crimson-stained snow.
elation commission: a body in the snow plains.
consideration for what else to do with the yet-warm corpse of mr. kough has to wait as the figure in her peripheries emerges in earnest, speaks, asks a question. arms fold across her chest as arlecchino turns to face the approaching figure, and marked eyes scan down over her once before swiveling back up. not dressed in any way that seems particularly familiar, but there are a few unusual details... hornlike growths at either cheek, a few hints of blue fire, a coolness in her voice that seems almost lackadaisical in the face of a dead man she seems was also looking for while alive.
from that alone... what good would it do to be forthright with someone like this?
she answers as she takes a few slow, gliding strides over to the peculiar stranger, still trying to determine more as she does so --- "no." a glance back to the body, then forward once more: "from what you've just said, I take it that you were hoping to speak to this man...? when I saw him laying here, I came over to try and see if I could assist, but... unfortunately, his head was quite crushed from the impact."
what would she want with a fraudster of a bureaucrat? a few possibilities come to mind, but the conjecture is too scant to dwell on without any kind of idea of who she is first. "I'm about to head off to see if there are any authorities in the vicinity so I may alert them of this poor man's passing. but... who is he to you, exactly?" then, one arm unfolds from where both rest across her ribs, and offers a dark hand outward with palm up to the sky: an offer of introduction, a place for a hand to rest. "I'm arlecchino."
RARELY DOES SHE COME ACROSS SOMEONE 🕯 so easily forthcoming. the dahlia's enigmatic smile doesn't flinch or waver, dark eyes intent with curiosity lingering on the woman and her every movement. most——human, animate, or otherwise——tended to startle when she appeared without warning, but this one had hardly twitched a muscle ; rather, like a seasoned predator, she had lifted her head and scanned her surroundings, confident in her grounds and ready, though not anxious, to defend it.
she senses in that very woman's gaze the same interest returned, though hers is far more muted, couched carefully in the diamond of black crosses that smolder unleveled. there is the scent of blood here ; more than just the quiet rot of death and decaying onset, it's something else, something she can't quite put her finger on.
is it this curious individual that it comes from. . . ? she has a hard time believing ' mr. kough ' could have entangled himself in such a decadent trail.
will-o-wisp depths lower to the outstretched hand, black, mottled, and not without wear——that untraceable impression of memory deepens. "you can call me constance. . . but i should warn you: touching me may bring some effects you might not be fond of. you might be better off being careful with who you offer your hand to." her guidance is gentle, like that of a loved one folding a warm coat about the shoulders in winter ; yet a distinct fervor that cuts a pure note through it nevertheless: she would love nothing more than to take that hand.
instead, her attention returns to their unlucky third party. "as for what ' he ' is. . . maybe calling him a ' former friend ' would be the most accurate. but rather than coming here to talk to him, i had been hoping to see him die."
she smiles at arlecchino again. "knowing that, will you still go and tell the guards to take him away?"












