cease from anger, forsake wrath;

DESKTOP ONLY DAVID MILLS FROM 1995's SE7EN

[orgizo]

— — You’re no messiah. You’re a movie of the week. You’re a fucking t-shirt, at best.

DRAFTS: 0 OPEN STARTERS: LINK ABOUT | RULES

[orgizo]

ooc|| I want to rp and reply but -- bad brain.

[orgizo]

ooc|| it’s been 78 days since David has seen Zeke... my man’s lost a child twice!

[lux-veritatis-a-deactivated2024]

Hands stowed away inside the relative warmth of the pockets of his motorcycle jacket, Kurtis stands back amongst the growing crowd of onlookers. He isn't there to catch a glimpse of death, though— he's had more than enough of that for one lifetime. Instead, his eye is on the scruffy detective who seems to be leading the investigation; he's been present at every crime scene so far. Something the other brunet knows because so has he, at one point or another.

To that end, he's seen this play out time and time again, both here and in Europe, and he knows there's nothing he can glean from their examination that he doesn't already know himself. He's just about to turn and start elbowing his way through the sizable group when a voice calls out from the other side of the barricade tape, causing him to pause.

"Sir!" the voice exclaims, belonging to a man in his early twenties, initially sounding maybe a little too excited to be power-walking into the sectioned-off area where a horrific murder had recently taken place. And who's he heading for? Why, that aforementioned detective in question, of course.

That detective, who might recognize him from the precinct: Hugo Ross, a somewhat new addition to the force and an aspiring investigator himself. In his hand, he waves a couple of printouts above his head. "Sir, I think I might've found something— do you have a minute?"

[orgizo]

—/⁠—  David's eyes shoot up in that direction, craning his neck and noting the young detective. Yet, David felt too little authority as a Detective Sergeant to require the 'sir' treatment. The difference between them was minuscule.

          ❝Alright. What is it?❞ He still tries to act like a big shot. Didn't feel it, not authentically at least. Mills looks the kid in the eyes, but his intense admiration due to his fresh attitude here was agitating. The superior redirects his eyes, momentarily only, locking onto something he didn't anticipate. The guy in the crowd seems familiar, and David narrows his eyes, trying to not so blatantly stare. Not that it's working. He's trying to decipher, had he seen him in previous scenes-- or is that all an insane conspiracy drummed up by his exhausted mind?

          No way, he wasn't nuts. He was steady and stable, and aware. There was something fishy about the guy in the crowd, but then David's attention gets directed back to Detective Ross (god bless uniforms with name tags). The papers get carefully offered, shielded from the rain. David takes them and starts to glance over, to put together what he's seeing. However he could get a good look, he's already hearing an intense chatter behind himself.

          A quick glance back offers him the fact that the two young techs are now squabbling. David sighs, putting the papers into his inner jacket pocket and striding over.

          Time to fix this.

[lux-veritatis-a-deactivated2024]

@orgizo, a starter

It's a chilly, moonless night in New York. A light, steady rain pelts the streets and any pedestrians unlucky enough to be caught out in it. Although lately, the rain is probably the least of the metropolis' concerns, since over the past few weeks, most major news outlets (television and paper alike) have all been running similar headlines: Eight dead in thirteen days.

A rash of brutal serial killings currently taking place all throughout the city. No witnesses, no clear-cut motive, and victims that never seem to have anything in common— apart from two things. One: the gruesome style of crime scenes left behind; bodies torn open and organs removed, sometimes with near surgical precision, and other times ripped out with all the finesse of a grizzly bear. And two: no matter what else happens to be absent, the pituitary gland is always missing.

And while the deceased may not have anything connecting them to each other socially, the sites where they've been found also share a correlation, appearing absolutely littered with arcane symbols carved into the flesh. Incantations, painted on every available surface surrounding the remains, drawn in blood belonging to the cadaver.

Handiwork that's gotten the unknown perpetrator labeled as "disturbed" by less professional sources.

According to her driver's license, the most recent tragedy is that of Lilli Mosley, who had met her fate down a long stretch of a back alley, conveniently obscured from the view of the general populace and largely devoid of foot traffic. Because of this, it had been hours before the death was reported to anyone.

[orgizo]

—/⁠—   David sighs, standing behind the police line and staring further into the crowd of men and women working around the dead body. Rainy season again, and it’s damp and cold. He grits his teeth returning to the scene. It doesn’t take a genius (or a Somerset) to spot the odd drawings, words that sound like gibberish and the way the body has been mutilated. Of course, the moment some looney case gets into the city, killing innocent people-- it’s David’s job to look into it. The precinct’s own on call psycho magnet. 

           He shifts, uncomfortable and steels his face into a neutral expression, and starts to come closer to look at the body and talk to the lab rats on the field. He chances a glance behind himself, cursing that he still hopes to see Somerset around. Nobody wants to work with an unstable mess, Mills knew it. He couldn’t blame them. The crowd behind him did little to inspire hope, morbid curiosity drawing them in to stare at the poor dead girl.

          Eight dead, so far, all the same. The case fell on his desk because nobody else wanted to deal with it. Weaseled their way away from tragedy, conveniently finding him instead. And now this girl. It’s pity in David’s eyes, he feels empathetic towards her. Thinks of Tracy but doesn’t dwell. 

          ❝What have we got?❞ He asks and gets a quick run down of how exactly she got butchered upon first impression, who she was, too. Mills tries not to fume at the causality of the young on scene tech bantering with his colleague as they explain it. ❝Alright, thanks.❞ David grunts, then turns back to the street cops who are keeping up their own rapport. Being fully in charge of this was going to drive him insane, he can feel it...

            David turns to the crowd instead, feeling like they’re too close. Not his problem, he reminds himself, and it hasn’t been for a long time. The aching echo in his head retorts, however, telling him they can see who he is. The rain was getting to him. When the fuck is the sun coming back? 

[orgizo]

Mun vs. Muse

stolen from: @ghxstfrxquxncies

[emilypxpe]

“ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜʀᴇᴀᴜ, ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴄᴇ, ɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʀᴇᴄᴇᴅᴇɴᴛ.”

[weltenwellen]

Alejandra Pizarnik, tr. by Yvette Siegert, from “[...] of The Silence”, Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962 - 1972

[soracities]

Pedro Salinas, excerpt from "The Voice I Owe to You (#63)", Memory in My Hands: The Love Poetry of Pedro Salinas (trans. Ruth Katz Crispin) [transcript in ALT]

[parrker]

BRAD PITT AS DAVID MILLS Se7en (1995) dir. David Finch

[orgizo]

sollumin​:

Zeke chuckled shortly; despite David’s attempt to save face, he already felt like he had made his first misstep. (And with plenty more to come after that.)

“–Sorry, David. Detective Mills. A force of habit. Things at home were…”

Trailing off, the new detective deemed it appropriate to drop the topic and pick it up for another time. Now that they were focusing on work-related matters, it was at least worth his full attention moving forwards.

Zeke let his brain carefully process the details readily offered about their case as he decided to follow his new partner. It wasn’t much to go off of (for the sake of privacy), but he was already prying at the inconsistencies and variables that left one wondering what their next step would be. A missing person found deceased and reported months later. What was usual about that? And when were they reported missing, who found them? Assuming the person found them at all and wasn’t their actual perpetrator? Something about the variables excited Zeke as much as it unsettled him. Only when they had enough evidence, he was sure to remind himself.

Zeke continued to follow, his light eyes ghosting over the countless faces of strangers, somehow the people he would learn to trust and depend on. Hard at work in their departments, and each a pivotal piece to the puzzle keeping New York City together.

Before he knew it, they had arrived at their department, his desk easily identifiable amongst those crowded with their owners’ belongings—a blank slate. Zeke briefly wondered who it originally belonged to before carefully placing his box down and onto the wooden surface. He smiled, happy to rest his arms. With a soft sigh of relief, he turned back to the other.

“So then, what evidence do we have currently? Witness statements? You mentioned that they found the victim months later. Did they have someone who was looking for them? Family? Friends? I’m ready to start, be as caught up with this case as possible and help you the best I can.”

—/⁠— ❝Don’t sweat it. David will do.❞ Mills reassures as they climb up the stairs and head down the halls of desk towards his office. Small and crowded. Luckily, most their work will not be conducted in that space. He loathed sharing with Somerset back when-- and hell, he liked Somerset by the end of it. However, squashed together as they were it would not be great. They’d just end up butting heads. David was sure. He and William didn’t get along until they finally got space, too. So really-- the small office was not ideal. Good thing David’s was next to the desk they assigned Zeke. Blank and ready to be decorated, really.

             Mills burrows his brow as he halts next to it. He just manages to motion to his door lightly seconds before Zeke speaks up. 

           ❝Damn, you are a total blue flamer, aren’t you?❞ David ribs at him, knowing he was in much of a similar position when he had just started out. ❝Just ‘Zeke’ is fine, right?❞ He asks then, wanting to be on the same page more so than actual respect. Yet, he didn’t want the younger to snap at him over disrespect either. David chuckles. 

          ❝Listen, I’ll bring you up to speed, just let me get the folders.❞ David reassures, stepping into his office in a couple of strides. He picks up the stack off the desk, ignores his buzzing phone on it, however. He doesn’t need to check the caller ID, he knows who it is. Regardless, with the evidence documentation and statements in hand, he returns to Zeke’s side. Places the hefty stack of folders on the desk.

          ❝Here’s everything. I’ll guide you through it.❞ Mills drags the chair over from the nearby desk, not as empty, and sits down. A quick gesture for Zeke to do the same. 

[orgizo]

ooc|| new tenant from the other side of the pond lol if you want to set smth in the 60s or drag a man out of the 60s-- @dsbacchus is now housed under this main blog as a sideblog.

[orgizo]

sollumin​:

Zeke received the shake, mindful of his grip as wishing to avoid demonstrating himself as most men had.  Zeke was the furthest from that; despite recognizing his skills, he acknowledged the ample space for improvement.  His personality, for starters, would only get him so far in this line of work; the humour? Hardly appropriate.

Zeke silently admired Detective Mills the moment they laid eyes on one another.  There was an insatiable curiosity in the younger man then, partially due to his history as a police officer and to things that left more questions than answers.  More directly speaking, something loomed underneath the man’s congenial exterior that he couldn’t quite put his finger on—a silent melancholy, most likely, private as it was incomprehensible. 

He wouldn’t pry, at least not yet.  No.  He wanted Detective Mills to trust him, to see him as someone he could rely on as a person and partner.  Maybe even a friend.  Perhaps he was getting too ahead of himself, but Mills was the only friendly face he knew here, so far, anyway.

The detective would sheepishly agree to his apparent lack of experience, leaning down to recollect the box he left at his feet in a polite enthusiasm to make a good impression.  Zeke would, however, rise with a renewed sense of zest to see his new space and begin their initial assignment together.

“Of course, Detective Mills, sir!  It’s what we’re here for, right??  As nice as it is to get to know each other more appropriately, I’m ready to begin; the sooner, the better!  Have you looked at the case yet?  What information and material can we expect to work with going forward?”

Now that the pleasantries were out of the way, Zeke could finally feel himself relax and train his focus on the assigned case. He preferred to be involved as closely and deeply in his work as possible, but would his prior experience prepare him enough for what he was about to see?

—/⁠— Zeke seemed alright, or well... maybe more than alright. He seemed like a good young man, ready to take on the world. Eager almost. Like an hyperactive puppy would be. David only hopes his eagerness won’t cause anyone, or especially himself, harm. Mills had already seen first hand what trying to go above and beyond to prove oneself can do. 

          Yet, David also knew looks can be deceiving. He didn’t want to bet on this right now. He’d rather give some time to be able to read the kid. Even if the trust isn’t there yet... it’ll come, hopefully. One relies on a partner first and foremost. That’s the person you’d take a bullet for; fight tooth and nail to defend. The person you’re supposed to be in sync with. Somerset didn’t quite let him down, but his retirement and the circumstances of their parting did leave David aching in a way he didn’t want to admit. Phantom limb and all that. While William was somewhere in bumfuck nowhere, barely bothering to call or write, David had to deal with himself. Which was a much more cruel and unjust punishment than anticipated. 

          ❝Okay, Zeke, listen-- first thing is-- don’t sir me.❞ David grimaces lamely, before forcing out a chuckle to keep the mood light. They’re meant to be equals, as far as most things go. The kid should save it for when David manages his Lieutenant promotion proper. Hell, even then David wouldn’t want that... ❝As far as the case goes, a body turned up that had been reported missing months back. So far, that’s all I can say for sure. Any wild theories have got to take a backseat till we have enough evidence.❞ That much he’s learned from Somerset. Don’t rush in and you’ll be more satisfied with the results. 

            David steps aside, before turning leisurely to walk back towards the stairs, a small motion of his hand showing for Zeke to follow. ❝Let’s go. I’ll show you the office. I don’t think the lobby is an appropriate place for this discussion, mh?❞ He glances momentarily before continuing down the route.

[orgizo]

sollumin​:

Zeke was just about out the door when he heard someone calling, and he paused. He didn’t have to, fully convinced it was just another disruption or colleagues speaking liberally to one another. But he stood, looking somewhat bewildered at the fact that the man making his way down the stairs was talking directly to him. 

He felt a pang of delight then, someone did notice his arrival, and he wasn’t making some big mistake. Grinning sheepishly, he turned around and closed the distance somewhat between them. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think… “ 

He felt rather silly about it all, shaking his head in dismissal as he adjusted the box he had held just a bit too tightly earlier. 

“It’s great to finally meet you, Detective Mills..To be honest, I didn’t think I would be assigned a partner so soon, but.. “

He paused, setting the box down at his feet to extend his hand in a show of professional courtesy. Curiously enough, it wasn’t lost on Zeke just how similar their last names sounded. Was this on purpose? He couldn’t tell. The last thing he wanted to do was bring unnecessary attention to it all. 

“Zeke Miller, Sir. I’m happy to have the opportunity to work with you! I just flew in today …didn’t even look at my apartment yet. New York is just like I imagined it, even better, maybe. Though, I’d imagine you could lose yourself pretty easily if you aren’t careful. Maybe we could grab a coffee sometime and get to know each other better? I guess if we’re going to be partners and all, that’s expected.” 

—/⁠— He didn’t think anyone would notice him? Now that’s mildly ridiculous. David wasn’t blind, after all. He never managed to regain esteem to the point of thinking he’s a big shot again... but he was aware that he did manage to find him, amongst the mess and all. No light pat on the back needed.

         Mills looked at the box in his arms, mostly housing essential items for the job and few personal belongings... but he will not comment on that. It was only a meek distraction. The senior detective looked up at the youngins face, listening. 

           ❝Well, they certainly weren’t going to let you go solo, kiddo. You’re still wet behind the ears after all. At least in this place.❞ He mutters out, as he other places down the box and then straightens up to offer his hand to shake. Mills reciprocates the action lousily. If before, all those years back, he would’ve used some strength to show just how manly he was, now he has mellowed out a lot. He didn’t care for that macho gun show. 

         Zeke. Alright. Miller? Freaky coincidence, with the similarity but David isn’t going to bat an eye at that even. Instead, he nods, letting go of the other’s hand and dropping it by his side. He listens, which is something he could have done better back in the day, back in 1995 when he just got here. 

        Now the coffee offer, it strikes a nerve, reminding him of Somerset’s early offer. One he refused because he was eager as hell to get to work-- to make a difference. And suppose he did. Even if not in the way he would have preferred. However, he pushes those thoughts away. 

       ❝Well, sure. Coffee sounds good. We’ll see.❞ He smiles, polite but not earnest. ❝Zeke, if it’s all the same to you, I’d show you your office and we can start working? The chief gave us something to look at and I’d like to get an early night in today.❞ He’s not lying. Sleep has become a rare commodity lately but he’d be damned if he didn’t continue trying to get some.

[sollumin]

Starter for @orgizo

Zeke felt like a kid on his first day of school, nervous and constantly looking around as if he was going to be thrown out or something. He was a fish out of the water, literally, newly enlisted in the NYPD homicide division from a small town in West Virginia. Nothing happened there besides the occasional larceny charge or drunk and disorderly conduct. Small-time stuff. So it was like a dream come true when the sheriff informed him that there was an opening there for someone like him. Someone who could really make a difference in the world. His parents thought he had lost his mind when he said he wanted more action, something to prove himself. Especially in a city like New York, where a crime literally happened every ten seconds. This wasn't a normal beat he was going into; this was the big times, New York City's Homicide Unit. The true garbage men of human indecency. If you could even call them decent in the first place. He fidgeted in his chair, waiting in reception to be greeted by someone to escort him to his new unit. He held his box of things tightly, almost too tightly, the only things he brought here with him as he wanted to start as fresh as he could. Zeke had the spirit that most cops lacked, lacked here especially. He was fresh, clean and virtually without tarnish. That should only get him an hour in this place. Zeke didn't even touch so much as a cigarette or a blunt of marijuana in his childhood. They needed someone like him, like it or not, someone who was virtually incorruptible in all of this corruption. Now all he had to do was convince himself.

Zeke was getting too restless, leg bouncing in impatience; the urge to get up and leave was there. Just start fresh tomorrow. Maybe there was some sort of miscommunication on his part? Gradually he moved to his feet, taking one last look behind him before he headed toward the door.

[orgizo]

—/⁠— David knew it well... being the new kid at any precinct was heavy work. You had to pull your weight and make sure you’re not letting anyone dogpile you atop it all. But here he saw the kid in question and he nearly busted out laughing. Innocent looking, almost doe-eyed and looking a bit overwhelmed. The captain told him to go down and wait patiently-- almost specifically in those words. Mills fought back a groan but listened regardless... now here he was. 

         He didn’t get much information about the new rookie Detective. Funny, seeing as Mills was much in a similar situation all those years back... but he was sure he never looked that much like a lost puppy. And after everything that had happened, he came back and now look at him, (almost) Lieutenant Mills.  Despite all that shit, he persevered. Lost everything and stood back up! Admittedly, thanks to Somerset who just had to fuck off to bumfuck-knows-where...not that David was bitter over that. Regardless, he wasn’t going to repeat this situation with his new partner and Detective in training-- damn. The hell was his name? David really had to listen better...

        David luckily didn’t space out to miss the kid standing up and turning to leave. Noting it he sighed and quickly went down the stairs and after-- all the while making a point to announce himself.

        ❝Hey, new kid! Where d’you think you’re going?❞ He knew he was the one in question, after all -- not many others coming to the station carrying a box of personal belongings only to wait on the bench. ❝I’m Detective Mills--❞ Level three Detective, mind you, finally. ❝-- your assigned supervisor and partner.❞

[orgizo]

fixing/replacing my tags whoop whoop--  

[brad-pitt]

Brad Pitt as David Mills in Se7en (1995) dir. David Fincher