i crouch like a crow, contrasting the snow

[nocharmingman]

The small card bends in his hand, its damning text visible against the pale surface. The twin of the one left at the scene; although this one he never discarded-- a mute reminder that he and the men that he kills are not entirely in opposition. Tucking the calling card back into the innermost pocket of his tailored blazer, Erik traces his thumb

Comments

[walkingthegrid]

His brow lifts before his head ever does, attention drawn from the amber liquid and to the new presence. It's a curious thing, someone-- especially a man if he were to be honest-- settling themselves across from Charles. Most in this pub knew he was an Detective and preferred to keep him as far away from them and their dealings as possible. Not that he was that kind of cop anyhow-- he wasn't interested in underhanded poker games or how much cocaine they had snorted off of the bathroom counter-- no he dealt with blood. Homicide hadn't been his intention, not when he joined the first, he was contented to be a patrolman and just help people-- the kindness in his heart ever persistent even when it shouldn't be. However, he was (un)fortunate enough to be talented; moving up through the ranks quickly all things considered and he was basically shoved into homicide after tracking a man down on his beat. He had an eye for detail and the talent to keep the facts together; and in a way, he told himself, he was still helping people. Stopping

[nocharmingman]

He smiles, and it's not snide, but it's something close to devious-- though still erring just short of it. Lifting his own glass, Erik sips it deliberately, eyes hooded when he looks back over at the other man-- who is clearly, from what he can see, drained. Sitting back, shoulders dropping, any hint of danger that hung about him is abruptly lost; replaced by a jauntier air.

"I don't believe you can," while appearing mildly bored, Erik still watches the man intently-- after following him, analyzing the movements and mannerisms-- getting to know his tracker; meeting the man himself, in person, is a heady experience. It's a direct flirtation with the man who is on his trail; who is charged with trying to get into his head; and there is an elegant irony in meeting him-- dangling the crux of the crimes so openly in front of his face, whilst he remains oblivious, "I recognize you." A well-timed pause, "from the newspapers. You're very perceptive-- with the killers

[walkingthegrid]

"I'm flattered," He murmur sin a tone that suggests he isn't flattered at all. The thought itself is a bit unsettling, as if Charles would have to be nearly as off-kilter as the men he hunts in order to follow their trail; but just sane enough not to turn into the same kind of man. It makes him anxious, in all honesty, because there are some days he wakes up and wonders if he could become one of them. Though, so far, he's always erred on the side of justice. Right and wrong. Good and bad. Not everything was as clear cut as he'd like; but that was the court's problem not his. He was tasked with bringing them in, not passing judgement, a messenger of lady justices' will, in a sense. The intent look isn't something he's missed; it's one he's seen in a few standoffs-- be directed at himself or someone else. Though he doesn't jump to any conclusions; no if he did that he'd be poor at his job

[nocharmingman]

The man seems to have some intrinsic sense of him, and it does not set Erik's teeth on edge as it probably should. It draws him in; fascinated and lured by the other's face-- his manner, and the set of his eyes; this, the foil. His detective. While killing to erase the members of the cult that had nearly destroyed him, Erik is far from a morally upstanding man. It had begun as a misguided obligation; the slit throats and the hot spill of blood-- the widening eyes-- but he had begun to enjoy it; developed a taste for those last seconds and the vital power that they afforded him

[wymorefyw]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6M_6qOz-yw