kataskopeia

[kataskopeia]

the shadow of a scowl begins to form atop the bridge of his nose. god forbid he ever tries to negotiate with this man again ... or tempt his oddly analytical side into surfacing at the most inconvenient time. "—you getting paid for counting swear words now?" traces of guarded annoyance season his voice; tongue makes sure to juggle syllables with an emphasis that allows for little less than ridicule. there's been enough interrogation room incidents within the cops' nest for him to recognize a phrase that damned him either way. reasons to oblige—if there ever had been any in the first place—evaporate into thin air like alcohol over an open flame.

most importantly: he's not prone to taking orders, least of all in a setting like this. head cocks in near-rebellious manner; eyes narrow at the sudden change in tone that seems to run rampant in the other man's mouth. "i don't think so," he says with a slow deliberateness that challenges authority and reason all at once. the fast-approaching hand is the tip of the iceberg inviting for an impact of sorts. stripped of the opportunity to retreat and the option to bargain, his hand tightens around the note to the point of rendering it into crinkled remains while his free arm shoots forward to intervene.

he reaches to grab the officer by his collar with unnecessary force, puts forth his leg to destabilize his footing, and prepares for a standard throw. practiced. intuitive. the demeanor of a man who'd lay down landmines by his feet to preserve his personal space if he could. "w̵h̴at̶ do ̵y̸o̴u̴ th̴i̵n̵k y̵o̷u̶'̷r̷e̵ ̸d̷o̴i̸n̶g̵.̵"

❝ of course not. ❞   amidst indignant retort, a parched tongue makes its rounds along the perimeter of cracked lips. a man who favors the methodical and manufactured persona over organic madness would derive no pleasure from the sporadic nature of newfound life. it is that very truth that entices soren's voracious appetite. the attempt at placating stomach growls only furthers famine — had there not been even a drop of authenticity, would he really be so adamant to elaborate on why it was clearly fabricated?

perhaps beck is human after all.

...that being said, with logic and rational applied, he likely didn't have a child. being a father was more than passing mere chromosomes. even had spawn been conceived through drunken stupor or youthful folly, for some, dismissing paternal rights was as easy as exhaling. but still: prickling hairs on beck's neck only furthered his convictions, evident by swirls concocted at the edges of a mischievous grin. nails tap touch surface behind monitors perched atop hardwood desk, though stark blue never shifts away from opponent's face.

❝ and equally unlike you to be so on edge. come to think of it, you're not prone to vulgarity, y'know? only heard it once outta you, and that was to rib me. having that spill out so suddenly... kinda sounds like you're a little... defensive? and lord knows it's not over your competency. ❞  a man of his caliber willingly admits both flaws and feats — only to oneself, of course. similar to soren's culinary prowess, beck had nothing to prove. maybe il diavolo really wasn't the person of interest here.

a split second relinquishes beck from that persistent stare, but it flares in full with a jingle and brief scan of his phone.   ❝ leave it, ❞   sharp are those words, but they pale in comparison against his actions. soren's sudden stride abruptly attempts to rupture distance between himself and beck, a hand extended to grab at what appears to be the treasured note. perhaps his words meant the deal, or even the withheld objective, but regardless of this truth, it sounded like a master calling for mutt to kneel.

#sinsolucion #uve broken off negotiations now....he will not return to them at a later point #a simple agent rule : ///// #letters what letters? #get smacked down; FOOL #he can take a few callouts but dont get that thing (hand) near him!!!!

[kataskopeia]

"—a man's purpose after death? someone from the forensics branch should be able to answer that question just fine." besides, people's intentions are as vast and inconstant as the ocean. he's here for a rancid tooth. the next guy in line might be out to harvest a limb. as for the more virtuous visitors ... ... nevermind that. he can't exactly imagine anyone with a broken heart over a mole. "you could say that." the bloody tooth disappears into a small plastic bag he's clearly brought for the occasion. "feel free to document the lost piece—it's good to be diligent. i'm certain one missing tooth won't be enough to throw off your examinations either way." he regards her quietly for a moment, then adds, with a measured glint in his eyes: "... in any case, i was first in line. it's only fair."

mister beck! ➜ A tilt of her head as she considers this new perspective on paper. For someone who basically lives and breathe this manmade product, she has never considered before its soft powers, the implications of text on people, how bureaucracy can control the masses without even lifting a finger. “But if he’s dead then what are the others going to do with him?”

She’s always been one more inclined to think literally rather than theoretically anyways.

“Was he your colleague?” Well, that’s the only logical reason she can think of for how an appointment could be made the victim’s death. Unless Mister Beck was the victim’s enemy (but that kind of stuff only happens in the k-dramas she watches, right?). She stares at the molar tooth bloody and glistening in his hand. "Why did you take his tooth out? We still haven’t examined the body completely yet!”

#kamipyre #beck could teach her so much terrible pragmatism....is this a good idea #'so youre saying if im the first person to find a dead body i can take what i want' yes. #if this guy had wanted to keep his tooth maybe he shouldnt have fucking died. #ever think about that?

[kataskopeia]

"Bored? You've been hanging around this little bar for quite some time. Someone could trace your movements. Someone like me." Like father, like son, Nero winks before flashing a grin. "Your favorite isn't even in today."

"you should know ... ," he starts, takes a drag from his nearly-spent cigarette, counters the grin with a dagger-like stare, then exhales a thin plume of smoke, "that the only time i'm a fan of surveillance is when i'm the one doing it." case in point, once again, for the paranoia-fueled meticulousness he tended to exert in all areas of life. it's a shame that the eyes that he feels on his back, while ever-present, are not always so easily attributable. at the very least this solves the mystery around his more recent unease while lingering at the bar. it's an easy-to-solve issue at heart: break through the predictability and branch out into other establishments. the problem begins ... at the knowledge that he doesn't want to. "i'm fine with saying that i am. the best impression to give a tracker would be one of boredom. i don't know what else you're on about." a poor lie by his standards, but it matches the cheesy wink and talking back to his former partner is an immune reaction that'd never quite made it out of his bloodstream. "if you wanted to grab a drink together sometime, you could invite me like a normal person."

#eternasci #as if either of them know the intricacies of normal-person-life #nero do got this special effect on him #nero vc: ive been watching u. beck: oh yea? die. #'but you dont even really drink ....?' so what. die.

[kataskopeia]

some fantasy au beck thoughts:

obviously he'd still be a spy/agent and work with multiple contractors. his main bread and butter USED to be assassination but he's switched over ever since the incident (tm) and indulges in more macabre jobs only on rare occasions now. even though it would be customary in his trade, he doesn't use daggers/short blades as weapon but relies mainly on his body. if, in a given fantasy universe, guns exist, he will gladly use those but if not then that's that.

he dislikes magic a normal amount but has mastered rune-based magic to make up for his inability to use blade weaponry. a bit embarrassing so he's very lowkey about it. his most commonly used runes revolve around stealth and control. in my mind, runes should resemble ciphers and your ability to use them should be based on 1) your general magical aptitude and 2) your willingness to study the fuck up which is why they're perfect for beck who has endless patience when it comes to theoretical work. speaking of magic: maybe he's accidentally formed a bond with a demonic entity at some point and is unable to die normal deaths because of it.

even in fantasy au, he lives for his occupation and takes on varieties of 'cover jobs' to get his actual tasks done. soooo it's possible to encounter him just about anywhere. :)

#✦ ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. / FANTASY. #just imagining some whack demon taking a liking to him bc hes so unhinged #so that one time he gets almost gutted it goes 'nooo not my blorbo human :(((' and infuses him w some of its power

[kataskopeia]

          "... ..." it's uncertain whenever he'd established himself as such a dependable person. sure enough, he's not prone to misstepping while duty-bound—but it's not as though his flimsy loyalty is limited to LAPD interests alone. ( had he become a bit too predictable overall ... ? no way ). skeptical gaze doesn't lose sight of the other for even a moment. rendering his office door serrano-proof is the least of his problems right now.

          "don't get too used to that." an agent's existence is fleeting in more ways than one. it works in his favor when trying to evade tedious game nights ... but could also leave his expectant colleague stewing for good in a distant future. "wouldn't even take a day for me to get wiped off this planet's surface without a trace."

      ❝ frankly, the fire department will thankme for removing those violations. ❞   doubtless beck had a plan for such an occasion — or, maybe, would he welcome the burning of whatever was withheld in his office?

in the end, neither fit his picture of their informant — the likely resolution would be to simply have nothing of personal substance within the building, where pervasive eyes would pry   ( despite being the aforementioned eyes, soren could never bring himself to invade one’s private space for selfish gain, insatiable curiosity be damned ).   ❝ but you’ll be back, as you always are. i’ve no worries about that. ❞  

#sinsolucion #tbh he would rummage thru sorens desk in a heartbeat if given a reason to #no hesitation in sight #to be fair hes p desensitized considering well. his job #if it helps hed feel a bit weird about going through sorens stuff at sorens apt .. work is different tho :)

[kataskopeia]

every once in a while, beck will do a 'bug check' throughout the lapd building and squash all electronic insects that he finds and deems inappropriate.

#✦ CHR. INFO. / HABITS. #hes gonna dump the pile of trash on sorens desk while hes out; like a cat would dump a dead rat on your rug

[kataskopeia]

speaking of which ... surely nero could have picked a code that is less easy to crack for an overzealous officer? prone to underestimate in the oddest of ways. at least it seems like he hadn't quite gotten the gist of the message in its entirety. it's worth an attempt to feign ignorance: "... don't be ridiculous. do i look like someone who'd bother with a human-shaped appendix in my life." ( he really would like him to keep it down a little ). "that part must be a metaphor." truthfully, he's learned the art of weaponizing the code-word 'child' best while escorting the brat through various education systems. not feeling up for an evening appointment? tell them your child is waiting at home. tired of an unexpected small-talk session? your child needs to get picked up from school. a boring get-together looming at the horizon? sick child at home; wouldn't want to spread the germs. ... yes. 'child' so easily morphs into a cipher for all the things in life that could and should be avoided. right now, he wants to avoid his colleague's greedy demeanor. ... and any further questions.

"—now settle down. coded messages are everyday business in my line of work. the fuck d'you mean 'how do you know'. it's rather unlike you to disregard your coworkers' competencies." he's already retained the order of letters in his mind. perhaps he should simply see the note destroyed now. withdrawing with a casual step back, he warily keeps track of the crazed man's movements. the best way out of this might be a deal. ( or flooring it, message in hand ). "as it so happens, i know of a few letters 'il diavolo' has sent in the past that may forever remain out of your reach under normal circumstances. that is all i'm willing to hand over. take it or leave it." ... never-mind the fact that some of them are dated shopping lists.

      dissuading a man whose spark failed to falter was a fool's errand. blue skies, clear as day, show stars shining amidst disbelief. words were spoken, indeed… but nary an ear lent itself to acknowledge. while beck's intrusion delayed a curious appetite, what he garnered from this recipe for disaster had left soren salivating.

                         ❝ —YOU HAVE A KID?! ❞  

rapid thoughts overwhelm sensibility. like poorly balanced speakers, his volume peaks, resounding within enclosed walls   ( a blessing, that — there would be little chance for recovery had the floodgates been open ).   no apologies, no realization; just a man whose powder - covered nose couldn't take in anything but the scent of a story.

quite the powerful drug. could anyone blame his fingers so desperately reaching to return what was once his?   ❝ no, no no no — this is evidence belonging to the los angeles police department, given directly to the overseeing lead. ❞   while official ooze stumbles out betwixt voracious fangs, it lacked the typical strength a deluge of its nature should harbor. soren could hardly play the part when so much was at stake.

subtle is the swallow lodged in soren's throat. hoisted from his desk, he retrieves line of sight, pointedly dismissing beck's face for the prize. a semblance of sanity nudged his lips, coaxing a half - assed attempt to continue their "conversation" while eyes scrape for more to memorize.   ❝ how do you know? i mean, yes, mentioning that you have a CHILD doesn't make for discussing a heist, this is rare correspondence from 'il diavolo' themselves! we can't miss out on this sort of opportunity!   give it to me. ❞  

he'd never ask for scraps. for once, his trust in beck falls in favor of written truth. mere regurgitation meant nothing when the reader could — and would — manipulate the message. better equipped his ass: he'd let the fact that he was able to determine some of the message speak for itself.

#sinsolucion #writhing in sorens grip....... #accidentally fulfilling his wish for more correspondence ig but it doesnt matter rn #why do u have letters beck? dont fuckin ask #strangling nero strangling nero strangling nero strangl

[kataskopeia]

" ... Meeting someone? I can set you up in the back. " Once lively baby blues emptily bore into an already clean glass as it is meticulously wiped down.

"who knows—." he smoothly settles onto a stool at the bar; drops his jet black coat on the next seat over. such is the trouble with new informants. suggest a suitable location and they may just decide to stake it out for the first night or two. ( which is fair enough, really. if it was him, he'd take similar precautions ). "i might get stood up today. just get me a drink for now." his finger indicates a sealed bottle back at the shelves that has the prestigious air of vintage whisky but the contents of overpriced mineral water. it's easy enough to pass time in other ways here; even if he is rather unwilling to admit as much outright. his business date's lack of commitment matters little.

"... pff." chin lifts; gaze wanders. the urge to slap the heavy glass cup out of the other man's hand to break the devitalized trance he'd gotten caught up in is stifled. barely. "maybe your eyes are terrible after all. gonna reduce that glass back to sand with your scraping. get a grip."

#sinsolucion #idk if this is first meeting at the bar...or repeated meeting at the bar but this fits either situation #either way youre his contact replacement soren; yayayay ^0^ #you seem bored (obsessed with a random glass) #let's play cards or sumthn . silly man

[kataskopeia]

"i'm informed about your job description and they certainly are not." leave it to him to shoot down the other man's noble creed. ... or make an attempt to, anyhow. a poorly stifled sigh makes for a telling sign that he's long understood his position before those hungry blue eyes. "... given the amount of papers on your desk, i'm sure you are familiar with the concept of archival processing? someone's done a sloppy job and now i have to deal with it."

      bloodied waters invite carnivores, a similarity that beck's broken mask has the misfortune of bearing. cracks only coerce him to pursue.  ❝ then... what are you? if you want me to work so bad, you're gonna have to answer me — after all, i'm doing my job. welfare checks are a part of it, y'know. something not go your way? ❞  

#sinsolucion #......... ok . . tells u #as vaguely as possible #also wheres your doctors note that confirms the de-cootification

[kataskopeia]

"ah; so you're a snitch." an observant one, fair enough, but that is within expectations. he's not overly familiar with the man but he can't say he hasn't heard of him. the combined tattle of LAPD staff and CIA agents must amount to something—especially when the source of their stories carried himself with such a flashy presence.

"as much as i'd like to indulge in thrashing other people's property, being a regular at the shooting range has nothing to do with it. oddly enough my colleagues prefer for me to be in good shape when i'm called in to provide cover fire." granted, he does shoot the occasional stray drone that dares to enter LAPD territory. "if you're looking for someone to help you track down the culprit, you should ask more nicely."

"You know I have to say 'just curious' for a lot of things." That was the perk of making detective and working above a few heads; he had the best opportunities to be vague while in search of bigger answers.

" Think I've seen you here at least twice this week." Lang's weight shifts to the other foot as he pulls his cane to lean on, perhaps just as flashy as his gun, without his hand covering the ferrule. It makes for a good casual lean as he holsters his pistol, pulling the muffs off of his ears. "Theft cases have been pretty bad lately. You gettin' ancy and decided to practice just in case?"

#cuttingcanine #a sin? or enlightenment? #being fairly civil to lang bc of agent comradery #he'll tag along with you if theres an opportunity to shoot something <3 (or someone)

[kataskopeia]

a conundrum. should his ex-partner ever feel so-inclined to show up in person, he would love to have a word on the matter of using law enforcement networks for private messages. ( ... as things are, a note sent in turn to give voice to his grievances would have to suffice ). "obviously it's not for you." initially picked up gingerly, he has a solid grasp on the piece of information by now. for good reason. a set of greedy, bright blue eyes seem to have locked onto the complicated cipher and he knows that relinquishing the note at this point would be a grave mistake. that man ( @sinsolucion ) knew no moderation.

"and i'm better-equipped to deal with codes anyhow." he turns away from his colleague in an attempt to break line of sight between too-interested gaze and rows of gibberish text. pain in the ass. this type of cryptogram alone would've sufficed for him to be called up for help eventually—but nero just had to pick the worst recipient of them all. "—either way, this is no heist announcement; so don't even bother. i'll take care of it."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ 🌺┊      PEOPLE ARE PRONE TO PRY. Who could fault anyone for that? Certainly not they who oft indulged in nosiness themselves, but being the center of attention — amidst a precarious situation — didn't leave them sympathetic for those who lacked tact. In the absence of their consciousness, a bystander had plucked phone from floor in an attempt to call a lifeline.

In the time taken to lock their phone through various failures and send an emergency message to certain contacts, they roused to consciousness and lugged themselves to their campus clinic. Without the mental capacity to defeat their own lock, they bit at their nails, worried as to who would respond. Their options were bleak, after all: father, or uncle.

And surprisingly, it's the father who messages, but not Lucien. He messages Beck.

By no means is the message via text — long burnt were either agent's burners. No, it's a cipher left with the current police supervisor. Evidence, he would claim, but with his own insignia printed and pseudonym on display   ( how brazen, believed the supervisor, to put one's name on note ), Nero anticipated Beck's morbid curiosity, as he had left naught for the cops — why something now?

                                        ﹙ @kataskopeia ⎯⎯ 💖'd ﹚

#eternasci #sinsolucion #still unaware tht soren has deciphered the worst part of this message already #going to k*ll nero fr in 3...2.... 1....

[kataskopeia]

"... you're a piece of work." challenging his luck. he half-wonders whether the man, if set loose in a casino, would strike a jackpot or go bankrupt. "the probability of getting shot out of spite is much higher than avoiding it by pretending to know your adversary's mind. if given the chance, i won't hesitate." a pause. ... ... ... then, his shoulders relax and his chin tilts up lightly. "that said, it'd be idiocy to gun down a high-ranking officer with a personalized weapon. i'll find a cleaner solution for you."

      every click ticks time down, counting to his   ( inevitable? deserved? )   demise. yet, this is nothing unexpected; one must question the song and dance — who took the reins? was it unfathomable that he who constantly rouses the beast enjoyed having it perform tricks, knowing its consistency?   who was really being toyed with, the gun, or beck?

soren taps his brow, coaxing creature with another prod.   ❝ you know i'm right, just as i know you're going to fire. ❞   or would he, now given the threat of predictability?

#sinsolucion #a basic ass knife would be best but alas... #its fine he can be creative if needsbe : // #hes just ....teasing ? i guess

[kataskopeia]

"you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he replies as dully as humanly possible. leave it to your adversary to dictate the set-up and enjoy your perforated carcass. ( he refuses to be demoted to a mere participant in this unusual event ). "we have a perfectly in-order gym right in this building and as far as i can tell, you're not doing anything important ... ... on the contrary, i'm inclined to believe that you're just twiddling thumbs and looking for fights today." knuckles meet desk surface. he leans in a little closer than what he'd usually deem a 'barely acceptable distance'. eyes narrow; voice adopts a lower timbre.

"i'll take you on."

     while acceptance alone garnered a raised brow, but the addendum rolls baby blues in their 'sightless' sockets.   ❝ hijueputa... ❞   mutters he beneath breath, smirk unbending, nigh threatening to wax crescent. who was soren serrano, if not a man willing to throw himself at any challenge?   ❝ don't start with that. i've got my ways, ❞   he sneers.   ❝ keep it up, and i'll actually set a time and day. ❞   a benefit, really — if the scene is set elsewhere, he needn't really hide his eyesight — as long as there was no audience.

#sinsolucion #bet your hugs transmit cooties #thats why all your cops are rabid #dont touch me

[kataskopeia]

self-care phrases to boost your confidence

this shit ain't nothin to me man

I'll fucking kill you

.

#✦ CHR. STUDY. / REVERIE.

[kataskopeia]

characters who are so inauthentic. characters who only show what they want other people to see of them. characters who simply must have control over every part of themselves. do you even get it

#✦ CHR. STUDY. / REVERIE. #wahoo

[kataskopeia]

What's the closest your muse has been to death? What did they learn from it, if anything?

it's late summer, hot and humid, and he's bleeding out on the grimy terrazzo floor tiles of a volatile gang's hideout.

beck certainly has had a few brushes with death given his precarious occupation. the one that shaped him most is probably when he was working to extract hostages from a syndicate base, got caught up in several complications, and was finally given the ultimatum of choosing his own life or the hostage's ( for entertainment purposes ). given that his task was explicitly 'retrieving hostages,' he eventually obliged and near-gutted himself—of course, the hostage was shot in the aftermath anyway. he survived the encounter worse for wear, gained a lasting scar by his lower abdomen ( that has since healed but remains extremely touch-sensitive ), an inability to properly hold knives, and a heightened sense of paranoia. ... though to be fair, beck already was pretty paranoid before.

#✦ CHR. INFO. / HC. #he learned that he hates people heh #and also to be more trigger-happy because fuk it #sometime after that is also when he switched from more action-y jobs to almost exclusively undercover/investigative jobs #sinsolucion

[kataskopeia]

"..." he's been preoccupying himself with cleaning one of his disassembled toys. now he's taken to speedily putting it back together and chambering its rounds. ( each falling into place with a pointed clicking noise ). "—which is?"

@kataskopeia is so mean to me: you're hideous.

❝ aww, thanks, beck. don't worry, i know what you really mean — don't be shy. ❞  

#sinsolucion #man found dead in LA #always wondered whether it's humanly possibly to dodge bullets. #though it might be difficult for you without glasses right?