based on this post about a benoit blanc x the old guard crossover where benoit tries to solve booker's temporary death by alcohol poisoning. im not at all smart enough to write a detective story but i CAN provide dumb shenanigans and half-baked scenes
"Dear girl, I do apologise," Blanc drawled as he strolled briskly down the cobblestone street. "I don't think I caught your name, Miss, erā ?"
"Foster," Nile supplied, desperately scanning the area for anything they'd missed. Booker still hadn't found his flask from the night before. "Neela, uh, Foster."
"Neela," Blanc said, rolling the syllables across his tongue. "Don't think I've ever met a Neela. You from the States, Miss Foster?"
"Yes," Nile said. "I'm - on vacation. With my family." Forever, she thought to herself, only a little hysterically.
"How nice. Bordeaux is truly a jewel to behold in the summer," Blanc said, earnestly, and then dropped parallel to the floor to inspect a wine-dark stain.
While Blanc was suitably distracted by the unusual scoring of sword marks on the building walls, Nile stole into the alleyway. Joe was grinning at her from the shade with hands in his pockets, a pair of large sunglasses perched on his nose.
"What are you doing?" Nile hissed. "You're supposed to be back at the main crime scene!"
Joe shrugged one shoulder. "We got bored."
"Relax, Nicky's running interference."
"Interference?" Nile repeated incredulously, and heard a yelp from around the bend. She looked over her shoulder, then up, up, up towards the second storey window of the opposite building. Her eyes narrowed to see through the dimmed glass.
"Nico found an old slingshot of his lying around. Still shoots pretty well, doesn't it?"
"Benoit Blanc," Joe said warmly, reaching over to shake his hand as they settled in the living room. "A pleasure! Can I just say, the stories about you - I'm a little starstruck." He mimed swooning with a hand on his forehead, then winked. Nile couldn't help but stare in horror.
Blanc smiled. "To be sure, the articles about me are too fond of sensationalizing," he demurred. "You must tell me, er, Mr Al-Kaysani-"
"Joe." Blanc pointed up above Joe's head. "However did you come across such a fine collection of blades? That broadsword in particular - its well-used."
"Oh, that? Think it's a family heirloom. But we wouldn't know what to do with a weapon," Joe said reassuringly, as behind him Nicky dumped an impressive assortment of kitchen knives out on the dining table. He sat down and began, meticulously, to sharpen them.
"Please tell me," Nile said, in a dangerous whisper. "That you, the dead body they are looking for, did not leave the safehouse to try and find your whiskey flask at an active crime scene."
Booker looked down. "I thought I remembered where it was this time," he mumbled.
Andy inspected her nails. "I just wanted some fresh air."
"Miss Foster, keep up now!"
"Unbelievable," Nile grumbled, as she shoved Booker into a nearby topiary bush. "Unbelievable! All of you are utterly unclear on how to be dead."
