#kitsuragi: thread.

[requitals-arc]

@halbermenschen ( maynard. )

kim’s eyes are half-obscured. the light catches brightly against  his glasses. 

“i’m glad you could be here. this is a difficult case, in a district of... difficult cases.”

that’s the thing about jamrock. it’s not just the caseload. it’s that anything that can happen, will happen. or that’s how vicquemare described it, which kim can’t exactly disagree with.

[requitals-arc]

@halbermenschen ( maynard ellis. )

the rcm is most often characterized by their backlog of work. the lieutenant is not fond of paperwork, not particularly. he enjoys certain parts of it. it is satisfying, for example, to end a case and file the report that summarizes it. many of his fellow officers enjoy this task less, because it feels like retreading. but with the minutiae of kim kitsuragi’s notes, it becomes nothing more than a slightly expanded retelling. in most cases, anyway. the more normal ones.

he’s busying himself with the next step—carving a single tally mark into the id, marking another case. that is a point of ego too, among officers. for kim it is something of a sense of relief. something else solved. something else with an answer, because in the city of revachol it often feels like there are always more questions tumbling outwards.

he glances over towards maynard. “it was a difficult case. good job, detective.” a pause. “i apologize. i should have said that earlier, but things were... chaotic.” not gunshots, but near it, hands on weapons and two people in a disagreement. maynard is quiet but efficient in moments of crisis, which is something that works well for them both.

[revachols]

@daringdarling​ left a note: dying just to escape fate. stupid. boring. ( alice quinn. )

there has been a death at brakebills. possibly a murder; possibly a suicide. it must be said: murder itself is droll. kim kitsuragi knows this. there are particular facets that might be unique. the method. the way the body is found, and possibly even posed. in this case, the location itself might hold some meager interest. it is not every day a student dies under suspicious circumstances. yet in the larger scheme of things the practice of magic is, in itself, inherently dangerous. 

kim kitsuragi remains quiet for a moment. he taps his foot idly. less impatience at this moment and more just deep in thought, staring up at the grand facade of the building. stately. old. secretive. he is not a hedge witch. he learned at a university across the country. but sometimes he looks at these old buildings and thinks to himself, ever so idly: what is the point of this? people will obtain knowledge any way they can. hedge witches have been shown to learn on their own, often in adverse ways.

the detective is thinking, ever so casually, of a publicly funded university for magic. then he shakes off the quaint thought and frowns to himself. the light catches against his glasses, obscuring his eyes, his expression unknowable. 

in this world of academics, he must look strange. hunched with his orange bomber jacket, carefully cut and tailored. calm. collected. kim stands there like the surface of a lake, placid in his observations, the sharpness to his gaze hidden. “yes,” he says. “it is extraordinarily convenient to do, though. to die. to escape. something boring is usually agreeable for someone.”

the last two words hang there, a noose around the neck of the investigation. for someone.  

here is the crux of things: at all points, someone gets what they want, and someone doesn’t. even here, on the grounds of a university, there is always someone carrying that weight.