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Adele Rhiannon Laneaux
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- Me, Myself, and I
- Cut back four years before this one. Cross backward through time. Turn life into a rewind button and you'll see her. The lights in the interrogation room were far too bright and she had to squint her eyes to stop the slow ache working it's way along the ridges of her brain. Legs crossed and mascara smeared just like it should be, tears to make them believe. Hair askew just like her life right at this moment and she had to pull on her cigarette hard to hide the smirk threatening to spread itself across her lips. They thought the shakes in her hands were from grief and shock. Just a tattered little housewife who had recently lost her husband. A knife in the gut and a gunshot wound right between the eyes. No fingerprints to speak of because this southern belle had done her research. She had been learning to twist the system for years and it was time to put that knowledge into practice.
- She answered their questions tearfully, a kleenex clutched so hard in one hand that her nails threatened to rip crescent shaped tears in her skin.
"So what you're saying Mrs. Laneaux is that your husband and the gardener had a quarrel of some sort? Male jealousy at it's finest?"
The cop leaned hard on the table and she swore if he didn't stop drumming the end of his pencil on his tablet she was going to kill him too.
"Yes. That is what I'm saying. That is what I've been saying for the past three fucking hours. Unless I'm being accused of something can I please leave and prepare myself to bury my husband?"
Now the tears and she made her voice lilt with grief, vocal chords making her words choke and vibrate. Eyes showing anger and sorrow as they bored themselves right into his skull.
"Yea, yea. You're free to go, don't leave town in case we need to be in touch."
She stood from her chair, hands clutching into fists as she turned to go. She stopped and turned back, " With all due respect sir. I just found my Husband dead, the last thing on my mind is a fucking vacation."
She couldn't help but smirk to herself as she stalked through the door. Hook, line, and sinker.
- Whispers, rumors started by elderly women sitting on their front porches in the unrelenting Louisiana heat. Somehow they knew but the thing was? They didn't matter. Eventually the fire had died down into embers and then sizzled into ashes. The gardener was behind bars and Adele's secrets were safe. If only her Husband had kept his mouth shut and his threats to himself. Maybe it was her fault, one little slip up and everything had surfaced like a long dead corpse beneath the Mississippi. A needle not hidden well enough, a bottle not drank fast enough. An affair not timed just right. A deal that had come way too close to home. All she knew was her pretty little ass was not going to end up behind bars. She had done what was necessary to keep that from happening. It was only one more skeleton in a closet threatening to burst open and spill bones across the floor.
- "Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives... and to the ‘good life, ’ whatever it is and wherever it happens to be."
- Hunter S. Thompson
- -Roleplaying profile. Ya dig? I am NOT this person.-
- Mun is 21+. I would prefer if you were the same.-
-To play is to consent. . I want something dark. I want something morbidly poetic, something that evokes emotion. I want the downward spiral, the dizzying reality of a city's underbelly. I want violence. I want grit. Bring it all.-
-IC and OOC are to be kept separate at all times.-
- smoke hazed litany: