♔【.x// Your Grey Visage Pt. I 】

【.x// Your Grey Visage ; First Chase 】

    "So where is this victim?" asked a man half-heartedly. Though it wouldn't be quite accurate to say that he had grown sick of the sight of mutilated dead bodies, it was moreso that he had just grown tired of his job. He had wanted more exitement in his life as an investigator, but lately his cases had been far too predictable.

    "Ah, I happen to be sitting on him," his companion said casually as he popped in his mouth another piece of generic pink bubble-gum that he ruffled out of his easily recognizable 7-Eleven shopping bag. Strangely, he had put the individually wrapped pieces of gum in a latex glove he carried as part of a spare pair. The childish-looking man claimed that he hadn't been able to find the bin of mini plastic bags and thus didn't want to bother looking.

    The former man choked slightly on his coffee, which amused the cheerful person who sat across him in his usual carefree manner, chuckling at his cliche reaction. The man sighed, exasperated at his younger cousin for being so... Illogical? Nonsensical? Or perhaps it was just a matter of being inconsiderate. The whole point of them waiting at the airport was to wait for the victim's supposed family to identify him and confirm to themselves of his death. Yet, here was his weird cousin, sitting on the casket of said body while eating candy. And the man was stuck with him, waiting as the time passed slower than minus five per hour.

    "Deo, honestly, have you mentally matured at all the past four years? You certainly don't look any older," he teased the younger man without malice. "Even in your taste in clothes: There's a cutesy purple whale with an overly swollen belly on your shirt. You wear it to work with your uniform though you're a mortician. I don't even know what to say."

    "Hey, it's cute. Helps brighten up the mood at work, and at least I hid the derrogatorive speech bubble," Deo insisted as he chewed rhythmically on his gum, popping it occasionally. "Oh, by the way, it says 'STROKE & B-'"

    "Definitely doesn't suit you, and I really don't want to know--I'd rather swallow (???) peroxide*... Or something," his older cousin interrupted in a blatant statement. Deo only laughed lightly in response.

    "I just wanted to see more of that 'disturbed face' of yours. But ow, that was quite harsh of you, Cain. Calling me not cute," the light brunette said, feigning hurt.

    "Officially disturbed," Cain said at the thought of his cousin being cute rather than bizarre and creepy. "Plus, you should probably get off the poor guy now. It'd be quite insulting to his family when they walk in to see you using him as seating equiptment."

    "Ahh, true, true! If he had a wife she'd probably wrinkle her face in a lovely scowl... Or she could even cry," the young man muttered almost dreamily. If Cain had found it strange, he'd have likely dismissed it as something the mortician would usually say. Deo stood off the case, exchanging his gum for more candy. Cain assumed it was because of the nasty air of being around dead bodies that made his cousin crave sweets.

    "Well, if she existed she'd probably cry anyway just at the body's stitched up body from the numerous slashes. So as usual, just be quiet and I'll do the speaking, since you always say... Overly unneccessary things," the older male commanded. He examined the papers of his suitcase with an uninterested face, then shifting to his gathered material evidence, including the broken tip of a knife.

    "It amuses me to see people's reactions to things. I don't just do it for no reason, you know. Well, the guy happens to be rich. His family could be in genuine despair, but these days, it's more likely they'll be secretly happy instead," Deo rambled.

    Cain paused in thought while recalling the photos of the corpse, ignoring Deo's creepy and depressing comments. "He didn't seem to be. Did he have fancy jewelry or something?"

    "Something like that," Deo replied as he grinned a smile that didn't even come close to reaching his eyes.

    A knock sounded at the door, and Cain had let a woman in along with her son.

    "Oi, Cain. I have to run, but you'll definitely catch up, right?" the young man asked cheerfully.

    An eyebrow was raised in confusion at the strangely phrased question, but their owner replied nonchalantly nontheless, "Yeah, whatever."

    Needless drama ensued as he could tell the tears of the victim's wife were fake. Cain was at least relieved that there wasn't any real need to hold back during his questioning. However, a switchblade with a broken tip had been found in the woman's purse, yet she insisted she had known nothing about it.

    Yet, Cain felt a strange sense of déja vü that made him weary. All the evidence had pointed to the wife in such an obvious way, including the mother and child's missing plane tickets including their records, and then the child had insisted that they never even left the city and made their way from home, the site of the murder. The woman was in hysterics, which confused the investigator even further.

    Cain groaned drearily, massaging his neck through his copper-brown hair, "It's going to be a long day." He threw back the remainder of his coffee, but found that it was cold. The man swore under his breath.

    A long day indeed.