sold my soul to a three piece

I have my mother's rage, and my father's ability to walk away. This, I've learned, is a very lonely combination.

[eremington]

Elijah couldn't help a small laugh at his own certainty, because even without the confirmation, Eiji being involved was the only answer that made sense. "Call it father's intuition." Eiji had also come forward in the negotiations as a representative for Artemis alongside Roan, which had made that clear enough, but that was being kept quiet for the moment. "Maybe it's dramatic, but my family's recent history hasn't exactly been calm. I can't really speak to his motives conclusively though, as I said we haven't been in contact so I have no idea what he's thinking."

He shrugged, not missing the way she corrected him about using her name rather than her title but deciding not to harp on it. "I'm happy to throw a message into the void but I can't guarantee anything. You might have more luck putting something up on bulletin boards around town or posting it somewhere norex recommends. It might even sound better coming from another human rather from someone supernatural. Possibly even more so if it seems to come from you directly rather than the police" If Elijah was their most direct link to Eiji, then that presumably meant that they weren't looking at Rei as a link. He would prefer to keep it that way. "What sort of message would you want me to send?"

[detectivejdarling]

Jo's brow furrowed faintly. "Father's intuition?" she repeated. The phrase lingered for a moment before she tilted her head slightly. "Your father's intuition told you to tell a police officer with absolute certainty that your son is involved with a major criminal organization without any actual proof?" She didn't press the point further. If Elijah wanted to walk back the statement, he could. If he wanted to continue pretending that certainty and intuition were interchangeable concepts, that was his prerogative. Jo had already learned what she needed to from the answer.

"That is simply not how these things work." The suggestion of bulletin boards and public posts was so spectacularly counterproductive that for a second she wasn't entirely sure whether he understood what she was offering or whether he was deliberately pretending not to. "I'm not asking you to publicly advocate on behalf of the police. I'm asking you to discreetly pass along a message." Her expression remained neutral. "The department is willing to talk. That's it. If Eiji wants nothing to do with us, then he can ignore it. If he wants to hear what we have to say, then he can make that decision himself. Either way, broadcasting it to the whole city completely defeats the purpose. The second that offer becomes public, it's worthless. Best case scenario, Artemis decides he's become a liability. Worst case..." She paused. "It gets him killed."

Her gaze lingered on Elijah a moment longer. Long enough to wonder whether he actually believed any of the things he was saying or whether this entire conversation was simply another exercise in seeing how many ways he could avoid helping while still claiming cooperation. She had arrived willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. That reservoir was draining rapidly. "Can I ask you a personal question, Professor?" She said at last. "Off the record."

[ofwisdcms]

“SMART,” LEILA COMMENTED, quietly impressed by Jo’s foresight. The more she spoke about it, the more apparent it became that this wasn’t a passing suspicion. How long had she been building this case? Her eyes narrowed at the marks. Demons. The only species she was dubious about, although she did her best to remain impartial. The same could be said of her coven’s affinity for black magic, the necromancers who had already taught her a plethora about toeing the line between life and death. So, she held a quiet respect for demons. Perhaps there was a good reason behind the markings… but there was only one way to know for sure.

“No, they’re not,” she agreed. And not without reason. Suspicion often surrounded the supernatural community, whether there was a reason for it or not. Her own family had once been easily swayed against her kind. This case was different, however. Sigils, patterns, it was all too obvious. “And I’d imagine if said well-connected businessman were tied to a demon, they would go to great lengths to hide it.” Or retaliate against any overly curious officers who tried to uncover it.

As soon as she thought it, the answer became obvious. Somehow it felt as though she was hurtling toward an impasse; Jo already knew her by her real name —the one so many struggled over— and trusted her enough to let her tend to scrapes and bruises, even if the latter had initially taken some convincing. She might as well know how those bruises seemed to heal so quickly.

And if it meant saving a man from spending the rest of his life in prison and returning a father to his family, she could do it. For Jo. “I might know someone who can help."

Underneath the table, her thumb pressed into her thigh, the food on her plate losing its appeal. “So long as you promise to keep your informant anonymous.” The corner of her lips quirked up, faintly strained beneath the attempt at levity, “And try the curry before you start your questioning.”

[detectivejdarling]

The corner of Jo's mouth twitched despite herself as warmth settled somewhere beneath her ribs at Leila's quiet praise before she could do anything about it. She sat a little straighter, attention lingering on Leila for a second longer than it should have before she nodded in agreement, deciding to focus on the second part of the brunette's reply instead. "Yeah." If a man like that was involved, then of course he would have covered his tracks. Money bought silence. Influence bought cooperation. Between the two of them, a lot could disappear. Herself included.

The moment Leila said she might know someone who could help, everything else ceased to exist. The food in front of her was forgotten. The conversation around them disappeared beneath the rush of possibility. "You do?" The question came quieter than the shift in her posture suggested, interest pulling her forward in her seat. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, it felt like she might actually be looking at a way through the wall she'd been throwing herself against. "Li, if you have someone who can—"

Jo caught herself when the conditions followed, nodding once without hesitation. "Done." There was a not unsubstantial chance that agreeing so readily would come back to bite her later, but anonymous sources only became a problem when the evidence behind them couldn't survive scrutiny. "I'll keep it entirely off the record. You have my word."

The promise of anonymity dissolved into a long-suffering groan at the mention of curry, whatever questions Jo had intended to ask held at bay only by the look Leila was giving her, whatever might've briefly snagged her attention in Leila’s phrasing sliding off before it could land anywhere solid. She nudged her foot against Leila's calf beneath the table in silent protest, the gesture carrying considerably more complaint than actual annoyance. "That's a cheap move." The contact should have ended there. Instead, her leg remained where it was, resting lightly against Leila's, the contact as incidental as the kiss she brushed against her friend's cheek in lieu of a thank you whenever Leila patched her up.

When that failed to produce the desired result, Jo's expression flattened. "You're really going to make me wait, aren't you?" There was no real irritation behind it, her sigh deliberately exaggerated as she reached across the table to steal a taste of the curry before pointing vaguely in Leila's direction. "Happy?"

[matthew-alexander]

"Go right ahead. If I had a wife, she'd be allowed to sleep with whomever she chooses. I'd just hope she'd have better taste," Matthew retorted with narrowed eyes.

"And I thought you'd know by now that I'm always unpleasant. Comes with the territory, especially when it comes to humans like yourself..." What was one more human lying bleeding and dying in an alley anyway? Matthew did not owe any of them anything, least of all one who was as annoying as Joanna Darling.

The fallen deity watched as Joanna's head lolled backwards and she floated on the euphoria that being fed from had brought her. It was a familiar feeling, one that Matthew chased more often than not himself, one that he was there that night to engage in as well. But Joanna did not have a demon's physical disposition and to a human like her, it was courting death. And perhaps in Matthew's current depowered state, would it be the same for him too?

"It does, actually. And it will feel better if you're taking something more. Although I'm sure you know that already..." Matthew pointed to the various drugs on offer all around the club.

[detectivejdarling]

Jo snorted softly. "Depends on what she'd be looking for. If it's a meaningful, stable emotional connection, I'd strongly advise against me." Her thoughts snagged briefly on the memory of a dark-haired woman she'd spent years carefully avoiding, standing across from her in a quiet park. The hurt on her face—only for another wave of elation to wash it all away. A lazy smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. "If she's just looking to have a good time, though? I think I'd rank pretty high."

The smile lingered a second before her attention drifted elsewhere, following lights she wasn't entirely sure were moving before it returned to Matthew. "Why? I mean, I get it. You have a stick up your ass the size of the Eiffel Tower, but why? Aren't we just kind of… inconsequential to you? Isn't everyone?" The observation arrived without any real bite behind it. More curiosity than accusation. More the sort of thing that slipped out when her usual filter had packed up and gone home.

Then Matthew pointed toward the assortment of chemical escapes surrounding them. Jo followed the gesture, squinting vaguely before letting out a soft scoff. "No. I don't do drugs." Which was technically true. Mostly. Not on purpose anyway. Her eyes closed briefly as warmth rolled through her again, settling heavy in her limbs. The craving was there, faint and sharp at the same time, tugging her attention toward the absence left behind by fangs no longer in her throat. Warm blood no longer coating her tongue. Toward the vampire who'd vanished thanks to Matthew's uniquely sunny disposition. Maybe this didn't count. Maybe one more time wouldn't hurt.

[ofwisdcms]

LEILA TOOK THE MINOR VICTORY GRACEFULLY, watching with restrained amusement as Jo broke her stare. As content as she was to know she’d met the challenge, she much preferred the understanding it brought. The way Jo’s words seemed to contradict themselves. How readily she flirted and made jokes to deflect, only for her voice to soften and lose its teasing edge when she allowed herself sincerity. She was far more serious than Leila had initially given her credit for, something that became clearer the longer Jo talked her through her suspicions.

Green eyes flicked to her wrist, the swipe of her thumb against the delicate skin. It wasn’t the first time that evening that Jo had favored it. On the couch, when Leila was meant to be engrossed in vascular anatomy, Jo had flinched. It was subtle, a shift of weight to her other side, perhaps she didn’t even notice that she’d done it. The spot was tender. Leila had played doctor to her before, at first only at her own insistence, but gradually Jo trusted her enough to seek her out. There was a physicality to her work, an accepted risk that came with being a police officer, so the brunette never passed judgment.

Still, she didn’t like the frequency. Was this more of the same?

Just as she suspected that complacency wasn’t the cause for Jo’s injuries, it didn’t explain Lahey’s case. Not when his ‘murder’s’ social media told such a different story. She frowned at the photo. “He wouldn’t risk losing them.” Were Lahey to be believed, where there should have stood a grizzled murderer, instead stood a devoted family man.

“What could he even gain from the murders? Anything is possible, but…” she pinched the screen to zoom in on the man’s face, careful not to react to the post. “This man doesn’t strike me as a mercenary.” Instead, her eyes narrowed on Rourke’s grin. On its surface, there was nothing inherently wrong with the developer’s aspirations, the proud gleam of perfectly straight teeth. Still, she caught on the way the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“He’s covering his tracks the best way he knows how.” But it didn’t explain how the two would have met, or where. On the surface, their circles couldn’t be further apart.

But Jo was right. Supernatural involvement couldn’t be dismissed. There were corners of the city where long shadows were cast, where people went to disappear. Or to make deals. As many supernaturals as there were in Vievecor, the city was not infallible. Corruption still thrived, perhaps more so than in other cities, as it had an additional population to exploit. Many of the city’s species would go to great lengths to maintain their secrecy.

Wasn’t that why she only visited her coven in the early mornings, slipping away just as the crowds began their commute so she could disappear among them unnoticed?

She had noted the way Jo didn’t recoil from the folklore. The concept was difficult for others to grasp: how ingrained the legends of the faire folk were in her upbringing. If Jo could accept the Féth Fíada… would it be such a reach to accept cailleach phiseogach?

Her thoughts lingered on the topic long after their food was delivered.

“So if the case is closed,” she repeated for her own clarification, gesturing vaguely with her spoon. The table had been cleared of all her papers, replaced with open takeout containers and an assortment of dishware. Where at first she’d insisted on proper table settings, the frequency of Jo’s visits meant that she had stopped worrying over whether the bowls matched the plates. “That means you can’t reopen the files without having your name timestamped in the system?”

[detectivejdarling]

"Pretty much," Jo said, setting her phone down beside her plate as she took a seat opposite of Leila, legs stretching well into the other woman's space below the table. She reached for the carton nearest to her, immediately stealing one of the dumplings she'd helped convince Leila to order in the first place as she finally surrendered to the fact that she was starving. The realization that she hadn't eaten since breakfast only really registered now that food was sitting directly in front of her. "Anything I do through official channels leaves a trail. Which means if I keep digging, I have to keep it off the books."

"It's not the files that are the problem." A small shrug followed. "I made copies of what I could before they closed it. Reports. Photos. Statements." She took a bite before continuing. "Enough to keep working." The admission came easily and Jo didn't look particularly guilty about it. "It's everything around them." She leaned back slightly in her chair, absently pushing a piece of food around her plate, her appetite already losing ground to the conversation. "I just keep running into things I can't verify. There are these weird marks at some of the scenes. Patterns that repeat. Witness statements that stop making sense when you line them up next to each other." Her jaw shifted slightly. "Enough that I don't think I'm imagining it. Not enough that I can officially accuse a well-connected businessman of making sacrifices to a demon." The words were delivered dryly enough that they almost sounded like a joke. Almost.

"Usually when something brushes up against the supernatural, the department has people we can ask." She paused. "I obviously can't do that. I could try to ask around, but you might've noticed that most supernaturals aren't exactly eager to work with law enforcement."

[ezravale]

Her question earns a quizzical quirk of his brow in return, leveling her with a weighted look.

"If you don't know, then you should." Ezra's head tilts briefly. "You're beautiful, Joanna. And in a perfect position to be of use to me. But... there's countless others in this city who possess such qualities, if I cared to look." His eyes remain locked to hers, careful. "Your intelligence, the way you see things - those traits are rarer, and of much more value to me. You should always take care to keep that mind of yours sharp. For your sake, and your brother's."

Was there, perhaps, in some small hidden crevice of what had once been his soul, a part of him that wished his hand could linger a little longer against her warmth? He was not a fool, he knew without their agreement she would spend not a moment longer at his side. And still, there were some moments she drew a second glance from him, something more than the usual disdain, even if he would never allow her to see it.

Any real meaning quickly vanishes, however, as he flashes her a hard grin. He notes the way words snag in her throat, the insult she throws carelessly in his direction. "You should watch yourself, Darling." The words aren't quite a threat, but they're icier than before - the brief warmth she'd seen covered with the usual demon mask. "You can thank my inflated ego for keeping your brother alive. For keeping you alive, on more than one occasion." His eyes narrow. "You'd do well to remember that gifts given can be just as easily taken away."

Still, a small slither of amusement does return as she mentions the ring, a brow arching. "I wasn't aware you enjoyed our... arrangement so much. If you wanted another engagement ring from me, Joanna, all you had to do was ask."

Ezra watches Jo closely, listens to her words without interruption or sarcasm, for once. Even with the sharpness to her tone, he does not rise to it, no immediate bite to meet hers.

"Your soul is who you are, Joanna. Everything you've been, everything you will become." He nears her, just slightly, enough so he can lower his voice. "You signed that all away to me. Don't make the mistake of believing there's any part of you left that I cannot see." After a moment his brows furrow, a glance back out to the crowd. "And who's to say it's all so terrible? You've seen things most humans can only dream of." A pause. "And I am always watching over you, in some way - keeping you safe, when nobody else can."

Ezra watches the expression on her face as she takes his hand with visible amusement, doing little to disguise the entertainment her clear contempt provides. His hand closes around hers firmly, and without a further word he guides her out - once again passing through the crowd without a touch, bodies seeming to open up around them until they reach the exit, and the cold air of the night greets them.

---

It's only a short walk to their destination. He remains quiet, though his hand remains on hers. To anyone watching, they would seem almost ordinary - a young couple making their way home after a night out together.

Ezra had long owned many buildings in the city, under many names. The skyrise a few blocks over happened to be one of them. As he guides her to the entrance, doormen cast the glass panes of the entryway open wide before he says a word. Smoothly he makes his way to the elevator, soon pressing the button to reach the roof.

"I've never brought anyone here before." Ezra muses as the elevator rises, more to himself than her, though he does briefly glance in her direction just as they reach their destination. The immaculate metal of the doors open before them - revealing a picture of what could have been taken from a wildlife magazine rather than a skyrise in Vievecor City.

A glass dome encloses the rooftop, the air warm and faintly humid. Vines and flowering plants twist around dark metal beams overhead, thick with greenery. Somewhere deeper within the foliage comes the distant chirp of tropical birds. It feels less like stepping onto a rooftop, and more like entering a hidden botanical garden suspended above the city.

Slowly, Ezra guides her along a stone path winding between flowerbeds. Ahead, illuminated by candelight, waits a carefully set table - two chairs arranged opposite each other, looking down over the city below.

"I come here sometimes. When the city has worn me down." Ezra glances out at the skyline of the city through the glass, the dimmed light of the stars above them. Even for its height, the rooftop is oddly silent - only the rustle of leaves and the occasional call of unseen birds disturbing the stillness. Magic, woven into the space long ago, muffling the endless noise of the city beneath them. "It's one of the few places I can find peace."

Finally, he turns back to her, one arm gesturing casually toward the table.

"Please, take a seat, if you wish. I have a surprise for you, assuming you're willing to stay a little longer." An almost gentle smile makes an appearance, as if some guard has been lowered in this space, a sanctuary no one else is usually ever permitted to see.

[detectivejdarling]

Mikah answers the wrong question but Jo doesn't correct him, because he finally does what she wanted him to—elevate her from a simple pawn to a choice. Even if he does so imperfectly. Even if there are holes in his logic, a threat trailing what could've been a compliment with the hollow insistence of just friends. Of five more minutes. Of one more drink. Of just this once. It should loosen whatever hold he has on her, if only for a heartbeat, instead she angles closer.

And then he yanks the thread so forcefully, she wants to sever it completely—cripple them both—just to spite him. There are rules and boundaries to magic, to demon contracts, but he is old as the night is dark and she has been waiting for him to reveal some catch, some loophole since the moment their deal had been struck. It's a trade, not a gift, she wants to argue, and he isn't half as interested in keeping her alive as he is in keeping their arrangement going. But she has already pushed him far enough for one night. As eager as she is to risk her life, she cannot risk Nathan.

Jo's mouth twists when he mentions getting her another ring. She scoffs, still bitter at the—not entirely unprovoked—reminder that everything can be taken away. She doesn't believe that he understands the concept. That it is meant to be a promise, not yet another leash and collar.

Your soul is who you are, he says and she couldn't disagree more, but before her protest can take form, it withers and dies at the back of her throat. The part that catches her is simpler than that. Don't make the mistake of believing there's any part of you left that I cannot see. He delivers it like a threat but watches her like he already knows the outcome. The words settle somewhere beneath her ribs with all the grace of a knife. Jo looks away first, jaw tightening as a shiver works its way down her spine anyway, her gaze drifting back toward the sea of strangers around them. She should hate hearing it. Maybe part of her still does. But for all the ways he has ruined her life, Mikah is also one of the only constants left in it. He sees the parts of her she spends most of her time trying to outrun and somehow continues looking at her as though none of it changes anything.

Jo expects shadows when he leads her away. Darkness. A tear in reality. A display of power. Something theatrical enough to remind her exactly what he is. Remind her of the glaring power imbalance between them. Instead he simply walks. Leads her through the crowd, through the noise and music, the bodies packed shoulder to shoulder beneath strings of festival lights. His hand remains closed around hers as though there is nothing remarkable about it, and she makes no move to pull away either. She follows him without question. Maybe because she's tired. Maybe because she's drunk. Maybe because she's had enough. Whatever the reason, by the time the elevator doors slide open again she still hasn't thought to ask where they're going.

-

The rooftop isn't remotely what she expected either. She comes to a stop the second she steps through the doorway, her eyes sweeping across the glass dome, the climbing vines, the impossible abundance of green stretching above the city skyline. Warm air brushes against her skin carrying the scent of damp earth and growing things. For a moment she simply stares. This place is alive in a way she never would've associated with him. She would've expected stone. Shadows. Something buried underground where sunlight couldn't reach. Something cold and still and ancient. Instead she finds flowers and greenery and the careful evidence of something tended over time.

Her gaze drifts sideways toward him, the echo of his earlier words lingering in her mind. It's one of the few places I can find peace. A statement she had considered absurd. Still considers absurd. For a brief second she wonders whether she stumbled and hit her head somewhere during the evening and this entire night is an elaborate hallucination. Whether she'll wake up in her apartment tomorrow morning with a splitting headache and no memory of how she got there. The thought nearly earns a laugh. Instead she digs her nails lightly into her palm, grounding herself in the faint sting, and lets her attention return to him. Dream, hallucination, cruel joke—whatever this turns out to be—she doesn't want to know.

She doesn't want to know whether this version of him is real. Whether the softness is genuine or calculated. Whether this is another manipulation, another lesson, another carefully arranged situation where he'll eventually remind her just how thoroughly she belongs to him. She is tired of pulling things apart. Tired of looking for the catch. If it's a lie, then let him lie. If it's a performance, let him perform.

The chair scrapes softly against the stone as she pushes it back to sit. Her gaze lingers briefly on the city beyond the glass, then lifts to him. "You know I hate surprises."

[eremington]

Elijah sighed and put on a self deprecating smile. "I should have been more exact in my wording: there's been no contact, we haven't spoken since his escape. I've sent him a few open messages but he hasn't responded." And Elijah had no intention of giving Jo any sort of access to where he'd left those messages. "Yes, Eiji is involved with artemis, denying it at this point won't help anyone."

He kept his face in a neutral sort of smile while Jo started talking more about Eiji. He actually found her assertion that Eiji was just a pawn in everything artemis was doing and didn't have a part in planning any of it vaguely insulting. The hacks made much more sense if Eiji had been one of the masterminds, but that wasn't a sentiment he was planning to share. "That sounds more like a referendum on my parenting than any sort of investigative strategy. You could get all of that from the rumor mill without having to talk to me."

"I don't control him, Jo. At this point I think you'd do a better job getting through to him or other artemis members. You're a human who sees supernatural messes all the time, you probably understand their points better than any of us." He remembered Jo not being happy with the supernatural and wanted to see if he could lure her into revealing something.

[detectivejdarling]

"Is involved?" Jo echoed, not the least bit dissuaded by Elijah's shift in gears. "What makes you so certain of that?" She paused. "Since we're past denial." She knew, of course, but she wanted to find out if he would tell her. If any of what he was saying could be trusted. "He used the blackout to escape," she continued. "Most people would have. The crimes he was prosecuted for happened three years ago. Artemis didn't publicly emerge until months later." Fingers still interlaced, Jo turned her hands palm-up in her lap—an understated invitation for him to continue. "Help me see the connection."

The faint tightening at the corners of Elijah's eyes told her she'd struck a nerve despite the carefully maintained smile. He was better at controlling his reactions than most people, but not nearly as good as he seemed to think he was. The offense appeared and disappeared in the space of a heartbeat, buried beneath a change in subject. At least he wasn't dumb enough to argue the scale of his son's involvement for the sake of his own vanity. Still, she had practically handed him an excuse. A way to minimize Eiji's role. A way to frame him as manipulated rather than culpable. Most parents would've taken it immediately. But not Elijah Remington. "That's a little dramatic, don't you think?" she replied when he called it a referendum on his parenting. If it were, the verdict would've been far less flattering than the version she'd just handed him. "And we're not in the habit of building cases on rumors."

"Detective," she corrected lightly though her expression remained neutral, "and my personal opinions are not relevant to this investigation." Jo uncrossed one leg and leaned back slightly, settling into the chair without surrendering an ounce of her focus. "I think you misunderstand why I am here, Professor. I'm not asking you to control Eiji. I'm asking you to deliver a message. You say you already sent several. Messages you believed he might eventually see, even if he hasn't responded." She let that hang for a moment. "At this point in time, you are our most direct link." He wasn't. But the alternative had never found its way into an official report.

[ofwisdcms]

LEILA SAW THE WORDS COMING BEFORE SHE HEARD THEM, the telltale twitch of Jo’s lips dragging her gaze downward for a brief moment. I always thought playing doctor was supposed to be a more pleasurable experience. She rolled her eyes, though there was no heat behind it. Always an incorrigible flirt.

Not that she minded, the lines never worked anyway. At first, she merely saw them as distractions, blinders that simply got in the way of parsing her true thoughts. Eventually, she’d begrudgingly come to find them endearing. She’d always had a soft spot for bangs. “It is.” A wolfish grin spread across her lips. “For the doctor, anyway.”

She hummed. “Obviously, can’t protect the city with tight shoulders.” The joke lingered only briefly before Jo relented, her quiet exhale shifting the room’s levity into something more serious. It was her turn to fall silent, watching Jo instead, struck by the way her mind shifted gears so cleanly—humor giving way to a sharp, disciplined focus. The back of her neck warmed under her stare. What was behind that fire, she wondered. It was more than a simple desire to be right, or some contrarian impulse against authority. Her determination held steady even in the face of dismissal, the set of her jaw betraying devotion to something grander than ego: the truth.

Above all, Leila was inclined to trust Jo’s instinct. She had the mind of a detective, and it was impossible to hide the quiet smoldering of admiration beneath her gaze. God help the man on the wrong side of Jo’s determination.

“Not to question the chief,” she began, careful to tread lightly where Jo’s father was concerned. She would like to believe that the man might give credence to his daughter’s concerns, even if she had little reason to think that. “But you’re right. There’s no telling what could have been done or said to coerce a confession, especially if he has a record. If the case is truly that airtight, and he confessed…” She was far from being an expert; at best, she was a devoted amateur true crime TV viewer, but the facts didn’t sit right with her either. “What if Lahey found the evidence a little too conveniently? I’d imagine someone careful enough to extend their crime spree across multiple districts wouldn’t be so willing to hand themselves over.”

The mention of supernaturals gave her pause. Leila hadn’t divulged her own ties to the supernatural, and, not for the first time, she considered telling Jo the truth. It was an unusual sway towards honesty, and she swallowed it down. “It would be… naive to assume there isn’t a supernatural element at play, especially here.” She chose her words carefully, fingers toying with the fraying edge of one of her papers. “We have a myth in Ireland called the Féth Fíada. It’s an enchanted mist given to the druids and the Tuatha Dé Danann — the god-folk,” she clarified for Jo’s benefit. “They used it as a veil to conceal themselves and walk undetected in the realm of men.” Her gaze rose from the table, the light catching the glint in her eye. “Whether it’s true or not, it’s said the veil separates the magical world from the mortal one. I would argue it’s thinnest in a city like Vievecor.”

Murders across the districts… the implications were severe — cooperation across species, perhaps. Or crimes against multiple species. Curiosity drew her thoughts back to the case. “Were the prior convictions violent? If there’s a pattern, surely the chief would have to agree that this can’t be the right person.”  

[detectivejdarling]

Jo’s quiet scoff carried more warmth than irritation, her eyes dropping briefly to the floor as she shook her head to herself, the sound low in the back of her throat. Of course she’d say that. Of course Leila would push back instead of getting flustered. But whereas not too long ago, Jo would’ve escalated things immediately just to see how far she could get that sharp little grin to spread—tell Leila she could get on board with that, that she could do to her whatever she wanted—now she merely conceded defeat to a worthy opponent.

The heavier turn in conversation came easier with her than it did with most people. Leila never recoiled from the ugly parts once Jo stopped sanding the edges off of them. Never gave her that strained look people got when discussions drifted too close to violence or coercion or the uglier realities of the city they lived in. She listened. Thought about it. Followed the logic instead of dismissing it outright, and Jo could feel some tight knot in her chest loosen slightly as Leila picked apart the same details that had been needling at her for weeks now. Even the way Leila skirted around mentioning the chief directly sat strangely soft against old bruises Jo had only ever let her near.

“That’s what bothers me,” she admitted, quieter now, gaze drifting back toward the papers scattered across the table. “It’s too clean. Too convenient.” Her thumb rubbed absently against the side of her wrist before she caught herself and let her arms fold again instead. “Lahey’s been doing this for decades. He’s not stupid. Which means either he missed something huge...” Her jaw shifted faintly. “Or he didn’t.”

The mention of old Irish myths drew her attention fully back toward Leila then, the idea fitting almost too neatly into the reality of Vievecor to ignore. A city built on concealment. Every species had its own way of bending perception, slipping past notice, making humans doubt what they’d seen. As Leila spoke, Jo found herself watching her again with that same helpless focus she always seemed to slip into around her eventually, tracking the movement of her hands, the shape of her mouth as the Irish curled softly off her tongue, her accent thickening around the unfamiliar words in a way Jo found distractingly beautiful. “Yeah,” she said quietly once Leila finished, nodding more to herself than anything. “I think the veil’s probably threadbare here.”

At the question about his prior convictions, Jo exhaled softly through her nose before pushing herself upright off the table. “They were desperate,” she said, crossing back toward her phone. “Petty theft. Breaking and entering. Fraud.” The kind of crimes committed by someone life had backed hard enough into a corner, not someone who enjoyed hurting people. She unlocked the screen and pulled up a social media profile before stepping back toward Leila, angling it so she could see. “He’s got three kids,” she said, pulling up a photo. A little girl missing her front teeth sat on a man’s shoulders while two younger boys clung to either side of him, all grinning at some county fair. “His wife’s been sick for years. Their medical debt is through the roof. Half the stuff on his record started after that.” Her thumb tapped once lightly against the edge of the screen to keep it lit. “I can absolutely believe he stole for them. I can believe he confessed for them too. But this—” She shook her head. "Those murders were gratuitous, almost ritualistic."

Her expression tightened faintly as she switched to another article. Another man stared back from the screen—Magnus Rourke, all tailored suits and polished smiles beside headlines about development projects and expanding investments throughout Vievecor. Jo scrolled once more, revealing a photograph lower in the article of Rourke beside Lahey at some private club event, whiskey glasses in hand.

“I found this yesterday,” she said, eyes narrowing faintly at the image. “Rourke started pouring money into the department six months ago. Donations, fundraiser sponsorships—all perfectly legal on paper.” Her gaze lifted to meet Leila's. “The murders started escalating around the same time.” Jo lowered the phone again, fingers curling loosely around it. “I don’t think Lahey’s out there killing people,” she said after a moment. “I think he found someone useful and decided not to look too closely at where the money was coming from. Or what was being done for it.” The words settled heavily between them for a second before Jo shrugged. “But until I can prove it, all I’ve really got is a bad feeling and a detective with expensive friends.”

[ofwisdcms]

ANY WORDS OF AGREEMENT DIED ON HER TONGUE the instant Jo’s hand found her waist. The joke was already a break from her usual teasing; perhaps it was the way her smile grew soft, or the sureness of her words. As if it were a given that their paths would remain intertwined for years. It was a wonder how she did that, sincerity so readily wound within a joke that Leila might have missed it. If she didn’t catch on nearly every word the other woman spoke, she would have missed it. She was a moving target, an enigma that seemed to hide in plain sight, if one only paid enough attention.

She was somehow closer now than before, forcing Leila to cant her head upwards to hold her stare. Up close, she could see where the darker ring of her iris met the warm brown around her pupil, lit softly by the ceiling light. “Says the woman who, moments ago, entrusted me with her organs,” she noted, a raised brow countering her point.

It was a mercy when she stepped away; any longer would jeopardize all hope of a twilight-years friendship. Finally able to exhale, she was back on task. Thung thong and pad kee mao. With the menu unfolded across the counter, she tapped in the familiar series of numbers. Her thumb hovered over the dial button, pondering the question. “The criteria,” she decided, pressing the green button with a definitive nod. “It feels too broad for what they intended: to have a definitive guide to grade the complication and standardize treatment. Surely with a revision—“ The click of the receiver interrupted the oncoming tangent, and she rattled off their order, honoring Jo’s request for no sharp objects.

Hanging up, Leila drifted toward the table to join her. “You’re right, though. I’m the best surgeon in my residency class, naturally, so I’ll probably never see a pancreatic fistula. And by the time I do, it’ll be time for me to be committed anyway.” Her lips pulled into a full grin, eyes softening.

“What were you up to before?” She nodded toward the couch, where the pillows still held the shape of where she’d been sprawled. “You looked focused, busy. I’m not depriving the city of its best, am I?”

[detectivejdarling]

Jo’s smile tugged wider at Leila's rebuttal, helpless against it by now. “Yeah, well, maybe let’s hold off on the organ removal until I actually need them removed.” Her brows lifted faintly as she glanced back toward Leila. “You seem a little scalpel-happy tonight.” A beat passed before the corner of her mouth twitched again. She knew better by now, but that never seemed to stop her. “And I always thought playing doctor was supposed to be a more… pleasurable experience.”

Months ago, she probably would’ve pushed even harder, leaned heavier into the flirtation just to keep everything superficial and uncomplicated. But things with Leila had long since stopped feeling uncomplicated, and Jo found herself pulling back from the edge of it more often than not these days, suddenly too aware of what it meant to her when Leila smiled back.

So instead she turned her attention toward the spread of notes across the table while Leila continued dismantling the classification system with the kind of certainty that always pulled at something deep in Jo’s chest. Fuck, she was weak for the way Leila talked about medicine. That passion. That precision. That absolute confidence in her own intelligence.

The sound of the call connecting cut through the beginning of another tangent, and Jo’s attention lifted automatically, grateful for the excuse to just watch her openly for a second instead. Leila rattled off the order easily, thumb hooked against the edge of her phone, expression still thoughtful even while distracted, like her brain never really stopped moving. And the second the call disconnected, she slipped seamlessly back into the conversation. I’m the best surgeon in my residency class, naturally.

That dragged a quiet laugh out of Jo, warm and low as she shook her head. “Naturally,” she echoed, unable to hide how openly charmed she looked by it. And when Leila tied it back around with that crack about eventually being committed, Jo felt something in her soften all over again.

At Leila's question, though, Jo’s eyes snapped back down toward the papers a little too quickly, suddenly very interested in an upside-down diagram of the digestive tract. “I was…” Jo cleared her throat lightly. “Looking into whether there's a place in Chissob Hills that does deep tissue massages at this hour.” She shrugged, the picture of innocence if it weren't for the mischief lingering at the corners of her lips. “For work-related reasons, obviously.” The excuse collapsed under its own weight almost immediately and Jo exhaled through her nose, shaking her head at herself before relenting. “No, there’s this case Detective Lahey’s been working,” she continued after a moment, voice turning more measured. It still wasn’t the full truth, but close enough to count. “A string of murders spanning three districts. He built a seemingly airtight case against some guy with minor prior convictions and got a confession out of him. Now everybody’s acting like it’s a done deal. Press conference, interviews, the whole victory lap.” Her jaw shifted faintly. “But I don’t think he did it.”

That finally pulled her attention back toward Leila. Jo turned and leaned against the edge of the table, folding her arms loosely across her chest. “I pointed out the inconsistencies but they dismissed me. Told me there's no point chasing ghosts when we already have a confession.” The bitterness there sharpened slightly. “I got told to stay in my lane and let the real detectives handle it.” Her wrist still ached from where her father had grabbed her afterward, reminding her not to question him in front of his people. "Obviously, the chief agreed. They used to be partners after all—him and Lahey."

“You know that saying you guys have?” Jo asked after a moment, gaze drifting back toward the scattered papers. “If you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras.” She rolled her lower lip briefly between her teeth before glancing back toward Leila. “But what if you’re at the circus?” She shook her head. “It’s insane to me to dismiss supernatural involvement in Vievecor just because some detective managed to wring a confession out of somebody.” Her fingers drummed once against her arm. “People say whatever they think they have to when they’re backed into a corner.”

[ezravale]

Ezra meets Jo's counterargument with a brief chuckle, charming smile widening. "You see right through me, detective. I suppose that's why you're the one on the force." The demon shrugs a shoulder, shifting his weight back against the bar surface. "Besides, you know as well as I that your mind being sharp is in my best interests. And, perhaps, deep down - it would pain me too much to see my favourite employee in such distress." His words are laced with sarcasm, humour lining his eyes.

Her talk of adventure earns another amused glance from him, analysing her. Perhaps he wasn't the only one affected by the atmosphere of the night. Or she was simply drunk. Humans succumbed to their substances more easily than he'd ever been able to.

Nevertheless, this side of her seemed more open. Even the array of emotions she displayed - from the blatant disgust toward him, to the conflicting interest. She never seemed quite able to decide how she felt about him. He supposed he felt similarly, sometimes, the lines of their agreement spiraling around them.

His hand remains softly against the side of her head for a moment, holding her carefully. It was rare he ever got this close - to anyone, nevermind a human. He can feel the way she stills beneath his touch, half caught between resistance and the instinct not to pull away. Still, her words break through the pause like a bolt, any closeness quickly covered with an icy smirk.

"Is that what you tell yourself, detective?" His words are slow as he draws his hand back down to his side, eyes locked to hers. "Maybe that makes our agreement easier for you to live with. But, I think we both know you think of me, run for me, more often than you'd care to admit."

Ezra feigns disinterest as Jo inspects her champagne flute, noting the trail of judgement that fills her voice. She underestimates him and his surprises, it seems. Then, the disgust fills her features as she tastes the champagne, and Ezra's amusement rises in sync. However, the longer he watches her expression, the more it leads to something souring - the reaction failing to bring him the satisfaction he'd expected.

"You didn't seem to mind it the last time you tasted it." Still, he doesn't object when the bartender places the fresh beer at her side instead.

There's a beat of silence between them before she speaks again, filled with the distant music of the act on stage. Slowly, he trails his line of sight back over to her, casting a look of disdain in her direction. "You've already picked me, Darling. That deal was done long ago." The words come out quick and sharp, a reflexive assertion of authority. He has never been questioned before like this, never had anything asked of him - he was the one who made demands, the one that always set the terms.

But... something about the way she says it makes him pause. There's a faint softening of his brow, jaw clenching subtly under the dim lights of the venue. He looks away from her, out to the huddle of bodies ahead.

"Don't you feel it, Joanna? You're different than them now. Still human, but there's a separation there. A part of you always tied to me. A part of you that will never belong with them again, even if you choose one of them for the evening." His words aren't cold for once, nor teasing - just factual, laced with something almost like understanding. He'd always been separate, too.

"Come." The word comes out softly, offering her his hand. For once, the smile on his face lacks its calculated charm, stripped of mockery and performance. "Let me show you a reason to pick me." His head tilts slightly as he watches her. "You can say no. I won't count your time with me against the terms of our agreement." A faint pause. "At least not for tonight."

[detectivejdarling]

“Do I?” Jo asks quietly, holding his gaze for a beat too long. She’s good at reading people. Usually. But every time she thinks she has him pinned down, he shifts into something else entirely, like smoke slipping through her fingers before she can close her hand around it. The scoff she lets out at the favorite employee comment is small but unmistakable nonetheless. Bullshit, it says plainly enough, even if she doesn’t waste the breath saying it aloud. They both know.

Still, the ghost of his hand lingers warm against the side of her head long after he pulls away, and she hates how immediately she notices the absence of it. If this were anyone else, she would’ve bridged the distance herself already. With him, touch feels dangerous in a way she can’t quite explain without sounding insane, and she hates him a little bit for that too.

His words hit too close anyway.

Run for me. Jo’s jaw tightens, her fingers curling harder around the neck of the bottle. “That’s your inflated ego talking,” she starts automatically, the denial instinctive. "If you weren’t useful to me—" The words snag halfway out, catching somewhere behind her teeth before she can force them loose again. "I wouldn't give you the time of day." Because, yes, he is useful. But that isn’t the whole truth anymore and they both seem to know that too. She tips the beer back again, wishing she’d chosen something stronger. “The company was more charming last time,” she mutters. “And there was a ring on my finger.”

But it’s the next part that finally cuts through her. You’ve already picked me. Something ugly flashes openly across her face then, quick and hot enough to burn through the alcohol haze. “I may owe you my allegiance,” Jo says, each word clipped sharp, “and you may own my soul. But you do not own me.” The certainty of it falters almost immediately beneath his gaze. When he speaks again, her eyes drift out toward the crowd instead, toward the bodies packed shoulder to shoulder beneath the lights and noise, laughing too loudly, touching too easily. Human. Normal. Separate from her in a way she can’t explain anymore without sounding just as unhinged as the things she spends her life chasing.

He’s right, and somehow that’s the worst part. Even the beer turns sour on her tongue. Jo lowers it unfinished onto the counter, silent for a long moment as she looks back at him, then finally down to the hand he offers her like this is a choice either of them truly believes she still has. Maybe that should frighten her more than it does. But what does she really have left to lose? Her fingers slide into his before she can think better of it, warmth curling instantly against her skin and Jo finds that even if he plans to drag her straight to hell, she doesn’t particularly care.

[matthew-alexander]

"We are hardly on first name terms, Detective. Even so, those acts were committed in dreams. I wouldn't make the mistake of thinking they mean anything in the real world," Matthew responded with a curl of his lip as he continued looking down at her with judgement in his eyes.

"I do not hate this place." The fallen deity could tell when someone was in Level Four to use the vampires as an escape, a means to a destructive end, and that familiar look was written all over Joanna's face -- as it used to be written all over his own.

"I can lower myself to engage with peasants such as yourself if I so wish," he said, using the word she chose to use. "Tell me. What is it that you actually came here for?"

[detectivejdarling]

Jo let out a soft, breathy laugh at that, her head still tipped back against the seat. “For the record,” she said, words dragging slightly at the edges, “I’d sleep with your wife in this life too.” Her gaze drifted back toward him then, hazy but sharp underneath it. “If you had one. Poor woman would probably be miserable.” The grin that followed was crooked, faintly mean in a way that felt more reckless than sincere. “And for the love of God, stop with the Detective,” she added after a beat, wrinkling her nose slightly. “You make it sound like I’m supposed to have standards. I mean, look around you.”

Her fingers tapped lazily against her knee as she looked at him again, slower this time. “Seemed like you were carrying some lingering resentment for me holding a gun to your head when you found me bleeding out in that alley,” she mused. “That seemed pretty personal to me. Or maybe you’re just always this unpleasant.”

Matthew’s question lingered between them for a second too long after that. Jo went quieter in a way she usually didn’t, gaze drifting somewhere past the crowd and lights and pulse of the club below them. When she finally answered, the words came easier than they should have, softened around the edges by blood loss and borrowed euphoria alike. “Pain,” she admitted lightly then followed it with a faint shrug. “But let’s pretend it was the music.”

Her eyes slid shut as she let her head tip back once more, the ghost of a laugh catching on her breath. “Damn,” she murmured. “Does it always feel this good?”

[nakatomi-ayumu]

"Hmm, yes... Sad, isn't it? You humans and your silly little courts," Ayumu chuckled before things got infinitely more interesting.

"Are you now?" they asked the human before them, eyes roving over Joanna with a whole new meaning now. "Who am I to turn away someone with the means to pay?" the spirit grinned before that mischievous look turned into something more professional.

"When would you like to do this, Detective? Given that this is a business deal, we will need to conduct it as such and I'd like to invite you to Ware on a day that suits you."

[detectivejdarling]

Jo’s brows lifted slightly at that. “Do I?” She asked lightly. “You still haven’t told me your price.” The corner of her mouth twitched faintly, though whether from amusement or nerves was harder to place. Either way, she didn’t back out. “Thursday,” she decided after a beat, tone even. “Around eleven.” Her head tilted faintly. “Unless spirits keep stricter business hours than I was led to believe.”

[ezravale]

There's a quiet satisfaction to his smile, not faltering even as she purposefully exhales smoke toward him. The cigarette smoke seems to pivot strangely before it nears him, curling unnaturally around his outline. Never quite touching him.

"Of course I'd never let that happen. We have much more work to do together before you meet your end, Joanna. You know that." His words are silky as always, dipping his head just a little closer to hers.

"Yet... cancer has its own way of causing suffering long before it takes its final hold at the end." His eyes darken faintly, still lined with amusement. "Perhaps I'd allow you to taste that pain for a while, before I released its deathly grip, since you seem intent on beckoning it closer. Humans tend to forget their limitations too easily, it would be a good lesson for you." His smile sharpens, something cruel lined there. "A privilege most of your kind never receive."

As his sentence ends, the glowing ember of her cigarette suddenly flares brightly, before dying out completely.

Ezra notes the way she surveys his chosen form with private gratification. He'd chosen the face decades ago with careful intent - a general handsomeness that met his business needs, mature enough to be taken seriously while still holding enough youth to remain desirable. It seemed she approved of the choice, too.

"A surprise from a demon? Now that is a brave request, detective. Some may even say foolish." Still, there's a flicker of amusement that crosses his face momentarily. Ezra leans closer to the bartender, requesting the order for her in a hushed tone so Jo can't hear. With a brief nod the bartender disappears into motion, setting about making their drinks as if it were suddenly the most important task in the world.

Ezra looks briefly out to the crowd, though his attention is soon captured by Jo's question. It's enough to earn a genuine laugh from the demon, a rare sound, feeling foreign as it comes from his lips.

As much as he usually contested against human challenge, squashed it beneath his heel at the slightest flare of his irritation - he couldn't help but enjoy Joanna. The way she rose against him, albeit within the confines of their deal. She didn't cower in fear despite the looming threat of her brother's life weighing down between them. It earned her a respect not many were granted, in his eyes.

"You think I could be jealous?"

His brow arches incredulously, casting her a slow, easy glance. The smirk tugging at his mouth only deepens. Perhaps it's the charged energy humming through the night, or perhaps simply her, but he leans closer than he would usually allow, an arm brushing lightly against hers as he closes distance between them.

"You may have your fun, Darling, however you need to fill your hours between your obligations to me." He pauses, locking eyes with her. "But, you know as well as I, there's only one person in this city you'll come running to the moment he calls. No matter the time or place. No matter the reason." A hand lifts up, reaching out to brush a stray lock of her hair behind her ear with deliberate care, keeping a still tension between the two of them. "Besides... we both know you could do better than some sweating drunk who's barely capable of holding their own head upright, never mind bringing you any satisfaction you may desire."

He holds her gaze for a second longer, something like a challenge there, hand lingering gently at the side of her head a beat longer than necessary. Then, the bartender re-appears to place two glasses down beside them. The interruption breaking the moment.

Ezra picks up his own whiskey, taking a casual sip as he leans back to his previous position. "Your surprise, detective."

The glass left beside Jo was a delicate flute, filled with bubbling champagne - at first, ordinary in appearance. But the taste was unmistakable, if she could remember - a vintage once served at a movie wrap party in a dream, which ended with an engagement.

[detectivejdarling]

The smoke's strange path doesn't escape her. Killjoy, Jo thinks, and wonders in the same beat what would happen if she pressed her lips to his before releasing it. He might be caught by surprise for a second but ultimately, she doesn't believe the result would be pleasant for her. His company rarely is—as he seems intent on proving.

She's still imagining cigarette smoke coming out of various orifices when he delivers his threat. The idea that she could be more to him than some disposable pawn has never occurred to her. Yet, Jo has never known him to be wasteful either. Her life, unlike his, has an expiration date. A finite number of years. An even more limited number of good ones. She doubts she'll be of any use to him at seventy—hard of hearing, joints thick with arthritis. He won't trade his advantage for a cheap lesson. Besides, threats to her own life have never scared her half as much as what he could do to those she cares about. Pain, on the other hand, has always had its own sick lure. "Says the man who told me off for not getting enough sleep because he needed me 'sharp'," she echoes his words from months prior, because why the hell not? Yet, when she flicks the remainder of her snuffed out cigarette at the ashtray, she doesn't reach for another one.

"What can I say?" She clicks her tongue, idle fingers picking at the label of her empty bottle now that they have nothing better to do. "I'm feeling adventurous tonight." His whispered instructions aren't the confident declaration she expected and it's honestly somewhat anticlimactic after that whole build up. Even the puppeteering doesn't vex her quite the same. But she doesn't tell him so—saves her jabs for something more worthwhile.

Jo shudders at the sound of his laugh. At the way it thrills her, something quick and sharp building in the pit of her stomach. She doesn't mean to memorize it, doesn't mean to compare, but by the time his dark eyes find her, the moment is already seared into her brain. It makes her sick. He makes her sick. She freezes under his touch, muscles locking so she won't lean into the sensation of his fingers skating along the shell of her ear. Her nostrils flare and she tells herself it's to fend off nausea as she holds his gaze. As her eyes flick to the taunting curve of his lips. "And we both know it's not you I come running for," she tells him and the words have never tasted more like a lie.

The absence of his touch leaves her cold, but she wouldn't reach for him if she were drowning. "Champagne?" Her brows climb higher, judgment pervading her voice as she twirls the stem between her fingertips, transfers her weight to her right leg just to get farther away from him. She stops questioning Mikah's choice the second the first drop touches her tongue. Jo doesn’t give a damn about fine wines and spirits—she’ll drink boxed wine if it gets her wasted—but she recognizes the taste immediately. Memories of a different life fizz across her vision, rising and bursting like the bubbles in the flute she holds. "That's disgusting," she says and pushes the glass towards the bartender, not surprised that, given the choice, he would choose cruelty. "I'll have another beer."

Condensation slick against her palm, Jo turns to face the crowd, elbows propped against the makeshift counter. Even the bottle in her hand serves as a barrier between them. "Well, that was disappointing," she says and takes a sip to wash away the taste of him. "I thought you might actually try." It doesn't work. The thread between them pulled taught, those memories cling to her like tar. So much of her belongs to him—it seems only fair that at least a part of him should belong to her. "That you might give me a reason to pick you over one of them."

[ezravale]

Ezra Vale was bored.

He had long become accustomed to having more of a shadow role in terms of his legitimate business ventures - mostly keeping to his own, closeted work. Still, appearances had their place, power required maintenance. So, tonight he played his part. A brief visit to a private box of the venue to please an associate, all effortless charm and well timed wit. The sponsor was useful, important to keep alive and happy, for now.

Ezra humoured him with easy smiles, indulged his vanity - even offered some vague assurances regarding his wife's aesthetic concerns. Promises that would end up costing far more than they expected. Not yet for them to know just what they were agreeing to.

When the mandatory ego fluffing was complete, Ezra excused himself with practiced ease, claiming a busy morning of meetings ahead. He'd felt her presence then, his detective. That thread between them that strained but never quite snapped - down amongst the throbbing crowd below, mixed with the sweat and heat of the festivities.

It had been curiosity, more than anything, that drew him in, drifting through the crowd like a ghost. It was effortless - how he sidestepped a drunken girl who came too near, the way a path seemed to open up for him through the mass of bodies. No one ever touched him, even there. He spots her ahead, perched at the bar with a cigarette in hand. A forever recognisable silhouette to him, even if his own outline remained well masked amongst the rabble - for now.

The human Joanna was speaking to turns toward her with a drunken grin, clearly enthralled at the prospect of a beautiful woman speaking to them. Their mouth begins to form a reply, but the words never come. Something in their gaze seemed to dim, interest draining as swiftly as it had flared. Mid-motion, their body seemed to twist at an unnatural angle, and without another word they wandered off into the crowd ahead.

By the time Joanna looked back to the bar, Ezra was already there. He leaned casually against the counter beside her, gaze drifting lazily from the stage before settling on her. "Good evening, Darling." His voice was smooth. "You look beautiful tonight, as always." There's a faint pause, though, nose wrinkling just subtly. "Though the scent of smoke doesn't suit you. I would have thought you would know better than to tempt the hurrying of your own demise."

Before she can respond, Ezra tilts his head toward the bartender, who is suddenly, readily available to listen to their orders in enraptured anticipation, despite the many other customers awaiting a drink. "I'll have a whiskey. On the rocks." He turns back to Jo with a satisfied smile. "And for you, detective? It's on me, of course." There was something almost entertaining about it, this performance. An imitation of something human - even if Jo had little choice in participating in the act.

[detectivejdarling]

The change in the man's demeanor happens so quickly it almost looks natural. Almost. One second he's smiling at her like he's already decided how the rest of the night might go, and the next that interest hollows clean out of him, his body turning away with a strange sort of emptiness that makes Jo’s stomach tighten.

Not with fear, but recognition.

Her gaze follows him for barely a second before drifting back toward the newly occupied space beside her, her expression flattening into something that tries for annoyance and lands somewhere closer to inevitability. Of course it's him. Of course he found her anyway.

“You wouldn’t let that happen, now would you?” she murmurs under her breath even as he talks over her, the cigarette balanced between her fingers already lifting again. Truthfully, she hates the smell almost as much as he clearly does. Most days she wouldn’t touch one at all if not for the ugly little part of her that enjoys the slow self-destruction of it. She exhales the smoke deliberately in his direction, eyes sliding toward him through the haze. “You say the sweetest things to me.”

Her attention lingers there longer than it should. Out of all the faces he wears, she thinks she likes this one best. Which is unfortunate, really, considering none of it probably belongs to him. The spill of dark curls, the bow of his lips, the soft brown of his eyes—the beard is a questionable addition. “Surprise me,” Jo says at last when he asks for her order, already reaching for the cigarette again, a single brow arching slightly. “If you can.”

The bartender vanishes into motion almost immediately. Jo watches them work for a second before leaning one elbow against the counter, finally looking at Mikah properly. “So,” she drawls, tone deceptively light, “did you just save me from a painfully mediocre conversation, or were you jealous?” It's mostly the alcohol talking, but the corners of her mouth curl faintly upward, goading despite how absurd the suggestion actually is. “I’d ask which part offended you more. The flirting, or the possibility I might’ve actually gone home with him.”

[ofwisdcms]

ANOTHER CRUX OF HER PROFESSION was Leila’s infallible attention to detail. She could be too serious, a tendency to get lost in the weeds, driving her to spend far too long stuck on a topic. Take this, for example. It was a grading scale designed for simplicity and quick application. Her mentor swore she couldn’t see the wood for the trees.

Yet Jo humored the neuroticism, listened, and somehow grounded her. The rhythmic tap of her fingers stilled at the brief contact with her thigh, resting idle against the countertop for the first time that night.

Leila smiled to herself as Jo reset, taking the opportunity to observe her with a newfound levity, unencumbered now that the focus was on Jo. The way her brow furrowed as if tugged together by the weight of her thoughts. She could stop her—she tended to learn best when she was forced to talk through a topic, so mission accomplished—but she let her go on. She leapt at any opportunity to hear what was going through the brunette’s mind. “Is that so?” she hummed, finally dropping her gaze. It was pretty good for an answer that started with ‘uh’. “I suppose you’re right; my insanity is a small concession for extra pancreas.”

And then she did reach for the menu, leaning forward to tip it down just enough to read the description. “Good choice.” Not that she actually read past the word ‘noodles’, too distracted by her own shameless attempt to move closer to her. What it would be like to lower the menu altogether, to tilt forward and close a distance that was so devastatingly short. “I’m thinking panang curry.” She forced her eyes down to the menu, swallowing against the charged air between them. “And… what about satay skewers or thung thong?”

[detectivejdarling]

“I’ll come visit you in the loony bin,” Jo promised easily, the words warm with amusement as her index finger tapped lightly against the back of Leila’s hand where it gripped the menu. Her grin softened a fraction then. “But maybe wait until we’re old and gray, yeah? I don’t trust anyone else to remove my organs.” The joke came easily, but the sentiment lingered strangely beneath it, catching Jo off guard the second it left her mouth. We. As though there was any reason to assume Leila would still be in her life years from now. As though Jo let herself think that far ahead about anybody. But before the thought could settle too deeply, she pushed herself off the counter.

The movement brought her into Leila’s space almost immediately, close enough that her socked foot brushed against Leila's when she landed. Jo steadied herself instinctively with one hand against her friend's waist, fingers spreading briefly against the warmth of her side before she forced herself to let go. She had clearly miscalculated, the proximity hitting her all at once then—soap and perfume and something distinctly Leila—and for a split second she forgot what they’d been talking about entirely. “Uh... Thung thong,” she decided finally, brows lifting as she glanced down at her. “I’m not sure I trust you with anything sharp and pointy right now.”

It was easier to retreat into motion than risk eye contact for another second, so Jo drifted past her toward the papers and notes spread across the kitchen table, fingertips skimming absentmindedly along the edges of the pages. Even that felt unfairly intimate somehow, tracing the lines of Leila’s handwriting with the same helpless curiosity she’d started to associate with the woman herself.

“What is it that bothers you about the distinction?” she asked after a moment, tilting her head as she skimmed over the notes. “Like—is it the grading itself or the criteria they use to define it?” Her mouth twitched slightly before she glanced back over her shoulder. “You know, I read a study saying women surgeons tend to have better patient outcomes and fewer post-op complications.” She shrugged. “So maybe you’re worrying about a problem you’re statistically less likely to encounter.”

[augustine-lycaon]

“Jesus Christ— you’re serious?” He gave her a bewildered look, adding, “When I said I didn’t want you to waste your time, it was because I wasn’t looking for sex. If I was, I’d be using one of those apps for it or probably drinking in a shittier part of town than this.” He reached out and took one of the beers anyways, adding “Cheers,” before taking a drink. Augustine set it down, painfully aware he was being rude but feeling justified considering the woman’s own pushy behavior of all but interrogating a stranger. And Augustine was hardly know for being cooperative.

“Wanting an apology- typical woman, sure. But why the fuck do I need an alibi for not wanting to chat you up? You do realize you sound like a cop, right? That’s not how normal folks talk.”

[detectivejdarling]

Jo grimaced at that, the expression deepening when he mentioned apps. “What, like Grindr?” she asked, lifting the bottle toward her mouth before stopping halfway there. “That’s concerning. There are a lot of shady people on there.” Her gaze slid over him then, a small beat passing between them before she gave a loose shrug and finally took a drink. “...Nevermind.”

The corner of her mouth twitched around the bottle as she lowered it again, amusement creeping back in despite herself. “Relax, I’m only pulling your leg.” Jo leaned back further into the booth, her back rounding and legs spreading wide beneath the table like she hadn’t just spent the last several minutes poking at him on purpose. “You really ought to loosen up a little. You’re acting like I asked for your social security number, not whether you planned on apologizing for being rude.”

“Besides,” she continued after another sip, “you’re not really my type anyway.” Jo tilted her head, considering him with exaggerated seriousness now. “Maybe if you lost the beard.” She motioned vaguely with her hand. “Did something else with your hair.” Another pause followed, this one just a touch more thoughtful. “And I honestly prefer my men without a side of casual sexism.”

That crooked grin returned then, quicker this time. “But now I’m curious.” She tapped two fingers lightly against the side of her bottle before pointing them vaguely toward him. “What do normal folks talk like, exactly?” Her expression stayed open, amused, inviting him to continue digging the hole if he wanted to. “Please. Educate me.”

[lindleycardan]

“And it goes like…” The lyrics dissolved into hums and other mouth enunciations as Lindley made her way through the crowd. She skipped to the inflection of the beat in her head not bothering to pardon herself among the shoulders and back of the various beings in the crowd. It might have been a human orchestrated event but there was no doubt the throngs of people included the supernatural. Clad in calf high cowboy boots and a faded babydoll dress the deity intended to just be another citizen of Vievecor enjoying the show. She’d done her influencer duties earlier recording and taking photos but she hadn’t thought to change. Well this scene didn’t seem like she’d get noticed in it and that was her vibe these days.  Her phone gave a deep buzz, the face of her bestie popping up on the brightly lit screen. “Hey girl! Wait you what? The hospital…. You know you can’t….well are you sure?...” The empty dial tone left ringing in her ear as she stood bewildered at what had just happened. Her best friend was famous, and an elf to boot, she couldn’t just go to the hospital. She was determined to stop the nonsense when her gaze locked with heady eyes. Actually this could be fun sticking around. “Me? Stood up?” She grazed a hand over her form as if to indicate a being such as herself could not be stood up. Giving the woman a silly look it suddenly dawned on her, she was actually alone and a drink sounded good. “Uh, yeah wait up I’ll take one!”

[detectivejdarling]

Jo’s gaze followed the sweep of the woman’s hand automatically, slow and entirely unapologetic about it. The silly look she got in return pulled the corner of her mouth upward just slightly, something dry and amused flickering there before she gave a small shrug. “Your loss,” she replied easily, already turning toward the bar.

Then came the sudden change of heart. Jo glanced back over her shoulder at the bounce in the woman’s step and the bright note in her voice, and almost immediately reconsidered every decision that had led her here. She usually avoided people like this on instinct alone—too bubbly, too optimistic, too loud in a way that had nothing to do with volume. The kind of energy that normally had her looking for the nearest exit after five minutes.

Still, three drinks in and riding the fading edge of a bad idea, Jo figured maybe her usual type selection process wasn’t exactly producing stellar results. And what was one drink? If it didn't pan out, festivals made disappearing into a crowd easy enough.

By the time they reached the bar, Jo was leaning against it with enough familiarity to suggest she'd already spent a decent part of the evening there. “Whatever she wants,” she told the bartender first, before adding another vague “and something strong for me.”

Only then did she angle her attention back toward the other woman properly, gaze dragging once more over cowboy boots and soft fabric before settling somewhere around her face again. “You look like you usually go for something sweet,” she observed, cigarette balanced loosely between her fingers as she spoke. A beat passed, her mouth curving faintly at one corner. “But I think you could probably handle spicy.”

[detectivejdarling]

Jo let out a quiet breath through her nose, her gaze drifting for a moment before she gave a small, absent nod. “That’s fair." Naz wasn’t wrong. Jobs like that didn’t come with the same kind of money, or the same kind of freedom. That was the trade. It always was for women. Her eyes flicked back to the other actress, sharper for a second. “Just… don’t let people pull it out of you like that,” she added, less pointed now than before. “You don’t owe them that story or an explanation. They'll just use it against you.” Twist it, reshape it into something else entirely. She knew how that went. Knew, if it came down to it, she’d do the same.

At Naz’s next words, Joanna’s mouth curved faintly, something tired and matter-of-fact slipping into her expression. “Yeah,” she said, after a beat. “Well. Sometimes it’s the only thing that helps.” There was no self-pity in it, no attempt to dress it up as anything else. Just a simple, blunt truth.

Then she went quiet. Naz’s suggestion lingered longer than she expected, settling in a way she couldn’t immediately brush off. Leaving. Taking what she had and disappearing somewhere quieter, somewhere smaller, somewhere no one knew her name or expected anything from her. For a moment, Joanna let herself picture it. Not the logistics, not the fallout, just the idea of it. A life that was hers.

And, perhaps, Victoria's.

Jo swallowed, her jaw tightening as the thought faltered under its own weight. It wasn’t that simple. It never was. She didn’t even have full control over her own money, let alone the kind of life Naz was talking about. Everything she had was tied up in her father, in contracts, in expectations she couldn’t just walk away from.

“Maybe,” she said finally, quieter now, more to herself than to Naz. Her gaze dropped briefly to the packed dirt before she straightened, that polished composure slipping back into place like armor. “Though it’s a little harder when all you really know how to do is pretend to be something you’re not.”

A beat passed between them before she glanced past Naz again, toward her own set—toward the place she was expected to be. Whatever softness had flickered there a moment ago was already receding. “Good luck,” she added, almost as an afterthought, already halfway elsewhere. “With… all of it.”

[naz-ulusoy]

Naz simply nodded, knowing that everyone had their own vices in this business and outside of it. She had offered a warning but Joanna was under no obligation to listen to it so she wouldn't make a big fuss about it. Something still ached inside her though. It wasn't her job to protect her or every other puppy eyed woman who stepped into her life, though it hadn't stopped Naz from trying to.

She'd failed with Eun-ji. She told herself she was protecting the woman from gossip that might arise if their bond was discovered. That was a lie though, Naz had broken up with Eun ji and moved out because she was selfish, wanting to finally make it. A few rumours could ruin it all so maybe a vice wasn't a bad thing to have. Naz would stick to messy relationships and lovers instead of drugs but both could be just as destructive.

The pause spoke louder than Joanna's words could. Some people did well with a simpler life but if Hollywood was all the young woman knew, leaving would be daunting. Between endless expectations and rejections and begging for approval from strangers, Naz was overwelmed as well but she knew there was a life outside this city. She hoped that one day the women would find a happy place, either in a person or somewhere far from this city. "I think you'd be fine, it's just pretending but in a new location. Maybe a smaller crowd will help. Less people watching that way."

The moment was quickly gone and she saw the professional facade fall back into place. She nodded, giving her a warmer smile than their first interaction. "Good luck to you as well."