Suddenly, a sleek black cougar slinks from behind a curtain. With a guttural growl, it transforms into French Maid Nidalee. She lazily twirls her spear and adjusts a lace ruffle framing her overflowing décolletage.
And you call yourselves intelligentsia—you clearly haven’t gleaned anything from this inquisition. All you pompous, affected faux-dilettantes deserve to tumble off your high horses! As if you have any notion of what really befell this unfortunate soul; every savvy bestselling mystery writer knows that the real juice is squeezed down in the servant’s quarters.
- He’s been the consummate Jolly Roger this night—swashbuckling, yo-ho-ho, all that ridiculous swill—but I witnessed Gangplank slipping a noxious tonic into our guest’s shot of rum. Confiscate this fiend’s grog-soaked blade, then pay up 487 RP to watch him walk the plank!
- Udyr is literally a beast! He’s apt to let those primal instincts take over at any time. Looking at the marks on our unfortunate guest’s throat, we can’t possibly rule out a savage tiger attack—how bizarre, yet convenient. Cage this animal for 487 RP.
- No one does a sensuous fan dance quite like Karma, but, as everyone knows, she’s a cruel mistress as well. How else to explain her hastily-wrapped kimono and conspicuously stained silk fan? 487 RP might buy her a new one, but probably not where she’s going.
- Bladecraft Orianna? She positively gleams with malice! I spied her honing her ball’s innumerable knife edges on the kitchen whetstone—whilst flirting with the butler! (Where else do you think that jaunty jacket came from?) Apparently, a little dangerous cuddling winds her up as foreplay to a murder. I’ll stick her for 487 RP.
- Oh, Defender Leona, despite your “ambassador of the sun” nonsense, you possess a truly dark streak. Why else would such a paragon of righteousness stick her nose into our private stash of, ahem, potent Icathian foliage? Who knows what you hallucinated in the name of justice while wandering crazed in the moonlight…just take this 487 RP and clear your head.
- Finally, I found this piece of work dangling in the dumbwaiter. Asylum Shaco was cavorting loose and fancy-free in Demacia, darting among the shadows, and nobody here knew?! Lucky I nabbed him before you all tripped over his jack-in-the-boxes. I’ll be collecting that bounty of 487 RP now, thank you kindly.
If it were up to me, I’d throw you all into Nashor’s pit. As it is, though, I’m turning you over to Officer Caitlyn; she’ll lock you up from October 5 to October 8
until you can post your bail. Now get out; I need to finish mopping up this mess—do you have any idea how hard it is to scrub blood out of a Shuriman wool carpet?!
As the last of the guests files out the door, Nidalee’s stony expression twists into one of glee. Slipping her hands into the dead man’s jacket, she withdraws a weighty purse of gold. Clutching it in her teeth, she morphs back into her feline incarnation. As she does, her claws exactly align with the bloody gouges on the victim’s chest.
Oh, how I do enjoy a thrilling game of cat and mouse…
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