#I get the sense that somehow the Victorian Era is becoming a sort of 'Dark Ages' for some people

[isfjmel-phleg]

Some of the takes in the notes on that T S G-related post are wild. I am going to have some Things To Say this spring.

[emma-whoisleft]

GENERAL INFORMATION ➤

Full Legal Name: Emma Esmé Vanity

Emma = “Whole, universal”

Esmé = “Esteemed, loved”

Vanity = “Excessive pride in or admiration for oneself”

Nickname(s): n/a and don’t even try it Age: 18 Gender & Pronouns: cisgender female; she/her Sexuality: Greyromantic and bisexual with an outward preference for men driven by her traditional values and life plans. Date of Birth: March 27th Horoscope: Aries

Strengths: Courageous, determined, confident, blunt, passionate

Weaknesses: Impatient, moody, short-tempered, impulsive, aggressive

Likes: Comfortable clothes, taking on leadership roles, physical challeng individual sports

Dislikes: Inactivity, delays, work that does not use one’s talents

Hogwarts House: Slytherin Nationality: English on her father’s side; a quarter Moroccan via her mother’s. Emma grew up just outside Yorkshire and is very vocally proud of the region, flawed accents and all. 

Occupation:

Emma is currently a student, but she has big plans for her future and no doubt that she’ll be able to accomplish them — which isn’t a surprise to anyone who’s ever met her. Not many seventeen year olds purchase, renovate and successfully run a Quidditch camp as a summer project, and very few others have done simultaneous Ministry internships. 

Ultimately, Emma wants to work at the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Games and Sports. This is made easier by the fact that her father is the Vice Head of the department and her godfather is the Head, but she genuinely wants to build her career upon her own merits. She plans to start as a Junior Regulations Analyst with a seat on the International Event Coordination team. Her goals are currently to change the relationship the Ministry has with corporate sponsors and private companies to increase the funding ceiling and strengthen key partnerships.

Then, within five years, her goal is to create her own, new position (Executive Liaison, final title pending!). Through that, she believes she would run her own staff as a department-within-a-department and be the official point of contact for team owners, sponsors, donors, private partner companies – such as her camp and similar programs – and key suppliers of equipment, uniforms, brooms, balls, etcetera. 

She plans to use whatever downtown is leftover to work on the Department’s overall public relations strategy and inter-Ministry reputation.

Summarized in One Word: Headstrong

APPEARANCE ➤

Faceclaim: Phoebe Tonkin  Height: 5′4″ Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Brown Noticeable Features: Resting bitch face, and the ability to instill a primal fear in someone with nary a glance. 

Typical Outfit or General Fashion Sense: Emma is usually dressed for capital-B Business. her wardrobe consists of black, grey and other neutrals and she opts for simple lines, minimalist looks and the simple intimidation of clear wealth. Streamlined, with hints to reclaimed masculinity; she has more blazers than any eighteen year old should, but she can seriously rock a little black dress, too. 

HISTORY ➤

Hometown:

The Vanity family has always have a longstanding history of residing in the North Country of England, on the outskirts of Yorkshire and the Humber. Although grand in scale like most pureblood manors, the inside of the estate is considerably warmer; it features dark-paneled wood instead of marble and walls painted in warmer hues than one might normally see. The untouchable artifacts that one might find in other homes have largely been replaced with Quidditch memorabilia, family photos, and bookshelves.

There is a grande ballroom for throwing events and the foyer is invariably pristine, but the layout contains several dens stocked with comfortable couches, ever-burning fireplaces, and shelves of whiskeys and wines brought up from storage in the basement. Everything is sleek and kept up to a standard of perfection, but the family and all those who lived there before them worked hard to ensure that the place seemed approachable to newcomers. Charms ensure that the house always smells of sharp vanilla, burning wood, and pine.

The grounds feature a lake surrounded by willow trees and a trail that leads through a hedge maze into what used to be a prized garden and have since become home to a miniature Quidditch pitch used by Emma as a child learning to fly; the hoops now stand only as tall as she is, but it remains there as a tribute as the flowers grow back around them.

The home is conveniently located only two miles from the practice grounds of the Appleby Arrows, the former team of Eoin Vanity and a family favorite for the last eight generations.

Financial Status: Upper class Spoken Languages: English, and a little bit of German. Enough to have a conversation, but not enough to consider herself fluent. She’s working on some Arabic, having taken an interest for Antonin and Tazie’s sake.  Dream Job: Decision maker of the entire world Bad Habits: Emma will tell anyone who asks that she has none...because of course she will. What she means by this, however, is that she has no "traditional vices” like smoking or drinking. Bad habits, though, she has plenty. Despite holding herself to a strict schedule, she is late for nearly everything. She is also a bit of a packrat; her bag is filled at all times with disorganized papers and lists that make perfect sense to her, and that she won’t just get rid of on the off chance she one day needs them again. She’s also a fairly close-minded person. She’s not curious and prefers to stick to what, who and where she knows best. 

FAMILY BACKGROUND ➤

Mother: Yvette Vanity Father: Eoin Vanity (neé Shaper) Sibling(s): n/a Pet(s): n/a Cousin(s): Amycus and Alecto Carrow (second cousins) 

MAGICAL ABILITIES ➤

Wand: Alder, 9 ¼ inches, mermaid hair core, inflexible. Information on the core can be found here [x] and here [x]

Patronus (and which memory they’re currently using to cast a patronus if they can, or which one they’d use if they could): 

Although she has not yet been successful in casting it, Emma’s patronus would take the form of a camel. Camels are symbolic of perseverance and stamina. People with this patronus are often superbly adapted to their own situation and personal element, but clumsy or inflexible in situations that are unfamiliar. The camel is a symbol of a strong work ethic and a stubborn attitude. While those with a camel patronus are often short tempered with small annoyances, they have almost limitless patience for life’s most difficult hurdles.

Eventually, Emma will use the memory of holding her firstborn son Gus in her arms to cast the most successful patronus she’s ever been personally capable of. For now, her selections oscillate between Quidditch Cup wins, opening day of her camp and her New Years Eve vacation to Russia with Lucinda. 

Boggart: An oversized, string-bound marionette doll. At face value, it is a very real fear of hers: dolls have caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up since she was a child. Even as a little girl who had not yet discovered the joys of Quidditch, Emma wouldn’t allow dolls of any sort to be allowed in her playroom– including, to the dismay of her mother, the collection of Victorian-era china dolls that she was supposed to take under her wing. On a deeper level, however, the boggart represents so much more: the fear of not being in control of her actions, of being a puppet of her family, of everything in her life coming with strings attached. 

OWLS: Ancient Runes, History of Magic, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions, Arithmancy, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures NEWTS: Transfiguration (A), Arithmancy (E), Herbology (E), Defense Against the Dark Arts (E); Charms (E); History of Magic (O); Potions (INCOMPLETE)

What Kind of Magic do They Excel at: (OOC NOTE, this ended up becoming more of a pro/con thing than an ‘excel’ thing, but I like it so I’m keeping it oop)

Emma’s grades have always been stable and in the mid-range. However, she’s always known that her career path leads through to the world of sports somehow and that knowledge is enough to bolster her through any lower points in her academic career. 

Nonverbal spells are Emma’s specialty, as she has never been one to show her cards and depends on the elements of mystery and surprise when she’s looking to make an impact. She is heavily guarded when it comes to her arsenal, and so she stared making nonverbal spell-casting a priority. Her constant need for control over situations has lead to her holding her wand too tightly; it makes her wrist movements less fluid than they should be. 

Along those same times, the type of magic she is most gifted at is defensive magic, an interest that’s only increased in the current political climate. She can pull a shield, she can deflect, she can make herself a smaller and less easily seen target. It’s not about winning for her; it’s about surviving, just knuckling down and making sure that the crossfire doesn’t decimate her. These spells being largely nonverbal is an added boon for her safety; they draw less attention and can’t be as easily combatted. 

Personality wise, Emma is abrasive and that’s a quality that has carried over into her magic; when she tries spells, they are a bit harsher than intended. For instance, she knows a thing or two about first aid spells but if she had to heal a teammate’s broken nose on the pitch, there would be more of a crack to it—and, likely, leftover bruising—than if anyone else had tried.

Outside of dueling/magic situations, when Emma is on the offense, she prefers to do it through soft influence: with her words, with her power over people, through other channels other than violence. She knows her limits as well as the limits of others, and she’s never been able to stomach using violent magic against someone else…not that she’s ever tried, to date.

If she ever did have to make a show of physical power, her years on the Quidditch pitch have given her a predisposition to do it with actual physicality, not her wand. She has no problem smacking an unwelcome hand away or giving a well-placed shove. 

In terms of subjects she does NOT excel at, Emma is terrible at cooking and by that same logic she is terrible at potions. She doesn’t have the precision, intuition, or gentle touch for the subject. 

PSYCHOLOGY ➤

MB Type: The Logistician

Few personality types are as practical and dedicated as Logisticians. Known for their reliability and hard work, Logisticians are good at creating and maintaining a secure and stable environment for themselves and their loved ones. 

Yet Logisticians can be easily tripped up in areas where their practical and methodical approach are more of a liability than an asset. Whether it is finding (or keeping) a partner, learning to relax or improvise, reaching dazzling heights on the career ladder, or managing their workload.

As parents, people with the Logistician personality type are often the most comfortable. Their sense of responsibility and honor blends well with a tradition that has been in place since time immemorial: to raise one’s children to be respected, contributing members of home and society. As with most commitments, Logisticians do not take their roles as parents lightly, and will make it their work to ensure that this tradition is upheld to the highest standard.

Logisticians approach relationships, as with most things, from a rational perspective, looking for compatibility and the mutual satisfaction of daily and long-term needs. Blind dates and random hookups are not Logisticians’ preferred methods for finding potential partners. The risk and unpredictability of these situations has Logisticians’ alarm bells ringing, and being dragged out for a night of dancing at the club just isn’t going to happen. 

Logistician friends are not spontaneous. They are not talkative, or particularly playful in their affection. What Logistician friends are is loyal, trustworthy, honorable and dependable. Logisticians are a very methodical personality type, and this loyalty isn’t given away lightly. Often slow to make friends, Logisticians usually end up with a smaller circle, but they consider that circle to represent a promise to be there for the people they care about, and Logisticians’ promises are not easily broken.

When it comes to the workplace, Logisticians are almost a stereotype for the classic hard-working, dutiful employee. In all positions, the Logistician personality type seeks structure, clearly defined rules, and respect for authority and hierarchy. Responsibilities aren’t burdens to Logisticians, they are the trust that has been placed in them, an opportunity to prove once again that they are the right person for the job.

Enneagram: ISTJ [read more]

ISTJs are responsible organizers, driven to create and enforce order within systems and institutions. They are neat and orderly, inside and out, and tend to have a procedure for everything they do. Reliable and dutiful, ISTJs want to uphold tradition and follow regulations.

ISTJs are steady, productive contributors. Although they are Introverted, ISTJs are rarely isolated; typical ISTJs know just where they belong in life, and want to understand how they can participate in established organizations and systems. They concern themselves with maintaining the social order and making sure that standards are met.

+ Perseverance + Planning + Detail Orientation – Stubbornness – Tactlessness – Resistance to change

Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral 

Archetype:

45% Athlete - The Athlete's focus and drive are unparalleled. Staying healthy and being fit are paramount to them (as for winning, that doesn't hurt, either).

44% Royal - When the Royal walks into a room, they command attention. They are the one in charge, and they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work.

11% Intellectual - The Intellectual is the ultimate dinner-party guest. Engaging questions and thoughtful debate are their trademarks.

Temperament: Choleric

[tetrakys]

Troise Allumettes - Chapter 2

“Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!”

I turned around and saw it running towards the forest.

“Stop… Please!”

I was running as fast as I could, trying to catch up with it, but it was too fast. Too far away.

“I shall be too late.”

Trees everywhere… where did it go? I stopped, breathing heavily, trying to glimpse a white shape in all that brown and green. But it was too late, I was too late. Why did it… he have to leave me? We didn’t have nearly enough time. My sight started to blur and I felt warm tears on my cheeks.

I crouched on the ground, not caring about soiling my clothes, and started desperately sobbing. It wasn’t fair… I had just found him. We were supposed to be together forever, that was not how the story was supposed to end.

I was a mess. Resting my forehead on my knees I let the world crumble around me.

“Alice?”

Nothing made sense anymore.

“Alice?”

I suddenly felt a small soft paw on my leg.

“Candy?”

I froze. A kind voice said “This is not the end, Candy.”

I raised my head and finally saw them, the eyes I yearned for, one gold and one green.

“This is just the beginning.”

Drrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!

I suddenly opened my eyes. I was in my dorm room, lying on the bed. The alarm on my phone was ringing, I just turned it off and stayed there for a while staring at the ceiling.

The dream was already slipping away from my memories, but I could still feel the dread and despair. I didn’t remember what was going on but I knew that something, maybe someone, was missing. I was grieving. I touched my cheeks, yep, wet. Never a nightmare had left me so shaken.

I looked at the time and groaned, my alarm was set up early so that I could go looking for my ID card, which I had lost somewhere, before classes started. I granted myself a few etra moments in bed. Yeleen was still peacefully sleeping.

Today was the night of the concert, Castiel’s concert. Famous and unapproachable Castiel, I wandered how he had become. We were sort of friends in high school, even though I wasn’t sure our relationship could be properly defined as friendship. We kept teasing each other and nine times out of ten I found him annoying as hell, but now I knew that I probably had a small crush on him. I didn’t realise at the time, and nothing came of it. We had had many adventures together, some carefree and funny, others a little sad. I remembered when his evil ex came back in town sniffing around him and my friends. At the time everyone turned their backs on me, thinking I was jealous. By the time they realised what a snake she was it was too late for me. Eventually Rosa, Alexy and a couple of other friends took my side but I had already suffered a lot, no one had supported me from the start.

Shaking my bad thoughts away, I finally got up and ready for the day. After my lectures I was supposed to go shopping with Rosa and Alexy and then meet her at The Snake Room around 9pm. Alexy was also going to be there but he had a date with a guy called Morgan, a date he had managed to get only thanks to our meddling. We were all very invested in the outcome.

I eventually found my ID card in the toilets room of the Arts building, of all places, and no thanks to the always charming admin officer. It was too early to go to my archaeology class and I wasn’t really in the mood for breakfast, so I decided to wait on one of the benches in the quad. I was soaking in the feeble November sun when something caught my eyes, someone had left there a small black notepad. Taking it in my hands I observed its nondescriptive leather cover, I had never seen it before but somehow it felt strangely familiar. I was just about to open it when I heard someone call my name.

“Good morning Candy”

“Hi Chani, how are you doing today?”

“Pretty good” she said smiling “I spent a quiet night in listening to Rammstein and Sepultura”

“Ah nice, but I am more into Symphonic metal.”

“I know, I know, you have a sort of elegant goth vibe going on, very classy.”

I wasn’t exactly a goth per se… but I did love wearing corsets.

“I, on the other hand, am into thrash and death.”

“You are way more adventurous than I am, my friend” I said nodding.

“True that, now if you’ll excuse me madam, I’ll be exploring ancient catacombs while you gently sip your tea shadowed by your embroidered parasol.”

We both burst into laughter.

“Come on” she said “a long day of exciting classes is waiting for us.”

I groaned and followed her, placing the notepad in my bag without thinking.

The Snake Room was packed. Looking at the entrance from the opposite sidewalk I could see a huge crowd of people drinking and chatting with each other. A wave of nausea run through me, damn social anxiety! I could do this, no one was looking at me, no one cared about me, I could easily blend in.

Repeating encouraging words I headed towards the entrance when I abruptly stopped in my tracks, was that… Nathaniel? Talking with that strange guy! The one who had assaulted me the first night back in town. What the hell was Nath doing with him? They seemed to be arguing.

That really hurt, Nath talking with that guy after knowing what he was about to do to me. After saving me from him. Forcing myself not to think about it, I entered the club.

Lights were dim and music was in the background, luckily I was on time, the band still backstage. I made my way in the crowd and spotted Rosa next to the bar.

“A beer and a lemonade” she was telling the bartender.

“Make it two beers” I said, then surprised “who’s the lemonade for?”

“That would be me” someone behind my back replied. I turned around and, I wasn’t sure why, my heart skipped a beat.

“Candy, you are finally here!” Rosa said smiling “Lys is joining us tonight, hope you don’t mind.”

Lysander… Leigh’s brother, I hadn’t seen him since the whole ghost fiasco a couple of weeks ago. He was as tall and handsome as I remembered, wearing a long dark coat and a white shirt underneath, he looked like a Victorian era prince. I remembered the discussion I had earlier today when Chani accused me of secretly being a classy goth. With the cherry blossom embroidered corset and vaporous knee length skirt I was wearing, I looked like a doll.

He was slightly smiling at me, silent. He really was a man of few words.

“Hi Lysander, how are you doing?”

“Good thank you, I hope you are also well.”

“You probably don’t know, but Lys and Castiel are old friends” said Rosa.

“Really?” I was surprised.

“I met him at a concert years ago when I was in town visiting my brother.”

“He is going to write Castiel’s new album” she exclaimed proud, jumping on the spot.

“No Rosa” he sounded like an older brother scolding his brat little sister “he just asked me to help him with a few song’s lyrics.”

“Either way it’s a great opportunity for you, Castiel is getting really famous lately, this collaboration could open you many other doors, you may end up working for a record company!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves” he added patiently “I am only helping out a friend.”

We suddenly heard an electric guitar playing from the backstage and the crowd went wild.

“It’s starting!” Rosa shouted over the noise “come on!”

She took me by the hand and made way toward the centre of the room.

I wasn’t very tall but I head a clear view of the raised stage, meaning I had a perfect view of Castiel when he eventually got on it. After playing for a bit with his back to the crowd he finally turned around and… oh yes, it was Castiel all right. I felt a smile form on my lips. He looked a little older but in a good way, more mature. And his voice… I had heard him play before but never sing, he was incredible.

The crowd, mostly girls, some wearing questionable shirts with CastieLove written right above their chest, went crazy. They were screaming and jumping all around pushing me on every side. I suddenly was shoved from the back with such strength that I lost my footing and was sure I was going to fall head first on the floor. I closed my eyes trying to ready myself for the impact, but the floor never came. I felt strong arms circling me at my waist and a hard chest at my back.

“Are you okay Candy?” Lysander spoke to my ear.

Time froze and all I could sense was his strong body enveloping me and his breath on my ear. I nodded and murmured a thank you that I wasn’t sure he had been able to hear over the loud music. After lingering for one long extra second he removed his hands from me and stepped back.

I was sure I was as red as a tomato so it was probably a good thing he couldn’t see my face. I spent the rest of the concert being acutely aware of his body and his movements. I need some air I thought once the last song was over.

“I am going to the restroom I said to Rosa” knowing she was going back to the bar to get the nth refill. I literally fled the room and got into the bathroom queue. It took a while, and I was just about to go back to the main room when I felt someone grabbing my elbow.

“Hi” he said.

“Castiel!” I exclaimed surprised.

“I didn’t know you were back in town” did he sound a little annoyed?

“Yes, I came back for my fifth year at Anteros, how did you know I was here?”

“I saw you from the stage”

We were surrounded by girls staring at us, trying to get the courage to approach him. One of the girls was Yeleen, she was looking at me seething.

“Look, do you mind if we talk somewhere private?” he said with some urgency in his voice.

“Sure.”

He lead us to a small room in the backstage, full of cables and instruments, there wasn’t much space for us so we just leaned against a wall. Now that I had a chance to properly look at him I noticed he was even more impressive up close, he amained an aura of success but also nonchalance and confidence that was so typically him.

“I really enjoyed the concert” I said with a smile.

“Thanks.”

“I never imagined you were so famous we had to hide to talk.”

“Yes, well, that’s kind of the flip side. But that’s mostly because this is the town we started in, more people know us here, it’s not the same everywhere.”

“Still, I am impressed. You were great, even better than what you used to do in high school.”

“I hope so” he laughed “in high school we were beginners. We are just starting to get the hang of things.”

“You have a great presence on stage, the music is fantastic and I am sure that now that you have help writing, the new songs will be even better.”

“What do you know about this?” he asked surprised.

“Oh, I know Lysander we watched your concert together.”

He looked utterly shocked.

“I mean” I rushed to explain “I came with Rosa, and since Lysander is Leigh’s brother he tagged along.”

Why was I trying to explain myself? And why did I suddenly felt so very embarrassed? He, on the other side, seemed to slightly relax at my words.

“Well, we should go back so I can say hi then, most people should have left the club by now.”

He looked outside the door and left the room, leaving me standing there like an idiot. I followed him.

“Caaaaaandy”

I heard a very drunk Rosa calling me from the other side of the room, she run to me and hugged me, laughing.

“Look who is there, Cassy!”

Cassy?

“Cassy!” she shouted skipping towards Castiel and Lysander who were talking surrounded by a group of girls.

“I see someone is having fun” he laughed.

“Haha she must have overdone it a bit at the bar” thankfully the place was mostly empty now.

“I just had a couple of drinks, and you were great I danced a lot!” then she added in a serious tone “Cassy look who is here, Candy! Aren’t you happy to see here? I always thought you were made for each other, you should get together, so we can go on double dates and…”

I stopped her before she could make the situation even more embarrassing.

“Come on Rosa, let’s go get some air” pulling her by the sleeve towards the exit. I felt someone next to me and saw that Lysander was coming with us.

“You can stay here and catch up with Castiel, I’ll deal with Rosa.”

“You can’t, she is wasted. I am going to carry her home.”

“I am fiiiiiiiiine” she protested while stumbling.

“We can take her home” a voice said. It was Alexy who started laughing at the sight of drunk-Rosa. He was with Morgan, things seemed all right between them but I was going to ask for a full recap of the evening as soon as I got him alone. We agreed to leave Rosa in their capable hands since they were heading to another bar close to her apartment and Lysander and I headed back to the dorms.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the bar and talk with Castiel?”

We had been walking together in silence for the past couple of minutes.

“We talked already.”

I tried to object but he swiftly added “Castiel is not my current priority, we are going to have plenty of chances to catch up now that we are both in town.”

Did he mean I was his priority?

There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, he was a real mystery, but I didn’t want to scare him off. Falling back in a comfortable silence we quickly arrived at the gates of the campus, I was a little disappointed, I wouldn’t have minded spending more time with him. I saw him looking at something he had hanging from a chain at his neck and noticed it was an ancient looking pocket watch.

“Wow this looks really beautiful”

“Thanks, it was my grandfather’s”

“I have never seen a real vintage one up close.”

He looked at me for a second, then he said “Very well, come here then.”

He took me by the hand and pulled me against him. With one hand he raised the watch so that I could look at it up close, then he put the other arm around me and, leaning his head close to mine, he pointed at the watch.

“It’s just like a normal watch but there are stars instead of numbers, can you read the time?”

“Ten past one” I replied nervously, feeling his arms embracing me again for the second time in one night.

“I shall be very late.”

“WHAT?”

“I said it’s getting very late” he replied a little surprised by my sudden outburst. Geez… What had gotten into me?

He stepped away and said “Thanks for spending some time with me tonight, I know I am not the most talkative person…”

“Don’t worry, really, I find it refreshing, I am not very talkative either. I love being silent together.”

Damn me and my stupid ambiguous mouth. But he was smiling and nodding

“I know what you mean.”

He turned around “Aren’t you coming in?” I said surprised pointing at the gates.

“N-no, well…” was he blushing? Then it clicked in my head.

“You are going back to meet Castiel, aren’t you?” he looked away, embarrassed “You came all the way here just to accompany me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you can’t take care of yourself, but these street are not as safe as they seem and…”

Putting a hand on his mouth I interrupted him before he could say anything else.

“Thank you, really.” He was so tall that I had to stand on the tip of my toes “You are a true gentleman.”

Then I realised I had basically tackled him, my hand on the mouth of a guy I barely knew. A kind, charming and really attractive guy, who was looking at me taken aback. Damn me, was I ever going to stop acting ridiculous in front of him?

But then he relaxed and I felt him smiling. Taking my hand in his and bowing his head a little, he draw his lips closer and left a small kiss.

“Good night.”

This time I didn’t stop him when he turned around and left. I just kept staring at him until he crossed the street and blended in the shadows, disappearing from my sight.

/////////////////////////////////////

Back to Chapter 1

Go to Chapter 3

[anonthenullifier]

A Fortunate Demise

Chapter 21 of Celestial Bodies

Summary: Tony hosts a murder mystery party for Halloween. 

Word Count: 8k

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8535118/chapters/28634112

Notes: Happy Halloween!

A Fortunate Demise

Tony Stark cordially invites you to an evening that will be to die for!  

When: October 31st, 8pm until someone wins or the alcohol runs out.

Where: Glenview Manor

 The rules are simple but surviving might be more difficult.

Rules:

Read, memorize, and adore your character sheet.

Do not speak to each other before the party. You should share only the most pertinent information with others, keep some secrets to yourself. Blackmailing is fair game.

Wear the provided costume the night of the event, no one likes party poopers who can’t play along (Looking at you, Steve).

Study the list of characters and only use the appropriate character names (Still  looking at you, Steve.)

You can kill each other. Everyone will be allotted 3 kill slips, use them wisely and don’t get caught! The only person who cannot kill anyone is the Inspector (Sorry, Nat).

The game ends when the murderer is arrested or only the murderer is left alive.

Characters:

Edward D’Mort (Happy Hogan): An ailing, single, childless industrialist. He is the owner of the mansion and a vast fortune .

Trevor Lebeau (Tony Stark): The dashing, charismatic, and ingenious prodigy of D’Mort

Isabella Lebeau (Pepper Potts): The ravishingly beautiful wife of Lebeau.

Inspector Gumshoe (Natasha Romanov): A talented and intelligent inspector.

George Scrivener (Clint Barton): A news reporter hoping to get to the bottom of the scandalous allegations against D’Mort’s treatment of his workers and his alleged illegitimate children.

Samuel Smith (Rhodey): A long-time employee and friend of D’Mort.

Ida Minx (Wanda Maximoff): A rising stage star who has no qualms using her seduction to get to the top.

Captain Humdrum (Steve Rogers): A retired military captain that served with D’Mort in their younger days.

Ernest Saint (Sam Wilson): The pastor of the local parish who hopes to save D’Mort’s soul (and his money).

Butler (Vision): D’Mort’s long-time butler who has a stunning resemblance to his boss.

The lights flicker in the manor, shrouding everyone in darkness for exactly five seconds before the room is illuminated once more by the faux gaslamps on the wall. Vision finds himself staring at the gaslamps, scrutinizing the deception of claiming to be a Victorian manor but then using LED light bulbs. The anachronism bothers him almost as much as the fact that the majority of the costumes provided by Stark are at least 20 years off from being historically accurate, Wanda’s, in particular, is far too scandalous for the sexually repressive, high-necked, low-hemmed era. Fingers wrap around his bicep, giving a gentle squeeze that accompanies Wanda’s- Ida, not Wanda, he has to remind himself - quiet yet firm, “Pay attention.”

Vision’s eyes travel away from the lamp to find Happy (D’Mort his brain fills in three seconds later) laying on the floor, mouth gaping, eyes shut, and his body still, or at least mostly still, Happy cannot seem to calm the rise and fall of his chest, severing the believability of the fact that he is apparently dead. An exaggerated, “No!” echoes through the room as Tony drops dramatically to his knees next to Happy’s body, lifting the man’s mostly limp arm and clutching it to his chest. “Who would do such a thing?”  

“Yes, who?” Pepper glances at Tony as she switches from Isabella to Pepper, voice taking on a serious, explanatory air as she keeps the night moving. “Now the game begins, remember you can blackmail each other, you can lie about most things but each of your character sheets specified information you do have to share if directly questioned.”  Vision brings his character sheet to the forefront of his mind, confirming he is required to divulge the fact that he is unaware of his true parentage, an orphan since birth who was adopted by the D’Mort. There is more information, but Vision intends to evade any prying questions that might require him to lie, as he’d rather make it through the night with minimal (preferably zero) deceiving or killing of his teammates.

Rhodes steps forward, hands in his pockets (which are too low on the pants to conform to the era) and a disconcerted scowl on his face, “So let me get this straight,” he pauses until Pepper nods expectedly in his direction, “we need to figure out who murdered Hap- D’Mort, but we can also kill each other?”

All side conversations still at the question, the air billowing with curiosity and anticipation, Steve’s face tumbling into a disapproving frown and Wanda’s grip on Vision’s arm tightening as they wait for Pepper’s acknowledgement. “Yes, you each get three kills. You can use them on anyone, but if you are caught by the Inspector you are out of the game.”

“And,” Clint’s hand seems to act unconsciously, raising his glass of champagne as he seeks clarification, “if we are killed, what happens?”

Tony finally drops Happy’s hand, standing with a broad, predatory smile on his face as he eyes up each one of the people standing in the room. “Means you become Casper, haunt the rest of the people.”

A long, fully controlled sigh empties Pepper’s lungs as she rolls her eyes at Tony. “You’re out of the game, but can still watch. The only rule is you are not allowed to tell anyone who murdered you or share any information you overhear during the rest of the game.” Several understanding nods convey the information seeping into everyone’s minds, strategies clearly developing as eyes dart towards different people and sly smirks meet with the excited rubbing of hands. “Have fun, everyone.”

The tone of the comment is likely meant to be like a gun at the start of the race, but no one dashes away, no one even shows signs of moving, other than the removal of Wanda’s hand from his bicep, though her hand does not stray for long, returning to rest on the small of his back, something he should admonish given his character is not in any sort of consortium or relationship with Ida, but Vision determines it is not vital to remain that in character. Then she whispers into his mind with a malevolent tone that causes a rising sense of nervousness in his chest. “Watch this.”  A tickle along his back corresponds with a flash of scarlet and then the lights are out once more, her body leaving his side and returning right before the lights come back on with another flicker of scarlet.

A “What?!” comes from Tony, who is holding a small slip of paper that Vision, who has three in his own pocket, knows declares Sorry ole chap, you seem to be deceased now .  

With that, and the barely concealed tittering at Tony’s misfortune, the room disperses, and the game is afoot.

It has only been twenty minutes but Vision is overwhelmed, for a multitude of reasons. There’s the oppressive tension in the air, the suspicious furtiveness of his teammates, the uncomfortable feeling of being interrogated during each conversation, not to be outdone by the slither of unease at constantly being watched. There’s also the tray of filled champagne glasses balanced delicately on his upturned palm (that is somehow always full no matter how many he gives away), but perhaps most overwhelming is Wanda. “Could you,” Vision glances over to where Tony is sipping champagne, legs crossed and scowling in their direction. It is best, he decides, to ignore the irate man and instead turn his attention back to the concerning bloodlust in Wanda’s eyes. “Repeat that?”

Wanda steps closer and increases the volume of her voice a fraction of a decibel. “I think we need to kill Samuel next.”

“Oh.”

“You disagree?” Though phrased as a question the uptick in her voice and the way she delicately curls her fingers into the lapels of his jacket conveys an expertly laid threat.

Vision finds himself needlessly swallowing, eyes roaming to the deepening scowl on Tony’s face. “I am uncertain the strategy of such a move given your recently revealed romantic entanglement with him.”  The reasoning is clearly not acceptable, Wanda’s eyes revolving in a slow, somewhat annoyed circle. So Vision attempts to clarify it further, hoping logic can abate this course of action. “Is it not to our benefit to utilize such relationships?”

“It is, but he’s been avoiding me,” which likely has to do with Wanda’s fairly obvious killing of Tony within seconds of the evening starting, a fact Vision determines is relevant but not necessary to vocalize at the moment given the dangerous edge to her voice and the existence of her two remaining kill slips. Wanda steps closer to him, fingers gripping his jacket tighter so she can utilize his lapels in lifting onto her toes. The cadence of the words are sweet, almost loving with a sultry undercurrent, but the way her voice sends thrills down his spine is directly at odds with the frigidness of the words themselves. “He has to die eventually.”

The usual activity for Halloween for the Avengers is a public charity costume ball (each year a different theme and always includes a pumpkin carving contest that Vision is quite good at) and then a smaller, more intimate and far boozier get together of just the team and close associates. It has never included the need to plot the demise of their teammates, well, until this year, and it does not sit particularly well with Vision, though Wanda seems unnervingly invigorated at the prospects “Would it not be more beneficial to allow someone else to eliminate him from the game?”

Wanda narrows her eyes and he has to fight the instinct to step back, his sympathetic nervous system kickstarting at the realization that tonight there might not be rules, tonight she is Ida and not Wanda. “I’m just trying to get us both to the end and the best hands for that task are our own.”

“Unbelievable!”

The exasperated exclamation yanks her ire from him and redirects it instantly to Tony who does not wither under her gaze, something that Vision finds a truly impressive feat. “Do you,” Wanda releases one lapel so that she can twist her body 30 degrees to stare at Tony, “have something you’d like to say?” Her face is turned away from him, but Vision has little doubt there is a devilish tilt to her lips as she finishes addressing her first victim. “Some final words so your soul can move on?”

Tony uncrosses his legs, leans forward and points his quarter-full glass towards them. “Yeah, a few things.”

“You get one.”

An unconformable density weighs down the air in the room as Tony glares defiantly at Wanda, lips falling at the edges as he seems to calculate how serious she is about the number of comments he can make. “Fine.” The two continue to stare at each other, Wanda’s growing impatience manifesting in the tap of her finger against Vision’s chest, but Tony doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he does not care, face a contemplative mask as he chooses his one comment. Eventually he lowers his hand, bringing the champagne flute to rest on the bench next to his hip. “There was literally no reason you had to kill me right away, I should get to enjoy the evening as well.”

Wanda shrugs, mouth curving in satisfaction at the dismay and detestation in Tony’s voice. “Perhaps, but you deserved it.”

“Why-”

A flash of scarlet joins the non-negotiable finality of her, “I said one comment.” Surprisingly this silences Tony, who stares at them dumbfounded with a deep crease forming on his brow as he settles back into his judgmental pout. “Back to Rhodey,” Wanda rotates her body back towards Vision, hand finding his lapel once more and her chest pressing tantalizingly against his. “All I’m asking is you distract him.” Vision considers her plan, attempting, to the best of his ability, to remain detached and logical even with her hands now making a lazy trek up and down his chest as she waits. If they kill Rhodes, it is one less person to converse with, one less person he has to worry about pulling him into a room with the intent of blackmailing him, and he knows that Rhodes has information on him (or so his character sheet implies). Plus, Wanda is not wrong in the assumption that removing one more person does move them closer to the surprisingly large reward for surviving the evening. “Vizh?”

This breaks his concentration, attention turning to the innocent smile on her face that demands he bring his free hand to run along her cheek, thrilled at the flutter of her eyelashes at his touch. “You are breaking the rules by using my name, Ms. Minx.”

Wanda beams up at him, eyes rolling playfully as she tugs his lapel and brings his face closer to hers. “Says the man who can never stay in character,” the edge of her nail presses teasingly into the dip in his chest between the plates of vibranium.

The disgusted groan from the dead man to their left goes mostly unnoticed, Wanda far too enthralling for him to acknowledge anything else. “I have been studying the rules and my character sheet for weeks, I am quite prepared.”

“Good,” Wanda winks at him and it sends an electric pulse down his spine all the way into the tips of his toes, “we’ll use that later. But,” the half-cocked smirk on her lips kickstarts his heart into a lively dance as he steps a millimeter forward to eliminate any space that still remains between them. “Just think what we could do with that money, my” the smirk overtakes her mouth to form a full-bodied, exuberant smile, “fiancé.”

Vision had fully anticipated this level of manipulation, the term still fresh and exhilarating, but he had not anticipated her to pull it out this early in the evening. No amount of mental preparation can protect him from her witchery, so it is best to concede. “There is a high probability that Rhodes will require another drink in the near future.”

“What is the probability that the dashing butler will block his view of the room in the process?”

“Oh,” Vision finds the simper on her lips intoxicating, mirroring it on his own face, “quite high as well.”

“Excellent.” One more tug of his lapels brings her lips to his, a quick, though impassioned kiss that more than solidifies his acquiesce in Rhodes’ death, and then she pulls back and pats his chest. “I’ll keep an eye out for your move.”  

Vision’s body swivels, eyes following the swing of Wanda’s bustled skirt as she leaves, a smirk resting on his lips at the terrifyingly effective gameplay of his (the word itself brings an even larger grin to his face) fiancée.

A sigh from the side reminds him there is another person in the room. “I’m both proud and ashamed, robo-son.”

Vision resets himself, body straightening into a respectable tautness for a butler, hand lifting the tray so that it rests at the same height as his waist, elbow bent at 85 degrees. “Why is that?”

“You’re not thinking with your brain.”

The insinuation is quite clear, albeit abhorrently incorrect. “My assistance with Wanda’s game is quite logical.” Tony’s eyebrows rise in challenge of the assertion, and, Vision rationalizes, the only reason he feels compelled to continue is that Tony is dead and cannot reveal any of this to anyone. “Ms. Minx has arguably the greatest propensity to murder other guests tonight.” The comment is met with an angry, agreeing sigh. “It is strategic to align with such a player so that she utilizes her three kills on players other than myself.”

Tony relents from his pity party and nods at the words. “Yeah, but your characters don’t logically form an alliance, Pep and I weren’t even going to be an alliance.”

A claim Vision is not certain is fully true of Tony’s intentions, particularly given the fact that alliances started to form in the compound in line with non-character related relationships as soon as the invitations were received. What is far more likely is that Pepper informed Tony she would not help him, a logical strategic move based on the withering status of their characters’ marriage. But that is the circumstance of their relationship, not his. “Ms. Minx is supposed to be quite the seductress, I believe she could logically form an alliance with anyone.”

Whatever Tony intends to add next is cut off by an enthusiastic “Butler!” and Pepper sweeping through the door, hand expertly guiding the voluminous folds of her skirt as she approaches him. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“My apologies, Mrs.” Vision runs through the guest list once more to find what he replaces Potts with, “Lebeau. How may I assist you?”

Pepper cocks her head to the side with an easy, adoring smile. “It’s such a terrible tragedy, about my husband.”

“Truly terrible,” he raises the tray towards her with a slight bow, “a drink to celebrate?”

A “What?” erupts from the man on the bench, but neither of them acknowledge the specter, Pepper instead taking two glasses, handing one to Vision before holding her own glass up for a toast. “To someone else taking care of our obstacle.”

Vision clinks his glass against hers. “Cheers.” By now Wanda is, no doubt, stalking Rhodes and waiting for the opportunity to strike, and so an extrication from the situation seems necessary, though he realizes he must do so without arousing suspicion. “If you would excuse me, Mrs. Lebeau,” he bows at the waist in apology, “I must check on the other guests, but perhaps we can meet in the back hall in twenty minutes to compare notes?”

“I will see you in twenty minutes,” a conspiratorial wink goes along with her final words, words, he believes, are meant to serve a secondary purpose of burying the metaphorical dagger deeper into Tony’s corpse, “my love.”  

“Really? Her too?” Vision provides Tony with an unapologetic shrug before leaving the room, hoping the man does not continue to follow him for the night.

The manor, one of the few remaining Victorian mansions in the area, is far grander than he expected, and though it is also a bit gaudy, Vision examines the intricate wood trim along the floor, memorizes the vine patterns painted on the ceiling and places it into a mental folder of Ideas for our home . What does not get placed into the folder are the dizzyingly busy patterns on the floors and walls, the clash of floral patterns with geometric shapes overwhelming his senses in a primarily upsetting manner.  In the distance he can see Wanda walk into the front parlor, which increases the length of his stride.

His steps falter, however, when a hand falls on his shoulder along with a whispered, “We need to talk.”

Vision, yet again, finds himself being pulled into a side room, not once successfully walking the entire main hallway. The slowly growing flames of the gaslamps (these ones are actually accurate with real flames and the acridity of gas burning his lungs) cast shadows around the room, illuminating the area enough to confirm he is standing in the pantry with Steve. “What is your concern, Captain?”

The way the light ricochets off the metal counter surfaces before being absorbed by the wood paneling on the walls creates a malevolent shadow on Steve’s face as he closes the door to the pantry and squares his shoulders, bringing his body parallel with Vision’s. “I know about what happened in Saratoga.”

Vision wondered how long it would take for blackmail to placed on the table, longer, he realizes, than he anticipated, but he is still surprised at the fact Steve is the first one to threaten him. In preparation for the evening, Vision did not just read the character sheet, he also immersed himself in the culture, devouring the literature of the time as well as the later, Victorian set murder mysteries in hopes he could emulate the behavior and survive until the end. The most common tactic is always denial.  “I am not sure I understand, I have never been to Saratoga.”

This has it’s desired effect, Steve’s features morphing into uncertainty and indecision, his follow-up less confident than the initial threat. “I was there the night D’Mort met a young barmaid.”

After denial is always some form of redirection, something he has experience with given Wanda’s penchant and expertise at the method. “I am glad D’Mort found happiness during the war, did you meet anyone that night?”

“I know what you’re doing.”

Apparently redirection does not always work, particularly on someone such as Steve, so Vision determines to stick with his own personal straightforward approach. “What do you intend to do with this information, Captain?”

Steve shifts to the side, the gaslamp catching his features just right to emphasize the victory in his eyes while masking any other emotions that might be moving across his face. “Ms. Minx is dangerous.” This is not an exaggeration but this is also not what Vision expected, his heart constricting at the unanticipated turn in the game play. “She has information on me and I was hoping you would help me make sure that information never gets released.”

The options flash through Vision’s mind, revealing all the possible outcomes if he either agrees to this, denies it, or facially agrees but instead turns it against Steve. None are appealing but he cannot deny the growing, visceral need to protect Wanda. “Is there no chance to reason with her, bring her into the fold to further our continuance in the game? It is likely she has other valuable information as well, it would be a pity to leave such secrets unexplored.”

“She’s too dangerous,” for a moment Steve breaks character, shoulders dropping and a wary smile forming on his face, “come on, Vision, you know how quickly she turns these things in her favor. Do you remember monopoly last week?” A truly infuriating game night where Wanda gleefully conned her way to dominance.The argument, if he were to step away from emotion, is solid, removing a volatile player from the game cannot hurt, but he cannot seem to relinquish his decision fully to logic when it concerns Wanda.

“May I think on the,” threat probably isn’t the best word to use in order to build new alliances, “offer?”

Steve appears disappointed but still slightly hopeful. “Sure, twenty minutes good?”

“Yes, I shall find you.”

The door opens slowly,  filling the room with welcome light that is briefly obscured by Steve pausing to give Vision a serious stare, “If you don’t find me in twenty minutes, I’ll share my information with George.” The threat hangs in the air as Steve stalks down the hallway.

Vision inhales, centering his thoughts not on the blackmail but instead on what he needs to do next, determining that twenty minutes allows him ten to help Wanda and then ten to figure out how to handle Steve. He exhales and leaves the pantry, the tray of champagne leading his journey down the hall until he spies Rhodes conversing animatedly with Sam. As he enters the parlor, he immediately notes that Wanda is sitting in the corner of the room, technically talking with Clint but her eyes betray her disengagement as she moves her gaze from Rhodes to Vision, a smile overtaking her face when he meets her gaze with a resolute nod.  Wanda excuses herself from Clint and saunters towards Vision, developing an exaggerated swing to her hips that accentuates the historically inaccurately high slit of her skirt. “Ms. Minx,” Vision bows slightly, a required mannerism of the working class butler in the presence of high society guests, “would you care for another drink?”

“I am parched.” Delicately she grasps the stem of one of the glasses, raising it to her lips for a small sip. Demurely she glances around, ensuring no one is paying attention to them, Sam and Rhodes still speaking in the corner and Clint can be heard greeting Captain Humdrum down the hallway. “Slight change of plan, since he’s shoved himself into a corner.” Wanda reaches into the bodice of her dress and pulls out a folded slip of paper, another sweep of the room precedes her lifting a second glass and adhering the paper underneath it with a tendril of scarlet. “I believe Samuel,” Vision has to mentally make the switch, recalling that Rhodes’ character is Samuel and Sam’s character is Ernest, “looks quite thirsty. Be a good butler and fix that.”

If it were not against the code of the butler, Vision would consider rolling his eyes at the exuberance exuding from Wanda at the chance to speak like this, each word enunciated with far more flare and drama as she embraces the role of the actress, but instead of reacting to this character-driven change, he simply says, “Yes, Miss,” and glides towards the two men conversing in the corner. “Mr. Smith,” he bows towards Rhodes, “Father Saint,” and then towards Sam. “Would either of you care for a refreshment?” Vision’s eyes have not left the glass that hides the kill slip, rotating the tray a fraction of an inch to the left to place the glass directly in Rhodes’ path. He has to stifle a relieved sigh when Rhodes grabs the glass. The job complete, Vision bows once more and walks straight through the wall to escape, urging his feet to keep moving when he hears the dramatic choking of Rhodes as he seems to do his best to have a memorable death in the parlor.

Vision phases through the dining room, the sitting room, and the kitchen in order to reach the back hall where he places the tray of glasses down, stretching his arm to liven up his bicep. Because he is slightly early in his rendezvous with pepper, it means he gets a blissful three minutes of calm, not another living soul around. Eventually he hears footfalls echoing in the hallway, though they are not the dainty click of the heels he knows Pepper is wearing. Instead Rhodes rounds the corner causing Vision’s muscles to stiffen in surprise. The man stands in the doorway staring at Vision for three and a half seconds before saying, “Boo.”

“I,” though the rules outlined that the dead could remain on the premise and mingle, Vision did not actually expect to be haunted by anyone, so Rhodes’ presence is unnerving, even more so than Tony’s earlier. “I apologize for my part, but it had to be done.”

Rhodes nods slowly, giving Vision the same look he gives to Tony when he is being an oblivious ass, “Sure. I mean, I get it’s a game, I just didn’t expect it from you, man.”

Guilt bubbles up, slowly consuming his conscience. “If it is any consolation, Wanda is the one who technically murdered you.”

“That helps, a bit.”

Pepper enters from the other doorway into the back hall, throwing a questioning gaze at their ghostly guest, but she is far better at ignoring his presence than Vision. “What have you discovered, my love?” She is also quite good at play acting, a skill Vision finds himself envying for such an event.

“Captain Humdrum,” a name Vision is fairly certain Tony made up on his own, instead of using the pre-selected identities from the party kit they are using, “is blackmailing me.”

Pepper frowns at the information, fingers toying with the blue and white fan attached to her waist. “Is his information legitimate?”

“Quite legitimate,” according to his character sheet, Mrs. Lebeau knows a great deal about him, but he is still uncertain how much and so he attempts to start broad and hope she reveals her depth of knowledge by filling in the holes. “He claims to have intel concerning my parentage.”

The frown on her face deepens, eyes squinting in thought as she absentmindedly splays the fan. “And thus your claim to the fortune.” The fan snaps shut, startling Vision and Rhodes (who jumps just enough to register in Vision’s periphery). “What are his demands?”

“That I assist him in eliminating Ms. Minx.”

A sly, concerning smile crawls across her lips. “Do it.”

“I-” Vision had hoped to keep the two alliances separate for the length of the night, had run several computer simulations that suggested 85% of the time the two paths would not converge until late in the evening. Yet it seems, much to his horror, that he must rethink his strategy. “I do not believe it is in our best interest to remove Ms. Minx from the game just yet. Personally, I believe the Captain is far more of a threat as he has information that can wrest the fortune from our grasp.”

Pepper’s smile doesn’t falter, creating an eerie juxtaposition to her icy stare. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Edison.” The nonchalant slip of his character’s true name catches him off guard, believing that he alone had such information. Perhaps this woman is far more dangerous than he originally thought. “I’ll take care of the Captain, though, and then you,” the fan, now collapsed into the shape of a dull knife, points threateningly at his chest, “have to decide whose side you’re on and it better be the right choice.”

The woman collects her skirt in her hands and gracefully walks away, leaving Vision drowning in the wake of her insinuation, which is not helped at all by Rhodes’ commentary. “This is what happens when you play the field.”

Vision decides to ignore the ghost, instead checking the time, realizing that he has to find Steve within the next three minutes or else everything will unravel faster than he can respool the threads of his game.  Without thinking, he briskly walks through the walls, eyes surveying each room for the presence of the blonde-haired Captain, but then an angry “No, that’s not allowed!” renders his journey inert, body slowly phasing back into the front hall to see Sam arguing with Natasha.

Natasha has Sam in handcuffs (a prop Vision is fairly certain was not included in the list of acceptable items to bring) and is calmly explaining, “You are under arrest for attempted murder, which, in case you were wondering, carries the same punishment as actual murder.”  Someone calls for Pepper and Vision fades back through the wall, not wishing to be stuck in a room with the Inspector and his lover this early in the game. He makes it three steps before a pencil tip is shoved into his chest.

“Hey there, butler. George Scrivener of The Recorder,” Clint beams up at Vision, the tan newsboy hat askew on his head and a notepad held in his other hand, “may I have a moment of your time?”

The word time forces Vision to search for a clock, when none are available he internally shifts his focus and realizes he is now two minutes late in finding Steve. “Unfortunately I am in quite a hurry.”

Clint shifts his hips, the movement casual enough to pass as unplanned, but his body now blocks Vision from leaving the corner, unless he wants to either shove the man to the side or phase through him. “Oh, won’t take more than five minutes. So,” the notepad lifts to meet the tip of the pencil, poised for Vision’s answer to whatever line of inquiry he is about to be subjected to, “it is my understanding that you have been working for the late,” Clint reaches out and gives Vision’s shoulder a sympathetic pat, “D’Mort for your entire life?”

“Correct.”

The eraser of the pencil waves in the air as the man writes down the answer. “Is it also true that you don’t have any official parentage on file?”

Unfortunately this is information Vision has to give away, but he still does so with a reticent, “Correct.”

“Great,” the pencil continues it’s dance, writing far more words than Vision’s simple correct . “What are you thoughts on the rumors that D’Mort actually had multiple illegitimate children? The workers at the mill really love to gab about that.”

“I would say that they are merely rumors, all unsubstantiated.” Vision stands at his tallest, towering over Clint in hopes it will end the interview, but the man is unimpressed and unperturbed by it. “I believe it is also quite unscrupulous to carry on such salacious rumors in light of Mr. D’Mort’s unfortunate demise.”

The pencil stops moving and the man flashes a disquieting and knowing smirk at Vision. “Oh, I’m sure you’d like that, especially now that both your father and your alleged brother are dead.”

It is at this point that Vision knows he must either kill Clint or run, neither option truly appealing nor in his best interest, but then, like an avenging angel of death, Wanda walks into the room and they make eye contact. He attempts to shove all of his insecurities and trepidation into the stare, attempts to convey how, if she does not help him, his game will end soon. Luckily the stare is enough, their minds not needing to be in sync for her to understand, just a simple nod before he watches her reach into her bodice, scan the room for other prying eyes (of which only Tony is there, a wraith that has been following Wanda for the duration of the night), and pull out a slip of paper. “Mr. Scrivener?”

Clint’s smile drops instantly, notepad and pencil falling to the ground at the honeyed enmity in her tone. “Ms. Minx.” Those are his last words as a living man, though once dead he does follow-up with a “Dammit, Wanda!”

A comforting hand comes to rest on Vision’s cheek, met with a cool, collected grin. “You owe me, butler. That was my last slip.”

“I do.”

A slight ruckus comes from the sitting room adjoining theirs, and Vision grasps Wanda’s hand as they investigate the commotion, finding Steve sitting despondently in a chair staring at a slip of paper, a flash of cerulean fabric disappearing into the one of the sitting rooms confirming Pepper has upheld her end of the bargain. Wanda squeezes Vision’s hand excitedly, whispering, “And then there were four.” But Vision cannot return the sentiment, mind collapsing in on itself as he attempts to navigate how to handle his next conversation with Pepper.

 With Steve now joining the Greek chorus of tragedy that is following the remaining players, Vision feels himself having a moment to breathe, able to reassess what his next move should be given the remaining players are himself, Wanda, Pepper, and Natasha. The chatter of the dead is a bit distracting, particularly the constant betting between Sam and Clint on what will happen next, but Vision is mostly able to drown them out. But sometimes his undead entourage can be useful, such as now when Clint lets out a “Hey, Nat!”

Every muscle in Vision’s body reacts to the revelation, tightening around the vibranium plates of his body as he braces himself for finally meeting the Inspector. Carefully he sets his face into a neutral expression, grabbing his tray of champagne to use as a buffer between them, and turns towards the confident thud of her practical, deadly boots. “Inspector Gumshoe, would you like some champagne?.”

The smile is friendly on the surface, but the adversarial subtext is quite readable, a terrifying sign of the expert interrogator that is Natasha. “No thanks, I don’t drink on the job.”

“That is quite conscientious of you.”

No words are exchanged for a calculated six seconds, an aspect of training from early on in his days as an Avenger that he recalls perfectly, a one-on-one session with Natasha that was extraordinarily informative on the behavioral manipulations for gathering information. “Are you aware your lover is building a case against you?”

Unanticipated questions is one of the key tools to a successful interrogation, particularly in determining liars from truth tellers, and this question is certainly unanticipated. Vision also finds it curious that he has to wonder which lover she means, a position he never fathomed he would find himself in. “I am not.”

A faux-sympathetic nod has an unconscious effect of relaxing his muscles, easing him into being more open with her. “Didn’t think so. Mrs. Lebeau has provided me with quite the list of damning evidence, though it is,” she pauses for emphasis, shrugging her shoulders in a way to suggest she is willing to believe something different if his story is good enough, “convenient the amount of evidence she has on you. Almost like she’s been planning it the whole time.”

“Well, I assure you that I have not murdered anyone this evening.”

The comment slips out before he can reel it back in, the satisfaction on Natasha’s face the surest sign this was exactly the corner she was directing him towards. “In that case, I have an offer for you.”

A whispered Oh man, Vision, run, just run comes from the chorus to their right, but running is not a viable option. “I would be amenable to hearing the terms.”

“I thought so, a man of reason and logic like yourself.” The breaking of character is even more unanticipated than her prior question, the stiffness leaving her body as she sends him a congenial smile. “Listen, let’s forget our characters for a moment.”

“Okay…”

The cadence of her voice makes him feel as if she is wrapping her arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a friendly, no-nonsense one-on-one advice session. “Pepper is trying to frame you and I’m honestly convinced Wanda is the murderer. Why don’t you and I work together to make it to the end. Give me whatever information you have and we’ll get rid of both of them.”

Vision processes the words, weighing and sorting each one to parse out every possible layer of meaning. He does, technically, have enough evidence to condemn both Wanda and Pepper. “Why would this be in my best interest?”

“Well, Tony’s offering five grand to the winner, even if we split it that’s a good amount you can put aside for,” she waves her hand calmly, enticing him to bend down to listen to her suggestions, “home repairs, or wedding costs, or a nice honeymoon. Just think of the greater good here.”

It is truly enticing, though not as enticing as the full prize. “I have my suspicions you would require more than just information from me to take this deal.”

Any affability is gone as she resets into her Inspector role. “I’ll give you the deal if you show me right now you still have all three of your kill slips.”

There is an uproar of gasps from their eliminated teammates, the mass of people moving closer to surround them as Vision and Natasha stare at each other. Calmly Vision slides his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat, fingers curling around the three slips of paper, each folded exactly four times so that they are tiny squares. The crowd inches closer as he pulls his hand out and unfurls his fingers, holding the three slips out for Natasha to inspect. “All three, untouched.”

Natasha scrutinizes his face before bending to examine the papers. Her own hand hovering just above his, oddly hesitant as she chooses her next action, an indecision that holds the air captive in his lungs. “May I examine them?” Vision nods, trying not to allow his hand to tremble.

When she picks up the first one and unfolds it, he breathes in, centering his nervousness, feeling saddened (yet surprisingly excited) it had to come to this. Casually he leans forward just enough to whisper to her, “Now I only have two.” Natasha is silent, face paling in a manner appropriate for a newly dead Inspector, but he does not miss the tight-lipped, barely perceptible awe on her face. She says something but it is drowned out by the Holy shits  and ohs from their inebriated crowd. “My apologies.”

And now, he realizes, there is no other option, he has to follow this trajectory until the end.

With a new, unflinching determination, Vision walks the manor in search of the remaining women, his lovers and alliances, all converging at the end, just as he had mentally practiced for weeks. The wandering phantom audience follows him, a slight annoyance as he believes it gives away what is happening, but he has to accept that he cannot control them. The first woman he comes upon is Pepper, who is sitting at one of the small tables on the back wraparound porch. He glances at his audience, sending an imploring look to please be quiet and stay out of the game, to which Tony gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up and a Go get ‘em. “Mrs. Lebeau.”

“Ah, Edison, I was wondering what happened to you.” Pepper waves a hand to the chair next to her, an offer Vision accepts, pulling out the rod iron chair and settling into a comfortable position. She leans slightly towards him, lifting her chin to direct and amplify her voice. “I eliminated Steve. Clint was killed by Wanda, I believe.”

Vision nods, interlacing his fingers together as he contemplates the amount of information to share with Pepper. “Natasha has been eliminated as well.”

A huh rises into the late night air, the temperature just cold enough that he can see the fog of her surprise for a millisecond. “No doubt Wanda’s doing.”

“No doubt.” His shoulders tense as he waits for the chorus behind them to betray the lie, a lie Wanda would have picked up on immediately, but it is to his advantage that Pepper does not know him very well, can not decode the unusual inflection of doubt . “I believe I have made the correct decision.”

"Good,” the triumphant smile parting her lips elicits an oddly satisfying sensation in his chest, one that should concern him more than elate him. “Let’s go take her down and win this game.”

Vision follows her lead, standing in a show of solidarity, acting as if he is ready to march back into the house and take on Wanda, but then his hand dips into his waistcoat, heart beating erratically as he toys with the slip of paper. “Please know I never intended nor wished to do this.”

“Do,” Pepper turns slowly towards him, her own hand dipping into the pouch at her waist, a none-too-subtle suspicion drawing her eyebrows down as she studies him, “what?”

The noble action would be to flourish the paper, place it gently in her hand while apologizing, but the speed with which she yanks her last slip from her pouch leaves him only one option. Vision unceremoniously shoves the death note into her hand, not lingering to see the betrayal filling her face or the way she trembles with rage, quite aware, based on Tony’s stories, what happens when you cross Pepper.

For the first time that night, the ghostly crowd is silent as they follow behind him, all food and drink abandoned somewhere between Natasha’s demise and their current journey, or if not abandoned, hanging limply in their hands as he comes across Wanda sitting in front of the fireplace. “Ms. Minx.”

“Hey there…” the joy in her voice drops off as she assesses the crowd, the realization that it is only the two of them left. ”Should have known.” Victory should feel sweet, enticing, exhilarating, but he can barely meet her eyes, shrugging in response as he attempts to figure out how to explain everything. Wanda seems to accept her fate far easier than anticipated, standing to face him, a compliant smile teasing her lips into an upward arc.”I should have known not to trust the butler. Just,” she holds out her hand, fingers bending to beckon the last move of the game, “get it over with.” So he does, pulling out the last of his kill slips and handing it to Wanda, engulfing her hand with both of his in an intimate display of atonement.

 All character personas are dropped once Wanda is dead, the alcohol much more free flowing and stories of backstabbing and betrayal being levied between people. Everyone shares their secrets, Sam apparently was having an affair with Steve, who also happened to have an illegitimate child (Rhodes), the latter being the information Wanda was using to blackmail him, and of course, Vision and Tony were long-lost brothers, though Tony was always treated far better than Vision (the impetus for the initial murder of their father). Clint waves aside his salacious past with the Inspector and his penchant for bribery, instead acting particularly proud to tell everyone about how he died, hugging Wanda close to him as he slurs (multiple times through the night), “Didn’t even see it coming.”

A con of being unable to become intoxicated, means that Vision does not find the revelry of alcohol as enjoyable as his teammates. Around midnight is when he gives up, excusing himself from hearing Tony retell his own death for the twentieth time. The manor is theirs for the night and so he decides to walk the hallways, relishing the architecture and layout, thankfully the lights too dim to allow him to easily see the clashing patterns of the interior decorating. He is almost to the end of the main hallway when a hand reaches out from one of the rooms, pulling him into utter darkness.

An orb of scarlet conjures out of thin air, bathing Wanda’s face in a ghoulish haze.  “So, Edison D’Mort.”

The undulation of the scarlet orb creates a mesmerizing and impish quality to her lopsided smile, one he cannot help but mimic the longer he stares at her.  “Yes, Ms. Minx?”

“You know having the butler be the murderer is such a tired cliche.”

They had spent many nights laying in bed, reading old murder mysteries in preparation for the evening, Wanda groaning each time the butler was the culrpit. Yet she never thought to ask or even joke that he might be the murderer, the only misstep she made in the entire game. “It is and yet no one suspected me because they did not expect the cliche.”

Wanda closes the distance between them, the orb hovering just above their heads which allows her hands to freely trail down the edges of his waistcoat. "The question now is," once she runs out of vest, her fingers move to trace the silk line of his jacket as it dips down along his hips, her fingers taking on a teasing strut as she brings her hands to the small of his back before dipping lower to eagerly appreciate what she claims is his best asset. “What else,” the pressure of her body against his catches his breath, sending his neurons into a dizzying frenzy, “is the butler going to do tonight?”

A chuckle vibrates from deep within his ribs, fingers dancing along her arms as he smiles down at her. “I do believe reparations are in order,” he lowers his face, resting his forehead against her own, “for murdering you.”

Wanda raises onto her toes and presses a tantalizing kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Well, butler, what are you waiting for?”

He takes in the toothy, anticipatory smile on her face, his hands running absentmindedly along the curve of her neck, rewarded with the emergence of goosebumps on her skin and a shiver in her body. "How do I know you are not using this to exact your revenge?"

"You don't." 

Her lips press against his jaw, a series of successive, fluttering kisses against his skin chasing away any last logical thoughts from his mind, "Well," Vision bends his knees, dropping down low enough to hook his arms under her thighs, and lifts her to be level with his face, giddy at the way her arms hug him as she giggles into his neck. "There are far worse ways to die."