[Hmph. If nothing else, the presence of these letters confirms even more that Watanuki was the Witch -- though his reaction to the death of the bird was solid enough already.
But everyone else needs to know. They need to know that their mild-mannered cook has been lying to them wholesale. Though it looks like he was already losing his nerve, based on letter number 3. Unfortunately, he hasn't examined enough handwriting to tell who wrote each letter, but they're clearly meant for the Bird Witch. The neat handwriting is probably from Ruler, given the context.
He frowns as he reads those ones, especially. If Ruler had really been in on it the whole time, would he be playing the fool in the letters as well? He looks over at the sleeping man in the chair and frowns, feeling a pang of guilt.
… no time for that, though. He had chosen his path, now he had to follow it through.
He takes his own letter with him and scatters the others on the bed after he's climbed back over, once again avoiding the blood.
Rouge would be either horrified or proud. Possibly both.
He notes the kimono, but aside from being a pretty piece of clothing, it doesn't mean anything to him.
He checks his shoes to ensure he hasn't tracked blood anywhere before he locks the door to the room. Then he opens the window and flips the lock. He climbs out, checks that he hasn’t left behind any fur or quills. Then he slams the window shut so it locks behind him.
Hopefully the bushes around the mansion aren’t toxic — he snaps off a part of the bush with his gloved hand. As he walks backwards to the stone-lined pathway, he sweeps his footprints away with the plant, obscuring the shape, size, and outline of his footprints. Once he’s back on solid stone, he tosses the piece of plant to one side.
Then, down to the boiler in the basement. Shadow removes his glove, the bandages, and his letter and tosses them into the fire. (And starts a fire, if there isn’t one.) Cotton gloves and cotton bandages burn readily, as does the paper. He ensures it’s all ash before he leaves, mixing them in with the rest of the debris. By now, it’s approaching 2:30 am.
Then, it’s just a matter of cleaning up and setting up an alibi. Shadow takes a thorough bath, rinses the bottoms of his shoes in the sink, replaces his glove and re-wraps his bandages. He grimaces — his hand hurts a lot and is pretty swollen. There’s a partially drunk bottle of fine, aged bourbon on his desk in his room, and he takes it with him to the library.
He drinks about half of what remains in a few gulps, to numb his guilt and his painful hand. It’s not long before he’s every bit as unconscious as everyone else in the mansion]
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DONES
But everyone else needs to know. They need to know that their mild-mannered cook has been lying to them wholesale. Though it looks like he was already losing his nerve, based on letter number 3. Unfortunately, he hasn't examined enough handwriting to tell who wrote each letter, but they're clearly meant for the Bird Witch. The neat handwriting is probably from Ruler, given the context.
He frowns as he reads those ones, especially. If Ruler had really been in on it the whole time, would he be playing the fool in the letters as well? He looks over at the sleeping man in the chair and frowns, feeling a pang of guilt.
… no time for that, though. He had chosen his path, now he had to follow it through.
He takes his own letter with him and scatters the others on the bed after he's climbed back over, once again avoiding the blood.
Rouge would be either horrified or proud. Possibly both.
He notes the kimono, but aside from being a pretty piece of clothing, it doesn't mean anything to him.
He checks his shoes to ensure he hasn't tracked blood anywhere before he locks the door to the room. Then he opens the window and flips the lock. He climbs out, checks that he hasn’t left behind any fur or quills. Then he slams the window shut so it locks behind him.
Hopefully the bushes around the mansion aren’t toxic — he snaps off a part of the bush with his gloved hand. As he walks backwards to the stone-lined pathway, he sweeps his footprints away with the plant, obscuring the shape, size, and outline of his footprints. Once he’s back on solid stone, he tosses the piece of plant to one side.
Then, down to the boiler in the basement. Shadow removes his glove, the bandages, and his letter and tosses them into the fire. (And starts a fire, if there isn’t one.) Cotton gloves and cotton bandages burn readily, as does the paper. He ensures it’s all ash before he leaves, mixing them in with the rest of the debris. By now, it’s approaching 2:30 am.
Then, it’s just a matter of cleaning up and setting up an alibi. Shadow takes a thorough bath, rinses the bottoms of his shoes in the sink, replaces his glove and re-wraps his bandages. He grimaces — his hand hurts a lot and is pretty swollen. There’s a partially drunk bottle of fine, aged bourbon on his desk in his room, and he takes it with him to the library.
He drinks about half of what remains in a few gulps, to numb his guilt and his painful hand. It’s not long before he’s every bit as unconscious as everyone else in the mansion]