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*
Everything's going to plan.
Implicating themselves, to the others — and to himself, the FBI's plant — happened quicker than anticipated.
But results are results.
'Mr. Green' keeps to himself when necessary, blinking innocently, appearing fretful and nauseated as soon as "bodies" or "Mr. Boddy" gets mentioned. He's steered away from wandering when Wadsworth places one of his hands comfortably against the small of 'Mr. Green's' lower back.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he murmurs, offering 'Mr. Green' a lopsided but handsome smile, and…
The Devil damn him, he's good.
Very good.
(The bit of flush reddening 'Mr. Green's' cheeks might not be entirely an act.)
(Hell, nobody but his wife touches him like that.)
Mrs. Peacock and Colonel Mustard happen to glance over, whispering something, nodding in 'Mr. Green's' direction. Meanwhile, Professor Plum rambles on about the particulars in psychiatry, leaning into Miss Scarlet and evidently boring Mrs. White taking a mouthful of her glass of —
"Champagne?" Yvette says with her thickened but false French accent, and 'Mr. Green' wordlessly waves her off.
She… oscillates… well, the upper half of Yvette anyway… as she goes, attracting several guests to glance in Yvette's direction. Miss Scarlet bats away Professor Plum's fingers creeping against her bum, calling for Yvette, smiling widely and asking for the glass of champagne.
"Have you considered family planning?" Professor Plum interrupts, his eyes flicking down Yvette. "You certainly possess the essentials to — "
" — shutting up —" 'Mr. Green' suddenly overhears Mrs. White lecturing a calm-faced Wadsworth, " — the windows and locking us in here and — "
" — I would be honored, Ms. Yvette, if you would allow me — " Professor Plum rambles, " — to make a thorough assessment of your — "
" — utter lack of competency does not excuse a GODDAMN thing — you are the help, HELP US BETTER — "
"Mrs. White! Try and compose yourself!" Colonel Mustard scolds, while Mrs. Peacock mutters a dismayed "Heavens! Heavens to Betsy!" under her breath. She closes her eyes, making the sign of the cross in front of herself. Mrs. White harrumphs quietly and turns and leaves Wadsworth.
Laughing trillingly, Miss Scarlet brushes an opened hand over Yvette's forearm.
Much too affectionately for strangers, 'Mr. Green' notices.
"By the way, how much exactly did your mommy and daddy leave you when they died, Colonel?" Miss Scarlet drawls.
Colonel Mustard furiously glares.
Mrs. Peacock's color drains. "Oh! Oh, you shouldn't say such things!"
"I'll say what I please," Miss Scarlet announces. "Try not living based on the whims and wishes of men sometime. You might even grow to like it."
She grins coquettishly.
Mrs. White nods in quiet but obvious agreement to Miss Scarlet's declaration, drinking deep, never looking up from another glass of —
"Champagne, sir?"
"Hmm?" 'Mr. Green' startles, noticing Wadsworth presenting him with a smaller flute glass. "I don't… ah, maybe a little."
With Wadsworth's eyes piercingly on him, he takes a mouthful.
Of the champagne.
Goodness.
"Thank you, erm," 'Mr. Green' says awkwardly, and sincerely feeling it, and letting it motivate him to break eye-contact. It's good for the cover. "And thank you for not treating me… inhospitably compared to everyone else here. Especially while knowing I am a homosexual man."
Wadsworth smiles again. That odd little way of his.
"It is nothing, sir," he says, and then dabs his eyes with a nearby napkin. "Forgive me. You have reminded me of my wife, God rest her soul."
"Excuse me… in what way?"
"Homosexually, of course," Wadsworth answers, without any hesitation, and 'Mr. Green's' eyes enlarge.
Everything's not going to plan, he realizes.
Goodness.
*