Who: Calliope and Will What: Meetings When: A few days post-arrival Where: A crime scene in South London Warnings: Very veiled talk about murder. Nothing major.
Being the CEO of a company suited Calliope just fine. She didn’t really have to do that much, and with portkeys, she could live near Catherine in London and simply scoot over to New York to give rousing speeches.
She was walking down the street in London when she was told by a young officer that she had to stay back, there was a murder. Her nostrils flared in anger and hunger as she walked away a bit, looking over at the wall of a nearby building. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up to touch just below a bit of blood splatter far higher and further away than the rest of the marks. “Hmm.”
She wasn’t the only one. Will had arrived on the scene twenty-two minutes ago, and had begun planning his Design. He’d ignored Kirsty briefly - too much was happening in his head. Figures hunched over huddled bodies, working with blunted knives. Abruptly he blinked, and wound up staring up at a purplish spray of blood far off the ground. That wasn’t right.
Eyes. Someone staring. Will looked to his left. “Who are you?” He didn’t go for his weapon, not yet. This figure didn’t match his vision. Too slim, and there was no flame-red hair in his scene.
“Arterial spray,” she replied, not saying her name. “Nothing else would reach so high. I think they were being dragged, though.” She leaned back a bit, miming the arc of blood spraying high with her hand as she did so. “I’m sorry to have interrupted you.”
Who would know that? A doctor, certainly. Will ran through the possibilities in his mind. Law enforcement, maybe. A biologist. A killer, certainly.
“Would have to have been a very lucky shot,” he said, ignoring her apology. A woman. Cultured. American almost certainly. Maybe Canadian. Certainly not English. Her clothes were too bold and too hard-looking, too tough as nails. Too couture. “Would also have had to be performed on a living victim.” Blood didn’t spurt that high after you were dead. He’d seen that with his own eyes, once upon a time, no matter how many times they told him he was fictional. “I doubt you see many slashed throats in your line of work.”
“Not anymore,” she sighed. “I used to be a surgeon, but now I’m in finance.” Calliope could feel his blue eyes studying her, and her head cocked to the side like a bird’s as she looked at him. Plaid flannel. He probably owned a Subaru and liked banjo. “Was your victim shot? If they were, maybe it was a last resort.”
He’d guessed right. “No. Death by exsanguination.” He didn’t want to give out any more details. He’d see if she tripped herself up.
She nodded. “It would seem that the victim put up a decent fight. Maybe you’ll find some skin under their nails.” DNA and all that, it always seemed so important on crime shows.
“Possible. We call them corpse manicures.” Will managed a faint smile after he said that. “Sorry. Police humor.” He’d said it on purpose, of course; he’d wanted to see what she did.
She chuckled at that. “Cute. I’m sorry, I’m being rude. If I’m to be interrupting you, I should at least introduce myself. I’m Calliope Sedant, it’s nice to meet you.” She didn’t extend her hand; he didn’t seem like he’d enjoy the nicety.
He rather appreciated that, actually. “My name is Graham. Detective Inspector Will Graham.” He pushed up his glasses as he nodded to her. He still wasn’t convinced of her lack of complicity, but it wouldn’t be hard to keep her in his mind. If she was involved, he’d figure it out.
Her eyes went wide. “Ohmygodseriously?” She couldn’t help but grin, bouncing on her heels. “I - oh, wow, this is going to sound crazy, but I’m a fan of someone with that exact name.”
Will blinked. He’d heard the government people say he was fictional, but at the same time, he hadn’t expected anyone to recognize him. There wasn’t anyone around, so he risked it. “A fan? Is this ... is he an actor?”
“Profiler,” Calliope smiled, speaking quietly. “Brilliant, tortured, and the dashing if quiet and introverted protagonist of books, television, and film.” Really, she hoped she wasn’t blowing his mind.
Will didn’t know about all that, but he did raise an eyebrow. “Books? Film?” He didn’t seem to have any options except to be honest at this point. “I was only informed of the television show.”
“You only look like the TV guy, it’s true. But there’s other things with Will Graham in them.” Calliope smiled a little, looking down at her feet. It wasn’t every day she met someone she was vaguely fond of, much less idolized to a certain degree.
“I ... had no idea, actually.” Will blushed. “I got the talk, as everyone did, I think, upon arriving, but seeing it in action is a bit strange.” But as he finished his sentence, the awful spectre of Hannibal floated across his mind, as it had idly for days. “Wouldn’t it be odd if there were other people with names that matched that way?” Abigail was here, yes. But Jack? Alana? Hannibal?
Calliope looked at him. “You do realize that they could come, right? Other people from your world?” She wanted to take his hand but didn’t, instead trying for her voice to be soothing, quiet, gentle.
He wasn’t entirely sure if she was patronizing him or not, but he decided not to care. “One already has. And I wouldn’t be upset about most of them.” Chilton, though. Chilton could stay gone.
“One being rather obvious in the upset camp. For everyone’s sake, I hope he doesn’t.” She wrinkled her nose. Hannibal Lecter always seemed so ... pompous. really, she wanted to go to his house and toss the place just to watch him twitch.
“I just try to focus on doing my job.” Will said, trying to sound calmer. “Abigail is staying with me for a while, and beyond that, I’m finding it acceptable. Two of my dogs are here, and the woman I’m working with in this job seems to understand how I operate.” At some point, he might have to tell Kirsty about Hannibal. If she hadn’t recognized him already and worked it out accordingly.
“That’s good. My best friends came through as well, so all’s right with the world here for me. Is it wrong - do you want to go get coffee sometime, as a friendly gesture? I kind of suck at friends - the two I have are the only two I’ve had in three hundred years, so ... another one would be. Nice.” It had been hard to get out, but she managed. Was that blushing?
It was blushing, and he felt strangely awkward. She wasn’t hitting on him, he knew that much, but still. Something felt off. Had she said three hundred?
And yet, he couldn’t say no. “Yes,” Will eventually said. “That would be interesting.” Hopefully that was enough of a compliment for a woman who dressed like that. Even if it wasn’t intended to be romantic. There were ways to talk to different people. Without altering his tone, he said, “You must have stories to tell about the antebellum south. You don’t sound English.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I do, actually. You have quite an ear.” She loved how quick he was; she spent so much time around idiots that she sometimes forgot what it was like to be around smart people. Ariel and Catherine were her only respite from the stupid parade.
“You said three hundred, and you don’t sound Southern, but you don’t sound English either.” Will managed a faint, somewhat mirthless smile. “I’ll leave aside how unsurprised I am hearing that someone’s lived that long.”
Calliope smiled so it showed her teeth, letting her fangs flash for half a moment. “I was the first registered female doctor in the state of Georgia,” she chuckled. “But it’s not something I often get to brag about.”
Well, that wasn’t something one saw every day. Will twitched instinctively, glad he had his gun, but didn’t mention it. “You may get to here,” he said instead. There would be people who said more unusual things.
“I’m hoping so.” She saw his twitch and held up her hands. “I wouldn’t ... you know. Eat you.” She winced. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”
Will did smile - she seemed genuinely apologetic. “Nothing personal,” he said. “Just adapting to new realities.” Quite literally.
He saw something embedded in the wall to her left, though. With a murmured apology, he reached past her head and found what turned out to be a shiny chunk of something, made of metal. “Mirror, or flimsy knife?” Will murmured, half to himself.
“If you get a microscope, you can likely tell that way.” She smiled and watched him work. “But I’d wager flimsy knife. That blood splatter - that was clumsy. They probably aren’t very good at this, not yet.”
“I’d have said a broken bottle, but it’s clearly metal.” Will shrugged, wrapping the shard up in his handkerchief. “It does seem a bit sloppy.” He managed a smile. “Not what I’m used to. It’s almost refreshing.”
“I’m sure. No more profiling, or at least not for a while. This is just panic. A rape or a mugging gone wrong.” She reached into her purse and handed him a business card. “For when you want that coffee.”
“The depths of my worst nightmares would be another Chesapeake Ripper.” Will spoke with feeling. He accepted the card, fumbling around for one of his and eventually coming up with one that was only slightly bent, handing it over.
“You wouldn’t have to face him alone. I’d help, in as much as I can.” She put the card into her wallet, smiling at him in a genuine way few people had experienced.
If he hadn’t had suspicions that this woman had gotten a bit extracurricular lately, he did now. But he’d be nice. “I’ll take you up on that coffee sometime. Though it may be at strange hours.” His shifts never seemed to be static.
“I don’t really need to sleep, so it’ll be a welcome distraction.” She blinked when a rather pretty woman with sharp cheekbones whistled, trying to get Will’s attention. “Your partner needs you, it’d seem. Don’t be a stranger, Detective.”
“Detective Inspector.” Will couldn’t resist the last word as he headed back toward Kirsty.
Calliope just laughed, amused that one of her heroes knew what she was and didn’t find her repulsive. She almost skipped in the direction of home.