I am also reserving for the next round and will be reading along.

The chopper ride over is dull, at best. A group of introverts locked together in a small metal box will not produce the most fascinating conversation. Purpley across the cab isn't taking it too well; she's glaring, meeting everyone's eyes with a glare that could curdle cream. I wink at her. That seems to unsteady her for a moment, before she settles into a mask of bland resentment.

I can't help but notice the attire of my fellow guests: yellow, green, et cetera. Most of it garish. I glance down at my black coat and royal blue scarf with a smirk. Rank fashion amateurs. I chastise the rude voice in the back of my head and roll my neck, stretching.

The chopper descends, blades sending up a scatter of leaves on the ground. I step out after purpley. She walks like a stork, stiff and tall. I duck, momentarily imagining myself to be some kind of movie hero, walking out of a helicopter, tracking camera on my movements. Purpley rolls her eyes. I bite my thumb at her with a smile. Does she get it? Heck if I care. I nearly trip on the way out. My visions of hero-dom fade.

A gray-haired man in a finely tailored suit steps out, wife on his arm. He waves to us and bows the slightest bit, hands shaking. Low blood sugar and arthritis, not fear. I make my introductions quickly: "Keira Azur, Private Detective, Collector of Artifacts. The others make introductions and walk away and into the manor.

I'm roomed next to the woman in purple--her name, I believe, is Danielle. I walk with her to the suites in near silence. Her eyes dart toward me every few seconds, taking me in. I run a hand through my cropped blue hair and smile. She scowls in return. My luck, to be stuck next to the only woman here with no romantic bone in her body. I step into my room, shut the door, and climb into bed.

Of course, someone screams. Something always goes wrong. Can't even have a nice vacation anymore, what with all the murders. 

I shrug on a bathrobe and run down the hall, bare feet patting against wooden floor. Others are close behind. I open the door to find the mistress screaming, sobbing over the body of our host. I grimace. My eyes dart toward another guest, dressed in green; she's shifting her feet, kneading her hands. There are calluses on them, but I can't quite see from here.

A fencer? Perhaps, perhaps not.

Could it be the woman in green, using a rapier? 

The helicopter ride was amazing. I loved seeing all of the sights from above! When we got to the mansion and departed from the helicopter, we were greeted by an older man, our host. I introduced myself. "Clair Tangeri. It's a pleasure to meet you." Once everyone has been introduced, we step inside for a tour of his home. I look around at all the delicacies, amazed. I walked through the rooms, dumbstruck, when I hear a scream. I run to the source of the noise, only to find our host lying dead on the floor. I look around for suspects, and immediately suspect the woman in yellow, with ink on her hands. Could she have killed the host with the quill?

Hey Pete, can the detectives who made accusations get their lives back? I thought I had to make an accusation, not that it was an option. :/ 

The helicopter ride is dull, with the loud whizz of the propeller cutting in my ears. I glance around at the other detectives, all in quite colorful attire. I happen to be sitting beside a woman in a messy purple coat, fast asleep. A nudge her with my elbow, seeing as we are about to land. It was meat t be a helpful gesture, but I duck, dodging her fist. I blink twice and sit back up, smoothing down my hair (put up into a French twist). Then I wave at the woman, hoping she will see me as a friend. She doesn't. 

It isn't long until we land on the helicopter pad and the detectives step out one by one. I step down gingerly, my gold skirts swishing. I pull my white fur shawl tighter around my shoulders. I don't chill easily, but the cold air cuts right to my bones. Our host introduces himself, and I nod (maybe a bit stiffly).

"Lily Brights." I introduce myself, brushing past him and into the mansion.

~

After the house tours comes the party. I was never especially fond of parties. I'm not the most outgoing of people, after all. I spend most of the time sitting on a bench, studying the others quite closely, and scribbling things down in my notebook.

Then I hear a scream.

Everyone rushes into the next room, only to find our hostess bent over the body of what was our host. Norbert had been killed. 

And it had to have been one of us.

I suddenly began looking at each one of the other detectives suspiciously. Detectives. No, now they were suspects. I notice a woman in orange looking at me, and I realize I have ink on my hands. I shift under her gaze, but I know the ink is only from when I jotted some things down just earlier. The ink disappears. 

Orange must be looney.

Top?

*facepalm* I just read through the original thread and I think I understand what to do now. Also, I completely misunderstood what you said in reply to Allie, but I know what you mean now that I read the other thread. Sorry about that!

I'm sorry for creating all the confusion! I was just trying to make some sort of introductory post to get everyone settled in. 

* * *

This is why detectives work alone. As I pace the room quickly, it seems as if everyone is blaming anyone. I look around the room, searching for murder weapons.

I notice the lamp on the small table near the couch. I begin to investigate it. I notice a small smudge on the bulb, almost like a fingerprint. Hm. I lift the lamp up and see that it's bloodied on the bottom, staining the table. I look around the room and notice the man in red looking rather nervous. Shifting around on his toes, he gives a glance to me as I hold the lamp. Suspicious. There should be only one reason why he would do that.

Did the man in red murder Norbert with a lamp?