It started in the Library of the Carrington house. The night was drizzly and gloomy, a perfect atmosphere to broach the subject of death and other macabre things. Magnus III sat at his desk with some of his brood and his wife. He had included Pearl in this sad state of affairs as well as Robert. They were both given the command not to speak to anyone of the conversation they'd had.

"I have brought you all here because I've received word..." he paused for a moment and moved to stand behind his wife, guided her to sit down first, and then continued, "I've received word that Magnus has been shot and killed. It has also been discovered that he was a murderer, the Whitby Ripper."

He sat in the front pew of the chapel, staring at the closed, simple wooden coffin. He knew that their family would be a blight on society now, a spectacle. His family would be under scrutiny thanks to the actions of his eldest son. The funeral was strangely packed, not one person besides himself that truly mourned his son. He had his doubts that his shrew of a wife would use this as an excuse to faint publicly and make a fool of herself, citing poor health when he very well damn knew that she was an accomplished actress.

"We will be a unified family in the public eye. That is not a request. You will all be respectful toward one another, or you will suffer the consequences. Do you understand me? Pearl, you will still be living at your house but for this week until your brother is buried firmly in the ground, you will stay in your old room."

He stood and moved to his son's coffin, staring down at it with his throat closing. Then he turned on heel and walked out of the church. He went into the graveyard to the hole in the ground that Magnus was about to be put into. He bet it was his dear wife's fault that the boy had been addled in the brain. Son of a bitch.

And there, while he was alone, he wept for the wastrel that Magnus had been indeed. The evil, dark soul he had become from the charming little boy he had been. What had gone wrong? What could he have done?

Pearl was there out of obligation. She couldn't mourn someone she did not love anymore. She pittied her father but her brother had gotten rid of any notion that he was a good man. She sat there with a dead look upon her face, side eying her father as he stood up and then looking straight ahead. That was it.

Thorne was only there for moral support of the Carrington family, having just arrived in town after hearing the news that a well hated man was being buried. He didn't remember much about the dead man, only that he had been touched in the head as a youth as far he could recollect. Hell, he didn't even recognize the brood that the elder Carrington had sired. He watched as the older man got up and left, and he got up to go pay respects to the family sitting at the front of the church.

"I am sorry for your loss... My condolances."

For the umpteenth time, Roderick fixed his lopsided bowtie in the washroom mirror.

Oh, God. Magnus was dead. Magnus was really, really dead. He would be stiff and lifeless as a ruler. A sad bag of the flesh and blood Darius so enjoyed dragging across the lawn.

He glanced around for Darius with wide eyes, before turning back to his mirror monologue.

Oh, God. He was going to have to look at his brother, the same way he had to look at those post-mortems sprawled on the metal table in class. Did he need pincers? He started to turn around to fetch his autopsy kit.

Agh, no. Habit.

He took a seat next to Pearl (no pincers in hand), spacey as ever.

When the officer came by, Roderick answered rotely.

“It is no loss.”

Then, thoughts crossed his eyes.

“I mean, it is a tremendous loss.”

God. Don’t make him look at it.

She of course would find out about the death of her brother... How could anyone not find out about the death of him? Did it matter how she found out? Of course not... Did it matter that she did not care? Nope. All that mattered was that she show her ass up and act like she might have given a damn. Well... If you insist. The brunette beauty emerged into the church dressed in all black from head to toe. She had the black veil, the hat... All of it. She could at least hide the fact that she was -not- bawling... That... Would ruin a perfectly good face. 



Alice sat quietly in the pew that contained her parents and siblings. She said nothing. She was stoic.... At least she would appear strong and brave. She did not look at her parents during the funeral. Her father was quiet and stone faced, her mother was trying not to go into hysterics, which only made her roll her eyes. When the service in the church was over. She would stand, her hands brushing along the skirt of of her black gown. 



When the unknown man approached to give them the general I'm sorry, her blue eyes lifted up to him. A dark brow arched as she ran her eyes across him quickly, she silently thanked the veil that hid her face. Custom was that when she was being spoken too, she was to lift the black veil, which is what she did. A small smile was there as she extends her black gloved hand to the man. 



"Thank you... You are too kind..."



She had to wonder if this was the hero that shot the selfish lunatic bastard, if so, she was going to have to properly thank him later. Saying nothing more, she turns and walks up to the coffin. She leans down and places a light kiss where she knew his forehead would be. It was not because of any love... It was for show. Silently, she said a few prayers... She hoped that his discent into hell was quick and painful. Smirking at that thought, she stood and quietly made her way out of the church... Glancing over to her father, she knew better than to bother him. He was raging. Removing her hat and veil, she inhales a deep breath...



"Lovely... Just lovely"

How long was the mourning period for a sibling again? Because black was definitely not his colour and this was terribly inconvenient.

Robert hated everything about this. He hated how his father had spoken to him and threatened them all, like the tyrant he was. He hated that he had been ordered to keep silence, which he definitely wouldn't. He hated that his twat of a brother had blighted the family name. And he absolutely resented the fact that he had to sit here and pretend to mourn.

He and Magnus had never been close. Magnus had been at school when Robert was little, and then at different schools or university when Robert had been in school. The brief moments that both had been home had not warmed Robert to the pompous brat that his brother had been. And now he had learned just how much of scumbag Magnus had been, and he was supposed to mourn?! He didn't think so.

The only thing he liked about Magnus was the bullet in his brain.

He looked up when one of the Culpeppers approached them. Timing, mate, he thought, but he decided to just ignore the guy and let his siblings deal with the unwelcome condolences. He turned to his sobbing mother instead, who had not yet risen to bid a final farewell. "Mother, let me accompany you. Here. Lean on my arm."

Anne had been crying for days. Her sweet baby boy was dead. Turned evil by the callousness of his father who had never really loved him! Oh how Anne had tried to protect him, as she tried to protect all her children from that odious man. But she had failed Magnus. Her poor little Magnus.

And she didn't even get a lot of sympathetic callers paying their respects and pitying her. No one seemed willing to come and comfort her and console her and care for her as she deserved as a mourning mother. Everyone seemed to keep their distance all of a sudden - despite the crowd showing up to this spectacle.

At least her mourning clothes were to the latest fashion, with a softer type of black crepe, a delicate black veil, and the newer, smaller jet beads in her jewelry. She did look better than any other mourner Whitby had ever seen.

Continuously reaching under her veil to dab her eyes with her handkerchief, she sniffed and sobbed her way through the service, hating the man sitting next to her with a hatred that would impress the devil. She was relieved when her husband got up, walked over to the coffin and then cleared off. This was his fault.

She looked up teary-eyed when finally someone paid attention to her and paid his respects. She dabbed her eyes and sniffed once more. "Thank you, Mr. Culpepper."

Then she nodded at her son's proposal, and leaning heavily on him for support she made her way over to the coffin. Her knees were trembling as she walked and her sobs got heavier. Then when she finally saw the young man's mutilated body, she just couldn't bear it. She gasped dramatically and fainted, though slow enough for Robert to catch her.

Olivia nodded at the offers of sympathy, and replied with the expected "Thank you", but she couldn't bring herself to mourn the man who had ripped her betrothed away. Her tears were for her lost love, for Peter.

What a tragedy. One of the Carringtons had croaked. Of course, they were throwing a funeral that might as well be a soiree without the food.

Zechariah was mainly here to see if there were hors d’oeuvres worth eating, be a prominent lawyer in the disputes that were bound to follow, and to make sure the Fourth was dead.

He turned his gaze politely away from the fainting woman, then squinted and estimated how long the line was to pretend to Magnus the III that Magnus the IV was such a loss.

It was long.

Darius sat near the back. He didn't care to be close to his family for the most part, and he was sure they'd be just as happy not to be close to him. That wasn't the main reason he kept such a distance. Every few moments, when he was sure his father wasn't looking, he'd reached into his heavy coat and pulled out a bottle and took a quick gulp. It was almost like a game to see how long it would take before he was noticed.