Pretty as a picture

Untoward

The tension that hung in the air seemed so heavy that one might need more than a mere butter knife to cut through it with any hope for success. Fortunately - and this is fortunate only in the sense that it was very, very unfortunate to the point where it managed to turn a full circle and land on fortunate again rather by coincidence - it seemed that if the remnants, intangible as all tangible signs had been long since scrubbed away, of a series of bloodstains suggested that there might be something at hand that would do a perfectly adequate job of cutting through things. Hopefully there would be no blood spilled at all, but it never did hurt to be prepared.
Alongside the general tension in the air, there, too, hung a silence that seemed very close to allowing itself to become stifling, almost as if neither one of the men dared to even so much as breathe. The attic was hardly the most lively of places at the best of times - if there had ever been anything close to best times up there, it would have certainly have been and gone long before either of the men in the attic at present had even taken their first breath of live - but the additional discomfort at present certainly was not doing anything to improve the overall impression of the area. 
Or, perhaps, this was a direct result of the presence of the vile thing that had, until a mere handful of moment previous been hidden away under the heavy cloth that now sat unceremoniously discarded on the floor without so much as an afterthought. 

The elder and more peculiar of the pair hand a hand raised to his face, the fascinated upcurl of his lips hidden away behind his heavily ring adored fingers, leaving the remainder of his wide-eyed stare unreadable. This was far from a new occurrence, for the Seer R. F. Jackaby seemed to allow his emotional state to remain in the firm collective of enigmas and the unknown as much as he possibly could. He barely blinked, also hardly a rarity, his odd, stormy grey eyes thoroughly fixated on the figure upon the canvas, flickering almost erratically in his effort to note every little detail on the grotesque depictions as he possibly could. Although his free hand took on an erratic twitching, not one of the bracelets that adorned his wrist so much as clacked together once as his fingers sought to disentangle the meaning behind the conflicting information presented to him. 

The stillness seemed to stretch on for an eternity and a year, but in reality could not have lasted more than a cluster of heartbeats at the very most. His companion, utterly unrecognisable from the accursed image caught on the canvas with all his delicacy of features and flush of youth upon his beautiful face, trailed his fingertips almost affectionately down the ornate frame of the painting, the usual vibrancy of his blue eyes replaced with a sort of dull nothingness. If his peculiar companion's prolonged silence was making him agitated, it did not show upon his face. In fact, nothing did, the odd flatness having stilled his features into a mask as unreadable as that of the detective's own.

"Is it not wonderful?" mused the youthful blond, finally letting his voice break through the stagnation that had a grip upon the room, though he did not speak all that much louder than a whisper, "Never do I have to wear the face of disgrace, of the life I lead while I can simply lock it away here where none can ever see it." This was wistful, though not like one regarding a fond memory but rather that of someone rousing from a dream and not yet able to ascertain the difference between dreams and reality. 

"Mr. Jackaby?" he continued when this did not win any response at all. It was only when the young hedonist reached out to the other man did he win anything in the way of a reaction.

Before he was actually able to place a hand upon the detective's arm, the odd man flew to life, catching the other's hand between his own. This had not been with any intention of trapping him but, combined with the wild look in his eyes and the immediate disregard for personal space, the very notion of moving away seemed like an impossible feat. Fortunately it was not a feat that either had the idea of entertaining.