#featuring: jenny cooper (ceremonicls)

[esoterium]

@ceremonicls || setting prompts || accepting!

037.   the scene of a violent crime . (from jenny for david)

the scene's wound down. evidence has been beyond gathered, noted, inventoried. the red and blue lights have long been shut down. they have their field lights on. bright yellow-y white that illuminates the scene around them like some weird fucking movie set meets operation room meets halloween thriller motif. soon? the house will be locked down. taped up. off limits to only those deemed authorized to enter. and that's that. another murder. with blood sprayed and dried on the walls, the ceiling. pieces of muscle and bone picked up off the floor and out of stained wood that was cut away with equally tired hands and sore fingers.

the air still reeks of the corpses they found underneath the floorboards and inside the crawl spaces of the walls. seventeen to be exact. with a possibility of it jumping to nineteen once the coroner's had a chance to really 'get in there and do their job' as one of the higher up's put it. and that's who they're helping now.

vans outside. one lined up after another. to take the lost and forgotten, to be identified, back to two separate offices because neither one has enough space in his fucking city to house the load they've got coming. david's been here for more hours than he's allowed to admit to. they'll send him home after a long talking to if he says it out loud. some just know. others turn blind eyes. let him do what he does because it's the best way to fill up his time. keep him busy. his brain's better when it's occupied and they know it.

jenny's here. he watches her walking through the worst of it. the living room where the sick fuck that made his house into a god damn trophy room of dead people and painted the walls with shit you'd better wear gloves to touch (and it's not just here. it's fucking everywhere..but here.. it's the worst) but he liked to sit in his little haywire brain masterpiece and god only knows do what by the looks of it. no one can ask him. he's sitting in his rotted lazy boy with half his head missing looking like he's staring at the ceiling with the contents of it drip, drip, drip on the floor behind him. coward took the easy way out when they busted in. the medical examiners are in counseling, so she's here---called in to pronounce death.

"yeah, he's pretty dead," david's fingers fan towards the piece of shit taking the long nap. he speaks up inhaling one last breath from an open window before turning to look at her. coffee in hand. brows lift up and he tosses the guy a tick of his chin. "my guess is that chunk of his skull that's over there by the mini fridge is what did it." a light shrug of his shoulders. "sorry you got woken up for this mess... but welcome. these guys can get him outta here soon as you're done."