Cyanica

SLOTH: 1

The air stood still, as did the rest of the studio. Four shots rang out from the room where Cyanica and Taquo were talking business just five minutes ago. Naturally, every person in the studio that day ran upstairs to see what the noises were all about. But it was too late.

Ceruli Taquo had been shot dead. There was a total of four bullet wounds in her body. One was in between her chocolate brown eyes, one was in her sternum, and two were in each of her shoulders. The white blouse she was wearing clearly showed where each bullet entered and exited her body. Her hair, once a bright auburn, was now stained with her blood. Such a violent way to go, and at a time when she was at her peak. Half of the people who saw her that day fell to their knees and began to sob rather loudly, and the other half had to hold back vomit out of respect for the dead.

Ingrid got the news about 30 minutes after the shooting. Reading the text on her phone, she fell to her knees and started crying out in agony. Ceruli was her best friend, not just her boss. She laid down on the floor of her apartment and didn't move a muscle for the rest of the week. She didn't eat, didn't sleep, and the only thing playing on her TV was the news loop about the murder.

Mistress Marino and Giovanni both got the message about 2 hours after the shooting. The whole estate fell quiet for the first time in a decade. Somber faces and soft weeping was heard all throughout the mansion, almost like all of Italy was mourning with them. Giovanni was relieved of his duties for the rest of the day, after a tearful confession of his steamy love affair with the recently deceased. Amani decided to push back her wedding day to November 17, a full month later than she had originally planned.

Mikhail found out about the murder nearly 2 days after the shooting, on account of him being in the hospital for jaundice treatment after his liver partially shut down. After his release from the hospital, Michal put out a public statement, saying that the world of fashion would be forever changed. For the immediate future, Mikhail would stay sober and present. When asked about the sudden shift in lifestyle, Michal stated, "...the sudden death of Ms. Taquo goes to show that no matter your age or background, your life can be snuffed out at any time".

Покойся с миром, яркая королева Милана...

Rust in vrede, levendige koningin van Milaan...

Rest in peace, vibrant Queen of Milan...

———

Ingrid was now without a job and a best friend. She tried to cope with the loss, but nothing was working. Ingrid went to therapy, but that was a bust. After therapy had no effect, she went to a spirit guide for consolation, but the guide offered nothing but kind words and well wishes. Describing Ingrid as a mess would be an understatement.
Not knowing where else to go, and with no one to talk her out of it, Ingrid turned to alcohol to try and forget the pain, but it was always there in the background. For a straight week, she didn't leave the house once, except to go to the liquor store. Her hair, once kept pristine and up high, was tangled and going every which way. The blue eyes that looked like oceans now took on deep bags that no amount of concealer could cover. During this time, Ingrid never once changed out of her dingy grey sweatpants and oversized Måneskin shirt.
On the seventh day, Giovanni called Ingrid's cell to make sure she was taking the news okay, but there was no answer. He tried calling again, but it went straight to voicemail. With Amani's permission, Giovanni headed out to Milan to check on the former assistant.

"Ms. Dijkstra, it's Giovanni. Can you open the door please?", he said.
Ingrid waddled her way over to the door, tripping on the built up garbage from late night delivery.
"Oh, Giovanni. What's going on?", she tried to act like she was okay.
"I came to check on you. If you want, I could come inside and we can talk abou-", he was cut off.
"I'm fine, Giovanni. Go home, please", she pleaded. If he saw the state of her apartment, it would only ruin his perception of her.
"Ms. Dijkstra, I know your hurting. Please don't shut us out. Ceruli was our friend, too", he said.
"Maybe later... maybe late-", she tried to say. Ingrid tried to keep it together, but Giovanni was right. Ceruli was a friend to just about everyone who knew her. Shutting people out who were also struggling was not the right way to handle that situation.
"Giovanni, I'm so sorry", she cried out.
"I didn't know who else to-to talk to, a-and nothing else was helpi-ing like 'Dr. Schnapps', so I've been in here the entire week, wallowing in a pool of my own self pity and just... feeling useless...", she said as the tears streamed down her face, while standing in the doorway of the apartment.
"Just let it out, Ingrid, just let it out. I'm here", he consoled her.
"Can I come in now, Ms. Dijkstra? I wouldn't want to make anyone here uncomfortable".
"Yes, that's fi-ine. Don't mind the mess; I'll clear a path for you", she sighed.

Ingrid's apartment looked like a bomb had went off. Clothes were strewn about, empty bottles of wine decorated the kitchenette counter, discarded tissues were thrown in one big pile in the corner of the room, and on the black leather couch that was the epicenter of this hurricane of depression was a timeline of the events from Ingrid's perspective. All of her bases were covered, from the commission of Amani's dress to the night alone with Giovanni.

"This is what you've been doing all week?", Giovanni asked. He was curious and tried to break the ice.
"I'm gonna figure out who Cyanica is, one way or another", Ingrid stated intensely.
"Well, if it helps you out, I do know something that you and the police don't know", he hinted.
"Anything is useful, Giovanni", she replied.
"Alright, but don't say this was from me. On the night of the gala, when Ms. Taquo declined, Mistress Marino only had the word sent out to everyone who RSVP'd, and when Cyanica showed up, they were more than aware that Ms. Taquo would not be there", he said.
Ingrid's eyes lit up like the night sky for the first time that week. With that piece of information, she could finally start to draft a list of potential suspects.
"This is great news, Giovanni! If you wouldn't mind staying and giving your insight on the night of the gala, I could brew a pot of coffee and we can figure this out", she offered.
"Would you really want me to stay with you, Ms. Dijkstra?", he said softly.
"Your experience that night is invaluable, Giovanni. I really need to figure out who did this, and then we can get justice for our late friend", she confirmed.

With a fresh pot of coffee brewed, and a killer to catch, Giovanni and Ingrid stayed up all night. The pair went over the night of the gala to unearth any sort of physical description. Hair color, eye color, birthmarks, tattoos, anything to drum up a lead.
The only thing they could come up with was that this person was scrawny, which narrowed the list by about 2 people, so that was a bust. Cyanica might have been a cold hearted serial killer, but they were smarter than the pair had thought. When they showed up, Cyanica was wearing black boots, jeans, shirt, hoodie, and a white mask with cyan colored details around the facial features. Every effort to conceal their identity was checked off. Even the gloves were heavy duty and cyan colored, but one thing stood out to Ingrid.

"Hey, Giovanni, did their gloves have duct tape around the wrists?", she asked.
"I believe so, but why would that matter", he replied.
"Think about it. This person might have been able to get the tape on by themselves, but with thick gloves and tight tape, they wouldn't be able to get them off without the help of another person", she exclaimed.
"Ingrid, a well designed excuse would be all this person would need to get help with the gloves", he dissented.
"You've got a point, lover boy", she teased.
"We're making jokes again, Ingrid?", he asked.
"I guess we are", Ingrid admitted. It was the first time that she cracked a joke in over a week, let alone a joke about Ceruli and Giovanni. It felt good for Ingrid to laugh and talk with someone who understood her pain.

Meanwhile, in a small studio in Naples, Mikhail was designing a new collection. In public, he said this was to honor Ceruli's memory, but in reality, it was his Hail Mary for the title "King of Milan". If this collection was up to par, Mikhail figured he could slide into the spot left by the late Queen. He was sick of always playing second fiddle to Ms. Taquo, and while he felt bad that it happened in such a brutal manner, he figured it was his time to shine.

Mikhail's plans were grand, and it was going to take all of the effort he could muster, but the crown was up for grabs, and this opportunity would never present itself again.

He was going to be the King, even if it took the rest of his life.