Colin Blackwood

52 years old - Detective Chief Inspector

[colin-blackwood]

Colin Blackwood ♦ Cis man (He/ Him) ♦ 52 ♦ Law Enforcement ♦ Detective Chief Inspector

“Honestly? I’d rather stick my dick in a blender than hear another one of those lies.”

divorce tw, siblings death tw, murder tw, guns tw

Colin was born in Leeds (Yorkshire) in 1970. His mother worked in a canning factory while his father worked in one of the many collieries of the region. With his elder brother, they’d gone to public school with hopes and dreams and yet the dooming realization, as years passed, that there was no rising from their condition. Colin’s brother started working in the mines, but on his fourteenth year, in 1984, miners went on strike across the country to protest Thatcher’s decision to close 20 coal mines. Although the strike went on to last a whole year, his father and his brother lost their jobs, eventually, as the mines shut down permanently. His father went on to find a new job in the months that followed, but Colin’s brother, Henry chose to stop following his father’s footsteps and instead joined one of his friends at the fire department.

Colin loved hearing his brother’s stories over Sunday lunch, and he told himself that one day, he too would have stories of his own to tell the family, and you could say that he managed to do just that.

He started as a constable and slowly but surely made his way up the hierarchy. An arrest he made in 2001 earned him a spot on the front pages of local newspapers as he put an end to the macabre career of a serial killer. He was offered a book deal and a position as an instructor at the London Police Academy, but both were refused by Colin, who didn’t want to stray away from his mission. Leeds was however growing a bit too small for him, and he made them a counter offer : he wouldn’t work for the Academy, but he’d love a place in one of their precincts. London would be a nicer place for he and his wife to raise their unborn child. But when one Blackwood brother was met with success, one was met with a much darker fate. Colin had been working in London for a week when he received a phone call from his mother to let him know that his brother had perished in a fire. The perspective of becoming a father might have been the only thread that kept Colin from drowning in his sorrow then, but as years passed, feelings of guilt and helplessness replaced the pain of loss, and it was through burying himself in work and accepting more cases that Colin made it through his days. His attitude led the pair to an inevitable divorce, one which Colin never really blamed himself for.

Although he eventually recovered from losing his brother so soon, Colin finds it sometimes difficult to let things go, and tends to get obsessive working on cases. He can count on his partner not to let him fall into the rabbit hole.

Recently, Colin gathered the attention of the press on another serial killer case he’d solved, but this time, not for the same reasons. Having shot the man dead during the arrest, he’s now under investigation to figure whether his actions were justified.

+ / -  hot headed, honorable, faithful, gruff, dutiful, logical, traditional, easily angered

Every now and then, he’ll get phone calls from True Crime podcasters regarding his 2001 arrest. Although he never once agreed to one of these, requests still end up in his professional inbox anyway.

While he doesn’t particularly resents the Conservative Party for what they did to his family (after all, the Labor Party also shut down collieries), Colin has an unspeakable hatred for Margaret Thatcher. He may have peed on her grave at some inebriated point.

The serial killer that Colin shot was an arsonist and it is the belief of some people that the detective acted the way he did because his brother died in a fire that had been the handy work of another arsonist.

Although Colin doesn’t precisely spend a lot of time out of work, he will make time for his daughter. They can spend hours on jigsaw puzzles, but another favorite activity of the pair is going to the movies.

[colin-blackwood]

jack-seo​:

“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” Jack deadpans, presently more interested in watching a single ant crawling down the side of a table leg than in anything Colin has to say. Getting the DCI off their asses is a priority now, but he figures it shouldn’t take too long. They’ll lay low for a few weeks, keep their hands to themselves until Blackwood’s caught a different scent and fucks off back to his own cases. It’ll hurt to lose the disposable extra income the raids afford them, but Jack isn’t made for life behind bars. He’s too pretty for it.

Bored of following the ant’s process Jack eventually looks back up at Colin, hands resting and folded pleasantly atop the table. “Good then. I understand your concern with the paperwork mistake, but I won’t sit back and let you insinuate that my team had anything to do with the missing coke. I’m glad we cleared that up.” What a joke. Each passing day serves to prove just how dire the situation has become: the MET truly is on its last legs if Colin is the best they have to offer.

“As you say, sir. Are we done here? I have another meeting to attend.”

“This, we couldn’t more agree on,” Seo’s deadpan attitude is met with a smile that is too rare not to be vaguely threatening. He knew how things worked. Like a child caught red handed, they’d make an effort, show discipline, but hold habits died hard, and when they’d flinch, he’d come with his metaphorical spoon and scoop them out of their fraudulent lives, clearing the London streets of these rotten pieces of meat who dared call themselves police.

His gaze follows Jack’s and his eyes catch sight of that ant. Mmm. While he doesn’t like the idea of destroying an ant colony, they couldn’t let ants roam around the precinct like that.

Making quiet note of it, he sighed. “A pure misunderstanding. I have never accused you or your team mates of being responsible for it, although perhaps should I concern myself with this being your conclusion. There is something wrong with the numbers here, and I’ll find who messed up,” a pause. “Like I said, I would never think a coworker able of using their influence and access for their own personal gain. We’re on the same team, aren’t we?” And there was that smile again.

Not one bit amused, he let it reach his eyes, nodding along as the other got impatient. Didn’t take him long, Colin thought. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to hold back London’s finest a second longer.” Did he mean himself? You betcha. That arrogant prick could enjoy a few more weeks of freedom, he supposed. In the meantime, Colin would keep his eyes trained on them.

[airiblackwood]

☆ﾟ*·ﾟPOUTING, AIRI STARED at her father, wondering how he liked those movies. Why would you want to watch something like that? Yes, she did question all the time why she was scared of them. It made no sense. She wasn't scared of much at all, so why did these movies scare her? Maybe she just needed to try again, and maybe with her dad one day. Because no matter what, he'd there to protect her, and Airi knew that. As he kissed the top of her head, she felt warm, happy, and just so thankful. He was always so good to her. She was lucky. Hearing that nickname made her smile even more. It'd always been one of her favorites. "Glad you think so, 'cause we'd have a problem otherwise," she explained, laughing.

A light laugh left her mouth. He was right. Popcorn was always a great snack, but to eat it at a movie theatre was even more genius. She'd have to look that up one day out of curiosity. "I could eat popcorn every day, you know." Airi glanced down at her popcorn wanting to start munching on it, but she had a rule. You never started eating the popcorn until after the movie started already. That way, you had enough popcorn for the whole movie and didn't need to rush out for more, or have nothing left to eat during the movie.

Airi followed her father to the theatre, nodding at his question. "Yeah, 10." These days were always comforting. Who would've thought that simply spending time with your father could be so wonderful? As they walked through the theatre, all the redhead could do was smile. Finding her seat, she got comfortable and rested the large bowl of popcorn in her lap. Airi turned to face her father, knowing they had some time before the movie actually started. "So, how are you, Dad? What's been happening? Anything exciting that you can tell me?" She'd always loved hearing about her father's job, ever since she was a little kid. But really, it was mostly that she liked listening to him tell stories.

[colin-blackwood]

"Anything exciting? Oh I don't know if we can call work exciting," it was, and quite frankly far more interesting than anything else in his life right now. One of his coworkers had tried to set him up on a date with his sister, but Colin, who felt ambushed into accepting, couldn't say he had such a great time. Never mind that it was out of the question for him to do date someone who was one of his friends' family. He needed those friendships to get through the day.

There was of course the incident with the infuriating yet captivating Lucretia Winchester, the white whale he was hellbent on harpooning before his career ended, or he could have told her about his mission to get the strike team in front of a judge. He knew they were up to no good, these lads. Now, he wasn't sure of how he would manage to prove it, but if he managed to convince someone else of what he suspected, perhaps there would be less corruption in the police after they were done.

"You know, it never changes. I catch the bad guys, and the bad guys try not to get caught," simple as that. He liked the simplicity of his job, he didn't like the headaches he'd get from scratching his head over those crooks and felons. This was perhaps what became the most difficult. Time passed, and the scoundrels became harder and harder to catch. "What about you? Anything exciting at all? Work? Boyfriends?" He gave her a fond, yet teasing look, the sort only dads could pull off.

[lydiaas]

[colin-blackwood]

vvrcths​:

The strange irony of everything is all of Lucretia was an act AND she never left enough evidence behind to be found out. Phone conversations were not a convenient way to get one’s targets — completely a burn upon reading situation — or words directly from Jefe himself…

So it meant that while Colin was absolutely right about her and what she could do, because he could sense it, see right through her and to her very rotten core, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it even if his boss had offered him more time and money; to be fair, she could have put a stop to it early on with her own sway but didn’t… she wasn’t going to let him know he might have, at some point, had her sweating.

No, Lucretia LIKED holding all the cards and wasn’t going to overplay her hand. She pulled back as he asked for a statement and gave a swift nod, smiling (shakily, how did she manage to look so terrified of a situation she was never in danger of), “Of course, anything I can do to help!”

So helpful, that Lucretia.

Beneath it all she was cool as a cucumber, but nerves wracked her body for the sake of show. She looked over at the man who’d been her would-be mugger and recoiled away a bit herself, folding her arms loosely across her torso and the smile wilted as if practiced, “I do not have to ride with him, do I?”

She could kill him if she did. Oops, finger slipped. No, she wasn’t that sloppy. But, if you look at it this way… he really was a mugger trying to hurt people and Lucretia HAD, in her own way, helped apprehend him.

She should have been a cop. No, no, then she’d have to deal with bloodhounds like Colin and their incessant need to put morality into every action. No shades of gray in that world and she wasn’t having it.

“Ride with him?” Well that would not be very responsible of him, now would it. That would be against the MET police code of conduct, and a PR disaster (though he’d established a while ago already that he didn’t give a flying or swimming fuck about PR). As far as he was concerned, PR was just synonymous to a charade, an hypocritical piece of screenplay performed to the public to keep them happy. Fucking politics, in short. He hated that. 

When his brother passed, when his father lost his job, PR did their best trying to sugar coat it, instead of protecting them, the small folks who made things possible.

“You’re coming with me, by foot, to the station. It’s a hundred meters from here,” he glanced down at her feet. He didn’t precisely care for her choice of shoes, and he knew she wouldn’t try to run off, not with him around. “Let’s get going, shall we?” He wasn’t really pleasant, but there was his quiet evening watching telly or reading a book by the fireplace gone. “I’d rather we don’t spend all night sorting this matter through,” he reached in his pocket for his phone, to get officers to join them halfway on the pavement. “Let’s get moving, and no funny business,” hard to tell who he was speaking to then.

[colin-blackwood]

vvrcths​: @vvrcths​

Lucretia’s lithe form darted back as Colin intervened. Of course it had to be the one detective in all of London intent on finding out who she actually was. She couldn’t be saved by a random citizen who would just dote upon her for a moment and then, once she had sufficiently stuttered her way through ‘calling a car’, let her go.

No, it had to be London’s #1 bloodhound detective and his duty to protect.

She knew, on some level, that he’d probably known it was her and may have hesitated. He believed with all his heart that she was not remotely who she said she was — he thought of her as a virus that needed to be eradicated from the city, not a socialite who poses no REAL threat — but there was that underlying sense of duty in Colin to not let crime happen… regardless of whom it was happening to.

Were she anyone else the sight of this man easily pinning her would-be attacker and absolutely terrifying his friends would be enough to garner far more attention than Colin probably wanted. A flush in their bodies — which Lucretia now tried to mime even though every part of her wanted to recoil in disgust at her own act — while watching him with a sort of lazy, needy gaze.

It was a testament to her ability to put forth a certain persona when necessary that she had managed to cause a faint, tremulous breath to escape as he turned to face her. Her entire body had that underlying tremble of a woman who feels like she could have died… even though Lucretia would never have let it gone THAT far.

“Detective… I am in your debt! I feel like this happens far too often. My hero, always saving me in some way or another. What would I do without you?” She let out a strangled gasp and stumbled forward, giving in to the persona of throwing herself against his chest as her eyes misted dutifully; the only thing that kept her satisfied in the act was knowing how much he was hating that she was that close to him.

His head could roll through the image of dead bodies left without a piece of evidence on them likely embraced in just such a way by Lucretia in the past. She was very good at what she did and very good at the act… there was truly only one person who could see to the core of her, but it didn’t stop Colin from trying.

“Is there anything I can do to repay you?” Again, a thing she had no intention of following through on, but a lilt in her tone suggesting something more… especially as people now started to approach the hero and his maiden fair — it’s a lot easier now that the threat was gone to rubberneck and get involved, after all.

It took a lot from Colin not to show how repulsed he was with her Shakespeare company worthy performance. What in the goddamn was she doing now? And people were buying that? Couldn’t they see that this woman was as empty as a tin box of biscuits left for 10 minutes in a police precinct. 

The criminal tried to wiggle his way out of his grip, which had Colin twist his arm further up, uncomfortably so. “Let’s not turn this into something worse now shall we, pal? Resisting arrest? Not a bloody good look, ain’t it?” Shifting to hold him with one hand, he took out the cuffs he kept on his belt, fitting them around the other’s wrists. Meanwhile, she kept her pantomime going, and Colin’s patience was growing thinner and thinner. He wanted to recoil, beg her to stop her act, but that was not happening. He wouldn’t snap at that woman, give her the satisfaction of seeing him weak, or let her imagine for a second that she had him around her little finger. Fucking harpy.

He knew what kind of person she was, but without any solid evidence to back up his claims, the investigation stalled, and of course, his supervisor refused to give him more funds to stalk her, have her phone bugged, or for Colin to just have more hours for this. People were fucking murdered in their houses and he was powerless.

Little sick fuck was now openly pushing him under the bus in front of a whole crowd, and they felt endeared by it. Damsel in distress offers her savior a reward, how wholesome was that? What a fucking nightmare. “I’ll need you to follow me to the police station, for a deposition,” he gave her a sympathetic smile, then glanced over at his grocery bag by the wall. Well there went his quiet evening. He didn’t want to do this, but Colin knew that, at least, at the precinct, they’d be in his realm, that he had a shot at getting the upperhand.

[colin-blackwood]

"It was a thriller," at least this was what he'd read. Clearly there was something akin to a lie in those articles, because she had spent half of the movie hiding her face behind her hands, and taking a look at the movie through her fingers. Colin had been endeared by it, sure, but he couldn't help the twinge of guilt that stung him as he saw his daughter jump in fear. "Besides, you've got me right next to you. What could happen to you?"

"Well I heard the Banshees of Inisherin is not fun at all, so we’ll skip that one,” Knock at the Cabin... The name alone made him feel like they weren’t going to be seeing something lighthearted. You couldn’t really go wrong with Spielberg, he supposed. “You haven’t seen it yet, have you?” Pointing in the direction of the Fabelmans’ poster, Colin turned his head toward his daughter in wonder. “No objections? Then here we go,” he walked past the digital kiosk to approach a cinema worker instead. He absolutely was old fashioned for it, but he detested relying on technology, especially the sort that suppressed jobs. Though he knew fairly well that his daughter had (been taught well) brought her own food into the theater, he insisted on keeping the tradition of buying her sugary popcorn alive and well. “And a small, salted one,” hands full of food, they headed toward the clerk.

[colin-blackwood]

airiblackwood​:

☆ﾟ*·ﾟNARROWING HER EYES, Airi glared at her father. "They kept jumping out of nowhere! And that music, excuse.” Even though the redhead loved anything that gave her an adrenaline rush, she wasn’t really very good at handling scary or thriller-ish movies. She wasn’t sure why, but they scared her quite a bit. With a completely serious look on her face, Airi tried her best to not laugh. “But what if they’re possessed by a demon and they come infect my soul? You never know!”

Widening her eyes, she looked at the poster for Banshees of Inisherin. No, that didn’t look rather fun. She wanted something fun, something that would be a really interesting story. Her eyes moved over to the poster he pointed at, Fabelman’s. “Oh! That does look interesting! I save all the good story movies for you.” Airi had gone to the movies with her friends, but she’d seen things like Puss in Boots, because she was quite sure her dad wouldn’t get as excited about a cat’s adventures as she was. Practically bouncing with excitement, she followed him inside, glad that they got to spend time together today. Quite honestly, she’d needed it. It was a long week, and she just needed a good relaxing day with her favorite person. As he handed her the sugary popcorn, Airi grinned a little evilly. “Whoever invented sugary popcorn needs to be rewarded.” As they walked to their theatre, she looked over at her dad and just smiled. “Thank you for taking the day today, Dad. I needed this, really bad.”

"Oh no, people were jumping out of nowhere, the horror.” Colin failed to understand how this was specifically what his daughter found horrific. With light laughter, the man reached out to wrap his arms around his daughter’s shoulders, giving her hair a kiss. “You’re too cute, jellybean.” With an endeared, nostagia tainted smile, Airi’s father led the way. They walked past a poster for Puss in Boots 2. How in the hell did this thing work enough for a second installment to happen? Were people actually interested into a cartoon cat’s adventure. Sure enough, he’d loved reading the Garfield comic strips back in the days but they didn’t last an hour and a half. “Whoever invented eating popcorn at the theater needs the reward,” whoever decided to sell 50 pences worth of corn for £7 did not. With what had happened to him lately, including being under close scrutiny for what he still believed was the only solution to a life threatening situation, Colin had come to realize that there was a chance he didn’t have as long as he should have, to spend with his daughter, because he had a dangerous job, and there were variables he couldn’t control. His face must have matched his thoughts then, and he tried to regain a more cheerful disposition. “It does wonders to my spirits,” he agreed, walking down the stairs and taking a look around to find the right screening room. “She said number 10, right?”

.

[airiblackwood]

☆ﾟ*·ﾟHER FAVORITE DAYS were the ones she spent with her father, simply enjoying an each other's company, the company she craved as a child. Practically running with excitement into the movie theatre, carefully concealing a fairly massive bag of Smarties in her jacket. Stuffed in the side, in what could seemingly be a jacket a little too large, but fittingly comfy for the occasion. No one would suspect anything. A movie, filled with popcorn, sodas, sneaky candy, and company was an excellent way to spend her day. Standing in front of the list of movies, Airi turned to face her father with the brightest smile on her face.

"Okay, Dad, your turn to pick the movie. No horror though, please. I'd like to keep my popcorn off my lap." Airi explained, laughing lightly, remembering the last horror movie she'd watch that resulted in popcorn strewn all over her lap with a very dissatisfied pout upon her face.

@colin-blackwood

[colin-blackwood]

"It was a thriller," at least this was what he'd read. Clearly there was something akin to a lie in those articles, because she had spent half of the movie hiding her face behind her hands, and taking a look at the movie through her fingers. Colin had been endeared by it, sure, but he couldn't help the twinge of guilt that stung him as he saw his daughter jump in fear. "Besides, you've got me right next to you. What could happen to you?"

"Well I heard the Banshees of Inisherin is not fun at all, so we’ll skip that one,” Knock at the Cabin... The name alone made him feel like they weren’t going to be seeing something lighthearted. You couldn’t really go wrong with Spielberg, he supposed. “You haven’t seen it yet, have you?” Pointing in the direction of the Fabelmans’ poster, Colin turned his head toward his daughter in wonder. “No objections? Then here we go,” he walked past the digital kiosk to approach a cinema worker instead. He absolutely was old fashioned for it, but he detested relying on technology, especially the sort that suppressed jobs. Though he knew fairly well that his daughter had (been taught well) brought her own food into the theater, he insisted on keeping the tradition of buying her sugary popcorn alive and well. “And a small, salted one,” hands full of food, they headed toward the clerk.

[adeliddell]

where: outside of black sheep gallery when: mid-afternoon around 4 pm whom: open (2/3)

One of the absolute best parts of owning one's own gallery and — to the credit of her own background — already being wealthy was that you could decide when your day was over. You didn't absolutely need to stay until midnight or leave the doors open on the backside idea of making that one last sale; you had freedom.

That being said, Adeline wasn't one to close early anyway. She loved her job, and she loved that she could help her family out with it. She didn't dread waking up in the morning and having to go into work, she just... well, she'd gotten a little bored and wanted to go home, get ready, and go out for a drink, to be honest.

Her keys in the door of the glass front gallery — large floor to ceiling windows allowing a peek at the art inside and, though nary a sign of security was present, seeming almost foreboding if one dared to break in — locking it up tight and depositing them quietly into the front pocket of her peacoat. As she turned to hail down a cab, she almost ran headlong into someone.

A hand rose to brush her hair out of her face and before she could peer up she offered, "That was entirely my fault, I know. Sorry! I really should watch where I am and where I am going!" with a hint of wholesome self deprecation and genial amusement.

[colin-blackwood]

adeliddell​:

where: outside of black sheep gallery when: mid-afternoon around 4 pm whom: open (2/3)

One of the absolute best parts of owning one’s own gallery and — to the credit of her own background — already being wealthy was that you could decide when your day was over. You didn’t absolutely need to stay until midnight or leave the doors open on the backside idea of making that one last sale; you had freedom.

That being said, Adeline wasn’t one to close early anyway. She loved her job, and she loved that she could help her family out with it. She didn’t dread waking up in the morning and having to go into work, she just… well, she’d gotten a little bored and wanted to go home, get ready, and go out for a drink, to be honest.

Her keys in the door of the glass front gallery — large floor to ceiling windows allowing a peek at the art inside and, though nary a sign of security was present, seeming almost foreboding if one dared to break in — locking it up tight and depositing them quietly into the front pocket of her peacoat. As she turned to hail down a cab, she almost ran headlong into someone.

A hand rose to brush her hair out of her face and before she could peer up she offered, “That was entirely my fault, I know. Sorry! I really should watch where I am and where I am going!” with a hint of wholesome self deprecation and genial amusement.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” hands on his knees, the DCI took a look at his surroundings but couldn’t set his eyes on the person he was chasing. Either the little shit had managed to out run him, either he’d taken the wrong turn at some point. Result was the same in the end. He’d lost the damn bugger in that crowd. Fucking hell.

Out of breath, and clearly out of luck, the detective bumped into someone as he straightened himself up. To say he was in a pissy mood then would have been an understatement, and it took the woman’s quick apology to put a dent into his eruption of annoyance. “Can’t you bloody-” Right, she’d apologized. And he still was out of breath, and looking like a mad man, most likely. “Guess I had a bit of a long day,” he explained. It wasn’t precisely an apology, but years of being in the police taught that polite habit away. “Are you alright?”

[vvrcths]

where: a side street in downtown london when: early evening whom: @colin-blackwood

Lucretia hated how her life unfolded sometimes — mostly when within the public eye — and the humiliations she had to suffer for the sake of being a woman of privilege.

People would ask what she was wearing but nothing deeper than that; if a person were to pick her pocket, she'd be acutely aware and sizzling with anger but have to pretend she had not noticed and, depending on the pick-pocket, say goodbye to the item forever; if a man were to hit on her and be a little aggressive she would need to wither demurely because, given her own way, she'd break every bone in his body and make him say he was sorry, at length, before letting him potentially live.

Playing a wilting violet afforded her safety in her life in the long run, a thing she desperately needed to comfortably continue her work and keep up appearances, but she hated every second of it. The demure, sometimes wild socialite who spends her money as if shopping is everything and goes to galas and events as if her life depended on it. A complete departure from the woman she was at her core.

But, it was especially frustrating when someone attempted to harm her or rob her, especially so much so in the public eye that someone could easily happen by and she couldn't just make them wish they'd never crossed her.

No, hands on her bag and a knife drawn on her — she was immediately annoyed at the state of the knife and the fact that it was not only cheap but poorly handled — and she was forced to, after a beat of annoyance internally, start screaming for help. Her voice carried, and she performed with desperation and a practiced fervor, wanting nothing more than for this to end and her to thank her 'savior' for as long as was politely necessary.

There were three men, and though people were passing by in the side-street, most of them were keeping to themselves, acting as if they'd heard or seen nothing — a thing Lucretia would normally appreciate but right now it was dragging out her misery — because it wasn't their issue to deal with. The rich woman would recover from a lost purse and most people who had knives out for a robbery weren't willing to use them. They were meant for threat more than use. But why risk yourselves for someone you don't know who is probably better off than you anyway, right?

Another loud scream, her face twitching into vague boredom and annoyance as she pulled her purse back towards her one more time. If she had to abandon that bag and lose one of her favorite weapons, a thin knife sewn against its lining on the side to be hidden from pat down searches, she'd be more than angry about the lack of help she'd received.

This shit was insufferable, she could have killed all three of them and deposited the bodies somewhere in the time that she'd been doing this dance, "HELP!"

[colin-blackwood]

vvrcths​:

where: a side street in downtown london when: early evening whom: @colin-blackwood

Lucretia hated how her life unfolded sometimes — mostly when within the public eye — and the humiliations she had to suffer for the sake of being a woman of privilege.

People would ask what she was wearing but nothing deeper than that; if a person were to pick her pocket, she’d be acutely aware and sizzling with anger but have to pretend she had not noticed and, depending on the pick-pocket, say goodbye to the item forever; if a man were to hit on her and be a little aggressive she would need to wither demurely because, given her own way, she’d break every bone in his body and make him say he was sorry, at length, before letting him potentially live.

Playing a wilting violet afforded her safety in her life in the long run, a thing she desperately needed to comfortably continue her work and keep up appearances, but she hated every second of it. The demure, sometimes wild socialite who spends her money as if shopping is everything and goes to galas and events as if her life depended on it. A complete departure from the woman she was at her core.

But, it was especially frustrating when someone attempted to harm her or rob her, especially so much so in the public eye that someone could easily happen by and she couldn’t just make them wish they’d never crossed her.

No, hands on her bag and a knife drawn on her — she was immediately annoyed at the state of the knife and the fact that it was not only cheap but poorly handled — and she was forced to, after a beat of annoyance internally, start screaming for help. Her voice carried, and she performed with desperation and a practiced fervor, wanting nothing more than for this to end and her to thank her ‘savior’ for as long as was politely necessary.

There were three men, and though people were passing by in the side-street, most of them were keeping to themselves, acting as if they’d heard or seen nothing — a thing Lucretia would normally appreciate but right now it was dragging out her misery — because it wasn’t their issue to deal with. The rich woman would recover from a lost purse and most people who had knives out for a robbery weren’t willing to use them. They were meant for threat more than use. But why risk yourselves for someone you don’t know who is probably better off than you anyway, right?

Another loud scream, her face twitching into vague boredom and annoyance as she pulled her purse back towards her one more time. If she had to abandon that bag and lose one of her favorite weapons, a thin knife sewn against its lining on the side to be hidden from pat down searches, she’d be more than angry about the lack of help she’d received.

This shit was insufferable, she could have killed all three of them and deposited the bodies somewhere in the time that she’d been doing this dance, “HELP!”

London was too fucking tiny.

Colin had finished work an hour and an half ago. He’d ended up getting a pint with a colleague and then some groceries for dinner. It was supposed to be a quiet evening with fettuccine alfredos, a glass of red wine and a good book. If he was absolutely honest, he had paused. Of course he recognized that voice, even as she shrieked for help. The detective felt a bit shameful that he immediately thought this to be another attempt at raising his eyebrows in irritation. Even now, as he saw it unfold, he was unsure just how much this was real. Again, if he was to be honest, he wouldn’t have bought it, if it had not been for the way these guys were behaving. Not one of them seemed to care that he was looking at them, and though they wore hoods and scarves to hide their faces, the shortest had just used the one holding Lucretia by his name. Fucking amateurs. But at least, they’d finally noticed him.

Setting his bag of groceries down, he’d sighed. But, while he reached into his coat to let them know this was where their thieving spree ended, there was this punk, pointing at him with that knife. “Not to quote one of the best movies in history, but D’you call that a knife?” Crocodile Dundee. Another classic he and Airi enjoyed very much. It was a silly movie, no doubt, but a classic non the less. “Put that thing down before you take your own eye ou-” And there came the other’s breaking point, it seemed.

Shame. Some people knew this was when they were meant to flee. Not this guy. Didn’t take a lot for a trained officer to knock that blade out of his hand and force him to kiss the wall nearby. Big mistake. Huge. Alright. Maybe this called for a movie night. “See, your friends are a lot more clever than you,” he wrinkled his nose. If he’d have loved to catch them all, he figured it would be easy to get their names from that Bozo.

Now while this clown tried to get out of the DCI’s grip, Colin had to turn to check on the poor ingenue. “You might want to grab a honey drop after that cantata, heh?”

[colin-blackwood]

jack-seo​:

“And I’m telling you again that I don’t know where the mistake came from. I didn’t do the paperwork.” It’s getting harder to keep the exasperation from his voice and his temper even. It would do Jack absolutely no good to punch Colin in the face while under such heavy scrutiny, or otherwise, but he imagines it’d be a rather satisfying feeling. Schooling his expression into something vaguely casual, he spreads his arms in an ‘I don’t know’ gesture.

“I’ve been doing this job for almost ten years now Sir.” God, showing Colin any form of respect is becoming somewhat of a struggle too. “And no one’s ever had any complaints about me or my cowboys. I’m sure whoever filled out this document has a reasonable explanation for the error. Maybe a block got lost in the aftermath, or it’s hiding under a pallet somewhere in the warehouse and clean-up missed it. It’s happened before.”

Jack lowers his arms again, folding them over his chest. How much longer does Colin intend on playing this game? They’re always careful not to leave a shred of evidence behind. The DCI’s accusations seem to stem purely from a strong dislike of Jack’s squad in particular — or at least that’s the tale they’ll have to spin for whichever HR fuckwit lands the case should Colin decide to take it that far. “Let me ask you something, Detective Chief Inspector Blackwood. If I’d actually gone through all the trouble of stealing cocaine from under your nose, do you think I’d have stopped at just one block? Surely I’d have gone for four or five. Enough to make the hassle worth the profit.” He had, of course, done exactly that. “I don’t know why you have a problem with my team and I honestly don’t care. If you want to take this to HR then please, go right ahead. I’ll give them the same statement I gave you.”

“It’s our job to find out what happened. We’re police. We solve mysteries.” And his even voice only gets disrupted by the lyric value of punctuation. “I know it’s a lot more fun to kick down doors and storm into drug dealers’ hiding spots,” not really. Colin hated having to run through dark hallways, through holes in the walls, and climb up into dusty rooms to chase after parkour maniacs (this was at least how he recalled working in narcotics), “but we need to find out what happened.”

His eyes didn’t flicker away from Jack. With a slow, long breath, the DCI relaxed into his seat, tossing the remainers of his sandwich into the waste paper basket. “And people have had several complaints about me, because I get shit done whether they like it or not.” Which meant that this was hardly a receivable argument. Sure thing, Colin had ended up being investigated by internal affairs a few times already, but he’d shown them each damn time that he was not going rogue or going down the path of corruption. He just hated the administrative bullshit they so often forced on them.

“We’re on the same side, pal. I wanna get shit done, and so do you,” but at the end of the day, could you trust someone who had no argument other than: I was never caught before. No. Still, his distaste for a waste of time was clear here, and he figured he’d throw a bone at Jack.

“I’ll tell you what. I have a bunch of things I’d rather do, and I’m sure you do too. Why don’t we both look into this on our free time. Maybe it’ll be an epiphany moment, y’know?” Could have been a nice offer, a reasonable one, if it didn’t come with the threat of your every move being watched until their next official meeting. Still, Jack and Colin both knew that this wouldn’t happen unless the DCI spent his own money and free time financing that, and he was past those days. A younger Colin would not have hesitated for a second, but this one was old, and had other interests than repairing the Met police. “If you stole that much, you’d be behind bars and I’d consider you an idiot,” who would notice one brick here and there. “But those are your words, of course. I would never dream of implying that your guys are thieves, rotten cops or something like that.” Unless... Colin offered a smile. “A problem? “ Well sure enough, he didn’t like the cowboy like attitude they exuded. Too American. “Oh no, I don’t have a problem. You’ll see things are a lot easier, however, if you stop seeing me as hostile. We’re all friends within those walls. Alright?”

[acecroft]

DANIEL CRAIG as BENOIT BLANC Knives Out (2019)

[colin-blackwood]

jack-seo​:

“That depends entirely on whether you’re going to keep asking me the same questions,” Jack replies dryly and with far too much arrogance for someone in his position. Colin is, of course, correct to suspect them, but without tangible proof his accusations are about as useful as a knife at a gunfight. Straightening up in the seat, Jack leans forwards to rest his elbows against the conference table. After the whole gym fiasco he’d gotten to work checking-in with the rest of the team to make sure their story is airtight — any potential cracks plastered up and covered with solid excuses and tangible alibis. 

There are no potential slip-ups for Colin to exploit, no contradictions or discrepancies to the tale told. Dig and prod as he may, short of tracking down the cocaine Jack has long since sold on, chalking it up to a typo is all the DCI can do. If only he weren’t so stubborn.

“Mistakes happen, don’t they? Some rookie filled out the report and fucked up on the numbers. I can track him down for you, if you want. Might even be able to get him fired.” If a guilty party is what Colin wants, then a guilty party he’ll get. Maybe the asshole up in evidence who keeps getting Jack’s coffee order wrong. “And may I suggest, if you have any further complaints about how I do my job, that you to take it up with HR? Let’s be real here. All you’re doing with these meetings is wasting both of our time. I don’t deal with the shit your guys pick up on scene. All I do is take out the guns beforehand.”

“Oh you know, I’m just being thorough,” in trying to catch the other slipping, changing his testimony. “Don’t worry about it.” He didn’t expect those tactics to work on a colleague. The other knew of them, knew what Colin was doing, where he was headed. One of the two reasons he did it was solely to be as insulting as he could be, of course, the other was of course the slim chance that it might work.

Tapping his nail with rhythm on the conference table, Colin leaned into his chair and spread his legs, getting comfortable to enjoy his sandwich. "A rookie?” He leaned forward to check the name on the report. He knew what he’d see there. Philip Carlton. That police officer might have been younger than Colin, he wouldn’t have called him a rookie and Colin was convinced that this wasn’t it. It wasn’t a missing digit, but a whole different number.

“We’re not firing someone over a typo. We’re trying to figure out where the mistake came from.” Grabbing one of the sealed bags on the table, Colin wiggles it above the table briefly. “Belonged to one of the guys you arrested. You know, the guys you almost took a bullet from?” Cry me a fockin’ river. “I told you he took a picture moments before the arrest, right? Well here’s a little algebra problem for you,” wiping his fingers clean before he picked up a  copy of a photograph on the table. “How many bricks of cocaine do you count here?” More than what they had in evidence (which matched the report). “I do have a problem with you and your bunch of cowboys.” A necessary evil, some said. Colin disagreed. “Because we have something fishy at stake here and it’s in your best interest that I do not show this to HR.”

[colin-blackwood]

vvrcths​:

There was an unnatural ease to the way she stood in front of the man who was sniffing around her life like a bloodhound that spoke to her lack of fear in most things. Perhaps it was a death wish, but more than likely it was just that she truly did not see any way in which someone could pin something on her, and even if they were to try… well, let’s just say Lucretia will never see the inside of a cell.

No, at the moment she looked every bit the posh lady of society that she was meant to seem, bags laden with fancy lingerie and silk sheets, a few patisserie delights, and the bags themselves seemed as if they’d cost more than the rent on a place in the cheapest part of London. Lucretia indulged in the finer things but they were not necessary to her happiness (except for her bathroom, she’ll murder someone for her bathroom) but she was meant to keep up appearances so she spends it as if it’s infinite… and to some degrees it is.

Had she her way, she’d have long since spent her money on new knives and unique weapons for her caches at home. However, as it stood at least some of these things would have some use later on down the line in participating in her first favored pastime. A hand came out, not so bold as to touch him, but to hover her hand over his forearm as if she might; a familiar gesture reserved for friends, definitely not two people who were very aware of the other and knew that it would end poorly.

Lucretia knew that if anyone would find it it could easily be the man before her, and she knew also that he did not remotely buy into her act, however dutifully she kept it up. At the same time he had those inklings about her, something that most people who cross her path never even bother with. A good detective, very much so, and so for Lucretia important in his own way. It gave her a tiny thrill.

“A bit of shopping, really. I had free time — I always seem to have free time! — and thought I’d pick up a few things.” There was venom in that smile, a hint of danger and the promise of violence should it ever escalate, but definitely seeming sweet to onlookers, “Are you shopping too? Perhaps for a lady friend, or…?”

She knew more about his life than she’d let on, but did not immediately go into those details. Lucretia made it a point to know those who ‘knew’ her. As much as he investigates, she has her own dossiers and information tucked away, perhaps not in depth or damning, but information nonetheless.

One of her bags was lifted, “I found the most darling negligee that is perfect for me but I could help you pick out something for your friend if you’d like.”

His daughter, likely. She knew this and still kept up with the other charade, making it as awkward as possible as some people tend to do in these situations.

“I don’t envy you. All this time to kill, I wouldn’t know what to do do with that,” which was why the idea of retirement repulsed him and he was hoping he could push as far as 65 years old on the force. He wouldn’t be the first or the last to do it, and quite frankly he’d rather do that than play bridge with a bunch of people his age, drinking over infused tea and complain about mundane things the youth do. “A lady friend? Why aren’t you curious,” he hadn’t precisely busied himself with dating lately. He hadn’t precisely busied himself with dating in his life. He missed his ex wife, sometimes, but she’d married a doctor and from what he gathered, they were going to Thailand next week. She deserved a happy life, and Colin couldn’t say he was displeased with that.

He missed her still; but what did it say about him that instead of cherishing their moments together, he’d chosen his career instead, and thrown away a family man life over some sense of duty. His daughter resented him for it. He knew she resented her mother too. For a while. It was behind them now.

“You should save that for your husb-” He stopped himself right where he intended. Two could play this game. “Talk about putting your foot in your mouth,” with a delighted giggle, he gave her forearms a friendly pat. 

“And how would you know the first thing about what they like.” There weren’t many things in common between the hag and his darling daughter. They were both women. That was one thing. He knew how. She must have dug into his life as much as he dug into hers. Every detail, every moment recorded on paper. And so he smiled politely : “Fine, why not. I could use your female eye,” he hated the term, and he figured she would too.

[colin-blackwood]

LONDON FALLING : Challenge #1 FIT FOR LONDON

DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR COZY

London has a way to feel damp and cold more often than not. Sure, it’s nothing compared to Manchester, but Colin kept his good habits from home and will layer up any chance he gets. He’ll usually start with a sweater and then add on a leather or suede jacket, and then finish the look with a rain coat. Colin also carries his badge and gun around with him at (nearly) all times and doesn’t really ever consider himself to be off the clock. It’s not like he has much else going on his life anyway, and aside from when he joins coworkers for a game of soccer or a rare night at the pub, you’ll notice he’s always on the look out.

[colin-blackwood]

vvrcths​:

where: a cross-street near south covent garden when: midday whom: @colin-blackwood

Another day spent in tedium; keeping up appearances and making sure to seem as close to normal as one such as she can. From her arm hangs a couple of bags from a shopping trip, likely things that will never see the light of day but at least give some credence to the idea of a socialite who exists purely to exist.

Nothing to see here, folks, just you normal, average, every day rich bitch from London.

Beneath the surface that where a gnawing, a sense of absolute annoyance at the lack of activity. Pieces were being moved within the Jolly Rogers, but in all the tumult she had been left stranded — dry of any jobs that would sate her need to exert violent force and alleviate that emptiness inside.

As if her prayers had been answered — as if she’d ever pray for anything, truly a riot — she caught sight of a familiar head of pale hair in the distance, and once again her second favorite game was afoot.

Always so amicable and palpably aware of the fact that, unlike most, Colin could see right through her; it didn’t dissuade or stop her from continuing the charade, however. He would look insane harassing a woman who seemed, in essence, just to be being polite.

“Colin, darling!” A hand lifted, bags dangling and barely drawing an eye from others passing through the streets. Where he was off to was anyone’s guess, perhaps south towards his job or… well, it didn’t matter. She didn’t care. Entertainment would happen now and that was all that mattered in her calculating mind.

A jog in heels that seemed almost too delicate to be done and yet achieved with such grace brought her to bear near him, a beatific smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes dancing across her face as people moved around past them. Inside, she was nothing in that moment, but externally…

“Its been ages, luv. How ARE you?”

With his daughter’s birthday being set next week, Colin had been in quest of finding the young woman a present. He wasn’t particularly skilled in the art of picking the perfect gift, and on more than one occasion, had gone for something a tad expensive to compensate for his lack of imagination. Sure enough, they had their traditions, and every year, he’d write her a birthday note on the back of a childhood picture of hers, but he’d have preferred that the rest of the presents matched in thoughtfulness.

With this in mind, he’d set foot in one of the most boutique heavy streets of his neighborhood in the hopes of setting his eyes on the one thing that would make sense. She’d mentioned needing a new backpack, but he also knew Inaya well enough to know for certain that she wouldn’t settle for something plain or simple.

The DCI figured his lunch break was as good a time as any other to finally find the present her daughter wanted, and was wandering about with his post lunch coffee cup in hand. The sound of a voice calling his name was not something he’d expected and Colin’s furrowed as he associated it with her face. Fuck me with a bloody cherry on top. “Good afternoon,” he began, returning her smile with a sugar coated one of his own. “Same old, same old,” which said absolutely nothing about his state of mind while indulging her with a reply. His eyes roamed down her arms to take a look at the shopping she’d been doing. It was quite the lavish lifestyle she led, and coming from someone with her parentage, it wasn’t surprising, but Colin had met her already in the past, and was left convinced with this one fact: there was something wrong about her. It was more than a gut feeling. He knew the signs, but until there was something to old against her, no one would agree to follow his hunch. “What about you? You seem to have been quite busy here.”

[indianajcnes]

KNIVES OUT (2019) dir. Rian Johnson