#krimsoncop

Low, predatory growls found their way into the tense atmosphere of the room. The poor thing ; that was, the table. Mendez deliberated on the subject for a fleeting moment, wondering briefly if he should have instead choked the stranger out on a wall. After all, he never was one for drama, and it chewed at him to think of the craftmanship put into the thing  —

BAH! As if it mattered! The beast’s focus turned to the dazed man scurrying along the floor like a desperate little rodent ; he, of course, had his own ideas, staring violently in the same direction of the terrible weapon quite ungracefully, with hopes of incapacitating  —  or, at the very least, inconveniencing  —  the vermin that had somehow managed to weasel its way into the priest’s life.

      Upon being batted at by the kitten’s adorable, harmless little paws, Kent had half a mind to smack him. It was only his shock that saved the poor thing from his irrational distaste. The agent drew back with a scowl deeper than the Mariana Trench and wiped at his face stiffly. 

       “I am not an animal hater,” he growled. “Cats, I-- Well-- I just prefer dogs. Infinitely more, I very much prefer dogs over cats.” After turning his attention from the now-dubbed Charlie to Sebastian, Kent was served his second surprise of the day, albeit one much more mild. Was that a smile he saw on his face?

     ❝ hate to break it to you, detective, buuuut you’re not seeing shit. that giant, glob of fuckery was a demon and there’s plenty more where that one came from. ❞  rebellion is tapped on the concrete, batter stance taken that is followed up with a swing at nothing. he can hear sebastian muttering about something which sounds like it’s all been seen before by him, but dante decides not to pry at the moment.

Send me a “✉︎”and I’ll tell you about a verse I’ve been thinking about for my muse!

A verse I’d really like to explore but have of yet had the chance to is one where Kent wins-- not because I think he should (he is the Second Red Scare personified, of course he shouldn’t) but because I think such a scenario would be interesting to parse out both in terms of plot and character interaction.

I see it going thusly: the Army and Rogard, for whatever reason, never make the realization that the Giant means them no ill-intent. The Giant is either destroyed while in his attack mode or sacrifices himself with the greater population being none the wiser to his good intentions. Kent, finally receiving the recognition he believes he’s been denied, is placed in charge of Rockwell as the government leads an investigation into the Giant’s presence there as well as re-educate the people to keep the events quiet. 

♚ ┊  ⌜ ✕ ⌟  𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚  t r u s t 𝙢𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙬, 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙢𝙚…

i. aymeric will straight up bitch at anyone who tries to put him in anything that absolutely zero blue on it. HE’S GOTTA HAVE HIS BLUE.

MEME.  MEME TAG.  INBOX.  ALWAYS ACCEPTING! @krimsoncop

fact: james park has lost track of how many consecutive days he’s woken up not knowing where he is. you spend enough time in a jagged cycle of ever-shifting yet nearly-identical hotel rooms and everything starts to feel just a little off, like switching resolutions on a monitor. the mouse speed’s all wrong, and muscle memory is always a little too far or too short of what’s needed— he swears every single one of these dingy chemical-cleaned-pillow-mint-continental-breakfast hotels uses the exact same mattress and frame, because they all sting exactly the same when he jams his foot into them again and again. 

they all have the same chlorine-tasting ice and slightly-too-stiff chairs too, which james has unceremoniously uprooted from the window and tucked into the far corner, away from where prying eyes might be able to get a read (or crosshairs) on him and his current guest. the rain drizzles a discordant tune against the glass, muffled behind shut blinds and drawn curtains that also drown out all but a thin line of light along the carpet. the two lamps can’t throw nearly enough light to illuminate the whole room, providing little more than yellow-gold ambiance and twin specters that only deepen james’ paranoia. 

sebastian sits across from him, all imposing stature and Cop Glare and hand wrapped around a glass of $600 whiskey— if james is spending the last weeks of his life in the discomfort of hotel rooms, he’s going to wash the experience down with some nice alcohol. he’s even got that vest-and-tie combo down, permanent five o’clock shadow making him look like he’s been ripped straight out of a police procedural.

james takes a long sip of whiskey and wonders at what point he became the sidekick in a film noir.

send me headcanon prompts