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located in somewhere dark, a part of Please Scroll Past, one of the many universes on RPG.

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Quinn set off in the early evening in a black dress and bonnet, looking as if she was in mourning. In a way she was, mourning for the life she felt was about to change. Her somber attire was definitely not for the dead man she had currently in her suitcase.

Marcel had been left at home to burn the parts that would not fit within her bags and the blood and waste soaked carpet he'd butchered them over. The smell made Quinn uncomfortable and she opted to get out of the house and be rid of the rest of the evidence as soon as possible. A neighbor had made a comment to her that whatever she was cooking in there smelled delicious, which she could only return with a pained smile and mention that the preparation had been a hassle.

She took a road around the back streets of the city, making her way to a discrete location where she hoped to drop the body into the sewers. While she was walking and trying to distract herself from the thought that she was carrying a corpse, somebody ran into her and promptly fell onto their bottom. She was a little girl, face smeared with dirt, who apologized with a half-toothless grin as Quinn knelt down to her. She helped the girl up before the little rat took off running with her handbag.

"Get back here!" Quinn shouted after her but she kept running. Quinn's frustration fell away as the contents of that satchel came to mind, being replaced with a very different emotion. Her olive eyes went wide.

"Oh, shit," she swore, lifted her skirts and took off in the direction the girl had run.

The girl had opted to scamper towards the sound of chatter and people rather than into the shadows, probably hoping to lose her pursuer in the crowds, if there were any such crowds out in the evening. Quinn's bag was slowing her down in the pursuit but she couldn't bring herself to leave a case full of evidence around for anyone to find, especially in a place like Veilbrand when it could be mistaken for holding valuables. As Quinn broke onto the main street, she saw stalls being set up - oh, crap, the night markets were on today, weren't they? Yes, she could even see the space her stall was supposed to be set. These murders had really driven a stake through her schedule.

She saw the girl's red hair disappear among the company of ladies and men dressed similarly to Quinn, the only people who could afford what these stalls were presenting. Quinn almost let the girl go then, but the thought that she could take the bag off her before she could peek its contents spurred her forward. That was when she heard it.

The shrill, anguished scream of a little girl.

The small crowd parted, almost as if just for Quinn to see what was happening. The girl had opened the bag and thrown it to the ground, tossing a hand out of it. Quinn caught the glimpse of silver on one of its fingers and her lips went tight with anger. By the gods, Marcel, did you really not think to remove all items of clothing and valuables before packing these people away?! That was a ring with the Veilbrand crest - guard commission!

Guards had already come to the girl's aid and her teary eyes met with Quinn's. Her heart jolted and she turned away, hurriedly (and painfully aware of how suspicious she seemed) walking back to the alleyways. She heard people jogging up behind her and there was a command for her to halt and hand over her suitcase. And then Quinn did something you must never do when you are under suspicion. She dropped her case and bolted.




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Marcel was half naked, crouched in front of the fireplace and stroking the flames with a metal poker. Her could see the blackened meat and shards of bone poking through the firewood, which he regarded grimly. It wasn't the first time seeing a burnt up body. Sweat was dripping down his bare back from the heat of the fire, but he didn't dare open a window to bring in a breeze. The smell of meat brought attention to the house and a whole lot of awkward encounters for him.

There was a sudden rapid succession of knocks at the door, that kept going on up until he unlocked the door and opened it for whoever was outside. It was a short woman with a red face covered in sweat, who raised one gloved hand and swung it towards his face to strike him. He caught her small wrist, his golden eyes regarding her seriously.

"Quinn," he said, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to allow you to hit me whenever something in your life isn't going well."

Her eyes were shaky with fury and her lips trembled, but she yanked her hand away and shoved past him into her house.

"I have to pack," she muttered to herself as she fretted around the living room, picking up scrolls and jewelry, "Well, I would pack if my bags weren't full of dead people and with the guard. Oh, tempest take them. Tempest take you all."

"What happened, Quinn?" Marcel asked, voice laden with concern, "What happened to the bag?"

"That thieving little runt. Took her bait. Shouldn't have run after - gods, they're coming for me. I barely escaped. I can't -"

Marcel lurched forward grabbed her by the arms, pining them to her sides and jerking her out of her mutterings. Her eyes cleared and she looked up at him, her body tense with resistance. "Quinn," he started, searching for a question he could ask that she wouldn't dismiss, "Is it safe for you to be here?" She shook her head. "Then I'm helping you get out. Grab all that you need and we're going."

They didn't discuss where they were leaving to. Marcel put out the fire and updated his supplies, all while glancing back at Quinn, her writings bundled up in her arms, as she stared at the pearl jewelry spread out on her table. After a while of watching her do nothing, he marched over and started picking up the pieces and adorning her with them. Lastly, he fixed two quirky cage earrings containing pearls to her ears. He clasped a string of pearls around his own neck and smiled at her, "We better sneak out quietly, or we'll be mugged before the sun goes down."

Quinn let out a loud, defeated groan and slumped against him, burying her head in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a comforting rub on the back. She just remained a moment before pushing herself up briskly and declaring, "Marcel, you're hired."

Marcel grimaced, "Quinn, you don't have to hire me. I'm here to help you."

"You're hired," she repeated decisively. Marcel bit back his tongue and straightened, regarding her with concern. She was remarkably still for someone with so much fury. At last he nodded.

"Very well," he said stiffly, "Miss Quinn."

She lifted her chin and began to walk up the stairs away from him, "Start planning a route. I'm finding a wardrobe."

Marcel whipped his head up to her, "Only choose a few, we can't take -"

She ran up the stairs before we could finish, not before shooting a steely gaze that said, "I. Know." Marcel sighed. It no longer felt like he was instructing a child. She was a very destructive, terrifying person, yes, but no longer a child. He had the feeling that this trip with Miss Quinn was not going to be as much fun as his adventures with Mistress Ottavia.