a part of you that'll never show | Victor (Casual)

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

She doesn't look, she doesn't see
Opens up for nobody

Something is scratching its way out
Something you want to forget about

Forty three. There had been no exaggeration, although Detective Athos had hoped there had been. Forty-three. The 14th smallest prime number. Forty-three. Cuarenta y tres, the name of a popular Spanish liqueur which is distilled with 43 different herbs and spices. Forty-three. The number of American Presidents (yes forty-three Grover Cleveland was 22 and 24 so technically forty-three). Forty-three the number of times nineteen-year-old Tara Leverne had been stabbed. Not ripped. Stabbed.

Olivia hovered over the folder, shoulders hunched, head cocked to the side, lips pursed, eyes focused. She’d memorized every detail; every sentence, every space, every photo was deeply locked into her mind. Although it felt like it had been burned there, ingrained for ever in the dark recesses of her memory. You don’t forget forty-three. This wasn’t a random house robbery, this was premeditated; this was passionate. Forty-three. It wasn’t a calling card. It wasn’t meant to be quick. It was anger and obsession and tenacity. To keep going at a person long after the light had left their eyes. It was savage, it was primal, it was…personal.

A girl with no family, engaged in a secret life of prostitution, shows up dead in her lover’s apartment apartment stabbed forty-three times. Her ex-boyfriend, and Victor’s college friend, is bewildered can’t believe it happened, can’t believe she’d turned to prostitution, was “uncharacteristic”. Olivia sipped at the coffee on her desk, spitting it out a moment later, it was freezing. She’d only refilled at few min— holy shit. Was that really the time? If it weren’t for cold cups of coffee or the tapping of the captain’s hand on her office door, Olivia might never know when it was time to sleep.

Sluggishly, she walked across her office, finding refuge on the leather couch on the other side. Just a few hours, she thought, then back to work. It was a good thing she’d decided to have this couch brought up from the basement. Else she’d have let her head rest on the desk and she’d wake up with pen on her face and drool covered paperwork. This was only slightly more dignified. Eyes on the ceiling she wrapped the small quilted blanket her mother had sewn for her when she was younger around her legs. She wanted nothing more than to keep working but, knew that without at least a few hours rest she’d never make it through the next day. As she drifted to sleep she couldn’t stop thinking that there was something she wasn’t getting. There was a missing piece. But, her eyes grew heavy …

You don’t forget forty-three

***

Heat. That’s all this god-damned city needed more of. Olivia was used to the weathermen being wrong why, oh why; couldn’t that be the case today? Sweltering conditions, they said, heat wave, fry an egg on the sidewalk, stay indoors, they advised. But, such was not the life of a NYPD Detective, not with a killer on the loose. Although, Olivia would argue that there was always a killer on the loose but, her therapist said that was pessimistic. Olivia argued that it was realistic.

Taking a nice long, sip of her steaming hot coffee, Olivia wondered if it was hypocritical to complain about the hot weather and drink a hot coffee. She shook the thought from her mind, if there was one thing she hated more than criminals it was iced coffee. It wasn’t the temperature of the coffee, but more the expectation that you would have cream and sugar mixed in to taint the already perfect beverage. You can’t order a black iced coffee. Well you can, but, not without enduring the most irritated stares and poor service of your life.

Not to mention you lost all the body and aroma when you chilled coffee, at least in her opinion. Olivia liked rich, fragrant black coffee to start off her mornings. She needed a nice kick to wake up her senses and the café down the street from the precinct always served up the perfect brew. Grabbing her usual order, a medium black coffee and a granola and yogurt cup, Olivia headed off towards the Upper East Side. There was a crime scene she wanted to revisit and a certain Victor Griffiths that she needed a few answers from.

Flagging a cab so she wouldn’t have to walk the fifty-something blocks in her stilettos, Olivia relaxed her shoulders. She was always so tense, always tight, always expecting something to jump out at her. The ride over was more or less uneventful, a few crazies out for their morning commute, an enraged old woman shaking her cane at the taxi driver as he narrowly missed her taking a turn, and sharp sound of a hundred horns all beeping at the same time. And thus was the musical symphony of New York at nine in the morning on a Saturday.

The taxi pulled up to the curb twenty minutes later, Olivia handed over a wad of cash, muttering a keep the rest, and hustled into the apartment complex. Nodding to the doorman, who seemed to remember her from the other day, she slid into the nearest elevator and hailed it up to Mr. Griffith’s floor. Usually, Olivia made it a habit to call her prospective interviewees prior to arriving on their front door, but in some cases it was better to have the element of surprise. Olivia didn’t know what she expected to learn from this encounter but, she was hoping it might shed some light on recent events.

The elevator doors opened and she found the door that matched the addressed she had grabbed off the computer records that morning. Her heels made a satisfying clicking noise as she came to halt in front of it. Smoothing out the front of her blouse, Detective Athos steadied her hand at her waist, ready to show off her badge with a light pull at her jacket, and took a long, deep breath. Three sharp knocks on the door soon followed. All she had to do now was wait.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Drip... drip... drip...

Victor hadn't expected that police would dare set a foot in his home, but after his little encounter with Detective Athos, he'd taken extra precautions to make sure that there was nothing leading to him as the killer of Tara or the Ripper. She seemed to know more than the others, and that made him nervous; no one was supposed to know, or even suspect, that he could ever have anything to do with any of those murders. At the same time, though, it brought him a challenge, and challenges were fun for him; cracking codes was fun, and Athos was definitely a code to be cracked.

It took a couple of days, cleaning every suspicious speck of dust from his home; he'd made a list and checked it three times to be sure. They'd never catch him anyway, he was sure of it, but if Athos somehow got her hands on a warrant and he hadn't swept his business under the rugs, they just might.

But he was far too clever for them, and he knew that they knew it.

As a kind of reward for completing his crafty home-base sweep, he decided to take a quick shower. He'd been struggling against the a cold, and his nose cleared almost the instant he stepped into the steaming room. Bliss didn't last long, unfortunately, when about half way through washing his hair he heard someone knocking gruffly at his door.

"Fuck," he hissed, turning off the water and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. Victor didn't care that he tracked water on the carpet, and the knocking was becoming impatient--besides, it didn't sound like a woman's knocking, so he was probably safe. Running a quick hand through his wet curls, he opened the door a bit.

Drip... drip... drip...

"Er... hello, Detective Athos," Victor greeted awkwardly, the grip on the towel around his waist tightening. "Kind of caught me at a bad-- can I help you with something?" He was more than a little irritated, though he didn't show it; weren't people like her supposed to be professional and call beforehand? She had his number, she very well could have. But, no, she was going to try intimidating him with the element of surprise.

Bad. Idea.

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

She shouldn't have come.

What was she thinking? She should have called, should have played this by the book. This was so unprofessional. What if he wasn't home? She'd have wasted a whole morning trekking around the city when she could have been studying the case file. Not that she hadn't already memorized it but, still there was other things that could have been done. This was crazy. This was rash... this was investigative work. And there was a killer on the loose and she had to do everything in her power to stop him from killing again. So despite all her frantic thoughts about proper etiquette she remained at the door waiting. Just as she was about to turn to leave the door creaked open and the familiar face of Victor Griffiths peered back at her.

There were many things she remembered about the man who stared back at him. His eyes for starters, those pale blue eyes, so expressive and bright, but keen and distracting. Then there was the way his lip curled into that knowing smile, she was certain he'd charmed the pants off several women just with one of those. But, there was something different about him today and it was distinct and immediately noticeable and not just because she was a cop. Victor Griffiths was decidedly naked. Well, not entirely, but he was certainly lacking the clothing department.

Clutching to his towel firmly in one hand and the door frame with the other, Olivia got a very good look at the contours of the man's rather... inveigle ... body. He didn't skimp on his trips to the gym that was for sure. There was something else as well. He was dripping wet. Olivia had impeccable timing and that was meant as sarcastically as possible. If anyone down at the station found out she'd interrupted a suspect for questioning half-way through a shower she'd be the next Peter Westfield. He was the cop that wrongly arrested a local politician whilst he was in the middle of a devil's three way with a model from France and that tennis player from Russia.

It wasn't surprising when Victor started to mumble that this wasn't a good time. But, then he stopped himself, and offered a "Can I help you with something." Having only spent about half a second on Victor's chiseled abs, Olivia was proud to say that her gaze remained firmly on his face for the remainder of their time in the doorway to his apartment. "I had to talk to a few tenants downstairs and the doorman said you were in." she lied. "I just had a few follow up questions for you. But, if now isn't a good time, I can come back another time or you can come into the station."

Olivia had to admit she felt kind of bad for intruding while the man was bathing, kind of. So, the offer to continue the interrogation was really out of guilt more than compassion and it was meant halfheartedly although she sounded very sincere when she offered.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor looked back at her, now with a small smile. He could feel the way her eyes roamed over him for a moment, both stunned at his appearance and the fact that he was now standing in front of her mostly nude. When her eyes planted themselves back on his face, he tilted his head slightly to listen to her explanation. Please, do tell me why you've bothered me at this time of day without notice. Enlighten me.

"I had to talk to a few tenants downstairs and the doorman said you were in."

Her lie was pathetically obvious, at least to him, and this made him frown. "Detective, you don't have to lie to me. But come in if you want... I'll just be a second." He stood back from the doorway and let her in. "You can sit on that couch, or I guess on the bar stools in the kitchen."

Victor gestured to the two places and then made his way down the hall and into his room. Great timing- just great. He couldn't ever get one moment of peace. At least he knew, now, that it was more important than ever to shake her off of his trail. He would have to think up something that would make it seem impossible that he was the Ripper.

He quickly dried himself and pulled on some jeans and the first shirt he touched, running one last hand through his hair before looking in the mirror. His whispered to his reflection, "You'll tell her... Ter was desperate. Yeah. Of course it didn't seem like her because it wasn't. Rick was the one who threw her out..." Victor nodded sharply at himself, a little ashamed that he'd had to give himself a pep-talk. He'd never really had to think about it- the lies just came out of his mouth. But this meeting had been so unexpected and what he said held so much weight that he needed to know what to say.

Finally, he came back out again to meet her. "Sorry about that," he said, smiling warmly as he came to sit next to her. "Okay, so... what is it you wanted to ask me? I'd hoped our second interview would be a little... pre-planned, you know?" Awkward chuckle. Not nervous, just awkward.

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

She didn’t like him; didn’t like his snide comments, his knowing smile, his chiseled body dripping with water or the way he clutched his towel with one hand so nonchalantly. She didn’t like that he sensed she had lied about the doorman, that he was so calm and collected when he let her into his apartment, or the way he directed her toward his couch.

Detective Athos was frazzled. She was exhausted from yet another sleepless night, angry that there had been literally no clues to connect the Ripper murders to any suspect, and she was just about ready to cuff Victor and bring him down to the station out of sheer annoyance. Had it not been for his mention of Tara at the interview, Olivia wouldn’t even be here. She wouldn’t have called the station down in D.C. to have the case file faxed over, wouldn’t have wasted hours memorizing it, and she wouldn’t have this sinking feeling deep in her chest.

Tara. Tara. Tara. It was all she could think about; all she could dream about. It was strange how it had infiltrated her psyche. How it had burrowed deep inside of her and refused to let go. Any other detective would have brushed it under the rug, equated it to coincidence, and moved on. But, Olivia wasn’t any other detective.

Tapping her foot on the ground unwittingly, not impatiently, Olivia glanced around Victor’s apartment. From what she could gather, he was quite the wealthy man. All those years with the Tobacco Company must have been good for his bank account. Not one for affluence, Olivia was surprised to find herself envious of his suave high-rise. It would have been nice to rake in a few extra thousand a month for killing billions of people a year with cancer inducing death sticks. But, it was never about the money. It was always about the job and Olivia loved her job. She couldn’t be a CEO sitting in an office building all day long. She’d kill someone.

Something hit her in that moment. She wasn’t quite sure what it was but, it felt as if a light had been shined on her. You know, one of those moments where things just sort of click into place, only Olivia wasn’t quite sure what had clicked. She just felt enlightened. Victor walked back into the room, fully clothed, thank god, muttering that he would have preferred a pre-planned interview with a chuckle. “Just a few quick questions and I’ll be out of your hair.” she retorted, her mouth remaining tight.

“I was talking to Mr. Anderson down the hall, he’s a contractor. Have you ever noticed any odd behavior, any strange occurrences, anything at all concerning him? She pulled out a small notepad and a pen, ready to mark down his answers and a few descriptions of his reactions to her questions. Character profiling, how do they react under pressure? How to they react when they are calm? Are they nervous? Are they fidgety? Are they stoic?

“From what I can tell he likes loose women and fast cars.” her green eyes found his face and remained there for a moment, cordial and kind. “Mrs. Peterson at the front desk tells me he can be quite the rowdy neighbor. Constantly has…” she paused before choosing the word, “guests…” Olivia decided to start out with the questions the third detective had given her before continuing on with her own. He’d been quite adamant that the contractor down the hall was a prime suspect and wanted to know the opinions of his neighbors. Detective Athos agreed to ask around when she conducted her own interviews. Perhaps in so doing, Victor Griffiths might reveal something; a dark secret perhaps?

[JACK THE RIPPER]

"Just a few quick questions and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Sure. A few quick and unimportant questions that would give her an excuse to stare- stare and poke and prod like he was some sort of goddamn science experiment. Well, he would have none of it. As he sat next to her, her folded himself up like a fan and turned to look at her as she continued with her questioning, eyes masked with unrecognizable skill.

He wasn't surprised in the least when she didn't start the interview with Tara. She wasn't one to be so forward when she was in a precarious position, that was one thing he had realized. Over all, she seemed like a cautious woman; she picked her words carefully, stepped lightly when dealing with suspects without their knowledge (not that that worked with him; he always expected someone to be eying him). He wondered what caused it. When she was ready to ask him something, she was so abrupt. Why did he get the feeling that some of the things she was looking for, she didn't even want to know?

“Have you ever noticed any odd behavior, any strange occurrences, anything at all concerning him?"

Mr. Anderson was swine. Swine who didn't much like Victor either. Probably had something to do with the fact that his sister liked Victor a little too much. "Not really. But he does go in and out at ungodly hours sometimes." A shrug. His tone wasn't accusing at all, like he didn't want to foist an investigation onto someone he was acquainted with.

“From what I can tell he likes loose women and fast cars.” And who here didn't? “Mrs. Peterson at the front desk tells me he can be quite the rowdy neighbor. Constantly has…guests…”

"Heh, yeah, he does. But he's a young guy... younger than me." Victor leaned back into the cushion of the sofa, tilting his head a little and thinking back on the few times he'd had to talk with Anderson.

"Keep it between you and I, but he's a bit of a douche..." There was clear disdain in Victor's voice, which he explained when he received her look: "...Doesn't exactly treat his guests the way he should, I don't think. Half of them have left crying." At least he didn't have to make that part up. Anderson had a temper and kinky tastes, and it wasn't a secret.

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

Olivia couldn’t shake the feeling that Victor Griffiths was hiding something. That or he was holding back something. She tried to coax an emotion out of him when asking about his neighbor’s prostitution addiction. Olivia had read Anderson’s file, there were half a dozen restraining order requests and more than a few domestic assaults. Apparently, he liked to play rough but, he’d never killed anyone and certainly didn’t seem to have any disdain for the women he’d paid for. Mister Anderson liked sex and he liked women and he especially liked sex with women.

But, Victor, he was someone that Olivia couldn’t get a read on. And she was very good at reading people. There was something puzzling about him, something odd, something… curious. Olivia didn’t care about Mister Anderson, he wasn’t a suspect in the least, but, Victor, now he was different. And while she still had no clue why she continued to feel strange about him, she was certainly not going to let it rest until she did. It wasn’t until she mentioned the company that Anderson kept that she illicited any sort of response from Victor. At first he wasn’t so quick to accuse his neighbor but his tone seemed to have changed from uncaring to scornful.

“Keep it between you and I, but he's a bit of a douche.. ...Doesn't exactly treat his guests the way he should, I don't think. Half of them have left crying."

Victor was right on that account, many of the women had left sobbing after Mister Anderson was through with them. But, that wasn’t the point. The point was catching the Ripper. The point was getting a killer off the streets. The point was…

“So I’ve heard,” she murmured, leaning back in her seat. Her green eyes bounced around the room for a moment before settling back on Victor. Even fully clothed he looked rather nice. He looked like the type of guy you could take home to mom and dad and they would actually be proud rather than scared. Although, her parents had liked Winters when she had brought him home, so perhaps that last statement wasn’t so true. “Did you ever hear any threats or aggressive behavior next door?”

She jotted down a few notes in her book and took a moment to think. What had she expected? That Victor was going to hear the word prostitute, freak out, and confess to mauling a bunch of women? Olivia’s head was spinning in eight different directions. She was balancing two incredibly difficult cases (The Ripper and M) and her ex-husband had just been released into the world again. All hell was breaking loose around her and all she wanted was a bloody damn confession from someone.

Absently mindedly, Olivia rubbed at a small scar on her right forearm. The product of gang stabbing several years ago, the thin white mark felt smooth and soft beneath her fingertips. “How is your work going?” she flipped the questioning. Hoping that showing an interest in his personal life would give him cause to trust her a bit more.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

He could feel her searching him. She was very good at what she did, and he almost admired her for it, but her looks couldn't slip pass his radar. Yes, she was very good. Part of what had taken him so long to get to this point in his life was making sure that he was better.

His head tilted, just slightly, when he felt her shrink back from him, as if she had distracted herself. He looked to the coffee table, at her knees rather than her face, while she glanced about his apartment, studying her movements rather than her eyes. Her legs were tightly closed, her pen digging into the notebook she was holding. Detective Athos was thinking about something. Something having to do with him, no doubt, by the way she avoided staring at him any longer. But it wasn't him.

“Did you ever hear any threats or aggressive behavior next door?”

A shrug. "Nope, not really," he said, putting a veritable and fortunate end to the conversation. Anderson was boring. He knew why she was here and she knew, and if she was as smart as she seemed to be, she would figure out he knew too. At this thought, his eyes slowly raised back to her face, putting on a trace of melancholy. How regrettable, her decision to suspect him--how much it hurt him. What, with Tara and all. He'd loved her.

Women were easy.

“How is your work going?” He didn't keep his eyes off of her face, though he noticed her faint scratching at her arm. He'd observed a mark of some kind there before. Scars were fascinating to him, and so he always noticed them; it was as if whatever had caused it would never leave you, would always be a part of you. He was fascinated--perhaps some would even say obsessed--with this idea. You didn't have the scar, the scar had you.

Another soft shrug rolled off of his shoulders. "Well enough, I guess. It's gotten better since I started to be less in the office and more down in Manhattan at the bar. Guess it must be an environment thing." Environment thing...

Ah.

There was a man.

He paused a moment before he thought to ask, "What about yours?" He didn't care if she didn't talk about the Ripper case. He didn't. He had a finger on the NYPD, and so far, she had been the only thing in the way. He wanted to show her that he didn't care!

But, women were easy. So she wouldn't be in the way for long.

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

Pushing the next door neighbor from her mind Olivia turned her focus back to Victor. After all, she had no intention of pursuing that slime-ball across the hall. Especially, after their last interview. It was one thing to think dirty thoughts but, it was another to express them so vehemently out loud. There were several combinations of words that Olivia would gladly like to have removed from the human vocabulary. Particularly, doggy, butt, pudding, and Swiss cheese. It was best not to ask what he had planned, Olivia was sure to have nightmares about it.

“You must be getting swamped most nights, what with baseball coming to an end and football starting up.” Olivia added her fingers still unwittingly stroking her scar. She’d been around the bars lately and it was an ugly thing. All the Red Sox and Yankees fans were going postal. There had to be at least four bar fights she’d broken up in the last five nights. And while it was thoroughly enjoyable to break out the handcuffs and pin a guy to the wall, she much preferred nursing a bottle and watching the game.

“Me?” she thought about his question for a moment, mulling over the best way to respond. She bit her lip, crinkling her nose ever so slightly. “It’s been worse.” she half smiled. “Tough times lately as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Olivia didn’t feel like being cryptic. She was sick of being coy and secretive. So she answered honestly. Work had been hell the last few weeks and while she would never phrase it that way, especially to a suspect, it is how she felt. She loved her job more than anything but, that didn’t mean it wasn’t challenging, exhausting, and absolutely irritating.

There was this feeling in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t shake. She’d gotten it a lot recently but, more so in the presence of Victor. While she was certain in some of her other cases that her suspects were guilty she wasn’t so sure in this case. James as M made sense. He was cocky and arrogant and elevated and smooth talking and just gave off this air of treachery. If Victor was the Ripper he wasn’t interested in showing off. He didn’t want to get caught. He wanted to stay in the shadows as long as he could.

What could Olivia do to get Victor to trust her? There was definitely some attraction there. He was a very attractive man, but, Olivia didn’t want to whore herself around. She wasn’t Detective Aramis, after all. But, there had to be a way. “So what do you do when you aren’t working?”

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor shrugged a bit at her mention of sports. He had never been a sports fan, but at least football was pleasantly violent, and it brought in customers. More people, that was all they were. Funny how many people he surrounded himself with, considering how much he hated them. "Eh, you know. I don't let them get too out of hand, though... gotta keep it clean and whatnot. My regulars- they know that. Make sure everyone else does too."

He glanced down at her scar once more, then back at her face. "Worse..." he repeated under his breath, frowning a little. "I would think that it would have already been a big challenge, no?" Victor decided not to bring up the Ripper case. It was best to just steer clear of it. "Oh, with the... er, the art thief, right? M, isn't it?" As for M, he was almost certain he knew who it was, and he had to give the man credit; he was crafty. But then, he also had to wonder if James knew who he was. If he did, it was unspoken, and it was going to stay that way.

The breakthrough he had just had with reading her was very helpful. She was wary of not just him, but men in general- that part was obvious. That meant that she definitely wasn't the bad guy in the situation. Either he left her or he did something terrible and she left; which ever it was, it had scarred her, much like the little white mark on her arm. Interesting. That's what it was. Perhaps if he convinced her he was different, she'd trust him.

“So what do you do when you aren’t working?” Trickery on her part? Perhaps. Some people were under the assumption that killers did nothing but scheme all day, nothing but think about death. Hardly.

"Well, I'm not that interesting. I guess I'm pretty artsy for a guy who runs a bar, you know?" Victor cracked a smile. "I draw a lot, actually, and of course read. But I've always been interested in photography." Photography. The two others were at least truth, but he didn't know where photography had come from. Something had caused his mind to turn to Christine for non-suspicious answers; she was a photographer. It would have sounded a little strange to talk about all the anatomy and medical science he studied. Well, at least the sentence came out natural.

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

Photography. Olivia knew a little bit about that. It was a decent jumping off point. She'd taken a couple photography and digital editing courses in college to fill up a couple electives. Apparently, taking too many classes in your major is a bad thing. They kept talking about diversifying so Olivia figured art was a big step away from Criminal Justice. Not to mention she'd grown up with an art gallery for a house so, it wasn't too hard to pick up on. Her mother had a bit of an art fetish and liked to replace all the wall hangings at least every two months. It was incredibly annoying but, strangely useful in this scenario.

Olivia had half a mind to offer to pose naked if it meant she'd get a confession out of it. If he was the killer he'd attempt to kill her and if he wasn't... well that was another story entirely. But, then again the Ripper killed prostitutes not overzealous detectives with a history of terrible relationships. So, her offer for some naked snapshots would quickly spiral down her list of terrible, terrible ideas. At least no one could complain that Olivia wasn't giving this case her all. In fact, her all was turning into sleepless nights, an extensive bar tab, and a terrible case of paranoia.

Terrible seemed to be the word of the day for Olivia. Hell, it was the word of the month. Nothing seemed to go well for her as of late. Eyes focused on Victor, Olivia felt strangely calm. This wasn't exactly undercover work but, in a way it sort of was. She was Detective Athos, she was just another version of herself. A more amiable, more flirtatious, more... open version. A version she hoped would be attractive to Victor.

The only trouble was those stunning blue eyes.

"Really? I never would have pegged you for the artsy type. What styles do you draw?" The truth of the matter was that Olivia was genuinely interested in what Victor had to say and that was dangerous. It's probably why she sounded so natural and calm. There are codes and rules and standards that warn against getting to know your suspects personally. Like Stockholm Syndrome you begin to identify with them and fell for them and ultimately cannot do your job.

She was relaxed, something she hadn't been in a long while, as she tilted her head and softly spoke. "I've always loved painting. I am absolutely dreadful at it, all i can do is make blobs of color and some shapes. I think they call it impressionist. But, I spent a fair few years bouncing around Soho weaving in and out of galleries."