this didn't go as well as Eastwood's escape

[longlived]

A back alley in London. Body parts fall to the streets. Two hands. The forearms. Feet, legs, a hollowed torso in several pieces, internal organs. A human head. Each of the parts is light enough that a falcon could conceivably transport it from one place to another in its claws, and the blood is all clinging. Altogether, these parts would make a full human being--short one eye.

Huey has only done this once before, so it takes some time before his body reassembles. Like cells of an organism, like a well-coordinated swarm of ants, his flesh and bones and organs pull themselves back together, joints locking in and blood flowing once more. He is now as whole in body as he was that day he was made immortal, minus an eye and a ponytail. Huey Laforet looks around him, and in a calm, quiet voice, calls for his youngest daughter.

"Leeza? ...Hilton?"

But there is no answer, and the streets beyond don't sound like 1930s Chicago. Nor did this place seem to have any connection to Alcatraz. So. Something didn't go to plan. (Again.)

"Ah."

But at least he has the clothes he had asked the Poet to fetch. He may as well dress and go looking for answers. He places a hand over his empty eye socket and wishes Renee the best.

[blah blah spam or prose, I don't care which, apologies for his lack of social, you know the drill]

Comments

[intellectualrapist]

"It is likely arrogance if they do exist in your world. If they don't, then that's that." Erika laughs and raises her hands in a 'who knows?' gesture. "Witches only reveal themselves when they have sufficient power or a reason to. They're fickle people."

[longlived]

Well, no matter. He'll look when he returns. He will find them if they exist, and that's enough. "Are there known witches in this world? Or do you believe that because you know of constants through many worlds, these constants hold in all worlds?"

[intellectualrapist]

"Witches here...? Well, I'm a former witch." Erika pauses to curtsy to him with a giggle. "A witch who is not a witch also exists. A witch who comes and goes as she pleases exists and potential witches also live here. I know all of them from my own world. Therefore, if other witches exist, I don't know of them or if they're from my world."

[longlived]

He decides there is no point in dissecting her. Magic is not something that can be reverse-engineered. That is its nature. So in that respect, she is not worth turning into a specimen. "Former? Did you get bored of it?"

There's a smile. It's a joke. But it's a smile still lacking in human emotion.

[intellectualrapist]

"Not exactly. It was taken from me." Erika smiles, too, but her smile is almost wistful. She doesn't miss being a witch. But it's a strange thing to think about now. "I'm only human, just with a few modifications."

[longlived]

"Aging?"

[intellectualrapist]

"I age. I'm just difficult to kill."

[longlived]

"More durable? You don't heal." It's an assumption, but a well-founded one. The only immediate way to test it would be to cut her open, and mortals frequently respond badly to that.

[intellectualrapist]

"Correct. I'm also much faster." Though, she adds silently in a sort of bitter way, that she still ranks fairly low of the meta beings. But it could be worse.

[longlived]

"Why?" Being Frankenstein's monster perhaps does give advantages. Even so, he must ask.

[intellectualrapist]

Putting a hand over her heart, she smiles. "I am the Detective. Have you read many mystery novels? I was designed to be a perfect detective. I have a photographic memory which retains everything. My hearing is also perfect. I can hear through walls with complete accuracy. High endurance and speed is good for my work, but it does mean I'm a good fighter, too."

Which explains why she speaks with confidence. Whatever her ranking in her world, she isn't afraid of anyone here.

[longlived]

"Ah." It meant, Ah, yes. He has read mystery novels. "Exceeding the limits of human capability or reaching them? It would be unfair for a detective to be super-human."

Of course, Huey's vision of 'the limits of human capability' are adjusted to account for the likes of Felix Walken, Ladd Russo, and Graham Specter.

[intellectualrapist]

A man of many words, that Huey. "It's possible a human could reach this level. But it's extremely unlikely."

[longlived]

"No." The denial was clear but also calculated and utterly devoid of ardour. "If it is possible for a human to reach that level, then it is not even likely. It is certain."

[intellectualrapist]

"Thanks." Even if it didn't sound impressed, Erika takes it was a compliment. A fact is still a fact. "Are you satisfied?"

[longlived]

"For the moment. Are you?

[intellectualrapist]

"For now. I might play with your riddle later." She doubts it matters to him. If he was interested in her, she knows he wouldn't care what she thought about it.

[longlived]

"Oh? Am I truly a riddle?" He doesn't see himself as such. A demon gave him immortality. It isn't an especially interesting mystery.

[intellectualrapist]

"All people are riddles. Some are more interesting than others. Those are the mysteries I solve now."

[longlived]

"I can see the connection to the work of a detective... Yet the purpose of it would appear to be different. So let me ask you, why do you solve human mysteries instead of criminal ones?"

[intellectualrapist]

'Why not?' probably isn't an acceptable answer. Though, it's basically what she decides on, albeit in better words. "Because I enjoy it. I like searching for the answer and being right. It's an intellectual pleasure to solve someone correctly. I like trying to predict their reactions, too."

[longlived]

He understands. He isn't very interested in people generally, nor does he like them at all, but that isn't really what Erika cares about, is it? It seems she desires the satisfaction of superiority. "Humans can be more complex than closed room mysteries," he agrees.

[intellectualrapist]

"Yes!" Whether he meant to or not, Huey triggers Erika's favourite topic of discussion. She hops closer and her eyes seem to dance with the same energy as her body. "A closed room is beautiful because it is by definition 'possible to solve' and yet, looking at one, it seems impossible. In the history of crime, there exists closed rooms that have yet to be solved. Those probably never will be, either. They are 'perfect closed rooms' forever. Any closed room is perfect until someone solves it. That fragile beauty is a work of art that exists only so long as a detective doesn't unravel it."

Which makes Erika an enemy of art. She grins and spins around. "People are the same. Fragile and easy to understand at a glance, so that many people are written off. But there are still mysteries tucked away inside of them. Why does this person hate coffee so much? Why does this one fear rats? The answers might be mundane or fantastic. You won't know until you open the room."

[longlived]

"However... By gutting a human or murder of its mysteries, you are destroying the artistry in the deception." Huey says it with no commitment, but then corrects himself. "No, that isn't necessarily true. A dissection presented skillfully can also be a work of art. Ugliness in the discovery of truth is the provenance of the inexperienced and untalented."

[intellectualrapist]

She snorts and folds her arms. "I don't tear out guts anymore."