Location: Earth (Midgard)
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"Haah... sometimes I wonder if we're nearing the end of the world."
The puff of smoke escaped the slow moving mouth of the tired detective, deep eyebags prominent on his scruffy yet otherwise handsome face. The deep creases at the sides of his mouth and the middle of his brows hinted at a rather unfortunate habit of scowling, but as of right now, he was expressionless, dark eyes calm but salt and pepper hair a mess.
All of these features would probably change as the investigation picked up and the reasons behind the unfortunate deaths and disappearances came into sight.
Another man came to join the detective—he was tall, a brusque physique still present under his fitted black suit, hair black and eyes young and bright, though they were concealed behind glasses that marked failing eyesight.
"Still smoking that poison? You'll only kill yourself faster at this rate."
The older detective simply inhaled the tobacco deeply, blowing it in the younger man's direction before replying huskily through the others coughs, "If it hasn't killed me by now, I doubt it'll kill me anytime soon. Besides, if I'm gonna die, it'll be by this guy, my gun, or a convict that got lucky. When I reach the point of cancer, I'll end my career with a bang."
"...Your sense of pervasive doom is present as always, Hallock."
Hallock gave a chuckle dripping of cynicism, a grim grin etching its way on his weathered skin, a result of many days in the sun.
"What do you expect? Everyone decent nowadays is either dead or a liar, and don't even get me started on the current situation. Thousands disappeared, millions in coma's, suicide's up 47%, and you expect me to be optimistic? I wonder if a realistic bone's in your body, Markle."
Markle scowled at the older man as he walked into the crime scene, the dark black of the detectives eye not missing a single detail:
It was a small house, a downstairs and an upstairs, though it was really just a renovated attic up there. Everything important was down here—a kitchen/dining room that connected cleanly into the living area, a bathroom and laundry room branching off from the right of the living, while a bedroom that held a low queen bed, open closet, nightstand and a place for a cane extended from the living area ahead of him.
The living room had a soft gray couch and a simple, cushioned redwood rocking chair, a circular coffee table in between; there was no tv, only a radio and a few speakers for sound.
"So, what are the details about who lived here? Seemed like simple folk, nothing ostentatious or high tech seem anywhere," queried Markle, bright green eyes scouring the minimalist yet traditional seeming house.
"Nothing like that," grumbled Hallock, eyes sad, "Maribelle was a blind but good soul. Took in a problematic grandchild even in her old age, but poor kid was a good one, a kind one—she was just treated like crap by everyone other than sweet lil' Maribelle. I'm telling ya, there's just no decent people left anymore..."
"Wait, Maribelle? You mean, Maribelle Eversdotter, the consultant? This is her house? Holy cow... I'm in the Maribelle's house..."
"Oh can it," snapped Hallock, the lines of his face creasing as his habitual scowl formed at the naivety of his junior. "It's no longer her house—it'll be repossessed by her son-in-law, her granddaughter's scum of a dad. A terrible decision, but one the court made with full knowledge of the family's disclosed situation. Still leaves me sick though..."
"Now, that's no way to talk to the house's soon to be owner."
Hallock turned to glance at the new face that had just entered, a tall, handsome older man with pale blue eyes, light brown hair and fair skin, his features sharp yet regal, reminiscent from the ice land's his ancestors descended from.
A sardonic grin replaced the scowl from earlier, and a certain bitterness brewed within his coffee eyes.
"Well, if it ain't the man of the hour—finally decided to come when your daughter's disappearance and your mother-in-law's suicide became relevant to ya, isn't that right, Alf?"
"Hallock, that's no way to talk to the deceased family, at least show decorum and decency—"
"Decorum? Decency? I only show such crap to those that deserve it. If he wanted it, he should've darn well showed it to his family when they were alive to appreciate such luxury. Decency—hah!—as if this man's ever been decent in his life..."
The man's expression seemed to freeze over even more, and the temperature seemed to drop between the two men before Alf spat, "You ought to leave personal feelings out of work, Wisdom Hallock. The past is the past, and the present is the present. The dead will stay dead, no matter how much we want them back—so we, the living, ought to continue. I am here for such continuation."
Hallock grumbled at the full name drop, dousing his cigarette in a portable tray before lighting another. He took a breath of it before articulating his thoughts, his gaze far away, the brand of cigarette's an open taunt to Alf as was the statement.
"...I wonder, even to this day, why on earth she chose an utterly rotten guy like you..."
The tension spiked and just as Alf looked ready to verbally bash the aloof Hallock, Markle intervened, exclaiming, "Please, the both of you—this is a site of a suicide and where we are investigating a case! Not only is this inappropriate conduct at work, but is inexcusable behavior for the recently deceased. At least show basic respect for those who have passed on already!"
Hallock quieted, his gaze becoming indifferent as he quietly climbed upstairs, each step careful, as to not disturb those who rested.
His gentle gaze swept over the room, noting it was simple and bare, with only a stack of textbooks and a computer for online schooling on a desk. The only personal artifacts were some pens and pencils for writing notes, and even the bed and nightstand were clean and neat.
The closet held comfy, practical clothes and shoes, and there was no sign of jewelry or fine things in the room.
He imagined that if she needed to, she could simply grab a few things, fit them to a backpack, and leave. It was as if she lived like she would disappear, without even a memory to place to a face.
It was then he noticed just one thing; carefully taped to an open notebook was a singular picture of Maribelle and her, a smiling expression on a face that seemed used to anxiety. She was a pretty thing, with pale blond hair and fair skin, pale blue eyes warm and curved.
'...She takes after Celine well...'
"...So she did end up taking after her..."
The scowl was immediate, his gaze sharp as she looked at the expressionless father who couldn't even treat his child right. Even so, for the deceased he would show respect, so he swallowed the harsh words for later.
It was only when they were out of the house with yet another dead end did he finally speak up.
"Well," he drawled, eyes lazy but mean-spirited, "happy now?"
Alf instantly took offense, and reacted with anger.
"Happy about what?" he snapped, but Hallock just shrugged, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out before pulling out another. It grated at him that Hallock blatantly smoked the same brand his wife used to, as if to mock his loss.
"I mean, happy that it's all settled, right? Now you don't have to be reminded of your dead wife whenever you look at the kid, and your crippled mother-in-law is finally out of the picture. More money lining your pockets, right? According to your definition of life, I'd think that would be a resounding success in your books, right?"
Alf wished to strangle the man, but having assault of a police officer on his record would only hinder him from obtaining the property he needed.
"...You're lucky you're an officer."
"Yup," he drawled, "I sure am. Makes insulting trash more convenient. But even then, I just can't understand. She left that little girl to you; she just wanted you to cherish the last piece of her. But what did you do? You beat her, yelled at her, and traumatized her so bad, it screwed her up her entire life. Yet only now, when she's heaven's knows where, do you show up even remotely close to her life, and that's to gain custody to the only home she's had for years. Imagine if she returned—imagine the horror at realizing the monster that had chased her nightmares for years had taken away her only sanctuary..."
"Get to the point."
"... I imagine lil' Asta would've done what I'll do once this stuff starts to properly kill me."
Confused, Alf asked, "And what's that? Why do you even smoke the same brand she did?"
Hallock was silent for a moment, his gaze empty yet introspective, the type of a dead man walking making a drastic decision.
"I wanna remember her, but I don't want to die by her memory. So, once these start to kill me..." he exhaled his smoke, a lopsided grin on his face and a finger gun to pointed beneath his jaw.
"...I'll shoot myself dead, and end it all with a blast. Just like she wanted to fulfill her life..."