@d4ughter : “you can’t be here.” ♱ askbox prompts (always accepting!)

A familiar panic bubbles up in his chest, he can tell just by the way she carries herself that she’s some sort of law enforcement. All these years on the road have taught him what to look out for, and more importantly who to look out for.

He plays it cool, despite his sweaty palms ( something he can just blame on the Georgia humidity ) — he pokes his head out of the door of his beaten up camper, looking this way and that — then he squints, looking back toward her.

“ … There a sign saying I can’t? I was lookin’ for one — thought it was safe. ”

@d4ughter : ❝ you don’t even know me. ❞

“ y’know,   it’s   real   easy   to   spot   it   when   pigs   get   into   this   gig   for   th’   money   or   the   fancy   tin   badge   [ … ]   just   like   it’s   painfully   obvious   when   they’re   tryin’a   patch   up   somethin’   they   couldn’t   stitch   together   when   it   counted. ”

hours   ticked   by   in   that   impossibly   white   room,   bathing   in   a   light   that   would   make   anyone   feel   coldly   abandoned.   she   found   herself   in   the   rather   dreadful   predicament   of   being   trapped   alone   with   her   own   thoughts;   what   might   be,   for   some,   a   moment   for   peaceful   rumination   was,   for   her,   a   pitiless   type   of   torture.   like   being   locked   in   a   house   with   too   many   doors,   all   of   them   leading   to   past   experiences   that   refused   to   leave.   could   anyone   blame   her   for   how   she   coped ?  

had   she   been   left   much   longer,   she   might’ve   talked   to   the   dust   motes,   named   them,   imagined   whole   lives   for   each   ( that   one’s   frankie.   frankie   doesn’t   trust   me.   that’s   dot.   dot   keeps   secrets   but   isn’t   very   good   at   it ).   but   luck   decided   to   be   generous   &   gift   detective   valentine   for   her   finite   interest.   &   wasn’t   valentine   just   her   favorite   word !

she   locked   onto   the   detective   with   a   steady   stare,   curling   her   lips   into   a   smile   that   never   reached   her   eyes.  

the manila folder landed on the table between them,  its edges worn,  smudged with fingerprints that weren’t hers.  maggie didn’t touch it right away.  instead,  she leaned back in her chair,  studying the woman across from her — silent, unreadable. that was fine. she could work with silence.  

her fingers drummed against the tabletop before she finally flipped the folder open,  eyes scanning the first few lines.  a slow exhale.  something here was bad — she could feel it in the way her stomach tightened,  the way the air between them felt heavier than it should.  when she looked up again,  the woman still hadn’t spoken. maggie lifted a brow.  ❝ so, am i supposed to guess, or are you gonna let me in on the part that isn’t in writing? ❞

Many people didn't know what kol was. It was something he would never understand. Why hide from his nature when there was nothing wrong with it? He knew that if he said anything to humans, he could always compel them, force them to forget what he had said and do the same thing every day. His brothers were more than fed up, he could feel it when they had to clean the mess he had put around. Something that made him smile though; the amount of times people had to clean up what he did when they could just ignore it and move on without taking care of his business. That's why blending in now was something that made him do and he was good at it. When someone had suspicions about him, he just had to smile and show them that he was innocent without being able to raise doubts about him. That was what was happening now.