Her head was reeling; it never occurred to her that her father might make such drastic decisions when it came to his women. Carl was willing and able to kill anyone that laid a hand on his wife, and it made Rose wonder if he had been the same way with her mother. Did he feel that same fierce need to protect his child? It certainly made her wonder what was the most important thing to him. If it turned out to be Alicia, it would break her little heart into a million pieces.
The blonde beside her is far too stupid to think calmly in such a situation, rather taking the way of the lemming and panicking. Her eyes are wide and more distressed muffling eeks out through the gag. Perhaps it’s her lack of engagement in the situation that keeps her from crying out from around her gag. Though she does fall victim to the need to try and free herself, so while her stepmother heaves and whimpers uselessly, she’ll struggle in her restraints. She doesn’t belong here; shouldn’t be a part of this. Here she was, being held hostage simply because of her father and his decisions. The flower doesn’t want to believe the insinuation that her father made these choices, much less in error. Only hearing the word bullet makes her pause, looking up to her captor with horror. No! Not her dad. Not the only person left in the world that cared. He wasn’t perfect but he was her father, and her struggles renewed with a vengeance as though she had a chance to free herself and get between him and the bullet that was promised to him.
Whatever is whispered to Grissom, she cannot hear but knows that whatever it is has chilled him. Such fear in those eyes, like she’d never seen before. He gives a sound off to his employer, and the girl’s eyes fill with tears. Now she joins in with Alicia in trying to cry out from around the obstruction, only to be drowned out with a gunshot. The horrific sight is something that will never leave her, burned onto her retinas for the rest of her life. Her wailing doesn’t cease, so deep and consuming that her body sags and her throat aches. Somehow her mind manages to remind her in her grief that the threat has moved away from her father’s body, and she forces herself to follow his progression. How could he sing a soulful love song while murdering and terrorizing? Not so long ago she’d loved this music and danced in time with it, but now that’s over. Like her father’s life. He’s sick, undeserving of every ache his supposed passing had caused in her. The muffled screaming starts up again and the first sight of red on the blonde’s skin, and now the orphan squeezes her eyes shut, turning her face away from the carnage and praying that it ends soon.
The blonde’s screams fill a deranged focus with such a crushing pang of satisfaction, his chest giving such a heavy flutter that his breath will catch in a short hum of laughter through his song. To witness agony from a pretty face fulfills him greater than he’d expected, yet no less than the sight of a bullet plummeting through Grissom’s mouth. Sclera of forest fixtures now drown in a mess of red, the frayed incisions peeling back and parting wounds down the center of her face. And he sings louder, a furrow brow hovering with a passionate sense of release, standing after those youthful lips of hers are cut jaggedly at the corners, cutting the gag off to better hear Alicia’s sounds of terror. “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...... SHHHH..” A bloody palm rises to tilt her jaw up, to face a disturbingly calm expression alight with bedroom eyes. “Do you wanna suck my cock now? Hn?” He pauses, lowering the blade to her mouth. “Open...open..openopenopen..” The hushed, hurried demand is reluctantly obeyed, but when the knife is placed open her tongue instead, unmatched fear will widen stinging eyes. He’ll let it linger there for a short time, lean in to slowly lave over a stream of red tears down her cheek, only to turn in and whisper. “....swallow....” With an abrupt thrust of the blade, the tip of it cuts the back of her throat, chips away at the flesh now before it’s railed deeper. His wrist turns, repeating a slow thrusting that soon becomes more vigorous and violent, slicing away at the back of her throat and down her esophagus until blood is coughed up and spit out to halt her screams. Her body tremors, and our killer’s laughter will ascend like an opus, watching the viscera spill down her throat and chest, until one, final thrust will pale her, upward through her skull.
Her breathing seizes, and he will slowly stand to look down upon his work, his chest expanding with such fondness, yet all is given is a quick crack of his neck before those dark eyes shift, finding the orphan with a much more sedated glance. Blindly pulling the blade from Alicia’s mouth, he will inch towards Rose with steadier paces, kneeling and giving the knife a clean wipe against his spattered jacket before tucking it away. Now stained fingers will make work of undoing her gag, removing it from her face with a little coo. “I could never hurt you...but I couldn’t have you trying to stop me, either.” Crooking his neck, he will raise arched brows, signifying in his silence that there was no other choice. Open palms find her legs, glide upward and rest on her thighs. “Don’t cry for him.. It’s not our fault that he didn’t consider us as important as her. Not our fault that he tried to murder me-- and not yours for wanting your independence.” Hands now glide to the back of the chair as he remains face to face with the girl, cutting through her ties and freeing her, but it’s with immediate caution that he takes her waist and presses her to him, starting to turn and sway gently. “Dance with me..--this is a celebration.”
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