Homocide Fifty || DNF

8. Practice Makes Perfect

A couple of weeks pass with Karl, Bad and George swiftly analysing the list of suspects.

Quackity doesn't have time to help, because he's going back to Mexico to help with a case they don't have information about.

Karl uses all of his energy on checking suspects day and night. George even caught him with red eyes and a slouch the next morning, sitting in the exact position he did when George left the night before.

He's been burning himself out, and George is afraid he doesn't realise it.

He refused to move from his chair, even when a body had got reported.

George went alone, and Karl was sat back at the office, so destined that his meals for a few days was the sandwiches at lunch that he'd complained about before, and coffee. Lots of coffee.

And when it was time to discover the body, it was the same as last time. Not any graphic pile of limbs, blood streaming down onto the floor, but more a composed kill.

And that made George curious, questioning if those piles were really Dream's work. How could he forget to wear gloves and leave a fingerprint after one year of no evidence?

The notes became even more confusing for George. Since he went alone last time, he's decided to keep the newly found notes.

The last note said, in scrambled, italic letters, Fraud.

Simple but affective. Like actions, actions are simple but affective. Just like with Karl, who looks like a skeleton by now.

He's been thinking about that note for a while now.

George is in his office, reefing through a bunch of paperwork he has to do. He sighs as he fills out the first page.

Another thing he has to do, is plan Bad's birthday party. He's turning 24, and even though he's said that he won't mind if he doesn't get anything special, George has made it his mission to make it the bestest of the best birthday party.

Wilbur has also told George that he's back in a few days. The two of them have been texting back and forth, and Wilbur has promised to help plan Bad's birthday party.

It's in 8 days, so it's no rush, really.

George decides to wait until Wilbur's back to plan the party.

He runs a hand through his hair when he sees how thick the stack of paper is, but he avoids his problems by heading to lunch. He loves avoiding his problems.

Karl's sitting by his computer, close to the cafeteria. George doesn't expect him to actually head to lunch anymore, so he heads to him instead.

He puts his chin on Karl's head and hugs his figure from behind, "how's it going?" he asks, almost too politely and soft. He feels as if Karl is especially fragile right now — solely because of his fight to keep his eyes open.

"Good," he says with a small smile, "i'm down to about 200 people," he cheers. It surprises George how he still manages to have any kind of energy.

"I think I want to take a break for once," Karl says with a cheeky but weak smile creeping upon his face.

George gasps at his friends sentence, "no way! You're coming back from the dead!" He cheers, receiving an eye roll from the other.

"Let's go for a stroll outside, i need fresh air," he smiles.

George isn't really in the mood for a small walk around town, but he does it for his ghost-looking friend.

They make their way into different small shops, and Karl even buys someting. A sensual looking dark purple shirt with the fabric of an angel.