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#wkm detective
maxtrash101 · 4 months
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GUYS GUYS HOLD UP I JUST NOTCIED THIS OK OK OK OK OK SOOO OSOO YOU KNOW ABE IN ISWM HES WITH NOIR AND SHIT AND IN HIS NORMAL FIT
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SEE LOOOK OK OK AND IF YOU LOOK AT THE COLLAR YOU SEE THIS GOLDEN BEE PIN
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I LOOKED UP WHAT IT MEANT AND LOOOK
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oswinunknown · 1 year
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meme idea by @captainsaltypear on the alwy discord! sped run in making this aksjdhaksjh
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meo618 · 2 years
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Actor Mark Fischbach 19 ̵̞̂͗̀̈́̏̓̑͠0̸̢̯͊̒̇͆͛͌̅̓́ᄅ
I had no idea where this was going at any point in time but I like it.
Reblogs are appreciated!
base version under the cut
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falseroar · 1 month
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Murder on the Warfstache Express
Part 2: An Easy Offer to Refuse
((Wilford's a hard man to keep track of, especially when Abe keeps running into other passengers with their own issues.
Here's a link to Part 1: All Aboard, Full Steam Ahead and a link to the masterlist for the series.))
Spoiler alert? Why did that sound familiar? Where had he heard that before? Had he heard it before now, or…?
For some reason, seeing the phrase made Abe want to down his own drink in a single gulp, which is just what he did.
When that wasn’t enough to drown out the uneasiness building in his stomach, Abe stood and make his way back to the bar.
“Really?” Benjamin asked when the detective placed the glass down on the bar a little too hard.
“Got anything stronger?” Abe asked, and when the butler turned bartender gave him a look, he tilted his head in the direction of the chairs he just left.
Benjamin followed the gesture, his frown growing more baffled as he asked, “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“It means of course I want something stronger, if I’m going to have to deal with—”
Abe’s voice caught in his throat as he looked back and found both seats empty.
“He was just—where did he go?”
“Where did who go?” Benjamin asked, only to raise his hands in defense when Abe shot him a glare.
“Wilford! Wilford ‘Motherlovin’ Warfstache, who else?”
“…Who?”
It dawned on Abe that not everyone had spent the last few…months? Years? Whatever, too long, chasing the man responsible for so many murders, a man who left identities in his wake like a terrible party clown leaving behind crying children.
“The Colonel,” Abe whispered, not eager to explain himself to the other passengers. Not that he could explain what happened back at that house, not even to himself. “He’s here, on this train!”
Abe expected shock, horror maybe at his words, not the pitying gaze before Benjamin refilled his drink.
“Abe, I think I would have noticed if the Colonel were here.”
“You didn’t know I was here until just a few minutes ago.” Abe shook his head. “And he’s not calling himself the Colonel anymore, he’s going by the name Wilford Warfstache now.”
“Oh really?” Benjamin cocked a smile, like that was even close to the most ridiculous name Wilford had used since the party.
Wingleheimer, really?
“Yes, really.” Abe snatched up the drink before Benjamin could rethink giving it to him and said, “Look, just keep an eye out and tell me immediately if you spot him, got it? If he’s running around here unsupervised, there’s no telling what might happen.”
“If I see that man, I think I would do more than that,” Benjamin answered, his voice sharp enough to make Abe do a double take. There was a glimpse of anger and something venomous in that scowl before professionalism and his neutral customer service face took over again. “But I think this is simply a case of mistaken identity, detective. Please, do try to relax on this trip. You do so look like you need it.”
Abe growled and walked away, mimicking Benjamin’s words under his breath as he plopped back down into the same chair as before, on high alert for any sign of the colorful killer. He was not about to let himself be taken by surprise by Wilford, not again.
Except the longer he waited there, the more Abe’s imagination conjured up images of what Wilford could be doing elsewhere.
The imaginary bodies were piling up and Wilford was at the helm or whatever they called the front of the train by the time Abe leapt to his feet and dropped the empty glass at the bar before charging toward the front of the lounge car.
Where he promptly collided with Harold Apless once again, sending the man staggering back into the small vestibule between cars before Abe shot out a hand and steadied him.
“Sorry about that, Haps,” Abe said.
“It’s Harold Apless,” Harold said, straightening up and dusting himself down with a frown.
“Yeah, of course. Hey, Happy, you seen anyone come through here recently? Man about yay high, black mustache going a bit pink around the edges, colorful suit that would stand out under a blacklight?”
“That…sounds like a hard to miss kind of person,” Happy said, brow creased as he considered the image. “But no, I can’t say that I’ve seen anyone like that.”
“Damn. Well, if you do see him, tell me immediately. He’s…” Abe hesitated. He didn’t want to start a panic among the passengers, but he felt a bit of a kindred spirit in Harold Apless. Maybe it was the image of a man just trying to do his job, whatever that might be, or maybe it was the resting sad face that looked too tired to be dealing with any of this, but there was something about the poor schmuck that Abe took a shine to, which is why he slid the door to the lounge car shut behind him and lowered his voice. “Look, Wilford Warfstache is a dangerous man, a wildcard that can’t be trusted. You see him, you keep your distance if you know what’s good for you. Got it?”
Happy’s hand went to his waist, to the weapon Abe knew was hiding under that long coat, and he asked, “When you say dangerous…?”
“He’s killed people.” No point in beating around the bush, after all. “I don’t know what he’s doing on this train, but I’m going to take care of him.”
“Once you can find him?”
“…He can be a hard man to find sometimes,” Abe answered.
“In his bright clothes and pink mustache.”
Abe might have suspected some sarcasm there, but Happy’s face looked just as serious as ever. Still, considering he was letting the man in on the situation, Abe figured he deserved to know a little more about the guy, which is why he asked, “What about you, what’s your deal?”
“My deal?” Happy tensed.
“I know you’re packing heat,” Abe said, gesturing toward the barely concealed holster that Happy quickly covered. “And you had to say or do something to keep it from getting locked up during the trip. Looking at the clothes, general demeanor, the haircut under that ridiculous hat of yours, and that badge sticking out of your pocket, my guess is a government agent of some kind. Sound about right?”
Happy jumped and reached for his pocket, only for his concern to turn to confusion.
“You can’t have seen my badge, it isn’t even in my pocket!”
Abe grinned. “Yeah, I kind of took a long shot and guessed on that one. Thanks for confirming though, Agent Apless.”
“Don’t…don’t call me that, please,” Happy begged, looking around as though someone might have snuck into the small space between cars without their noticing. “Look, you’re…sort of right, but I can’t go into details or explain…anything, really. I’m here on highly classified business, and if you tell anyone who or what I am, I will deny it until…Until…”
“Until the cows come home?”
Happy’s brow creased, eyes shifting one way and then the other as he tried and failed to follow that train of thought. “What do cows have to do with this?”
Abe slapped Happy’s shoulder, a friendly gesture that nearly knocked the man off of his feet.
“Don’t worry about it, your secret’s safe with me. You got your job, I got mine, and I’ll leave you to it. But if you see Warfstache or need any help, just give me the word, got it partner?”
“Partner?” Happy shook his head. “No, no, I don’t do partners.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Abe said with a knowing wink before stepping around Happy to get to the door leading back to the sleeping car. “See you around, and good luck with whatever the hell it is you’re doing.”
“…Thank you?”
Happy stared after the detective before shaking his head and continuing on into the lounge car, muttering under his breath about cows.
On the other side of the set of doors, Abe stopped once again to consider the compartments to either side with the new information that these were the only ones on this train. One of them had to belong to Wilford, and while he would have loved nothing more than an excuse to snoop through each and every one, thanks to the music earlier he already knew where to start.
Abe approached the door opposite Happy’s compartment and, after trying in vain to get the right angle to see something beyond the drawn shade, pressed his ear against the wood and listened.
Silence, except for the muted vibrations of the train, and then—
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Abe turned to the man looking out of the next compartment over with a slow, dignified air that did nothing to erase the startled jump and swearing that preceded it, and answered, “What does it look like?”
The man, who clearly worked for the rich snob from earlier, frowned at him with the slightest shake of his head to announce his disapproval, which made it all the stranger when he said, “I was just coming to look for you. My employer would like to have a word with you, detective.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to have a word with him,” Abe pointed out.
“I believe you’ll find it well worth your while, if you take him up on his offer,” the other man said, and when Abe seemed less than persuaded, he added, “We’re just asking you to hear him out, that’s all.”
“Oh, so it’s an offer now, is it?”
The other man just smiled and gestured to the open door of the compartment. Abe had better things to do with his time, but curiosity was one hell of a temptress that he’d never learned to ignore.
The compartment was big, bigger than it had any right to be, and Abe might have given more thought to how the dimensions of the compartment failed to line up with the size of the train car it was in if his attention wasn’t captivated by the absolutely ostentatious decor inside the room.
Exotic furs served as both rugs and covers on the absolutely massive bed that couldn’t possibly have fit through the compartment door, and there looked to be a private bar in the corner stocked with so many bottles that it made the bar in the lounge look bare by comparison. Shelves lined the interior wall, full of ancient books, designed more to show off the wealth and culture of their owner than to actually be read, alongside displayed curiosities from around the world, such as an elegant porcelain mask on a stand or the solid-gold honeycomb that would make anyone with even a slight tendency toward trypophobia deeply uncomfortable. Hanging on the wall adjacent to Wilford’s compartment was an oil painting of a depressed looking man dressed in a red jester’s outfit slumped in a chair, his stare haunting until Abe managed to look away and focus on the man lounging on the couch opposite him.
“What do you think?” the rich man asked, seeing Abe’s eyes make a circuit around the room.
“Bit much,” Abe answered. “You don’t believe in traveling light, do you?”
“Why should I? Traveling for business is fine and dandy, but a man likes to have the comforts of home every now and then, don’t you think?”
Abe shrugged and admitted, “I wouldn’t know. Home comforts aren’t really in my wheelhouse.”
“Would you like something to drink, detective? You seem a little tense,” the rich man said, and with a snap of his fingers and a gesture from his assistant to the private bar added, “Don’t keep our guest waiting, Mack. And fix something for me while you’re at it, why don’t you?”
Abe noted the brief, blink and you’d miss it spark of irritation in Mack’s eyes even as he plastered on a fake smile that would give Benjamin’s a run for its money and said, “Of course, right away sir.”
 “Yeah, you keep calling me a detective, but I don’t recall telling you as much when we ran into each other earlier,” Abe said. He distinctly remembered being referred to as a “low class, ill-mannered lout” in fact. “Or you ever telling me who you’re supposed to be.”
“Name’s Richard M. Bags, Esquire,” the rich man answered over the sound of Mack uncorking a new bottle, although Abe suspected that “esquire” was thrown in to sound important more than to actually mean anything. As if to emphasize the point Richard added in a low voice as though imparting a secret, “The ‘M’ stands for ‘Money.’ I’m what you would call filthy, ludicrously rich, if you haven’t intuited that little fact.”
“I might have picked up on it,” Abe said, taking the glass Mack offered him and glancing at the contents with a frown as the assistant handed a second glass to Moneybags over on the couch. “What’s that got to do with me?”
Richard swirled the contents of his glass around, savoring the aroma before answering, “I have attained my vast wealth and estates through a mixture of hard, honest work and good business sense—”
Abe snorted back a laugh at that, and in his defense, Richard tilted his head and admitted, “And maybe some not so honest endeavors, although nothing that could ever be proven before a jury of my peers, even if there were many of those around. My point, detective, is that one does not reach my place in society without stepping on a few little people along the way.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard this song and dance before,” Abe said, spinning his finger around to gesture for the man to hurry up and get to the point. “Let me guess, you got rich, made some enemies along the way, and now the consequences of your actions are coming back to haunt you.”
 Moneybags bristled, like most men of his kind did whenever someone suggested their situation was far from unique or even interesting, but Abe had dealt with too many similar cases to be surprised, especially not when Richard continued, “People want me dead, detective.”
Richard pulled a note from the chest pocket of his suit and held it out to Mack, who passed it to Abe for inspection as Mack explained, “This was slipped under the door after the train left the station. I looked, of course, and checked with the conductor, but we didn’t see who left it.”
Abe unfolded the note and nodded, taking a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship.
“Words cut out of a newspaper, nice.” Seeing the other two men’s expressions, he explained, “You just don’t see people taking the time to craft a quality threatening note these days. Obvious why some of these words are individual letters pieced together, but what are the odds of finding an article with the word ‘stupendous’ in it?”
“I’m glad you find the threat on my life amusing, detective,” Richard said, ice dripping from his tone.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Abe corrected while he reread the note again. “That would make it even a little bit interesting.”
Big Dick Moneybags,
Your stupendous greed and arrogance will be your undoing.
Enjoy your last night on the express train of life.
“Almost poetic,” Abe said. “You get many of these?”
“Threats on my life? All the time,” Richard said with a nonchalant shrug. “Like I said, enemies happen. But that was before the brake lines on six different vehicles I have been in over the last month were cut, before the stage light at the theater last night fell on the seat I was supposed to be sitting in if I had not needed to go to the restroom due to some questionable dining choices, before a rabid raccoon ‘accidentally’ got locked in the elevator with me at the hotel…”
“Before someone poisoned your drink.”
Richard froze, the glass pressed to his lips.
Abe tilted his glass this way and that, observing the powder that had failed to disintegrate in the alcohol swirling around at the bottom. “Unless you’re just in the habit of putting weird crap in your drinks. I don’t know, I’m just riff-raff that prefers a hard whiskey over whatever it is rich people drink.”
Richard lowered the glass and stared at the same off-color sediment in his drink before looking to Mack, whose face had visibly paled at the detective’s words.
“It was a new bottle, I swear sir,” Mack said, glancing over his shoulder at the offending bottle. “It—it didn’t look like it had been tampered with or I would have never…”
He gulped, trembling so hard Abe almost took pity on him.
“Not impossible to tamper with a drink and hide the evidence,” Abe said. “I’ve seen some clever stuff using syringes, or you could just pop the cork and reseal it with fresh wax. Takes a bit of planning, and unless they went through and tampered with everything you’ve got lined up over there, a bit of luck to make sure you end up opening the right one.”
Mack took both glasses carefully, as though afraid even touching the alcohol might be dangerous, and Abe added, “Of course, we can’t be sure without testing it, but if I had to guess…”
He stuck a pinky in one glass and, ignoring Mack and Richard’s horrified reactions, put it to his mouth for a taste before confirming, “Oh yeah, I know this one. I’d give somebody an hour tops after drinking that stuff.”
Abe, registering that they were still staring, said, “What? It’s not like it’s iocane powder or something,” his numb tongue only slightly slurring the words.
“What should I do with this?” Mack asked.
“Toss it, of course!” Richard rolled his eyes while Mack walked the glasses to the private bathroom, and Abe considered suggesting they keep the stuff for testing before thinking better of it. “See, detective, this is exactly why I’m looking to hire you.”
“You want to what now?”
“Clearly there is someone on this train who wants me dead,” Richard said, leaning forward as he spoke. “It took me a minute to place you after our little…unfortunate run-in earlier, but I overheard your spat with the conductor back at the station. Your list of accomplishments might not have persuaded him, but I believe you could be the solution to my little problem.”
“Your little problem being someone on this train wants you dead?”
“And I’m willing to pay you handsomely if you find and deal with them,” Richard said, and in case Abe had any false notion on what he meant by dealing with this potential assassin, “With a bonus for extreme prejudice. I don’t want this cretin getting off the train at the next station, if you catch my drift.”
Abe whistled.
“Wow, you really are a horrible judge of character if you think I’m going to get my hands dirty for you.”
“What…Are you saying no, detective?” Richard stood up from the couch, visibly shocked. “After I just told you someone is trying to kill me?”
“One, I’m a detective, not a hired thug. Two, I don’t work for rich idiots, kind of learned my lesson on that one the hard way. And three, there’s probably less than a dozen people on this train, I think you can narrow it down to the people who want you dead without my help.” Abe lowered his voice and added, “My money’s on your boy Mack, but that’s just because if I had to work for you, I might be tempted to knock you off too.”
“What?” Mack said from over by the bar, panic in his eyes.
“Just a joke, kid, kind of like this whole conversation.”
Richard was shaking with barely concealed rage, and his voice was as low and as poisonous as that drink as he said, “Get out. I should have known better than to look for help from some washed-up, drunk excuse for a detective. Get. Out!”
Abe shrugged, already on his way toward the compartment door. He’d been called worse, hell, he’d said worse stuff to his reflection in the mirror every morning back when he was trying to do the daily affirmation thing. It certainly didn’t do anything to stop him from feeling like he’d just dodged a bullet when he stepped out of the elegant to the point of suffocating compartment and back into the familiar hallway of the passenger car.
((End of part 2. Thanks for reading!
Okay, so technically "Big Dick Moneybags" is what Mark was called back on a Thankmas stream back in 2018 and not even close to an "official" ego, but I'm going to pretend like it counts. Because even if Actor Mark isn't here, he can still be with us in spirit. And be just as much of an asshole.
Link to Part 3: Dining Service.
Taglist: @silver-owl413 @asteriuszenith @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @95fangirl @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-star-eyes @shyinspiredartist @avispate @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard))
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artsytj-97 · 1 year
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I’m thinking of releasing a few new preorders this weekend. Mark and Amy would be a set, but if enough people want mark or Amy by themselves I’ll see what I can do.
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aminifanartist · 2 years
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The Colonel
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Actor Mark
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Damien
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The Detective
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Illinois
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Anya Folger
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Phantom,
The results of the last two weekends of modeling :)
(as you can probably tell I've been rewatching a bunch of old Markiplier videos)
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Send me some asks while I sleep please!
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famderfries · 2 years
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Just rememberwd how much I love the casual queer rep in Who Killed Markiplier. Wilford's raimbow suspenders and pan coloured lighting, him asking Abe if they had dated at some point, the handsome and/or beautiful bit, Abe creeping through Actor's underwear drawer-
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faeriescorpio · 1 year
Video
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pipers-pit · 2 years
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Abandoned.
Warning: Angst! Summary: You, the DA, having to deal and comprehend what had happened just after dark turned away from the mirror in WKM (Who Killed Markiplier?). You do not understand what happened, and what could happen in the future. But a small voice always is snooping in your ears. What will happen when they finally can speak to you outside the mirror? w/c: 1352! Previous Chapters: Chapter two (link) Chapter three (link) Chapter four (link) Authors note at the end! <3 it is long so lol! ___________________________________________________
The shakiness in your hands, the faint pinches of desperate adrenaline finally melting away as they did, felt almost unbearable as you punched against the mirror. You watched as the mirror broke in front of you, the view of your friend’s corrupted state showing in front of you.
You screamed Damien and Celine’s names as the dark figure, who held the gentle face of Damien yet held no true sharing but pure anger and vengeance, turned and walked away. The sound of William’s mental breaking being the only true sound you could hear afterwards.
They abandoned you.
No... Damien would not leave you here without reason, he would come back.
They played you like a broken hand, you had been tricked like a lamb left to a pack of wolves.
You fell to your knees and almost felt the broken despair and denial course through your mind at a rate you could not comprehend. You never wanted this to happen. You simply wanted to catch up with old friends at a poker night, not be a part of an investigation of a murder driven by the tenses of falsehood and jealousy. Yet here you were, the last one left.
-
You sat in the same spot for days, weeks, who knows. You could not entirely tell the time besides the small glances of sunshine you could spot when you looked out the mirror. You never did it much. It always made you emotional and give the false sense of comforting hope with any little creak heard that someone was there, for you. Yet, no one ever did come. The stages of grief slowly running over you as you got the chance to finally sit and think it all over.
You remember the last true voice you heard was William. It was in the evening of when all hell broke loose, he did not stay long after his broken yelling rang through the empty halls. You oddly missed seeing him, even if you did have the reminder of his wrongdoings to you forever scarred against your skin.
You lifted the shirt you had on and cringed, the bullet scars against your skin did not entirely look healed, but they did not look infected either. It as if the void had stopped all source of the injury continuing to worse, yet, you almost wished it would. You did not want to be stuck like this, alone, being tormented by the mental demons you had before this point in your misery.
-
You stood watching the mirror with the purest intent of anger and disgust. You had been driven to the point of madness a long time ago, yet here you were, in every stage of denial with it. You watched as the dust clung to everything in the manor like a thick blanket. The once bright and beautiful sight of the manor now was nothing more than a haunting spot for annoying humans of young adolescent and older to come study what had happened in the place you had to consider your hell bound home. Home. You hardly wanted to consider it such, it was simply more a deadly prison with mental torment being the only thing you could see. You could almost understand what drove Mark to his state of corruption before his own self done demise.
You moved close as you heard the sound of the door opening, almost perking a brow for a moment seeing the familiar terror driven teens walking inside. You watched with the purest hatred for a moment, glaring as you watched them walk around freely. Their curious and fearful glances around the dust clung home made you scoff.
“Guys come on, its just an abandoned mansion! Why act so scared?”
You watched as an easily twenty-year-old boy walk forward, almost shaking your head as he looked at the mirror. Not entirely knowing your eyes stared at him with pure jealousy laced inside them. As he turned to walk away to hear the pleas of his friends to leave, you put your hand against the mirror, almost expecting the resistance to occur. Yet, it did not. For the first time, you felt the tinge of hope take over as you walked further into the mirror. The sight of your being able to finally escape the voided prison almost making your, self-assumed, immortal body swell up with emotion. You stepped onto the ground and almost felt the shakiness in your voice take over as you gasped. “Finally...” You muttered, almost having to stop yourself from collapsing from the overwhelming situation.
“Can we please leave?”
“No, maybe they left, and we can find out why.”
“Who cares Sam! I swear this place gives off the creeping vibes of someone watching me.”
“Corey, you say that about everywhere we go, just relax we won’t be long.”
You watched the group and almost snickered at the sight, almost walking painfully slow as if they could hear the forgotten footsteps, you were not used to hearing. You did not care that they were in this place, let them investigate, they will get bored like the rest and leave.
Get rid of them.
You turned sharply, almost perking a brow at the voice. It was not attached to the group that was there, you were in the office. You tensed for a moment as you looked at the walls, seeing the old papers scattered on the floor. You brushed your hands against the string attaching to each picture. Seeing the face of William almost tortured your heart, it had been so long since you even saw any sight of him. You ... had almost forgotten about him.
They’ll just leave you like Damien did.
You almost felt a growl escape at the hearing of his name.
“Don’t speak of that bastard..”
You muttered, glaring at the newspaper with the face of the man you once trusted. The anger practically settled over any emotion as you gripped your nails into your palms. It did not hurt. You could not feel the pain, you barely could feel much anymore. You looked at your hands and almost scoffed seeing the nail marks soon regulate back to normalcy, as if you hadn’t done a thing to them. “Mark, I can see why they traced so much death to your name.” You muttered, almost shaking your head hearing how hoarse your voice was after so long. Hell, you were surprised you could hear yourself after not speaking.
Do you really want to let them mock you?
You looked around in desperation to put a face to the voice, but all it did was make you let out a noise of frustration. Soon grabbing a nearby glass as you, not entirely comprehending it, threw it. The harsh screams soon escaping your throat as you yelled out.
“DO NOT TALK TO ME LIKE YOU UNDERSTAND MY ANGER.”
You soon stood frozen as the sound of broken glass bouncing off the walls echoed through the walls, almost making your own fear take over as you backed up, tripping back against the chair as you fell back against it, the wood bouncing against the floor from the impact as you looked at what you had done. “CAN WE PLEASE GO?”
“What the fuck was that, Sam?!”
“Is someone else here?”
You turned from your spot on the ground to see the small group fleeing away, the fearing one almost doing the smart thing as he bolted. The echoes of his friends yelling his name and chasing after him almost made your heart coil in jealousy.
You poor child.
Always being the one left to suffer.
To endure the pain of others without choice without trickery.
What if you could get them back for what they had done?
You shook your head as you hugged your legs to your chest, your hands wrapping around your ears as if you could stop the voice. The forgotten warmth of the fearful tears you never wanted again soon took over. “Please... please stop.”
Do not worry your little head, little lamb.
I will stop soon...very very soon.
A/N: OH MY GODD I finally did it. I wrote it.
Hello everyone! I am colt, your neighborhood angst addict who may have too much impulse! :D
If confused, the italics are inner monologue/the corrupted manor’s voice in your mind. I personally see the house having an inner voice that can speak to specific people if their mental walls are broken enough and etc.
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craftartz67 · 9 months
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We are each our own evil, and we make this world our hell - Oscar Wilde
(Ps. This is before Evil! Abe got to know Original Abe. Don’t worry he apologizes later on. Hope you like it! ☺️ @abe-the-detective-blog
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achxllesworld · 2 years
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do you guys think the detective and wilford explored eachothers bodies
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chelseareferenced · 2 years
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Second Chances (Abe x Y/N)
Spoilers for ISWM again, Mark seemed to really like making me cry with Space Part 2.
Also writing this had me crying at one point and there’s some throw back lines to Chapter 4 of my old Partner series
Y/n didn’t feel bad at all for leaving The Narrator to fight… whatever the hell that was at the window. They had a hunch that it was the thing that had pretended to be Dark and Yancy to get them to open the door but they were glad that a wormhole pulled them away.
When the world went black, white and grey Y/n first thought they had been dragged back into the noir setting that had occurred when they took Burt’s advice and popped ‘er in reverse.
That was until they heard an all too familiar voice monologuing behind them.
Y/n felt their heart almost stop and their eyes widen at the sight of the man monologuing. It was a man they knew very well, but one they had not seen in so many years.
I knew they were there. I could feel their baby grey eyes boring holes into the back of my skull like a power drill. I knew I’d have to turn around and face them eventually, it’s not every day a giant grey hole appears in the middle of your office and dumps the most beautiful and/or handsome person into… the middle of your office.
Abe Lincoln.
The Detective.
The last time they saw him was that fateful confrontation on the balcony with the Colonel. They had watched him die right before their eyes.
“Abe…?”
He tilted his head, not a single flicker of recognition in those eyes of his, eyes that they knew were brown underneath this universal noir filter.  “have we met before? I would remember a face as beautiful and/or handsome as yours…”
“Abe it’s me, come on you remember your old pal Y/n…”
Something about those words felt familiar as their voice wavered and fresh tears began to well up in their eyes “please Abe this isn’t f-funny anymore… it’s n-not a j-joke…” Memories began to pour into their head, some of them where Y/n’s and other memories seemed to be coming from other places. But all they knew was that their heart was breaking as they cried.
Abe just stood there, not really knowing what to do at the sight of this person crying in the middle of his office. They knew his name and something did seem familiar about them, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.
But something was certain, he didn’t like seeing this person crying. It hurt seeing this stranger cry. It was a sharp pain. Like he had just been shot. Slowly, almost awkwardly he reached out and placed a hand on their shoulder. “Hey… are you alright?”
The second that question was asked he almost saw their form shift. They went from wearing a jumpsuit that had Captain written on it to old formal looking clothes, their eyes seemed so much older than they appeared to be. Older and exhausted. It looked like they hadn’t slept in decades, they were running on something that only Abe couldn’t see. “No… I’m not alright Abe, I’m so tired… Please remember me… I’ve looked for you and you were never there, only people who looked like you”
Their voice was hoarse from the crying but it sounded almost defeated, like whatever they had been doing to try and ‘find him’ had taken its toll after however long they had been doing it. “Listen… I may not remember who you are, but it’s clear that you need some help and some rest, I know what it’s like, to drive yourself to the brink trying to track someone die, why don’t you stay a while?”
That seemed to make them cry even more “That’s the thing though! I don’t know how long I can stay!” They held out their hand, revealing a glowing blue crystal - wait blue? Not grey? Abe shook his head a little, trying to clear his head. No it was still blue and this person was still sobbing. That was when he got a flash in his mind's eye. He was at a party… THAT party. He was talking to the Mayor and… wait…
He froze and slowly looked at the crying person standing so close to him. He took in everything about them. And he felt his heart skip a beat. It was them. It was Y/n! But it couldn’t be, he saw them die… but then again he himself had died.
Suddenly he pulled them into his arms and held them close.
“...hey partner…”
Y/n tensed up in his arms for a split second, like they couldn’t quite believe what Abe had just said. Then he slowly began to rub their back, holding them with purpose and softly shushing them to try and calm them down “I’ve got you Y/n… I remember…”
“You remember?”
“Everything… sorry it took me a while”
A watery chuckle left Y/n’s lips and they tilted their head to stare up at Abe “I’ve waited this long to find you… I think I can let that slip for once”
“What are you thinking about, partner?” Abe whispered, still holding them close and enjoying this moment of comfort and quiet.
Abe smiled softly and pressed a gentle kiss to their forehead “Glad to know I’m worth waiting for”
Y/n went quiet for a while and just listened to the sound of Abe’s heart. It was a strong and comforting sound, just like the man it belonged to. They wanted to take advantage of however long they were allowed to stay in this moment of time, just in the arms of the man they loved so much. That’s when an idea slowly began to form in their mind. Something they had noticed with the crystal was that they now had very similar powers that Wilford had, maybe just maybe they could break the story Mark had them both trapped in…
“I’m not going back Abe. I’m so tired… I just want to stay here with you”
It took a while for Y/n to calm down enough, and Abe held onto them the entire time. Eventually they wiped their eyes and Abe cupped their face in his big strong hands. “Hey… wanna go dancing? You remember Will right?”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive… Mark and Dark can kill each other for all I care, I’m done.”
A large blue flash came from their hand and Abe felt something change. Something powerful, he didn’t know anything about this Mark and Dark mess but he trusted Y/n when they said that they were staying here with him. Colour returned to the world.
Y/n laughed softly and slowly nodded, gently kissing his hands. “I hang out with him, we go dancing, if anyone is going to help you feel happier it’ll be hanging out with that pink idiot.” He stepped away and grabbed a leather jacket hanging on the door.
“I’d say I’m pretty happy already…” Y/n slowly stepped closer to Abe and looked up at him, a warmth dancing in those eyes he loved so much. He was drawn to it. Before either of them knew what was happening their arms wrapped around each other and their lips met in a gentle and sweet kiss. It felt right, nothing else mattered but being in this moment, holding onto each other and kissing.
Abe held onto Y/n gently, almost afraid that he’d open his eyes and Y/n would be gone.
Y/n on the other hand, held onto Abe like a lifeline, desperately gripping onto his shirt as emotions that had neve been spoken aloud stirred between the pair.
It didn’t matter what would happen next.
Y/n had made their choice. And choices did have consequences that was true, but sometimes those choices and consequences could lead to exactly where someone wanted to be. And for Y/n that was being here with Abe.
Sometimes good consequences are a thing.
And so is love.
__________________
@purple-anxiety-blog @trashbunnysblog @ragingstinkingrottengay @captainsaltypear @statictay
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falseroar · 19 days
Text
Murder on the Warfstache Express
Part 7: Incriminating Investigating
((Abe and Wilford continue their search of the passengers' rooms as the clues continue to pile up.
Links to Part 6: Room by Room and to Part 1 if you'd like to start from the beginning.))
While Richard’s room was far bigger than any compartment on this train had a right to be, his assistant’s felt smaller than any of the other single rooms they had seen so far. It might have had something to do with the collapsible desk and chair that took up the available free space not already occupied by the seat turned bed.
Both pieces of furniture felt flimsy and cheap to Abe, although that might have been because just brushing up against the chair made the thing collapse into an easy-to-pack heap at his feet. The desk was a little sturdier at least, which was good news for the stacks and stacks of papers and accounting ledgers covering it.
Abe could hear Wilford nosing around through the rest of Mack’s belongings while he focused on trying to make heads or tails of all of these numbers. Wilford had quickly taken to invading people’s privacy, but then he didn’t have a firm grasp on the whole “personal space” thing before this so it probably wasn’t much of a stretch for him. By now, Abe had completely given up on trying to convince Wilford to wait out in the hall, both because it seemed a futile effort and because he couldn’t trust him to stay put or not cause just as much havoc out there where he couldn’t keep an eye on him.
Not that having him in the same room made it any easier.
Despite his being uncharacteristically helpful so far, Abe still found himself tensing every time he caught a glimpse of the other man out of the corner of his eye, or heard some small sound or humming that reminded him he was still there. The detective’s fingers twitched often as he restrained himself from reaching for the gun he knew wasn’t there, his instincts going haywire at the insanity of turning his back on a known killer.
Instincts that screamed and hit every panic button his body had when a loud, metallic snap went off just behind his head, screams that might have become a little more physical than Abe meant them to be as he whirled around and found Wilford poking at a snarl of metal on the floor.
“What the hell is that?!”
“Why are you shouting?!” Wilford had the audacity to shush the detective as he added, “This is supposed to be a stealth mission, isn’t it?”
Abe’s fingers were twitching again, except instead of the grip of his gun he imagined them closing around Wilford’s neck. Shaking it off, Abe asked again, “What is that, and where did you find it?”
Wilford shrugged. “I dunno. Fell out from behind this wall panel after I poked it a bunch.”
“…Why did you poke the wall?”
Another shrug. “Looked weird. I like poking weird things.”
 Abe slapped Wilford’s hand away before he could demonstrate by poking the detective’s nose and took a closer look at said wall panel. Like the rest of the compartments, the walls were a mix of wood paneling and sections covered by red and gold patterned wallpaper that looked nice enough, if a bit worn out in some spots. Someone had either found a loose panel or pried it away from the wall to reveal a small space between the compartment wall and the backside of the wall facing out into the hallway, used to run pipes and wiring up and down the car along with a bit of extra insulation by the looks of it.
It also made a convenient hiding place for…whatever this thing was.
Abe knelt down to get a better look at the metal contraption, pulling a pen from his pocket to turn it over without getting his fingers close to the sharp, jagged pieces.
“This looks like a booby trap,” Abe said.
“Oh, tell me more!”
“Like something a hunter would use. Set it up, hide it under some brush or leaves or whatever’s out in the woods, and some animal goes and steps on it and bam!” Abe hadn’t meant to punctuate his words by triggering the trap he’d accidentally reset, but at his words the metal jumped again, except…
Except while he had been thinking about metal jaws clamping shut, the metal sprung up into the air about an inch and a blade shot straight upward before swiftly retracting back into the confines of the contraption.
A blade that still bore traces of blood on the edge.
“Seems a bit convoluted, if you ask me,” Wilford said. “What happened to just a good, old-fashioned stabbing? No need to go and make it complicated!”
As much as Abe hated to admit it, even in the privacy of his own mind (although with Wilford around that didn’t seem to count as much as it used to), Wilford was right. The thing was needlessly complicated, for what basically amounted to a six-inch stabbing range once triggered, if that. It also seemed like a devil to setup and remove, judging by how the moving pieces tried to take his fingers with them at least twice in just the minute or so he’d been handling it.
There were other signs of the previous victim, aside from the obvious bloodstain—a few threads poking out, connected to a small piece of fabric wedged tight within the gears.
“Speaking of stabbing, can I borrow your knife?” Abe asked, flinching when Wilford flourished the butterfly knife before taking it and using it to pry the piece of fabric free.
“You sure don’t play nice with other people’s toys, do you?” Wilford muttered as he took his knife back and closely examined the blade for any sign of damage.
“Knives aren’t toys, and neither is this thing,” Abe said, gesturing with the device in hand and hesitating.
Up until now, he’d been stashing away evidence in his pockets to keep it from disappearing, but this seemed like a monumentally bad idea for this particular piece. As much as he hated to do it, putting it back into the wall cavity behind the loose panel was probably the best move for now.
“And if someone comes in here to move it, that should be incriminating enough on its own,” Abe said.
“Someone like us?”
“This isn’t incriminating, this is investigating,” Abe protested. “Although yes, sometimes they can and do look like the same thing at a distance…”
Something itched at the back of Abe’s brain and he looked back at the desk covered in ledgers and notes, until the itch turned into Happy’s voice, repeating what he said back over dinner: “owner and CEO of multiple enterprises, at least seven of which are currently under investigation for money laundering and fraud…”
Happy had known a lot about the rich idiot off the top of his head. More than the kind of observational stuff you could just pull out of your fedora after looking at someone for a bit. No, that was someone who had done his research before getting on this train.
Shame then that the agent hadn’t kept a notepad or anything similar on him that might’ve given away what else he’d been looking into, although considering Abe couldn’t even read his badge it would have just been another tantalizing clue he couldn’t do anything with.
“Just three rooms left,” Abe reminded himself. “Although I think I’m already starting to get a picture of what happened…”
 “Then what’s the point of searching the other rooms?” Wilford asked as he followed the detective out of Mack’s room and across the hall into Ms. Dorene Whitacre’s room, quickly identified thanks to the open trunk full of dresses, shawls, and other clothes underneath the window, along with a heady whiff of the woman’s perfume lingering in the air. What looked to be a hand-made quilt was draped over the foot of the bed, along with several extra pillows, while the other seat in the room had some half-finished knitting left out on it. Wilford picked this up, admiring both the needlework and the very sharp and pointed needles that came with it.
“I said I’m starting to get a picture, but there’s still a few corner pieces missing, and some bits of sky I can’t make heads or tails of,” Abe said, but he was barely listening to himself. He knew no one was above suspicion, but something about being in the older woman’s room left him with a feeling of unease despite the complete ordinariness of it all.
He could feel a judging stare on him as he looked inside the trunk, and when it became too overbearing, he glared back at Wilford and said, “Could you knock it off?”
“That is a lady’s bloomers you are handling,” Wilford said, and the detective quickly dropped the piece of fabric he had pulled out without being able to see it clearly by the lanternlight. “And I don’t see what the big deal is. Dorene is a lovely woman, who cares if she does a little murder on the side?”
“Literally everyone! Being lovely or nice or whatever else doesn’t matter if you go around killing people!”
“…Huh.” Wilford tilted his head, as though this were a new concept to him. “No, no, that doesn’t sound right at all.”
“Yeah, well, good thing you’re not in charge of this investigation then, isn’t it?” Abe asked as he continued his search, although being a little more careful about where he rummaged.
There was nothing too out of the ordinary in the trunk, aside from the pouch filled with an extraordinary amount of medicine. Then again, he supposed that wasn’t too out of the ordinary for a lot of people either, but he still took the time to check all of the labels just in case.
Heartburn meds, aspirin, eyedrops, antidote for poison, allergy medicine…
Well, one of those things was not like the others.
Abe tilted the bottle to better read the label. It wasn’t a regular pill bottle like you’d pick up at the pharmacy, obviously, and the label didn’t just come out and say “antidote for that rare poison you’ve got in your pocket, detective,” but Abe recognized the name.
“Why do you know so much about poison?” Wilford asked.
“Comes up a lot when your average rich jerk with a recently changed will turns up dead,” Abe said, pocketing the bottle as he straightened up. If he was going to be carrying around a bottle of poison, he might as well keep the antidote with it just in case. “Among other things, but that’s usually the big one.”
“Well, good thing we don’t have any of those around here, now isn’t it?”
 Huh. That was some pretty blatant sarcasm in Wilford’s tone. He really must have taken Richard’s comment about his fashion sense at dinner to heart.
“Oh, please, like I’d care what someone who decorates a room like the one we saw back there has to say about fashion,” Wilford said with a roll of his eyes. “Can we move on to the next room already? I’d rather Dorene not find us poking around her boudoir, if you catch my drift.”
“Do you even know what that word means?”
“Not a clue! But I like how it rolls off the tongue: boudoir.”
Abe shrugged, but felt like he’d found all that he was going to, and they really didn’t have the time to spend too long in any one room. He wasn’t sure how long Benjamin could keep the guests happy in the lounge before they got antsy enough to start wandering around or heading back to their own rooms, whether or not the murderer had been found.
“And just what do you think you’re doing there, friend?”
Although Abe would have hoped his luck could have held out a little longer, especially when he turned to see Illinois pushing the brim of his hat back to get a better look at the detective caught in the act of closing Dorene’s door while the petite professor behind him folded her arms and shook her head with disapproval.
Two rooms left, and of course they would belong to the two people who just caught him in the act of snooping around.
“For shame, whoever you are,” the professor said. “Poking around in a lady’s room without her permission?”
Wilford said, “That’s what I tried to tell him!”
“I’m not poking around,” Abe said, and she wasn’t the only one who scoffed at him.
“He was looking for clues to find the murderer,” Illinois said, in his usual, unhurried tone. “What any detective worth his badge would do in this situation. I suppose you were planning on looking in our rooms as well?”
Abe cleared his throat and instead of answering that asked, “Just what are you two doing out here, anyway? I thought Benjamin was supposed to be keeping everyone gathered together in the lounge car for safety.”
“Little missy here said she had something important to check on in the baggage car, and I could hardly let her go alone.”
“Do not call me ‘little missy,’” the professor said, and drew herself up to her full if still not very intimidating height as she explained, “I have something very sensitive and valuable stored in the baggage car, and if it was damaged during the sudden stop or tampered with in any way, we could have a very serious situation on our hand.”
“More serious than the murder?” Abe asked.
The professor scoffed again and said, “Oh, you have no idea. To be fair, I’m not entirely sure what would happen if it got damaged either, but my projections say it would definitely be on the side of ‘not good.’”
“Professor Beauregard was very insistent about that,” Illinois added. “And I thought it couldn’t hurt to check and just be sure. But if you’re wanting to take a look around our rooms, I think we’d be glad to take a little detour and open the doors for you so you don’t have to go sneaking in, then we can all go to the baggage car together. Safety in numbers and all that.”
Clever son of a gun. It’s not like Abe could turn him down now that they both knew what the detective was planning on doing, and of course Abe would want to know what the professor had up there that was so precious and dangerous she just had to check on it. Framing the offer as an invitation meant Abe could save some face and still look around their rooms, which meant he had to be grateful even while Illinois ensured he and Professor Beauregard could keep an eye on him at the same time.
Illinois’s smile was disarming even in the slightly unsteady light of the lantern, his voice so friendly and genuine that Abe almost immediately forgot his suspicions as Illinois gestured toward his own room and said, “Well, shall we? I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Abe nodded, silently yelling at himself to get a grip. He could not let himself get distracted by a pretty face during the middle of an investigation, not again.
“Not that there’s much to see, of course,” Illinois said, in direct contrast to the strange array of items littered around the room, from a coiled bullwhip hanging on the coat hook by the door to the map pinned to the wall, its surface littered with so many pins connected by bits of string that even Abe thought it was a bit excessive. He gestured toward the locked trunk sitting to one side and said, “Just a few odds and ends I’ve picked up on my travels, on their way to a museum where they belong.”
“Yeah, I can’t just take your word on that one, pal,” Abe said. “Mind opening the trunk?”
“Not at all, friend,” Illinois answered without batting an eye. He pulled a key from one of the pouches on his hip and unlocked the trunk, opening it to reveal a lot of packing straw and several bundles carefully wrapped in leather and string to protect their contents. “This little beauty I picked up at a temple in Ohio. For some reason the locals begged me to take it from there—usually it’s the other way around with these things, but who am I to judge?”
Illinois unwrapped the covering, and for a split second the lanterns Abe and the professor were holding illuminated the glimmering jewel, a second too long as both recoiled and begged him to cover it, cover it now, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Illinois said, rewrapping the terrible, terrible jewel. “Eye of the beholder situation, everyone else who looks upon it is ‘filled with madness’ or something like that. You know how local legends can be sometimes.”
“Don’t…don’t ever do that again,” Abe said, barely able to get the words out as his lungs struggled for air.
Beside him, Professor Beauregard was doubled over, and he could just barely hear her say, “I think I’m going to be sick…” before lurching toward the bathroom.
“Would you like to see what else is in the trunk?” Illinois asked.
“No!” Abe and the professor shouted in unison, possibly the only time either one of them didn’t want to know more about something.
Illinois shrugged and relocked the trunk while Wilford said, “I don’t get what all the fuss was about. Just some fancy little piece of jewelry. I want to know more about this!”
Abe reached out one hand and grabbed the back of Wilford’s collar before he could get his grabby little mitts on the bullwhip, asking Illinois as he did so, “The conductor let you bring that on the train?”
“What, the whip? Of course, I never travel without it.”
“But he didn’t make you put it in the weapons safe?” Abe pressed.
“There’s a weapons safe?”
Abe scowled, wondering if he was the only person on this entire train who had his weapon taken from him, and took out his frustration by pacing the room and checking every other corner he could find, even tapping the walls to be sure of no more hidden compartments before finally having to relent and admit there was nothing else worth noting in the adventurer’s room. At least nothing related to the current murder situation.
But, while he had the man at hand, he might as well try to get all the information he could.
With that thought in mind, Abe carelessly picked up an ordinary enough looking rock and turned it over in his hand as he asked, “Did you know the victim?”
“No,” Illinois said, plucking the rock from Abe’s hand and returning it to its place with undue care. “Couldn’t even tell you the poor soul’s name. Saw him in the lounge car yesterday and I meant to introduce myself, but never got a chance to so much as say hello. I’d hoped to get to know both of you better after dinner, but he wasn’t too keen to chat at the bar and you were…well, I don’t like to wake someone sleeping that well.”
“You were snoring very loudly,” the professor added, returning from the bathroom and already looking better now that the jewel of Ohio was locked away again. “I had to go back to my room just to be able to concentrate enough to work.”
“What about you, did Happy talk to you?” Abe asked, trying to ignore that remark.
The professor paused, brow furrowed. “Well, yes, he stopped by where I was working in the lounge before dinner, but I could have sworn he used a different name. Then again, I’m not the greatest at names and I was so focused on working out the math behind a particularly tricky theory at the time, so who knows?”
“And what did he say?” Abe was trying to be patient, he really was.
“Oh, that I missed a coefficient!” The professor clapped her hands together, eyes lighting up. “Silly me, don’t know how it happened, but that was just the thing to prove without a doubt that—that, um…”
She cleared her throat and admitted, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it, but let’s just say it was a really big deal, and proves I was right, and that’s all you need to know about that. Anyway, of course I had to ask him how he spotted that, but he just said he was good with numbers, which, okay, sure buddy, and he started asking me all of these questions about my work? He knew so much I think he has to have been working for—for someone who’d like me to say more than I should, not that I would ever do that, of course. Luckily the dining car opened then and I could make an excuse about wanting to sit with Illinois so he’d leave me alone.”
“Oh,” Illinois said, looking a little crestfallen while Abe was still trying to parse that firehose of information. “And here I thought you wanted to get to know me a little better.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’d still love to take some samples of your artifacts before you take them to the museum or wherever it is you’re going, and maybe do a brain scan while we’re at it,” Professor Beauregard said, adding in a low voice to Abe, “I suspect radiation or some kind of hallucinogenic gas would explain some of the things he claims to have seen on his ‘expeditions.’”
Abe nodded without really listening, still thinking about the agent who somehow managed to catch a mistake in the professor’s notes and knew all about whatever confidential project she was working on. Was she the reason he was on this train?
Now that he thought about it, swapping rooms with Abe would have put Happy just as close to the professor’s room as Richard Moneybags—maybe he had been a little too quick to assume Happy had decided to work for the rich idiot.
Speaking of the idiot…
“Did either of you know anyone else on the train before yesterday?” Abe asked, and their hesitation and waiting for the other to answer first said a lot all on its own.
“Actually, I knew Dorene—or rather, knew of her,” Illinois said, cracking a smile as he said, “Imagine my surprise when I found one of my biggest benefactors here on this train. She’s donated a lot of money to museums, and helped fund more than one of my expeditions to get a relic back where it belongs. Lovely lady, which is why it’s a shame we’ve only ever communicated by letter before yesterday.”
“You two just happened to be on the same train?” Abe asked. “A train that literally has less than a carful of passengers?”
Illinois shrugged. “I was in the area for work, she was doing some sightseeing, and we’re both headed to a grand opening of a new wing at a museum—she helped fund it, and I’m helping fill it with that trunk over there.”
“Please tell me the Ohio thing isn’t going on display,” Abe said.
“That? Nah, that’s…” Illinois paused. “Actually, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. Usually it’s either take it to a museum or return it to its place of origin, I’ve never been in a situation where neither one wants anything to do with it.”
“You could sell it,” Professor Beauregard pointed out, before adding under her breath, “Not that anyone in their right mind would ever pay for something like that…”
Illinois grimaced and said, “Selling to a private buyer is always a dangerous road to go down in my line of work. As soon as you’re willing to put a price on something, there’s always someone who thinks that means it’s open season to bid for any and everything else you discover. Besides, who cares about the money?”
Spoken like someone who hadn’t taken more than a few dirty jobs just to make ends meet, but Abe sensed an opportunity and took it to suggest, “Well, you’ve got one person on this train rich and stu-er, adventurous enough to make an offer if you change your mind.”
He didn’t even have to say the name “Richard Moneybags” to get a reaction out of both of them.
Illinois grimaced while the professor all but gagged again, but it was the adventurer who admitted, “Yeah, thank you for the suggestion, but I think I’ll give that one a pass. If I’m being honest, Dick and I don’t exactly see eye to eye when it comes to matters of…ownership. Namely, that he thinks anything has a price if you push the right people hard enough.”
Well, that sounded enough like a euphemism for even Abe to catch it.
“’The right people’ as in someone willing to steal it if the owners aren’t selling?” Abe guessed.
Illinois just shrugged and said, “Nothing that can be proven, but word gets around. Although judging by what he’s got on display in his room over there, my guess is that his dealers can’t always deliver what they promise and make do with what they can—bit lucky for them then that he’s not so good at telling the real from the fake.”
“Sounds about right,” Professor Beauregard said with a snort. “All looks and no depth.”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Abe said, turning on the professor. “What’s your deal with Moneybags?”
“My ‘deal’? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She managed to say that with a straight face, and behind her Wilford rolled his eyes and took the opportunity to pull a large sip from a flask—Abe’s flask, which the detective suddenly realized wasn’t in his pocket.
Abe scowled at Wilford but had to let it go for now and focus on the professor. “Sure, like I couldn’t see the way you were glaring at the guy last night. Look, I get it, the guy’s an asshole, I’m just curious how you figured that out for yourself.”
The professor stared at him, jaw working as she started to answer only to rethink it over and over again until she finally settled on saying, “Mr. Bags has made a lot of money by having a lot of ‘ideas,’ and then paying other people to make those ideas happen. He’s also made a lot of money by making sure those people don’t waste time thinking about little things like the consequences of those big ideas until they belong to other people. I mean, this is just hearsay and of course I wouldn’t know anything personally, certainly not anything I could legally share with anyone here, but you get the idea, right?”
“Uh…sure,” Abe said.
“I guess you’ll still want to look at my room,” Professor Beauregard said. If she was looking to change the subject, she still managed to sound and look equally unenthused at her own idea. “This just seems like a waste of time though, you know? But I know it’s important to be thorough, and Illinois had to go ahead and let you look around his room, so it’d look bad if I didn’t do the same. Sorry in advance, I like to work while I travel and things are a bit all over the place because of the train slamming on its brakes and everything.”
As Abe had already discovered, once the professor got to talking it was very hard to get a word in edgewise, especially when she managed to say all of that in the space of time it took to leave Illinois’s room and walk across the hall. Still, once she unlocked the door and pulled it open for the others to see the interior, there was just enough of a pause for the detective to comment on the sight.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Abe crossed over the scattered papers and books, hardly paying them any mind as he stopped and pointed at the very large and very obvious blaster sitting on the couch that no one had bothered to convert into a bed. “What is this?!”
Professor Beauregard shrugged. “Just a little something for self-defense. You can’t be too careful traveling alone these days.”
“She’s right,” Illinois chimed in. “I like to keep an open mind toward my fellow travelers, but there are some dangerous folks out there.”
“But—but this is…” Abe trailed off, looking from the gun that might as well have fallen out of a sci-fi pulp novel to the others in search of some sign anyone else saw the obvious problems here, but with no luck. He settled for muttering under his breath about the conductor and his stupid weapons policy before asking about the other “equipment.” “What’re all these machines for?”
“Monitoring equipment,” Professor Beauregard answered, slapping the detective’s hand away before he could press any of the large and inviting buttons. “Among other things. It’s all to aid my research, although now I’m mostly going through and trying to put all of the data together into something that even a bunch of monkeys in suits can understand.”
Illinois asked, “Are we talking metaphorical monkeys here, or…?”
He shrugged when the others stared at him and said, “I’ve seen enough to know better than to make assumptions.”
“Investors,” the professor with the same tone of voice she’d use to describe something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. “I technically can’t talk about it, and I don’t see that it has anything to do with what’s going on here. What is it you’re looking for again, detective?”
That was a good question. If there was a clue here, he’d be hard-pressed to recognize it among all of the gadgets and gizmos, never mind all of the notes written in the professor’s neat handwriting, the notations all perfectly legible and yet still beyond any hope of Abe understanding a single word of it.
Still, he made the same show of walking around the room, checking under the bed and standing by while the professor opened her bag to prove there were no additional weapons hidden among her clothes, or among the currently unoccupied cases for all of the equipment arranged around the room.
There was only the very obvious blaster she just had lying out where anyone could get it, but seeing it reminded Abe of Happy’s strange, toy-like gun, currently tucked away in his belt under his jacket.
“Did you make that thing?” Abe asked, gesturing toward the blaster.
“Yep!” Professor Beauregard hefted the blaster up on her shoulder, the thing nearly as big as her torso, and seemed oblivious to the way Abe and Illinois both flinched away at the sight. “I put it together while I was testing some potential uses of the—uh. I probably shouldn’t talk about that, either.”
She hesitated and Abe asked, “So you didn’t have a source, or know anyone who might make other…unorthodox weapons?”
“Nope, can’t say that I do. I don’t really care much for guns or stuff like that, if I’m being honest.” The professor shrugged and added, “Not bad for my first time though, right? Still working on the balance, and it has a tendency to pull to the right a little when you pull the trigger, but that shouldn’t be hard to correct for. Not that I’m planning on needing to use it much, of course.”
She beamed at Abe, who hated to imagine what she could make if she were a gun enthusiast. As it was, she seemed a little too comfortable wielding that giant blaster, which made it a relief when Illinois was the one who pointed out, “You may need to leave that here while we’re at the front of the train. Sounds like the conductor fellow isn’t a fan of blasty things.”
“Oh, of course,” Professor Beauregard said, setting the blaster down while behind her two of the men breathed silent sighs of relief.
Wilford, on the other hand, kept shooting such covetous looks at the blaster that Abe decided he better cut this search short before the man got any funny ideas.
((End of Part 7. Thanks for reading! And my apologizes to the Ohioans (excepting Mark, for obvious reasons).
Also that puzzle reference Abe made is 100% something Sam Vimes has said before. Cannot recommend the Discworld City Watch books enough if you haven't checked them out before.
Link to Part 8: What the Engineer Didn't Hear.
Tag list: @silver-owl413 @asteriuszenith @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @95fangirl @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-star-eyes @shyinspiredartist @avispate @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard))
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ask-the-mirror-da · 2 years
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Pls pls pls I know it’s been forever but my brain is on hyperactive mode just let me talk.
There’s this amazing beautiful musical that has changed my life for the better I think. It’s called Ride the Cyclone and the characters made me think of this and now I can’t stop thinking about this and I’m freakin out man!!!
Let’s start with my personal favorite character, Jane Doe.
Jane Doe is a character who has lost her entire identity because the coroners were never able to find her head. She wears a little too porcelain doll head and carries around a beheaded doll. Her story is traumatic and her song is all about mourning her lost, unknown life.
Who am I gonna relate this character to? The DA obviously. The DA who was murdered, put in a mirror, came out of the mirror and didn’t remember their past life. If you listen to the song it has recalling of her life and the desperation to just know a little bit about her old self. It’s also very old timey, having a Ballad/Opera feel to it. Makes sense right? YEAH!!
My second Fav Character, Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg. A girl who has always had the thirst for success and pushes others down to get her way until the end of the show. Watch it to find out what I mean. A girl whose entire song is about how her life means more and obviously she should be the one at the chance of life because she has so much to do!
Actor Mark. Duh. The thirst for success. The putting others down. The thought that he’s the hero and everyone else’s life means less than his!!!! UGH.
Constance Blackwood is “The Nicest Girl In Town” whose entire song is about how nothing good ever happened to her accept for in the town she lived in with all her friends. At first she hated her small town but then everything changed when she died. She sings about how lovely her life is and how much she loved being alive and will never let go of that.
Damien. He was probably the nicest kid in town in his day and was the mayor who cares deeply about people. He probably hated something deep down but in the end I think he really loved his life.
Noel Gruber is the most romantic boy in town who had a fantasy that he was a hooker in post-war France. He dreams of a life he can be himself and be accepted for what he wanted to be. He’s eccentric, funny, and knows how to get what he wants in his life……. He also calls Ocean a horrible succubus…
William. He’s eccentric and wants a life where he can be himself and no one else. Also… him calling Actor Mark a horrible succubus…….
Mischa Bachinski was the angriest boy in town that masked all of his love for this girl named Talia with anger and his uh…. Rapping career or something… he was truly hiding his secret online relationship with a girl named Talia that he fell in love with when he was still in Ukraine and they had planned to get married before he moved away.
Abe. Abe had somebody, actually many people he truly loved and now that they were all gone he covered that part of him up with anger and hate for something that in the long run doesn’t matter.
Ricky Potts is the most imaginative boy in town who, after an accident, was left mute and on crutches. He dreamed of a better life for himself which is one of the most awkward songs on the album so I’ll just say uh… space cats. But he’s very in-touch with everyone else in the choir especially Jane Doe and seems to have a huge heart that just wants to have fun and not be in the same place forever.
Celine. Celine truly seemed like a good person to people that she loved and cared about (like Ricky with Jane Doe) and like Ricky she wanted to escape to a better place for herself.
Karnak is the talking fortune telling machine that has orchestrated all of this. He wants to give the kids a chance at being alive again. He wants them to have a better life. But he can only bring one of them back. He’s also sassy and sometimes mean to the “contestants” lmao.
The house entity. While not as kind-hearted as Karnak it orchestrated everything that happened in the house and brought them all together like Karnak did.
I AM GOING INSANE HELP
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fandomsgal · 2 years
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I had a dream where who killed Markiplier was a musical and I had the whole opening number and scene in my head, Mark had like a slowed down key changed and tune changed version of the previous verse, there was a lot of dancing, it looked really fun and I was sad that it ended, so I thought I might have some fun, practice my creative writing and do it myself, this is purely just for fun because I love that project Mark did so much. And like if I have time I could potential write songs for a hypothetical heist with markiplier or in space with markiplier, maybe Magnum gets a song about his crew and pirate life or Illinois has s whole song about his previous adventures to y/n. For space maybe wug can get his appreciation and get a song and dance with y/n but again this is all hypothetical and just for fun since this was all first based on a dream of who killed markiplier.
So I have song titles that can be changed.
Opening number- Party of the Century.
Death of the Actor- Pretty self explanatory, but this song would be sung by abe with the guests having panic parts in it.
Colonel's Lament- the scene where he's calling out for damien and starts to slowly lose control of himself.
Dark- A duet between Celine and Damien, her much slower and darker as she tries to convince us of her and Damien's plan, while Damien is more internal and worried about the plan.
That's all I have so far, I have a couple of lyrics that I could post on here, but again this is just purely for fun and also to test my skills even though I don't know how to write music, I can still do a tune and lyrics, but yeah, Who Killed Markiplier the Musical sounds fun and I'd love a friend to just share this or just talk about it with since I just have a lot if ideas and no one to share or talk to with in my own personal life.
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