SIXTH TRIAL

[splitaseam]

[The whole trial thing must feel like the norm to everyone right now, and one can't help but wonder if this will keep happening until everyone has died.

There are three new epitaphs for Star Butterfly, Maui, and Fiddleford.

Here lies Star Butterfly
One of our most toughest girls
Went out with a pretty twirl

Here lies Maui
Claimed to be a great demigod
But it turns out he was a fraud

Here lies Fiddleford McGucket
He tried to wipe his mind
And ended up getting left behind

Well you all know what to do by now, huh?]

Don't spare any of the gory details.

Comments

[sixfingeredstan]

Alcohol. Which explains the ink smears.

[How does this all come together? How does the puzzle fit together in a way that ends with his husband dead and Maui gone, too?]

[kindaruledatit]

Ooookay, so maybe Mcgucket was having a drink and spilled a bit?

[She doesn't want to be rude but man do they drink a lot around here, good god.]

The smears are kind of weird though, don't you think?

[sixfingeredstan]

They are.

[He's blinking back tears, looking down at Fiddleford's handwriting, his drawings. Thinking that maybe this was made in his last hours. Thinking that he wasn't there to interfere, to keep this from happening. He didn't even notice him leaving their shared bed.]

It...it looks like someone touched it, there. [He swallows thickly, swallows down his emotion, and points at that oval-shaped smudge.] That's not just an incidental smudge.

[whistlenotchirp]

So... is it possible someone searched through it? Why would someone do that?

[Was there something in there the killer wanted maybe?]

[sixfingeredstan]

I don't know. Looking for information, perhaps...it looks like Fiddleford was working on some designs to rebuild WALL-E...as well as mechanisms to help get us out.

[Right up until the last minute. How are they supposed to do this without him?]

[whistlenotchirp]

[His heart catches in his throat at Wallace's name.]

...Still at it, huh.

I don't suppose the smudge forms a perfect fingerprint or something?

[sixfingeredstan]

It's fingerprint-shaped, certainly, but...even if it did, it would be very difficult to match them by eye alone.

[toogoodforhim]

...Ruling out the obvious, anyway.

[it's not a meaty fingerprint is it?]

[grimgrinningghosts]

[It's not.]

FINGERPRINT CHECK

[sixfingeredstan]

We should...try and rule out whoever we can, using this.

[He takes the journal and lays it flat across the top of Wendy's tombstone.]

We can try and find at least a size match. Everyone, please, come up and compare fingerprints.

[toogoodforhim]

[Since he's right here here's his hands.

...Keep in mind also he's only barely managed to read a cookbook.]

[sixfingeredstan]

[Ford takes Lefou's hand, and holds up each finger on the right hand to the fingerprint, comparing the sizes. Any matches?]

[outsidethecircle]

[She's a kid. Not a match.]

[grimgrinningghosts]

[Are you sure there, Anna? It's a pretty decent match.]

[chainbroke]

[ She's here, too, so here are her hands.

She's not a match. ]

[grimgrinningghosts]

[Well it's not a perfect match, at least. But it does match up pretty decently.]

[kindaruledatit]

[.....Wendy's right here, so like, if you want to check...

Granted, she had been handling the journal already, but she is not a match.]

[grimgrinningghosts]

[Not completely at least. But it does resemble the mark closely.]

[defyingfrigidity]

[geez y'all if you only know how jittery Elsa is when she comes to her hands, having to do this would be pointless....

But no. She wants to help them as much as she can, so if checking off another name off the suspect list helps, she'll offer to hold her hand out; it's not a match.]

[sixfingeredstan]

...Thank you, Elsa.

[For her, he musters up a ghost of a smile. He's sure this isn't easy on her, either.]

[whistlenotchirp]

[He gives a quiet waves.

Yeah, wild guess here, but his finger ain't a match]

[kindaruledatit]

[Thumbs up.

You're in the clear, cricketman.]

[aboyandhiscar]

[A LITTLE LATER, Mike quietly crouches near Jiminy, something bothering him.]

Hey, little man, quick thing--do you think you can stand on this smudge? Just...to be thorough, you know?

[amadeusrockette]

[Through some weird superstition, she doesn't want to pass Fiddleford's grave, so she walks the long way around and gives up her hands for testing.

They're probably not a match but who knows?]

[aboyandhiscar]

[belatedly, Mike offers his weird motorcity hands NOTHING TO SEE HERE (MAYBE???)]