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Ema Skye's Backstory
The story behind how everybody's favorite drug dealing detective came to the Apartment
PART TWO

She went to the funeral. Of course she went. She had to punish herself somehow. Even though the attendees barely looked at her, giving her a polite greeting, thinking she was one of them, a polite mourner. How could they know that though it was Klavier who had pulled the trigger, Ema was the true executioner?

She sat down quietly as the priest said kind words. They weren’t what she would’ve said. She would’ve talked about what an idiot he was. How he had tried to change the unchangeable and failed. That his death was empty and hollow, a waste that was only to be looked on with pity.

She would’ve talked about his fairy tale.

Klavier showed up, of course. Nobody cared that the murderer was strolling around, greeting people, even thanking them for coming. At least he had the gall not to look overly cheerful, but properly somber. Well, he’d claimed self-defense. And everyone believed him.

Apollo had a gun after all.

She stared at the coffin, shut tightly. After the shooting, he’d been rushed away, and the news that he had died had soon followed. The last time Ema had seen him had been when she gave him that damn gun.

She didn’t cry. Nobody did. It wasn’t a cheerful death like one of somebody who had lived a full and happy life, but funerals weren’t cried for these days. Not unless you were close family. Nobody claimed Apollo as such.

At the end of the service, she rose, and turned to leave.

“Ah, Ms. Ema, a word, if you please?”

She looked up, already knowing who it was. Only Klavier called her Ema. In other realities that she didn’t know of, he usually used the phrase ‘fraulein’. But this Klavier had cast off his German slang. Usually he preferred annoyingly cute little nicknames, but not today.

“…I’m actually good, thanks.”

She made to leave, trying to slide past him, but he grabbed her wrist quickly, but with minimal movement, trying to avoid attention.

“Then allow me to rephrase myself. You’re having a word with me.”

Ema shot him a glare, even while knowing that both it wouldn’t affect him and she’d be going with him whether she liked it or not.

“…Fine.”

“I love it when you make it sound like you have a choice in these things.”

He calmly led Ema out of the chapel, towards the back of the church, away from the curious eyes. It would appear that they were holding hands, which caused several raised eyebrows. Nobody would guess that one of the hands was gripping the other with crushing force.

She was expecting a couple of angry words, or maybe an apology, or even just him offering to reopen their status as friends with benefits.

What she didn't expect was for him to slam her against the wall, his forearm at her throat, and his face inches from her.

"You manipulative little b***h."

"I hear that a lot. It's ironic, because usually it's because I've been doing something for you--"

Her cheerful tone, a sad attempt to cover up the fear that sprang into her, was cut off as the arm pressed closer to her throat, and she became preoccupied.

"That gun Apollo had. You gave it to him, you b***h."

"Of ******** course I did, a*****e. You're ******** crazy, and Apollo was up on his white stallion again, ranting about how he was going to make you stop being a s**t prosecutor. You think I was going to let him go anywhere near you without a weapon? And don't bullshit me that he was waving it around threatening your life. Apollo is less intimidating than jello armed with a feather. If he had tried shooting you, he'd probably have only hurt himself somehow."

"Don't give me that, you little liar." Klavier growled lowly, his features still as cool as ever. "You sent him sniffing after me, right after you gave him that gun. For what reason? To hide the fact you've been drugging my witnesses?"

"At your own request, I might add." Ema shot back, her hands trying to peel the man's arm off of her neck, but to no avail.

Klavier's eyes, gorgeous as they were, were glittering dangerously. And not the kind of dangerous that Ema had seen so many late nights that they had spent together. It was the kind to drive fear straight into her heart.

"You've gone far out of the way of anything I've ever asked you to do. You're out of control. Poisoning anybody who seems convenient to, selling drugs to anyone who will buy. Maybe I've made you into this monster, Ema." He paused, turning around to fish in one of his pockets.

"What're you talking about? I've done everything you asked me to do! Every person I slipped dope to, you requested! Everybody who I poisoned, was because you asked!" Ema was now struggling in earnest, kicking around and trying to push him away. But he was like a Greek statue, beautiful and unmovable. And just as emotionless.

"Perhaps that is what you think. I see that I have done wrong. I will fix this." From his pocket came a syringe, filled with a clear liquid that Ema could only guess the contents of. Seeing it, she doubled her efforts, screaming as she tried to slap his needle-bearing hand away.

"KLAVIER STOP THIS! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT. HAVE YOU GONE ABSOLUTELY CRAZY?"

"Maybe I have. Or maybe it's you who's gone crazy. Certainly, that's what everybody will think before long." He told her calmly, easily avoiding the frightened and wild swings of the woman. There was a tangle of arms as Ema made a last ditch effort to save herself from whatever it was that Klavier had in store for her.

She could never recall the details afterwords. All she remembered was the pain of the needle sinking into her flesh, the feel of the toxin in her veins. Then all turned dark as her legs gave out.

"You needn't fear your life, Ema. I would never kill you, my little broken detective." His voice was soft, as he carefully gathered the brunette in his arms, his expression almost loving. "But now that you are addicted to heroin, you will probably wish I had."

And he carried her out, cradled in her arms, a grotesque imitation of newlyweds leaving behind a funeral.





Beautiful in Death
Community Member
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