Husk
wears heelies to escape his feelies
welcome to the shitshow.
hi, i'm husk, your local, sickly garbage kid.
call this my cravings thread, which will change as what i'm searching for alters.
but less talk, yeah? let me bury an about me in spoilers like a fucking bone buried in the backyard.
CRAVINGS: Post-Apocalypse, Dystopias, Sci-fi, Cyberpunk type shit, Modern, Supernatural.
Hurt and healing.
Grey areas in morality where the right answer isn't always clear.
... mostly some sweet, sweet dystopic settings or post-apocalyptic worlds.
SUPERNATURAL AS WELL.
give me cryptids and spooky scary shit, shifters and vampires alike.
more untouched supernatural beings are always welcome.
Samples:
A gale that bore frigidity bit at his extremities, to the bone or so it felt and Elias cursed beneath his breath, which expelled a wispy, vaporous cloud spiraling into the cutting air. Not even his gloved fingers knew freedom from the sharp nip.
Moreover, Elias found himself reflecting, having completed business at a time suitable to his liking. Ole Sky-vine, where satisfied clients remembered their biases only when backs had turned from each other and the transaction born from coveting an inebriation met its end.
That was when the yawning schism between the impoverished and the affluent flourished again. Akin to weeds that grew before festering and blooming once more on its remnants in a circle of continuity. Those youth born prosperous grew to detest the poor, older generations sowing the seeds of such. Here, the wolves ate their young.
However, there lay a convoluted beauty within Elias's line of work which saw him connecting with individuals from all avenues of life. The latest, and last being a lad clad in a tweed three-piece, complete with the sheen of black Oxfords shined to finish and a watch lined with tricklings of gold.
All in all, it did not take much scrutinization to tell the man sang exuberance from head to toe.
Oh, and how that wristwatch was a temptress, indeed; however, Elias did not steal from paying clients, if they were in good standing, at least.
Ah, and yet Elias held inclinations towards remaining a blur amidst these dealings, dressed so to obscure his economic standing, not outfitted to match stereotypes. Although his attire did not propagate a sense of overabundance, it did enough to gratify his wealthier clients. A requirement, lest he attracted the attention of a traipsing police officer, better he did not resemble the common descriptor of a Rockie. Or anyone who might display an inkling that they were up to no good. Which, in actuality, was his constant state of being. It did not mean he could not deceive the public in regards to that, wool over the eyes and such.
With a cigarette suspended between two practiced fingers, Elias forged ahead through the bitter frost, teeth chattering between long drags. Yes, Elias loathed the cold. Furthermore, he near enough held a sensitivity to it with his emaciated frame, bony prominences offering him scarce fragments of protection against these elements, leaving, of course, the fraction of sprawling warmth beneath his winter-wear precious.
Ah, how he pined to settle down in a tranquil location with the comforts of isolation. Alongside, of course, the delectability of a high. A straightforward yearning, yet the ease of acquisition seemed elusive when life bustled around him.
Regardless, flicking the rusted gear of his lighter, he bore a flame to kiss the end of his cigarette. Which, to his chagrin, appeared to maintain resistance, staying lit due to the relentless gusts of wind.
In truth, he ought to go back to Clifford Heights, returning the bottles of prescription medication to their proper place of hiding. However, Elias found it strenuous and burdensome to pivot around and do such.
The insatiable beast known as hunger began to gnaw at him, tormenting him, urging him to binge. Just another reason to get high; he could focus on that as opposed to the dreaded sensation of wanting to devour a whole meal. With a viewpoint distorted by what he saw in the mirror, hunger left him miserly and bounded by guilt.
No one deals drugs if they fit in the confining and well-structured, unbudgeable box society conceived for those labeled "normal."
Furthermore, despite a stoicism in his countenance, Elias's nerves were frayed, becoming threadbare by each lapsing minute.
Aware of the reasoning, sourced from a letter addressed from the residence in which his Grandfather- a bad memory- dwelled. For now, Elias strived to suppress the remembrance until it dissipated and slipped from his mind like granules of sand sifting through an hourglass although he could not shake the perturbation.
While it was true, he tiptoed on a taut rope, and his woes were both mountainous and continual, he declined with a fervency to accept any aid from the bastard. A given, since Philip was manipulative, and the cyclic nature did not allure him.
Regardless, focalization upon another subject would help. So Elias toyed with an unlabeled bottle tucked within his jacket pocket, the rattling of the medications proving soothing in a peculiar way. Akin to a lullaby. Despite their lack of labels, Elias knew which drug was which. Each had an indicator of a sort, be it a symbol to the very form of the pill. Despite it being illegal, he prided himself on being a good dealer, and an even better thief.
Of course, he had hoped for something more, unexplainable and better, enigmatic almost, yet one must play the hand life deals them, even if with complicated cards. In the meanwhile, so consumed by his ruminations and pondering, Elias's foot went straight through a weak layer of ice. Thus, fracturing it so that it dampened it with the gelid water that snared him.
"God damn it."
Wincing as the stinging bite of cold surged through him like a parasite, Elias reached into his boot, denoting his sodden sock with an explicative. This blunder is where being lost in musings instead of being analytical of surroundings gets one, a foot deep into the cruel, lapping waters of a glaciated lake.
Beyond exasperated, Elias shook his foot as if to shake the freeze and increase circulation. Had anyone seen his blunder? Having traversed away from the mass of humanity by the accord of his own feet, he hoped fortune favored him in not looking like a jackass publicly speaking.
To his dismay, two women were adjacent to him, one whose ebony locks made a stark contrast between the ivory purity of the snow beneath her. The other stood, looking downwards as if engaging in conversations and speaking utterances Elias was too far to discern.
While one of the girls he knew naught, the one with noire tumbling, tendrils he knew in a unique, yet intriguing, cocktail of friendship and business combined.
Damned, if she did not look stoned.
Time as a dealer versed him in the cues of intoxication rendered by alcohol and narcotics, or perhaps an accumulation of both. Visage alone was enough to unravel the inquiry of someone's sobriety.
Almost forgetting his drenched foot, Elias ambled towards the two, humored, a wry grin, minute, playing on his features. Never had he ran into Boulevard outside of a transaction, it seemed fate made it so never would they meet unless it was to delve into drugs. Although, that changed now.
"Well, well, well Boulevard and-?"
Idling, he studied the other girl, and she looked like the pinnacle of sobriety, so, he imagined Boulevard had not shared.
"I don't believe I've met nor seen you in town. Either way, I'm Elias, a- friend, of Boulevard's."
Oh, how new quarries oft led to unfurling opportunities, tantalizing as they were endless, entwined with the high of the pursuit and yet, Alexander found himself lacking any semblance of wonder nor traces of elation. Despite his sizeable distance from Boston, he had been the agent above all chosen for this case. Particularly one of profound renown- this, of course, should have incited an exhilaration of sorts. Perhaps it would have if he knew he could work with more autonomy, however, being sent to another district to take the reigns always pinched nerves and carried the tendency to make everything arduous for all those involved.
An inclination towards a particular shade of mania, if you will, for the job had its benefits, however, and he owed his position to this. Since, overall, Alexander had amassed a reputation of maintaining an unshakeable devotion that might border boundaries befitting the title of "unhealthy,"- although, that was something of which he would dispute with fervency. Regardless, he did not lack in proficiency, and the tenacity landed him a well-known case alongside a free ticket and stay in Boston miles from good, ole New Orleans.
Humoring the satirical, Alexander reflected upon receiving the call, specifically on how he was in a shoddy motel relishing the endings of a high induced by ecstasy mixed with shots of vodka. Remembrances of being curled around his latest indulgence, their bodies tangled with bare flesh more than brushing struck him. Settled adjacent to them on a bedside table his phone began to vibrate, and he had stifled a groan as his partner sniggered, blue eyes piqued with interest.
Dallying fingers trailed his chest.
"Important?"
Sobered in expression, he eyed the girl, her cascading tresses golden in hue and wild from their heated tumble, an appreciable curvature noticeable beneath the almost sheer sheet that veiled her body, her plump lips curved in a coquettish simper. Not the norm in regards to his type, but molly tended to blur the lines for him, and indeed blurred they were.
Damning himself for lack of foresight, Alexander finally fumbled for his phone, outreached fingers trembling- remnants from the high- and recognized the number at once- his boss, of course, rather timely, at that.
"Nothing you need to worry about, it's work. Fortuitous for me, Iβm sure."
A sardonic utterance, however, Alexander entertained little in the way of appeal in divulging his life with a lay that would trickle from recollection in a week's worth.
With a sharp inhale and prayer to no god in particular for a collected composure, Alex endeavored to steady his pulsating heart- which seemed to reverberate in his ears in pounding thumps- and overall, not sound utterly wasted as he was.
"Hey, chief."
While a simple greeting, the words came slurred, thick like honey.
"Bad time, Alexander?"
Curt, surely not the response Alex hoped for in regards to the circumstances.
"Nothing terrible with your timing, Lucas, I've had a bit to drink, that's all."
Although, a bit to drink was, well, certainly an understatement.
"A bit?"
There was no excusing that especially probing tone, yet Alexander refused to budge.
"Yes, a bit. Now, it's rather late Lucas, and you only call like this when something needs doing."
With a suppressed giggle, the girl untangled herself from beneath his embrace, swaying her hips to entice as she sauntered to a nearby window, flicking the switch of a lighter and kissing a cigarette to the flame it bore.
"I've got a job for you; however, it is... far from our district."
Calculating, he gave no reply as he hoisted himself off the bed, meeting his affair o' the night to share in the vice of smoking, returning a sliver of a grin as she lit the cigarette he plucked with practiced fingers from the pack between them.
"How far?"
How far, indeed, and who would cover the subject of fees for such a trek?
Matters of a family were a non-issue, there was little he would pine over should he opt to leave. So, why not pursue an opportunity that lay ripe?
"Boston, that far, Alex, expenses paid."
Amusement laced Lucas' voice.
"You had me at expenses paid, alright, I'll take the case."
Not long after the call that eve, he jilted his fling early, floundered home, intoxicated, lavishing in a high, and went to his flat to collect what belongings would prove necessities and scheduled the flight, from there by the morn, he was Boston-bound.
All in all, an uneventful trip spent in the extravagant indulgence of first-class with expensive wines aplenty, yet, once he arrived, his demeanor grew solemn lacking the exuberance held during the evening he received the call. Thoughts of the macabre were gnawing at his core as he prepared to delve into the depths of these murders that afflicted the city like a sickness, permeating airs of dread.
Traversing the city, he noted the bolded print on the newspapers served to arouse further a sense of foreboding among the civilians with woven re-tellings written on The Terror case, queries formulating about when the killer would strike once again, and, in the midst of it all, Alexander found himself centralized within.
Finally arriving, stepping out of a taxi, he heaved an exasperated sigh, glancing towards the building where he would be conducting operations, although, not particularly on his own; not this time around.
Unwilling to dally, he trudged onwards, feeling as though he were trekking through thickened mud and slop.
Incognizant to the reception he would receive, the unknown left him nothing beyond a vast realm of pessimism.
Ambling through the doors, nonchalant, Alexander promptly met with a detective with a gruff visage, stoicism keeping his expression leveled.
"Who are you?"
A simple query, although one with tracings of vexation that Alex could scarcely grasp onto, endeavor or not.
"Alexander Thomas, I'm from the FBI, I'm here to assist in the workings of The Terror case, I believe I am to meet with a detective."
Blinking, as if processing the utterance, the officer crossed his arms, and, beyond that stoicism, Alex reckoned there lay buried intrigue.
When eyes trailed to his badge, Alexander flashed it, causing the man to nod, brusque.
"Right, come along, Myers is right this way."
Undeterred by the officer's mannerisms, Alex, quietened by way of rumination of this detective he would be working alongside, trailed behind, feeling like a lost duckling in a vague sense. An unfamiliarity enveloped him like a gale, threatening to topple his composure, yet, he endured, expression leveled.
"Detective Myers, agent Alexander Thomas is here to see you, I imagine, of course, over the case."
Hints of a tautness Alexander did not quite understand laced his tone.
"Indeed, The Terror case."
Piping in, Alexander put his hands in his pockets, awaiting this detective with a creeping, sprawling interest.
hi, i'm husk, your local, sickly garbage kid.
call this my cravings thread, which will change as what i'm searching for alters.
but less talk, yeah? let me bury an about me in spoilers like a fucking bone buried in the backyard.
CRAVINGS: Post-Apocalypse, Dystopias, Sci-fi, Cyberpunk type shit, Modern, Supernatural.
Hurt and healing.
Grey areas in morality where the right answer isn't always clear.
... mostly some sweet, sweet dystopic settings or post-apocalyptic worlds.
SUPERNATURAL AS WELL.
give me cryptids and spooky scary shit, shifters and vampires alike.
more untouched supernatural beings are always welcome.
-- i'm 27. please save me from adulting hell.
-- i'm an EMT and have been for years now, although I'm off work due to health issues, go figure. I love medicine, psychology, pharamacology, and biology all tied up in a pretty, scientific package.
-- i am an artist and am inspired by all forms of art.
-- i dig video games of all genres, alongside music of all genres and adore lyrics and analyzing meanings for them.
-- i have 3 dogs and two Flemish Giant rabbits, alongside a Syrian hamster named Soso.
-- i am the sleepiest.
-- i'm chill and easy-going.
-- i'm an EMT and have been for years now, although I'm off work due to health issues, go figure. I love medicine, psychology, pharamacology, and biology all tied up in a pretty, scientific package.
-- i am an artist and am inspired by all forms of art.
-- i dig video games of all genres, alongside music of all genres and adore lyrics and analyzing meanings for them.
-- i have 3 dogs and two Flemish Giant rabbits, alongside a Syrian hamster named Soso.
-- i am the sleepiest.
-- i'm chill and easy-going.
-- subjectively advanced.
-- more detailed and lengthy in responses, but i avoid redundancies and fillers as much as possible.
-- i have no real set quotas in terms of reply length but i won't lie to you by saying i don't dig longer responses more.
-- please read or skim-read my samples. my style can be a pill to swallow.
-- please don't worry if English isn't your native tongue. that doesn't bother me!!~
-- i will ask for a writing sample just to ensure we mesh. it's sort of rare for me to turn someone down but i am going to be a bit more selective this go 'round.
-- i have chronic, treatment-resistant depression and anxiety disorders, so please respect i may not have the energy to reply every day. i am usually great with OOC but if you're looking for rapid fire RP responses it'll save us both the time if you find someone more suitable. and i mean that sincerely without a sprinkle of rudeness. pressure stresss me when it comes to roleplay replies.
-- casual OOC, won't budge on that. IC, meticulous as hell.
-- i go hard or not at all in a sense. i run what i write through my digital editors, but i try to keep my writing fluid without too much rigidity. in other words, i do take my writing seriously as i want to continually improve. i'm not asking you to be the same way, just letting you know how i tick.
-- what folks like is subjective, you don't have to match me in how i write. i am more impressed by engaging posts that move the story.
-- i am an avid creator of characters, although i prefer to run one main with as many sides as needed. however, i'm not against doubling.
-- i have a male lean but can play female or nb characters without issue.
-- i'm sort of a slow writer. work in progress, baby.
-- i'm very patient and do not nag about posts. life comes first.
-- on that note, i am ghost friendly. you can even come knocking back at my door and i'll have no bad blood with you.
-- i love to build worlds and to plot. i also don't mind letting the story flourish on its own.
-- little to no triggers beyond what is probably the obvious. if you don't know what the obvious is DM me and i'll explain. i just don't want to have my thread brimming with triggers.
- i love the grittiness of reality, angst, hardships, trials and tribulations. i love growth, i love relapses. i want to explore the avenues of life. darker themes are my favorite, but i have nothing against adding in fluff.
-- i am a sucker for romance. but platonic is A-okay!
-- i don't care what face claims you use. whatever inspires you, my friend. or if you prefer descriptions that too is fine by me.
-- i am open to critique or suggestions. alongside changing the story or starting anew should you grow bored.
-- i curse. not overly so, but, i mean, yeah.
-- 18+ only. i am sorry for the youth here if you were interested but i am well into my 20s and it feels awkward to roleplay with folks that much younger than me. please know it has nothing to do with writing capabilities, i've seen many lovely writers that are young here.
-- LGBTQA+ friendly. i'm heckin' gay so that'll always be down my alley, i like representation.
-- on the note, hetero is fine too, i've nothing against it.
-- i have many ideas, but i'm not going to cram them in this thread quite yet.
-- ...ah, shit, I think that's it but ask me things if I did not cover something.
-- well, okay, i lied, the last morsel here is that i like discord fo OOC. but am fine with rpn if you're fine with slower responses.
-- more detailed and lengthy in responses, but i avoid redundancies and fillers as much as possible.
-- i have no real set quotas in terms of reply length but i won't lie to you by saying i don't dig longer responses more.
-- please read or skim-read my samples. my style can be a pill to swallow.
-- please don't worry if English isn't your native tongue. that doesn't bother me!!~
-- i will ask for a writing sample just to ensure we mesh. it's sort of rare for me to turn someone down but i am going to be a bit more selective this go 'round.
-- i have chronic, treatment-resistant depression and anxiety disorders, so please respect i may not have the energy to reply every day. i am usually great with OOC but if you're looking for rapid fire RP responses it'll save us both the time if you find someone more suitable. and i mean that sincerely without a sprinkle of rudeness. pressure stresss me when it comes to roleplay replies.
-- casual OOC, won't budge on that. IC, meticulous as hell.
-- i go hard or not at all in a sense. i run what i write through my digital editors, but i try to keep my writing fluid without too much rigidity. in other words, i do take my writing seriously as i want to continually improve. i'm not asking you to be the same way, just letting you know how i tick.
-- what folks like is subjective, you don't have to match me in how i write. i am more impressed by engaging posts that move the story.
-- i am an avid creator of characters, although i prefer to run one main with as many sides as needed. however, i'm not against doubling.
-- i have a male lean but can play female or nb characters without issue.
-- i'm sort of a slow writer. work in progress, baby.
-- i'm very patient and do not nag about posts. life comes first.
-- on that note, i am ghost friendly. you can even come knocking back at my door and i'll have no bad blood with you.
-- i love to build worlds and to plot. i also don't mind letting the story flourish on its own.
-- little to no triggers beyond what is probably the obvious. if you don't know what the obvious is DM me and i'll explain. i just don't want to have my thread brimming with triggers.
- i love the grittiness of reality, angst, hardships, trials and tribulations. i love growth, i love relapses. i want to explore the avenues of life. darker themes are my favorite, but i have nothing against adding in fluff.
-- i am a sucker for romance. but platonic is A-okay!
-- i don't care what face claims you use. whatever inspires you, my friend. or if you prefer descriptions that too is fine by me.
-- i am open to critique or suggestions. alongside changing the story or starting anew should you grow bored.
-- i curse. not overly so, but, i mean, yeah.
-- 18+ only. i am sorry for the youth here if you were interested but i am well into my 20s and it feels awkward to roleplay with folks that much younger than me. please know it has nothing to do with writing capabilities, i've seen many lovely writers that are young here.
-- LGBTQA+ friendly. i'm heckin' gay so that'll always be down my alley, i like representation.
-- on the note, hetero is fine too, i've nothing against it.
-- i have many ideas, but i'm not going to cram them in this thread quite yet.
-- ...ah, shit, I think that's it but ask me things if I did not cover something.
-- well, okay, i lied, the last morsel here is that i like discord fo OOC. but am fine with rpn if you're fine with slower responses.
Samples:
A gale that bore frigidity bit at his extremities, to the bone or so it felt and Elias cursed beneath his breath, which expelled a wispy, vaporous cloud spiraling into the cutting air. Not even his gloved fingers knew freedom from the sharp nip.
Moreover, Elias found himself reflecting, having completed business at a time suitable to his liking. Ole Sky-vine, where satisfied clients remembered their biases only when backs had turned from each other and the transaction born from coveting an inebriation met its end.
That was when the yawning schism between the impoverished and the affluent flourished again. Akin to weeds that grew before festering and blooming once more on its remnants in a circle of continuity. Those youth born prosperous grew to detest the poor, older generations sowing the seeds of such. Here, the wolves ate their young.
However, there lay a convoluted beauty within Elias's line of work which saw him connecting with individuals from all avenues of life. The latest, and last being a lad clad in a tweed three-piece, complete with the sheen of black Oxfords shined to finish and a watch lined with tricklings of gold.
All in all, it did not take much scrutinization to tell the man sang exuberance from head to toe.
Oh, and how that wristwatch was a temptress, indeed; however, Elias did not steal from paying clients, if they were in good standing, at least.
Ah, and yet Elias held inclinations towards remaining a blur amidst these dealings, dressed so to obscure his economic standing, not outfitted to match stereotypes. Although his attire did not propagate a sense of overabundance, it did enough to gratify his wealthier clients. A requirement, lest he attracted the attention of a traipsing police officer, better he did not resemble the common descriptor of a Rockie. Or anyone who might display an inkling that they were up to no good. Which, in actuality, was his constant state of being. It did not mean he could not deceive the public in regards to that, wool over the eyes and such.
With a cigarette suspended between two practiced fingers, Elias forged ahead through the bitter frost, teeth chattering between long drags. Yes, Elias loathed the cold. Furthermore, he near enough held a sensitivity to it with his emaciated frame, bony prominences offering him scarce fragments of protection against these elements, leaving, of course, the fraction of sprawling warmth beneath his winter-wear precious.
Ah, how he pined to settle down in a tranquil location with the comforts of isolation. Alongside, of course, the delectability of a high. A straightforward yearning, yet the ease of acquisition seemed elusive when life bustled around him.
Regardless, flicking the rusted gear of his lighter, he bore a flame to kiss the end of his cigarette. Which, to his chagrin, appeared to maintain resistance, staying lit due to the relentless gusts of wind.
In truth, he ought to go back to Clifford Heights, returning the bottles of prescription medication to their proper place of hiding. However, Elias found it strenuous and burdensome to pivot around and do such.
The insatiable beast known as hunger began to gnaw at him, tormenting him, urging him to binge. Just another reason to get high; he could focus on that as opposed to the dreaded sensation of wanting to devour a whole meal. With a viewpoint distorted by what he saw in the mirror, hunger left him miserly and bounded by guilt.
No one deals drugs if they fit in the confining and well-structured, unbudgeable box society conceived for those labeled "normal."
Furthermore, despite a stoicism in his countenance, Elias's nerves were frayed, becoming threadbare by each lapsing minute.
Aware of the reasoning, sourced from a letter addressed from the residence in which his Grandfather- a bad memory- dwelled. For now, Elias strived to suppress the remembrance until it dissipated and slipped from his mind like granules of sand sifting through an hourglass although he could not shake the perturbation.
While it was true, he tiptoed on a taut rope, and his woes were both mountainous and continual, he declined with a fervency to accept any aid from the bastard. A given, since Philip was manipulative, and the cyclic nature did not allure him.
Regardless, focalization upon another subject would help. So Elias toyed with an unlabeled bottle tucked within his jacket pocket, the rattling of the medications proving soothing in a peculiar way. Akin to a lullaby. Despite their lack of labels, Elias knew which drug was which. Each had an indicator of a sort, be it a symbol to the very form of the pill. Despite it being illegal, he prided himself on being a good dealer, and an even better thief.
Of course, he had hoped for something more, unexplainable and better, enigmatic almost, yet one must play the hand life deals them, even if with complicated cards. In the meanwhile, so consumed by his ruminations and pondering, Elias's foot went straight through a weak layer of ice. Thus, fracturing it so that it dampened it with the gelid water that snared him.
"God damn it."
Wincing as the stinging bite of cold surged through him like a parasite, Elias reached into his boot, denoting his sodden sock with an explicative. This blunder is where being lost in musings instead of being analytical of surroundings gets one, a foot deep into the cruel, lapping waters of a glaciated lake.
Beyond exasperated, Elias shook his foot as if to shake the freeze and increase circulation. Had anyone seen his blunder? Having traversed away from the mass of humanity by the accord of his own feet, he hoped fortune favored him in not looking like a jackass publicly speaking.
To his dismay, two women were adjacent to him, one whose ebony locks made a stark contrast between the ivory purity of the snow beneath her. The other stood, looking downwards as if engaging in conversations and speaking utterances Elias was too far to discern.
While one of the girls he knew naught, the one with noire tumbling, tendrils he knew in a unique, yet intriguing, cocktail of friendship and business combined.
Damned, if she did not look stoned.
Time as a dealer versed him in the cues of intoxication rendered by alcohol and narcotics, or perhaps an accumulation of both. Visage alone was enough to unravel the inquiry of someone's sobriety.
Almost forgetting his drenched foot, Elias ambled towards the two, humored, a wry grin, minute, playing on his features. Never had he ran into Boulevard outside of a transaction, it seemed fate made it so never would they meet unless it was to delve into drugs. Although, that changed now.
"Well, well, well Boulevard and-?"
Idling, he studied the other girl, and she looked like the pinnacle of sobriety, so, he imagined Boulevard had not shared.
"I don't believe I've met nor seen you in town. Either way, I'm Elias, a- friend, of Boulevard's."
Oh, how new quarries oft led to unfurling opportunities, tantalizing as they were endless, entwined with the high of the pursuit and yet, Alexander found himself lacking any semblance of wonder nor traces of elation. Despite his sizeable distance from Boston, he had been the agent above all chosen for this case. Particularly one of profound renown- this, of course, should have incited an exhilaration of sorts. Perhaps it would have if he knew he could work with more autonomy, however, being sent to another district to take the reigns always pinched nerves and carried the tendency to make everything arduous for all those involved.
An inclination towards a particular shade of mania, if you will, for the job had its benefits, however, and he owed his position to this. Since, overall, Alexander had amassed a reputation of maintaining an unshakeable devotion that might border boundaries befitting the title of "unhealthy,"- although, that was something of which he would dispute with fervency. Regardless, he did not lack in proficiency, and the tenacity landed him a well-known case alongside a free ticket and stay in Boston miles from good, ole New Orleans.
Humoring the satirical, Alexander reflected upon receiving the call, specifically on how he was in a shoddy motel relishing the endings of a high induced by ecstasy mixed with shots of vodka. Remembrances of being curled around his latest indulgence, their bodies tangled with bare flesh more than brushing struck him. Settled adjacent to them on a bedside table his phone began to vibrate, and he had stifled a groan as his partner sniggered, blue eyes piqued with interest.
Dallying fingers trailed his chest.
"Important?"
Sobered in expression, he eyed the girl, her cascading tresses golden in hue and wild from their heated tumble, an appreciable curvature noticeable beneath the almost sheer sheet that veiled her body, her plump lips curved in a coquettish simper. Not the norm in regards to his type, but molly tended to blur the lines for him, and indeed blurred they were.
Damning himself for lack of foresight, Alexander finally fumbled for his phone, outreached fingers trembling- remnants from the high- and recognized the number at once- his boss, of course, rather timely, at that.
"Nothing you need to worry about, it's work. Fortuitous for me, Iβm sure."
A sardonic utterance, however, Alexander entertained little in the way of appeal in divulging his life with a lay that would trickle from recollection in a week's worth.
With a sharp inhale and prayer to no god in particular for a collected composure, Alex endeavored to steady his pulsating heart- which seemed to reverberate in his ears in pounding thumps- and overall, not sound utterly wasted as he was.
"Hey, chief."
While a simple greeting, the words came slurred, thick like honey.
"Bad time, Alexander?"
Curt, surely not the response Alex hoped for in regards to the circumstances.
"Nothing terrible with your timing, Lucas, I've had a bit to drink, that's all."
Although, a bit to drink was, well, certainly an understatement.
"A bit?"
There was no excusing that especially probing tone, yet Alexander refused to budge.
"Yes, a bit. Now, it's rather late Lucas, and you only call like this when something needs doing."
With a suppressed giggle, the girl untangled herself from beneath his embrace, swaying her hips to entice as she sauntered to a nearby window, flicking the switch of a lighter and kissing a cigarette to the flame it bore.
"I've got a job for you; however, it is... far from our district."
Calculating, he gave no reply as he hoisted himself off the bed, meeting his affair o' the night to share in the vice of smoking, returning a sliver of a grin as she lit the cigarette he plucked with practiced fingers from the pack between them.
"How far?"
How far, indeed, and who would cover the subject of fees for such a trek?
Matters of a family were a non-issue, there was little he would pine over should he opt to leave. So, why not pursue an opportunity that lay ripe?
"Boston, that far, Alex, expenses paid."
Amusement laced Lucas' voice.
"You had me at expenses paid, alright, I'll take the case."
Not long after the call that eve, he jilted his fling early, floundered home, intoxicated, lavishing in a high, and went to his flat to collect what belongings would prove necessities and scheduled the flight, from there by the morn, he was Boston-bound.
All in all, an uneventful trip spent in the extravagant indulgence of first-class with expensive wines aplenty, yet, once he arrived, his demeanor grew solemn lacking the exuberance held during the evening he received the call. Thoughts of the macabre were gnawing at his core as he prepared to delve into the depths of these murders that afflicted the city like a sickness, permeating airs of dread.
Traversing the city, he noted the bolded print on the newspapers served to arouse further a sense of foreboding among the civilians with woven re-tellings written on The Terror case, queries formulating about when the killer would strike once again, and, in the midst of it all, Alexander found himself centralized within.
Finally arriving, stepping out of a taxi, he heaved an exasperated sigh, glancing towards the building where he would be conducting operations, although, not particularly on his own; not this time around.
Unwilling to dally, he trudged onwards, feeling as though he were trekking through thickened mud and slop.
Incognizant to the reception he would receive, the unknown left him nothing beyond a vast realm of pessimism.
Ambling through the doors, nonchalant, Alexander promptly met with a detective with a gruff visage, stoicism keeping his expression leveled.
"Who are you?"
A simple query, although one with tracings of vexation that Alex could scarcely grasp onto, endeavor or not.
"Alexander Thomas, I'm from the FBI, I'm here to assist in the workings of The Terror case, I believe I am to meet with a detective."
Blinking, as if processing the utterance, the officer crossed his arms, and, beyond that stoicism, Alex reckoned there lay buried intrigue.
When eyes trailed to his badge, Alexander flashed it, causing the man to nod, brusque.
"Right, come along, Myers is right this way."
Undeterred by the officer's mannerisms, Alex, quietened by way of rumination of this detective he would be working alongside, trailed behind, feeling like a lost duckling in a vague sense. An unfamiliarity enveloped him like a gale, threatening to topple his composure, yet, he endured, expression leveled.
"Detective Myers, agent Alexander Thomas is here to see you, I imagine, of course, over the case."
Hints of a tautness Alexander did not quite understand laced his tone.
"Indeed, The Terror case."
Piping in, Alexander put his hands in his pockets, awaiting this detective with a creeping, sprawling interest.
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