Strolling Through the Dusk Again [Mission]

Absolute Focus:

Peril was up late tonight the boss's son had really been putting him through hell these last few days. It was hours past midnight, but needless to say yet again Peril was doing research into possible conditions and opportunities for one of the good-for-nothing, silver-spoon using, snot-for-brains... ahem. For one of Togashi, Gon's schemes... again. The late night had its attractions though. It was utterly silent. His eyes were red from the lantern light, and the slightly too small text of all the books he was speeding through. It was gonna be his ass after all if the boss lost money on this. He'd sit shipping receipts onto the shelf to go through another dozen books. He'd read and sign those later. As he flipped through another tome of esoterica, he had to wipe a tear from under his glasses as a yawn fought its way out. Storing things in shadow and light just simply didn't make sense. Faintly, through the midnight quiet, a knock. Light, but slow. Like a rubber ball falling down far away stairs.

He wasn't expecting anyone, but the boss would send those goblins over whenever. Calmly he'd sit his readers on the desk and quickly comb through the salt and pepper curls that had begun resisting their slicked back bondage. The tapping on his door would start again, and annoyed he rise scraping wood on wood as the chair loudly protested being roused so late in the night. The tapping stopped. His brow would furrow deeply while he'd pause his breath for a better listen. He'd hear nothing ahead. Not murmurs, nor footsteps, nor night chirps, nor silence. The drums of fear would deafeningly pulse through his body. Thin socks wouldn't muffle his steps nearly as much as he'd like. It felt like minutes before he'd reached the foyer. He'd check the peephole. No one was out there.

Observation of Peril [2/2]

This time he'd feel the tapping almost as soon as it begun. As the wood ever so lightly bent upwards with each one, a shiver would rise from his feet, to his spine and into his lungs, and fear would shrill from his mouth. Leaping all too high from where he stood he'd fall a few feet away tumbling to the ground, but his fall would be met with warm embrace. Two hands would burst from the would beneath him dragging him onto the dirt beneath his house. He'd meet gleeful eyes before a hand would cover his face. He could only watch as a finger graced his chin, and with a single flick his vision would go dark.

While he lay there, The masked butterfly would walk over to the kitchen carefully rifling through cabinets until she found what she'd been looking for. He seemed like a bourbon kinda man [Precog] She'd go ahead and pour a bit of the bottle into the glass swirling it around the edges to evenly disperse it. Next was the ice. She'd use the lantern heat to slowly and carefully melt it maintaining its shape appropriately, catching the dripping water in a pot from his sink. Slowly she'd collect the shipping manifests, bills, receipts, and every legal document from his desk and shelves. She'd replace the document he was working on with a half finished letter penned in perils hand, cross referencing his notes. She'd place a thick stack of crumpled papers in his fireplace, soak them in bourbon then ignite them.

After watching them burn, the story would be simple. Dissatisfied with his position he planned to quit, and in the process of doing so he fell through a weak spot on the floor. He stayed down there so long because he was- Oh, She'd almost forgotten. She'd pull out a syringe filled with ethanol. After pushing through a bit of wax on its tip, it'd push through Peril's lower left thigh. She'd pool the blood into the syringe allowing it to mix with the clear poison, and then it'd return back into his blood stream. Grabbing him by his chin, she'd pour a bit into his mouth letting it sit before soothing him to swallow. She'd go back over the house once more carefully erasing the traces of her presence, hairs, oils, sweat, or anything else she may have left behind. She'd stop by the cabinet to take one more thing before she left. There was a whiskey with the year 860 A.S. on it. What a fine year.

[Exit]