Chapter Text
And so, Sixpence had to die.
It was a messy, nerve-wracking death with dramatic build-up — to him, anyhow; the Full House staff member cocking a shotgun at his chest didn't seem to be phased as much. He sincerely tried talking some sense into the brute before he just went ahead and blew his guts out with an elephant caliber shrapnel. Put on the spot, and in front of a very uncooperative audience, yes, but— tried, nonetheless.
He was running against a ticking clock he unintentionally helped to build. Back when Lucas came with the inquiry, it seemed like a fun technical challenge to run the calculations for synced-up explosive devices. It hadn't crossed his mind that an actual demolition could be on the table. But a few hours ago, he finally pieced together that the expenses of running the Brutale had been steadily outweighing it's profits just as much as Lucas's affection for his niece were winning against the Marquis's need for the exquisite manor. A simple formula. That nutcase found an even simpler solution to even out his equation.
Where would he possibly place that bomb? In his suddenly humbled mad genius, Sixpence was scurrying through the Chapel, trying to find the blasphemous murder weapon and the fool of a man behind it. Or, maybe, Lucas just dreamt he would. In reality, there were far more reasons why Reginald's body was found charred black near one of his greatest creation, short of where Lucas realised his grave mistake — blast radius could've immediately enveloped him with no chance of a getaway, for once, and being cornered to the third floor, there were close to no chances he'd find his way out of this. The possibility that tore his hear out the most, however, is that Sixpence ran into the architectural deathtrap for Ellie's sake.
Ellie... What disappointment of a man Lucas was if he didn't even try, while Reginald threw himself right into the fire looking for her?
Engulfed in flames, just as red as his wild untamed hair; terrorised by the fear of the crime he enabled to happen and that took everything dear to him with it. He was framed to become an involuntary accomplice in his very own murder.
And so, Sixpence had to die.