SIXTH INVESTIGATION

[grimgrinningghosts]

[It's another week, and we're fast approaching two months in the mansion. Maybe you're used to people dying on Friday, but maybe you hope the deaths will stop before there are none of you guys left. However, any hope that this will be a normal Friday for once will be completely dashed when you realize that there is a smokey smell hanging in the air when you first wake up.

Investigate...?]

Comments

[sixfingeredstan]

[He picks up on a faint chemical smell, and despite the fact that it makes him feel nauseous, takes a deep whiff.]

Smells like...ethyl acetate.

[His voice is hoarse and quiet; he's mostly just muttering to himself.

Is there any visible source of that smell?]

[grimgrinningghosts]

[It faintly comes from Fiddles mouth, mostly.

But more pungently the smell is also close to a jar that's lying near Fiddleford.]

[sixfingeredstan]

[His mouth...?

Had he been forced to drink some sort of chemical? It doesn't make sense. But then Ford notices the jar, and gives that a closer look. Is there any sort of liquid still inside the jar? Any sign of a label?]

[grimgrinningghosts]

[There are no labels on the jar, but there is still traces of a clear liquid in the jar.]

[sixfingeredstan]

[Hesitantly, Ford gives the jar's contents a sniff. He'd normally be expecting moonshine, but with that nail polish smell...a brew gone wrong? Poisoned?

Normally his mind would be racing with possilbities, but right now he's too numb with grief for that.]

[grimgrinningghosts]

[It does smell like alcohol, but with a slightly pungent smell of nail polish.]

[sixfingeredstan]

[Ford's brow furrows. Could it be that someone spiked Fiddleford's moonshine? That's a painful idea. It's so...cowardly. But...]

Why would someone poison him, if...if they were just going to burn him anyway?

[He's just talking to himself some more, it's fine.

What else is there? Anything else to see on or around Fiddleford's body?]

[grimgrinningghosts]

[There is nothing really of note about Fiddleford's body.]

[sixfingeredstan]

[Alright. He's just going to...take a good, long look. Try to remember him as he was. It's probably gross, but Ford doesn't care; he leans down and places a gentle kiss on Fiddleford's forehead. One last time. He doesn't know what the future will hold, if he ever gets back to Gravity Falls. Doesn't know how much this will disrupt the timeline.

His hand brushes his husband's hand, wishing he could feel it squeeze back, just one more time. Finally, Ford sits back on his heels, glancing around. Feeling hopeless. How is supposed to solve this, when his heart has been ripped in two?]

[grimgrinningghosts]

[What would Fiddleford want you to do in a situation like this, Ford?

While he's sitting there he might notice a knife that's also on the floor of the kitchen.]

[sixfingeredstan]

[HE WOULDN'T KNOW BECAUSE HE'S FUCKING DEAD.

Ford's gaze travels across the knife and he picks it up with none of his usual curiosity. Is there anything on the knife itself that shouldn't be there?]

[grimgrinningghosts]

[Besides the traces of blood on it?]

[sixfingeredstan]

[Oh, god. That's blood, isn't it. Is it smears? Drops? Also, does it resemble the knife Fiddleford had been using to shave?

Ford almost wants to throw it across the damn room, but it's evidence. And he owes it to Fiddleford to bring his murderer to justice.]