bloody, but unbowed.

[bloodxhound]

#𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐗𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.          hi, welcome. this is a private & selective single-muse roleplay blog for my detective character, ray barlowe. originally created for 𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲, but can fit into any other modern setting. on that note, i’m both oc and crossover-friendly. mature themes may be present. please read my rules prior to interacting! written by cyan ( 25+, she / her ).

in the fell clutch of circumstance  /  i have not winced nor cried aloud.  /  under the bludgeonings of chance  /  my head is bloody, but unbowed.  /  [ ... ]  the menace of the years  /  finds and shall find me unafraid.

    「 guidelines  /  dossier  /  backstory  / verses  /  pinterest  /  art 」

[bloodxhound]

'hair for hands or dicks for feet?' an ominious text sent at exactly 1:21 AM.

     𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄 for the past minute or so, brows furrowed at his co-worker’s latest academic venture, stewing in quiet exasperation. This question would be concerning if he had any reason to believe she moved on from forensic science to human experiments. Although, he supposes, he cannot be entirely sure this question isn’t an experiment in and of itself to begin with. Who knows how big her sample size is when it comes to probing the masses with ominous inquiries. Finally, his fingers set into motion and he shoots back the only plausible reply to such a conundrum:

「 ✉ sent at 1:24 AM : 」     im blocking you

[bloodxhound]

what are you doing? you're inside, take off your shoes!!!

     𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 departs from her face to descend upon his feet for a cursory appraisal. No visible mud stains trail behind him. He’s wiped his boots on her welcome mat prior to entering, as is sensible. That should be enough.   ❛❛ What, you some kinda neat freak? ❜❜   A small pause precedes his dismissal. Long, albeit languid strides carry his looming figure past her, further into a home of polished floors, now desecrated beneath street-kissed rubber soles.   ❛❛ I’m sure any crazy fuck who crops up at your door will wait patiently ‘til I put my shoes back on if I ask real nicely. ❜❜   A beat. Residual sarcasm is swallowed to allow for a more sober reply.   ❛❛ I need t’be at the ready. ❜❜

[bloodxhound]

her eyes bore so intensely into the back of his head that even a drill is envious. girl blink, please

     𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐌, carpeting the surface of a couch table not his own; small and girlish, made for leisure conversation while enjoying tea and snacks instead of poring over security concepts in silence. Ray traces the routes to all available exits with a calloused finger, committing the paths from car to venue and venue to car to his memory for the most efficient course. A quick drop-off and pickup with minimal opportunities for crazed fans and stalkers to threaten his charge’s safety. Thousands of eyes will descend upon her tomorrow, expecting entertainment, glitter and glamour, but no gaze will be allowed to cut as impressively as the one stabbing into his back right now, inserting itself into his awareness with the abruptness of a splinter penetrating skin. He doesn't immediately address her though. Instead, the rustle of papers that knows no rush, and the hunch of a back that fears no blows. Minutes slip by before his voice ruptures the silence.   ❛❛ You keep starin’ at me like that, I’ll start chargin’ for the view. Now, what's up? ❜❜

[bloodxhound]

     ❛❛ 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓, ❜❜  he grumbles, drowsy, coarse, yet undeniably tender. In the dark his hold draws taut, pulling Diego into his warmth, a cocoon of tangling limbs and rustling sheets. He safeguards even when the room is empty and the only threats come from within. One hand rests on his partner’s nape—grasping, not squeezing—as his thumb begins to rub slow circles into tense skin. His other hand runs along his back as if mapping the contour of his grief, as if the shape of his spine could tell him just how much of it his body is housing. That same hand comes to a stop beneath the covers, settling firmly like an anchor against his lower back.   ❛❛ Talk t’me. Don’t shut me out. What’s wrong? ❜❜

continued from here / @kagoshou

[kagoshou]

head tilts slightly behind security glass; lingering thoughts processing the onslaught of insults. perhaps his is the easier role, all things considered—judgment received, awaiting a distant end. free from second-guesses and the complicated politics of the outside world's legal system. no questions of morality or of values. limited vision and sparse knowledge have somehow not restricted his view in the slightest. in fact, it seems that he can see clearer than ever. "ha. there are two types of people in this world. the ones that aren't perturbed by the thought of a sentient hedgehog picking up the reins of justice in court and the ones who find the sight entertaining and troubling all at once. ... be that as it may, personal judgment becomes redundant in the face of truth and i'm not one to contest reality based on whether i like it or not." ( ... granted, in the meantime, the detective is burdened with all ).

"—either way, partner," he fixes his increasingly deteriorating posture with a long-drawn sigh. unwelcoming sleeping quarters are only the second-worst drawback of prison life—somewhere after the horrendously cheap coffee that's distributed during wee hours in the dining hall. even now, he's feeling the echo of pointy, old mattress springs digging into his back. "it's part of human nature to speak flawed verdicts and to ... 'fuck up'. i don't really mind embracing the title of 'washout'. it's pretty fitting." what with the color having been drained from his features after succumbing to a first death? ( or, less literally, his willingness to abandon life after completing one simple task ). the hint of a humorous smile seizes the corners of his mouth. it's not like the detective would understand the gist of this joke, though. perhaps he should explain at least this much. "... since my hair used to be much darker." ... ... ... pause. no audience laughter. just a confession that's neither wanted nor of objective importance. he moves on. "i don't really mind, but ... for someone like you, potential failings will hardly annul what you have achieved already. whatever you think i'm thinking shouldn't matter that much, right?"

[bloodxhound]

     𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑. The word had felt caustic on his tongue when he spat it out, but as it echoes from Godot’s mouth, the sentiment seems to rot away into nothingness, evaporating into a sigh he cannot hear but see. Their distance seems enormous to him now, as impenetrable as the security barrier placed between them. He yearns to do away with it, to break through partition and man alike. What would shatter first, he wonders, the glass or his fist? Certainly not his resolve. Such musings spell restraint, for true impulse would’ve rendered any such thought superfluous. For now, there’s only the unceasing, white-hot burn of his stare, competing with the non-descript glare of Godot’s visor.   

❛❛ Is it also human nature to kill? To take the easy way out? ❜❜   He scoffs, the bitter taste in his mouth forcing his lips into a grimace.   ❛❛ You embrace that too? ❜❜   His fists tighten, harmlessly tucked away in the fold of his arms, yet itching for something, someone they could pummel into.   ❛❛ Spare me the autobiographical bullshit. You never were generous with details ‘bout yourself. By now I've lost interest. ❜❜

     It shouldn’t matter, Godot’s right. It should’ve ceased to matter the moment he learned what the former prosecutor’s secrecy amounted to. Yet he keeps returning, aggrieved and scornful, to subject him with the reality of a world he chose to exchange for this grey tomb from which he might never rise again. If not for his health, then because of his self-ruinous mindset. His nose twitches, rippling the skin along the bridge into wrinkles like that of a threatened dog, though his teeth remain tucked behind his lips, set to grind as his jaw grows taut. He tries to not dwell on this, the grimness of the situation, his helplessness. Least of all here, right in front of Godot. It only invites encumbrance, the kind of sentiments that are eager to chip away at his anger, to challenge it. He’s not having it. Spite will be his armor. ❛❛ We gotta fill these visits with somethin'. So, go ahead. Speak your mind. Tell me what you're really thinkin'. ❜❜

[kagoshou]

     “… … as the saying goes, detective—” no wonder his frosty expression eludes the steely confines of his mask. clenched jaw and stayed fist are plenty indicator for discontent. “—when your ignorance exceeds your knowledge, best keep your mouth shut.”

[bloodxhound]

     𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐅𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄, brittle and short-lived. It breaks beneath the weight of the detective’s curiosity mere moments later.   ❛❛ When my ignorance exceeds my knowledge, ❜❜   he repeats, adding his own spin,   ❛❛ that’s usually when I start diggin’. If you're so bothered by my assumptions, correct 'em. ❜❜   

[kagoshou]

      he swallows his words ( and his humor ) at once to the point where a low, electric buzz, emanated by perennial light, is all that remains to permeate silence. “… ha,” a dry laugh mixes in. ( fair enough. the biggest joke in the equation is himself, isn’t it? ) “solving that riddle and dealing with the bitter flavors life mixes into our cups are two different things.”

[bloodxhound]

     𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐀, his resurfacing grin seems to say. But it dissipates in the thickening air before it's fully able to come ashore.   ❛❛ Geez. What’s with that look, ❜❜   he frowns.   ❛❛ What she do, cheat on you? ❜❜     

[sinsolucion]

      he thought simply finding heels a struggle, unaware how painful wearing them would be. booking it for a change of attire was a trek his ankles wasn't prepared to make, even with that haunting voice encouraging the run. had his coat not been his signature, nigh an extension of the man himself, perhaps he could've feigned another persona. he'd two other options, though gant was more probable to bear fruit.   

❝ you little shit, ❞   he snarls, amicable smile a front for fury. could he even trust requesting ray to get the spares in his office, or would it simply 'go missing' the second he was left to his own devices?  ❝ isn't it charity month?! ❞  

[bloodxhound]

     𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄, the insult feeds his amusement, threatening to burst from his mouth in a hearty laugh. Shoulders pinched, front teeth rake across his lower lip, forcing his laughter down, where its phantom reverberates inside his throat.   ❛❛ Noooo? ❜❜   He feigns innocence about as well as a wolf coughing up fibers of sheep wool.   ❛❛ I’m pretty sure that’s next month. ❜❜   He isn’t sure at all, but he’s audacious enough to hope Soren will fall for the same trick twice.   ❛❛ You didn’t double-check? That’s so unlike you. Kinda like you were real eager to play dress-up. ❜❜

[flowerytale]

Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin, featured in “A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953″

[bloodxhound]

"merry christmas, punk. come do the fireworks show with me on new years; don't think we've gotten you a front row seat for that." the gleam in is eyes threatens both a good time, and horrendous mischief.

     𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐎'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄. Glinting and foreboding, it beckons to his challenge-seeking nature. Nothing good will come from that look, but it would be a big mistake to show himself hesitant, lest he be branded a coward. So, his chin tips, shoulders squared, brandishing a grin of his own.   ❛❛ Hell yeah, count me in! ❜❜   A mentee serves as his mentor’s mirror, and he harbors every aspiration to fulfill his role for once. Call it a Christmas miracle, if you will. Lids lower as mischief sharpens his grin into a wolfish visage, pearly whites contesting the shine of glacier-blues.   ❛❛ You ever dodge a rocket? ❜❜

[bloodxhound]

the vague reflection of stray red berries among rugged leaves flashes briefly over his mask's metal frame before losing itself to the threefold glow in its center. "gee." up there it dangles, just out of reach, even for a man of his height, rendered reasonably mobile by a fair share of caffeine. "ever wonder how those mistle toes just start appearing at this time of the year? whatever are they doing before this? hibernate throughout summer in their tiny mistly dens?"

     𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇. Holidays marked by stiff, orchestrated galas and the weight of expectations, by lavish banquets and wealth flaunted through donations and gifts. He prefers what he calls his own now, to stand barefoot in the kitchen of his shared home, where nothing but his own whimsy dictates his festive aspirations. Simple, imperfect, real. Like his sherpa jacket that still smells faintly of pine from when he wrestled their tree into the stand earlier. Or the sprig of mistletoe dangling from a support beam overhead, its glistening berries huddled together like the pair beneath.

     Ray’s gaze drops, settling on his partner, who has been drawn into the cushy confines of his burly arms for an embrace. From deep within his chest sounds a chuckle, low, rumbling, amused.   ❛❛ Yeah... Almost like someone got up at the crack of dawn to strategically place ‘em ‘round the place. The hell’s up with that? ❜❜   A shameless smirk avows his guilt.   ❛❛ Come to think of it though... I don’t remember puttin’ up this one. You got anythin’ to say in your defense? ❜❜   A quirked brow embellishes his curled lips, head tilting in accusatory fashion. His hand rises, calloused thumb tracing the curve of Diego’s cheek down to his bearded chin, inspecting, gauging. Whatever defense he planned on, he's not given the chance to assert it. Adoring eyes close as he stifles his partner's response against his lips.

[bloodxhound]

my favorite paper folding fiend / @kamipyre ♡

[bloodxhound]

     𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑, fogged up windows provide seclusion, blurring the twinkling Christmas lights outside into bright smears of color. In the haze of abiding cinnamon and nutmeg, it becomes easy to forget the world at large, his duty that looms beyond the quietude of the holidays. It’s the only peace he’s known in a long while. Crimson shades of blood have been exchanged for those of candy canes, bows, and baubles. Fingers idly flipping through old family albums instead of stolen, incriminating documents. No chases or brawls. Just the little embarrassments at the hand of a mother who relishes reminiscing about her son’s childhood. 

     Under the sway of it all, he’s recovered some mischief.   ❛❛ What, ❜❜   he grins,   ❛❛ you don’t believe in Christmas miracles? ❜❜   Spurned on by the lack of outright rejection he’s come to expect from his friend, he invites himself to his personal space. He leans in, close enough to taste the mulled wine on Diego’s breath, but not close enough to grow drunk on it. Leather brushes wool when he adds,   ❛❛ As it so happens, I know for a fact he only wants to lie beneath your tree. ❜❜   As a present, maybe. Or a lovesick puppy that’s not been invited to bed. It doesn’t matter.

     Thick brows furrow for a short-lived moment in response to the barrage of Christmas tunes. He’s quick to temper the volume, thwarting distraction.   ❛❛ Is that what’s on the note, her number? ❜❜   He supplies his provocation with a playful tone. His gaze rakes down Diego’s coat, fingers following suit mere seconds later, itching to quell his curiosity.   ❛❛ Hah. Why wait ‘til next year? No time like the present. I'll add his. ❜❜

continued from here / @kagoshou ♡

[kagoshou]

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg follows them to the car, lingering like the warmth of his mother’s home that seems to have soaked into the detective’s cheeks. He leans back in his leather seat, belly filled with holiday roast, face awash in the glow of fairy lights dangling from the houses lining the street. Outside, snowflakes lazily drift past the windshield. Ray turns his head at Diego, watching as the folded note his mother slipped him at her doorstep vanishes inside his coat.  ❛❛ Don’t get too chummy with her, ❜❜  he chides playfully.  ❛❛ Widow or not, my mom’s off-limits. ❜❜  The smile that’s gracing his features dilutes the reluctant concern that’s nestling in-between his implicit accusation.  ❛❛ But I hear she got a real handsome son who’s still a bachelor. ❜❜

he nests the piece of paper deep down his inner pocket. god forbid this little treasure would fall victim to weather, theft, or his own negligence. "oh ... ? and why is that?" his voice resounds eventually, dampened by thin ice coats that had taken to adorning ray's well-kept vehicle while they'd been off wallowing in sugar, spice, and other pleasantries behind homely doors. from the beginning with, it's her who got chummy first. who'd insisted he'd join in on family festivities when his alternative would've been some mandatory visits and a lonesome evening beside a barren windowsill. maybe he would've lit a candle at one point or another—albeit driven more by nostalgia and remembrance rather than festive spirit.

shoulder blades sink into the familiar backrest; bearded chin tips lightly toward the other man. he decides to rewrite his own question, repaying cautious banter with a tease of his own. "i'm sure her handsome son got plenty of suitors. who am i to play make-believe?" never mind the more-than-fleeting looks and lingering touches. the brusque worries about health and habits. the fond smile at a lavishly equipped dinner table. he redirects his attention ahead to where stray flakes meet their demise at the hands of a slowly heating windshield, leaving behind glistening trails on reinforced glass. ... ... it's all just a tad too unrealistic. still, he'd rather be sitting here than on his rustic kitchen chair and moments should be savored as they come, no different from a fresh brew of dark roast at dawn. a hint of mischief rises to the corners of his mouth as he straps himself in, then leans forward to turn on the radio.

"ha. but what do you know? maybe i'll get both their numbers next year," or so he claims as he lets his voice get drowned out by the rising volume of never-ending christmas music.

[kodapi]

     ‹ The confirmation he was looking for! He wore a bright smile from ear to ear at the belief his search for someone quite capable had wrapped up nicely, case file now produced from where it had once been so safely tucked away. Oh how he wished merely hiding it would allow him to spirit it away once more to pour more of his heart into it through the late night, but fate was so cruel and cold. ›

    ❝ Excellent! A pleasure to meet you, Detective Barlowe. I'm Private Detective Koda here on a quick visit, ❞ ‹ came the shorter man's earnest, relaxed reply; it was the calm before the theatrics that would inevitably ensue. › ❝ I have here a case file that I must unfortunately rehouse to a man such as yourself. I can't fathom why, and frankly I'm feeling rather slighted, but you seem like the kind of guy who will treat this case with care and respect it deserves. ❞

     ‹ Although the playful witticism was evident when explaining what he was there to do, it was followed up by a genuine assertion of Ray's character — the honest belief that Ray would be someone who could take it on and wrap it up with a nice little bow. Energetic and odd as he was, there was not a shred of deceit to be found, not a drop of glaze to be seen, with almost a sweetness to those eyes that you'd only see in those younger in years before the world had wrung the innocence from them. A strange fellow, but he meant well. ›

    ❝ Locked room murder, if that piques your fancy, ❞‹ Shuuji continued as he glanced the file's cover over once more as though he were speaking to a second person. › ❝ "You may have heard about it. Originally it was going to be in your guys' hands anyways, but I was asked to come on and take the case instead. I guess they changed their mind after the last round of evidence I submitted. Shame, that; I was enjoying unraveling the secrets! Though, if you'd like to keep me on the case... I could waive my service fees...~ ❞

     ‹ Ah, there was that smile, that cheeky lopsided ear-to-ear grin he was known to wear when a spark of delightful mischief had lit a small fire in his heart. The gaze was expectant now, hoping the promise of free aid from the same man who had already done most of the legwork would tempt Ray into letting him squirrel around the request and keep chipping away at it. ›

[bloodxhound]

     𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄, this proposal that is to whisk him away from the looming monotony of office work. A fate he has begrudgingly resigned himself to in the face of absent alternatives. He should consider himself lucky to receive an easy escape, yet suspicion rears its snout, sniffing the air for the hidden agenda he suspects to lurk amidst Detective Koda’s blinding radiance. But despite his scrutinizing gaze there’s little he can make out. There’s only this go-getter, too hopeful or perhaps a little too discerning when it comes to deciphering Ray’s sense of diligence.   ❛❛ Well, you see, I’m a busy guy... ❜❜   he replies noncommittally, though the spark lit in deep brown eyes betrays his nonchalance. The file folder is snatched from prosthetic hands with the hastiness of a starving dog being offered table scraps.   ❛❛ But I guess it won’t hurt to look it over. A locked room murder, you said? ❜❜

     Ray casually slinks away from his cubicle, casting a furtive glance towards the back of the open office, past rows of desks and report-crazed colleagues. He spots the Chief, who, as usual, is too preoccupied with whatever is happening on his computer screen to take much notice of the comings and goings of his subordinates. The case file should be processed by him, but why risk this unexpected prize when Ray could feign reasonable ignorance if his dismissal of protocol were questioned later? After all, Koda approached—accosted—him in such a self-assured manner, it’s only natural to presume permissibility, that this choice has been communicated with his superior in advance.

     He listens to Koda’s explanations with half an ear as he skims the findings, though only the final addition beckons him to look up. So, there it is, Koda’s angle. He’s dug his claws too deeply into this case to withdraw his grip now. Unfortunately, like any ill-behaved mutt, Ray’s not inclined to share. An offhand that won’t be necessary dangles at the tip of his tongue, but that bright, expectant gaze gives him pause. It drains the dismissal right from his mouth. Why does he feel like refusing this man’s not so subtle request would be akin to kicking a stray? Ray grimaces, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth as if pocketing his initial answer. Maybe he shouldn’t deny his liberator. He would be tied to his desk if it weren't for him.   ❛❛ How generous. Aren't I lucky... ❜❜   he chuckles wryly, words tinged with reluctance.   ❛❛ An' what's the condition for droppin' your fee, a free ride to the crime scene? ❜❜

[bloodxhound]

i love ray. that’s all : )