Chapter Text
"Do you think she's dead, Miss Woodhouse?"
Given the fact that Briony Tallis had become a nice, red soup around a woodchipper that was floating in her swimming pool, Harriet's question was a tad bit irrelevant. Irrelevant enough to earn a hard slap across the face from Emma Woodhouse.
"Yes I think she's pretty fucking dead, you stupid bitch." she responded coldly.
Tears of joy welled up in Harriet's eyes. "Oh, to be touched so tenderly by dear Miss Woodhouse! It is such a gift, I will be sure to cherish this moment forever!" The girl grinned as her cheek turned purple. "What shall we do next, Miss Woodhouse? Shall we dive in and see if we can pull out any remains? Perhaps we should just sit and cry ever so gracefully, incase any handsome men happen to walk by!"
She was evidently ignored. Emma was already on her way back to the Tallis house, which she thought was tacky in the way that it was pretending to be as old and valuable as her own establishment. To be seen visiting such a dump was an embarrassment in the first place, but now she had to report the sad little peasant's death. Utterly mortifying.
Emma knew the family owned a dictaphone, collecting dust in the front room, and she hoped that by phoning the police, she could get a bit of attention and pity. A poor young woman who'd discovered a gruesome death scene, how shocking and taboo!
She had always yearned for attention, working effortlessly to maintain her position as the centre of attention in her small circle of acquaintances; to Emma, this murder was merely a challenge from God - in which she would have to steal the spotlight of the unfortunate and very much deceased Briony Tallis. God needed to step the fuck up, because this was going to be too easy.
"This rotten whore is actually going to get crowds and news channels chasing her" Emma groaned, evidently jealous of Briony's situation.
It would be minutes before Emma snapped out of her fantasy, and contacted the police using the samsung galaxy dictaphone laying in front of her.
"There's a dead bitch swimming around the Tallis' family pool. Hurry up and help us, whores, before the tadpoles catch hepatitis."
Emma's call for help was quick, blunt, and left much knowledge to be gained for the police - she relied on the popularity of the Tallis name, not even providing a full address to the police. And yet, within ten minutes of placing the call, police horses were shitting all over the front yard and vigorous knocks on the door could be heard.
"Go let them in or I'll tell the Eltons you have crabs" She demanded callously to Harriet in between sips of tea.
"Of course my beautiful, best best friend!"
Emma's demands were met, and a detective entered the room, accompanied by three, clearly inexperienced, police constables. A brief exchange of glances ensued, before the detective found himself following Emma to Briony's tomato soup remains, which were still polluting the luxurious Tallis pool.
Paul Marshall and Gremio had already situated themselves at the edge of the now-chunky swimming pool. They were probably discussing the tragedy that was the death of a girl so young and desirable or the art of wooing teenagers or something along those lines. Emma needn't listen to all of that though, she was way out of their league. Though, when their glances turned towards her, it was lights, camera, action.
She took out a silk handkerchief and weeped ever so cutely, the two men immediately rushing to either side of her- stroking and sniffing her long, golden locks.
"Oh it's horrible, unimaginable, terrible!" She cried abruptly. "It's indescribable, you simply cannot imagine it!" She made sure her words sounded dramatic and emotional, gasping for breath in between shouts and cries. "I had to be the one to discover the corpse of my dear, darling friend Briony, horrifically killed in her own modestly-sized pool!"
"There there, darling, it's alright now, she's in a better place." Gremio soothed her with his crackly smoker voice.
"I dread to think maybe she isn't…" Emma muttered, "I read that whore's diary, bitch went straight to hell indeed."
A policeman studied the water with a hand on his chin, Harriet swinging on his pant leg.
"Looks like bloodloss." He concluded, "Could be wrong though, innit?"
"Don't make such dangerous accusations so early into the investigation" a short detective cut in sternly. "We won't know until we get a full examination of the body and the crime scene." He said this so confidently, despite said body resembling the insides of a Greggs pasty, and the crime scene being a pool of what looked like an unfortunately heavy period.
Although it seemed like a straightforward, accidental death, the detective became more and more perplexed by the case as more clues were uncovered.
Gremio, while necking on with a tree, had discovered a bloody Britney Spears fork in a bush behind his sensual kissing partner.
"This fork looks awfully slutty and lower-class for the Tallis family" he said, clearly more intrigued by the style of the fork rather than by the blood splattered on it. He went to slyly put it in his pocket for later use, however it was soon snatched from his possession by his ginger aquaintence.
"How dare you imply that Britney Spears is in any way slutty and not a strong, empowering woman!!!" Paul Marshall said with immense passion. It was clear that the obvious issue had not fully registered in either man's mind. And now both of their fingerprints were all over the damn thing, stupid gits.
"Why is there a bloody, sharp object at the scene of an accidental death?" Poirot asked himself faintly. He realised that he may have to consider the possibility that Briony Tallis did not in fact accidentally fall head-first into a conveniently placed woodchipper, but that she was actually murdered. His trust of those present at the crime scene immediately diminished, as he began creating theories in his head. His summer fling with overseas lover Matthew Patrick had clearly had an effect on his detective skills.
Snapping out of saucy flashbacks, Poirot realised that he would need to have some form of examination carried out on the red faeces which flooded the pool. However he was hesitant to get a professional team to investigate, for fear that they would call him a stupid bitch for wasting their time again. He was forced to think simpler.
"Dr Sheppard is currently visiting a neighbouring town with a syphilis outbreak, I'll see if I can get him to perform an investigation of the body as soon as possible." he said, reassuring himself that he was making the right decision.
"Do you need us to stay until you're finished here, or can we leave?" Emma asked in a seemingly-frustrated tone.
"I'm afraid we'll need you here until we have concluded our initial investigation of the crime scene" the detective said, internally screaming at the thought of being around such an entitled Mean Girls reject for so many hours.
Emma frowned and turned to unleash a quiet but beefy fart, which blew Paul Marshall's Shein hat neatly off his head.
She walked off and hid in the corner while the investigation developed.
"It seems like our victim broke a branch on this here large tree, before falling into that woodchipper." One of the policemen inferred. "What a fat bitch." he further remarked.
"We warned her to go easy on the pantry." Emma said with a long sigh as she suddenly jumped back into the conversation. "The poor girl grew to be synonymous with a beached whale, in her size and her decaying ability to move - it's a miracle she was even able to make it to the tree, nevermind climb it." Emma's continuous jabs at the deceased only frustrated the detective further- he desperately thought of a way to shut her up.
"I think I should introduce myself formally" he eagerly said as he cut into Emma's Twitter monologue. "I am detective Hercule Poirot, I hope that we can remain on good terms throughout our time together".
"You have a pornstar name." Emma muttered with a smirk. She didn't seem to rein in her carefree and bitchy attitude and hadn't yet fully grasped the severity of the situation. To her, this was little more than a game which had no consequences, no repercussions for any mistakes she may make. Sweating with anger, Poirot removed his jacket and left it by the pool. At that point, Emma noticed a mark on his left arm - it was a chromatica tattoo, which had the quote "My biggest enemy is me, pop a 911". Emma's eyes suddenly widened.
"You're a little monster, Mr Poirot??!!" She accidentally exclaimed aloud.
"Why yes, I have been since the release of my favourite album: Cheek to Cheek!" He enthusiastically responded with. Emma brushed over his horrendous taste, as tears quickly began to erupt from her botox-heavy face. Before she knew it, she was sobbing vigorously.
"Miss Woodhouse, whatever is the matter??" Poirot asked.
Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Betrayal. Fear. Spice. And everything nice all flooded her mind at once. Why was this happening? What does this mean? What did she do to deserve this? She struggled to conjure up a response to such a triggering revelation for the fragile Emma.
"I'm sorry!" She responded, flooded with piss drops. "I have held onto a deep trauma for many years, caused by my fateful interaction with Miss Gaga". Curious to hear of Emma's story, Poirot encouraged her to tell her story.
"One evening, I was exiting Jackie White's Market, with my Ferrero Rocher Milkshake, when a huge paparazzi rushed past me. Furious that I had not received such attention before, I quickly chased after it. I pushed my way past all the twinks with microphones, and discovered that at the centre of all the attention was Mother Monster herself. In the heat of the moment, I punched her in the nose, and then called her a trampy scallywag, and told her to suck my big, coquette dick. She dodged my punch, and kicked me in the vagina - before I knew it I was unconscious on the ground, and the paparazzi had left with Gaga".
Emma struggled to finish her sentences, and was still trembling by the end of it. Poirot recognised her vulnerability, and began comforting her.
"Now now, Miss Woodhouse, I'm sure Miss Gaga was merely acting in self defence". He said softly as he hugged her tightly. It was at this point that he realised that he and Emma shared more in common than he initially thought. It was now clear to both of them that their relationship would go beyond the walls of the investigation, and grow into a strong friendship. Without even realising it, Lady Gaga had united the two and destroyed all tensions that had initially plagued the investigation.
"Alright boys, let's call it a day" Poiroit optimistically called out. With no way to carry the body away, the police decided to cover the pool with tin foil- just to keep Briony nice and fresh- while also having someone take guard for the night so that no-one could tamper with the scene.
With that, the first day of the investigation had concluded, and all those present now realised that there was more to this death than they had initially believed. But could foul play have possibly been a possibility?
"I'd rather be dry but at least I'm alive… Rain on me, rain, rain, rain on me, rain, rain…"