5 years ago...
September 19, 1925
The second time Alastor shows up at her house, Lucille's entirely unprepared. She'd been in the middle of getting dressed after a shower when the knocking came.
In the middle of the night.
Lucille frowns, pulling her negligee on and donning a robe before padding barefoot into the sitting room and to the backdoor. Sliding the cover to the door viewer open she peers through to see none other than Alastor standing on the other side, barely illuminated by the light of the moon above him. She drops the cover and ties her robe shut, unlocking the door and pulling it open to look up at him in question, "Alastor...? What are you-?"
The smell of fresh blood hits her like a punch in the nose.
She gags and covers her nose, eyes widening. She couldn't see anything, though there was no doubt that the darkness was hiding the source of the overwhelming smell.
"Can I come in?" He asks politely, arms crossed behind his back.
Lucille steps to the side wordlessly and rapidly ushers him in so she can close the door behind him. When she turns to face him in the light is when she sees exactly what the smell was.
He was covered in blood, the dark vital fluid splashed across the front of his vest and face like paint. Despite this, he wears a happy grin on his face like he'd just found 10 large in the street. His eyes twinkle with amusement as she takes in his appearance.
"What the fuck-"
"Language, Lucille." He admonishes, scolding her as if she were a child.
She responds with silence, not in compliance but out of shock. Here he was standing before her in her own home covered in blood and he was concerned about her language?
"I just happened to be in the area and was hoping to freshen up here." He continues on to say, motioning in the general direction of her bathroom. His tone was light and almost jovial, as if he'd simply taken a humorous fall into dirt or some other light filth and that was what covered him instead.
She continues to stare at him in silence.
He snaps his fingers in front of her face when she doesn't respond again, "Hello? Anyone home?"
Lucille blinks and shakes her head in disbelief. "Again?" She asks. "You were just here a week ago."
Alastor motions to his clothing, "Yes indeed, and now here I am again. Now may I?" He gestures in the direction of the hall.
She holds her hand out towards the washroom in silent permission, watching him at he goes. Once he turns the corner she drops down into the arm chair next to the fireplace, staring up at the ceiling in shock.
He was back and once again he was blood spattered. He had said that he'd committed 9 murders so far when they'd last spoken but... she'd been hoping he was joking...
Apparently he hadn't been.
If the blood on his rags was any indicatior, he'd obviously killed someone else before coming here. So now there was yet another body or six again in the street somewhere. This had quickly jumped headfirst into serial killer territory and that thought alone was enough to both terrify and stress her out. She couldn't get involved in something like that. She couldn't bring consequences of that kind of secret to her mother's doorstep if it got out.
Alastor returns shortly, his bloodied shirt and coat thrown over his arm and his face clean now. He'd apparently found another one of Leroy's old shirts, as he wore that when he sits down in front of her. "I hope you don't mind," he begins. "I went in-"
"You killed someone else." She says this matter-of-factly. "And then you came here."
He pauses, one eyebrow rising at her words. The amused smile on his face turns into a closed-lipped one and he doesn't reply.
"Well?"
"You didn't ask me a question." He replies. "You simply stated obvious facts."
Lucille's eyes drift down to the clothes over his arm, "Was it on purpose, then?"
Alastor laughs as if the question were utterly ridiculous, his smile turning back into a full-on grin. "Of course," he replies. "What else would it have been? An accident?" Leaning forward he props his elbow up on his knee and rests his chin in his hand. "I don't suppose it would be considered an accident to stab a man 27 times in the chest, now would it?"
"No." She swallows around a lump in her throat, choosing her next words carefully. "But... why are you here exactly?"
His eyes light up at that question, as if he'd been waiting for it. "I'm glad you asked!" He chirps. "You see, my dear, I had a swell idea occur to me when I was here last." Excitement begins to gleam in his eyes. "I'm going to begin coming here after each messy kill to clean up so that I'm not traipsing through the streets of New Orleans covered in gore."
Lucille's eyebrows hit her hairline in shock, "Excuse me?"
"You're excused!"
"No, no, no, no," She says quickly, holding her hands up. "Hold up. You've gotta be off your rocker to think that-"
"That you would assist me again?"
Lucille presses her lips together.
"You see," Alastor begins, gently fingering one of the buttons on his coat as his face falls into in a more thoughtful expression. "We're in this together now. Partners in crime, if you will. If you don't like the sound of that well then," he chuckles. "You should've considered that before you let me into your home the first time."
"Oh for cryin' out loud," She groans under her breath, putting her face in her hands. "Alright, alright." She hated to admit it but he had a point. She'd went and involved herself and now she was stuck to face the repercussions.
"Splendid! That's the spirit, Lucille!" He perks up again immediately.
She sighs and looks back up at him, "So let me get this straight... You're gonna go out some nights, go off the rack on a couple'a unfortunate souls, bump 'em off, then come here to clean off the evidence?"
"Now you're on the trolley!" He snaps his fingers. "Since your home is so conveniently placed to my hunting ground of choice, it's the best place for me to come after a successful hunt."
Hunting ground. As if he looked at the people he killed as animals.
Lucille worries her bottom lip at the confirmation. "But what if you're followed here? I can't get tied up in," she flutters her hand around in his direction. "All of that."
Alastor laughs again, as if her concern were silly. "I'm never followed," He scoffs. "I'm very careful with my work, as you've seen. 10 murders now and not a single witness."
"Aside from me," Lucille points out.
His grin dims slightly. "Aside from you." He amends. "But that was a one time stroke of bad luck. I didn't expect you to come back to the scene and find me there."
"And what if I'm not home when you come?" She questions, pushing forward. "Or worse, my mama is?"
He shrugs, "I'm sure we'll find a way to remedy that issue."
She only grunts in response. She'd been wanting to meet him again for 6 years and now here he was, living and breathing right in front of her... and he was a murderer. Despite him being a looker, with those pretty eyes, dark, loose waves, and having all the makings of a lady killer, here he was being an actual killer instead. A killer who'd deemed her his "partner in crime" now that she'd repaid the favor he'd done for her years prior.
Apparently that had been a mistake.
"Now, if you don't mind," He says, leaning forward to dump his bundle of bloody clothes into her lap. "Would you mind taking care of these for me?"
She recoils, snatching her hands up and away from the offending pile that now sits in her lap. The scent of blood had lessened but the clothes were... damp.
She suppresses another retch.
This was going to be a nightmare.
As the nights pass, Alastor continues to darken her doorstep with his usual grin and bloodied rags. Lucille's eventually asked to leave him a key, so she places one that's hidden behind a loose brick in the house's structure with strict instructions not to come in if her mother's bedroom light was on and hers wasn't. The last thing she needed was for him to change his mind on his "No killing women" rule if her mother were to discover him.
That thought terrified her.
After the 18th time he shows up at her doorstep Lucille had become fairly used to his presence, already having all her cleaning supplies for his "visits" off to the side for easy access in case he showed up. He was paying her for it now too, making sure that she never ran out of what was needed if his... activities, randomly increased in frequency. Her mother had already questioned why so much money was going to cleaning supplies, and she didn't want her looking into it further.
Lucille had also taken to not asking him any questions further on what he did, putting it out of her mind and choosing to pretend that it wasn't human blood that she was cleaning from his clothes every night. It was just easier on her mind that way, to remain in denial to save her mental state. So instead, whenever Alastor was in her home, they had taken to talking about other things such as Lucille's night job as a performer for different speakeasies. Her mundane day job working temporarily at a bakery in town had come up, leading to her expressing her fondness of the former over it.
He seemed... strangely interested in her life, sitting and listening politely as she spoke while cleaning to take her mind off of what she was cleaning. Despite being an absolute chatterbox majority of the time, he was more hesitant to talk about his own personal life, answering any personal questions with a joke or bringing up the murders. The latter was something he'd realized made her stop prying into his personal life and mind her own beeswax, despite the fact that he had no qualms about prying into hers. All she really knew about him was his first name, that he lived with his mother in the same house they'd met by, that he'd killed his father as a boy, and that he had a strong love of Jazz. It left her with a small list of very scattered facts in comparison to his very detailed one of her life. He was also particularly interested in her singing, asking about it after she'd mentioned she had been doing so since she was a child.
"Mama told me I sung like a free bird," She shrugs. "So I decided to charge for it and sing like a paid one."
"And the patrons at the speakeasies," he says. "They treat you well?"
Lucille hesitates for a moment, wringing out the now clear water from his shirt. "Most do since they're full of mixed crowds," she says. "Others... don't take too well to a colored woman singing to them while they're dippin' the bill. They've thrown things at me before, and that taught me which ones to avoid."
Alastor scoffs in disgust, "Such animals."
A smile tugs at the corner of her lips at his response. "Lester's the bee's knees, though," She continues. "He's the owner of that bar in the quarter. It ain't no speakeasy on account of it being a temperance bar now, so the patrons are usually better behaved. They come for the entertainment rather than the hooch."
"I saw you performing the night you brought me here." Alastor says then, surprising her. "I didn't get to hear all of your song, however."
She sucks her teeth, "That's too bad. I had a good crowd that night. I ended up getting to sing a song I wrote before I left the stage, too."
He perks up at that, "Oh? You compose?"
Lucille blushes, standing up to go hang his clothes out to dry. "I'd hardly call it that," she says as she walks outside. When she returns she goes to empty the bucket of water into the sink. "I taught myself how to read and write music a few years back so I figured writing my own lyrics couldn't have been too much harder."
"Oh? Well why don't you sing a little something then? Since I missed out on your performance all those weeks ago."
She turns around, eyes wide. "Now?" She asks.
"I don't see why not." He grins, obvious amusement growing on his face at her surprise. "It would be an honor to receive a special performance from you."
She purses her lips, walking back to sit in front of him. "Why are you so interested in me all of a sudden?" She asks instead. "I thought you only came here to take advantage of my kindness." Her voice lightly hints at annoyance on that last note, as he had really guilted her into allowing him to come so frequently to her home.
Alastor laughs, "Because you intrigue me, Lucille. During this entire endeavor of mine you've never shown even the slightest hint of fear when I'm around you." He tilts his head to the side to stare at her for a moment, as if he were sizing her up. "That's the most compelling thing about you. You are also aware of what I've been up to ever since we first met that fateful afternoon, so I believe it only fair I get to know you as well."
"Knowing what you've been 'up to' and getting to know you are two entirely different things," she huffs. "You tell me next to nothing about yourself, all while constantly asking me personal questions about my life."
He considers this for a moment. "I suppose that's fair," he laces his fingers together, crossing one knee over the other. "What is one thing that you wish to know? One question in exchange for one song."
She snorts softly, "Yeah, 'cause that's definitely equal." In reality she really was curious about him. He'd been in her home so much recently but he was still, in large part, a stranger to her.
"Are you passing up the opportunity then?"
"No," she crosses her arms. "I'm thinkin', give me a second."
He quiets, watching her with an expectant grin.
"Why do you do that all the time?" She asks after a moment. "Smile, I mean. I don't think I've really ever seen you without that big grin on your map."
Something shifts in his eyes, almost like a light flipping off. His grin stays fixed on his face but it's as if the real amusement behind it had flickered out. For a moment he doesn't reply, and she's about to change the question when he finally responds. "Back when I was a young boy," He says. "My father had one rule that he was truly serious about, and that was for us to always don the masks of a perfectly happy family... Smile through the pain so that no one can smell the weakness on you. So I do just that even now: I smile so that no one perceives me as weak."
"And... if you didn't?"
The light in his eyes flicks back on, an amused tilt to his grin appearing. "I do believe that's two questions, my dear Lucille." He says. Then he hesitates. "However... I will still give you the answer. If we didn't, he would do what he did best and lay waste to whoever broke his most important rule." Gesturing to his back vaguely, the tilt to his lips slightly droops. "I've the scars to show for it."
"That's horrible." And it was. While she'd never had a parent lay a hand on her that wasn't loving, she could understand the horror of aggressive touches... and especially of unwelcome ones.
"One of your own songs now, if you don't mind." He continues suddenly, as if that brief flicker of vulnerability had been a trick or the light. He didn't show any sign of being uncomfortable about the personal answer he'd just given now, but he was still verbally showing he wished to move past it.
Lucille raises an eyebrow at the request, surprise replacing the horror she'd known was previously on her face. "Oh... yeah, sure," she clears her throat and hesitates for a moment, running through her lyric book in her mind. "Let's see..."
She'd been writing songs for years now, and some she'd been working on for that same amount of time. She wrote when she was sad, when she was happy, and when sudden inspiration would just come to her. Recently she hadn't had any inspiration, but she had just began to write a song a few months prior that she'd been stuck on. So she decides on that.
When she opens her mouth to sing, however, she finds herself feeling... nervous. Glancing up she sees Alastor watching her with his usual grin once more, patiently awaiting her decision. He made her nervous, and for some reason it was more so than a room full of people did. When she finally does begin, it's in a soft voice instead of her usual proud singing. She couldn't project for fear of a waiver in her voice throwing her off.
"There ain't no gold in this river, that I've been washin' my hands in forever.
I know there is hope in these waters, but I can't bring myself to swim when I am drowning in this silence,
Baby, let me in.
Go easy on me, baby.
I was still a child.
Didn't get the chance to...
Feel the world around me.
I had no time to choose,
What I chose to do.
So go easy on me."
Lucille clears her throat when she finishes the song, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. "That's all I have so far on that one," She admits. "I ran into a wall with it but I'll get it done... eventually." When she looks up she expects to see disappointment on his face at that, but instead she sees a different kind of light in Alastor's eyes.
"Your voice is magnificent, Lucille." He says, voice a touch awed. "You wrote that all on your own?"
She laughs, embarrassed. "I did. The song's not much just yet though," she says, brushing off the praise. "But I'm workin' on it."
"Maybe not yet, but your voice is." He murmurs, the ghost of a softer smile gracing his lips. It was a different kind of smile than what she was used to from him. It seemed more... genuine. "A voice like that would put an angel to shame."
The tips of her ears begin to burn at the compliment. She wasn't a stranger to receiving them but... there was something different about receiving it from someone who'd admitted that he found most people to be dull and unamusing. Unsurprising and mundane. Or maybe it was the fact that she only got compliments on her singing when she was in public settings, not one-on-one like this unless it was with family or friends.
She... wasn't really sure what kind of category Alastor fell into.
"Thanks," She says softly. "I'm hoping one day some big shot thinks the same and whisks me off to Hollywoodland, to fortune and fame. Maybe one day it'll happen if I keep singin'."
"I truly believe it will."
She can't help but to give him a true smile at those words, "Really?"
"Ab-so-lute-ly." Alastor says. "Sounds to me like it's your calling." Then he looks over towards the dining room area and motions. "I noticed the piano the other night. Do you play?"
Lucille turns and looks over towards where the wooden instrument sits, covered with family photos and her potted plants. "Oh, no. It was my grand-maman's." She says. "But she stopped playing when her hands stopped working like they used to. Mama took it to try to learn herself but she ended up too busy to have any time to try."
He stands up, crossing the room to pull out the piano bench and sit down on it. He lifts the cover over the keys and begins gently tapping them and listening to the tune carefully.
"She kept it tuned," Lucille tells him. "But neither me nor mama know how to tune it if it ever did go out of tune. It just holds pictures and my plants now on account of-"
A sudden, beautiful flurry of notes silences her, making her mouth pop open in shock.
As Alastor's fingers ghost across the keys that soft smile from before appears on his lips again. He gently melts into a gentle, almost familiar sounding melody, but then stops to glance over at Lucille, "Sing that song again, would you?"
She blinks in shock. That had been unexpected. "Uh-... sure thing." She says, getting up and crossing the room to stand by the piano. She clears her throat and hesitates for a moment before she starts to sing again.
He begins to tinker around with the melody he'd first played and almost immediately settles on something that blends seamlessly with her singing. He'd been going by ear on what she'd sung. That's why the melody had sounded familiar. Alastor focuses intently on the keys, even continuing to play after she stops singing, as if memorizing it. "Again," He says gently.
And she does. As the minutes pass she begins to create new words to the song, trying new verses and lyrics out each time to see what sounds right as he perfects the notes he'd found. She pays attention to the notes in an attempt to write them out later, as it would be a crying shame to lose such a perfect accompaniment.
Alastor is openly smiling the whole time, but this time it's not his usual Cheshire grin. It's a soft, peaceful looking smile that she'd never seen before. One that looked right at home on his handsome face. It softened it, which admittedly had her openly staring at him like some kind of goofy skirt all while she sang.
She really hoped he hadn't noticed.
"How'd you learn how to play?" Lucille asks later when they'd retired from the piano and settled back in the sitting room.
"My mother," He says softly, fondness wrapping around the words. "She taught me when I was a child."
"Well you play beautifully," Lucille compliments.
He looks shocked to receive the praise, looking up at her with slightly widened eyes. "Ah... thank you." He murmurs, sincerity in his tone. "Playing the piano reminds me of many good memories with her when I was a child. Sometimes it's enough to make me forget the bad ones surrounding it."
They continue to talk for a little while longer about her music before Lucille starts to fall asleep during their conversation. She'd been awake for majority of the day and it was beginning to take a toll on her, sapping the energy from her body before she even noticed it was gone. Much to her surprise Alastor helps her up to carefully escort her to her room when he notices this. For all his... violence, he was surprisingly gentle with her. It made her momentarily forget who and what he was, feeling his strong and steady arms leading her as she swayed on her feet.
For some reason, it took this for this moment to happen for her to come to the realization that for some odd reason... she had begun to trust him. He had never threatened her, never harmed her, and so far made good on his word not to. Now here she was comfortably going to bed despite knowing he was still in her home. That she was alone with him. She didn't feel like she was in danger, even still, and very quickly goes off to sleep. In the morning when she awakes she finds the house empty, save for a small "Thank You" note written in loopy script that had been slipped under her door. There was something... gentlemanly in the action of him refusing to enter her room.
It was interesting to see someone like him still have a code of ethics and morals of sorts.
She doesn't see him again for a few days either, not until one morning comes when his familiar knock sounds on the back door.
Lucille's fingers freeze in her hair, hoping that she had just imagined it for a moment, but she convinces herself otherwise. There was no mistaking that knock. So she wraps her hair up into a messy chignon and stands up, pulling on her robe before quickly heading to the door.
If he had killed someone in broad daylight...
Alastor stands on the back doorstep when she opens the door to peek around it, once again with his usual grinning expression firmly in place. This was the first time he'd shown up during the day... also making it the first time she'd seen him in the day time at all actually. The surprise at this was immediate, but then concern soon takes over.
"In the middle of the day?" She hisses, frustration obvious in her tone. She looks down at his clothes for blood and finds... None? She frowns and looks back up at him in question.
Alastor shakes his head, visibly amused by this reaction, "No, no. This isn'tthat kind of visit."
Lucille hesitates. If that wasn't why he was here... then what did he want? She pulls the door open further to stand in the open doorway, a motion showing she was open to hearing him out.
"I was going to ask if you'd like to run out with me on a quick errand."
She feels herself frown again. "An errand of what nature?" She asks cautiously. Considering his... usual activities, going on an errand with him could be anything.
But, he surprises her with the unexpected.
"I'm going to attempt to start my own radio show." Alastor informs her cheerfully.
Lucille puts her hands on her hips, processing this news. It was a relief to not hear him ask her to do something like help him hide or, even worse, dismember a body. "And how do you plan on going about doing that?" She asks, curiosity admittedly piquing her interest
Alastor motions to the door in a silent request to come in.
She sighs and steps aside, allowing him to walk past her quickly. "Let any of my neighbors see me lettin' a white man into my home, then I'm gonna have an entirely new problem on my hands." She mutters, shutting the door behind him before any of them could get the chance. They were a nosy bunch, and it was a miracle that no one had come knocking to ask about his late night visits yet.
Then, out of his mouth came his brilliant idea on how he planned to start this radio show, and how her voice would be a major part of it.
It had been months now since the radio station had gone on air and the denizens of the city were eating it up like seafood gumbo on Fat Tuesday.
Everywhere she went people were talking in hushed whispers about the new radio show host and his mysterious singer. No matter where she was, they were always the topic in the groups that were standing around and bumping gums. It was... exciting to hear people praise her voice and songs, and speculate on who she was when she was nearby. Having a secret identity made her feel like she was undercover when she went out on errands, kinda like a snooper on a case. Of course while she had to suppress her voice and talk like an uppity white lady in the rare moments that she spoke when she was under the veil, she took the compliments even more closely to heart. It only meant that her true voice was better.
If the crowd was bananas about her suppressed voice, that sung high unspoken praises to what she gave the speakeasies and clip joints she performed in as her real self.
Other whispers were from dames swooning over the voice of the radio host, talking about his way with words and how even when describing the most gruesome of murders he still managed to sound like music.
At the moment, said radio host was walking with her in town on a shopping trip to find himself a new coat. It was a cool afternoon in November, the trees bare from shedding their leaves as they welcomed the cold chill of winter. Lucille was bundled up to escape it in her brown tie-necked dress, the long-sleeved top layered beneath a beige coat to try to give her at least a smidgen on warmth. The tips of her ears were cold still, though, barely covered beneath the hat she wore over her curls.
Alastor adjusts his dark maroon ulster, pulling it more securely around his body to block out the chill of the wind as well. He was immaculately dressed as always despite this being a casual trip. "This weather will be the death of me," he mutters to her, or to himself, she wasn't sure. He'd expressed vehemently his dislike of the cold earlier on when they'd first climbed out of his jalopy.
As they stroll down the street together it very quickly became obvious to Lucille how much female attention Al was truly attracting. As they passed groups of women it was rare for them not to stop their conversations to look at him as they walked by. Other times they'd titter to each other and whisper behind their hands as their eyes would follow him past, treating Lucille as if she were invisible.
Figures.
"Say... Al?"
"Yes, Lucy?"
"Is this the kind'a attention you usually get when you go out or... is it all on account of the radio show?" A few people knew the face behind the voice, but it wasn't exactly something that could be a well kept secret. Not unless he stayed covered up like her. Or didn't attend any more parties that he ended up becoming the life of with his apparent oozing charm.
He turns slightly to look down at her, a look of light confusion in his eyes despite his usual grin. "What attention?" He asks, passing by yet another group of bims who had been attempting to flutter their lashes at him before he'd looked down at her.
Lucille squints at him. "You don't see them?" She asks, skeptical, motioning subtly to the women passing by. Women who continue to ignore her as well.
"See who, doll?"
She presses her lips into a hard line. She'd never met a man so... oblivious to a woman's attention before. The amount of looks he was getting wasn't in the lows, and yet somehow he still didn't notice. She didn't doubt that this was attention he'd always gotten, he'd just never cared to notice. "Forget about it." She waves the line of questioning off. "You seen anything you want yet?"
Alastor looks back up at the many window displays, a little furrow in his brow appearing. "Not quite," He replies before glancing back at her. "I haven't seen anything yet that has drawn my attention."
"Well... what if we went down to-"
Before she can finish the sentence, Alastor leans in and grabs her, swinging her back and away from the deep, water-filled pothole that she was about to fall into in the street. She'd been walking and not paying attention again, which had resulted in her not seeing the wide berth the people around them had been giving that particular spot in the road.
Lucille squeaks softly as her feet leave the ground, his arm looped securely around her waist to move her back to safety. The grab had been so sudden that for a moment she'd believed it had been a stranger grabbing her from behind. She wasn't new to random palookas feeling her up without permission, and for a moment she'd been ready to deck someone before she'd realized it was him.
And for someone so tall and wiry, he was surprisingly damn strong.
"Careful, my dear." Alastor tuts gently, setting her gently on her feet. "It would be a shame if you injured yourself."
She looks up at him for a long moment, processing the sudden and strange swell of a feeling that was stirring inside of her at the way his arm still held her around the waist, her hip pressed against his thigh.
"...Lucille?"
She blinks hard and steps back, his arm falling from around her as she does so. "Yes," she says quickly, recovering. "Sorry about that. I didn't notice the hole." Then, carefully stepping around it, she continues walking. For some reason she could feel her cheeks burning. It wasn't unusual for men to touch her, but all of the times Alastor had done so it was to help her. He avoided being touched himself but apparently never hesitated to steer or grab her when he deemed necessary.
"Now, what were you saying?" He continues, quickly catching up to her again. With his long legs, two of his strides were equal to about 8 of her steps, making it impossible to out-pace him unless she was damn near running.
Lucille has to backtrack to remember what she'd been about to suggest. "We could go down to Mama's shop," she says, reeling the lost thought back in. "She could make you something you like, no doubt."
Alastor considers this for a moment before nodding, "Show me the way."
Despite her mother not being too enthused about having Alastor as a customer, money was money. It would be a while before the coat was ready but he'd assured them it was no problem as he wasn't in a rush.
It was also... odd, watching Alastor interact casually with her mother. While she had long since stopped questioning his motives it was still clear she was suspicious of him. Alastor, on the other hand, went about talking with her about his color and style preferences like she wasn't tearing him to shreds with her eyes the entire time.
Lucille sighs.
This was going to be one doozy of an experience.