fly like an eagle, strike like a hawk

do you think you can survive the top?

[sinsolucion]

                                   penned by synnie. banners by batty.                                                                                [    carrd.   ]      

                               someone made a call about an hour ago,                            'bout a body found, left out on countington road                         no sign of struggle, no trauma stickin' out or exposed                          just a heart shaped locket with two flowers enclosed                                        a single rose in a gold tinted tunic                     with an old scented tulip wrapped around its fragile stem                      and behind the flora's aura was engraved a battle hymn                                it read "better find me before i do it again."

                original character. ace attorney inspired. detective. fandom friendly.                        just a dude solving mysteries of both fantasy and reality.                                                    ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

[lovlorne]

been going thru an immense hell so tiny hiatus ❤︎

[sinsolucion]

gingerly picks up his glasses ... attentively wipes its lenses until they're sparkly clean ... places the whole thing in the blender with utmost care-

      swift as a swallowtail, a deathly grip tears cord from socket.   ❝ how are you going to process your soups if you ruin the blade, beck? what did my glasses do to you? ❞   nothing; still it was pure spite that fueled this ferocious feline, and no amount of water would deter him, if past records were to be believed.

[sinsolucion]

censors his obnoxious smile by pressing a file folder against the lower half of his face.

      an admirable attempt, had baby blues not carried their weight in mirrored merriment, grooves wrinkling the corners of his eyes, mischief flowing, eroding as smile marks persist. they would persist upon beck like lions amidst harsh savannah brush stalking nimble antelope, awaiting time to strike notwithstanding opportune moment, for even a nick by nail suffices to infuriate.

such a response proved more than sufficient for a predator who thrived on poking and prodding 'til something gave way, even if it was just a refusal to bear witness to his impishness.   ❝ don't be like that, ❞   he drawls, with all the passivity of a predator that knew its prey doomed.   ❝ you're the one who makes me like this, yknow. ❞  

[kataskopeia]

grey eyes darken in light of sluggish naivety. perhaps he could meet the other's elevated moral standards in another life. "... you give me too much credit. we do that all the time." tampering, forging, betraying, blackmailing. whatever power media carries, he's made full use of it before. it's an intelligence staple, much like rum in a cocktail. a set of knuckles rises to his jaw; dissipates the lingering tingle with an absent motion.

"what i want is irrelevant." the word itself feels foreign on his tongue. nothing good ever comes from wanting. it's redundant in his efficiency-driven life and knowing he can do without it is a freedom on its own ( especially when the alternative heralds sleepless nights and burdened consciences ). "—though i realize someone like you might find that hard to understand." he slams the door shut ( with a little more force than intended ), circles 'round the vehicle, and slides onto the driver's seat with a certainty that would make anyone believe it's actually his. "now ... you seem to have some sort of misconception. the only alcohol i've 'consumed' is the one you've breathed at my face ... which is why i'm here, in the front—and you're back there." a quick tap on the car's front panel lets the child safety locks jolt into place with a pointed click. best make sure it stays that way before his esteemed colleague does succumb to the call of casinos while on the road.

"consider inviting me in advance if you're looking to waste away an entire night," he mutters, more to himself than to the stray he'd scraped off bar tiles, then peers over his shoulder for the sole purpose of subjecting the other to not-so-subtle full-body assessment. "the seat belt. if you really aren't that 'shitfaced,' i'm sure you can manage putting it on ... ?"

[sinsolucion]

      ❝ yeah, but that's 'cause you're usin' em. you don't necessarily like what you use, an' you're not gonna go an' talk to 'em for something this minor. ❞   even intoxication couldn't completely clear his conscience: when it came to this monstrous man, everything feasible was a non - zero chance — hell, even the impossible was challenged, should it become a blockade in beck's way. that being said, first thoughts became initial declarations: soren thought ill less, nor had he even the energy to rethink his words.

all he could thank himself for, in the distant future when recollection plagues him with past digressions, is that he omitted an additional consideration: that he himself was something to be used by the department's black sheep. sober contemplations always kept it in mind from the very beginning, a healthy distance   ( brought about by a ten - foot cattle prod )   keeping the tides from turning in opposing favors. soren could only wonder when exactly it was that he had lost said tool and allowed for such dangerous proximity.

with a huff, long legs tuck themselves in, though the body remains horizontal against the leather cushions of the back carriage.   ❝ maybe if ya didn't think yourself a device all th'time, you would be more normal 'bout whatcha want. an' whadya mean? you were at a bar! were you just prowling around for fun? ... don't answer that, actually, you probably were. i could see it. ❞   he wouldn't deny a severe inability to steer a vehicle, though: fortunately, he knew well of the law, even if alcohol addled his senses. that, and he simply couldn't bear bring harm to another through his recklessness. if it must be, then let it only be he who faces danger. he'd overcome.

but only after an eyebrow lifts at the insinuation that beck would accept a wasteful night.   ❝ i'll hold y'to that, ❞   he snorts, folding arms beneath his head for a makeshift pillow. soren's blouse remains heavily tousled, and his pants and zipper askew, untouched from prior teasing, but ultimately he seems comfortable.   ❝ meh... i wanna sleep, ❞   he whines.   ❝ just... don't drive like you're insane, or i'll arrest you, ❞  his laugh only slightly disproves the notion of seriousness.  

[kataskopeia]

"'up to' ... ? what are you saying?" he can't help but squirm under well-meaning fingertips when they come coupled with earnest inquiry. there's nothing he needs. nothing he wants to need. before he knows it, he's biting down on his tongue to halt any concession in-the-making and steadies himself by anchoring rugged nails to a sturdy back that very narrowly evades red marks by virtue of thick fabric soaking up the damage.

"just because a little change of pace served you well doesn't mean you're built for this line of work. i'm not——telling you shit." loathe he is to admit, the man had outperformed his expectations back then; had proven well and beyond that blue-eyed idealism and violent ferocity are far from mutually exclusive. but could he truly embrace the underhanded ways of a parallel world where immoral sacrifice and lack of remorse are par for the course? whatever the case, the image of a blood-clad metal edge and traces of crimson on cold, bathroom tiles remains fresh in his mind. on the odd-chance that his decisions lead up to casualties, he'd prefer to monopolize the count. "the perimeter ... 'secure'?" a low huff escapes him as he presses his sweltering face against the other's neck.

"i'm still here, aren't i. you're already making ... such a simple mistake. don't get ... cocky."

[sinsolucion]

      kind enough to clarify, his throat is faux cleared as an answer is bequeathed, albeit with a side dish best served cold. ❝ i'm saying, ❞ he begins, intonation a reflection of the bolstered confidence he bore upon his sleeve, ❝ that i was quite the superb bodyguard, and that you should— ❞ sharp is the talon that hooks his right lip, ascending with it like bird of prey, unleashing a foul, revolting sneer concocted only after a lengthy, years long brew. ❝ —make use of me more. ❞

moments like these made life worth living, despite all the hurtling downs that accompanied the roller coaster of existence. where their perpetual tango continued without a lapse in step, where soren finally could say he had a better understanding of the agent than he'd wager beck would like. and he would only continue to do so, with time.   

❝ be that way. i don't need you to say anything for me to find you. call me a hawk, 'cause i'll hunt you down until journey's end. ❞   baby blues darken, a challenging shade of royal hidden beneath ashy, grey strands.   ❝ after all, you know my glasses are for show. i can pick you out from a crowd or even a few stories' worth of rubble. ❞  

[kataskopeia]

he vaguely remembers being told about this. that instinct is innate. pre-coded. ... but even so, not necessarily set in stone. a surge of goosebumps flees across heated skin as he tries to urge his body into withdrawing instead of wallowing in the pleasantly refreshing trail left behind by searching fingertips. "i'm not—" abrupt silence seizes his throat when sudden motion threatens to elicit a gasp. he diverts his weapon's maw in an instance; makes up for shaky fingers by wrapping his legs 'round the other man's torso and interlocking ankles at his back. pulls himself close until retaining balance amidst blurry vision and distant instructions is no longer his problem, but theirs. "... fine."

lone gun muzzle digs into pillows below; becomes a make-shift crutch in spite of its owners thankless, strangulating hold around it. it's not quite enough to keep him from following gravity's call, though. his collarbone collides with a steadfast shoulder either way and his head bobs along, up until his breath brushes against pierced ear lobe. he allows himself to indulge in a long-drawn sigh, just this once.

"ʸᵒᵘ ᵖᶦˢˢ ᵐᵉ ᵒᶠᶠ· ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳˀ" ( call that malicious compliance in shape of a sharp-edged whisper ). "secure it earlier, if this bothers you so much. ᶦᵈᶦᵒᵗ·"

[sinsolucion]

      ❝ much. ❞   he needn't say more, his confident whisper a wisp warming fellow ear in turn. by this time, soren fancied himself an expert, having plenty of practice with snakes such as beckett. to endure a constrictor's coil brought him no further strife. now was time to focus, to bring promised aid at the cost of venomous bites and acidic sarcasm ( likely worsened by fact that beck would suffer the smirk donned at a breathy moan, soren granting himself a moment of regularity, where, had they been entangled in a more familiar couch, soren simply wouldn't have let beck live it down ).

be grateful that, when mending the wound became priority, he no longer teased nor taunted, just allowed digits to dance along tender skin, asking occasionally if more ointment was needed, more stitches, more cold packs, or more heat   ( if, somehow, soren's body did not suffice for warmth, considering their newfound... proximity ). no matter the desire to retort, he withholds comment until satisfied with beck's care.   ❝ if you'd just tell me when you're going on these dangerous escapes, i could secure it sooner, nikolai. was my bodyguard work not up to snuff for you to just let me assist? ❞  

[lupinoire]

continued from here. / @sinsolucion

     𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐏, nor does his spine unwind. Surprise-tinged confusion swirls in a stern gaze beneath a frown held in place by incurable tension. He expected differently, palpably so. Kindness feels suspicious when it challenges preconceived notions. His father would call this a weakness, the mark of one unfit to lead. Coddling produces little if not yellow-bellied men, complacent, stuck in their error-prone ways. A firm hand is a saving hand. But that of Serrano? He must’ve only halted it for not yet knowing the gravity of his mistake. Raymond continues to stare at him, wary and still as a dog awaiting the boot.

     ❛❛ No, of course not, but... ❜❜   At once, he corrects his stance, rigidity breaking away as though upon command rather than true relief. But it doesn’t stop his jaw from clenching.   ❛❛ When I said I fucked up I mean it. I got caught up in the wrong guy. Thought I had the case all figured out, but while I was pressing for a confession, the real culprit had the chance to strike again. ❜❜   Dark brows pinch together as he tests the limits of his superior’s kindness.   ❛❛ She’s in the hospital now. Critical condition. ❜❜   Collateral damage, manufactured by youthful hastiness.   ❛❛ How can I relax when I know I’m responsible? ❜❜   His question borders on an accusation.   ❛❛ I have to fix this. ❜❜

[sinsolucion]

      ❝ because you will fix this. ❞   soren asserts ardently, softened eyes a stark contrast to the austere, albeit amiable force his words command. hardened hands make for a callous crew, and where others may rule with iron fist, sergeant serrano saw diminutive dividends in rearing bruisers when people pleaded for peacemakers.   ❝ do not mistake my placidity for complacency, barlowe. there is simply nothing to gain from kneeling you for the guillotine when you have already done wrong; only mending the mistake will suffice. and you will do so. ❞  

rolling his shoulders and cracking taut knuckles, the wheels beneath his chair glide smoothly along transparent covering, allowing for a suave shift from sitting to standing.   ❝ now. first thing's first: let's go over your logic and see what needs throwing out, and what remains. while this didn't culminate in a catch, we need to weed out what went wrong and start anew. ❞  

[kataskopeia]

he foregoes the eye roll in lieu of a quiet stare that lacks just about anything aside from judgment and a meager amount of indecision called forth by his inability to determine whether he should categorize the other man's capricious perspective as a cop's entitlement or a drunk guy's dream of being spoiled. "... some defender of law you are." little does he know that this is far from the end of line; an inkling spurring his thoughts only when his body is yanked once more and he very narrowly manages to avoid becoming the car door's low frame's victim number two.

nails dig into the seat row's cushions; prop his frame up just far enough to prevent their faces from colliding post-fall and adding a traces of red to the vehicles interior. you've got to be kidding him. maybe it is a matter of getting spoiled. "i'm not so sure you can afford this," he says shortly after catching his breath; voice low and controlled while grey gaze seems to ingest every speckle of red to be found in the other man's features. fine. so he is wasted.

"'lapd sergeant stripped naked on the backseat of his own car'. like the sound of that?" his balance shifts onto one palm alone without much effort spared, leaving his other hand unruled by constraints of circumstance. he clasps it firmly 'round his colleague's hip that exceeds the seat's ledge to dangerously inviting degree, slips fingertips underneath disorderly shirt and lets them roam until they just barely cross the border between textile and bare skin.

"—while intoxicated and helpless."

a single digit moves even further; digs underneath dispensable waistband and strains it agape with single-minded intent. ... ... then, he pulls back. "ah ... but as it turns out," smoothly. completely. there are many things he's habitually unbothered by—whatever people might think of two pairs of legs dangling from a high-end car's sides included. even so, common sense doesn't escape him completely. "i'm supposed to be driving you home and am on a schedule. deal with this by yourself."

[sinsolucion]

      his capability of defending himself, let alone law, dwindled like soap suds down shower drain. nevertheless, his valiant attempts see no cessation, half - lidded baby blues relaxed in their casual glance skyward, peering into grey clouds without fear of an impending storm.   ❝ afford what? ❞   he queries in earnest, lax smile mellowing out his mien despite pain, white tresses of flyaway strands tinged red from prior damage.

was that a threat? he could hardly tell.   ❝ then don't tell anybody, ❞   he muses, brushing beneath beck's chin with a drowsy graze of index and thumb.   ❝ since when did'ja fraternize with tabloids anyway. an' who said it'd be just my clothes comin' off... you're the one makin' moves. ❞   he declares with such honesty, such belief — for he did take beckett's advances and shoves along the two - ton vehicle for a romantic pursuit, no matter how brief. had liquor not tainted his tongue, sanity would refuse such an overture, but alas...

❝ dunno 'bout helpless, ❞   his scoff and flared nose resounds a newfound confidence undeserved by a drunk.   ❝ an' i'm not that shitfaced, either. i can still talk, ❞   brave is the boast that, without apt awareness, comes off as more of a joker's jest than candid claim. let lone the absurdity of mere speech being the threshold of supposed abstinence when in truth, should he take field sobriety tests he'd once given frequently in his time as a simple officer, he would fail them before they even truly began.

amidst his complaints and denials, his body arcs with tender touches, a contented sigh marking his lean into traveling hands... until their teasing retreat earns a soured pout, and eyes closed in bliss slam open in betrayal.   ❝ you're the one who wanted me, ❞   he insists without shame, raising lower lip atop its twin. was he reading the room incorrectly? could he even read in this state?   ❝ what schedule... you were just drinkin', weren't you? sounds like a free night t'me. ❞   with wavering arms, he pushes his weight up, body quaking with waning strength. he pays no mind to the throbbing his lower half torments, an accomplishment granted only by his focus on treachery.

[sinsolucion]

knocks @ his office window

      it was a bird, sad to say. maybe multiple, considering the persistency. perhaps the windows were too spotless, too clean, that they'd broken the neck of an unsuspecting avian just trying to travel. at least, closed eyes could continue to claim complete confutability as long as they remained that way. he is content with schrödinger's situation — rather, was. despite the yearning desire to retain some semblance of sanity, his left eye begrudged his decision, opting to discern the truth with a creeping crawl to half - lidded vision.

lo and behold, he didn't like what he saw. both eyes slam wide as he throws himself out of his chair and storms to the window.   ❝ beckett, what the everloving fuck are you doing out there?! ❞  

[kataskopeia]

perhaps he should be grateful for the whiff of a drunkard's breath being distraction enough to stifle another surge of vaguely competitive annoyance in the making. live and let live. just this once. there's no joy to beating a man who could just barely recognize his surroundings. "... ... your head's still half-stuck in a beer barrel, isn't it." dry remark is coupled with a weighty tug to hasten their progress before his disoriented colleague could pinpoint the direction to next-best casino and make his life even more difficult with his dazed whims.

"as if they'd let a guy as wasted as you even enter the building. i won't stop you from burning up money ... but at least do it with a sound mind. you're just gonna regret it if -" he stops himself short; slow blink barely preceding the next turbulence in their shared step. oh, forget it. if that man is as drunk as he acts, it's unlikely he'll remember much of the lecture ... which he's not even sure why he bothers with giving it in the first place.

"... ... ... right ... i guess i'll send a bill to your sober self." he's somewhat prepared this time around—and the approaching surface is a clear bonus for handling the wildcard at his fingertips. a practiced step that resembles the first part of a body throw aims to push his staggering opponent against the car chassis. STAY PUT, he almost wants to say, as he fumbles for the stolen car keys hidden in his sleeves ... before he thinks better of it. or rather, it's probably a pointless request. the car blinks awake either way as its doors unlock with refreshing compliance. "calm down. i've got them right here. now get in."

[sinsolucion]

      ❝ no? ❞   genuinely earnest is his response   ( or question, given his inquisitive inflection ),   a hand idly fishing about his head for the supposed barrel. whilst their search results lay as barren as the kegs he drained, his legs stumble, body heaved without opposition.   ❝ m'pretty sure they'd let me in. imma payin' customer, after all. that's all y'need. ❞   never you mind multiple calls in his career's youth, with disorderly drunks needing swift removal from gambling grounds. he wasn't disruptive by any means, so surely he would be excused his intoxication.

murmured confusion is all the sudden swap of topic earns. hardly can he follow finished thoughts, let 'lone incomplete ones. already he's forgotten his proffered carte blanche, opting against inquiring what said bill was for again, though feeling himself ram the side of the vehicle brings another thought bubbling to the surface.   ❝ beckkk, ❞   he whines, face flushed a purer scarlet than mere alcoholic heat alone could produce.   ❝ we can't do that here, someone's gonna see us— ❞  

oh, but if they're getting in...   ❝ you gotta come in too, then, ❞   he hiccups, falling backwards into the rear   ( and loudly banging the top of his head against the very edge of the roof )   while pulling beck's arm down with him. multiple cars breeze by, parking themselves at the bar they absconded from, though soren's interest in them equate to that of a horse's ear flicking away a meddlesome fly.

[sinsolucion]

❛❛ I fucked up. ❜❜  It’s admitted easily, truthfully. There had been no need for Soren to cite him into his office; he came of his own accord, once he noticed his oversight. His shoulders straighten, body tensing, until he stands as rigid as a statue, and just as perdurable. This is the only way to survive a bout of disappointment.  ❛❛ I accept full responsibility. Tell me how to correct it. ❜❜  [ bad route while he’s still detective-in-training : ) ] 

      perhaps another precinct would commend this rigidity; or, alternatively, take this very opportunity to lop off the neck raymond protruded so boldly, relishing in the opportunity to batter, to bruise, to beat down. never was that his style, though — and now was as good a time as any to rectify this misunderstanding.   ❝ it's not the end of the world, nor your career, ❞   soren offers, sympathy weighing the far ends of his brows.   ❝ so you don't have to act like it. this is a time where your learning is encouraged, so while i appreciate your critical eye, one of the things i wish for you to correct is your stance. relax, soldier, you aren't being put to the blade here. ❞   at that, he offers a smile, soft at its corners and buoyant with brotherly affinity.   ❝ let's go over your casework together, all right? ❞  

[sinsolucion]

"Why did that man shout those random words at us? Pan, Day and Hose?"

      ❝ some people just don't like getting caught. ❞   that's one way to put it, but must he also act as translator? with a sigh, he confirms to himself that he should: after all, for cyrillis to become a competent, fierce member of their department, he should be aware of the oddities of another language.   ❝ it's an insult, a spanish one, though its intensity varies by what part of the americas it's being spoken from. in this case, shithead's just saying we're assholes for ratting him out. it's spelled, ❞   he continues, writing down 'pendejo' on his notepad,   ❝ like this. don't take it personally, all right? ❞  

[sinsolucion]

standing before soren's open office door, it's obvious that he has qualms about entering. the way he's inspecting the iconspicuous-looking door-frame with traces of doubt and everlasting suspicion haunting his gaze, the reason for this should be clear as well.

      ❝ aww, come on. don't be like that, ❞   howls the wool - laden wolf, brandished fangs an affront to his costume.   ❝ do you really think i'm the type to get even for something so petty? please. you wound me, beckett! ❞   or read him well, not that he is even trying to obfuscate his threats.   ❝ let's let bygones be bygones... i have some work that needs taking care of, and i saved it for you, my most competent coworker. ❞  

[sinsolucion]

"so ..." he starts, all caution deliberately erased from his voice even while his eyes drift from one sibling to the other with everlasting vigilance. "... between the two of you ... who's stronger?" ( for soren and layla :3 )

      purple meets blue, if only briefly, before she who dons the former allows a smirk to skyrocket alongside the right half of her face. the latter's eyes merely close after a dramatic roll, silencing the senses to keep some semblance of dignity about himself. he would curse beckett for this topic at a later date.   ❝ last i checked, ❞   layla begins, chest protruding, every ounce of confidence inflating her lungs.   ❝ it was me, right, ren? ❞ 

soren's nostrils simply flare.   ❝ you last checked when i was in college. a good decade ago, mind you. ❞   not that he wanted to test his luck with someone still actively fighting in wrestling circles. before she could retort, be it physical or verbal, he glares in beck's direction, lower lip overlapping its upper twin for a moment.   ❝ why are you asking, anyway? ❞   the pout fades in favor of mischief, a flash identified in widened eyes prior to his next words.   ❝ care to find out, first hand? ❞  

the prospect, while not as tantalizing as embarrassing soren, does catch layla's eye, her following up with a grin.   ❝ oooh, we could prove it, right here and now. but how? ❞   soren does not relent, his eyes still boring into greys.   ❝ well, my friend here doesn't feel pain. i say... we squeeze him as tightly as possible. whoever gets him to yelp, wins. ❞  

and don't you dare pretend to be unaffected when i do it, his glare silently demands.

[sinsolucion]

' um ... i heard your calendars sold out, ' or so she says, voice clearly riddled with underlying intent. yes. she's certain there must be a secret leftover stash somewhere. hand it over. ( from gwen / nildejure :3 )

      with every passing day, he grows all the more certain that he will never participate in another charity event, regardless of whether or not his body is personally required. at least, a lengthy break to let this particular instance rot.   ❝ did they, ❞   he grumbles, chin in palm and eyes elsewhere.   ❝ well, i can only hope that the funds did well for the societies they were dispersed to. is there something i can do for you, miss sapolio? ❞  

[sinsolucion]

' serrano. how confident are you in your ability to outspeed a horse. '

      for so simple   ( albeit strange )   a question, soren gives it exemplary thought. had it been anyone else asking, he likely would've given a swift confirmation that he could leave a horse in the dust, knowing full well that they'd recognize his hyperbole for what it was. but it's beck, which ultimately changes things.   ❝ horsepower isn't to be trifled with, but i'd give it a shot...

...now's the time to tell me if you signed me up for a race without my knowledge. ❞