Like a Moth to a Flame

[potassiumboron]

The Blodyn building in New York, belonging to the infamous Alexander Casillas fashion company, was currently buzzing with energy. This was nothing new, of course. Notoriously energetic and lively, Alexander's building was mostly always bundled with energy, whether he was simply going over his business papers, or rushing around like a madman finishing up a design and fitting it on a model to be photographed and have his idea brought to life before it went on to the production line. In general, his life was always the epitome of hectic-- but he genuinely wouldn't have it any other way. Granted, he didn't like people much and did prefer burying himself in his work alone, but at least having so much energy in his company made time feel like it passed by quicker... and then he could escape the fake niceties and constant acting, and return home to work on his fashion in the company of nothing but a good bottle of wine and some cheesecake.

However, the energy was somewhat sapped by the announcement on the many TVs in the building that another body had been found - the body of a former makeup artist who had been used frequently by Alexander's company. The moment of shock was soon replaced by that of uneasiness. The murders were well-known countrywide at this point, after a year-long search for the culprit with no definitive answers thus far. For Alexander, seeing the news play out only made him smile to himself. He had grown irritated by the makeup artist for her constant snorting and irritating giggling-- so he had killed her for it. It was an overreaction, but it was addictive at this point when he could sit back with a cup of tea and watch the police get crucified for not identifying any evidence. Getting away with literal murder was almost as refreshing a feeling as seeing his designs on the runway. Perhaps not as relieving, but it came close.

This was all without the knowledge that he was a suspect. If he had any belief that he was suspected, he wouldn't be so blatant and as cocky as he was at the moment. He did believe that he was getting away without anyone looking in his direction, and as a result, he really didn't bat an eyelid when being faced with the new assistant he had apparently hired. He didn't do the hiring himself, and had other people do it for him, but he did stand to greet Richard when seeing the small man wander into the hectic office, looking like a lost lamb.

Strolling across casually after setting down his newspaper on his desk for reading later on, he thrust forward a hand happily. He may be a world-renowned designer, but he would treat his assistants like dear friends-- unless they gave him a reason to make him mad, anyway.

"You're Richard, aren't you? Ah, you are a cute one. Your fashion could... do better, but you're in the best place to learn. You have an interest in fashion, I assume?" He questioned, taking a seat behind his desk again and, after briefly examining the city scape view from his window, shot the undercover cop a smile. "If you don't, this position really is redundant. My other assistant hired you, so I hope she's smart enough to hire someone who has a vested interest in what I do, darling."​

 

[saturnia pavonia]

Blodyn industries, a name that the up-and-coming cop had heard nearly every day from his desk at the station, but one he rarely heard in every day life. He knew that the bourgeoisie clothing brand's 'original pieces' lined Hollywood and New York City streets, often being the highlight of a famous personality's attire. He knew that the headquarters showcased some of the world's most expensive statues at the front doors, ones that individually cost twice as much as his whole apartment, which wasn't cheap. Lastly, he knew that the head in charge was a suspect for murder.

That was what he was there for, after all. He was the cheese that the cat placed for the rat to find, only to discover it was perched carefully on a sticky pad. His far from threatening features, his seemingly obvious obliviousness, and the very blatant fact that he fit almost every gay stereotype there was. He certainly wasn't what you would expect if you were to think of a New York City cop, and if it weren't for the fact that he was a brand new face on the force, he'd probably be shoved out of the picture during, say, interviews.

But, there he was. Faced with the gold-plated door to Alexander's office. Despite his real lack of interest in the fashion world - at least, when it came to the snooty and 'experimental' kind - he was admittedly terrified, and the maze-like building wasn't much help for his nerves. When the assistant who was 'supposed' to help dropped him off and scurried away, he was left to calm his nerves, using the coffee he had picked up as an excuse to do something.

Forcing a sheepish smile, he offered a far less intense handshake in return as he shifted his messenger bag to the side. He was trying to pull off the most artsy attire he could, though he mostly just scrolled through websites like Instagram and Tumblr for some experience. Apparently, his attempt to look hip and modern were a failure.

"It's... It's Timothy..." the man replied casually, while examining the office properly. It was much better than what he had seen in news articles and the internet, that was for sure. Once being teased on his appearance, he offered a nervous laugh. "It's okay, though. I mean, this place has so many employees, I'm not surprised that you'd get confused. I mean, I'm super interested in your brand, I mean... There are dozens of other high brands on this strip alone, but I know you're the best."

 

[potassiumboron]

"I'm the best? Oh, you don't have to flatter me, Timothy. You have the job. The compliments aren't necessary-- though admittedly, who doesn't love being told they're great at what they do? I certainly won't stop you if you decide that you want to flatter me some more. Now, I thought that you could spend the day with me, ease you into the business slowly. It's... a lot to take on. You'll be dealing with clients and organising events, logging down places I have to attend-- oh, and I do have to travel to Barcelona next week, which you'll have to accompany me to. Nice perk of the job, I suppose, is travelling," droned the man as he eased himself back into the comfortable office chair, absently motioning in his other assistant to fetch in some tea and coffee for the two of them. Ideally, he would have asked for wine, but he did have a slight hangover from the night before after getting through three bottles with the now deceased makeup artist. Getting her drunk before killing her at least made it easier, having been aware of the fact she frequented the gym at least five times a week. On his part, getting her tipsy had been a good decision, and he would have babbled on abut it smugly if he could. Turns out, you couldn't exactly do that unless you wanted to be put away for murder.

Calmly sorting out his eclectic and messy desk, he did laugh to himself at just how messy it was. He would argue that it fit the generally busy atmosphere of his whole building, and that he was too busy himself to focus on simple things like organisation... but he knew that he was just too plain lazy to sort it out.

"I suppose you could sort this out for me? I don't want to give you boring jobs, darling. How boring would that be? I want you to be involved properly, not running around making tea," he admitted, tapping his fingers slowly on the edge of his desk. For someone who had gone out and killed someone the day before, he was extremely calm and relaxed-- though he had don this for the whole year. He was used to it at this point, and it wasn't like he regretted anything he had done. He felt he had his reasons and his actions helped keep him at the forefront of fashion. He wasn't going to regret that.

"Oh, fabulous. The tea~ I assume you drink it? If not, there's coffee too, than you Sandra," he grinned, motioning off his other assistant and taking the initiative to pour out the cups of tea for him and the undercover officer. "Tell me about yourself, Timothy. I only had a brief glance at your résumé, regretfully. I'm... a busy man, but I can spare some time to get to know you. We'll be spending hours and hours together, I think it's helpful if we get along like an old married couple~"​

 

[saturnia pavonia]

With a quiet thank you towards the hurried woman, he took in the cup, a subtle brow raised. He chugged back at least a half a dozen cups of tea or coffee a day at work, but they were often either from a local coffee shop, or the communal pot in the station. Not only was he surprised by the... interesting, smell of the tea, but also just how fancy a simple coffee cup could be. Hell, he was almost too scared to take a sip, but did it nonetheless.

He then took in the messy desk, almost immediately peeking up in excitement. He was going to be in direct contact with important information, and he might be able to find out the case that day. His excitement soon turned to anxiety once asked to describe himself.

"Oh, aha... I mean, I'm not very interesting, to be honest. I live alone with my pet rats, and I've only lived here for a few years. I'm actually from Binghamton, which is nothing like the Big City." He admitted, while offering a shy smile. He, of course, didn't need to lie about his life much, thanks to being such a new cop.

 

[potassiumboron]

"Oh, I don't believe you're utterly tedious, or lovely Sandra wouldn't have decided you were the perfect addition to our little family. I had well over 500 applications, I think. You must have stood out to have been called back time and time again. I'm sure you're hiding a lot of secrets from me-- but there's nothing wrong with that. I find secrets to be important. I wear my heart on my sleeve, sure, but there's a lot I prefer to keep to myself. Maybe you'll find out the secrets I have one day, hm?" He cooed, all in innocent fashion as he rested back with his personalised mug. He didn't truly understand the irony of his words. It was Richard's job to find out what it was Alexander was hiding, and the fashion designer was blissfully unaware that his genuine joke had so much truth to it. Of course, he had his own element of amusement in it. He knew what sort of secrets he held-- he just didn't know that Richard and the police department had their suspicions of them.

Dusting off his smart blazer, his eyes followed Richard's to the desk, though assumed that he was looking at the newspaper and not the many papers that were stacked up. Reaching for the newspaper, he cast an eye over the front cover before faking a frown with ease. "Oh, yes. Awful, isn't it? This horrible spate of murders," he drawled with a tutting tone, feigning discontent and gently placing the paper back down. "The police in this city, I'm sure, are trying their best, but it's been going on so long. A dear friend of mine was killed only... what, five months ago? Poor Henri. That man was an idol of mine, and this psychopath is out there somewhere-- oh well, let's not get bogged down in all this horrid talk. It unsettles me, and I'm very prone to migraines. If there's nothing you have to ask me, how about we drink up and head to one of my design rooms? I have a few models I work with trying on some very early designs I'm in the process of putting together, just to see how the fabric moves on the body-- it'd be rather helpful if you can come and assist them? I tend to make any excuse I can to see the models. They're all so unbelievably beautiful."​

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"Timothy..." he once again whispered, while eyeing up the newspaper warily. Call it lame, but it was a little disheartening when almost the entire group of police were in frame but him. He shook it off, though, and forced himself to remember that he was an insider, and would get his recognition when Alexander was behind bars. With a quiet sigh, he chugged down the tea when the designer wasn't looking, in fear that the action might seem classless, and set it down.

"Oh, I-I get to see the models? Up close? R-Really?" He stammered out in genuine shock, and admitted delight. He wasn't a genius when it came to fashion, sure, but he was normal enough to see the models that lined magazines. He cleared his throat, though, and tried to remain calm.

"I always wanted to be a model, but I don't really have the body. I saw your spread, a few years ago, when you were wearing that rose patterned suit? Honestly, one of my favorites from you." He insisted, and forced back a proud grin. He had spent days studying Alexander's work, from blogs to papers, and it was no small feat, in his eyes. "It's a bummer you discontinued that line, you know? I liked it..."

 

[potassiumboron]

"Oh yes, of course. Timothy. I do apologise. I don't quite know why I call you Richard-- you must look like someone I once knew, I suppose," laughed the man as he reached beneath his desk to retrieve a small bottle of whiskey, adding a dash or two into his tea without caring to explain why. He may be a little hungover, but a good cup of coffee with whiskey was, he would argue, his hangover cure, as counter-productive as it appeared to be. Besides, he felt he needed a drink to stop the mistakes he was apparently making. Of course, he wasn't mistaken at all. 'Timothy' was Richard-- and it was fortunate for the cop that the designer had no idea yet why he continued to call him as such. In truth, he had studied the police force involved in the murders closely. He knew their faces and their names, just to ensure that, if the time came that he would be investigated, he would have something of an upperhand. Richard's name had appeared once or twice, but being so new (and so underestimated) worked in his favour, somewhat, because Alexander couldn't place him. He clearly knew a little about the man, but so little that he didn't realise why.

"That rose-patterned suit-- that was a while ago, wasn't it? Oh, I thought it was a little too out there. I had compliments, of course, but I don't think I was ready to really market it. Shame, I suppose-- if you work to a high standard, I'd be glad to have one fitted for you. I have some still stashed away somewhere, so call it a little welcoming present, hm? Assuming you manage to get the work done this work, it'll be handed over by Sunday," he continued, effortlessly kind and never without a smile splashed on his face. It wasn't all an act. He was generally delighted when he was praised-- but most of his happy statements were constructed. All he wanted to do was lay down with a good slice of cheesecake in a dark room, but instead he had to ease the new assistant in. It wasn't what he wanted to spend his time doing, but he needed to if he wanted to maintain his reputation as a gentleman and a generally lovely person.

"I don't think I have all the models I work with here. Olivia's in Iceland at the moment visiting family, I heard, and she's usually my favourite-- but that's not at all a pressing concern. I know that Eden's here, and he's devilishly handsome, so that'll be nice," continued Alex, easing himself up out of his chair and, after examining himself in the mirror to arrange his hair, he offered another brilliant grin to the other man. "The job is a nice mix of work and play, I think. I don't think I'm that bad an employer, either."
​

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"No complains so far, sir." He teased lightly, more to ease his own nerves than anything. Clearly, Alexander seemed far more relaxed and unsuspecting, more so than he imagined. He waited patiently for the other to take his 'special coffee' as he would write in his notes later, before offering another final glance.

"... The gender here is pretty disproportionate, isn't it? I haven't seen a single other guy here, other than security. I guess that makes me pretty special, huh?" He offered, in genuine curiosity. He had never dealt with a serial killer before, so he didn't know what the hell could fuck up someone that bad. He studied a few other classic cases, such as Ted Bundy and Ed Gein, and they all seemed to have a shitty past with their mother. He heard of the makeup artist being a man, but he just so happened to die?... granted, another victim was a woman, so there probably no connection. These thoughts raced through the cop's mind as he seemed to stare off, though realized he probably looked like a freak staring out into the sea of hurried workers.

"Ah, sorry... this is all pretty overwhelming," he admitted, before wandering over to the designer curiously. "I've only ever worked at small jobs before, y'know? I'm not used to such a loaded work place. I know this is lame, but I'm really excited to decorate my desk?"

 

[potassiumboron]

"Overwhelming? I... suppose it is. I've only ever been used to it being hectic here, so it doesn't really sink in just how overwhelming it all is for an outsider. But I do think there's something beautiful in chaos, actually. I'd much prefer it than a dull, boringly conventional workplace, wouldn't you?-- And I suppose you're right about the gender issue-- not that I really hire anyone here. I delegate that to Sandra," he admitted casually as he stood to watch over the main office space, where not a second went by without someone dashing across the room with a fabrics in arm or papers flying everywhere. It wasn't exactly... expected from such a high-status company, but Alexander often prided himself on that. Why would he want to be like everyone else?

"After we go see the models, you can spend the day at your desk, getting settled in. You'll be sat beside Sandra, she'll show you the ropes. She's been with me for... gosh, five years now, I think. She'll teach you how to deal with the job, I trust her completely," he grinned, mostly because he knew that he had, at one point, tried to kill the woman, so praising her now only amused him. She had once messed up on an order of fabrics that had its consequences on fashion week preparation-- and in response, he had planned on shooting her after inviting her to his home to discuss work. Obviously, it hadn't gone to plan, and she was still alive and well, unaware of her employer's intentions that night.

"How about you head on over to her and I'll join you real quick? I have a phone call to make, a few small things to iron out and then we can get you settled in properly, okay?"​

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"Ah, okay, sure!" He replied, before carefully sidestepping away from Alexander in fear of even touching the man. After all, if he was as crazy as the force painted him to be, he wanted to do everything in his power not to piss the man off. If that meant being so cautious as to not lay a finger, he'd do it.

So, once out of the -- relatively -- pristine office, he walked into the havoc that was the cubicals and workbenches. He moved slowly, afraid that running across the room would end in travesty. After five minutes of skillfully avoiding being bumped into various employees, he sighed in relief once inside the sanctuary of Sandra's little space.

"... hey..." Timothy greeted quietly, before offering a smile and a hand. "Um, you're the one who got me on, right? You... know why I'm here?"

 

[potassiumboron]

In contrast to the highly manic workroom, and the variously eclectic desks of her fellow employees, Sandra's desk was organised, almost obsessively so. It definitely fit her appearance, at least. The 22-year-old didn't have a hair out of place, or an inch of her makeup misapplied. Her outfit, consisting of a smart knee-length skirt and blouse, was, similarly, as smart and clinical as she herself was. She may be young, but she did have the air of someone twice her age.

Trying to juggle writing down notes and talking on the phone, she held the mobile away from her to take in the fellow assistant at her desk, before briefly apologising to the man on the phone and putting it down. It hadn't been anyone of great importance, and she realised that Alexander had probably sent the new assistant over to her. That, therefore, took precedence over the whining man she had been dealing with.

"Oh, Timothy, right? You were highly qualified, had plenty of office experience, and you had good fashion sense, I thought," she drawled slowly. After all, the police had a résumé written up for Richard to ensure that he would stand out in the crowd of applicants. Eyeing his hand, she took a moment before politely declining as best she could, offering a brief gesture to the many cold and flu products on her desk. "I don't think you want to get sick, do you? It's... probably best you don't touch me at the moment, I feel awful," she drily laughed, rubbing her reddened nose for emphasis, before taking a moment to adjust her long, dark hair, that of which was equipped with childish -but rather cute- cherry clips and bands.

"Anyway, um-- oh yes, that's your desk. Do try and keep it tidy? The last assistant had an awful habit of stashing food wrappers underneath the desk, and I'm sure it attracted rats," babbled Sandra as she compulsively straightened her neat stack of colour-coordinated files. "How are you finding it so far? It's a good job, it pays well, and Alexander is such a talented person..."​

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"It's utterly terrifying," he admitted, before offering a laugh. "I mean, this place... it's so busy! My last job was stressful, sure, but this is a whole other level. I almost got hit with a stapler gun, and a guy was carting a full sewing machine? That's... hectic. Will I be doing that sort of thing? Running around and panicking? If so, I'll need to get to the gym more," he teased, having grown nervous by the woman's strict aura, and immediately tried to lighten the mood.

"I'll try my best to keep it neat, but I hope it's okay to personalize it? The office at my old job let me bring in some plants, and that would be nice if I could do? I mean... it'll make it seem more homey, I guess." He explained, while eagerly reviewing the small cubical curiously. The idea of decorating the space genuinely excited him, it always did. Hell, the most fun thing he had done was decorate his apartment.

 

[potassiumboron]

"Personalise-- Oh, yes, of course. As I said, as long as it's neat. Alexander doesn't at all mind us making our desks as personalised as we desire. He's... very lax, in many ways. He only ever is strict when it's fashion week. If you think it's hectic now, you really haven't seen anything yet," the woman smiled, albeit in a strained fashion as she attempted to finish up with her notes as well as direct a few people around. She was young, but she had the personality of a leader, and it wasn't unheard of for her to boss some of the others around to make sure things got sorted. She ran a tight ship, but if she didn't, things would be in disarray. It was an organised sort of chaos, where things seemed hectic but their targets always achieved. Without Sandra, that couldn't be said.

Folding a leg over the other and straightening the photo frame on her desk of her five cats -the only personalised piece on her desk-, she peered back over at the other and attempted to be a little more friendly. She knew she could come off as strict and stern, and she always wanted to prove that she could be fun. To the others in the building, she had been far too bossy for them to reverse their opinion of her, but with Timothy, she knew she had an opportunity to instil a good opinion in him. "So, Alexander will probably invite you out soon. Whenever he employs someone new, he invites the whole work group out to 'initiate' people. I rarely attend, but I could for you. You seem nice enough, not like the others who, in the kindest way possible, are ditsy idiots..."​

 

[saturnia pavonia]

" 'Initiation'? That sounds mighty spooky. I don't want any hazing or anything, you know?" He awkwardly whispered, his hands fidgeting nervously. No one mentioned an 'initiation' at the station, after all. Hell, there wasn't much told to him when it came to how the business actually functioned. Ask him about an outfit, and he could repeat just how it was made, when, and with what materials.

"I mean, after this initiation and whatnot, is it okay if I do a bit of a tour? I'll stay late, if you need me too, but I just want to get used to working here and whatnot. Hopefully you and I can be good friends? I always wanted to go out to a bar with my coworkers, so I hope that you're okay with drinking a bit. I'm no alcoholic, though! I mean... I won't pour whiskey in my coffee."

 

[potassiumboron]

"Oh, it really isn't anything too scary. It's a few drinks in Alexander's favourite bar uptown, a get-to-know-you sort of thing. Like I said, I'll attend because you seem smart and can at least hold a conversation without gushing about Alexander. Don't get me wrong, the man's a genius, but everyone here rushes to kiss his ass. They think it'll earn them brownie points. They don't realise that it makes them look desperate," she bitterly mumbled, her eyes scanning back across the floor at the co-workers. She may be discouraged from the fact none of them really liked her, but she hadn't given them many reasons to - she insulted them, glared at them and visibly tutted in their presences.

"I don't... entirely think you ought to be wandering alone at night. None of us stay late, unless Alexander is here. He doesn't like anyone staying beyond office hours unless he stays too. After one of the employees stole his ideas to sell to another designer, he's always been cautious, which is understandable."​

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"I heard about that, yeah..." he admitted, as he folded his leg over the other carefully. "How would that even work? I mean, I won't if I'm not allowed, but I'm best adjusting on my own. I won't do it tonight, though! I've got to go to that initiation, right?"

Of course, there were two reasons for his wide smile. For starters, he was a social drunk, and often thrived in those environments. Secondly, he knew that some people couldn't stop but blurt out secrets. Nothing would be better than for Alexander to blurt out that he was a serial killer then and there.

 

[potassiumboron]

"Oh yes, don't worry about work tonight. The one thing you are expected to do is down a few shots, but I'm sure you can handle that. Compared to the stress of the workload we have, a good drink is more a reward than a punishment," she admitted as casually as she could-- though she had never actually been a fan of alcohol. When her initiation into the business arrived on her 21st birthday, she had thrown up everywhere after the first taste of vodka, and it was something that she had been constantly reminded of, to her chagrin. Though, in her efforts to appear laid-back and cool, she would boast and act as though she had alcohol everyday; that the amount of drinking involved on the initiation nights were a walk in the park. On the contrary, she could barely manage one glass of wine.

"Alexander doesn't force you to drink though, obviously. He... is a big drinker, but don't tell him I told you that. Not that he'd be pissed. He'd laugh it off," she sighed, wistfully watching the man in his office. "I know he's gay, I'm not some lovesick teenager thinking he'd switch everything to be with me, gosh... But he's the most handsome man I've met, including all the models that stroll on through here. They're all pretentious twerps. Alexander's... normal, you know?"​

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"Hm," was Timothy's only response, as he watched as well from the desk. He couldn't lie, Alexander was drop-dead gorgeous, and he did get a bit flustered once seeing the designer's photo once told about the case, which he was promptly made fun of for by his coworkers. He quickly looked away, though, and offered a smile towards the other while fiddling his thumbs. "He certainly is, yeah. I'm surprised no one has tried to smooze him up during these 'initiation' parties, you know? I know for one thing that I get a little crazy when I drink, so... Look out for me tonight? I don't want to make a bad impression."

Of course, that's exactly the opposite of what he was going to do. He fully intended to get drunk - or pretend to get drunk - and get Alexander to do the same. With a quick clear of his throat, he offered the woman a final smile before getting up and moving to sit in his desk curiously, "Damn, these chairs are comfy!"

 

[potassiumboron]

"Oh, I'll certainly do my best, assuming I'm not underneath the table, absolutely hammered," she weakly laughed again, assuming that she could share something with the other if she herself appeared to be an equally crazy drunk. The truth was far from that, but what was he to know? She figured herself to be a decent actress, and she had witnessed enough people drunk at these things over the years to know how to impersonate drunkenness.

And, once at the gathering, Sandra discreetly tipped her wine into the nearby potted plant whenever she could, feigning tipsiness whenever someone glanced towards her or talked. The almost sickeningly expensive bar uptown was the place Alexander tended to frequent, with it being a gathering place for most up-and-coming people-- or well-established ones like Alexander himself. However, for that night, the place had been hired out by the designer purposely to hold the little gathering among his company workers and a few models who he often worked with. That was probably another perk for Timothy. As an assistant to the designer, experiencing the finer things in life was going to become more and more common, such as being dragged along to these fancy clubs.

An hour into the party, and the designer finally found the time to be stood with Timothy alone, without anyone hovering nearby. "I do hope this isn't inappropriate? I suppose this isn't the sort of thing employers do with their newly hired assistants, is it? But I'm far from conventional. Why be boring when you can stand out?" Laughed the tanned man as he raised his shot glass and downed it in one with a faint smile at how strong the alcohol was. "Come on, don't be a bore! Drink up, Tim."​

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"Psh, I'm no bore!" Said man protested, as he, too, took a hearty swig of vodka. This was no more than a simple Friday night... granted, he had never had such expensive wine, and it often took him a good solid five shots to really get flustered. With the quality the vodka was, he had already gotten a bit tipsy. He had five glasses of wine, two shots of vodka, and one or two beers on the side. He wasn't quite 'lean-on-the-wall-for-balance' drunk, but Timothy's cheeks were reddened, and his breath smelled of some stereotypical man down on his luck that could be found in the alleyways not too far.

"This, uh, this certainly isn't like the other first days I've been to," he explained over the loud chatter from the other room, while taking in the fine restaurants vintage paintings. "Gosh, this is the nicest bar I've ever been to, too! I mean, I knew you lived lavishly, but do you do this all the time?" He babbled on, as he stepped closer cautiously.