Victor had managed to get himself mostly upright, but that was all that could be said for him in terms of dignity before he was addressed directly by their host. Had there been any color in Victor's skin, his face might have paled at this point. He recalled having spoken with Mr. Flint before, and he'd come away with a favorable impression of the gentleman. Now they had summarily ruined his New Year's Luncheon. A death at the house, particularly that of one of the guests, would not cease to be a topic of conversation for some time. He felt he owed the older man an apology for visiting this on him — though of course it hadn't been personal. Mr. Flint just happened to have the most convenient party to stage a body. Victor certainly had not planned to need to stage a body.
"I — must have slipped —" he managed, eyes moving from the body draped in the tablecloth to the balcony. Thankfully his brother was no longer visible at the railing. Hopefully he was already off the premise, or would be soon. Jasper was the more incriminating of the pair of them, since he would still be wearing Victor's face, but having either of them spotted sneaking away from the party when they hadn't been present at it before would have been difficult to explain.
He ought to say something else, he realized. How had he felt in the moments after he'd actually died? It seemed to slip straight from his mind when he tried to recall, and he didn't know whether that was a permanent condition or only that he was feeling a little frantic and pressured now with so many eyes on him. He'd tried to mend his own neck, he remembered that — but the way he'd felt or what he'd been thinking were hazy now. But denial, he supposed he could play that. "Is it — that's — do something," he implored the gentlemen nearest the body. "Fix it."
"I — must have slipped —" he managed, eyes moving from the body draped in the tablecloth to the balcony. Thankfully his brother was no longer visible at the railing. Hopefully he was already off the premise, or would be soon. Jasper was the more incriminating of the pair of them, since he would still be wearing Victor's face, but having either of them spotted sneaking away from the party when they hadn't been present at it before would have been difficult to explain.
He ought to say something else, he realized. How had he felt in the moments after he'd actually died? It seemed to slip straight from his mind when he tried to recall, and he didn't know whether that was a permanent condition or only that he was feeling a little frantic and pressured now with so many eyes on him. He'd tried to mend his own neck, he remembered that — but the way he'd felt or what he'd been thinking were hazy now. But denial, he supposed he could play that. "Is it — that's — do something," he implored the gentlemen nearest the body. "Fix it."
Fabulous set by Lady!