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collective-laugh · 5 years

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Detective AU - Muriel x MC Chapter 4

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Taglist: @a-zoidberg-aesthetic @lesbiancountess @fartkittyonline @yaysam @y-all-dnt-ve @countgoatman-and-drleechboy @julians-chest-hair @vesuviass @caterpiller-tea @zaemoultrie75901 @saltywerewolfrebel @obsessedwiththearcana @thatsaltyseaman @xburningwitch @i-dont-speak-wolf @missrabbitart @softarcana

This chapter was highly inspired by ‘Private Investigations’ by the Dire Straits. @dr-devorak-will-seeyounow introduced me, and it fit the vibe, and I fell in love! I recommend listening while reading!

Also, please let me know if you would like me to put together some sort of playlist/mood music! I’ve done this before on AO3, and it really seems to help!

Thank you to everyone who has made this series such a success, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I have! Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Four: Private Investigations

“You’re looking more miserable than usual, Muriel.” Ludovico leans against the handrail to the back entrance of the Raven, “Which is a feat, considering you always look miserable.”

Muriel lets the cigarette dangle from his lips, still worried about her, hoping that Julian got her back home safely, that he didn’t try anything…

If he found out he so much as laid a hand on her, he’d fucking kill him.

He didn’t really know why he cared so much, and he knew the doctor well enough to know he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything...sober.

“‘m tired.” Muriel claims, and though it’s a half truth, he wished he wasn’t so transparent, “Don’t worry about it.”

Ludovico smirks at him, tossing his cigarette butt out in the rain, “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the little broad you walked in with, huh?”

“No.” He answers a little too quickly, a little too sharply.

He raises his eyebrows, unused to Muriel being anything other than quietly benign, and asks, “Who was she anyway?”

Muriel knew it was none of his business, but he didn’t mind Ludovico, and it didn’t hurt to talk to someone, he guessed. That was always Asra’s advice - “feelings” and “talking” and all that bullshit.

“You wanna, ah,” He waggles his eyebrows, “make whoopee with her?”

Never mind.

Muriel rolls his eyes, smashing his cigarette on the hand rail. Trying to talk to people was shit, and definitely something he didn’t want to make a habit.

“She’s a friend.” He claims, which...isn’t a lie. He’s known her for years now, and knows more about her than he probably ought to, considering just how little they talked. Asra liked to talk about her to no end, sparing no detail about just how much he missed her.

He hopes she’s gotten home safely, that she’s managed to fall asleep so she doesn’t muck up her interview with the Countess later.

The Countess...he could hardly believe that the Countess of Vesuvia herself had resorted to a backwater private detective, no offense to her or Asra. She held no real title outside of being insanely rich and being the former wife of the most prominent crime boss in the city.

Lucio sickened Muriel. The thought of him made him sneer again, and the mere idea that someone could pull the right strings and make the right deals with the right people, and all his problems, all the sick shit he did, could just disappear.

“A friend, huh? Well, the last friend I had like that ended up in my bed, compadre.” Ludovico raises his brow, his sleazy intentions obvious, “You could always give her my number if she doesn’t have someone waitin’ for her at home.”

He was about to say she did, that there was Asra or maybe even Julian waiting for her back at the office, that she wasn’t going to be in that dank little hole all on her own.

Maybe it was selfish. It was definitely selfish to want to be the one waiting for her.

He curses himself, wondering when the hell he started considering her as anything more than an acquaintance he kept at arms’ length. He’s itching for another cigarette, especially as he’s facing the stupid grin on Ludovico’s face. Instead of lighting another, he’s looking at the watch on his wrist. It was a quarter past five, which meant he was free to go.

“Maybe.” He says, trying not to sound so cryptic, but, like Asra said, it was a second nature to him.

He debates stopping back by the office. He’d sent Jules home with her around midnight, and he did want to make sure she was alright. But, something she said to him earlier stuck out like a sore thumb, something about how she could walk herself home.

She was still a grown woman, even if she couldn’t really remember who she was, and he wasn’t certain she’d be all too thrilled about his breathing down her neck.

He does light a cigarette, with Ludovico yelling something crude about her after him, and he shuts his eyes for just a moment, trying to steady himself. It had been a long night, and he was so tired, but he needed to check on her, to make sure she got home alright…

The nagging voice in his head telling him to leave her be wins, despite his instincts screaming at him to do otherwise. He walks the opposite direction, straight back home.

His place is small, modest, and...decidedly not comfortable. The landlord insisted on no pets, but as soon as she saw Muriel, she made an exception, considering she claimed, “ruffians’ll go running soon as they see you, boy!” He couldn’t live anywhere without Inanna, he knows, and was thankful to the lady - Nonna Linka, as she insisted on being called - for letting him stay.

She wasn’t up yet, like anyone with sense, so he’s alone on his trek up the single flight of stairs. He isn’t surprised to find his door unlocked, considering the damn thing had been broken for months now, and all but collapses in bed alongside Inanna.

He dreams of her, of happier times, and wishes things were simpler than he made them out to be.

She’s scrambling to get dressed.

It’s embarrassing; the first time in months she’s had a case, and actual, honest to God interview with a client, and she’s running around like a headless chicken trying to gather everything she needed. Asra would have been no better, she knew, waiting until the last minute for everything, but she refuses to think of him now, today, at least until she’s gotten this interview over with.

It was a murder case. Not only a murder case, but a case surrounding the Lucio Morgason. It was more than she ever could have asked for, and she was squandering it because she could quite reach the button on her dress.

Once she’s certain she’s gathered everything - and certain that she’s forgotten at least one thing - she’s out the door, only half remembering to lock it and turn the tacky neon signs off. She only barely catches the train to the Heart District, and knows she must look a mess.

A gorgeous socialite looks at her, all legs and brown hair tied up in some elaborate braid, lips painted a red far too improper for the time of day, and arches a perfectly sculpted brow, as if the very sight of her was amusing.

It was enough to send her blood boiling, and remind her exactly what she was here for.

Nadia’s house - estate, mansion, whatever - is only a seven minute walk and a four minute run from the train station, and she makes it with five minutes to spare before she was considered tardy. It takes two minutes to have her looking presentable again, another three to even reach the door and be led inside by a butler - butler! - one to have her coat taken, and another seven before she even sees Nadia.

She’s the picture of perfection, and puts that socialite from the train to shame, effortlessly beautiful with her long, black hair, and long, golden dress. She greets her gracefully, as she does all things, and ensures that they’re alone, beginning the interview in Lucio’s private library, sitting across from one another.

“Can you tell me about the last time you saw your husband?” She asks, subtly looking over to the tape recorder to ensure that it was getting all of this. Her hand stood ready, just in case Nadia said anything important, and she settles into detective mode, trying to calm herself.

“I…” Nadia wrings her hands, eyeing the white gloves she set aside moments before, as if she was debating whether or not she really wanted to hold them. “I don’t remember my husband. The accident…” She shrugs, looking everywhere but at the detective, “I didn’t know where else to turn, detective. The law is thankful he’s dead, and his ‘friends’ are starting to call for my removal.”

“Removal?” She asks, “Removal from what?”

“I’ve been acting as an interim...boss, I suppose.” She finally meets her eyes, “You must understand, detective. This city isn’t kind to us.”

Truer words had never been spoken, but she only purses her lips before asking, “Is there anyone who might have wanted to hurt your husband? Anyone he had any bad blood with?”

“He was not known for his...subtlety.” Nadia hesitates, as if the gravity of the situation was just catching up to her, “Detective, you must know that I’m willing to pay you handsomely for your services. And that the law is not to know of this.” She says it with such vindication, with such authority, that the detective feels like she has to listen.

“Don’t worry about that.” She replies, thankful her voice didn’t betray her nerves, “This conversation will only ever be heard by you, me, and my associate.”

“Asra?” Nadia inquires, like she was quizzing herself to see if she could remember his name.

The detective nods, but moves on, “Did your husband have any enemies?”

Nadia purses her lips, eyes flicking over to the tape recorder before pulling a small notepad from between the chair and its cushion, sliding it across the table toward Nadia, “I, um...I compiled a short list of people it could possibly be, or people who might have wanted him dead.”

The detective flicks through the pages, though the only writing found inside is on the first and second slips of paper. “Consul Valerius…Vulgora...these are his associates, right?”

Nadia opens her mouth to say something, closes it, and shakes her head, “They are...suspicious at the very least.”

The detective purses her lips.

This was going to be a long interview.

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