Where Did You Go?
13 December 2025 16:19![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
themorbidsocialiteThe Socialite stared up at Jasper and Frank as the two glowered back. While he knew the answer, he could only ask: “Are you… here for more lessons?”
Jasper turned to Frank. “Yea, Frank, did we bring Lyme with us?”
“No, Jasper, don't think we did. Though, that'd be pretty clear just from lookin’.”
“And who did we bring with us, Frank?”
“Oh, someone who'd like a word with Mister Malodrema, Jasper.”
The Socialite's eyes kept getting drawn to the huge figure behind the two, unfinished Clay Men. He swallowed and stepped back as Jasper and Frank shoved their way in.
“Leave nothing unturned,” Mr. Fires ordered, its voice piping and smooth behind the breathing mask. “If she's here, we'll find her.”
The Morbid Socialite watched the Clay Men venture into the flat, heart hammering in a way he was certain was audible. A massive, clawed hand fell on his shoulder, dangerously close to his neck, his breath hitching. “I have some questions for you, Mister Malodrema, and I think it's in your best interest to answer them honestly. Wouldn't you agree?”
The Socialite swallowed with a subtle nod, bit his lips, and said possibly the worst thing he could've: “D-Doctor Malodrema.”
He was suddenly shoved into the wall by his throat, breathing mask and attached tubing hissing as it invaded his space, eyes boring into him. “I would not care less if you were the Traitor Empress herself; where is Dinah Hewitt?”
Around his clenched throat, the Socialite struggled to push out anything more than a squeak. The claws pressing in loosened only slightly, still crushing and cutting at the back, but giving enough air to speak. In return for the ever so generous provision of air, the Socialite managed to push out a few words. “I don't… know…”
Fires drew closer to his face, teeth baring audibly behind the mask. “She is your illegal spouse and you don't know where she is? I find that hard to believe.”
The Socialite's hands reached up to clench at the massive claws, trying to afford himself more breathing room. “We… fought… Left the… next morning… Have not seen… her… Miss her…” The edges of his vision were starting to grow dark, his lungs screaming for air and thin tears streaming down his cheeks.
Finally, after several long minutes of suspicion, Fires let go, letting the Socialite hit the ground hard. He choked and rasped, hands to his bruising throat and chest, barely able to hear what his assailant said. “Seems like you're telling the truth. At least enough of it. But, if you're hiding her here, we'll find her. In fact…” It was difficult to tell which sense Mr. Fires was using - sight, sound, or smell - but it worked nonetheless. “There's someone else here. One other person.”
The Socialite leapt to his feet, ignoring how his body and lungs ached and how noises of destruction echoed from the bedroom. He tried to intercept the Master, but knew impeding its movement would be impossible, so he tried to gather words from an oxygen starved brain. “My daughter! That's… That would be… my daughter, Persephone. She- she's not related to Dinah at all.”
Fires did not move, hood still facing the kitchen door. “And have they met?”
“Shortly. Barely.”
“Enough to have recognized her, if she passed through, then.”
Fearing what Fires would do to interrogate his daughter, the Socialite stepped more between it and the door. “I-I can ask her. She'll trust me with the truth.”
Mr. Fires squinted, the Socialite unable to tell if it was out of offense or suspicion or something much more inscrutable. But it eventually waved a hand. “Do it out here, where I can see and hear, then.”
The Socialite nodded, swallowing his fear. He straightened and turned his head to call. “Percy, dear, could you come here a moment?”
The Morbid Socialite and Mr. Fires both listened to the sound of a door opening and closing, then footfall padding closer with a muffled “Coming!” The Socialite made sure he was stood between the door and the Master, less to block Fires’ view and more to block Percy's. The kitchen door finally swung open. “I'm here, Papa! What's wrong?”
The Socialite turned, trying to put on a smile. “Darling, don't look behind me just yet. It could impact your answer.”
Persephone was halted from doing just that, newly hesitant, but obedient. “Okay…?”
“Good. I… I need you to tell me where Dinah went, if you saw her, if she told you anything about where she was going.” The Socialite was trembling, refusing to look Persephone in the eye.
Percy shook her head. “You remember, I wasn't at home when she left.”
The Socialite nodded. “I remember, I just needed to confirm. And have you seen her since she left after the fight?”
Percy, once again, shook her head ‘no’. “Not at all, Papa. Is she okay?”
There was no good way for the Morbid Socialite to answer, his mouth gaping like a fish as he tried to find words. However, a clawed hand landed on his shoulder. “Oh, she's just fine,” Mr. Fires purred. “We simply need to talk to her about a business venture. You see, she has something of ours and we would like to… compensate her for returning it.”
Something instinctively shivered in Persephone under the gaze of the Master, suddenly holding herself close and shrinking back. “Oh…”
Jasper and Frank moved on to the kitchen and the Socialite watched them, thinking of the noises that came from the bedroom and paling. “Please, don't break anything! I can open things, if needed!”
It, at first, seemed like the Clay Men were going to completely ignore the request, but a hand gesture from Fires got them to look between each other and move through the kitchen with a little more grace. The Socialite watched them go, failing to catch how Fires bent down to take Persephone's wrist and rolled up her sleeve with force. Her yelp caught his attention, however, and he stepped between them.
“I thought I smelled smoke,” Fires hissed.
The Socialite needed to think fast, feeling his daughter tremble behind him. “I… ask that you be careful with her. She's quite sensitive after the operation.”
Mr. Fires almost seemed to grow, looming over the two of them threateningly. “An operation to apply Correspondence in an illegal manner?”
“Hearts!” The Socialite proclaimed in a hurry. “A-an extension of my work with Hearts and the-the Individual that introduced us. Quite the honorable opportunity and one that's- that's granted me my daughter back. I am so very, very grateful for what I've been legally allowed to do under their strict and intense guidance.”
Mr. Fires squinted, but it seemed illegal use of the Correspondence was not at the forefront of its mind, as it let the overly-praising lie pass. “I see.”
Jasper and Frank returned through the kitchen door.
“Nothing of worry or worth,” said Frank.
“Though we searched tip to tail,” said Jasper.
Fires nodded with a gruff hum. “You’re quite the unfortunate spouse, Mister Malodrema. The Pertinatious Pickpocket seems to have abandoned you in full. Luckily for you, however, that means we must take our leave. I can assure you, however, if you harbor her, assist her, or otherwise act against our retrieval of her, we will know, we will return, and you will not be so fortunate.” It leaned back with a self-satisfied trill. “I’m glad we could have such a productive conversation. Morbid Socialite… Child, good day.”
Mr. Fires left out the still open door and Jasper and Frank were about to follow when the Socialite reached out. “Jasper, Frank, please wait.”
The two paused, played a round of Granite-Coal-Marble, and went their separate ways with differing expressions. Frank went ahead to follow Fires while Jasper stayed behind, a touch impatient.
The Socialite steeled himself and straightened. “I’ve helped with tutoring Lyme for years now. I ask only one favour and it won’t interrupt Mr. Fires’ search. Please, let me know what’s going on. What’s happened with Dinah? Why is Fires searching? Is… is she okay?”
Jasper hummed and crossed his arms. “Well, the Pickpocket’s stolen somethin’ of worth to Fires in particular and it’s not rightful pleased about it. Last we saw, she smashed a phial of… somethin’ toxic in the face of one of its enforcers and ran off. That’s about as much as you can know. That all?”
The Socialite nodded. “Please, keep me updated. I won’t do anything, I just… want to know what’s going on.”
Jasper tapped his fingers against his thumb and sighed. “Fine. If only because you’ve taken care of Lyme so long and so well. But, if you do interfere, you know what happens.” Jasper looked down at Persephone, effectively communicating what he meant, while also changing the topic. “Left your collection well enough alone, miss. In the small trunk, right?”
Persephone sighed. “Thank you, Jasper. I promise, Mama wasn’t in there.”
“Not like she could fit anyhow. You both stay out of trouble and out of the way.” With no further ado, Jasper left.
Finally alone in his own flat, Mori breathed out a raspy sigh. “Good lord, Dinah, what have you gotten yourself into?”
Jasper turned to Frank. “Yea, Frank, did we bring Lyme with us?”
“No, Jasper, don't think we did. Though, that'd be pretty clear just from lookin’.”
“And who did we bring with us, Frank?”
“Oh, someone who'd like a word with Mister Malodrema, Jasper.”
The Socialite's eyes kept getting drawn to the huge figure behind the two, unfinished Clay Men. He swallowed and stepped back as Jasper and Frank shoved their way in.
“Leave nothing unturned,” Mr. Fires ordered, its voice piping and smooth behind the breathing mask. “If she's here, we'll find her.”
The Morbid Socialite watched the Clay Men venture into the flat, heart hammering in a way he was certain was audible. A massive, clawed hand fell on his shoulder, dangerously close to his neck, his breath hitching. “I have some questions for you, Mister Malodrema, and I think it's in your best interest to answer them honestly. Wouldn't you agree?”
The Socialite swallowed with a subtle nod, bit his lips, and said possibly the worst thing he could've: “D-Doctor Malodrema.”
He was suddenly shoved into the wall by his throat, breathing mask and attached tubing hissing as it invaded his space, eyes boring into him. “I would not care less if you were the Traitor Empress herself; where is Dinah Hewitt?”
Around his clenched throat, the Socialite struggled to push out anything more than a squeak. The claws pressing in loosened only slightly, still crushing and cutting at the back, but giving enough air to speak. In return for the ever so generous provision of air, the Socialite managed to push out a few words. “I don't… know…”
Fires drew closer to his face, teeth baring audibly behind the mask. “She is your illegal spouse and you don't know where she is? I find that hard to believe.”
The Socialite's hands reached up to clench at the massive claws, trying to afford himself more breathing room. “We… fought… Left the… next morning… Have not seen… her… Miss her…” The edges of his vision were starting to grow dark, his lungs screaming for air and thin tears streaming down his cheeks.
Finally, after several long minutes of suspicion, Fires let go, letting the Socialite hit the ground hard. He choked and rasped, hands to his bruising throat and chest, barely able to hear what his assailant said. “Seems like you're telling the truth. At least enough of it. But, if you're hiding her here, we'll find her. In fact…” It was difficult to tell which sense Mr. Fires was using - sight, sound, or smell - but it worked nonetheless. “There's someone else here. One other person.”
The Socialite leapt to his feet, ignoring how his body and lungs ached and how noises of destruction echoed from the bedroom. He tried to intercept the Master, but knew impeding its movement would be impossible, so he tried to gather words from an oxygen starved brain. “My daughter! That's… That would be… my daughter, Persephone. She- she's not related to Dinah at all.”
Fires did not move, hood still facing the kitchen door. “And have they met?”
“Shortly. Barely.”
“Enough to have recognized her, if she passed through, then.”
Fearing what Fires would do to interrogate his daughter, the Socialite stepped more between it and the door. “I-I can ask her. She'll trust me with the truth.”
Mr. Fires squinted, the Socialite unable to tell if it was out of offense or suspicion or something much more inscrutable. But it eventually waved a hand. “Do it out here, where I can see and hear, then.”
The Socialite nodded, swallowing his fear. He straightened and turned his head to call. “Percy, dear, could you come here a moment?”
The Morbid Socialite and Mr. Fires both listened to the sound of a door opening and closing, then footfall padding closer with a muffled “Coming!” The Socialite made sure he was stood between the door and the Master, less to block Fires’ view and more to block Percy's. The kitchen door finally swung open. “I'm here, Papa! What's wrong?”
The Socialite turned, trying to put on a smile. “Darling, don't look behind me just yet. It could impact your answer.”
Persephone was halted from doing just that, newly hesitant, but obedient. “Okay…?”
“Good. I… I need you to tell me where Dinah went, if you saw her, if she told you anything about where she was going.” The Socialite was trembling, refusing to look Persephone in the eye.
Percy shook her head. “You remember, I wasn't at home when she left.”
The Socialite nodded. “I remember, I just needed to confirm. And have you seen her since she left after the fight?”
Percy, once again, shook her head ‘no’. “Not at all, Papa. Is she okay?”
There was no good way for the Morbid Socialite to answer, his mouth gaping like a fish as he tried to find words. However, a clawed hand landed on his shoulder. “Oh, she's just fine,” Mr. Fires purred. “We simply need to talk to her about a business venture. You see, she has something of ours and we would like to… compensate her for returning it.”
Something instinctively shivered in Persephone under the gaze of the Master, suddenly holding herself close and shrinking back. “Oh…”
Jasper and Frank moved on to the kitchen and the Socialite watched them, thinking of the noises that came from the bedroom and paling. “Please, don't break anything! I can open things, if needed!”
It, at first, seemed like the Clay Men were going to completely ignore the request, but a hand gesture from Fires got them to look between each other and move through the kitchen with a little more grace. The Socialite watched them go, failing to catch how Fires bent down to take Persephone's wrist and rolled up her sleeve with force. Her yelp caught his attention, however, and he stepped between them.
“I thought I smelled smoke,” Fires hissed.
The Socialite needed to think fast, feeling his daughter tremble behind him. “I… ask that you be careful with her. She's quite sensitive after the operation.”
Mr. Fires almost seemed to grow, looming over the two of them threateningly. “An operation to apply Correspondence in an illegal manner?”
“Hearts!” The Socialite proclaimed in a hurry. “A-an extension of my work with Hearts and the-the Individual that introduced us. Quite the honorable opportunity and one that's- that's granted me my daughter back. I am so very, very grateful for what I've been legally allowed to do under their strict and intense guidance.”
Mr. Fires squinted, but it seemed illegal use of the Correspondence was not at the forefront of its mind, as it let the overly-praising lie pass. “I see.”
Jasper and Frank returned through the kitchen door.
“Nothing of worry or worth,” said Frank.
“Though we searched tip to tail,” said Jasper.
Fires nodded with a gruff hum. “You’re quite the unfortunate spouse, Mister Malodrema. The Pertinatious Pickpocket seems to have abandoned you in full. Luckily for you, however, that means we must take our leave. I can assure you, however, if you harbor her, assist her, or otherwise act against our retrieval of her, we will know, we will return, and you will not be so fortunate.” It leaned back with a self-satisfied trill. “I’m glad we could have such a productive conversation. Morbid Socialite… Child, good day.”
Mr. Fires left out the still open door and Jasper and Frank were about to follow when the Socialite reached out. “Jasper, Frank, please wait.”
The two paused, played a round of Granite-Coal-Marble, and went their separate ways with differing expressions. Frank went ahead to follow Fires while Jasper stayed behind, a touch impatient.
The Socialite steeled himself and straightened. “I’ve helped with tutoring Lyme for years now. I ask only one favour and it won’t interrupt Mr. Fires’ search. Please, let me know what’s going on. What’s happened with Dinah? Why is Fires searching? Is… is she okay?”
Jasper hummed and crossed his arms. “Well, the Pickpocket’s stolen somethin’ of worth to Fires in particular and it’s not rightful pleased about it. Last we saw, she smashed a phial of… somethin’ toxic in the face of one of its enforcers and ran off. That’s about as much as you can know. That all?”
The Socialite nodded. “Please, keep me updated. I won’t do anything, I just… want to know what’s going on.”
Jasper tapped his fingers against his thumb and sighed. “Fine. If only because you’ve taken care of Lyme so long and so well. But, if you do interfere, you know what happens.” Jasper looked down at Persephone, effectively communicating what he meant, while also changing the topic. “Left your collection well enough alone, miss. In the small trunk, right?”
Persephone sighed. “Thank you, Jasper. I promise, Mama wasn’t in there.”
“Not like she could fit anyhow. You both stay out of trouble and out of the way.” With no further ado, Jasper left.
Finally alone in his own flat, Mori breathed out a raspy sigh. “Good lord, Dinah, what have you gotten yourself into?”