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ππππΏππ πππΌπΎππΎπ β ππππ πππΌπππ.
OPEN SEASON
@sleuthy
25 / male / any / 10β£οΈ
25 / male / any / 10β£οΈ
Details
My Self-Summary
A detective operating out of Nenneko Ginza. We take on cases that no one else will, destroying both darkness and desire. You may find our coffee shop, but do you know how to call out to my partner and I? β (If you're good, I'll give you a hint!)
As long as I can help people, things are fine as they are, aren't they?
Exposing every truth.
Is this just a general favorites list? I see, I see. In that case:
I like sunbathing and citrus cocktails! I prefer flowers over chocolate. My favorite composer is Chopin. I dislike fish eggs. One of my favored hobbies is taking walks and I enjoy the sound of rain.
Aha. You never know until you really see someone for the first time.
Height
180cm
Body Type
lean musculature.
Smokes
no.
Drinks
yes.
Drugs
that's illegal. β
Sign
cancer.
Education
university.
Occupation
detective.
Income
enough. ♥
Children
none.
Pets
a cafΓ© cat.
Hobbies
sunbathing.
art credit:
one - five.
01. WINE OR BEER
.02 CLOWNS OR MIMES
.03 SHOWER OR BATH
.04 PIRATES OR NINJAS
.05 TITS OR ASS
.06 COFFEE OR TEA
.07 SPICY OR SWEET
.08 SUMMER OR WINTER
.09 LEATHER OR LACE
10. ROUGH SEX OR GENTLE SEX
Wine.
.02 CLOWNS OR MIMES
Clowns...? Ah, but mimes are fine too...
.03 SHOWER OR BATH
Shower, but a good bathhouse is nice.
.04 PIRATES OR NINJAS
Pirates.
.05 TITS OR ASS
Having to choose? Unfair!
.06 COFFEE OR TEA
Coffee.
.07 SPICY OR SWEET
Sweet.
.08 SUMMER OR WINTER
Summer.
.09 LEATHER OR LACE
Lace.
10. ROUGH SEX OR GENTLE SEX
Come and find out. ♥
PROTAGONIST
ENFJ-A
ENFJ-A
ENERGY
84%
extraverted
MIND
70%
intuitive
NATURE
81%
feeling
TACTICS
72%
judging
IDENTITY
56%
assertive
hover for rating.
β π§π€πππ£.
Kizuna. [ He offers with a stunning lack of pretense, given that his initial flourish into the situation had, admittedly (even if only to himself), been full of it. There's information to be gained from it, from plying the ache of displacement with a sense of familiarity worn too well to occur between strangers.
His little trick, flayed open by the fluttering edge of the same starry inclination. ] Resonance is a pretty name for it.
[ More conversational than he thinks he has a right to be after glancing so violently off the mirror of her heart. Now, he's confronted with the nature of reflection. Like placing his hand to the gloss of the surface and finding a gap in between, an indicator that one can see from both sides. But Kizuna has never been content with barriers, with shying back from an obstacle when something he wants to know is on the other side, and perhaps the way he'd defaulted to touch implicates him of it. Just touch, nothing more. What else is there left to do but reach though, shards, distance, and all? ]
Were you trying to understand how I felt? Or was it something more?
[ Inspection of her cuffed wrist through, Kizuna pauses; in the space of a breath, he bows his head to brush a kiss over the flats of her knuckles. He lets go after that, urging her to withdraw her hand back through the partition with a gentle push. ]
That woman in here with you was benefitting from it. Resonance.
no subject
Kizuna.
( a ringing lilt, more conversational than she has any right to be when her default should be to call him mister. but there's still that wide disconnect, the wading through smearing constellations that she has to contend with before she drowns in that nebulous, mental ether, and emerges from it with a little less of herself.
odd. that isn't a danger that she should see with β )
Harmony... I follow the path that we may be able to share our emotions, our joys, our hardships, to be able to experience the greatness that life has to offer while weathering its storms together.
( or so it goes. in the new testament, xipe is a conglomeration of many gods, with thousands of faces, that sings their hymns in perpetuity as their followers open their hearts, lending their ears in sheer hope for the joy that might ping off the glassy, impossible color of their resonance. and robin β might be little more than an idol in the grand scheme of their magnanimity, poised behind a crystal display like a music box: wind her up and hear her sing.
odd for the image to come to mind. odder still, to feel like a vessel at the end of their link, but she's still trying to get the hang of it, to spot the differences. it doesn't help that her breath hitches slight and uneven at the skim of kizuna's warm mouth over the back of her knuckles like some belated greeting, or a man on his knees before some apostle, lips pressed against a ring. )
... For the young miss earlier, I projected it outward. "Tuning" to allow her to feel some measure of calm.
( she could really use some of it, now, with her hands held carefully in her lap behind the partition, with the jazzy radio tunes playing, and the sudden self-conscious feeling of his familiarity grazing the knuckles of her right hand. )
Forgive me my suspicions... With you, I tried to pull it inward, to sense your motivations... only to find I was faced with my own emotions resonating back to me.
... and unless you're hiding a halo and wings, I don't think you're Halovian?
( an angel, maybe? with that face. but robin's not nearly suave enough to get that to work. )
no subject
Halovian? Is that the reason for your plumage? It's striking. [ Finally, he moves, shuffled forward on his knees to go to the limousine's door. ] I'm not hiding anything. It seems like I can't, with you...
[ The idea meanders in his mouth, slow to take to a new path. He's used to hiding everything from everyone. He's full of stolen things, things that don't belong to him. Everything he knows had to be taken from others and imprinted on his heart, like how to play the piano, or how to love. Exiting the vehicle, Kizuna rounds to its driver's side door and gives a sing-song little tap on its window with his knuckles. His voice continues to sound from outside, low and conversational in its defeat. ]
My empathy isn't anything so spectacular. There's no pushing or pulling on my part. If you think of it as a tide...
[ Something you don't know is dangerous until it's upon you. Or as deep until you're too far under. A force only controlled by the moon and its gravity, a thing incapable of its own light, instead borrowing it from bigger, brighter entities — ]
...that'd probably be more accurate.
[ Softly, he hooks his fingers beneath the door handle and clicks it open. A smile flicks the corners of his mouth as he stands aside. ]
Care to join me out here?
no subject
it doesn't seem like they mind so terribly either way. maybe later they will. even if the recognition comes with a sense of watery dreaminess on her end. a tide, he says, and it's as if she knows what she has to do, going out to the beach to walk into all of the surf, letting the waves crash overhead as she keeps walking and tries not to drown. they could keep going like that, mile after mile of silt and seabed until that fragile moment where they both wake up, and they have to remind themselves where they are.
here, too. for her, it's straight out of a dream and into a softer nightmare, but his presence has cushioned the blow. it takes the soft rap of kizuna's fingers on the glass for her to realize that she's still slow to respond. she tips her head up as she remembers herself β considers, with her gaze flitting back down, if her state of slight undress might reveal any indecent details in the dark of the garage β and takes a longer moment to step out into the open, careful to drag the long train of her silken robe with her without tripping over it.
and she's still bare foot. if the cameras were to see her now, she would never live it down. )
Are we going up?
( in a soft, curious trill. still no paranoia; no scandal either. the puffy feathers cascading down her robe hide most of the details, even if the silk is transparent for the most part.
resonance's lingering reflection, maybe. she feels more mellow than concerned even when for all she knows, her good fame might take a hit the moment she steps out into the light, and someone actually recognizes her. although she is... aware she's not presentable... as her glance shifts downcast. )
... I suppose I should first find some of the staff that's been rushing around with spare clothes for us to wear.
no subject
His simple dress shirt and slacks don't make much of an offering for her to cover up with before they hunt down the valet, but he does offer her the hook of his arm, half his side to obscure herself against. Having already seen the solar flash of her soul imprinted on his, surely the outline of a hip or breast won't be too much to handle...
nothing for the free feet tho ]
"Up" is a good start. [ Being on the ground floor and all. Something he doesn't have to mention for him to be sure she might know, in the dim and dark, encased by sterile concrete. ] As for how far, that'll depend on how you're feeling.
[ It might seem a cheeky statement, coming from an empath. But it's almost mentioned as if in supplication, as if asking for forgiveness now that he's helped himself is something he's remembering to do. It's a caution that nearly feels heavy upon him, learning a lesson too late because it was never taught to him. ]
Like a meal? Or a warm drink? Even if you just want to see some fruit trees or flowers, that's all up as well.
[ And the rest, the ranks and the brands, will blend into these little pleasures with time. The House will fold them in, sweetly, torrentially, to be discovered in full later. But for now, she doesn't have to earn them. ]
First! Let me cheat a little. [ He taps his temple with two fingers, pithy, almost a salute. ] And we'll get you something more comfortable to wear.
[ All he has to do when he fans his awareness out is locate the most overworked person in the vicinity... ]
no subject
even if it takes a longer moment for her to look at and then take his arm, looping through it with seasoned grace as she tucks herself against his side. between flashing everyone else within the garage and publicist-mandated negative space, she'll take this lesser of two evils. if he's already seen the interiority of her soul, then some naked skin really is nothing.
and what's a few free feet pics between friends when all is said and done )
Trees and flowers? And yet, up still won't lead us anywhere outside, I gather...
( wistfully, with a crinkle to her expression as her smile casts in a wry light, scrunching further as he's already onto the next step and she can feel him start to, well, feel.
the feedback of it's... almost a tickle, how her nerves suddenly thrum with the very overwrought signals that he seems to be feeling for. resonance could make things tricky, could have him zero back onto her if she weren't... already veering them in the direction of that first wayward signal the moment that he clocks it, feathers unfurling like taking flight as she makes the short trek with him in tow towards what looks like the local coat-check.
or rather, a bellhop. who has been relegated to costume change duty and is passing over flashy ensembles and, by some stroke of luck, actual coats to the guests. )
I don't suppose it'll be cold... ( not that it matters. even if it were scorching hot, it wouldn't prevent her from trying out the first trench coat that makes it into her hands. ) I was beginning to imagine my attire was simply dress code with the game being what it is.
... Maybe I should thank you for your shirt, shoes, and service.
( imagine if he was in a robe, too, and she simply accepted it as the new normal... but that's neither here nor there. she must be considering how to take off her robe and then how to put on the coat... or if all of her feathers can fit into the coat so she wouldn't have to disrobe in the first place... or if she can dress herself modestly when there's no changing room to be seen besides, perhaps, if she were to duck into a nearby car... )
no subject
[ A wink, a sundering gesture flashed too easily. She might get a taste of his mind's eye, a visual built over many months — puffed feathers, glossed and ornate. Eyes. Teeth. A creature that breathes with its maw poised around them, ready to snap and pitch them into the dim clutch below. Anything could live there if one was brave enough to venture in and discover it. Kizuna navigates it well; he's navigating it even now, that feather's edge. What does it say about him, that the brief splashes and tethers of her resonance are welcome in defiance of it. He can't help it, being what he is. He borrows the sensation of her wings, the soft, errant knowledge of her rhetorical question answered by his refracted empathy. No, they cannot go out. Only up. ]
The resort is always as cold or as warm as you'd like it to be. [ He smiles and it's knowing at its corners. ] Unnerving, right? But also really convenient...
[ Kizuna casts a glance aside as if he's also just now realizing that they are, in fact, ensconced in impenetrable concrete. ]
There's nothing saying you can't adopt such a dress code if you find it to be more comfortable. If I can — [ While she's puzzling the coat problem, he's thumbing through the racks, through dresses with sequins, fringe, settling on something blue and fluttery. Unflattering cut, but what can you do when the Peacock loves a good bit. He beckons her for the trenchcoat. At his core, one thing is always true: he's always on the lookout for a solution to a problem. ] I'll lend you my wingspan for a second.
[ (he also tragically loves a good bit)
A brief shuffle towards a nearby car sees him opening its back door, inviting her to stand between its angle and swap him garments. Shaking out the trenchcoat, he lifts his arms and holds it up like a curtain as the other angle to this makeshift dressing room. His eyes remain modestly behind the collar. For the sake of the bit. ]
Now, how's that?
... ok so, sometimes, time,,,,, i'm sorry...
which is stunningly difficult to do when he comes up to her with a gown as garish as a peacock's feathers outside of season. he doesn't need to feel her feelings for him to recognize it in the slight twist of her expression, how her poker face fails in the face of what's explicitly bad fashion. a glimpse of a big bad monster β what had that been? a thing with both beak and teeth? metaphorical? real? β hadn't elicited as strong of a reaction, even if this one is still marginally tempered by a lady's good graces.
even if, behind the coat, she murmurs her thanks, and can't quite help but include, )
... my, Kizuna. You keep your feathers very bright when you preen.
( then comes an actress's quick change artistry: it only takes a minute or two and minimal ruffling. by the time she steps out from behind the coat, she's covered in an unflattering dress that remains unflattering, that she only saves by adjusting the wispy train of it to mimic what could be a bird's tail at rest behind her, the georgette fabric catching the light like rayon more than silk. )
I'm in your debt. To what extent, I'm not sure, as I'm afraid I enlisted your consultant services without asking for your going rate.