#hey ...

⠀⠀⠀ I’M ⠀⠀⠀ A ⠀⠀⠀ PSYCH ⠀⠀⠀ MAJOR ⠀⠀⠀ ! ⠀⠀⠀ WORDS ⠀⠀⠀ ARE ⠀⠀⠀ MY ⠀⠀⠀ WEAPONS ⠀⠀⠀ !⠀⠀⠀

        stiff,  fretting,  and flattening his arms into his sides as if to make himself impossibly smaller,  the world’s most  (  arguably  )  apt detective stands like a dog tied to a pole.    or,  more accurately,  like a dog who’s somehow loosened himself from that pole,  left to freely roam the city without care tossed to the single consequence that looms over him every time he slips past the one person assigned to keep him safe.

        and here’s the fact of it all  :  when you’re granted a personal chauffeur each and every time you step foot outside of your place of business  (  as to avoid incidentally slipping into the nth dimension  ),  things like street names and landmarks only prove themselves to be useless knowledge,  bank  -  shot into the mental wastebin to make room for any hundreds of other things that prove their worth more than simply knowing how to get back home at the end of the day.    that’s someone else’s job.

and right now,  in this time of crisis,  ranpo has all  -  too  -  conveniently landed himself the perfect contender for that someone else.

        the short distance of two blocks is crossed like a matter of two inches,  fleeting feet carrying him like a feather to where his ticket back home stands nonchalantly in streetwear that’d normally be overlooked in its simple order had it not been crudely complemented by a stupid,  stinky hat,  telling enough in whose stinky mug lies just beneath it.    speaking of impossibly small   ---

        ❛    mister fancy haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!    ❜        punctuated by the blunt force of ranpo’s skull ramming into the man’s stomach,   it’s a befitting  -  enough title  ;  he who wears the hat bears the hat,  and it’s about to be a long,  long day off for the newcomer.

Briarthena vampire au (because I change everything and have been writing new things)