, his green eyes resting a little longer on Elizaveta Herdevary and Roderich Edelstein, who appeared to be arguing, Elizaveta hissing angrily into Roderich's ear while he just gave her an annoyed look. He felt Lukas' eyes on him, and he turned back to the Norwegian, who leant closer to him.
"You look tired." He simply stated, causing Vash to shrug.
"It's just-"
Lukas placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I know. Trust me. Did you find out anything about the letter yet?"
"No. I have read it at least a thousand times, looking for clues, but the writer uses very vague language. The message is very clear though. Comparing handwritings will not be of any use either, since the letter is completely typed out." Vash sighed.
"Do you think the writer actually knows something, or if he or she just made something up?" Lukas asked, checking the room for any unwanted audiences.
"I think something horrible or scandalous has happened in the past, involving Francis and some other members from the cast, and the writer knows about it and is angry at them for it. I don't have the slightest clue who could've been involved though, as 'Francis' hasn't tried to contact anyone just yet." Vash said gloomily, reaching for another glass.
"Why would someone threaten to kill their own colleagues? Money? An argument? Jealousy?" Lukas pondered, scratching his chin.
"Jealousy would be a very good reason, I think. Francis was the main dancer, after all. From what I've heard, he was quite the bragger. People didn't like him very much, apperantly."
"Maybe someone was tired of always being the second choi-" Lukas abruptly stopped talking when a third person joined at their table, agressively reaching for the whiskey.
The detectives looked at eachother, Lukas giving Vash a meaningful look, gesturing to the third man, who was slumped against the table, apperantly under the impression he was on his own. He was muttering angrily to himself, shakily bringing the glass, which was filled to the brim, to his chapped lips, sighing contently, liquid dripping from his chin, spilling over his tie and jacket.
Vash scraped his throat, a pair of green eyes widening at the sight of him. "Well hello sir, as you'll probably know by now, my name is Vash Zwingli and-"
The chair toppled over, the glass falling to the ground in sparkling shambles, whiskey splattering everywhere as the man pushed the other attendants aside in his race for the door.
Cliffhangeeeer ;) Who is this man? (I think it is not that hard to guess.) I think I should add that Lukas and Vash are at Francis' funeral in this chapter. You know..like when the person is already buried and everyone just gets together and talks and stuff. Italy was great btw. Lake Como is very beautiful! I would definitely recommend going there! Thank you for reading! See ya tomorrow!