[center][h1][color=#00ccff]Cecily Ashworth[/color][/h1][img]http://65.media.tumblr.com/38621c018fd5bdf59b7e1d2b2ec9314c/tumblr_nnr0nwAOAI1u4kolmo6_250.gif[/img]
Location: The Block Party
Interacting With: The Media, Detective Roy Gregory, Danica's Body [@Lady Amalthea] , Tank [@POOHEAD189] , any other neighbors present [/center][hr][hr][color=009966]You’re doing great. Stay here. Call 911”[/color] Tank instructed, crouching down next to Cecily. 

She rolled her eyes a bit as he dashed off, shouting about being part of Justice PD. He wasn’t wrong, of course.

[color=#00ccff]”We are 911!”[/color] Cecily shouted bitterly after him. If there was one thing she hated about detectives, it was the way they tended to treat forensics technicians. All of their cases were solved because of the work of Cecily and others like her, and yet, they were treated like dirt on occasion. She couldn’t help but feel patronized. She didn’t need to be told she was doing great—she had everything under control.

Well, mostly everything.

Thankfully, Detective Gregory wasn’t nearly as irritating as Tank was. She smiled, accepting the latex gloves from him and slipping them on. She really needed to keep a pair on her person—making a mental note to get a spare set for her purse, Cecily set to work. There wasn’t much she could do to tie off the crime scene at the moment—but what she could do was document it. She didn’t trust anyone there to [i]not[/i] move things around. With her phone, she took a quick video, panning around the scene of the murder, before taking specific shots from various angles. 

The entire time, she tried not to think about the fact that some half-cocked adventurer went up on an evidence destroying spree. Her nostrils flared—citizens were awful when it came to actually [i]helping[/i] the police. They didn’t seem to understand that [i]anything[/i] can be evidence. Hell, Cecily wouldn’t have been surprised if they started to lick a bloody knife, not understanding the crucial prints and fibers and hairs and DNA left behind! 

Having done her best to document it, she was again presented with her earlier problem: securing the scene before anything happened to it.

It was one of the moments Cecily wished that she had a big old roll of crime scene tape in the apartment. In the efforts of not looking like a crazy, homicidal maniac to her new roommate, she hadn’t brought anything with her. Now she wished she could. Already, the press were beginning to run towards the scene, with all of the skill and grace of an angry mob.

Cursing under her breath, Cecily glanced around frantically. She had to secure the scene somehow—but wait? She hesitated, realizing that some of these people had been in the army. Could she….? It was unusual but…in the name of preserving evidence, she’d have to try.

[color=#00ccff]”Can everyone please form a human barrier, please? If the press get in here, they’ll fuck with the evidence, and we won’t know anything about this.”[/color]

She paused for a moment, wondering if she should incentivize them by promising to overlook any stashes of illegal drugs in the apartment during the security sweeps that would inevitably follow. Instead, she relied on the notion that perhaps not everyone in Justice was rotten.

The media came closer, with Channel 6 pushing their way through. Cecily took a deep breath, resisting the urge to scream at them and throw their cameras to the ground. She didn’t need to have broken lenses littering the ground of her crime scene—it was bad enough already!

[color=#00ccff]”Justice Forensics Department, you need to put that camera away,”[/color] Cecily said calmly, flashing her badge. [color=#00ccff]”Or so help me, if you don’t stop this instant, I will not hesitate to [i]personally[/i] find every dark secret about you and throw you into prison.”[/color]

Her nostrils flaring, she desperately hoped that some of the more sensible tenets would help her out. Continuing to guard the scene, she shoved the camera back, her hand covering its footage. [color=#00ccff]”We will take questions about this at a later time—down at the station. For now, you need to leave, or you’ll be charged with disruption of justice and evidence tampering.”[/color]

She knew that they wouldn’t care—that their lawyers would merely get them out of it, as always. But still, she had to try. There wasn’t much she could do on her own—she’d have to wait for the rest of the forensics team to arrive. 

And of course, she’d need to see if her roommate was okay. 

After dealing with the press, hardly managing to keep them back from the scene—[i]the vultures![/i]—Cecily carefully approached the corpse. Taking further photographs to be used for evidence, Cecily noticed instantly how beat up and broken Danica appeared. Bruises and cuts littered her body, though it easily could have occurred from her parkour lifestyle—Cecily recalled watching Danica doing insane jumps and leaps of faith.

However, peering in closer, bruises spread around Danica’s neck. The burn marks on the skull were minor, and the wound itself angled. While Cecily specialized in toxicology—poisons—any forensic technician could easily tell what she was looking at.

This wasn’t a suicide—it was a murder.