hops into your inbox and chews at the walls. do you experience gender envy?
-@objectophiliac
Oh dear! Be careful with those! I haven't peeled the lead paint off yet!!
Oh the gender envy? Been feeling that stuff since I was small!
Here is a non exhaustive list of people/characters that inspire gender envy in me.
Frisk (Undertale) (beacon of hope and definition of androgyous)
Looks to the Moon (Rainworld) (wise sagely decomposing robot...)
Broken Vessel/Lost Kin (Hollow Knight) (doomed bug sibling)
Red Son (Lego Monkie kid) (Aurafarming cartoon villain scientist pretty boy)
The Fun Gang (Deltarune) (Trio of gnc teens)
Jhariah (Musician) (makes beautiful music and art and has an amazing fashion sense. Check out his music!!!)
There's more on the list but this is lowk taking forever to make. So have this for now.
Oh my god THIS SCREAMS "LOOK CARL, IM DOING IT JUST HOW YOU IMAGINED" SORRY I GOT THIS IDEA WHILE WORKING ON AN EDIT BUT THIS MAN TRIED SO SOSO HARD TO MAKE IT JUST HOW CARL IMAGINED, OH MY FUCK
i've been playing monster sanctuary to cool off and it's been really fun, there is a wall to it but once you understand what the game is asking of you to do in battles it clicked the strategic part of my brain and it's been working really smoothly, albeit that a poor team comp can fuck a battle sideways from the get go. for a monster collector made by basically one guy whose ethos is that pokemon was too easy, it delivers.
i like that evolution is a choice and there's benefits to keeping an 'unevolved' mon as well as its evolved form due to different skill trees to fill out. if you're curious overall, know that you will not get through battles without buffing/debuffing and that team comp is more important than weakness exploitation.
one mon i picked up was a little gecko lizard warrior which of course i named gex-chan and holy fuck that motherfucker rips and tears. tiny little gecko man shredding a beefy minotaur in one swipe. gex-chan i love you
also yes bitch i went with the spectral lion as a starter of course i did who do you think i am
like this is a mistake but i have 167% in the class i’ve been slacking in???? i have not turned in 1 thing on time for the past 2 weeks probably and i have ?? that grade????????????
crime scene detective buddy cop type AU! Detective Ladybug and P.I. Chat Noir, on the case and...oh boy
[PREVIOUS - Prologue]
wanted to release at least part of the chapter because as usual its turning out longer than i wanted and i want it done NOW so the rest of chapter 1 will be posted later :V
Ladybug and the Heart of Stone (p.1)
rating: R
content warnings: murder victim autopsies, emetophobia, physical assault
about/summary: a body found at the base of the Eiffel Tower. a former classmate was the last to see her alive, and seemed to actively kidnap her. Marinette reluctantly lets Chat Noir tag along as they begin their investigation, but they’re not expecting it to turn into another crime so soon...
trivia: originally the autopsy doctor was named “dana starling” because i ship scully and clarice starling so hard you have no idea, but with the recent passing of miguel ferrer the surname was switched out to rosenfield. except i did it manually so if she’s still called starling in some areas SORRY DISCLAIMER
~~~
Ivan Bruel had been a classmate of hers. Big, brutish-looking, always cast a shadow even when he didn't mean to. More often than not he most certainly didn't mean to, even if he looked menacing to an outsider's eye. Certainly the harsh metal music blasting from his headphones wouldn't help his case if an older adult passed by him, but Marinette had always regarded Ivan as a kind and gentle person, especially with his sweet crush on the smallest girl in class, Mylène. She was timid; he tried to minimize how scary he seemed for her. He was a good kid.
Marinette clutched the stone in her hand and stood up to face Chat Noir. He was a good kid, but she couldn't afford to get caught up in nostalgia lest it get in the way of investigation. Still, she was taken aback, and had to stop herself from gritting her teeth.
“On what evidence do you think Ivan Bruel killed this woman?” she challenged. As Marinette was finishing her sentence Chat Noir's gloved hand smoothly produced a phone from an unknown pocket. This guy was really starting to annoy her with all these theatrics. Nonetheless she released a hot breath as he unlocked the phone and tilted the screen towards her.
Footage began to play. Grainy and unprofessional. For a while all Marinette could make out were bright lights and moving blobs. After she moved the umbrella over the screen and pulled the phone closer to her, she could finally understand that she was looking at a small concert. Probably at some local bar or night club—amateur hour. Chat Noir said nothing and let her watch.
The camera snapped into momentary focus. There at the front of the stage was Ivan Bruel, gripping the microphone. His skin was flushed pink and he had stopped singing without any sign that that was supposed to happen. The band around him slowed and stopped, and the cheers became boos and cries.
“Yo dude, what's going on?” the cameraman attempted to shout over the growing noise to no avail.
From the unstable vantage point from the crowd she could barely make out Ivan stumble as if intoxicated. The crowd, invigorated by a night of drinking and up until then hardcore music, started to throw things onto the stage, then they started to rush. In the chaos the camera seemed determined to stay on Ivan, even as it was being battered and pushed around.
Ivan half-jumped, half-slid off the stage. Plucking a girl dressed in fishnets and colorful extensions, he pulled her into a bear hug and simply walked (stumbled) away. The girl kicked in the air, doing more harm than good as she knocked several others away. Then there was a harsh oof, the camera fell to the ground, and when it got back up again the stage was overrun and Ivan was gone.
“I told you, m'lady, I'm a private investigator, and I do it well, too. Now will you let me help you?”
Marinette bit her lip, “Until the forensic results get back and confirm what our detectives find about the identification of our Jane Doe...Where did you get this footage?”
Chat Noir held up the phone and turned it around, showing the cracked backside, “A friend of my client was there that evening, to support Ivan in the music business. Apparently they went to school together—as did you, if I may be so bold to presume.”
Marinette stared hard at the green eyes behind the black mask. Private investigator or stalker? She frowned.
“Officer Pendrell,” she called, “Confiscate the phone Chat Noir is holding for evidence and make sure he does not step foot in the headquarters without me.”
“So you agree to my help, then?” Chat Noir did not take his eyes off her as he handed the phone to Pendrell. Marinette turned away, looking down at the desiccated butterfly on the rock.
“No,” she said matter-of-factly, “I just don't have any reason not to suspect you as the murderer or accomplice. Report to my office first thing tomorrow morning. Failure to do so will cause a very pretty target on your kitty head. Ciao.”
Before Chat Noir could successfully spin a pun out of her dismissal, she walked away, carefully handing the butterfly to one of the forensics team. The blurry image of the kidnapped girl played over and over in her mind, and Marinette gave one last glance over at the body. Even in the dim light she could tell that her hair had once been a bright, garish color, had it not been for all the blood.
~~
Marinette lifted her head up from her desk. It was no longer undersized like her first years at the precinct, but it still didn't make for a comfortable pillow. Rubbing her face, she pulled out her hair ties, yawning and combing her fingers through her hair. She had gone home that night, she had fallen asleep in an actual bed—but the case had woken her up. It wasn't exactly unheard of, but it didn't usually happen to her. Though she didn't sleep so much like a rock anymore like she did as a teenager (...what a terrible metaphor to use given the case) she could still happily rise at noon if she didn't have any former engagements or promises.
Last night was different.
She hadn't thought about Ivan Bruel since she joined the academy. Hell, the only classmates she occasionally thought about were Alya, her best friend to this day; Nino, Alya's on-again off-again fling who was never awake during the daytime hours; and of course Adrien Agreste, since his face still was plastered on the odd billboard and advertisement around Paris. Nino apparently still saw Adrien somewhat often, but due to conflicting schedules he said it was never more than an hour every other week.
Nino...
It'd normally be aggravating to have to ask Alya for help on an investigation. Ever since Marinette turned Ladybug from an insult to a crown, Alya had been jumping down her throat for details. Though she was a journalist to pay the bills and often reported crime in a professional manner, Alya used her downtime to keep a syndicated blog full of pulp short stories she wrote on the adventures of the Ladybug Detective. Affectionately it was called the Ladyblog. Marinette had skimmed a few stories here and there, but far too often she'd frown at how the story was twisted into something much more fantastical than hers actually was. Alya, you make it sound like I'm sort of superhero or something, she complained once. Alya had, of course, rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair.
Pssh. You know you are a superhero to some people. Get used to it, girl!
At the risk of feeding Alya's eagerness for her blog, Marinette would have to call her up. She was much more familiar with every aspect of Nino's voice than the young detective was, and could give her a second opinion why Marinette kept replaying the concert video and thinking of him rather than Ivan even though he was there on the screen.
“Good morning, Detective!”
Startled out of her thoughts, Marinette looked at the gloved hand slapped onto her desk, following the black leather up to Chat Noir's face. He was grinning just as eagerly as Alya was going to be. Glowering at him, she tried to study what she could see of his face to attempt to get a smattering of a profile.
“First thing in the morning, and here's your cat, all dressed up with places to go!”
She rubbed her forehead and desperately glanced at the coffee cup she knew was already empty.
“Don't cats sleep a lot?”
“Not when there's food to eat!”
“We. Are going. To an autopsy.” Marinette made sure to enunciate each word so there was no way he could misunderstand. He seemed taken aback for a second, attempting to recover quickly.
“Well, at least I have no lunch to lose!”
What is wrong with this man. Marinette let her arms fall on her desk with a satisfying thud, forcibly pulling files from underneath Chat's hand. She stood up, perking her chin up at Chat to let him know where he stood, then turned and started to make her way through the offices.
Down two levels and to the left. The buzz of harsh fluorescent lights guided their way until Marinette opened up the door. A woman slightly older than her stood on the other side of a metal table decorated with what they had recovered from last night. Her arms created an equilateral triangle with the table, and she regarded Marinette with complacent recognition and seemed bored with Chat.
“Dr. Rosenfield,” Marinette greeted cordially, “Hope the body wasn't too all over the place,”
“It wasn't,” the woman sniffed, “The rocks helped to contain a lot of the mess and the rain washed the rest away. Can't say it's too atypical, I will my guess as to why the body isn't in two or more separate pieces on various levels of the Eiffel Tower is due to her thigh high boots and affinity for being tied up.”
Chat Noir coughed, bringing attention to him, “Before you go on, Doctor, I hate being the elephant in the room—especially when I haven't properly introduced myself to a lady. You may call me Chat Noir.”
Dr. Rosenfield remained completely unfazed as Chat Noir reached over the table and gently took her wrist to bring her ungloved hand to his pursed lips. Hairs away from kissing her fingers she opened her mouth and spoke in a deadpan voice.
“Dana Rosenfield. That hand has been in no less than three different bodies in the past 24 hours, the most notable not being your vic but rather the husband who was brought in after his scorned wife shot him two times in the face. Upon dissection I found evidence of no less than three types of STI's, and have recently been informed that she's being charged with first degree murder after finding out that he had held several mistresses and may have gotten her infected as well. Her lawyer's working to get it down to second degree murder. Have you seen an infected pubic area before, sir?”
Chat Noir stopped cold, finally glanced down at the table that Marinette realized he had been avoiding looking at, made a pathetic kissing noise with his lips and let her go much more hastily than a proper gentleman should've.
Marinette crossed her arms across her ribs and tucked the files behind her as she pressed her mouth to the heel of her palm and sarcastically muttered, “An elephant you sure aren't...,”
Snorting a bit and trying to cover it up as adjusting to the difference of the atmosphere, Marinette urged Dr. Rosenfield to go on.
“Well, cause of death should be fairly obvious. She reached a speed of about 169kph by the time she hit the pavement. The aorta and all other blood vessels ripped loose upon impact, nearly every bone was fractured either from hitting the concrete or from being sandwiched in those rocks. I'd wager her original weight was somewhere around 58 kilograms, although the rain took plenty of that away. Terminal velocity wasn't reached, but there's no way she survived the impact. The rocks did nothing much to kill nor keep her alive—honestly I'm not sure they had any physical bearing on the death whatsoever. Whether or not the killer knew that and did it for symbolic reasons or he was a knucklehead and didn't pay attention in physics, that's up to you.”
Chat Noir had long turned to face the wall. Ignoring him and enjoying the lack of his presence, Marinette watched intently as Dr. Rosenfield's fingers pointed to various parts of the reconstructed body. The rocks that had fallen with the girl were already taken to the labs for analysis, but still some shards and remnants of them remained in a dish off to the side.
“Did you see anything related to spray paint or insects?” Marinette asked. Dr. Rosenfield twisted her mouth.
“We'll have to wait for chemical analysis before I can tell you anything about spray paint. I didn't see anything non-human on initial inspection, aside from the higher than normal mineral content. Why do you ask?”
“One of the rocks...It looked like a butterfly that was spray-painted black was attached to it before it fell to the ground.”
“My first suggestion was that she hit the butterfly going down, but I'm not sure literal painted butterflies can fly, much less in the rain.”
Marinette slowly shook her head, looking at the remnants of the girl. An identification had been made earlier that morning, Émilie Lambert, 21 years old. Told her roommate she was going to a concert that night and never returned. Ivan had taken her. Witnesses had called in, saying that he had just up and left and seemed to take a girl with him. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. From missing person to murder victim in less than 3 hours.
That did not bode well.
“Chat Noir,” She finally said. Buhh was his immediate answer, and she glanced over her shoulder to see that he had braced himself up against the wall. Wanting to be snippy but thinking better of it, she ignored his discomfort and continued, “You said that the person who handed you the video knew Ivan well enough to support him. Do you still have a contact with this person even though he's a friend of your client?”
He gasped, moving a hand to his stomach, and steadied himself. Dr. Rosenfield shook her head and turned her gaze back down to the body.
“Y-yeah. Actually, I did some lookin' around last night...hhh...Long night, y'know. I know where Ivan is.”
“What,” Marinette shouted, “Why didn't you say so when you got here?!”
“B-Because when you said autopsy I figured it'd be good to have information to interrogate the guy with, eh?” He coughed; something shocked him enough to cover his mouth, but he managed to push it back down, whatever it was.
Already at the door and swinging it open, Marinette was about to give Chat Noir a piece of her mind when she paused and looked over at him. A pang of pity hit her, and though she felt slightly annoyed at herself for it, there was no stopping her sympathetic nature.
“Well, where is he, then?”
“The hospital.”
“Hospital? Looks like you might just be an investigator after all, as ridiculous as you look,” Marinette said gratefully and began to move through the door. Chat Noir nodded abnormally, and before Marinette had stepped all the way through he had stripped of all his gentlemanly manners as he shouldered past her, darting down the hallway one hand holding his stomach and the other covering his mouth. Marinette stood still in shock, peering around the door frame to see his trench coat kick up behind him.
Kitty's got a hairball.
“Bathroom's to the left,” Rosenfield supplied with a shrug, “No matter, there's a trashcan at the end of that hall too.”
~~
The floor of the hospital was clean and polished. Had the hospital been empty Marinette would've expected her heels to clack and echo between the walls, followed by the lower-pitched clack of Chat Noir's shoes. But the hustle and bustle of the building drowned other sound out. It didn't seem particularly panicked or busy, but the closer they got to Ivan Bruel's room there seemed to be an air of suspicion.
Her pace slowed as she flipped through the prepared report the nurses had handed her. Ivan had been brought in, unable to stand and complaining of an intense pain in his lymph nodes and other parts of the nervous system. After a long night of watching him vomit and feverishly wail, they were able to sedate and calm him and began treating for intense intoxication. His girlfriend was contacted. Chat Noir knocked in a dignified manner, as if he didn't just spend half an hour guzzling water and quietly retching. Marinette looked up as a barely audible voice welcomed them in. Opening the door, Chat let her go first.
Mylène didn't seem to have changed much. She still dressed in colors, still remained short and stout, and still had much of what they had all thought was baby fat rounding out her face. Her long, crimped hair was tied in a loose bun and there were circles under her eyes. Marinette briefly wondered how many times the girl had undone and redone her hair in worry. The girl stared at her for a moment before her face lit up in shock.
“M-Marinette? Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” she gasped, “A-Are you here to see Ivan?”
Marinette smiled sweetly, though her eyes wavered a bit. Stumbling on her words, not knowing how Mylène would respond, she tried to prepare herself for the situation to become awkward.
“In a way, I suppose yes...,” The detective opened her mouth and closed it several times, trying to find how to word it. Mercifully Chat Noir was quiet as he observed the shorter girls.
Mylène continued to stare at Marinette in awe until it was clear she was starting to calculate how strange this was, her gaze flicking to the man in all black back to her old classmate.
“W-Wait...they told me the police were coming to see him...,”
Marinette's smile twitched in sympathy, and she produced her badge, “Y...Yes, Mylène, we have some ah, evidence, and a growing number of eyewitness reports that suggest that Ivan may have been involved in um...,”
She could see Chat Noir raise his eyebrows in her peripheral vision, “A...murder.”
Mylène's shriek was more akin to the squeak of a terrified mouse as her small hands went up to cover her mouth in horror. Marinette felt a pang stab her in the chest, making her smile fall as she looked at her high school friend in concern.
“M-Murder?! I-Ivan?!” It was clear that she was struggling to protest or say more but her breath kept hitching in panic. Marinette reached out and pulled Mylène's hands into hers, an unusually intimate gesture for an investigation.
“Please, Mylène, since Ivan is out of commission, would it be alright if asked you what happened last night? Any information at all would be helpful, and if it all goes well, it may turn out Ivan is not the killer after all.”
Mylène shook, her eyes glazing over as she stared down at Marinette's hands holding hers. Tears welled up in her eyes. Marinette flicked her gaze over to Chat Noir. Thank god Mylène was out of it, or she might have noticed the hard but knowing stare Chat was giving her. The amount of eyewitness reports that were pouring in were damning, and many of her officers were pulling security camera footage that showed Ivan leave the club with the girl and show up at the Eiffel Tower with the same girl, hiking backpacks strapped to the both of them. Hiking backpacks supposedly full of rocks and ropes. Marinette swallowed, determined to focus on Mylène and Mylène alone for now.
“U-Um...,” Mylène breathed after several minutes, huge tears following the rounded curve of her face, “H-He had a...a gig last night. A-Actually he and his band, they haven't been doing well...but not like, not enough to...to—,”
She choked, and receded from Marinette's hands. The detective debated whether or not to tell Mylène some of the grisly details, knowing that anything might push the poor timid girl over the edge. Chat Noir answered that question for her.
“Hey there, I'm a private investigator working with the police on this investigation,” he introduced himself, kneeling to her level, “And what we know now is—well we can't figure out a motive, so even if you don't think it wasn't enough motive, if you remember any details—,”
“I-I-I don't know!” Mylène burst, causing Chat to jerk back in surprise. Beside them Ivan's vegetable-like form didn't move, didn't even twitch though the heart monitor kept quietly keeping time for them. Marinette held a hand up, signaling for Chat to pause and let her recover. Mylène tore her eyes off of Chat Noir and roved about the room until she rested on Ivan and the beeping heart monitor.
“Nino...,” she mumbled, “Nino encouraged Ivan and his band to show up anyways. Said that they never knew when their breakthrough will come. It took some doing but they all agreed...I...,”
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“I thought...I thought it was a good idea too...,”
Marinette felt the pang dig deeper in her chest. She spoke softly, after the beeping became unbearable due to what it represented.
“Mylène, no matter what, it's not your fault that this happened. Okay?”
The small girl couldn't even nod in acknowledgment, just kept staring at Ivan.
Marinette righted her shoulders and relaxed them, “So, Nino was at the concert?”
Mylène nodded. She felt a small bit of selfish relief—no need to ask Alya for help after all. For some reason that nugget of information buried itself in her brain to be dealt with later. Now all she could do was how she could ask Nino for his version of what happened that night. That would come next, after she asked the last few questions.
Pulling a photo from her file, she inhaled and turned it so it faced Mylène, “Do you recognize this girl?”
Mylène turned away from Ivan to regard the picture. Her features twitched in concentration, but she shook her head, her gaze drifting back to her boyfriend. Despite how callous it might have been, Marinette pushed the photo closer and raised her voice while trying to keep it calm.
“Her name is Émilie Lambert. She was last seen alive with Ivan shortly after the concert came to an abrupt end. You sure you don't recognize her?”
Mylène's face scrunched up and became tinged with red in disgust and fear, quickly processing Marinette's words even though she was trying desperately to focus on Ivan's mountainous chest slowly rising and falling.
Chat Noir's head poked in, the mask sharpening the point of his nose, “It's alright, you won't be able to recognize her anymore at any rate,”
Ice turned Marinette's fingers to claws as she reached forward and yanked on Chat Noir's silken scarf, seething into his ear as Mylène went from red to just as sickly as he had been in the autopsy room. How dare he whip that out without any consideration?! Private investigator her ass! Unprofessional civilian hack who just wanted in on preconceived notions of drama! Hell, he had asked for her specifically; if he was a fan of the Ladyblog she'd smash his computer and phone herself. (And then give a stern talking to Alya about her real identity's safety.)
“Chat Noir,” she demanded icily, “Why don't you get ahold of Ivan's doctor and do some investigating into what he was intoxicated with.”
“Wh—,”
“That's an order, private investigator—or I'll have you off the case and make sure you won't step into another precinct as an aide ever again. Go.”
Marinette unhooked her fingers one by one, glaring at Chat Noir until he disappeared out into the hallway. Letting out a huge exasperated sigh that she hoped Mylène would take some solace in, she shook her head and tried to ask again.
When she saw how utterly destroyed Mylène had become, Marinette could not go further.
She had worked hard to be here. Worked hard to be respected at the precinct like she had become, worked hard to succeed at the career she had chosen by the time she graduated high school. Most days she could make it through without a hitch. Marinette was damn good at keeping calm and talking through friends and families of the victims or perpetrators as to what the next step would be. It didn't always work; she couldn't always count on people to be kind and cooperative, but she wouldn't have a job if people were always kind and cooperative. For better or for worse, people ended up listening to her when she was Detective Dupain-Cheng, the Ladybug. And she had earned that reputation and would guard it with her life.
But it was times like this she wanted to drop everything and pursue something much less confrontational and draining, like fashion, again. All the bright colors she dressed in couldn't hide how pale and ashen Mylène's face had become.
“Mylène...,”
“Do you think...,” she wavered on each syllable, “Do you think he could've really done it?”
Marinette looked over to the mountain dwarfing the gurney, “I don't know, Mylène. But I will find the truth. I promise you that.”
A soft knock on the door frame caused both girls to turn their heads. A somewhat sheepish Chat Noir ducked inside, trying to awkwardly smirk to gain their favor back.
“I had a talk with the doctor. He said that there was some alcohol in Ivan's system, but not enough for it to overtly affect him to make dumb decisions. Probably could walk in a straight line. The toxic substance they pumped, er...,”
Marinette raised her eyebrows for him to go on.
“They don't know what it is, only that it attacked his lymph nodes and nervous system. I guess they're on watch for um. You know. Nerve damage.”
It was clear the words brain damage were on his lips, but after Marinette's harsh intervention the cat thought twice and chose his words carefully this time around. She ducked her chin in small approval.
“Next, we'll talk to Nino, another high school friend of mine and Ivan's.” Detective Dupain-Cheng announced before Marinette's soft voice comforted, “Mylène, you'll be okay here, I'm sure you'll keep Ivan safe.”
“Marinette...,” Mylène asked as they were headed for the door. Marinette stopped and turned, curious, “I thought you were into fashion design. What...What made you become a detective?”
She pinched her inner lip with her teeth, contemplating. The answer was much more simple than anybody would expect, but it wasn't exactly something she wanted to give away. Not even Alya completely understood, and that was how Marinette kept it.
“People like you,” she finally answered with a final good-bye, shutting the door behind them.
Left alone in the empty room save for the constant beeping of Ivan's heart, Mylène sighed, then lost track of time.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
She supposed a nurse or two came in at some point, check to see if Ivan was the same. He was. The whole ordeal made Mylène shiver, sometimes without warning. Marinette seemed so brave, so unlike the girl she knew in high school. Almost like it was a completely different person. Mylène figured she needed to be like that now; strong, a rock for Ivan and herself to stay grounded and sane.
Beep.
It was so hard, and Mylène was really starting to feel just how much time was passing when she realized that it was already late afternoon. How long ago Marinette and the man in black visited she couldn't even remember.
Silence.
Wait. There was supposed to be...the heart monitor...
A panic shot through her all at once and she looked to the bed. Her boyfriend was sitting up, staring into the air. He must've ripped the monitor off, which, even if Mylène didn't know anything she knew that that shouldn't happen unless the nurse took it off herself.
“Ivan!” Panic was replaced with relief, “Ivan, are you okay?”
Sliding off of the chair, her little legs ran to his bedside, still careful not to throw herself into his arms. At any other point in time Ivan could handle that no problem, but now, who could say. He had been out for hours...
“Ivan, Marinette—do you remember her, from high school? No I mean, the police came by, apparently some bad things happened last night Ivan, do you remember any of it? Because the—h-hey!”
Mylène gasped as Ivan's rough hand engulfed her tiny arm. Shock became pain as she realized he was lifting her off the ground with little thought as to her comfort. This was not the Ivan that spent months, even years, learning how to care for her without frightening her and teaching her how to become less afraid of the world around her.
“I-Ivan! Ivan, that h-hurts!” she squeaked, “Let me go!”
“Go,” his voice rumbled in an intoxicated, unstable manner, like someone had forced wind through his throat. Mylène shrieked, then tried to scream.
Ivan clamped his other hand around her mouth and she was silenced as abruptly as the heart monitor was.
“Go,” he repeated.
He stood up, holding Mylène in the air. Then he turned her upside down, waiting until she passed out.
