𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐍.

❝ the horizon stretched out infinitely before me and i felt utterly content looking at stars from afar and trying to make out all the VARIABLE, ( temporary, ) extinguished or ꜰᴀᴅᴇᴅ stars. i was nothing in this infinity, but i could finally b r e a t h e . ❞ DET. DAGNY LARSSON. forty-one. brother. father. former marine.

[dagnylarsson]

ORION CASTILLO.

Sometimes there are moments like this where Ori can see the bright light Dagny once held had not only dimmed but been shut off. It wasn’t that Dagny didn’t look good or he had to meet any dress code, it was just that most people wanted to. People in this town begged for excuses to wear their nicest outfits, to spend the night forgetting the same pattern they’ve lived for years and years. To have fun. To live a little more than their daily life allowed them. His chest ached as he longed for his friend to let in a little light again, to enjoy himself not simply attend his duties as a father.

“Dolled up?” Orion latches on to the compliment even though it’s not quite given to him, more like it was passing by and he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t have many people feeding his ego. “So, you think I look nice?” he asks, amusement lacing his voice as his hands come to dust lint off his shirt. Was he standing a little taller? Muscles flexing against the cut of his rolled sleeves? Perhaps. Even if it was just for Dagny’s eyes to see.

“I think you look put together.” To use Orion’s words, at least. Dagny doesn’t just give out compliments for free; it’s usually at the cost of long nights, preferably with alcohol. And anyway, Orion has been on the receiving end more than anyone else, really. Which seems to have fed his friend’s ego as he’s now visibly trying to attract even more of Dagny’s attention than what he’s already willing to give. What’s horrifying is that Dagny does give him that attention, with a gaze that shamefully lingers over Orion’s arms as he flexes.

"I’ll have a drink,” he says, and marches off to the nearest refreshments table behind them, his hands furtively stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. Hunching over the punch bowl at six-foot-two and sporting the colors of a donkey’s asshole, he sticks out like a sore thumb against a backdrop of everything that’s loud and colorful and, most of all, proud.

He pours a cup that he easily gulps down not more than a few seconds after. He hopes someone had the good mind to spike the bowl. “I don’t understand what’s so big about these parties, anyway,” he adds after he’d refilled his cup and had found himself in Orion’s presence once more. “It’s a whole month of coming up with things for people to spend money on in the name of being gay or queer or LGBTQRSTUV... whatever alphabet people liked to be called.” 

[dagnylarsson]

KJ WAKE.

KJ watched him out the corner of his eye, sitting staunchly, as if refusing to give up even an inch of his territory. For a moment, he seemed to wince when Dagny’s foot connected with the tree. And with the thud of his shoe, KJ paused, as if waiting for the forest itself to retaliate; it did not. And so, he sighed, shoulders falling with something like ease.

“No, you’re a tie cop. Detectives are just cops with ties. Hey, now! Careful with that,” he said, watching the ashes flutter through the air like fireflies. “Low chance of fire don’t mean zero chance of fire.” He narrowed his eyes.

Still, the next words seemed to disarm KJ, and his gaze fell, perhaps in bashfulness. “Its old. It belonged to my grandad. Not the first time it’s played in these woods.” He looked around himself. “I don’t usually listen to…only so many kinds of records fit this thing.” 

‎

He lowers his hand when KJ rebukes him for the now-invisible embers he’d scattered in the air, though he argues, albeit sheepishly, “Wouldn’t be the worst thing, you know. This place has always given me the creeps. Might burn the evil lurkin’ ‘round here.” And it’s a morbid sentiment but one that he will not fully dismiss as simply a joke, terrible as the delivery might have been. There’s something sinister about the forest that he can’t help but feel something like a vendetta towards. He probably won’t lose any sleep over accidentally setting it on fire.

It’s his damned moral compass, though often skewed and ambiguous, that prompts him to finally put it out on the heel of his shoe and toss it into the open fire. Can’t burn what’s already up in flames.

“My daughter got this subscription for this music app. For ten bucks, it’ll play any song you want,” he offers, remembering that Ellie had gotten him the app on his phone, too. But there’s something to be said about sentimentality; he’s got Matthew’s architecture books stored in a chest under his bed and read them like a shameful secret. Maybe some people like to indulge their guilty pleasures in the woods. “You know, I’m sure if you ask nicely, Raffy Badalamenti’ll give you a few old records for free. He’s a good guy. Kinda odd.”

[dagnylarsson]

WHISPER KATSOPOLIS.

“oh, i’m good, i’ve got wipes in her diaper bag. i don’t go anywhere without them. thank you though,” she said with a smile before nodding at his question. “guilty as charged. this is shadow. professional mess maker — honey!” she said, leaning to the side to dodge an unintentional spoonful of ice cream flying off of the toddler’s spoon as her hand flailed when she saw… whatever it was that toddlers got excited about during a parade. “hands stay still,” she said, holding her daughter’s arms for a few seconds before letting go. “honestly, she should get paid for this, she’s great at making messes.”

He huffs amusedly when the toddler inadvertently makes a mess with her ice cream when the pride float passes by, a large rainbow flag being waved by a drag queen in a shimmering red body suit. He remembers only glimpses of Ellie when she was the same age, but mostly from photographs that his wife used to send. He never looked forward to email attachments as much as he did back then.

"It’s all part of the experience, I suppose,” he muses, almost absent-mindedly when a young same-sex couple with rainbow paint streaks on their cheeks walks past, their hands tightly intertwined with each other’s. “Better than the parent being the one making the mess.”

[dagnylarsson]

ORION CASTILLO.

“Ouch, wounded, my heart. How will I survive without your brooding face greeting me?” Orion’s hand covered his chest as if he’d been hurt by the mans words. Too bad Dagny was simply stuck with him whether he liked it or not - you don’t get to leave twice. “For me? You could walk around naked or wearing a puppet outfit, it is what it is.” Though one was certainly a preference. “However, when Ellie leaves with all her friends they might want to see you a bit more put together. You know, at a dance, where most of the town is here.” 

‎

Dagny scoffs at the notion of having to be ‘more put together’ for the sake of the town. The place has seen him in worse state - frankly, actually showing up, even if it’s just to wait for his kid to pick her up, was already a tall order in and of itself.

“This is me being put together,” he tells Orion with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Who’s got the time to get all dolled up, anyway?” He says as he puts his cigarette out on the heel of his shoe and disposes of it in the nearest trash bin. “Well, you do, apparently." Orion does look nice. Suave, in that effortlessly handsome way that he’s seen firsthand attract many a drunken stranger in dark, steamy bars. And like in their late-evening out-of-town escapades, Dagny is more than happy to just sit back doing the barest minimum.

[metamorphesque]

― Han Kang, Human Acts

[dagnylarsson]

ORION CASTILLO.

“Well, for beginners, dress up,” he started, leaning back against the wall behind him. He sighed, head tilt to the side as he studied his old friend. Maybe it was their difference in life stages, Dagny as a father and Orion as a bachelor with a cat at home, but he wished Dagny would have come tonight for himself. “Danced… drunk… played some of the games” he offered them all before finishing with a smile “kept your best friend company.”

He grunts at the thought of him having to pick out an outfit just to show it off in public. And for a dance, no less. He’s been wearing the same two things for the last three years and no one, apart from his mother, has complained so far. And besides, he doesn’t dance.

“If you’re telling me that I have to start dressing nice everytime I keep you company, then maybe we should just end the relationship here.” He kids, of course, and can’t help smiling just a little at his teasing.

[dagnylarsson]

HUNTER DAVIS.

Hunter is running errands, completely oblivious to the fact that the pride parade is today. Internally, he knew that it was happening sometime soon, but he had forgotten what day. He blinks at the man’s comment and glances at the car blasting music, piecing together that today is the event.

“Uh yeah, that’s kinda what pride’s about.”

‎

“Pride’s about being on your feet all day?” Dagny quirks a brow at that - though what would he know? He’s been hiding his whole life. Pride isn’t really something that the former Marine boasts of. Much like the ice cream in his cup, he’s long since lost integrity.

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

I am only a memory, I love only memory and reminding myself of you.

Jacques Derrida, from “Envois,” The Post Card: From Socrates to Freud and Beyond (University of Chicago Press, 1987)

[dagnylarsson]

DUTCH BLACKWELL.

He couldn’t help the flicker of resentment that passed over his features at the other’s response. How could he not feel slighted? After all these years, after the loss they both endured and the pain that followed, how were things still this broken between them? Dutch’s self-esteem had been shattered to pieces for years, but even he knew that he didn’t deserve this.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” he remarked then, brows arched in an unamused fashion. “Almost twenty years and you can’t even muster up a single word to me that isn’t riddled with ‘fuck you’?”

It wouldn’t hurt him to find a new bar. Surely, there are many outside town that aren’t that far a drive. He’s already gone to a few bars with Orion though it’s not very often, especially these days, that he finds himself in the mood for those places.

To be fair, he’s starting to not be in the mood for these places, either.

"We really gonna do this now, Dutch?” he questions with a disinterested glare.

[dagnylarsson]

WHISPER KATSOPOLIS.

whisper decided it would be a good day to take shadow out for ice cream. although the toddler usually went everywhere with her, they didn’t do things specifically for shadow as often as whisper would have liked, so today was the day she was spoiling her. after getting their ice cream, whisper went outside with her daughter to prevent a huge mess being made inside. it wasn’t as big a deal for the ground to get a little sticky as it was for whisper to know her kid made the employees job a living hell by completely ruining their tables and floor. she was sitting on the bench, criss cross style, shadow was in her lap, and yes… her legs were now sticky because her sweet demon child not only ate her own ice cream with a spoon, but it managed to get all over her hands… which obviously meant mommy’s legs were her personal wipe off station. as she took a spoonful of her own ice cream, she nodded at the man’s question. “pretty much, yeah,” whisper said. “it looks fun, but i dunno if i’d have the energy to go all out like that. i like to watch though.”

Looking over to the mother-and-daughter duo next to him, Dagny’s lips are tugged into an uncertain smile. He remembers their brief interaction in front of the morgue, remembers her telling him about her family - as much as she could tell a stranger, anyway.

"Here,” he says, having produced a handkerchief from his pocket that he’s now offering to her. “This must be the little one, huh?”

[dagnylarsson]

JAX RIVER.

Jax bit her lip but didn’t respond. Yes, maybe. She figured she had been once, she hadn’t been born into the body of a late twenty-year old, she must’ve been seventeen once, just not in living memory. 

She thought most people would know by now, she thought she was this enigma that just fitted in with the town. People knew of her position of her lack of a past. The name ‘Lady Lake’ following her in whispered voices. But Pleasance was still a town with enough people that she could go unnoticed by some. She squared her shoulders a little. “Oh, I don’t think it’s much of a secret. We just meet up once a month, in case I remember anything.” She didn’t say much more, found it difficult to utter those words in this exact conversation. She couldn’t let it roll off of her tongue as a joke, couldn’t shrug it off, so she didn’t know how else to share any information. 

‎

Dagny wasn’t here when they found her. And when he did get here, all he got was just fragments of recollections from the grapevine that were as ambiguous as the next. If he’d grown up anywhere else, he might’ve thought more of it, but he’d heard of stranger things. Sometimes seen them with his own eyes, too. The story of the woman who’d been found unconscious by the lake, with no memory of who she was or where she came from, was just another day in the office.

He is curious, though. If Tove were here - boy, she probably would’ve taken it upon herself to be this stranger’s best friend just so she’d be the first person she says anything to when she does remember who she is. 

“Well, do you? Remember anything?”

It’s almost a nod to his sister; somewhere, in some far-away country or deep within the ground, she’d be proud of him.

[dagnylarsson]

AJITA TANNU.

Ajita was practically vibrating in their spot, they had witnessed a couple of pride parades aboard, once even in Amsterdam, but nothing came close to seeing it happen in their own town. 

“I sure hope so!” they said, clapping their hands together. “Though, maybe not this particular song choice, but anything gay I’m down for.” Personally, some good old Lady Gaga would do the trick. Born This Way really was an anthem. 

‎

Dagny huffs - not to mock them, he simply finds it so typical of them to enjoy this sort of thing when they haven’t got joint pain yet. “Yeah, my bones ain’t what they used to be. Thank fuck I’m not a beat cop.” His eyes dart to the uniformed officers patrolling alongside the parade.

[dagnylarsson]

ORION CASTILLO.

Orion’s eyes scanned the mans dressed down outfit and hated that Dagny could make it all look good whilst around a crowd of formally dressed individuals who should outshine him. “You come here looking like Oscar the Grouch to pick Ellie up from a ball? Could have put some effort in,” he instead reprimands them. Holding his hand out he motions for Dagny to hand him the cigarette, or one of his own if he was lucky enough. “What have you been up to then? Napping?”

Dagny shakes his head then brings the cigarette to his lips. A stream of smoke escapes his lips, wisps coming from his nostrils like one of those angry dragons disturbed from sleep. And speaking of sleep, “Work ended 7 hours ago, what was I supposed to have done?” he says with just a tinge of annoyance. Not at Orion, not completely, but watching mostly queer couples enjoy a good night with their better halves certainly does twist him the wrong way. Good for them and all, but it feels a little like mockery from his end.

[dagnylarsson]

ORION CASTILLO.

WHEN: 26th of June WHERE: Lavender Ball WITH @phqstarters

“You’re telling me, you came all the way to the dance and you’re yet to actually… dance?” Orion asks bewildered. This is coming from a man who loves to dance, it’s in his Cuban blood after all. His sleeves are rolled up, his top button undone, his face gentle and smile wide. “Next song you like we can go dance together,” he offers.

Dagny gives Orion a dismissive glance and keeps his gaze focused on the empty street before them. The late evening air is crisp, prompting Dagny to huddle further against his coat, one hand shoved into a pocket and the other gingerly holding a cigarette.

“Do I look like I came here to dance?” Dagny offers when it becomes clear to him that Orion won’t be leaving any time soon. He gestures to his outfit - underneath his coat is a plain shirt and a pair of casual joggers and boots he’d haphazardly slipped into on the way out. He couldn’t have tried less. “’m just here to pick up Ellie.” He glances at his watch. “Cinderella’s really milkin’ the whole 12 o’clock curfew thing.”

[dagnylarsson]

DESMOND MURPHY.

Dagny was a surly storm cloud more than a ray of sunshine, but it was what made calling him that so entertaining. The man was like a statue that someone had carved from particularly disagreeable marble. Des always took it as a challenge, making any attempt to chip away at the surface with the knowledge that Dagny was a gold mine of information underneath. Even if he ever accidentally let a single thing slip, it would be enough to keep Des going for at least a week. 

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” Des replied, purposefully obfuscating his one eternal goal of shaking the detective down for those hot, hot insider scoops. “I am a simple man with simple intentions. I sit, I drink my coffee, I hope the waitress stops by to offer me the lumberjack special.” 

He took a sip from his cup as if to demonstrate this point, eyeing Dagny over the cardboard. “Which waitress did you get, by the way? I like the older one because she calls me ‘sweetheart’, but there’s also a woman here who always shorts me on pancake syrup because I hit on her at Dutch’s one night and then forgot her name. Which is a crime, but not for the reason she thinks. I’m a journalist. Remembering names is my life’s purpose.”

Dagny narrows his eyes at Desmond when the other tries to deflect. He’s been generally mistrusting of the press and Pleasance’s definition of what a journalist is isn’t exactly reputable for anything of value. Desmond, therefore, is nothing more than a run-of-the-mill muckraker.

“Are you, though?” Dagny questions when Desmond calls to his occupation, purposefully ignoring the mindless prattling that came before. “Apparitions have got as much journalistic merit as a scoop on a cat stuck in a tree.”

[dagnylarsson]

ORION CASTILLO.

Would it be childish of Ori to kick Dagny under the table? Most likely, but his shoe made impact with the others leg nonetheless. “You’re tempting fate, my friend,“ Ori tisks as he shakes his head, amused by their mockery but fearful of the consequences it may bring them. He may be in his 30s but his mother would still pull him out of there by his ear to give a talking to about the matter. Even at her age there was a fire in there he knew not to get too close to.

"What? Planning to use the voucher on a hot date?” He teases the man, knowing their dating history was complicated and hesitant to get going again. “Do you take your dentures out before the food arrives or after?” To emphasis his joke he shines his pearly whites in their direction, chuckling to himself. The only good thing about bingo was sometimes his mother won, and if it was meat platter night Ori got to go crazy in the kitchen cooking up some nice meals. Tonight however? A voucher for Cherry On Top. He’d rather something with substance in him. 

Dagny isn’t that much older than Orion, and yet the old man jokes have become somewhat of a staple in their conversations. Which is not to say it isn’t accurate at all - youth had always been a fleeting thing for the surly detective - but Dagny wishes that Orion would come up with newer material.

“I’m giving it to my kid and hope that that’ll makeup for one day’s allowance,” he tells Orion flatly; surely it wouldn’t hurt to let the teenager indulge in sweets every now and then?

The host picks another ball out of the cylindrical cage and announces the number throughout the hall. Dagny tries to stifle a smile as he places another chip over his card. He hates how he’s genuinely starting to enjoy this.

[dagnylarsson]

DESMOND MURPHY.

open starter. location: all-timer diner time: early morning. 

Desmond had never been a morning person. It was the chronic insomnia; his brain refused to shut off at night, keeping him up at all hours and making sunrise something of an enemy. He always tumbled out of bed in a begrudging way, mentally cursing the world for revolving. 

However, there was something about mornings in Pleasance that almost made existing okay. Even at the advent of Summer, the air outside was cool. Fog drifted sleepily down the street, mirroring the lazy way Des walked. Most townspeople were not yet up and about. The only strangers greeting him on the sidewalk were a stray cat and a few buzzing cicadas.

It was almost, for a second, like the world had paused. 

Then he entered the diner with a jingle of the door’s bell and suddenly the universe pressed play again. The two waitresses on duty rushed around as they catered to the breakfast crowd - consisting mostly of Pleasance’s elderly population. Des glanced around for an empty booth, but the best he could find was one in the corner that was only occupied by a single patron. Luckily, Des had little in the way of personal boundaries. He waltzed over, sliding right into the booth seat opposite them. 

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he said by way of greeting, taking a sip of the coffee he walked in with. He was a staunch believer that the Daily Grind had a better cup of joe than anywhere else in town. Particularly the All-Timer Diner, as Des was working on a theory that they brewed their coffee with toilet water and dirt. “Hope you don’t mind some company.”

‎

He didn’t have to be at work for another few hours. But Ellie needed a ride to school for practice - she liked it when the grass was still dewy and smelled like ‘the morning’. Dagny wasn’t sure what the hell she’d meant by that, but he figured he might as well get an early start to his day, too.

The diner was just right across the street from the station and Dagny was enjoying the solitude of the booth at this hour of the day. Not a single teenager in sight.

The reporter came pretty close, though.

“It was going to be,” Dagny says at the cheery ‘good morning’ that Desmond had offered him. He shifts in his seat and shoots the other an unwelcoming glare. “Can’t this wait ‘til I start my shift, at least?”