"This body was placed here, perhaps after being cleaned. I should've known to ask you to cut the base of the throat just to look for any severe signs of irritation." Vere tapped the looped finger against his lips—thankfully, it was the glove that wasn't used to touch the body. Not that he cared, cleanliness was nice, and all, but the mission took precedence.
"On it!" Othello cut the base of the neck and peeled it for him to look at. The flesh inside was a lot darker and showed signs of acid that burnt the flesh to be noticeably darker than the rest.
The smell of vomit and corpse scent wafted in both of their noses, and Vere nodded his head. Sure, the corpse was old, and the information was wonky at best, but he added it to build on his main Detail.
It'd help his mental image of the crime. It'd become even more apparent when confronting the Suspect if he was wrong.
After all, how could he [Press] them on incorrect information? Even if they bluffed their way out of it, it seemed to add a multiplicative factor to his attacks if his conjectures rang true.
>Detail temporarily supported. (Killed by blunt force trauma after resisting a group attack) reaches lv 2. Exposed flaws as a result of misapplying this detail have risen as well.
"Huh. Neat."
"What is? Did you find out anything substantial?" Othello looked up to witness Vere tinting his head down in his musings. His still body abruptly animated as a foot slipped behind the other, a hand quickly drawing the revolver hidden by his light brown trench coat.
For such a swift movement, his actions were subdued and somewhat languid. Yet the body articulations were refined, sharp…and as Othello caught his side profile, she could tell that his eyes were slightly narrowing as if fixing on a target.
"I heard you already. You have, oh let's see…." Yellow-red thought power churned to life inside the man's cognitive nexus as he feinted, lowering his guard. The barrel suddenly pointed to the floor, and he looked to be pondering to himself.
A shadowed figure stepped out from behind a pillar, his hands raised with a placating grin. It was closer to a sneer than anything, and his eyes were confident in a way that screamed to Vere's obscured eyes, "Is that it?"
"Hey, man. No need to shoot…you can keep your gun down." Vere met Logan's eyes, the guy gingerly putting down his hands as he pointed at his badge.
"Logan Grant. Police Officer at the New Westwood Headquarters. I've been stuck in the B-Side for a while, and the first sign of life drew me in!" He sighed with that same smile, softening up a bit as he sought to slowly advance while they talked.
Othello shut her lips and watched the scene—as if her favorite show started playing. Logan looked at her and struggled to contain the leer when he took in her features. Now wasn't the time to fantasize.
'But damn. That chick is the hottest I've ever seen…!' Vere's voice broke his thoughts, to the man's disgruntlement.
"Vere Blanchett. I'm investigating a murder, Logan Grant…so tell me. Did you come with anyone?"
Step. The advancing police officer couldn't evade Vere's subtle gaze. But Logan couldn't see through the [Bluff], a seemingly yellow-red shield erected before Vere's piercing eyes.
"Nahhh, man. I got estranged from my patrolling unit. Besides—what kind of murder are we talking about?"
"There was a group. One guy hit the man with a brick, and an accomplice restricted their attention. Does this look familiar to you?" Vere smiled as his free hand crept through his trench coat pocket, withdrawing the crimson straw.
"This straw was used in the restriction. Did your headquarters know of this murder? Hey, maybe you were dispatched precisely to investigate this murder." The amiable demeanor of Vere's body language seemed to calm the man.
It calmed the twitching left eye of the bearded man as well.
'He's not good at hiding this kind of shit. An amateur?'
Their suspicions ran through their heads at breakneck speeds.
"Yeah, man. It's the case of the three little piggies, you know—that old story? That big bad Wolf Shack gangster took a little tumble after huffing, puffing, and blowing that house down."
"Care to explain?" Vere prodded as the man's footsteps increased in speed. He paced around, feigning obliviousness in an attempt to lull Logan into a false sense of security.
Step. Step. Step step step!
Logan ran forward while talking, trying his best to suppress his footsteps. Thankfully, the detective and the classy gal at his side looked away for long enough for him to rapidly advance.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do got a lot more to explain. Look, just turn around, and I'll show you all the Case files we've got!"
"We? And…you don't have anything that would be used to hold case files. Now tell me…." Vere's eyes slid over as Logan was a mere few feet away from him. The revolver quickly met his advance as he [Pressed] onwards.
"…Why would a patrolling police officer hold any details of the murder? That wasn't your assignment." The barrel filled Logan's line of sight, and he darted backward after sending out a strike!
You might ask how he did it. He didn't even have a weapon on him at all! But that was wrong…
Because tree branches with a sanguine scent and scarlet coloration sprouted out of his hands. The sticks converged into a double-edged sword—both metaphorically and literally.
After all, if he wasn't affiliated with this case…then why did he start to attack specifically as Vere stated his findings? Sure, a barrel to the face; who wouldn't attempt to avoid getting shot? But…
Why wasn't he explaining himself? Instead, a sinister grin crawled over his expression as darkness shone in his eyes.
"Well, hello there, Mr. Accomplice. I guess that's your explanation?"
"Yeah. But don't worry, I'll take all the time you want explaining what I did to that broad of yours after I kill you!"
'What the fuck?! Hey, this guy's sleazy as all hell. Go, Vere! Shoot that dick; he's probably looking at my damn breasts!' Othello sent a mental message to Vere that materialized as a sticky note only he could see. He could only suppress the laughter that threatened to arise; her breasts were barely a handful. And why did she focus on her breasts? That guy was leering at her whole body, damn it!
Logan ran up to Vere with his red wooden sword, slicing downwards only to experience disappointment. The Warden sidestepped the Suspect, causing the man to crazily swing his blade horizontally in his direction.
Black wisps of Authority thought power fluctuated, strands wrapping around like tiny, thin tongues of flame. This swing was halted as he changed the weapons of his firearm, blocking the red sword Logan swung.
Clack!
Logan withdrew his weapon with great fury! But it wasn't enough to stop Vere from planting a foot in his stomach, forced to push the attacking Suspect a couple of feet backward. Pain shot up through his nerves—but he bit through it and continued to slash.
Vere deftly avoided the strikes as his feet flashed, almost dancing with the man in a weird way. He flourished the revolver, switching his finger into a handle grip as he spun it, catching the latch of the guard of the area where the trigger lay.
The firm hands blocked the forward thrust squarely as Logan's sword collided against the revolver's guard.
Black wisps coiled around faintly, materializing and dissipating as Authority thought power fueled his movements unerringly. A smooth grin slid along his face as his left hand shot upwards, throwing Logan off balance for enough time.
The revolver fell down as he dropped it, his muscles flexing as a strong hook smashed into Logan's chest!
He turned around, waist and torso lithely bending as he stepped toward and rotated. The back of his fist collided with the Suspect's flesh—a cracking sound resounding as he turned to swipe again and propped up his knee.
With startling, pre-calculated precision, the revolver's handle bounced against his upper thigh and shot back upwards. Logan leaped backward the second he caught it, a contorted expression painting his face.
"Oh my! What an ugly face you have!" Vere joked as the revolver spun into readiness. His hand was cocked sideways as he fixed his posture, mocking the man completely!
"That's the wrong fucking fairy tale, you ASSHOLE!!" Logan's feet pounded on the ground like heavy rain as he reproached the shrugging Vere.
"Is it really? Sorry about that…woah! Range Play!" As Logan seemed to fade and reappear in his face, he quickly exclaimed the name of the martial technique he devised long ago. It was one of the few faint memories he had!
The revolver met the air entirely in his control as he rapidly freed his hands and caught it mid-flight. It didn't matter if he directly dropped it, tossed it, threw it…Range Play ensured that the gun, or the "range,"…was always in "play."
It let him display the advantages of his muscular physique and skilled marksmanship.