[sup][h1][center][url=https://youtu.be/s17o7syAz4E][img]https://i.ytimg.com/vi/7838sysfKVQ/maxresdefault.jpg[/img][/url][/center][/h1][/sup][indent][sub][COLOR=SILVER][B]LOCATION[/B][color=2e2c2c].[/color][/COLOR] [I]New York City[/I] - [I]Marquee Skydeck[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=SILVER][b]013[/b][/COLOR][color=2e2c2c].[/color] [I]The Death Of The Party[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=SILVER][B]INTERACTIONS [/B][color=2e2c2c].[/color][/COLOR] [I]N/A[/I][/sub][/indent]
[indent][color=gray]Josie massaged her temples standing in front of the mirror in the lady's bathroom; the sink counter extended from one wall to the other and sat below one long unbroken reflective surface. In here, the lights were dimmed, the music was muffled, and the water that poured from the faucet once the tap was turned was pleasantly chilled and, somehow, Josie suspected with a mental roll of the eyes, filtered. She drank better water from the bathroom sink than she bought at the corner shop. And yet, despite these comforts, her headache persisted, and she couldn't be sure whether it was the frenetic mood out there in the venue or the several aggravating conversations she'd had over the course of the evening that could be held responsible. Either way, she felt undeniably [i]done[/i] for the evening; she'd pushed her luck, and the more people she'd spoken to the more people had spoken about her in turn, until security [i]had[/i] to notice, and notice well; she'd felt eyes on her back as she'd slipped into the toilets minutes ago, deciding that now was the time to retrieve her bag and leave. 

All she wanted now was a brisk walk home, some handful of blocks from here nestled in Hell's Kitchen, and to stop by a bodega on the way - should one be open - to fetch a bottle of Pinotage. Maybe even some crackers to go with that half-block of stilton still in her fridge from Christmas. The dog would be waiting up, and ideally she'd get in before he tore up a pair of shoes in response to the fireworks. Beyond the bathroom door, the music cut in and out as the DJ prepared for the midnight countdown, and if there was ever a time, it was now. With midnight so close, no one was left in here, all guests ensuring they were out on the dancefloor for the big moment, presumably searching for their partner or suitably attractive stranger to plant a big one on when the clock struck twelve. God, what she wouldn't give to see a choice few attendees turn back into a withered old pumpkin instead. She chuckled to herself, amused at her own pettiness. 

She looked up, setting her glass on the side of the sink and staring at the slightly-askew ceiling tile that hid her stowed bag. Outside, the music dipped low, and the countdown started in earnest.
[center][color=white]𝟭𝟬![/color][/center]
Josie stepped up onto the sink counter, stretching her hands up to push the ceiling tile aside and fetch her bag.

[center][color=white]𝟵![/color][/center]
Josie didn't hear the bathroom door open behind her, but the swell of music through the briefly-open doorway made her pause in her retrieval, and she turned her head to see who'd come in.
[center][color=white]𝟴![/color][/center]
Josie felt a rough hand grip her fiercely around the ankle and yank; she tumbled from the sinks, pulled sharply down and cracking her forehead on the stone counter as she fell.
[center][color=white]𝟳![/color][/center]
Blood cascaded down Josie's face from the newly-split skin just below her scalp; her glasses had been sat beside the basin and now skated across the bathroom floor far out of reach. Josie's vision was blurred twice over, and her head ringing and woozy from the blow regardless.
[center][color=white]𝟲![/color][/center]
Josie fumbled for something, anything, any kind of purchase on the counter or the floor or even her attacker; something to grasp and wrench herself up on, even in her dazed state. In response, the attacker slapped her hand back before putting a foot against her elbow and leaning a knee across her chest.
[center][color=white]𝟱![/color][/center]
There was a faint rustling as Josie's attacker fetched something from their pocket, the slightest tapping sound of a fingernail on metal, and then Josie felt something sharp slide into her arm and a chilling liquid pushed into her veins.

[center][color=white]𝟰![/color][/center]
Josie's attacker stood up, watching Josie struggle as the chemical took hold. Her movements, vague attempts at writhing defence, slowed, and what few words she was managing became slurred.

[center][color=white]𝟯![/color][/center]
Josie vomited, but she couldn't move from where she lay on her back on the cold bathroom floor, blood still seeping from her forehead and matting her hair together in a growing puddle. She aspirated, spluttering but unable to stop. 

[center][color=white]𝟮![/color][/center]
Josie died. Her killer peered closer for a few seconds, verifying the death; once satisfied, they stood back up. They fetched Josie's glasses, placing them near enough the body as if they'd simply fallen from her face. The glass of water Josie had brought into the bathroom with her was filled, spilled, filled again, and then tossed to the ground to shatter on the floor next to Josie's corpse. A bottle of vodka, empty save for a few gulps at the bottom, met a similar fate. For good measure, the killer undid the straps on one of Josie's shoes, and snapped the heel.
[center][color=white]𝟭![/color][/center]
To the rank amateur, it looked like Josie had slipped on a spilled drink and cracked her head on the bathroom sink before succumbing to alcohol poisoning and asphyxiating on her own aspirated vomit. The killer left the bathroom, and slunk, invisible, back amongst the revellers.

[center][color=white]𝙃𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙔𝙚𝙖𝙧![/color][/center]

[hr]
[center][img]https://images.theconversation.com/files/644355/original/file-20250123-15-eyerpv.jpg?ixlib=rb-4.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip[/img][/center]

Detective First Grade John Carnaby stepped into the elevator from the ground floor lobby of the NYC Edge at 12:43am, and silently wished himself a [color=B87333][i]'Happy fuckin' New Year'[/i][/color] as he leant against the back wall of the mechanical cell, gesturing with a hand that didn't leave his coat pocket for the waiting officer to hit the button for the Skydeck floor. He sighed and drew a hand up to his face to rub his eyes as the doors slid closed and the lift began its steady ascent, trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes. He'd need a coffee. How come he always got stuck with the shit shifts?

[color=B87333]"What've we got?"[/color] He said, his tone weary and brusque and inviting only the absolute necessities in answer. The officer in the elevator with him cleared her throat before responding.
[color=white]"Single deceased female, estimated age late-twenties, found on the floor of the women's bathroom shortly after midnight. On first survey no clear evidence of foul-play; looks like a case of 'partied-too-hard'. Coroner's not yet on-scene, though."[/color]
[color=B87333]"Mmhmm. How far out are they?"[/color]
[color=white]"The on-call forensic supervisor's been notified; they said 'about twenty minutes'..."[/color] she checked her watch. [color=white]"Twelve minutes ago."[/color]
[color=B87333]"Hm. Who called them?"[/color]
[color=white]"Uh, I did, sir. As officer-on-scene."[/color]
[color=B87333]"You got here first?"[/color]
[color=white]"Yes, sir. It's my beat, sir. I was a block out when dispatch radioed."[/color]
[color=B87333]"New Year's Eve patrol - how'd you get to be as lucky as me?"[/color]
The officer gave a small smile. [color=white]"I'm still my precinct's rookie, sir. I technically pass probation next month. Hopefully, ha-ha."[/color] She chuckled awkwardly.
Det. Carnaby raised an eyebrow. He didn't laugh. [color=B87333]"Where the bloody hell is your partner?"[/color]
She looked sheepish. [color=white]"Getting coffee. He said this would be 'good practice'."[/color]
The elevator swam in stony silence as it finished its rise and Det. Carnaby did not respond. The doors finally opened, and John stepped forward. He put a hand against the door, beckoning the officer out with him.
[color=B87333]"He can deliver the joe and then I'm dismissing him from the scene. He should know better than to leave you in charge - no offense meant of course, Officer...?"[/color]
[color=white]"Callie Jones, sir."[/color]
[color=B87333]"You're with me, Jones. And tomorrow we can have a friendly chat with your station sergeant."[/color]
Callie smiled. [color=white]"Yes, sir."[/color] She answered, and then followed John out of the elevator.

[center][b]- - -[/b][/center]
[color=B87333]"What a mess."[/color] Carnaby said, surveying the scene with a weary gaze. The body was splayed out on her back, limbs askew, vomit crusting over down the side of her face and blood congealing on the bathroom floor. 
[color=white]"Body was found a couple minutes after midnight. A..."[/color] Callie checked her notebook, [color=white]"Charlotte Blair, came in just after the countdown to 'freshen up', and found the body. Apparently she screamed loud enough to be heard over the music, which the DJ cut off, and then when staff went in and [i]they[/i] saw the body, we got the call pretty soon after."[/color]
The ground was slick, and Callie picked her way carefully past him to pick up the discarded clutch from where it had fallen from the sink to the floor. She held it in a gloved hand, pulling the purse open and peeking inside. 
[color=white]"Lipstick, cash, aspirin, credit card...ah."[/color] She pulled out a small plastic card and held it beneath the light for a closer look. [color=white]"Driver's licence. Josie Tatl. Hell's Kitchen address. Not far from home."[/color]
Carnaby tapped a knuckle to the bridge of his nose. [color=B87333]"Tatl...Tatl...I recognize that name."[/color] He pulled out his phone, pulling one glove off to press his thumb to the small button beneath the screen and unlock it with his print. Opening Safari, he quickly tapped 'Josie Tattle' into the search-bar and hit enter. After a short pause, results flooded the screen, and he looked up just as Jones pulled a small recorder out of the clutch and hit 'play'. 
[color=6A5ACD][i]"Josie Tatl, Tatl-Tales. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"[/i][/color]
Callie hit 'stop'. The detective and the officer shared a long, jaded look with each other, and then Carnaby sighed.

[color=B87333]"How many guests are still here?"[/color]
[color=white]"Less than half, easily."[/color]
[color=B87333]"Motherfucker. No one else leaves without giving a full statement and contact details. I want this whole bathroom dusted and swabbed, I want blood taken from the body for BAC and a full tox screen, and I want the guest list checked against whoever's still here and then we go looking for the people who left."[/color]
[color=white]"Sir?"[/color] Jones replied, her tone saying it all: it looked so cut-and-dry, a slip-and-fall with a side-order of too-much-booze. Carnaby's measures seemed a bit...heavy-handed?
[color=B87333]"A reporter just died with no witnesses at the most high-profile party this side of the millennium. The press is going to have a fucking field day - and we need to get our hens in order before inviting in the foxes."[/color]
[color=white]"Yes sir. I'll get on it. We'll need some additional officers to get through the statements..."[/color]
Carnaby just looked at her, stone-faced. [color=B87333]"It's New Year's Eve in Manhattan, Jones. We won't get it. Just do the best you can."[/color]
Callie's turn to sigh, though she steeled herself and set her jaw in prep. [color=white]"Yes, sir. I best get started,"[/color] she said, conceding before exiting the bathroom to wade back out amongst the increasingly-impatient rabble.
[/color][/indent]