Thread: A Vision In Blood (Miss Eleanora and Mr. Quixotic)

Flashes of colour caught Lyle's eye as he entered Crystalline Memories, and he surveyed the pieces adorning the walls and taking up space in the gallery. His gazed move to one item to the next, not stopping for any more for more than a second as he swept across each in turn. He felt nothing, no lift in his spirits, sense of spirituality or kinship, no instinctive draw to any of the works or desire to pause and inspect one further. However, that wasn't unusual. At school Math's English, Science and Athletics had been his forte with creative pursuits the bane of Lyle's otherwise near perfect grades. He'd never possessed an iota of attraction to them and not once in his life had a piece of art 'spoken' to him, as he'd heard others claim. Too lacking in distinct purpose, Carter's mind was a logical one, grounded in reality and facts. After he'd graduated College with a Degree in Criminology, he'd followed his Sheriff's Deputy Father, into Law Enforcement and although Picasso's works had affected him, it wasn't because of the grisly scenes depicted or the paintings themselves, but the idea of the person behind them. Using human blood as the medium and the lack of evidence left at the crime-scenes told Lyle the city of New Orleans had a depraved and highly intelligent maniac on its hands a killer who wouldn't stop until captured. The intellectual challenge of being pitted against such a foe, not art or other similarly nebulous concepts, was what had engaged Carter's senses and why he'd chosen the Bureau over other agencies. They dealt with the worst of the worst. As he moved deeper into the gallery, it became clear that he wasn't alone in his disinterest. Crystalline memories was empty, and he swiftly returned his focus to the women behind the counter, who Carter had noted on entry. He'd immediately recognised her as Elizabeth Roscarae by the mane of red hair, but only when he got closer did he notice the vintage dress. Unlike his exquisitely tailored and latest fashion suit, her attire perfectly suited the ambiance he assumed the old house cum art gallery meant to achieve. The mirage that on stepping through the doors, you'd been transported back to a more genteel and elegant time. When he reached the counter, he removed his sun-glasses, revealing a pair of intelligent blue eyes. What gave it away? A smile lit up his face, and he appraised her up close. Prettier even than in the photo's. I'm afraid I'm not here to peruse or purchase. Lyle withdrew his FBI credentials from his shirt pocket, flipped the card over and held it up so that she could read it. FBI Special Agent Carter, Ms Rescorae. I'm hoping you'll be able to assist in my investigation. Why her, particularly? Lyle would fabricate some bullshit if she asked, but for the moment, he spoke as if she'd been specially selected, rather than picked out from amongst a myriad of others thrown up by a Google search, the final decision coming down to her being young and attractive. I presume you're aware of Casanova and his artistic endeavours? The question was rhetorical, as you'd have to be living under a rock not to have heard about them, and Lyle continued on, nodding down at the cylinders he carried in his arms. It's my case, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind taking a look at these and providing an unbiased critique of his work. He arched a brow, then made a show of appraising the deserted gallery, before he returned focus to Elizabeth. That's if I won't be dragging you away from anything important? Lyle's tone contained a deliberate hint of sarcasm, intended to subtly goad her into an inability to refuse. Simultaneously, his open expression radiated friendliness and good humour. Don't worry, there's no blood.