Every single holiday, a head in a box

[falsify]

The joke is it is in fact a head in the box. Thread headers inside. Any issues or questions, please don't hesitate to send me a PM/contact me on plurk/comment on the plotting post!

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5/3, Hillingdon

[falsify]

So sometimes in a man's life, he gets post. Packages come in the mail. That's just the norm. That's life.

What one doesn't typically expect, is to open the package and find a disembodied head inside it. Eames' response isn't even horror or anything of the sort. He sighs as he looks at it and drinks his tea-- That head isn't even from his court! She's a Seelie ally! God he has half a mind to call a courier and send it to Finnick to deal with instead.

Come the Early afternoon, he arrives at Hillingdon with little fanfare and finds an unoccupied table. Maybe this isn't the way people are supposed to do things, but Eames doesn't care. He dumps the head out on the table and waits until he has the attention of those assembled before he speaks, gesturing emphatically to the head.

"Who can I pay to deal with this issue for me?"

[anniesgonemad]

Eames is speaking but he is a million miles away, another life-time away, because the moment the head hits the counter, Annie Cresta cannot breathe. She cannot breathe or think or anything but instinctively she brings her knees to her chest on the couch which she sat. From there, her hands are in her hair, over her ears, her eyes shut tight.

She says nothing, just rocks herself slightly, her mouth stretched in an invisible cry, as tears tracked down her cheeks.

The head- that head. It may as well have been her roommate's right there in front of her. She could feel the hot spray of blood over her body, the feel of her stakes in her hands. Blood had gotten into her mouth, she remembered that, and sometimes she could still taste the iron. Around her was pandemonium, but she could only focus on the head.

The books she was paging over on the couch were long forgotten, as was the room around her, in favor of the hallways of District 4.

No, Eames. You can't pay Annie to deal with this. But anyone else is welcome to it. Any takers?

hope this is cool?

[constantprisoner]

In Sirius's experience, the smell of blood was never a good thing. That went double for today, the way the scent was assaulting his nose. However, he followed it, in the event that there was some way he could help. It wasn't uncommon for fights to break out after all.

A severed head hadn't been what he expected, and while he supposed it was better than a fight, it wasn't that much better. He assumes Faolan's got the situation under control (being the leader and all that), and turns his attention to Annie. Given their last encounter, it might not be the best option, but Sirius figures he has to give it a shot.

"Annie? Is everything alright?"

totally! I was thinking of marking it as open anyway

[anniesgonemad]

Maybe it's good she's so silent right now. No one can really notice that Annie had started a flashback. It saves her the humiliation later.

Though make no mistake, there's humiliation in not being noticed, too. A reminder of how alone she often felt.

Lucky for her, perhaps unluckily even, her newest acquaintance at Hillingdon noticed. This was a fact that Annie herself also failed to notice. As far as she was concerned, she was back in that hallway, screams ringing in her ears and warm blood staining her pajama top. She can feel the carpet on her bare feet. She is there and Sinead was dead.

"Can't live without a head," she finally manages to say with a nervous giggle.

[constantprisoner]

"No, you really can't," Sirius agrees, not sure what else to say. Gingerly, he lays a hand on her shoulder.

"But maybe we should get away from the head. C'mon, let's go to the other room."

While he was slightly interested in how this whole thing was going to play out, mostly because it wasn't every day that someone walked into the house with a severed head, he could probably find out from Faolan later. For now, he should probably look after Annie.

[anniesgonemad]

There's a pressure on her shoulder, to say nothing for what Sirius was actually saying to her. She opens her unfocused eyes but she still sees the same hallways and rooms that she'd left in Ireland.

Annie whimpers, and slowly turns to face Sirius. She doesn't know him, though she feels like she should. He'll kill her, if he's a vampire. But if he's human? She has to try. Quick as a wink, one of her hands shoots out of her hair and grabs on to his hand. "Help me," she begs him. "They'll kill us next."

[reticence]

Faolan is used to people coming and going, doing as they please here in Hillingdon. He's used to people just waltzing in and dumping their kit on the tables as they please. What he isn't used to is said kit in fact consisting of a severed head. Not that it's the first one he's seen, but he'd like to have been a little more prepared than he finds himself here and now.

"What in god's name do you think you're doing with that thing?" he exclaims, leaping forward to try and deal with this problem as fast and efficiently as he can. Not that he can spare anyone who might have seen it already. But he can at least step between them and the offending object, and up to Eames himself as he tries to get a hold of the situation.

[falsify]

"Offering a job," Eames responds, in a tone of voice that may as well be accompanied with 'duh' and him rolling his eyes. He doesn't see the issue here. Clearly anyone who comes to work with Hillingdon must be used to all manner of gory nastiness, how could a (remarkably well-preserved) head possibly be an issue?

[reticence]

Be that as it may, that the people in Hillingdon are generally used to gore, they are not used to it suddenly appearing and being waved around in front of them in an area that's supposed to be something of a safe house for them. Faolan's clearly not impressed, and the look on his face says as much.

"So you had said," he comments, before glancing down at the offending object in question and asking the obvious. "Alright, then. Speak. Why are you waving a head about in my living room?" Not that it's exactly 'his' living room, but he's feeling protective since this man is an outsider and he does have an unexplained body part in his hands.

[falsify]

"She's-- or she was an ally to the fae." Eames sighs and looks at the head, it was sent to his flat in Lambeth at least, so small blessings, they don't know where he's living now. Still. It's hardly pleasant. "Seelie, actually. But I suppose whoever had it sent to me didn't feel like doing much research on the structure of the courts."

[reticence]

Faolan wishes that the man would put that thing away. Can he put it away? "Did you bring the box it came in?" he asks, hoping that it will hint as much, but also the box could be useful to investigate as well. Maybe there are some traces on it that might not have lasted on the head itself.

He makes sure to keep his own eyes firmly locked on the other man rather than the object in tow. "I take it you don't have any suggestions as to where it might have come from yourself. Other than her identity. Which was...?" Faolan had been a private investigator, before this business with Hillingdon, after all. He's trying to pick up as much information as he can before the problem gets dumped in their laps, both figuratively and literally speaking.

INVESTIGATION

[falsify]

CLUES

• Anyone with a particular sensitivity to magic will note there is some on the head. Further investigation will yield a bag of herbs/spices/misc. in the mouth. Eames or anyone with a particularly good knowledge of potions can tell you it's a concoction used to temporarily halt decay. Can't rely on Royal Mail to always deliver in a timely fashion, you know.
• A few of the items used to preserve the head are quite rare, even in magical circles. Using whatever skills you have at your disposal, you can probably narrow the field to three suppliers across London.
• For obvious reasons, sellers are hesitant to share details about their customers. But they can be worn down and persuaded eventually. Across the three, a store in Kingston is notable for repeat custom from a local Daybreak Coven.
• Similarly, the leader of this coven doesn't want to give anything up, but mention the head or if Faolan throws his Night Council status at her and she'll quickly cave. Those two are clearly past her help.
• She will give you the names of two witches of her coven - Elise and Sadie - who favour more... Aggressive methods, shall we say, and tell you where they live. She also asks you not to kill them, if it's at all possible

HILLINGDON: GATHER!

[reticence]

As head of Hillingdon House, Faolan doesn't usually organize Hillingdon towards an investigation, especially when there's a bounty in the mix. But when he finds himself with a literal decapitated head dumped in his lap, it is suddenly his problem and as such, he feels that it's his priority to make certain that there is something done about it.

So the first thing he does is let it be known about the head, putting a call out to the whole faction, asking for a roundup of whoever thinks they might be able to help, and letting them know that there has been a monetary reward for solving the crime. For them to meet him in his office to go over strategies to follow. And to take a look at the head, if they like.

He's trying his damnedest to ignore it in the meanwhile, personally.

[specifiercity]

Arthur shows up purely out of curiousity. He has no idea if he's going to try and take on this specific case, but when there's a decapitated head in a box he has to find out more. You know, for science.

Anyway here he is in Faolan's office, poking his head in and raising his eyebrow with a skeptical look on his face as he says, "I heard a rumour about a head in a box."

[reticence]

Faolan raises his own head to glance at who might have shown up to his invitation like this, and raises his eyebrow in turn at the mention of the head itself. "Would that the rumors were only that," he says, capping his pen and then gesturing that if Arthur wants to come in and see this he'd better shut the door behind him.

Once the other man has done that much, he beckons the other man over around his desk, to where he's essentially been sitting next to the thing all day. Well. The box. Sitting the head out while he worked would have just been macabre. "It was dropped off not too long ago. Apparently someone had received it in the post." He glances at Arthur, raising an eyebrow to see what he thinks of that himself.

[specifiercity]

Arthur puts his hands in his pockets and raises his eyebrows at the box. He still kind of wants to take a look, but at the same time he really doesn't. He's seen death and he's seen real-life gore, but nothing curbs the curiousity for something like this.

"A threat?" he asks, glancing up at Faolan. "Who was it sent to?"

[reticence]

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest and resisting the urge to reach out and poke the box with his foot, but only just. "A man named Eames," he answers. "Or I suppose a fae, to be more precise. He came by with it not too long ago, offering payment to whoever took the problem off of his hands, literally and metaphorically speaking."

He glances up at Arthur, to watch his face. "We've got an identity on the head, at least. I guess this Eames knew her. Before..." Before someone lopped off her head and sent it to him in the post, that is.

[constantprisoner]

"That is really disconcerting," Sirius says, point at the box as he comes into the office. He's thankful that the head's not out, given he saw enough of it when it was dropped off, but the knowledge that it's that there. Being a head. In a box. Is not a thought he is fond of entertaining.

"So what's the plan?"

[reticence]

Faolan raises his eyebrows slightly, glancing down at the box before looking back at Sirius himself and just shrugs. What else is he supposed to do with the thing? It's evidence, part of the investigation, and they need it on hand if they want to do any more investigating of the physical object itself. It might be a clue, or several for that matter. Although the fact that it's a decapitated head and it's sitting in a box on the floor in his office... Yeah. It is rather disconcerting.

"We've been tasked with solving the mystery of the head in the post," Faolan says, leaning forward over his desk and sighing slightly. "I figured we'd call in whoever we could to get what they could from this, and then go from there. I mean. It's a head in a box. Sent to our benefactor. That's really all we know to start with at least."

[constantprisoner]

"So who sent it, and why, basically? Well, they must not like him very much. That or it's a warning."

At least, those are Sirius's initial observations. Although some of them might be derived from books and movies he's seen, not having a lot of experience with conducting investigations. And the exact reasoning eludes him at the moment.

"Don't suppose our benefactor had any ideas?"

[reticence]

Faolan shakes his head. "He does and he doesn't. Insofar as he is a member of the fae royalty, and therefore it could have pretty much have been anyone. Anyone mad at the fae, anyone mad at the court, or anyone who's taken offense to him personally..." He heaves out a sigh. "It's a pretty long list if you put it all together. With a decent amount of overlap, to be true."

And One Non-Hillingdon

[knightscode]

Lancelot doesn't actually want to look at the head, truth be told, but he's seen plenty of gruesome things in this time and he can stomach it. Give his opinion on it. Tell Faolan if he can pick up anything off it, if he can help with any leads, etc.

Which means that Lancelot is turning up at Hillingdon dressed in his best attempt at plain-clothes and blending in, leather jacket and worn out jeans matches to a plain grey v-neck as he slinks through and hopes nobody recognises him and objects.

Part of him wishes he had some sort of hood to put up, but another part of him points out he isn't a teenager trying to steal something.

He makes it up to where Faolan is and knocks on the door softly before letting himself in, lofting an eyebrow questioningly and closing the door behind himself with a quiet click.

"I don't think anyone recognised me, or if they did they were too polite to say anything."

[reticence]

Faolan glances up at the other man as he lets himself in, craning as if to see if there is anyone following or attempting to spy on them before Lancelot shuts the door behind himself, before he rises and crosses around his desk.

"I'm not sure if polite would be the right way to describe that lot," Faolan says, "but they know how to mind their own business when they need to." That and it's not as if anyone's guarding any of the doors. Maybe he should think on that, although they're not under any sort of security threat. Not at the moment, anyway.

He moves to lean back against the edge of his desk, the corners of his lips quirking up despite himself as he motions around his office. "Welcome to Hillingdon House," he says. He doesn't think that Lancelot's been there before, has he? He'd made it a point to meet off-site during the last case. He's not exactly keen on lugging about a head in a box for an off-site meeting, though. They'll just have to take this risk.

[knightscode]

"Thank you. It's nice! Surprisingly homey."

He loosens off his jacket, shoves his hands into his pockets as he paces in a little further. Lancelot hadn't really known what to expect, in truth. Hillingdon are something of a wild card, not united in one cause like the other factions. What would the meeting place of a group of hunters who work for the highest bidder look like? Apparently really quite nice, if perhaps a little tired in places and in need of a touch up.

"Is it here, then? Your... evidence, I suppose."

For some reason he feels reluctant to say 'head', something he can't quite define. As if somehow not giving voice to what it is might make it less awful.

CONFRONTIN' SOME WITCHES

[falsify]

There's a small 2-bed house out in Enfield, any magic sensitivity will tell you it feels oddly thick in the area immediately surrounding the house, like walking through the mud just after it's rained. The wards surrounding their home aren't particularly strong, but they know someone's coming.

How do you want to handle it?