"... the fook? A lemon, some useless bucks and a letter? Any idea what that's about?" Walter seemed even more confused now, but there was also an element of expectation to his tone, and his 'colleague' was now laughing rather loudly about something, loudly enough to be heard all the way from the nightstand, but Walter shut him up soon enough, going back to his waiting for a reply.
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Sadly, no. He remembers Elijah telling him about how lemon juice can act as invisible ink in that, once dried, it only reappears when warmed, and even that is only because there are matches, the paper, and the lemon on hand. But then again, the little bit of text already occupies all of the sheet.
Slowly, the various lengths of adhesive tape, string, and rope securing the wooden crate came loose, and as Raphael slowly removed the lid, the source of the smell became all too readily apparent: A head. A horse's head, or, judging from the size, rather a pony's or a foal's, complete with a bit of neck, decomposed to the point of maggots crawling about, yet bedded on perfectly fresh, golden straw, and otherwise in an immaculate state.
Re: Turton - Made to be made (Raphael's IC)
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