The Unfortunate Case of Lily Capulet|juliet, INACT

[philosopher]

Meanwhile, the imperial sun rode majestically downwards to the edge of the horizon, and the sky blushed into the pale tint of a wild rose, that deepened softly and steadily with an ever-increasing fiery brilliance as the minutes glided on to the enchanted evening hour. A wind began to rustle mysteriously among the pines - then gradually growing wrathful, strove to whistle a loud defiance. Through the little nooks and crannies of the richly constructed porch, it uttered small wild shrieks of warning or dismay - and, suddenly, as though touched by an invisible hand, Holmes awoke. He was standing at the fore of a grand doorway, the Capulet manor he understood it to be. Realizing that there must be an exceptionally fine sky to cast so ruddy a reflection on the ground, he threw up the very cut of his outing coat.

A sort of wistful pathos softened the grave lines of Holme's countenance as he bent his head into his coat, looking for something, and rubbed his lips together as cool and soft as a rose-leaf. He felt a cigar in his pocket, but decided not to pull it out. He would save it for later. Taking out a neatly folded paper, he spread it out and scanned over, his face changing to one of stern and patient consentration, which was evidently its habitual expression when on the job.

The Capulets, Holmes had been assigned to. Stopping, he paused a moment and seemed to consider. They had a case for him, that was for certain. A dark cloud since crossed over their heaven of happiness. Holmes looked up at the door half-defiantly. His prim mouth hardened into a tight line, tweaking his glasses before he balled his fist and met the door knuckles-first, knocking just twice.

[tuna]

Juliet had been practicing ballet in the living room when the knock upon the door came. She was startled by it, as her parents weren't expected to arrive back at the house for quite sometime. She paused, turning off her iHome, which was thunderously playing an excerpt from Tchaikovsky's 'The Sleeping Beauty', and waited. She watched Ivor, one of the burly guards, head for the large front door. He opened it and paused. Juliet tried to get close enough to hear what the man was saying, but she couldn't without risking being seen openly snooping. But it was apparent that Ivor wasn't speaking. So she waited as Ivor ushered the peculiar man in and finally called her name.

"Juliet!" he thundered. Juliet waited for a few seconds, so that she didn't seem too eager to greet their guest.

"Juliet Capulet," she said as she came his way, handing him a slender, pale hand for the taking if he so chose. She studied him for a second, he seemed rich, and a slight bit stuffy. She suddenly felt quite inappropriate in her light pink leotard and black tights, her hair tied back in a messy bun. On her feet she still wore her ballet slippers.

[philosopher]

Days of delicious duties were these. At last Holmes could indulge in the absorbing passions that were his performances, for far too long he had been starved of a little brain-thunder. Life assumed for him a new form, studied by the light of his straightforward intelligence, it was no longer, as he had once been inclined to think, a mere empty routine. It was a treasure of inestimable value fraught with divine meanings. Gradually, the touch of modern cynicism that had at one time threatened to spoil his nature, dropped away from him like the husk from an ear of corn - the world arrayed itself in bright and varying colors. There was good, no, there was glory. In everything.

The grand doors gave open, and a big fella peered through the door ajar. With these ideas, and the healthy satisfaction they engendered, Holme's drew out his detective's ID and bowed his head, lightly grinning. 'Evening, mate.'

Eventually he was allowed in. His eyes more lustrous, his step elastic and his whole appearance was that of man at his best. Not a rebellious, feebly-repining, sneering wretch, ready to scoff at the very sunlight, but a being both brave and intelligent, strong and equally balanced in temperament, and not only contented, but absolutely glad to be alive, glad to feel the blood flowing through the veins - glad and grateful for the gifts of breathing and sight. What joyous moods cases gave him.

'Detective Holmes, little miss.' Holmes returned the greeting of the pretty creature, with bright eyes and a very dignified presence about her. In the social world, it was the fashion to take a fair girl's hand and kiss, but Holmes was not a simply bred man. He took her hand when she offered it, and shook it as casually as he would as if greeting a fellow down at the office. 'Sorry if I'm .. interrupting you. What what.'

With perfect sympathies he noticed the girl, Juliet, had been practicing in sweet harmony something akin if not dead on absolute ballet. Naturally, much of this easy and mutual blending of character and disposition arose from Holme's own standing. Without any furthur question or demur, he unfolded the paper he had been looking at and did not yet offer it to Juliet, but held it between his finger and thumb. 'I believe you've have been expecting me, Miss Capulet. You and your parents that is.'

[tuna]

Juliet shook his hand as well, wholeheartedly, retrieving her hand as they finished with their social greeting. She couldn't help but smile as she thought about how her mother would've reacted if she had seen such a manly greeting. She would've wrinkled her nose and tapped her foot. And then Juliet would've heard about it later. "Mother surely wouldn't approve of you, Detective. But as it is, she isn't here, and I rather enjoy in when my hand isn't kissed. Honestly, what woman want a man's saliva on her hand?" she giggled softly, gesturing for the both of them to move into the lavish living room.

There she took a seat upon a gold velvet couch, and gestured for him to do the same in another gold velvet chair across from her. Between them was a cherry wood coffee table, with a glass of water on it. Juliet reached out and lifted the glass to her lips, taking a small sip. She set it back down and then reached down for her shoes, slowly unlacing them from her legs and taking them off. She sighed softly. Despite her love for ballet, she couldn't deny that those shoes were terribly uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry they couldn't be here. It's constantly business with them. But I've been instructed to help you in anyway I can," she said, smiling gently as she rubbed her aching feet. "So, they're opening Lily's case again?" she asked, not being sarcastic or rude, just trying to open herself to the conversation she knew was coming.

[philosopher]

Holmes was in a little perplexity. He had gathered some idea from the letter he held in his hand concerning the Capulet's life. He meditated, as good as the fair little creature's intentions were he had been hoping for an audience with those who had actual sent for him. It was abit untraditionaly at this time, but he quickly understood it to be. Such precepts, that might have been wasted on a less sensitive and thoughtful nature, sank deeply into Holme's mind - he accepted them not only in theory but in practice, not that he sought to obey them always. The result was that he went through the mechanical motions as a mere natural occurrence - no more.

'Most mothers don't,' He uttered, then so he thought as he followed young Juliet into her home, and according to his thoughts he lived. What a strange world. A world of intrigue and folly - a world of falsehood. How could he meet it? It was a question he never asked himself. He took the seat opposite the girl as she slipped her neat feet out of her ballet slippers, leant back and crossed one leg over the other. Tapping the palm of his hand rhythmically on the arm of the chair.

'You'll just have to do then, my pretty.' Holmes said in a vaguely pleasant way. 'Now, I only know what is written on this little bit of paper.'

Holmes leaning himself forward, practically floating infront of Juliet and presented the note in clear and simple view. As well might be imagined, he let the paper flutter down to the table top before leaning back into his seat. Sitting neatly, but with slacking posture. 'It tells me your name, you're parents name, where you live and that you need me for something.'

Gently nodding his head like he would to some slow beat, he concluded. 'The rest is up to you to fill me in.'

[tuna]

Juliet giggled loudly, and then covered her mouth, "You'll have to excuse me, sir. As you see, when we first went through all this with the first Inspector, I was smart enough to make copies of everything I gave police. I know files get lost. The Inspector at the time thought it was odd, of course. A 13 year old running around and making copies of important papers. He laughed at me. And now I'm laughing at him."

She took another sip of her water and then pulled a few pieces of paper off the coffee table in front of him, handing them directly to him. They were lists and emails. The first list read like a suspect list, and was headed as "People Lily Mentioned Would Be at the Party" on the list were 9 names.

The second piece of paper contained names of her known friends at the time. Two would stand out, as they matched two names on the first list. Mercutio and Benvolio. The copies of emails were amorous letters from Lily to both boys.

Juliet quietly explained what had been proven so far, staying strictly to the facts, as he read through the lists and emails, "She left about 10pm, through the front door, to go to a party hosted by April and Alice Crimshaw. Mother and father were less strict then and barely even noticed when she came and went. And at about 5am we received a call from the police that she had been found by the Amber's and Alice mother in their backyard, and that she was dead. Toxicology reports said she had over ten ruffies in her system. And she had been..." She paused for a second. It was difficult to continue, but she did, "Violated at some point that night."

Now shaking, she took another brief sip of her water, spilling a bit of it on her as it barely made it to her lips, "I'm so clumsy, sorry."

[philosopher]

Holmes was silent then, and his face grew serious as he rested both his arms on the straight length of the chair, and still surveyed Juliet with a straight, candid gaze, that, though earnest and penetrating, had nothing of boldness in it. Thus regarding her more intently, and observed, with the critical eye of a detective, as she began to tell him her long account. Looking down at the letters she had given him and giving them the occasional shuffle-through. Ah, he remembered this. Vageuly from his newspaper readings he could recall reading through the death of a girl very fitting to Lily Capulet. All over the world headlines and newscasts in a hundred tongues carried the story, and from all over the world came messages of sympathy and concern for the stricken Capulets.

Receiving the glossy bits of her story, Holmes bowed his head with due gravity. In his usual ponderous manner, he thought for a minute and raised. He could not help but feel a spark of respect for Juliet, although so young, understood very well the wicked way of the world and had taught herself to keep track of it. Clever girl, clever girl indeed.

'So, Lily Capulet had a thing for these .. ' He ducked to check the list again. '.. Benvolio and Mercutio boys. What about the others, how were they significant to her? I want to hear especially about these Crimshaw ladies, a fellow sleuth can understand why I'm sure.'

[tuna]

She was slightly surprised about his inquiry into the Crimshaw girls. But was going to indulge his question and answer honestly, "Alice and Amber were druggies. Everyone on that list was into something they shouldn't have been. It was the scene. But April and Amber are twins, and were Lily's best friends. They were heartbroken when she was found. They cleaned up. Got into Yale. Last I heard, they were going to graduate with honors."

She took another sip of water. She realized then that she still felt guilty. She could have stopped her. But when Lily wanted to do something, Lily did it. But Juliet was the only person who knew she was missing that night. Her parents hadn't even batted an eyelash.

[philosopher]

Holmes could not be contented just yet. In theory, everyone was a suspect until proven innocent, especially when it came to such foul play as murder. Once more he paused, in full view of the girl, and he turned his eyes up toward her, stroking his chin with his old favorite gesture and in vague thought. Then he suddenly raised and leaned far forward in his chair - almost to the edge of the seat, and, clasped his hands together, poising himself as though he were some winged thing about to fly.

'All of these people were at the party she went to, did you say?' He asking, prodding the list with his long finger. Pushing the thought of the Crimshaw twins aside for a while. 'Perhaps someone witnessed her leave. Perhaps someone witnessed her leave with someone.'

He was, at that moment, reaching out and grabbing theories in midair. Truth be told, Holmes always took it in his head to begin that way. He was fond of an adventure and here was one that suited him precisely - to rescue a distressed family from the excruciating grasp of unknowing. Determinedly the cogs in his head were turning, whirring away and inventing allsorts of outcomes. 'I'll need contact information for all these people, if you don't have them then it shouldn't be too hard sweet-talking the old girl that works the desk phone to let me root in the cabinet.'

Rising respectfully into a more patient attitude, he continued, 'You told me there were traces of ruffies in her system, that being a sedative. Trusting you know the reputation of the ruffie drug, did these two boys react or respond to her affections? What do you make of them?' Holmes did, of course, have to keep in mind that the person he was interrogating was nought but young and just as delicate. 'Take your time.'

[tuna]

Juliet was surprised when he began to ask questions about her possibly leaving, "Since the body never left the Crimshaw property, I don't think that was ever considered. But with good reason. And from what I remember, no one saw her leave."

Juliet caught the fragile giggle in her throat as he tip-toed around what he perceived to be dangerous questions, "Sir. I know I'm young. But I went through all this before. I was thirteen, I'm almost eighteen now. You don't have to be so delicate with me." She smiled at him softly, hoping he didn't take what she said personally. She'd been through a lot, and while she wasn't eager to answer all these questions again, she was no longer shy about the answers. About the truth.

"They did. From what she told me. But she wasn't exactly the most reliable narrator," she quietly admitted.

[philosopher]

To Holme's intense surprise, the girl was taking it so much more maturely then he ever would have hoped. Having inquired into countless witnesses, men and woman - girls and boys alike, he was never usually surprised if one needed a tissue or asked to step out for some air. Once even, Holmes had to prevent a particularly unstable gentleman from leaping from the balcony having buckled under the strains of losing a loved one. To have seen all that, he couldn't help but be amazed at the promptness with which the succeeding Juliet presented herself.


He slowly nodded his understandings, thinking that the Crimshaw twins perhaps wouldn't be on his list of suspects for long. Yet still he made a mental memorandum to obtain their own seperate interviews and make time to search that back garden. In the meantime, having thrown discretion to the winds, he renewed his efforts towards the boys. 'She wasn't the most reliable .. ? I don't follow.'

Holmes followed that subject with growing interest, pressing inquiry into his voice. Seeking some confirmation, he cocked his curious brows in a way that would hopefully urge Juliet to elaborate.