Cupcakes

When Kankurou and Temari woke up that morning, they had gone for their usual routine, as far as their younger brother could see. Temari always came to the breakfast table first, and after checking pointlessly to see if her other younger brother was there yet and giving a brief and somewhat tense greeting to the youngest, who was at the table, watching her intently, she fixed herself a bowl of cereal. She didn't ask if he wanted one. She never did, and that was fine because he didn't. He had tried that cereal once and it had been very sweet. A varying amount of time later, Kankurou would come down, face paint firmly in place, and give a tired greeting to his sister before fixing his own breakfast. Sometimes Kankurou remembered that Gaara was always at the table and greeted him too, sometimes he gave a vague greeting to both his siblings, and sometimes he greeted Gaara after he'd started to cook or after he had sat down. He never offered his brother anything either. That was fine too. The youngest of the three siblings had no wish to sample his elder brother's cooking. He highly doubted it was any good.

During breakfast, the elder two siblings would talk. Recently, they had done their best to include Gaara in their conversations, occasionally asking him questions or asking his opinion on a certain subject, to which he would give a vague or simple reply, and the conversation would continue.

He had been shocked the first time they had chosen to include him. He hadn't been listening to his siblings' conversation. Instead, he had been studying his brother's face, trying to figure out why he always wore that garish war paint, when Temari had turned to him and simply said "Isn't that right, Gaara?"
Kankurou had frozen up, shocked that his sister would consider asking Gaara's opinion. Gaara looked to her upon hearing his name, and it took him a moment to realise she was waiting for him to respond. Tension filled the air, the kind that you could only cut through with a guillotine, and he found himself reluctant to admit he hadn't been paying attention.
"Sure." He eventually stated, though he had no idea what he was agreeing to. Temari smiled and turned back to Kankurou with a triumphant look, and the horror on the elder brother's face slowly slipped into an embarrassed annoyance. Gaara paid attention to the conversations more often after that, and Temari continued to ask his opinion, a habit that Kankurou eventually fell into as well.

After breakfast, the three siblings went their separate ways. Gaara went out to train that day, as Kankurou had shut himself away with his puppets and Temari said she had promised to meet someone in the village that day. The day was uneventful, aside from the usual whispers and efforts to avoid him, which he did his best to ignore, and he went back home when he started to feel hungry.

This was probably the strangest interruption to routine he had ever seen, if he was honest. When he returned to the kitchen, there was a sweet smell in the air. It reminded him of a bakery he had wandered into once. Someone had been baking, but Temari didn't cook and Kankurou certainly didn't seem like he enjoyed cooking. And yet, someone had left twelve cupcakes on the table. All chocolate, with some reddish-pink icing and raspberries on top. Probably left out to cool. Glancing around, the young shinobi saw no sign of either of his siblings, and curiously lifted one of the cakes. He disliked sweet things, and had no intention of eating it, but it was still a strange item to find around here. And still warm.
"You can have that, if you want."
Slowly, Gaara turned to look at his brother, who was now stood in the doorway, watching with a bored expression. "I don't want it." Gaara answered after a moment, but he didn't put it down. Even so, for a split second, Kankurou looked disappointed.
"Fair enough." He turned to leave again, and the younger brother frowned. He was still learning to build bonds with others, and his first step was to build those bonds with his siblings, and some part of him believed his siblings wished to build those bonds with him, but it was difficult. If he wanted to build bonds, he would have to spend more time with them, talk to them more. He knew this. Of course he knew this, but it didn't make it any easier.
"Did you make them?" The words were out of his mouth before he'd registered the thought, but Kankurou stopped and turned.
"Yeah. There's plenty of stuff left that'd otherwise go to waste, so I decided...why not? So...I made some cakes."
"How?"
Now, the puppeteer frowned. Had Gaara just asked him how to make a cake? It seemed fairly straightforward to him. Then again, it made sense that Gaara wouldn't know how to bake. "You...want me to teach you how to bake cupcakes?"
He didn't particularly want that, Gaara decided almost instantly, but Kankurou was interested in spending time with him now. He nodded. "Ones without chocolate."
"I can do that..." The elder went to the cupboards, pulling out a variety of objects. Large bowls and wooden spoons, bags of sugar and flour, a set of scales..."Could you get eggs and butter from the fridge?"
"Eggs and butter." Gaara echoed dully, doing as told and placing the ingredients beside the mixing bowl. Kankurou stood back so his younger brother could stand at the counter.
"Okay, first, we need to measure out the flour. For twelve cakes, you need six ounces of flour, and six ounces of sugar. Equal weights, and half that number of eggs, so we'll be using three eggs. Anyway, for now just...measure the flour." He watched for a moment before nodding. "That's it. Now it goes into the bowl."
Tipping the flour into one of the bowls didn't go too well. It blew up in a cloud of floury smoke, some finding its way onto Gaara's face and black top. He coughed and Kankurou tried not to laugh, reminding himself firmly that laughing could cost him his life.
"Okay, that's a, um, occupational hazard, jaan. That happens even if you're careful. Okay, now six ounces of sugar. Careful, don't pour out too much at once..." There was a huge heap of sugar on the scales now. Almost the whole packet! Gaara scowled at the scales.
"It went wrong."
"Just put the sugar back in the bag. You can use your hands if you want, you've washed them. Or pour it all back in from the scale bowl itself."
And so the next few minutes were spent shoveling sugar back into the sugar bag until the scales read roughly six ounces. Kankurou helped out, of course.
"Now, that goes in a different bowl. We'll add them together in a minute." While the younger brother carefully transferred the sugar to its proper place, the elder unwrapped the butter and cut chunks off until the remaining stick weighed the same as the sugar and flour. "Same measurements for the butter." He explained before placing it in with the sugar. He then handed Gaara the wooden spoon. "This next bit, you have to cream that together, which is basically working them together with the spoon until they're sort of like a paste. Just try and mash the butter into the sugar. I've forgotten to get a few things." He turned back to the cupboards as Gaara struggled with the latest task. It was harder than it sounded. The butter refused to move and wouldn't mix with the sugar right unless he managed to cut it with the spoon and mash it against the side of the bowl. As he continued to struggle on, a whisk and smaller bowl was placed on the counter, on the other side of the flour bowl, and a moment later, a sieve joined them.
"What are those for?" The redhead asked suspiciously.
"The eggs." Came the simple response. "Need a hand with that?"
He released the spoon. "You do this. I'll do the eggs."
"Yeah, sure." They switched places, and Kankurou took care of the creaming with ease.
"What do I do exactly?"
"Crack the eggs against the side of the small bowl and pour the yolks in, then whisk them up." For a moment, Gaara hesitated, hyper aware of what he was doing lest he mess up again. Then he became hyper aware that Kankurou was watching him, and quickly set to cracking three eggs. No mistakes here, and there were still four eggs left over for breakfast the next morning. "Done."
"Yeah, I'm done here too. Bring that over here."
Once again, he found himself doing exactly as his big brother asked, and once again he messed up.

When Kankurou had unwrapped the butter, he had carelessly tossed the wrapper onto the edge of the counter. When he left to get everything for the eggs, the wrapper had fallen to the floor. Gaara did not see it there, and stepped on it, and his foot slipped from underneath him...

He didn't hit the floor, or even a bed of sand. Egg went flying, the bowl leaving his hands as he threw them out to save himself. Hands closed firmly around his wrists, keeping him from falling too far. Kankurou had caught him, and was somewhat humourously splattered in the face with a good amount of egg.
"You okay, ototo?" He asked, helping Gaara right himself. He had a strange tone to his voice, something the young jinchuriki took a bit of time to identify. His brother was concerned.
"I'm fine..." When Kankurou released him, he wiped his hands off on his top, only to find it was also covered in egg. The puppeteer paused to pick up the butter wrapper and put the rest of the butter away, then returned and placed the bowl on the counter again. Then, he started to laugh.
"Sorry!" He managed through the fit of giggles. "I'm not laughing at you, honest I'm not, but this is...it's not a situation I ever thought I'd be in. In the kitchen, with you, trying to bond over cupcakes and covered in egg!"
Gaara went to crack three more eggs. "It seems to work."
"Huh?" He laughed again, picking up the bowl of flour. "You think so?"
"You seem relaxed." It honestly seemed that slipping and throwing egg everywhere had broken the tension.
"I suppose I am."
He whisked the egg up again. "Do you enjoy cooking?" It did strike him that he knew very little about his brother.
"I find it pretty enjoyable, I guess. Not my favourite thing to do, but still. It's a hobby."
"I see."
Kankurou seemed to have the same kind of thought concerning what he did and didn't know about his younger brother. "What do you like doing?"
"As...hobbies?"
"Yeah. Oh, pour some of the egg into the sugar, I'll add a bit of flour, you mix it and we'll repeat that until it's all together."
Gaara thought for a moment. "I'm not sure."
"Do you have any big interests?"
"...Cacti..."
"Cacti?"
"Yes. I've been trying to care for one. It's not as easy as some might think."
"Nothing ever really is, but I get what you mean."
They fell silent then, but Gaara was okay with that, Kankurou was remarkably relaxed in his company, and he supposed just being in his presence, working with him on something that wasn't life or death, it would improve their relationship.

When they finished mixing everything, Kankurou brought a baking tray, a new spoon and several cupcake cases over to the counter with the simple explanation that they needed to separate the cake mix into the cases, trying to make them roughly equal. That was simple enough, yet Gaara still managed to drop a good amount down his front, and then into the oven they went, and the boys set about cleaning everything away.

~*~*~*~*~

Much later, Temari entered the living room to find two plates of cakes on the table. She heard footsteps behind her and glanced over her shoulder.
"Kankurou, I think you have a problem. You're constantly making these things..."
"I didn't make those ones." He answered, coming to stand beside his elder sister. "Gaara did."
"Gaara?" She hesitated. "Are they safe to eat?"
"They're quite good, actually. You can have one if you want. I think he actually enjoyed making them."
Temari looked at the collection of cupcakes on the table and thought that maybe, just maybe, her youngest brother was going to become a real brother, one they wouldn't have to fear, and that, with any luck, he could even stay that way.

B-Day Gift for Fiona

The doors were locked, preventing escape, and for good reason, though admittedly it made Erskine nervous. The phone lines had been brought down by the storm and there was no signal, preventing calls for help, almost setting him on the verge of a panic attack. He shifted from foot to foot uncertainly, watching the faces of a good eleven other people, including the detective.

You see, no less than half an hour ago, a murder had taken place. And once again, Erskine Allwood wondered why he found himself in the middle of this sort of thing all the time. Really, it was ridiculous! He was always the centre of that god awful attention. To his right, arms crossed when he wished above all else they were there for comfort, stood Erskine's husband, Mario. The bodybuilder likely felt guilty, which was why he would not meet Erskine's eyes or touch him. They had not too long ago returned from their honeymoon, during which the bodybuilder had been possessed, and had subsequently cheated on his husband, though it was almost certainly against his will. So far, he had yet to forgive himself for his misdeeds.

To his left stood a wealthy-looking old bag of a woman, with her hair dyed platinum blonde, a heavy coat made of real fur, lots of pink and white make-up over her wrinkles (giving the effect of a powdered and sprinkled doughnut) and a small dog with dyed pink fur in her arms. Every so often, she gave the two men a vile glare. Erskine didn't like her. Opposite the three of them, a muscular blonde woman hung tight onto a bearded man's arm. Judging by the weight around her waistline, the woman was pregnant. She didn't seem scared or even disturbed by the presence of a corpse. Her husband, however, had his eyes covered with his free hand.

Crouched over the body, examining it closely, was the detective. A man with long, black hair and pale skin, and a hearing aid. A deaf detective, just what everyone needed. And there he crouched over the body. It had been a man, small and redheaded, and the cause of death was some kind of brutal traumatic injury. Not something you wanted to see when on holiday.

And that's what everyone there was doing. They were on holiday. The building was a sort of getaway retreat in the countryside, where people of all walks of life went to spend a week or two in peace. Well, some peace! Peace would be a nice book on the terrace. Peace would be your favourite song while you daydream. Peace is watching TV with friends or family. Drifting around a lovely or interesting area and taking in every breathtaking sight. Not here, though. Here, people had come with the intention of doing exactly that, only for the guests to find that one of their number had been mowed down in the night. The detective straightened, took in the faces of the other ten people gathered there before asking, loud and clear, "Does anyone know the identity of this man?"
There was a cold silence before one man spoke up. He was the tallest there, apart from Mario. He hadn't woken up that long ago judging by his tired, rumpled and sickly look. "Yeah...his name's Stan..."
"Stan...and his full name? Stanley...?"
"Langston Dennis."
"I see." The detective muttered, writing something down before doing a - somewhat comedic - double take. "What did you say?"
"Langston Dennis. The guy on the floor. He's twenty, from London, doesn't work. Studies performing arts at Mountview."
"Oh...oh, I recognise him now..." He wrote something else down before stepping back. "How do you know the, uh, the deceased?"
"I'm his brother."
The air grew colder. You could hear the bitter bite of sorrow in the sickly man's voice as he said these words, and nobody dared contradict them. They were close, as siblings went, and it was a shocking revelation. And now, tiny Langston Dennis was nothing more than a cooling corpse on the carpet. There was something else there though. The detective turned to the sickly elder brother once more.
"It's good to see you again, old friend." And with that, he swept his arm to direct us to a nearby recreational room. "I shall speak to you first, actually, since you're furthest from the door. Everyone else, this way, please. Wait to be called."

With that, the other ten suspects went to the newly dubbed waiting room to await their fates. For all they knew, as they looked at one another, one of the people in there with them was a murderer. A woman Erskine was sure worked there spoke first.
"I think I'm going to be sick..."
The lodge's owner placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "There there, Shivani, darlink. The awful man who did this will be brought to justice, and I know you're innocent."
The girl, Shivani, gave a weak smile, but the lodge owner continued.
"Obviously the poor boy was killed with a lot of force, though, so I doubt it was a woman. It must have been one of the strong men over there. Not the flabby mess in spectacles or the weedy black boy."
A few cries of indignation flew out, followed by "Not all women are weak and pathetic like you, you know."
The speaker was a woman. American. The athletic girl who was obviously pregnant. "I can take down men the size of Mr Muscle here." She continued, gesturing to Mario carelessly.
"Young ladies like you shouldn't be lifting weights and fighting boys." The woman with the pink dog scolded under her breath. "Women are delicate flowers who should be keeping clean and pure and not dirtying themselves to the level of filthy men."
"Ah, a sexist." The American mused, crossing her arms with a smirk. "And my husband should go out, work hard and support and protect me at all times? My ambition is to be a business woman. A successful one. You think I shouldn't do that because I'm a woman?"
"Absolutely not! You're about to become a mother! What kind of mother would you be, running businesses, lifting weights, making your poor children so embarrassed?"
The American stood, and in an effort to stop a fight breaking out, Erskine moved to the middle of the room. "Right!" He yelled at the top of his voice. "It's nice to meet you all! I haven't had the pleasure of really getting to know most of you, as it is. My name is Erskine, I'm from Ireland, I'm on holiday to recover from traumatic experience, and this really isn't helping! This is my husband, Ma-"
"I knew there was something wrong about you!" The pink dog woman yelled.
"Mario!" Erskine continued as though she had said nothing. "He's here for the same reason. What's your name?" He gestured to the dog woman, who sneered at his hand.
"I am the honourable Lady Petunia Magnolia Prudence Octavia Baudelaire."
"Petunia. Pleasure. I'm sure we all know our landlady, Elka."
"Alka." Alka corrected dully.
"And evidently the maid with us today is named Shivani."
Shivani gave a shy wave and the room fell silent, waiting for the next introduction. Finally, the overweight man with spectacles spoke up.
"My name's Randy, and this is my wife, Hannah..." Hannah inclined her head politely. Like her, her husband was American. "I'm here on, um, business travel."
"Aren't you that author?" A boy with green lipstick asked.
"I'm an author, yes..."
"You're the guy that wrote 'Pigs Without Ears' and 'When The Tower Falls'! Oh man, I have wanted to meet you forever!"
"Thank you, um..."
"Prince! Prince Day!" Prince excitedly bounced up to the rather stunned author and shook his hand vigorously. "I even have one of your books with me! You think you could sign it?"
"Maybe...once all this has blown over...I suppose..."
"I'm Marley." The scrawny dark-skinned boy mumbled beneath this repeatedly before finally raising his voice enough to be heard. Then, all eyes turned to an otherwise silent and solemn man by the window. Marley didn't seem to mind not being greeted. Window man said nothing.
"And you are...?" Hannah asked eventually.
"Aidan." The man answered eventually. He said nothing more, just kept staring out the window at a squirrel or something. Silence fell. Things were a little less tense, a little more comfortable.

Meanwhile, with Detective Burrira, in a cleaning cupboard that they had thrown the supplies out of, the interview of the first suspect had begun.
"Name?" The detective asked, all business.
"You know my name." The suspect replied, scowling, arms crossed.
"I have to at least try to play this by the book, Prosperity." Phoenix pointed out as he noted the man's name regardless. "And I suppose we can skip age and how you know the corpse as well."
"He...don't refer to him as 'the corpse'! He's my brother!"
"Now now, let's remain calm. Prosperity, were you aware of any enemies Langston may have had?"
"None."
"Okay..." He noted something down again. Prosperity was, of course, the best one to grill for information on the deceased by nature. "Do you know anyone else here today? Anyone here who may have known him?"
"His ex..."
"Her name?"
"Shivani Smith-Duffy."
More notes. "I see. How did they break up?"
"It was...I'm not sure. You'll have to ask her."
"When did you last see the deceased alive?"
Prosperity shuddered. "Um...before I went to bed...we were at the bar, having a drink...I turned in early. I normally turn in quite early these days as I just get so tired...took some painkillers, bid he sleep well and left him. I didn't leave my room at any point in the night."
"Have you got an alibi?"
"Well, no-one shared my room with me, so...no...I suppose not." He shrugged, rubbing his eye. "Wait...you don't think I killed him..."
"It's my job. I ought to suspect everyone." Phoenix pointed out, rolling his eyes. "Have you got any previous convictions?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
"Of course."
"And why are you both here today?"
"Holiday...um..."
"That much is obvious, I suppose...why did you want to come on holiday here?"
"I'm not well...Stan's been helping." Prosperity answered uncertainly, trying to draw up the facts in his head. "Helping look after me, and my daughter, and...I guess he needed a break, and our sister won these two tickets...gave them to us, and Stan sort of insisted I come because it was that or leave me at the mercy of the hospitals..."
"And would that be a bad thing?"
"I don't really like hospitals...I've spent enough time in them."
"And you've been getting on well with your brother? No major fights?"
"Not that I've...no reason to go as far as to bloody kill him, certainly!"
"Calm down." Phoenix urged in an annoyingly gentle tone. "If you start shouting this close up, it'll be a nightmare. Everyone has their motives, even you."
"Then what is mine?"
"All in good time. You have quite a temper on you, after all."
"I-! You little-! I don't-!"
The detective noted something down with a smirk before gesturing for Prosperity to leave. "Send in the next suspect please."

One by one, Phoenix called them in to discuss things. Erskine and Mario were each others' alibis. Hannah certainly had the strength for such a brutal murder on a normal day, but heavily pregnant her strength would be more awkward to use. No weapon had yet been found despite the detective's best efforts, but then again, there were professionals around him, such as convicted criminal Aidan Jenkins, who Phoenix remembered vaguely from an old murder case that was all over the news when he was seven. Then again, Phoenix noted his umbrella was missing from the stand and may well have matched the wounds in young Langston's body if he found it.

Shivani had discovered the body first, and was the woman Prosperity sent in after him. She was petite and very nervous when she came in to be questioned, but Phoenix found little from her. She had been up all night, judging by the bags under her eyes, but she claimed she had slept through the night easily, aside from hearing a man get up in the night to go to the bathroom and be sick. Poor man, she had commented.
"Any idea who it was?"
"No, but the footsteps were heavy, definitely a man, and definitely sick, like Prosperity."
Phoenix nodded. "You know his name."
"I know all my guest's names..." She answered shakily.
"Do you know my name?"
She paled and stayed silent. The answer was clear enough. She knew the room numbers, and where to bring everything to, but she never saw the names on the books.
"And how do you know the deceased?" He asked after a moment.
"Mr Dennis is a guest here, I've-"
"Yet, you know him as more than just a guest, Miss Smith."
"Not...not very well...not any more...I haven't seen him for a while now...a couple of months..."
"Were you close?"
"Once." She had at least realised that lying would get her nowhere, and now was hugging herself tightly, shivering slightly, as though the closet was made of ice. "Not any more. He's my ex boyfriend."
"I see. And you broke up?"
"He dumped me for a more feminine model." She spat. Shivani had a somewhat masculine face, he had to admit, and a boyish build, so he could understand what Shivani meant. Langston had found a prettier girl. A girl with more curves and softer features, and at some point along the line he had found he preferred the new skirt. If Phoenix knew Shivani, he might have been able to judge, but for all he knew, the girl stood before him could have been an absolute cow to the deceased. And with those words, that bitter, cold, hateful tone, Shivani had just announced her motive. "And I was living with him at the time as well. Where the hell did he expect me to go?! He's put me through hell lately and...and now he's...oh god!" She covered her face with her hands, the shock getting to her. Phoenix offered no comfort, no words to calm her, just wrote in his notebook. He didn't get much more out of her. Apparently, Langston was a painfully shy person apart from when performing. He didn't have many friends, and didn't talk to many strangers, and mostly preferred to keep to himself. Not the kind of guy who made enemies easily.

Erskine was next into the detective's makeshift office, and he frankly looked bored. Arms crossed, unimpressed scowl, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for a bus. Phoenix didn't like him. Erskine was a light sleeper who had woken at every slight sound during the night in a jumpy manner, only to be comforted that nothing was wrong. It was possible that he had heard the murder, but his husband had told him to turn over and go back to sleep.
"I can tell you one thing." Erskine stated with a smile. "It wasn't supernatural. If it was, it would probably target me."
"Supernatural?" Phoenix asked skeptically.
"You probably think I'm nuts. Maybe I am. Most people think I'm nuts. Anyway, I certainly heard something in the night. Something hitting something meaty. Like someone was beating up a carcass..." He shuddered. "Mario said he'd heard nothing and it might have been a cook...a cook, at three in the morning? I ask you..." He shook his head and kept talking before Phoenix had thought up a reply. "I told him he was stupid, of course. He got really pissy then and told me to go to sleep or he'd make me sleep. Not that that's anything to worry about, we jokingly make little threats all the time, so naturally I laughed in his face and he just hugged me. I really like him, but I swear something awful was going on downstairs. It was kind of frightening, so most of the night I was kind of afraid. I think I woke up a few times in the night for no reason other than fear, y'know? And then waking up and, um, the body...god...I was right and he was wrong though, which is strange. Normally it's the other way around."
Phoenix frowned. This Erskine guy was definitely unhinged. "But you didn't leave your bed in the night?"
"Once or twice, for water or a bathroom break..."
"And that's it?"
"That's it. No blood or bodies or ghosts or murderers down there when I went either. It was clear. I think Lamdon was still alive."
"Langston."
"London."
Again, Phoenix found himself regarding the tan Irishman with a strange expression. "Riiiiight...Listen, Erskine, was it? Erskine, I need you to think seriously for a moment. Did you see anyone else out in the halls? At all?"
"Just the old bag with pink hair. Started yelling to me about how man shall not lie with another man or some stupid shit like that..."
"Well, after a few more questions, you can come ask her to talk to me."
Erskine nodded. "Well, she's a bit of a bitch, fair warning."
"Did Mario leave your side at all during the night?"
A light appeared in the Irishman's bright green eyes as he found himself a perfect opportunity to talk shit about his husband, and Phoenix quickly regretted allowing him to speak.

Petunia was an interesting woman. Full of sympathy for the poor boy. "He reminds me of my son, you see. He was small and cute, and he wanted to be a dancer when he was young..."
"And this young boy dreamed of being an actor." Phoenix mused, noting something down. He didn't believe at this point that Petunia could have murdered Langston. Langston had been bludgeoned to death, and Petunia was elderly, with arms barely strong enough to hold her puppy, Poopsy.
"I'm surprised it was him who was murdered." Petunia stated suddenly.
"What do you mean?"
"I'd expect it to be one of those Irish boys. The two men who are married to each other. Probably the smaller one. People are less likely to attack a bodybuilder, even if they do have huge problems with blood pressure."
"Why them?"
"Because they're two men who are married to each other. That's the exact reason my Morris was..." She trailed off, looking away with a pained expression.
"Is Morris your son?"
"He was."
"I see. Sorry for your loss."
"It was many years ago."
"Was he...your only child?"
"Yes..."
"I see." Phoenix straightened. "Was he talking especially to anyone?"
"That Prosperity man, of course, they're brothers. To you a little, as well. That maid girl, I think she's pregnant, and the blonde lady who's obviously pregnant. She's very boyish and completely unladylike. It's silly."
Phoenix considered saying something, but decided against it. Petunia's prejudices were none of his business. "I see. Were you up at all in the night?"
"No. Well, yes, I had to let Poopsy out to use the bathroom, but otherwise no. That blonde woman with the muscles was up waiting for the bathroom."
"I see. Did you see anything or anyone else?"
"No. I think I saw you at one point, actually, looking out at the rain."
"I tend to have trouble sleeping in rain."
"Would you like me to get the blonde woman?"
"I have a few more questions."
She gave a sigh of disgust. "And I have places to be and things to do!"
"You seem very stressed out, but please, Lady Petunia, if you answer my questions and help me out, I can bring the murderer to justice and assure the safety of the rest of the guests here."
Petunia hesitated before nodding. "I'll tell you anything you need to know. You know that. I can't stand the idea that my baby and I will be in danger."
"I understand."
And yet, there was still so little to learn.

Hannah Kelly was the strangest interview he had ever conducted. He got the same base information from her. Marley had been seen leaving the bar late, and was a good friend of Prince from what she had seen. Randy was with her during the night, trying to help her sleep, and so that was his alibi. She had seen Erskine go into the toilet, Prosperity being sick and Phoenix go downstairs but she had not seen Langston at all. Nobody else, other than Randy, confirmed her story.
Then things turned strange. "And that is all I noticed."
"I see. Are you sure there's nothing more you can tell me?"
"Oh, I can tell you many, many things." Hannah began. "I can tell you I like wearing high heels normally, mental health runs in my family, I'm pretty sure Prosperity wears a colostomy bag, your cochlear implant is fairly recent, I like bunnies and sais and I brush my hair only every other day."
"Okay, okay, I get it, nothing more to say on the murder." Phoenix snapped suddenly. "At least you aren't stressed, I suppose."
"That's always a good thing."
"You're heavily pregnant, after all."
"About halfway."
"You look further than-"
"Twins. We're gonna call them Gene and Aspasia. And we've decorated the bedroom with bunnies!"
"Of course..."
"I've been thinking a lot though..."
"About what?"
"About questions that are difficult to answer..."
"What sort of questions?"
"Like...if pegasi were real, would we have to worry about them dropping poops on us too?"
"Um..."
He ended the interview pretty quick after that.

-----

Phoenix looked at each of the gathered people before him. Prince and Erskine were discussing the supernatural, ghosts and spirits and other things Phoenix wouldn't understand. Petunia was glaring homophobic venom at the tan Irishman. Prosperity looked as though he might vomit. So did Hannah, actually. Everyone else just looked tense and frightened. "Now, ladies and gentlemen of the Happy Trails Holiday House, I have looked over the facts, and I think I have found our murderer." He clapped his hands together, a wide smile on his face, seemingly very happy that he had come to the conclusion he had come to. "I bet you're all wondering who it could be, why they haven't killed anyone since their first victim, why they'd kill the first victim anyway. Or even how I came to this conclusion." With that, he whirled around, pointing his finger at the first person. "Shivani!"
She froze, horrified. "N-no, I...what?"
"A jilted ex lover, no family to fall back on when your relationship fell apart, forced to take jobs anywhere that would take you. You have skills and intelligence that could get you work anywhere, but without qualifications, you're resigned to picking up litter left behind by countless rude foreigners. It can't be a pleasant life. For all we know, during the night, when you finished your rounds, you could have taken an umbrella from the umbrella stand, cornered Langston in the bar when everyone else had gone to bed and beaten him to death. You're a strong girl, and he's small and surprisingly weak for a man even of his size, and then you could have gone up to bed. But, Alka was with you before the last man left the bar, and most of the night. Alka, who did you say was last to bed?"
"Mr Greenway, sir."
He turned to Marley with a smirk. "A young runaway with nothing to lose. Abusive parents, They can cause a bit of violence in their offspring, can they not?"
"N-No..." Marley stammered. "W-well, I suppose so...but I'm not violent."
Prince stood in front of Marley protectively. "Yeah, he'd never do anything to hurt anyone! He's a marshmallow! In fact, he's too shy to even look at someone!"
"But, is he shy or malicious?"
"He's shy!"
"Very well." Phoenix muttered with a sigh. "I'll come back to you. My next suspect, however, is a young man several professed to have seen or heard out of bed that night." He turned to the other side of the room. "Prosperity Dennis."
"What the hell, Phoenix?!" Prosperity snapped. "Are you completely insane?"
"You've always been jealous of Langston. Jealous of his good fortune, his talent and his health."
"This is ridiculous."
"Langston is the one who finished drama school, who wasn't forced to drop out."
"I dropped out by choice!"
"You dropped out because Petronellia begged you to!"
There was a tense silence before Phoenix smirked. Prosperity looked ready to punch his lights out. The detective opened his mouth again. "Everyone always loved Langston. He was shy and sweet and always friendly and always the attractive one and never sick. You only ever got preferential treatment because you developed Cancer when you were, what, fifteen? Then you finally recovered and thought you were about to do what you'd always wanted in life. You went to drama school, made some new friends, got a girlfriend and dropped out to have a child with her. Your brother went to drama school, made some new friends, got a girlfriend and then got offered two roles in stage shows and a major film role. Last year, you were rediagnosed with cancer, this time more aggressive, isn't it? You haven't had a good life, and your little bother, heh, I mean brother, has it so much better than you. I know you're jealous of him."
"I'm jealous of most people who aren't dying." Prosperity muttered. "But I'm close to Stan, I'd never..."
"While wandering during the night, at any point, you could have gone downstairs, seen your brother still in the bar, and snapped. Grabbed the umbrella used to kill the poor victim, had a moment of seeing red, and had beaten the poor dear to death before you even realised what you were doing. You come to your senses and your dear baby brother lies dead at your feet, and you hide the murder weapon away and run back to bed."
Prosperity stared wide-eyed at the detective. "You're crazy."
"My umbrella's gone missing. It's blood covered and hidden somewhere. Any idea where?"
"An umbrella? Hey, if I was going to beat someone to death, I'd do it with a leg of lamb, then I'd cook and eat it."
Everyone stared at Prosperity for a moment before Hannah laughed.
"I've read that story!" She announced loudly, laughing more. Phoenix rounded on her.
"Hannah Kelly, experienced at most forms of combat and can easily kill a man if they threaten her charge. Yet, you're very immature. I don't think you're totally sane."
She stopped laughing, and flashed a dangerous smile. "I'm sane. I just like to play games with weak fools like you."
Erskine smiled. "I like her, she seems dangerous, she knows how to fuck with people."
"Thanks." Hannah answered cheerfully.
Phoenix shook his head. "You're not totally sane either, Mr Allwood."
"No, I've been tortured in the past, it tends to fuck with your brain badly." He smiled as he spoke.
Petunia muttered something about homosexuality and disgusting. Mario stood.
"Ma'am, I understand you are homophobic. Care to discuss why you hate us so much?"
Petunia looked away. "You're just going to get beaten up. It happens to all of your kind. It'll keep going on until all of you are dead."
"And who's going to do that?"
"I don't know, but they are strong, and they won't stop."
"And you agree with them to stay safe?"
Petunia looked up with shock, and Mario gave a kind smile. "We'll be fine. Don't worry about us."
Phoenix, meanwhile, had turned to his next suspect. "You are Aidan Jenkins?"
Jenkins nodded stiffly.
"Aidan Jenkins...you've had a stint in prison, have you not?"
"For a time..."
"For murder."
"No!" Aidan looked offended. "It was manslaughter...an accident. And arson..."
"So I suppose bludgeoning isn't your preferred way to kill."
"No way is my preferred way to kill, I don't want to kill!"
"And yet a body lies here in this building! A body of a selfish brat of a man with no respect! A man any man would be happy to kill!"
Silence fell as Phoenix yelled.
"Go on, tell me, tell me where I might find the weapon!"
"I don't know...under the kitchen sink?"
"No!" Phoenix shrieked, a vein standing out on his forehead. "Are you stupid? I hid the weapon outside, in the pond! It would wash away the blood and look like a broken, abandoned piece of trash!"
The room turned cold. Randy spoke next.
"You hid the weapon? You thought it through and hid it yourself?"
Prince stood, approaching the detective cautiously. "You mean you've been accusing all of us, innocent and frightened men and women, when you killed the guy?"
"He..." Phoenix shuddered. "He ruins everything! He deserved to die!"
"He's my brother." Prosperity stated darkly, standing, hands forming fists.
"He's my boyfriend!" Shivani snapped, also standing. "He's my baby's father and you've killed him!"
Angry faces began to press in around the terrified detective, as finally the suspicion and fear faded into anger and the guests of the small guest house worked together to defeat this corrupted killer.


-----


Characters:
Erskine Allwood, a worker at an aquarium, Irish by birth. He has tan skin, green eyes and brown hair, as well as a faded scar on his forehead. His surname is a compression of his name, Allen, and his husband's, Norwood. Due to an old head injury causing minor brain damage, he speaks with a slight slur to his speech. He stands at 5'9 and is muscular.



Mario Allwood, Erskine's husband of two months. He is a personal trainer at a gym, and a bodybuilder by interest. He has dark skin, dark brown eyes and his black hair is shaved off. He too is Irish by birth and stands at 6'3. Has a bit of a bad temper and can be quite cold towards others.



Petunia Baudelaire, an heiress in her late 50's who looks older than she is. She is described by Erskine in the story, and has a dog named Poopsy. She is homophobic, but primarily attributes this to fear of attack following a fatal homophobic attack on her only son. Country of birth unknown, up to you I suppose.



Hannah Kelly, a bodyguard. Hannah has shoulder-length ash-blonde hair, tan skin and hazel eyes, and is trained to fight and defend others at all cost. At this point, Hannah is on maternity leave. She is the adult version of an old and popular character of mine, Hannah Hart. She is very tall for a woman at almost 6'0. She is American.



Randy Kelly, Hannah's husband and a critically acclaimed author. He stands at 5'8, is overweight and has curly black hair and a matching short beard. He has blue eyes and wears square glasses, and generally wears black and band shirts. He is American and writes violent murder mysteries.



Phoenix Burrira, a detective. Phoenix has long, black hair in a ponytail, is of Japanese descent. He has a cochlear implant hearing aid. He is an old friend of Prosperity's. He is 5'11 and slim. Has some violent tendencies.



Marley Greenway, a young runaway. He is about 15, has dark skin and curly black hair. He is small, about 5'5, and comes from an abusive home. He is friends with Prince, who is very protective over him.



Aidan Jenkins, an ex-convict. Stands at 5'11 and overweight. He has dark brown hair and blue eyes, and his skin is a pasty, pale colour. Convicted of arson and manslaughter, but now he is a rather amicable man.



Alka Papst, the owner of the holiday getaway. She is German by birth and has a distinct accent. She is overweight with auburn hair and blue eyes and rosy cheeks. She is very friendly and protective over her staff. 5'3.



Prince Day, a make-up artist/student with a strong interest in the supernatural. He has mousy brown hair, long enough to hide one side of his face, and dark brown eyes. His skin is slightly tan. He is very protective over Marley.



Langston Dennis, a drama student and murder victim. Small at only 5'1, pale skin, green eyes and red hair. He was close to his elder brother and often a babysitter of his niece. Based off someone I know irl.



Prosperity Dennis, a former classmate of Phoenix's and Langston's older brother. He is somewhat athletic, as much as he can be while ill. He is a dancer patient with messy, dark brown hair, green eyes and pale skin. He is very close to his younger brother and rather protective. Can be bad-tempered. Former drama student who dropped out to have a child. (The mother of the child is no longer alive.) Based off someone I knew irl. 6'2.



Shivani Smith-Duffy, a domestic maid and ex lover of the victim. She has waist-length blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skin, and is pregnant. She is average weight and height at 5'5 and can be a bit bratty at times. Based of someone I know irl.