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Oskar Rex was not a smoker.
He politely turned down a cigarette when offered. He didn’t believe in it. Drinks were enough for him– he snuck them better than most. He knew his way around speakeasies for what he was worth, what with a hundred connections, clients, and investments.
He has dealt with his fair share of secondhand smoke. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest. Despite this, he still typically has no desire to smoke.
Lord Byewill has died. His body lay on the ground, soaking in the rain, blood mixing thickly with water.
Among them, there is a killer. It could be any of them. There were only a small handful of guests that he did not suspect. The mere thought of it– the prospect that a killer walked alongside them– made his skin crawl.
For the first time in his life, Oskar Rex needs a cigarette.
He’s sitting in the lounge with his head in his hands. He’d be pacing if his feet did not ache from the constant back and forth, up and down stairwells, crossing the huge mansion in his dress shoes. He sinks comfortably into the armchair, but nothing can relieve the stress of a murder.
He processes the evidence again and again. Ransom notes, three distinct guns, poisoned wine glasses with fingerprints, and even more miscellaneous dots that refuse to connect. He rubs his forehead.
“Oskar?” From the doorway, he hears Silas call out to him.
He lifts his head up, running his hands down his face. “Silas.”
“Are you alright, Oskar?”
Before he sees Silas’s eyes, he sees the amber end of his cigarette and the grey trail of smoke coiling into the air above it. Silas steps into the lounge and stands over him, one hand in his pocket.
He looks up at him. “How alright can someone be with a murderer in their vicinity?”
“Well, I suppose not too well,” Silas brings his cigarette away from his mouth and blows a cloud out. He tilts his head. “You look a little worse for wear, though.”
“Silas, Silas, Silas…” Oskar tuts and shakes his head. A brief wave of honesty washes over him. “I’m at my wit’s end.”
Silas looks at him for a minute. He gestures to a chair nearby. He offers a smile.
“Mind if I take a seat?”
“Be my guest,” Oskar says.
Silas sits in the chair beside him and pulls an ashtray closer. It was decorated like fine china. Even down to the ashtrays, this manor was decorated with expensive detail. It was mocking him.
“I wish I’d killed that bastard myself,” he murmurs, leaning back in his seat. He looks up at the ceiling. “This building is a monument to my misfortune.”
“This building is Jackie Daytona’s fever dream,” Silas chuckles.
“I sold him this land at a dollar an acre. Now it’s worth millions. I’ve been played for a fool. This is what happened when the Russians sold us Alaska.” Oskar reaches a hand up and rests his forehead on his fingertips.
Silas hums and takes another hit. “These things happen.”
“Byewill sucks this land dry and then he throws it out to Arthur like scraps.”
“Maybe you dodged a bullet,” Silas tells him.
“Byewill certainly didn’t…” Oskar murmurs.
He hears Silas laugh. He watches the end of his cigarette hungrily. He blinks a few times and swallows.
Silas tilts his head. “You seem preoccupied with a different thought.”
Oskar sucks in a breath. “I… I’m wondering if abandoning my inhibitions for one day would help me manage this.”
Silas raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell, what inhibitions?”
“I don’t smoke,” Oskar says, as if he’s convincing himself of it. “However, it… it seems to take the edge off.”
“You want one?” Silas says. “The Honorable Judge Marshall would give you one, I’m sure.”
Oskar isn’t satisfied with the idea of hunting her down just to have a cigarette. He really isn’t so fond of them in the first place. He swallows his pride.
“Can you share yours?” He asks quickly.
Silas pauses. His hand stops halfway to his mouth. He instead pushes his glasses up and grins. Oskar looks at him unpleasantly.
“You want to share?” He parrots.
Oskar nods. He laughs. He sits up in his chair and gestures for Oskar to do the same. He brings his cigarette to his lips with one hand and reaches for Oskar’s face with the other.
“Open your mouth,” he says, then puts his cigarette in-between his lips. Oskar mindlessly lets his mouth hang open.
Silas takes a hit and then blows it into Oskar’s mouth. Immediately, Oskar starts coughing. He leans away and covers his mouth with the back of his hand. Silas grins.
“Give me the damn cigarette…” he wheezes out.
“Alright, alright,” Silas says. He holds it out. “Keep it.”
He takes it and brings it to his lips. The filter is moist from Silas’s mouth. The smoke fans down his throat. The taste is foul and he resists the urge to grimace as it itches. He blows it back out.
He coughs as it clouds out into the air. Silas watches with his chin in his hand and a sly grin sitting comfortably on his lips. He bats his lashes at Oskar.
“Better than me?”
“Why did you come bothering me?” Oskar deflects.
"I was passing by.”
“Sure, sure,” Oskar moves to shake the ash away. Silas nudges the ashtray towards him. “You did it out of the kindness of your heart.”
“Why not? I’m not a cold-hearted killer.” Silas shrugs.
Oskar scoffs. “You know I don’t suspect you. Despite that diamond fiasco…”
Silas’s smile widens. “It’s not so hard to tell the truth, is it?”
“You’re one to talk.” Oskar takes another drag. “You withhold information until it saves your skin.”
“But I ultimately share it,” Silas says.
“Yes, you do,” Oskar agrees. “In poor taste.”
Silas just hums and sinks back into his seat. Oskar continues to smoke and the nicotine makes his head buzz. He manages to distract himself from the buzz of Byewill’s death, the Meagowgloom Manor, the diamonds, he forgets all of it.
Someone comes around informing them of a meeting in the library to discuss the murders, and he enters level-headed.