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This is My Murder Scene, Get Out

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Pamela sharpened her knives, looking disgruntledly to the TV in the shady motel room in front of her which was showing a new case in the small town involving a gruesome, grisly murder last night around twelve. It would normally not be an unwelcome occurrence, except in this case she wasn't the actual murderer this time.

She appreciated the work, of course; there wasn't much to not love about the creative use of household kitchen implements to string up blood and guts and things. The style first became distinct a few years back, unseen by anyone who wasn't in the field; almost like someone setting out for themselves for the first time. Whoever it was, she wished them luck.

This time, however, she'd already set up her first poisoning the way she wanted it, tiny little seeds in the dirt promising to reveal a work of art by the time the police gets there a few days later. And Pamela had already done the stakeouts, she wasn't getting run out of town by another serial murderer, fun as they may be.

So yeah. Proceed onto plan M(urder).

Black leather jacket, leggings, and lots of pointy and poison-y things underneath so she looked just like another goth. More or less.

The seeds had been planted days ago, freshly blossoming under the leaves for those who knew to look for them. By the time she left the town they would be obvious- all that was left was a quick murder of an entire family, which wouldn't be too difficult with the meals poisoned just enough to make it very difficult for anyone to get help.

It was all going swimmingly until she looked up and saw a very decorative length of intestine hanging up one of her targets from a chandelier and the tell-tale sign of giggling as someone… slid down a banister? Seriously, what were the chances.

"Hey!" She called down, waving her knife threateningly as she got a good look at the other serial killer in the area she was definitely not keeping score for. "I did the stakeout for this house weeks ago. I had dibs!"

"You snooze, you lose!" Her opponent informed her, a blur of black and red with white face paint and some frankly gorgeous hair design. And then did a backflip from the banister, because of course she did. The part of Pamela's brain that wasn't engaged in stabbing cooed unprofessionally.

"I prepped this house for *weeks*-" a movement at the edge of her vision, and Pamela figured she'd probably just cut her losses and go for as much remaining murder as possible. She spun, ducked under the thrown chair, and very neatly gutted the mother. The woman may be a poisoner, but she also had to get good at slicing after a few tries. "What part of this looks like snoozing to you?"

The other murderer started walking on her hands and threw a knife at the middle sister's boyfriend, hitting him in the spot that generally produced maximum gurgling. Pamela was unfortunately impressed. Bombshell Blonde Face Paint took a bow. "I'm Harlequin, by the way. Harley for short."

"…The Botanist," she introduced, because nobody could actually have that name. "You can call me Pamela. Are you operating in this city long?"

Harley put a finger to her lips and tip-toed over to a closet, then opened it dramatically to reveal a very underwhelming parrot. And a much more whelming set of kids cowering beneath. Jackpot. For her, at least.

"Not really, but do you think we should get coffee later?" the clown asked hopefully, proffering one of Pamela's own knives back to her before she started the stabbing rampage.

"Yeah, sure, why not." Pamela shrugged, took the knife, and followed up.