Famer's Story Writing Debating Tournament, Imabench vs Ren!

They were back at Klaus', a fair-sized and curiously neat two bedroom apartment, although Klaus indicated to Ryan as they walked in that he lived there alone. They had immediately left the murder scene and together agreed that Klaus' was best, as it was closest. Ryan and Ginger sat across one another at a table in the kitchen, whereas Klaus took a loveseat and Horacio sat on the couch in the living room: "Explain to me how Marty had been acting over the past few weeks," Horacio asked with an overtly serious expression burning into Klaus, who shrugged in response. "He had become increasingly slovenly... like, before, he was actually kinda normal looking, you know? Like, he was active and whatnot, but had this uncanny capacity to eat... you should have seen it. This is why he attracted so much attention, really. He wasn't just a glutton... he as more a gourmand that kept himself together." "Uh-huh. Continue," Horacio encouraged as he scribbled notes on a miniature legal pad, leaning forward with his elbows rested on his knees. "Well, especially over the last week or so, he was just, ugh... I don't even know how to describe it. He would complain that he couldn't move, calling panicking about being paralyzed or something... I don't know. I think it's because he was freaking out about all the weight he was gaining. Blew up like a fuckin' balloon, out of nowhere!" "Wait -- so, how long ago was he shaped like a regular person?" Horacio interjected. "Something like a month ago; two months ago. Then, he just started gaining lots of weight out of nowhere, it was insane. I'm sure it depressed him or something and he couldn't handle it. He stopped moving around as much -- complained he was tired all the time. It just got worse and worse." "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. But, he was always eating like a madman, Glutton Claims any day of the week and whatnot?" Kaus laughed. "Yeah... well, no, he's never eaten a Glutton's Bane before, but he's always eaten rather excessively." "Uh... huh." Horacio looked away for a moment and thought intensely. "What?" Klaus asked incredulously. "That's like... that sounds like of weird. That's just kind of weird, is all," Horacio quickly answered. "Yeah... I guess that is kind of weird," Klaus replied, curiously confused. *** Ryan pressed further: "So, explain to me why you hung out with him? Because, it doesn't sound like you really like Marty." "Oh, I didn't hate him. He was cool, I guess. But, that way about him with food... I didn't really like it. Well, I didn't care at first, but it's just disgusting, ya know?" "Uh-hum," Ryan sctibbles in his notepad, nodding slowly, but resolutely. "Oh, come on, really? Psh, well, whatever. I didn't kill him, so it's nothing to worry about." Ginger crossed her legs, looking away from Ryan, and rested her chin on her hand with her elbow on the table. "Well, he's dead, and someone made him that way. You know how it goes. Start with the closest," Ryan replied. “Well, you even been close to an animal like that? Ugh, I don’t know why I ever agree to eat with him at all. I just go along with Klaus -- it’s like he’s oblivious until it happens, and then he immediately forgets after it’s over,” explained Ginger. “So, you admit that you’re not particularly altogether fond of Marty,” inquired Ryan. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. Other than that about him, I’d say he’s an altogether good guy. He’s funny.” Ginger relaxed enough at this point to face Ryan again. “He’s funny.” Ryan scribbles. “Yeah, and he’s nice. You know, he just kind of rolls with the punches without dishing too many of his own. It’s hard not to like a guy like that.” Ginger thinks about cigarettes and begins digging for some in the battered clutch that was on the floor next to her chair. “So, he was likeable.” Scribble, scribble. “Oh, sure, when he wasn’t being a pig.” Ginger subconsciously winced. “I see.” Scribble. “What, you putting my measurements in there, too? Damn, you writing down everything that’s here in the kitchen?” Ginger leaned in to glance at Ryan’s pad. “No.” Ryan replied curtly, as he flipped it shut and slid it in his coat pocket as he stood up. Ginger reflexively scooted back in her seat. “We done?” She asked hopefully. “Sure, let’s get these clowns in the other room,” Ryan said over his shoulder as he started toward the living room. -- “Hey, sh ithead, ready to go?” Ryan snapped Horacio out of his contemplative daze. Klaus simply shifted his blank stare from Horacio to Ryan. “Yeah, it’s time to go. Let’s get the hell out of here,” he replied as he stood and held out his hand to shake first Klaus’s, then Ginger’s hand, who had to walk around Ryan from the doorway and then around the coffee table; an uncomfortable and silent few seconds. Ryan then shook both their hands, starting with Ginger’s, then Klaus’s before he followed Horacio out the door. *** “So, what do you think?” Ryan asked from the passenger seat of the unmarked, black Chevy Impala. “I think they have nothing to do with it. What’s Ginger do?” asked Horacio. “She’s a waitress, what about Klaus?” replied Ryan. “He works at a grocery store.” Horacio paused. “…I think he sells pot.” “Get out! What makes you think that?” inquired Ryan, excitedly. “I don’t know, he’s just… and his place… call it a hunch,” said Horacio distantly. “Fu ck atta hea,” muttered Ryan, shifting in his seat and turning to look out the passenger side window. “Anyway, let’s go talk to Bianca, she’ll know something,” said Horacio. “God bless, halleluiah, I was hoping you’d say that,” replied Ryan. *** Ryan looked into Bianca’s eyes, and she looked right back into his, deeply, almost knowingly, and Ryan struggled to maintain his assertion of authority. Her eyes are hazel; flecks of gold glint in a corona of deep blue leading to a sort of liquid russet. Bianca smirked and turned away and said, “alright, explain it to me and be thorough,” then she leaned back and crossed her glittered and bare legs. Ryan slowly regained consciousness, and the strip club they were in faded back into reality. The unpleasant music, the smell, the annoying lights, the smoke, the darkness -- it was so much more lovely inside of Bianca’s eyes… like Heaven... Horacio recounted the details of the case. What they knew about Marty based on the autopsy. What they found inside of him. What they think someone did to him Bianca cocked a perfect eyebrow and her immaculate forehead barely wrinkled. She frowned, though, and it creased her cheeks and chin. You see, Bianca was a medical student, and she is absolutely brilliant. She is also scathingly beautiful, and could often make more money than the other ladies in her nightly gig during a performance before she even removes a piece of her costume. She does, though, to prevent hatred, and they appreciate at least that. Her family was poor, she encountered too many obstacles, and there was just too much money in it. If you’d ask her, though, she’d admit that girls like her were few and far between. In any case, she was the medical advice Horacio relied on most, and she’s helped crack more than a few cases. She considers it good practice, and Horacio just wonders when the other shoe is going to drop.Finally, she renders her answer: “Well, I don’t know, that’s on some Seven sh it. I mean, clearly, he had hypothyroidism, which is probably what made it so easy for him to eat so much. Well, someone got back at him, some kind of judgment, and caused him to develop hyperkalemia, which causes you to become weak, experience bouts of paralysis, and gain significant amounts of weight rapidly. To become a slovenly pig. That’s some sick sh it, if you ask me.”