It was rather early in the day when the cadaver of Mr. Morrison took the plunge up and over the ornate wrought iron gates that securely enclosed the regal home. A satisfying thud and the soft crunch of a few crispy leaves beneath his limp body were the only audible signals of his landing. It was moments later when his companion landed in a more graceful manner by his side, having hopped the precipice of a gate herself to land firmly on her feet. Taking up one arm of the corpse, the slender girl beside him hummed a dainty little tune as she looked up contentedly at what would soon be their new home.

The previous owners had taken fairly good care of the estate-- the shrubbery and blooms of the lawn were neatly trimmed, the stretches of grass along the flagstone walkway still appeared freshly-mown, the windows at the front of the home all shone with a pristine air, the patio furniture was set up for casual use, and the door that stood unlocked before her even seemed to have a coat of fresh paint upon it. Nevertheless, the home stood abandoned and without so much as an ounce of life within. Perhaps it was sheer luck that brought Lyla to such a place, but she would beg to differ. After escaping the horrid maximum security ward, she'd believe herself to be entitled to such a generous dwelling. It were as if she deserved the luxury of taking up this home for not a penny on the dime.

Standing beside the recently-deceased Mr. Morrison to support his body in a manner such that they may look like old friends, Lyla leaned in to speak to him casually, "Why, we sure picked a looker, eh?" With a click of her tongue and a small toss of the keys that belonged to Mr. Morrison's silver Buick, she set out at a leisurely pace across the meticulously-placed flagstone. Alongside her, the steady dragging of the body's feet was the only sound to be heard in the still morning air.

Once inside, Lyla made quick work of the body. In this case meaning she simply left it in wake of the door after entering in order to more easily explore. No distractions, no restrictions. Already she was loving the simpler life outside of the ward, and she'd only been out and about for the past couple of days. Still, it was the little things granted with her freedom that truly made all the difference; the ability to breathe in the crisp morning air, to roam freely wherever, whenever, and however she liked, to drive, to kill, to live life on her own accord again.

It wasn't long before she'd grown quite accustomed to living in her new home with the deceased Mr. Morrison. He, of course, was now sitting obediently across from the door as if to greet potential guests. She'd fashioned him neatly in some butler's garb for lack of better thing to do with the body, unwilling to take a shovel to either the elegant shrubbery of the lawn or the small vineyard that accompanied the estate. The accumulating smell of death in the entryway didn't truly bother her. His eyes held a forward stare, his facial expression contorted stiffly into what may have been dismay, and the majority of his body leaned slightly forward from his place among the majestic staircase. His lips were cracked open as if to speak, "Welcome home."

Donatello slammed the car door once he was within the safety of surrounding leather and upholstery. The car had been his parents, their favorite vehicle, a 1962 Abarth 2200 they’d taken such good care of it looked as though it had just been manufactured. But he didn’t marvel at the beauty of the old car. His hands were grasped in a death-grip around the steering wheel to halt their shivering, and he breathed slowly and carefully, steadying his heartbeat. All thirty-four years of his life had passed with a debilitating fear of society, but he couldn’t let his home go without food stocked for at least a month. Having spent four hours among people, Donatello Giovanni’s nerves were frayed and he could almost feel his sanity slipping away. Brushing back his hair, he started the car and took to the road, keeping an eye on the other traffic as he joined them.

He kept his ice-blue gaze straight ahead. He knew if his stress levels kept rising like this, he’d probably die a very young death. He didn’t like thinking about it, but that was how his mother was. Nervous to the point of mutism, nearly catatonic when she was forced out of her comfort zone. Unfortunately, Donatello had inherited that tendency, mainly around other people. His friend list was empty, his extended family still in Italy, and his desire to even know others nonexistent. Love was lost on him, loneliness a companion, his home acting as a fortress, a tomb in a way. Of course the term was literal; his parents had been buried in a private tomb below the cellars.

He felt the tight fingers of tensity begin to loosen their grasp when he drove underneath the canopy of tree tops that overlooked a small, nearly-forgotten road. Other than himself, the road was used only by a mailman and several workers who showed up at the house once a week to clean what he didn’t and take care of the yard where he couldn’t. Donatello appreciated that, and hoped they knew his appreciation by the massive tips he left in their paychecks. It was rare he met any of them in person.

He went right instead of left when he reached a fork in the road. Each branch led to the same destination, but in going right, he would reach the front gate and front door. There it wouldn’t take as long to unload the things he’d bought. A switch on the dashboard would roll back the main gate, and before he turned that last left-handed bend, he flipped the switch.

Something was off when he turned the corner. A car. A silver car? No scheduled cleanings were today. Especially this late into the evening. His heart leapt in his chest. Something wasn’t right. No one should have been there. Pulling up to the car, parked rather messily, he found no one inside. Perhaps they had climbed the fence... No one had ever broken into his home before. That blatant disrespect for his home, the violation he felt, dirtied from outsiders, made the anger boil inside of him. Anger was something Donatello wasn’t especially accustomed to, but when his erratic defense mechanism kicked in, he was unpredictable. He pulled into the estate grounds and flipped the switch that closed the gate. He’d nearly forgotten all about why he had gone to town in the first place, and what was in his car, ready to be put away.

He stepped out, then up the six stairs to the front door. It was closed, just as he left it. He turned the knob. It was unlocked, as he’d left it, on the assumption no one could---or would have the desire to try to---get past the gate. Pushing the door open, the first thing he saw in the foyer was a dead man. It stilled his heart for an instant, but didn’t strike fear into him. It was shock, rather than fear, that widened his eyes. Was this the intruder? Had he wandered about, changed clothes into one of the old butler uniforms, and fallen dead facing the door? No... Donatello could see the death wasn’t natural. Someone else was here. Narrowing his eyes, he began a stiff and swift search of the bottom floor.

As it were, Lyla was rather enjoying herself. Feet propped casually upon the face of the grand chestnut desk before her, arms crossed flat across her stomach, head tilted down, and facial expression reading a childlike innocence, she had been catching a bit of a nap when a soft trill awakened her. Opening her eyes immediately and blinking to help adjust her vision as she looked at the laptop she had set up in front of her, she moved the computer to sit on her lap as she regarded the screen that had just popped up. The silent alarm system had been triggered. A trickle of excitement crept from the back of her neck to the small of her back and smoothly down along the rest of her person into her very toes, which curled in reaction.

Her fingertips danced skillfully across the keyboard until a picture was procured of a car pulling up to the first driveway; the one that she knew lead straight to the front gate. Lip-glossed lips parting into a bright smile, a light giggle erupted from her. "A new toy? Perhaps a test of my equipment. Fun, fun, fun!" she exclaimed happily and clapped her hands together. Strumming her fingers lightly on the solid wood desk once, she then picked up her laptop and hopped up from her chair to make her way into the other room where the evidence of her true tampering with the estate's wiring would be evident.

The connecting room was dark, the light fixtures having been messily removed and the blinds closed, only dimly lit by a variety of monitors and tv screens. Littering the floor, newly-emptied shelves, and desks were pieces of equipment ranging from keyboards to touch pads to lighting and stereo equipment. Lyla had had much fun in altering her new home, for she had already figured that empty mansions wouldn't stay abandoned for long, especially when they were this taken care of. So, in the stead of this thinking, she'd laid yards upon yards of trip wiring, placed a variety of security cameras, speakers, and microphones, planted small explosive devices, and rigged the entire locking system.

Currently, many of the screens were lit to showcase a variety of rooms found throughout the home, most notably the entryway where she was able to watch the 'intruder' enter her cozy little home. Smiling deviously, she leaned up just inches away from the largest monitor, laughing in what could only interpreted as excitement as he seemed to be noticing the home's new butler. She waited patiently for the cry, any scream, any strangled noise-- alas, nothing came of it. Instead, the man instead seemed encouraged to sniff out the perpetrators whereabouts. How did he do it?! Not an outward flinch, nor cringe, nor expression of disgust. How dare he not take her work into more careful consideration.

Slamming one of her fists haphazardly against the screen, the monitor cracked, and she let out a frustrated growl of sorts and flew across the room to her laptop once more. "Intruder with his pretty car not scared?" she spoke more unevenly now, audibly shaky and frustrated though another smile quickly flashed back onto her face. "Alright, trip wire.... Three, is it?" she murmured as her fingers trailed knowingly along a switch board, her gaze moving from the man instead to his car parked outside of the manor. "Ah, yes, trip three," she confirmed more confidently, flicking the corresponding switch on her board as the explosives around the wire set in that placement, underneath his vehicle, would explode. She let out a cheerful cry and did a crazy little victory dance across the room as the charges detonated and the car burst into flames, a delightful boom sounding from even deep within the house.

It was then that her attention went back to the man, curious to see not only his reaction this time but also how far he had gotten in his search of the downstairs. She was on the third story, after all, and the three connecting rooms which she had spent most of her time in were barricaded and locked properly. Of course, she could make this more interesting. "Little mouse, what will you do if you're trapped here?" she spoke in a coo, a near purr-like sound leaving her mouth as her voice seemed like honey for the moment. "With me? A greedy kitty who'd simply love to pick her teeth with you..." she wondered aloud, liking having fashioned herself to a cat, and tapped her bottom lip as she bent down to mess with her laptop once more.

Moments later, a securing click echoing throughout would ensure that not only were the gates now locked, but also the doors of several random rooms within the house. The kitchen, for one, the front and side doors, the already-secured rooms which she had nestled into, and a few randomly-selected others. Some of which could be opened by mere force, of course, but others didn't look so promising. With the property on secure lock-down, a snicker left her slender form, and she leant herself into an awkward backwards-position to click the button for the speakers. "Welcome in, little mouse!" she half-cooed, half-blatantly erupted with laughter.