Mr.Midnight

[detectivemidnight]

chiefvalentine

“Wh…” Charles gave the detective a dumbfounded look. Was he serious? No, he had to be pulling his leg. Although, it was hard to tell with that face of his. That permanent half-smile, accompanied by a mysterious set of eyes. He could never guess what he was thinking. The squirrel turned his head away from Midnight, bringing up a hand to rub at the nape of his neck. “Two hundred and fifty,” he finally said.

He looked up at Midnight, pursing his lips together tightly as he waited for a response. Whenever he mentioned the price of his paintings, he was normally met with a snide comment of some kind. As a result, he was almost expecting to receive one from his partner too. There was, however, a small part of him that was hoping it’d be different this time around.

The man took a step back, hand cupping his chin as he turned his eyes back at the piece as went to inspect it a little more. Another angled turn, and he could see the light shine at all the strokes that Charles had taken into consideration. The mix of oils and turpentine producing the rich and luminous surface. His style, Midnight believed, seemed to emulate a kind of abstract realism, with an emphasis on sharp edges to maintain shape and form of the subject, all while keeping realistic proportions. Nothing It was unlike anything that Midnight had ever seen.

“Three-hundred.”

He had lowered the painting now, and his other hand returned to his pocket. Midnight made a half-turn towards the artist without a smile, but a genuine seriousness in his eyes. There was a business-like look to it, like he wanted to be his mentor and tell him exactly why it should be worth this much. Though, it’s not like Charles was draped in a white at an art gallery yet. He needn’t an assistant to emphasise why his work showed promise to sell to rich clients. He knew from the very start that his bodyguard had more to share- never knew it would extend to hobbies so different to his rough nature. Not that he would complain.

[detectivemidnight]

PLEASE HURRY > she whined, curled up tight under her desk. < I SAW.. BLOOD, blood under the door! I heard noises, I think the killers still here! > It’s hard to forget the cry of someone who witnessed a murder for the first time. Although inconsolable, the women was able to give you some details on your location. Smith Studios. It’s not surprising someone wanted Mr.Smith dead, but they were bold to do it so early. Only thing to do is enter the building. The early night is still.

[DM]: Please remain calm, ma'am. We’re on the way.

You really don’t do distress calls like this. At least, not with the person on the line. What are you? The receptionist? The Powerpuff Girls with a big ol’ red phone anyone can have access to? You’d rather stick to your ragged and dirty job of being the “clean up crew” in the crimes unit (where you’re just as cold as the dead bodies you find at 3 am) than listen to the screams of those about to lose colour just as fast as you lose faith in the legal justice system. It was 2am, and the call was just on time. Hopefully, you would be too.

===> ABSCOND.

You haul your ass to the Crime Scene Studios.

[detectivemidnight]

allendsinflowers

OOC;; That’s such a metal line Mayhem

How brave of you to climb up the stairs, and at the very top the blood seems to come to a halt. The only light on the top floor is blaring from a room directly in front of you, cashing a brilliant yellow glow out of it towards you.

If you can listen very carefully, you can hear music coming from inside. This murderer obviously has some class.

The music starts with a swell, with the kind of quality that makes you hunger for the simpler days.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0feNVUwQA8U

Walk into the light Detective.

(( Thank you...It’s too good to not reuse

Your footsteps stain the hallways as you creep towards the bright room. At least when the next detective comes, they can deduce the fact that you openly walked towards your inevitable death. But you were too stubborn to let someone else take care of business for you. Your job stood right before you, and you already stood ready to be made fun of. The bonus soundtrack to your funeral was overkill, hah. No, you weren’t ready to tango with this killer and be sent off with a song that you only got rough with your partner over. You’re no cheat. Just a winner.

You walk in steadily, like you had all the time in the world.

[detectivemidnight]

@ Mosaic Midnight: Zip Charles (Dress him up or shut him up. This is entirely up to you)

Charles is known to keep his shirt open and his chest as broad as his ego. Which pisses Midnight off. And maybe because he can’t help but stare.Drabble time for @chiefvalentine. Except it came out longer than I intended for it. Mosaic Zone verse, where their relationship is at a weird flirting-rivalry and reeks of teenage boys and gym socks.

The first time they move to the winter tundra, Charles refuses to put on any other layers on him. Because, somehow, the sheer determination from a hot-blooded fury like Charles Valentine could survive frost bite better than the winter gear that made you feel like a warmly toasted marshmallow. Granted, they did feel like that. Charles being the flame; using his Halo to scorch and coat heat all over himself, refusing to believe that he was sinking into the snow each step of the way.

He grumbled all the way, and Midnight shot him a few glares before picking up the pace. The black cat stayed true to his pride and type by trying to match his speed all the while hobbling through snow sludge. Sparking the man into a challenge was never his intention, but when the warrior arrived at the village weighed by melted ice, he received a few laughs and covered giggles and looked at Midnight like he got a win. See? his look said. I can get along with people just fine.

Midnight cooled himself with a tight-lipped smile and tried to kick down any pinch of jealousy.

At night, the village (who had quickly figured out he had a bad relationship with feeling cocooned in clothes) laid out a generous amount of blankets in their room for Charles. His bed turned into a giant nest of soft fabric, and Midnight was afraid he’d light it all on fire like the unpredictable hell spawn he could be when angered right.

The beautiful thing about being partnered with Charles was that Midnight genuinely forgot that Charles could have the capacity to be human. Hellish comparisons to the side. So when he hears Charles try to suppress a sneeze so hard he sounded like a kitten, Midnight could only stare at the obscure shadows in surprise.

“Val?”

“Fuck off.” The darkness replied harshly. Well, it would’ve been more harsh if it wasn’t out to attack Charles’ throat.

“Are you…sick?”

“If you don’t shut up- I’m going to skin you alive. Capisce, ain’t it, cowboy?”

“Y’know, threats don’t really work when you sound like you’re choking on your big fat pride.”

Charles tries to give him a mock laugh before promptly hacking away at his vocal chords by coughing. Then sniffling, before letting out a defeated fuck. That was the moment Midnight decides to put down his own pride and help him.

“I’m cold.”

“I told you.”

“Come warm me up?”

“No.” His hand found their way to the smaller man’s forehead, then cloaks him with a blanket. “You need to cool off, and I don’t think you can handle me right now.”

That earns him a glare.

“You’re the worst nurse.”

“Go get someone else to nanny you, boy.”

“Nah. Least you’re pretty to look at.”

That earns him a smile.

[detectivemidnight]

PLEASE HURRY > she whined, curled up tight under her desk. < I SAW.. BLOOD, blood under the door! I heard noises, I think the killers still here! > It’s hard to forget the cry of someone who witnessed a murder for the first time. Although inconsolable, the women was able to give you some details on your location. Smith Studios. It’s not surprising someone wanted Mr.Smith dead, but they were bold to do it so early. Only thing to do is enter the building. The early night is still.

[DM]: Please remain calm, ma'am. We’re on the way.

You really don’t do distress calls like this. At least, not with the person on the line. What are you? The receptionist? The Powerpuff Girls with a big ol’ red phone anyone can have access to? You’d rather stick to your ragged and dirty job of being the “clean up crew” in the crimes unit (where you’re just as cold as the dead bodies you find at 3 am) than listen to the screams of those about to lose colour just as fast as you lose faith in the legal justice system. It was 2am, and the call was just on time. Hopefully, you would be too.

===> ABSCOND.

You haul your ass to the Crime Scene Studios.

[detectivemidnight]

allendsinflowers

TW// BLOOD

There was a problem when you reached stairs. Blood. It looked like someone went crazy with a tin of paint and decided to dress the town red. It was everywhere, the ceilings and the staircase…

Strangely, it doesn’t smell like blood.

Along with the red blood there ass also a thick black inky substance. Clots? Could be. But it was all disgusting.

Huh. Well, this was too gaudy for your taste.

You cringe at the sight of the black goop splattered across the area. Just what on earth is this? Let’s just hope your overcoat doesn’t get drenched in this comically gelatine-red thickness. The large, black loads you take a glance at with narrowed eyes, unsure what to make of it. As long as it isn’t moving, it’s not your concern. You’ve had worse things stained on you, but usually they were permanent, and...not this much. 

Still, you push forward. This Studio was an open hunting ground, and you don’t want to get your game late.

[detectivemidnight]

PLEASE HURRY > she whined, curled up tight under her desk. < I SAW.. BLOOD, blood under the door! I heard noises, I think the killers still here! > It’s hard to forget the cry of someone who witnessed a murder for the first time. Although inconsolable, the women was able to give you some details on your location. Smith Studios. It’s not surprising someone wanted Mr.Smith dead, but they were bold to do it so early. Only thing to do is enter the building. The early night is still.

[DM]: Please remain calm, ma'am. We’re on the way.

You really don’t do distress calls like this. At least, not with the person on the line. What are you? The receptionist? The Powerpuff Girls with a big ol’ red phone anyone can have access to? You’d rather stick to your ragged and dirty job of being the “clean up crew” in the crimes unit (where you’re just as cold as the dead bodies you find at 3 am) than listen to the screams of those about to lose colour just as fast as you lose faith in the legal justice system. It was 2am, and the call was just on time. Hopefully, you would be too.

===> ABSCOND.

You haul your ass to the Crime Scene Studios.

[allendsinflowers]

The street is quiet around you, the night is still and foggy. In the darkness street lights are smothered by fog, doing a shit job of lighting up anything.

“ SMITH SNACKS “ beckons above you. Hideous lime green lettering that flickers on and off, on and off, before it turns off and flickers no more. The doors are slightly opened, like the murderer simply walked their way inside.

And as you walk your way inside you’re greeted with stairs and an elevator. You can hear the receptionist whimpering behind the desk. Surely she’d be no help. The murder has been taking place on the top floor. Do you walk up the stairs, to gain a bubble butt or do you ride the elevator like the worm you are?

[detectivemidnight]

You have a reputation of being a bit of an ass, it doesn't hurt to gain some more. Also, you have a gun out, so your reputation skyrockets. (But it's the 1920s, so your points reset) You want to take the stairs, becauseーlogicallyー staying inside a metal casket held by a few bits of rope was the illogical choice. Also, in a very protagonistic way of thinking, it'd be cool to say you crawled your way up to the staircase messiah to talk to him and demand answers for all the killers you couldn't contain with you in the blue-collared slaughterhouse you called justice.

But perhaps that was too much to think about in this whimsy thread.

So you make sure to get the hyperventilating woman outside and into the safety of your automobile with your partner before ascending the stairs.

[detectivemidnight]

< PLEASE HURRY > she whined, curled up tight under her desk. < I SAW.. BLOOD, blood under the door! I heard noises, I think the killers still here! > It’s hard to forget the cry of someone who witnessed a murder for the first time. Although inconsolable, the women was able to give you some details on your location. Smith Studios. It’s not surprising someone wanted Mr.Smith dead, but they were bold to do it so early. Only thing to do is enter the building. The early night is still.

[DM]: Please remain calm, ma'am. We're on the way.

You really don't do distress calls like this. At least, not with the person on the line. What are you? The receptionist? The Powerpuff Girls with a big ol' red phone anyone can have access to? You'd rather stick to your ragged and dirty job of being the "clean up crew" in the crimes unit (where you're just as cold as the dead bodies you find at 3 am) than listen to the screams of those about to lose colour just as fast as you lose faith in the legal justice system. It was 2am, and the call was just on time. Hopefully, you would be too.

===> ABSCOND.

You haul your ass to the Crime Scene Studios.

[undr]

Unknown Photographer. London, 1930s

[chiefvalentine]

detectivemidnight

Paintings were the least of his concern when it came to decorating the wealth that Mr.Midnight called his home. Apparently, he believed scattering family photos and his kids awards and scribbles wherever he could- would make visitors feel more welcomed…and not like he owned a house elegant enough to be made by some famous architect.

To find himself at a neighbourly garage sale, was a bit unusual. But a dad can’t help himself from making a quick trip that wouldn’t hurt to visit, or at least get to know the people around the area. Perhaps it was only shocking when he found a familiar face sitting down, looking as though he’d rather read the newspaper (uncharacteristically, in Midnight’s opinion) but needed to pay attention as the host. In other words; be friendly and as inviting as his paintings.

Midnight found a spot to park his car easier than Charles could ever find his smile for a couple of strangers who only stood to window shop and no doubt thought they could do better than him. The detective was not that person. He was the dad that tried to compliment artists by saying that he can’t even draw a circle or a straight line. And he couldn’t.

“Didn’t know you had an eye for the arts, cowboy.” Midnight said, stepping over the concrete paths towards a display of figure paintings, right opposite Charles. He held his chin as he eyed the piece, before glancing up. “You made these?”

Charles was nearly about to space out in his seat until a familiar voice touched upon his ears. It didn’t take him very long to connect who it belonged to, which resulted a disgruntled grimace from the crimson squirrel. Oh god. It couldn’t be who he thought it was, right? Right? With his ears flattened against his head, he lifted his chin up from his hand by just a tad as he slowly drew his gaze upward.

Much to the man’s dismay, he found his partner from work standing right before him. He was casually taking a gander at one of his pieces, much like the other people who were there. As he bit back a groan, he lowered his head to rub at his forehead. The word “cowboy” echoed in his head. Ah, there it was. That dreaded nickname finding itself slipping from the canine’s lips once again. Where the hell did this even come from, anyways? Ugh. He couldn’t be assed to think on it too much.

Blatantly ignoring Midnight’s question, he decided to answer with a query of his own. “What…” He quietly began. “… Are you doing here?” He peeled his hand from his face, holding it up in the air as he stared up at Midnight.

[detectivemidnight]

The detective could only hold his gaze for a few moments before slowly making his way down the makeshift gallery isle, taking his time to reply. "I saw your flyer." He answered simply, eyes fixed on the array of illustrations before him. "If you didn't expect people to come, you should probably go and take them down before parents start picking up their theatre and arts kids. They love this kind of thing."

Midnight stopped in front of a particular piece. It wasn't as vibrant as the rest, but it held a certain tone to it. Something quiet, but inviting. If one had to guess, the details of it were almost too specific to pin down to imagination, and felt like the recreation of a childhood memory; twisted to be more like home.

Carefully, he picks the canvas up, checking the back quickly before tapping the sides with a finger, and looks at Charles expectingly. How much? His look said.

[detectivemidnight]

Tickety boo.

Everything's always tickety-boo with you.

[allendsinflowers]

These are all of my favourite things...

The foul murders of influential figures rise as the days pile on. Small breaks hit in between and authorities feel as though these murders are not done by just one sick individual. A cult? Organized crime? Who could be carrying out these grim acts?

All ends in Flowers is a crime RP blog featuring my oc Karlis! He’s different in a lot of verses so please be sure to specify who you want to tangle with, if you don’t i’ll just assume!

Please be aware even though my tone is light things can get serious and he is a ~criminal~

[chiefvalentine]

@detectivemidnight

Surrounded by colorful canvases, Charles could be found sitting among them in a fold-able, flimsy lawn chair. He was leaning forward, elbows propped onto his knees while he rested his chin in the palm of his right hand. The rodent watched in silence as strangers swung on by to visit his little “yard sale”, taking the time to stop and stare at the paintings he had put out for purchase. They were some of his favorite pieces… or at least, ones he had felt were worthy enough to be bought and hung up on the walls of other people’s homes.

What started off as a hobby became another means for Charles to rake in some dough. He was good at what he did, so why not take advantage of it? He might as well. While business wasn’t exactly booming, it was still nice to see the few people who did like his art enough to look at it. Of course, he wasn’t some big named artist. He was just your average guy who happened to like art enough to invest time and money into it. 

Charles didn’t expect people to come crawling to him with clumps of money in their hands, hoping to obtain pieces that he created. As much as he liked the thought, he had no other choice than to wait and see if he was lucky enough to find that one person who would.

[detectivemidnight]

Paintings were the least of his concern when it came to decorating the wealth that Mr.Midnight called his home. Apparently, he believed scattering family photos and his kids awards and scribbles wherever he could- would make visitors feel more welcomed...and not like he owned a house elegant enough to be made by some famous architect.

To find himself at a neighbourly garage sale, was a bit unusual. But a dad can't help himself from making a quick trip that wouldn't hurt to visit, or at least get to know the people around the area. Perhaps it was only shocking when he found a familiar face sitting down, looking as though he'd rather read the newspaper (uncharacteristically, in Midnight's opinion) but needed to pay attention as the host. In other words; be friendly and as inviting as his paintings.

Midnight found a spot to park his car easier than Charles could ever find his smile for a couple of strangers who only stood to window shop and no doubt thought they could do better than him. The detective was not that person. He was the dad that tried to compliment artists by saying that he can't even draw a circle or a straight line. And he couldn't.

"Didn't know you had an eye for the arts, cowboy." Midnight said, stepping over the concrete paths towards a display of figure paintings, right opposite Charles. He held his chin as he eyed the piece, before glancing up. "You made these?"

[detectivemidnight]

Charles (et al): Why are you wearing a tuxedo?

Mr.Midnight: It's after six. What am I, a farmer?

[detectivemidnight]

Lars: It's funny how you and Valentine became best friends. Didn't he hate you at first?

Mr.Midnight: He hates everybody at first. It's his way of reaching out to people.

[detectivemidnight]

Mr.Midnight: I'm looking for my partner.

Mr.Midnight: He's six foot three and he smiles like this.

Mr.Midnight: >B'

[wickerjulias]

insp.

[oformat]

[chiefvalentine]

[Guess who was a dummy and deleted her main blog that was still connected to the others? crysmirk… I guess Charles’ blog is gonna start anew, so gimme a moment to get everything ready]

[detectivemidnight]

[ Follow this silly goose back ]