Hey Naff! I hope you’ve been doing well! I’ve been thinking of the sleuth boys lately and wanted to see if you had any fun facts or anything else! I’ve been also loving your O’medusa story and can’t wait for the next chapter! <3
Heya, babe! I've been doing good, thank you <3 Ah, it's been a hot minute since I've chatted about the sleuth boys!
Detective Moon will occasionally find the vigilante in a deep sleep on their couch after he returns from his shift. He'll quietly think that they look like a cat curled upon the cushions, and he'll gently touch them to let them know he's here. The vigilante's hand will tighten around the handle of a gun stuck close to their side before an easy smile jumps on their face. They're so glad to greet one of their favorite detectives. Moon will let them rest. It's about time they actually crashed somewhere that he knows is safe. The vigilante will open their arms in an unspoken beckon before yawning, and persuading Detective Moon do his civil duty or something to that effect and hold them.
It's not often Detective Sun needs a pick-me-up, but when he does, the vigilante seems to know before he does. Whether it's a particularly frustrating encounter with a person who couldn't be bothered to give a statement to an animatronic or none of the pieces are aligning on his latest case, Detective Sun will take a stroll out to a local park just to get air that isn't filled with cigarette smoke and the clatter of typewriters. It's not long before the vigilante is leaning over his shoulder, one arm wrapped around him with a purring "hello, detective" to clear away those dark clouds from his day. They'll ask him what's got him hot and bothered—and why isn't it them? He'll miss a beat, servos swirling, being he relays the misfortunes of the day. It's funny. The vigilante can listen, when they so choose, and it takes a little bit of pressure off of Sun's back when he's through venting his frustrations.
There were whispers of the vigilante, and then there were the news articles about the vigilante. The mysterious force that seems to tackle illegal gang activity better than the police, though worded kindly as to not offend those in power. The scant and far in between blurbs never failed to land in Eclipse's waiting hands. He enjoys all the speculation, the rising folklore of the city's precious vigilante, like they're the savior they so desperately needed. How ironic. Little do they know, but Eclipse knows everything about his sweetheart.
The vigilante likes to tease the detectives about how difficult it must be to control themselves when they see the vigilante with their hair down. It doesn't happen often. Maybe on the rare occasion the vigilante steps out of their shower with hair in wet tangles or they're fighting a headache after a particularly gruesome night of crime-fighting. The ribbon and bells stay close, tied around their wrist with the softest ringing, but it is never far from them. The vigilante says yes when Sun offers to brush their hair and has never refused Moon when he asks if he can tie it up for them. Their fingertips move gently along their scalp and the long strands of their hair, and they are terribly reverent, which makes the vigilante even less so. Don't they know that they're going to ruin all of the detectives' hard work once they get back to dealing with goons and henchmen? Maybe the boys don't mind. Maybe they'd like the excuse to touch the vigilante's hair all over again.
Eclipse can be romantic. Not that the vigilante would agree. Not when they're returning to a safe house to find a dozen blood-red roses resting neatly where they usually set their gun down to clean. Not when they prick their fingers on the thorny stems before they toss it away and rush out of the safehouse (far from being safe now) and disappear out into the darkness with the chilling sensation of eyes watching them go and the lingering scent of cigar smoke.
