✦ - *⁎ Ft | Kieran . - Blog Posts
the laugh is instantaneous and coupled with the two of a kind slap against the bar. " man, of the text-book medical journal identity kind, what the absolute fuck are you talking about. " pied piper, heart and soul, ariana fucking grande. it all feels like shit pulled from the cat in the hat — as in pulled from the cat's hat. " shit, you might just be killing me from all of this. the fucker joker, but like actually ... not the freak from the comics. " now, if there was something damon could pull endlessly from it'd be comic series. get him talking about those and ... oh, you'd be sitting for hours. especially after a few beers, a few joints. probably the realest they'd be without a proverbial crowbar. " you know, i'll buy your next drink. got me forgetting all about halloween night. got anything else in that head of yours though, kings? heebies or jeebies."
kingsley holds up his hands , half sheepish , half entertained . " if it is you , are you gonna kill me ? " he checks . " cause can you really kill someone who might not even be alive ? we're in purgatory here . that's what redcreek really is . we're here to pay for our sins , but not to a god . no way . to something else . the pied piper maybe . " kingsley lifts a shoulder and shrugs . " i'd never spout meaningless shit . everything i say , i mean with my entire heart and soul , which i think really do exist , but could be made out of paper straw or something . maybe this is all a wizard of oz gimmick . but if i see ariana grande i'm outta here , y'know ? she gives me the heebies ."
right, kieran worked at the hospital in the confines of the mortuary. fitting. a worn in boot. but to paint this conversation into scenery it'd be something of its own autopsy. steady hand of a scalpel, careful examination, but something is just ... missing. a rib, maybe a vital organ. something is missing. its in the kieran answers clear and decisively paired with little twitches of his mouth. subtleties, but constructive. the art filing causations and inconsistencies into the report. ( see, damon is also watching them ; honoring that felinic look of theirs but they're not to point it out unlike kieran. ) corner of his lips twitches, the corner of theirs rise in a smirk. " and you hang at cemeteries when you're drunk. yeah, i'll keep that tidbit in mind. c'mon you seemed like you had some fun, maybe i should've stuck around for the hangover. " it's a jest, but he wonders vaguely what plot of dirt if any kieran sunk at.
space doesn't grow, but remains the same with damon leaning into kieran's atmosphere. they wouldn't mark it up as feeling melancholic, but something is dreary about it. comparable to walking into a locked room where you're not suppose to be — the drift of your fingers over a dusted old journal. kieran speaks of how mysterious damon is as if he's a book. maybe they are the book in that locked room. kieran the seeker, the fingers knocking off dust. yeah, that's more accurate. eyes scan his face noticeably only flickering in a break to a scuttling piece of newspaper. they settle right back on him after that second. " knowing people. knowing what they're feeling. and are you an open book, kieran talbot? it's only fair to be. if you're trying to read any of my text. " another deflection, but it comes with an air of honesty. heavy, damn near suffocating. if this was some sort of game, another pin in his corkboard ... maybe damon would start caring about the trials and tribulations coming into good ol' dead creek.
what's terrifying more than any potential knife in kieran's or damon's, they do carry a butterfly knife pocket is that— he's right. getting to know damon was a maze of his own design ; dead ends at nearly every corner, multiple forks and circles. calculated in a way that, yeah, they can understand the suspicion towards them. they could have just answered 'no' and left it, but they ushered kieran to take a left turn instead of towards the maze's exit. hums when he leans closer, head canting slightly up to make up for the difference in height. would never admit it put him on some sort of edge how he could leer over them. what sort of edge, too, would remain unspoken. " you know. i'd almost love to see you try, kier. opening me up like those lil' cadavers. " challenges because that is what's natural. nonfictitious. " gives me something to look over my shoulder for. " it's a smooth drawl, a low whisper of upping whatever ante. " cause, hey, maybe you're the one whose really holding the knife. yeah ... yeah, that'd be a twist, right? get to know me in a way that's satisfying enough to all your little questions and whatever else, fucking theories, and then. " lifts two fingers and juts them forward. almost jabs them into kieran's side. almost. they hang in the air just like whatever tension is building. " sink! goes the butcher's knife. "
arm falls from the buildings bricks and opts to cross both of them over his chest. they couldn't keep the serious tone up for long, finding it a bit ... stifling. therefore, it breaks. smile split across their lip and gaze cast towards the ground as their head shakes. shoulders shake, laughter bubbling from the chest. " jesus, kieran. you're really something fucking else, hah? " slow trail of their eyes to that face, laze of the split smile still there. " could've just said i'm spooky. save the melodramatics. lighten up, talbot boy. asking that type of question to all your contacts ... that damn question might be the last. and that's just sad for your type. "
ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️ ﹚ ﹕ there was always a weight to the questions kieran asked⸻ settling thick in the air between him and damon, distorting everything around them. it wasn't really just about the words themselves, but the intent behind them. a curiosity. a peculiar interest he wasn't exactly sure what to do with. maybe it had something to do with that bold letter tattooed on damon's collarbone. or maybe it was the way kieran could just stare into those cat eyes and let the seconds go by. but asking someone if they had killed another person wasn't something he could ever take back ﹕ it lingered, like filth. truth, however, never arrived without a cost. it dragged things up from the depths, debris and wreckage tangled in its nets. you could never find it clean, and you surely could never pursue it without getting dirty. kieran didn’t believe damon killed alaina price— not really. but he still wanted to get to know him. and there were many truths you could learn about someone from the way they answered a question they didn't have time to prepare for.
“ i already know what she was killed with. thierry gore and i conducted her autopsy. ” said matter-of-fact, head canted slightly as he studied damon, listening to their words, tracking the subtle shifts in his expression and posture, gaze piercing but not exactly cruel. and there he heard the first truth⸻ damon del valle was facetious, deflected with mockery, dodging what should be an easy ( albeit a little insulting ) yes-or-no question with inquiries of his own. it almost made kieran smile, could see why finch would get along with damon in this very moment ﹕ both cut from the same flippant cloth. but he kept a straight face, low sigh slipping past his lips. “ you got me wasted ... and next thing i know, i was walking down the road to the cemetery with the worst headache i've ever had. don't think i'll be the guy to clear your name if anyone else accuses you, damon. ” a quiet chuckle, pondering about the question and the criteria, all whilst he realized the second truth about damon del valle from this exchange⸻ they liked to muddy the water, to keeps people guessing, to keep themself feeling untouchable. and kieran had done the same, and it was fine for most things, but not this. not in a murder investigation. and certainly not against kieran's stubborn interest in wayward minds. “ i like knowing people, damon. i want to know what they're thinking about. how they're feeling. their deepest darkest secrets. and you'll be surprised to know just how transparent most people are. all the ways they give themselves away. in the way they speak, in how they carry themselves. and seeing those things is how i take people off my suspect list. ” his words came slow and deliberate, a faint curl tugging at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, more like a reflex he hadn't decided to suppress. “ but not you. you're real good at makin' people feel close to you while giving nothing. talking and talking and talking and still say nothing at all. and that's a little terrifying when you're trying to find a killer. ” he let the silence stretch, but only for a moment, didn't want to give damon too much room to deflect, to sidestep the weight of what was hanging between them. and kieran leaned his body toward damon slightly as he whispered ﹕ “ but i pay close attention. don't worry, i'll figure you out. ”
there's a certain sort of air to kieran fucking talbot. and something about it has garnered damon's interest. enough to latch onto him halloween night— get him out of that little air pocket of his. it has their mind straying, wondering if kieran had some actual fucking fun with it or if they regretted it come morning. was he the type to have a hangover? did he remember the rest of it after damon scampered off? its his own personal questions posed internally. questions he might've asked with kieran's sudden appearance before the conversation forks. a character listing, something about due diligence and an alibi— and then a car's tires skid. not on the road beside them but in damon's head ; an echoing 'skrrrchhh!' at the question proposed:
'did you kill alaina price?'
bold. sudden. but maybe that's exactly what kieran was. bolder than damon could ever give them credit for. damon's blinking rapidly, three times to be exact as a mass wave of emotions wrack through their chest. confusion, why the fuck is he asking me that? discomfort, is that the type of person he thinks i am? intrigue, does he ask everybody that? it swirls and swirls until a fourth option is decided on. its amusement, almost, but likes the merry warmth that normally comes with it. gotta keep up that facade of his. otherwise kieran might really think he's suspicious. answers first with a sharp laugh and then a near whisper, " gonna ask what i killed her with next? " a humoring of the question, tone low and almost a little too serious. they're adjusting the way they lean against the wall. forearm pressed to the bricks and angled slightly more towards kieran's lean. " don't want to be used as an alibi, but i think you're already my alibi from halloween night. you the type of drunk that doesn't remember a wink, kier? " poses a question back to kieran, too fucking curious to see the rebuttal. this is denial in damon's way. taking the all-too-fucking-serious inquiry and turning it almost to a mockery. its not that they don't feel for the poor woman, but the personally known fact they didn't fucking do it. something burns in the center of their chest. a match freshly lit, sulfur tickling his nose. " humor me one more time here. i wanna know how that mind of yours works. " the hand not suspended with their lean gestures towards kieran ; a two fingered lazy point. " 'cause its real ... bold to ask someone if they're a murderer. unless you just like flirting with danger. "
his head tilts to the side, " the fuck makes you think that? seriously, i gotta know the criteria. "
ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️ ﹚ ﹕ there was a quiet kind of sickness to trailing someone like damon del valle⸻ a moral vertigo that came from the careful balance of what he was hoping to find versus what he was afraid to be true. and kieran had always been acquainted with people like them ﹕ the restless, unmoored types that lived in the liminal spaces between good intentions and bad decisions. he didn't want to suspect damon, not really. in fact, he had always admired their ability to be the sparkplug of any gathering. he could never be the same kind as damon, only the kind to fall for it ﹕ just like he did on halloween night, when he let damon flush a couple of hours of clarity and cognizance down the drain, in favor of alcohol and released inhibitions. but the more he looked at him, the more he spent time in their light, the more kieran realized that there was always something missing. a lack of true knowledge over who damon really was at their core. it was like watching smoke rise from a cigarette, wondering if it was the start of a fire or just the smolder of something already spent. and it didn't help that damon insisted on hanging out in places like this ﹕ dingy back alleys with dubious company, the smell of stale beer, weed and the distant exhaust curling up between buildings. it painted them in a light that was difficult to ignore⸻ placing kieran in a peculiar purgatory between suspicion and the gut feeling damon was not the one. not that it would change anything. truth didn't care about his gut. but still, kieran wanted to clear their name, or more specifically, trying to clear them off a growing list of people who could've killed alaina price that night. he thought about all his other suspects, compared them to damon, but the loud scrape of a boot against fractured pavement snapped him out of his mind, avoiding their gaze for a moment and watched the cars on the road, as if he hadn't been waiting here for this exact moment. “ i think i'm more clarice starling. fox mulder. dale cooper. ” kieran responded flatly, though not unkind. he leaned back, weight settling against the brick wall, gaze shifting toward damon's hands instead⸻ almost amused by the gestures, but mostly curious of what those hands were truly capable of. “ listen— damon. i'm not here to waste your time. just doing my due diligence, really. ' cause i'd really hate to be used as some kind of alibi, ” a pause, not a long one, but enough to let the weight of the moment stretch thin. then, he finally looked into their eyes and asked the question, landing with no ceremony or inflection, just a nonchalant query that even piqued the attention of some people passing by ﹕ “ did you kill alaina price ? ”
FOR : kieran ! @horrorphase. LOCATION : exiting a back alley into the sidewalk, yikes . TIMESTAMP : fuck ass o'clock prob .
you're probably wondering how damon got into this situation. see, a common note about them was their tendency to be out of place. constantly on the move, stopping for a quick drink or maybe a smoke on a bench. odd jobs, favors and fuck knows what else ... they never really seemed to pause. there's a restless energy to them at their core and it seems to finally be deflating as they excuse themselves from who they're smoking with in the alley. a little two finger wave, a heavy sigh. despite being a human battery, at some point they always seemed to run out. not to mention no one is here to see damon crash and burn. they can let their shoulders —
scaaaaaaatch that! ( it's always that fucking way, isn't it? ) as soon as they step out of the alley and take a turn they're scuttling back just as quickly. boot heel catches against cracks in the pavement, hand raising to catch themselves on the building's brick. " wooooo, shit, kier! " immediate recognition. they laugh a little until it dawns on them: how fucking weird to be slinking out of a back fucking alley in the middle of the day. sure, they've been in weird buildings with kieran. kieran's been out of place before, but with the news of late? yikes.
" alright first off, fancy meeting me here, eh? " points at kieran, " before you start doing your little ... " opens their hand to wave their palm around, " psuedo-ghost-hunter-detective-nancy-drew-carmen santiago thing ... just meeting a friend. reclusive fella. what are you wondering about for this time? "
FOR : kieran ! @gorebound . LOCATION : THE WAREHOUSE ; HALLOWEEN PARTY . TIMESTAMP : 9:25pm .
if there's one thing damon won't pass up it's a party. and when it comes to the red creek annual halloween party? of fucking course they're going to be there. a common face at a common place, two plus two equals four after all. it wasn't in their plan to drink this heavily, but the atmosphere always seemed to get to them. adrenaline, good music, good times ... for a guy that's always on the move and filling up their plate it was nice to truly let loose every once in awhile. which, damon notices, is exactly what kieran isn't doing. they spot him immediately at the make-shift table bar. no drink in hand, though they didn't expect one to be, and scanning the crowd like they're birdwatching. it prompts damon to laugh to himself. it's only natural that they stride over with half empty red cup in their hand.
" well, well. " eyes scan him over for a moment. cowboy, classic. has seen about three of those, but this one ... " out here all dressed up like a cowboy and you're not even visiting the saloon? that's just shameful, kt. " they enter kieran's space, but only just enough to give a tap to their elbow. " come on, for fuck's sake, loosen up a little. y'know, for a guy that goes crawling around abandoned houses you're so ... " twirls their free hand in a circle and glances elsewhere before they smack their lips. " demure. "
the direct and casual tone catches her off guard. even has her voicing it atypically : " oh. " it's amusing, really. the nonchalance. the ability to voice opinion, one based in earnest or not, without batting an eye. a stray thought comes to mind: kieran should make a podcast or try putting his opinions to paper. might be a damn hit. " should i thank be thanking you for that? i mean, really, this isn't some sort of indie horror flick. but, hell, you're making me curious who you are suspicious of. that's just the writer in me though. " effie's earnest at least, but she is wondering what's on his mind, who. it might even be useful to jot down— consider it for herself. yet, out of good manners, she doesn't press.
eyes flicker down to the unlit cigarette leaning close. the unspoken request met with her own lean. cigarette between her lips she lights it with the butt of her own. obverses him over it quietly. a creature of habit she is. ends it with a long drag and a collection of her bag while she stands. " thank you. i'm not really ... scared, but i don't think i want to cram myself into the bar like everyone else is. that'd really be what wigs me out. not enough room to breathe. " she adjusts her purse against her shoulder, slowly walking in the direction her apartment rests. eyes cast upwards a considerable distance. effie's never felt small before, but it's hard to ignore just how looming kieran was. that's a frame she'd never want to see in a dark hallway — a horror flick — only his shadow visible. " i have to ask though ... were you headed home or trying to snoop? no judgement. i'm no better sometimes. "
… oncoming headache was absolutely a cautionary tale against night outs, did not mean to get so senselessly wasted, especially when he only really attended that stupid halloween party for one single-minded purpose. and well, that turned out to be an utter fucking failure. but there wasn't anything quite as sobering as the news of yet another tragedy, the cogs and gears of his mind slowly beginning to turn again despite the lingering effects of alcohol and god knows what else he might have taken. “ safe as life. ” which was just another way of saying not at all, blown pupils thoroughly watching the smoke billowing from her mouth as if it was the most entertaining thing in the world. but it was a needed distraction nonetheless, something to fixate on while he attempted to get his shit together. but maybe he needed a far stronger stimulation, harshly pinching the bridge of his nose ⸻ and a groan slipped past his lips, nothing like some good ol' pain to jolt someone fucking wide awake. “ you're lucky i don't suspect you, ” said with typical nonchalance, taking out a marlboro of his own from a silver case. “ i can keep you company till you think it's safe. ” he had read way too much data and while she checked the white working class boxes of most female midwestern serial killers, a journalist like her was more likely to be the vulture circling the bodies, rather than the vicious wolf itself. he could be wrong, it wouldn't be the first time, but blame it on the alcohol, because kieran felt safe enough to lean in, tilting his head to meet her eyes, the unlit cigarette hanging from his lips as he silently asked if she'd light it off hers. maybe she wasn't the killer, but it still felt like flirting with danger : effie floyd just had that look, like she could eat you alive.