professorofcrimeratigan

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Cheap Seats || Crime Show Theme Song

mrsrcbinscn​:

`

Sovanna gave up on trying to ditch her mother (for now) and snuggled into her side, grabbing a teething toy to chew on. She did, however, keep staring at her mama’s friend, confused as to why she wasn’t being fawned over like when her Laszlo and uncles and grandparents were around. Didn’t everyone love her? Hmmph.

“I worry she and Wilbur will feel the need to be exceptional just because we stumbled into notoriety. I don’t expect anything from my children other than that they be kind people; that’s the only thing I actively raise them to be.”

“I felt I had to be exceptional to pay my parents back for all they invested in me when we had nothing. Maybe poverty is a heavier weight than expectations. I hope so. The fear that I’m not a good enough mother to show them I don’t expect anything is…constant.” It occurred to her, briefly, how it was lucky she trusted Pedram so completely. If he were a less dear friend, she couldn’t chance bring so candid.

Sovanna giggled, as she didn’t understand what her mother just said. She grabbed another stuffed toy, this one a wolf, with her free hand and held it out to Ratigan. “Ba?”

“Though I suppose every mother worries about that.”

Ratigan took note of the child’s stare upon him but paid it little to no mind— at least, as much as he could with the wolf wishing to do what it needed to please the child.

The irony of Mrs. Robinson saying all of this to him was not lost. For one because he lacked any care for her vulnerabilities and, should the need ever arise, he would not so much as hesitate to use all that she had divulged against her for his own gain. Lucky for her it would probably never be the case. For what use was that of the personal information of a beloved country star to a criminal empire? Well, he wouldn’t say none as there was always some use for everything, but nothing that agreed with him for the moment.

For two, because he did not know of these feelings that she possessed. Long ago had he shed that desire to be wanted or loved— especially by one’s mother. He had not had one of those. He’d had a seller as he had simply been a good to pass on for a profit.

“I doubt that.” He smiled, ensuring that there was some sort of sadness around its edges. Then he finally looked down to the child, as if wanting to step away from the subject for internal turmoil, and raised his eyebrows, pointing to the wolf. “Who is this, if I may ask?”

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Reconnaissance || Nick + Ratigan

Complaints had made their way all the way down the chain to him— a rare occasion and one he found to be intolerable. People were complaining of someone else’s work in London infringing upon their own. They were unable to deal with it as the source of it was not in the city but elsewhere. That elsewhere was unknown— this was why they had finally decided to come to Ratigan. (Signaling how desperate they were as no one really dared to contact the head of the table unless absolutely necessary.)

After some investigation (and intimidation) Ratigan was given word of who this person was, as well as where they were. Wouldn’t you know it, they was right under his nose in Swynlake.

Normally Ratigan would send someone else to deal with it but given the circumstances, he figured it would do him no harm to simply go and see who this person was. (If they really were a threat.) It did not take him very long to find them— though it may have been by luck that he had stepped into the tea shop just as the name was being called aloud.

He ordered, sat, waited. Half an hour went by before he got up and got another cup— this time, he stumbled as he sat down with it. The tea went all over his things that were still sitting on the table, papers he had been reading. Letting out a horrified gasp he looked about himself, then to the nearest patron. “Excuse me, may I trouble you for a napkin?”

@wilde-fun

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Bumper Cars || Errol + Ratigan

hngrylikethewoolf​:

@professorofcrimeratigan

The corner of Errol’s lip curled upward, as though he were responding to the other man’s attempt at laughter. It didn’t reach his eyes, nor was it amused, but anyone looking at them would see it and think so. He didn’t know Ratigan, not really. Certainly not enough to say that they shared any sense of comraderie.

They were both something someone else hated, though, and that was as scant a reminder as Errol needed.

“Well, luck seems tah’ve been on yer side, fortunate fer yah,” he said, voice pitched so it wouldn’t carry between them to the other emergency service workers milling around.

The happier lilt to Ratigan’s laugh made a brow twitch toward his hairline, hitching the corner of his mouth further by a fraction. It made sense that Ratigan could act so well, but sometimes it was surprising. But only for a moment. His eyes tracked the flippant movement of Ratigan’s hand for a moment before tracking back to his face.

“Right so no injuries. Good tah know.” He thought that was a loud of shite, but he wasn’t about to say that out in broad daylight. “Bad posture can be fixed, though, so I dunna fink ye’ve got anyfin’ tah worry about. Lemme see if I can grab some papers tah discharge ye from t’ otharcharr. Ah - ambulance.”

There was something satisfying about watching the sheriff having to play while backed into a corner— thought Ratigan would not have guessed that he would have been smart enough to realize that he needed to instead of blathering on about things he didn’t understand in front of people who would surely pass that information along to the local gossip ring. He was not impressed by any means as that was the bare minimum to be expected. (Even children could keep secrets.) 

“Yes— it must have been luck.” He repeated this from before but smiled this time, like this was something funny and yet comforting to hear. As if he were one of those people who really believed that things like that existed in the world and it had chosen to shine upon him for the time being. 

“Thank you very much, sheriff, I appreciate your help immensly.” Finally. That was all he had to do when he arrived. None of this other, time wasting, nonsense. No one would have been any wiser had he forgone this portion— Ratigan had said he was fine and the sheriff knew why. Instead of making a big to-do over it he could have acted like anyone else with a badge and gotten everything cleaned up as soon as possible, out of the public eye. 

“Should I wait here? Or follow?” 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Cheap Seats || Crime Show Theme Song

mrsrcbinscn​:

`

“Oh, God no. I mean.” Franny pondered it a moment, then clicked her tongue like she was conceding a point. “I’ll certainly teach her to play some instruments when she’s old enough, it’s a good hobby to be exposed to. But if she’s disinterested I won’t push it.”

A comfortable hush fell in the room as she pat Sovanna’s little head.

“I do worry,” she said, turned to look at Pedram. “That my children feel burdened by who my husband and I are — and the rest of our family are, too. Half this house is blue when you read mine or Cornelius’s Wikipedia page. And that’s not including my relatives of note from around the world. I…hope they do what makes them happy because they are privileged enough to do so, and not chase something because they think it’s what Cornelius and I expect. I also think it must be difficult to be called a nepotism baby all their career long if they go into entertainment or join my husband’s company, but I know that can’t be helped.”

Despite having known the woman for some time, it still never failed to startle him when she admitted to things such as this. It shouldn’t— it fell in line with her past behavior quite perfectly. He could acknowledge that it was his own life experience that managed to create this stigma for himself. Yet it was always jarring to hear these things come from the same mouth that also asked him to tell her swear words in his native language for the sake of song lyrics and made self deprecating humor a constant. 

It was her intelligence that had made her a worthy companion (sometimes), it was just buried beneath everything else that sat in her mind— which was a lot, given how fast and how often she spoke. 

“There are only so many things you can control. The lives and opinions of others are not one of them.” He gave a little shrug, as if acknowledging how unhelpful this was to say. “I doubt anyone would feel burdened when they have a family and a home like yours.” 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Cheap Seats || Crime Show Theme Song

mrsrcbinscn​:

`

Bless Pedram’s heart, he was too good a friend to her, what with offering to help now of all times of year.

“Oh, I couldn’t make you help me in the kitchen all day when you’re meant to be fasting.” Franny couldn’t imagine smelling her cooking all day knowing she couldn’t take a bit until sundown.

“You have a get out of Franny’s clutches free card this year.” As she said that, Sovanna wriggled in her arms, seeming to reach for Pedram. “No, darlin’, Mama meant Mr. Pedram, not you.”

“Uh-bah!” Sovanna huffed in disagreement. Alas, what else could she do? She was very small and had the arm strength of a tadpole, a combination not very conducive to fighting free of her mother.

Sovanna was distracted from her Mama’s friend just long enough to notice the guitar. She leaned over and put a tiny hand on it, smacking the strings and giggling when they made sounds. She looked from her mother to Mr. Pedram, waiting for them both to praise her for her brilliant discovery!

That she made last week. Twice!

“Whoa, I better watch out. I’ve got competition for that Grammy this awards season. Right, Sovanna?” She pressed a kiss to her little forehead and Sovanna clapped and giggled.

Ratigan found this quite amusing— while for the past twenty years he had been living quite comfortably, there had been plenty where he had gone more than just the ninth month with little more than scraps while the kitchens all around him produced more food than was necessary. Her cooking was good, but it was not enough to break his resolve or be defined as any thing close to torturous. What sort of Muslim was he if he gave up so easily, anyway? (An argument could be made for this with his other actions, though.) 

But who was he to turn down a perfectly good excuse to be free of any responsibility as far as her events were concerned? He didn’t even have to come up with it himself, she had done all the heavy lifting for him. Ratigan bowed his head, as if he was agreeing and surrendering to her thoughtfulness. 

He watched the display of child and mother before him— the wolf seemed to find joy in it, happy to see the pair of them finding happiness in one another. Ratigan hushed it, feeling rather disgusted by its primal tendencies of protection. 

“Are you hoping she takes after you in that regard?” Ratigan could imagine having parents as successful as her and her husband must have generated some sort of high expectation— if not from Mrs. Robinson herself, then from the public at least. 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Bumper Cars || Errol + Ratigan

hngrylikethewoolf​:

@professorofcrimeratigan​

Ratigan did as he was told, and it irritated him. Immensely. 

It wasn’t normal. There was no sharpness, no back talk, no threats of bodily harm toward him or his family. It was rather odd, though Errol knew why that was. In fact, Ratigan seemed rather used to it all, bored in that way people who had been chronic visitors at one time or another were. 

It piqued Errol’s curiosity as much as it did his ire, though the only indication of that was a slight flare to his nostrils, a shift in his stance before resettling. It also made him wonder what had been done, what he could surmise from such scant information. Errol resisted that curiosity, wadded it up and shoved it into another corner of his brain. 

He was working. He was a professional. 

“Mm, good tah ‘ear. Ye were prob’ly lucky, seein’ as ‘ow ‘ard t’ driver claims tah’ve hitcha.” They both knew he wasn’t lucky. This wasn’t luck. “Any other fings we should know about, might be cause fer concern? Previous injuries, all o’ ‘at.” Errol said it with borderline bored professionalism, mirroring Ratigan’s own compliance back at him. If he wouldn’t take the way out that Errol’d offered, then he’d be subjected to the whole schpeil.  

He hated to think that the sheriff thought that they shared something, by any means of the word. They didn’t— not a single thing. That was probably what made him dislike the man as intensely as he did, the way he thought they were somehow now on the same side simply because he had stumbled into Ratigan’s territories by being an embarrassing fool. Like they were now in some sort of secret club that somehow put them on the same level as one another. 

As if he knew Ratigan better, somehow, because of it. He did not. No one did. They only knew of what he had laid on top to disguise it after all these years.  

“Yes. Luck.” He gave a little chuckle to punctuate this, making it sound a bit nervous, as if he had been scared of what had just happened to him but was trying very hard to hide it for the sake of those around him. 

“No, no, nothing like that!” His laughter turned happier then, as if the sheriff was pulling him out of the spiral of thinking about what could have happened. Ratigan shook his head, hand waving flippantly. “The most I suffer from is bad posture I’m afraid— but that’s from my own doing, now isn’t it?” 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Cheap Seats || Crime Show Theme Song

mrsrcbinscn​:

`

Franny could easily forget Pedram didn’t spend much time around children. He was pretty good with Sovanna when he was around her in a sort of unsure way. He had a clinical curiosity about her, like a school kid watching lima beans grow roots in wet paper towels in their science class.

She’d describe his behavior around her daughter as more akin to uncertainty and confusion rather than discomfort.

“She’ll probably just walk back over to you,” Franny said, opening her arms for him to attempt to pass her over. “She’s kind of obsessed with whoever is the biggest novelty. Right now that’s you. Sovanna, why? Mr. Pedram doesn’t want you tackling him. Nobody does.”

Sovanna just giggled in response and settled into her mothers arms. Temporarily. For now.

“I’m thinking of bringing the Cambodian New Year party back this year. Considering I didn’t just give birth and aren’t almost dying this time around.”

She wasn’t going to ask Pedram to come over to help her cook— not when Choul Chnam Thmey fell during Ramadan this year. You don’t ask your fasting best friend to cook all day, that’s like. Horribly inconsiderate!

The only experience Ratigan had with children (aside from what interaction he’d had with the Shrivani’s and when they would host to those that would bring their own along with them) had been with the detective’s— as short as that had been. That child had been much the same. All base emotion and no regard for anything but himself, just much more timid with his approach to life than the Robinson child. They both shared some odd gravity toward Ratigan and that was a mystery he did not understand whatsoever as he saw no reason for such innocence to be drawn to something so tainted. 

Mrs. Robinson opened her arms and he did not hesitate to hand her child back to her. 

“Yes, both things would make playing host rather difficult.” He knew she had meant it as a joke— it had not made him laugh. Not because he didn’t find it funny, rather because he did not care for this party of hers. (The fact that it would be taking place during Ramadan having nothing to do with that.) It had been a relief to not attend the last one but now that she was bringing it back, he knew he would be expected to go. Him and all her other friends and family who were as loud and obnoxious as she could be at an event such as this. 

“What will you need me to do to assist?” 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Cheap Seats || Crime Show Theme Song

mrsrcbinscn​:

`

Franny looked up from the page to meet his eye, a sweet as honeysuckle chuckle escaping her. “Everyone’s got creativity in them, it’s just a matter of using it. It’s just like…it’s just tapping into the imagination from your childhood.”

He was a history and literature professor after all. Everyone who studied literature wanted to create stories at one point. Pedram, true to form, was modest to a fault.

She idly strummed her guitar (which Sovanna applauded by clumsily clapping her hands and making a joyful squeal; she loved to hear Mama play guitar) then took care to teach Pedram the melody and harmony lines to test them both out.

They cycled through a handful of songs or certain parts of them, Franny scribbling down notes every couple minutes. She’d mutter things to herself like, ‘perfect’, ‘Darareaksmey, you did it again’, and ‘fuck, okay, that’s what I wanted, nice.’

Sovanna, while a very good child, was of course a toddler and didn’t like to play alone for too long. Franny was halfway explaining this idea for a concept album she was going to pitch to one of her collaborators, when Sovanna stood up and beelined for Pedram, launching herself at him expecting he’d catch her like Laszlo for hugs.

“Ah! Hi!” Sovanna said, looking up at him. So eloquent. Very words.

“Darlin’, you can’t just launch yourself at people. What if Mr. Pedram isn’t ready for Sovanna o’clock?”

Ridiculous. Everyone likes me! It’s always Sovanna o’clock. Is what Sovanna would have thought if she in fact could think in enough words.

“I’m so sorry, she’s very singularly minded. Come here,” she pat the floor next to her for Sovanna to come to her, but the little girl poured and looked up at Ratigan. No thanks, Mama. Sovanna wanted to sit with Mr. Pedram right now.

Imagination from your childhood. Funny thing to say to someone who had never had one, or been a child to begin with. Mrs. Robinson did not know this of course— as far as she was concerned he had grown up without parents of his own, stuck in the foster system until he moved in with his cousin and his wife until he died and she moved back home. He intended to keep it this way so he merely gave her a mocking smile, and waited for further instruction. 

It was apparent how much her job at PrideU (and whatever other, no doubt, countless teaching endeavors) had given her the ability to instruct others on her craft. Music had always been fascinating to him, like anything else it had been so out of reach until he had decided to step foot from the cage— she had always made it seem accessible. This was probably why he allowed himself to indulge her like this, to sing when she asked. Be it for demos, when she wished for lyrics to be translated, or if they were simply in the car, needing to pass the time. 

He noticed the child’s movements from the corner of his eye, but had certainly not expected her to fling herself at him. His reflexes (muscle memory and the wolf working hand in hand) had him catching her just in time— it still did not stop the adrenaline from flooding his system, fear for the child’s safety had he not been quick enough. What had her mother been teaching her? 

Ratigan expected her to go to her mother when called, grip loosening to allow her to go. He was more surprised to find her unmoving and looked up at Mrs. Robinson, confused. 

“Should I—?” He motioned, asking if he should put her next to Mrs. Robinson if she wouldn’t do it on her own. 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Cheap Seats || Crime Show Theme Song

mrsrcbinscn​:

`

“Right, so—” Franny began, sliding the notebook toward him but her explanation interrupted by Sovanna going ‘Mama!’ and waving one of her plush toys around.

Franny smiled at her daughter and gave her the obligatory “Yes, baby. Very nice hammerhead shark you got there.”

Sovanna seemed satisfied at that response and went back to chewing on Sharky.

“So, the working title for this song is Hemingway but that’s a bit too on the nose to my liking. It’s about this jackass that Mary was married to for a few years that we all hated.” Franny didn’t clarify we meant the rest of Seoul Hanoi’d. She kind of assumed Pedram knew who they all were.

Anyway, there was a line in the first verse about how ‘he drinks like Hemingway but he’s nothing without you, Zelda (Fitzgerald), and you’d be better off that way’ that he’d surely see once he read the pages in front of him.

“I’m struggling to decide if the song will come across better if Roslan’s the singer and I just add harmony, or if I’m the lead and there’s male harmonies. Peek at the lyrics, what do you think?”

Ratigan regarded the child longer than their mother, a notch forming on his forehead as he watched the odd display. The wolf was curious, too, wished to move forward and join to see what about the toy was so exciting. 

He looked away, annoyed with the stupid beast now. There was nothing exciting about a piece of over priced fabric with stuffing inside in the shape of an animal that would otherwise never be near a child of her size unless found on the other side of 60 centimetres thick glass. 

Mrs. Robinson was right to assume— Ratigan knew who she was referring to. It would have been hard not, considering who she was. 

He went through the lyrics (having to pretend to read at the average pace) and eventually came away with a shrug. “You know I’ve not a sliver of creativity in my body, I have no idea how to answer that, let alone offer you any helpful advice on how to make such a decision.” 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Bumper Cars || Errol + Ratigan

hngrylikethewoolf​:

@professorofcrimeratigan

Errol carefully kept his irritation locked away, placed into three same little play area the wolf resided in within himself. He imagined, for a moment, the wolf tearing it into pieces before filing that away, too. It would do him no good to show emotion to a man who would only use it to his own advantage. Errol had been offering him an out, a courtesy, but Ratigan wanted to play a game. Errol would let him.

“Well, professor,” he began, a faux smile crossing his face to mirror Ratigan’s own. “If ye ain’t refusin’ t’ field tests, ’M jus’ gonna run frough ‘em, quick like. Pardon me if I gotta get a lil’ close.” Posture easy and movement deliberately slower than normal, though not so abnormal they drew attention, Errol pulled his pen light back out of his pocket.

Gesturing for Ratigan to stand straighter again, he held up a finger, voice conversation as he stepped within grabbing distance. “Look 'ere, follow me finger wif jus’ yer eyes.” Errol moved his pointer first to one side and then the other, up and then down. He watched Ratigan’s pupils, noting that they dilated – as he’d suspected they would – at the proper rate. He completed the test again for the other eye. Then, he gave a warning, explaining what he was doing quietly, and shone the pen light into both eyes.

Though he was certainly aware Ratigan was smart enough to know what these tests were, the explanations were not for him. Many normal people didn’t know what these exams did. Testing pupil reaction time a tracking were both common procedures to ensure a victim hadn’t encountered trauma to the head. With the information Errol had been given, it was the logical sequence of events.

“Yer reactions’re good,” he said, loud enough so the emergency worker walking behind them could hear. “Yer lucky, professor. T’ driver wasna goin’ fast. If 'e had been ye might’ve had more damage.” Errol placed the pen light back into his pocket and stepped back again and to the side. “Now, witnesses said ye fell hard on yer hip an’ shoulder. Can ye rotate th’ joint for me, forward an’ backward? Any pain when ye do it, say so. Any pain in yer hip, now yer standin’?”

Ratigan did as he was told, the perfect patient. 

The first time he had been seen to by a licensed medical professional had been after the detective had brought it into the station to take its full statement. That had taken a few days but afterward she had insisted it needed to go be looked at. Everything up until then had been taken care of by itself. When it had met the doctor they were surprised by how docile it was, thinking that someone in its situation would have been cowering in the corner or trying to escape their grip. 

It hadn’t— it sat there and allowed them to do whatever it was they needed. That was all it had ever done in its life, what made this any different? They poked and prodded him, shining lights into his eyes and down the back of his throat. They took his blood, vitals, and looked over all the scars. (They took photos, too. The police had needed it for evidence.) She had made it go to a dentist, too. Then an optometrist. A therapist, too. At each one it had done everything asked of him, answers point blank and blunt enough to cause wide eyed stares. 

It wasn’t until after he had come to the UK, after he had gained a sense of self that he had stopped going, only stepping into the hospital when the detective’s husband had been sick, then when the detective’s child’s condition grew dire. Only recently had he stepped over one’s threshold to visit Mrs. Robinson in her never ending adventures into one of their rooms. His network had medical professionals he could go to without having to worry about loose lips and lost files.

Ratigan rotated back and forth at the waist, movements slow. He shrugged when he was done. “I mean it hurts a little— I’m sure I’ll have a bruise of some sort but it’s nothing serious. I feel perfectly alright, there’s no need for worry on anyone’s part.” 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Cheap Seats || Crime Show Theme Song

mrsrcbinscn​:

-

“Perfect. And goes without saying of course, but if any of this leaks, I’ll…I dunno. Something. Will a curse for you to hit every red light on your next long drive. Or for there to always be a bit of tree bark in your sock you can’t get out.” Franny joked, while flipping through the pages to find a good place to start.

“Hmmm, trying to find somewhere not depressing or too personal to start. You ever, like, show a friend in middle school a fan drawing of Star Wars characters and suddenly feel like you may as well be buck-ass naked? That’s what sharin’ things I write the first time still feels like after making a whole living of it.”

What might have been a brief silence was filled with Franny quietly sing-songing to herself ‘we’re finding a song, we’re finding a song.’

“Haha! Perfect. We’ll start with this one. I kind of have this concept album in mind for Dan and I to record together, it’s about— well, you’ll see. Anyway. Such a shame Dan’s in a long term happy relationship, now I have to win Grammys without exploiting his divorces. Gotten all the mileage I can out of those.”

A joke! A joke of course! It’s not exploiting if Dan wrote the songs with her, duh.

Ratigan gave a hum of acknowledgement, eyes widening and brows lifting to convey his intimidation of these— could they be called threats? Very poor versions of threats? So much so that he didn’t even believe that she would do such a remedial punishment to him if he even did entertain the idea of putting her music out there in the public domain without her permission? (As if he would waste the time doing such a thing.) 

At her odd attempt to call upon his empathy, he neither denied nor agreed to an understanding of this feeling but knew what it was she was trying to say— which spoke to either his intelligence or the amount of time he had spent in her presence to be able to decipher the way she spoke. Along side her very dark and morbid humor. 

He did remain silent, allowing her to focus on whatever it was through the singing to herself and then talking to him about it, merely looking as invested as someone close to her should within this situation. 

(While he would never admit it, aloud or even to himself, there was a part of him that was— relieved? that she had returned back to herself after all that had happened. To be speaking as she did and excited for the music she created, it felt like something had returned to form.) 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Cheap Seats || Crime Show Theme Song

mrsrcbinscn​:

`

“More like what don’t I need you for,” Franny faux lamented. It wasn’t nearly that serious, though it was a bit of a project. Then again, Pedram was always saying he was happy to help her whenever she needed him, soooo. She was cashing in.

At least this was a fun favor. And a sober one.

“Right, so now that I can play as usual again…” She grabbed a sheet music notebook and opened it right to the page she was thinking of, where the handwritten lyrics and notes filled the pages.

“You can read music, right? Or did you learn to sing by ear? I need a male voice to test out some harmony ideas I’ve got for Roslan, Lawrence, and Dan ahead of our upcoming recording sessions, and you can keep privileged information. And you’re a quick study…also Laszlo absolutely cannot hit some of the lower notes I need you to.” Hell, Dan hit lower notes than even Pedram could, but he came closest. “I made spring rooooolls, I’ll give you a bunch to take home for your time.”

The urge to say something the to effect of, I told you so was carefully kept away. All that worrying she had done, all the crying and moaning and complaining and ridiculousness she had put forth, had all been for exactly nothing, just as he had thought and just as he had told her. Several times. (And he assumed what her trusted family members had told her— medical professionals as well.) Had she listened? No, because who knew best? Only she. 

She who could play her instruments and who could create music, as usual again. 

(Maybe that was also a reason why he had felt the need to laugh upon seeing the article. Like this was her punishment for having thrown such a fit.) 

Both were true— he had first learned simply by listening, as that was all he had known music to be, noise to listen to. Then he had met Mrs. Robinson and found that it was something that could be studied and taught. To which he had, too, in his spare time, to see what it was she and the other students in her classes were there for. 

It had been a subject that had taken him longer to understand than any other subject. It still was. 

“I can somewhat read, but I’m sure I will need your help.” 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Common Ground  || Mads + Ratigan

mads-morey​:

`

“Well. If you ask my father it should’ve been about four years ago.” Mads joked, artfully avoiding giving an exact answer.

“You know how long research, interpreting it, and writing a dissertation takes. And all the unpredictable bumps in the road. I’ll let you know of course.”

Assuming he didn’t get another job abroad immediately upon completing his dissertation. It was starting to feel like he was better off abroad anyway. Contrary to Professor Ratigan’s assumptions, he wouldn’t have minded being roped into study abroad trips once he wasn’t worried about getting his Ph.D.

Of course, after he finishes his dissertation he’ll be busy doing research for his next project, and then the next, and the next…

“I’m sure you’ll find someone. Have you tried the European Studies department?”

Ratigan had always hated this part of— society, he supposed. Back in the Shrivani household no one had ever done this with him and he’d never partaken in it until he had spent that first night at the detectives home. That morning her husband had made him sit down to have breakfast with them (also something he had never done) and had tried to ask him many different questions. All small. All mundane. Clearly trying to avoid the obvious ones he wanted to ask. 

Upon entering the world, feet in shoes and face in broad daylight, he’d had to learn that people everywhere would ask him these things. (Hi! How’s it going? Having a good day? What’s going on? You doing anything fun this weekend?) Not because they wanted the answer but because they did not want empty space or to seem rude. 

He’d struggled with it the most until he had decided that he could not be himself and when the mask was put into place, these questions came easily— that did not mean he liked it, though. 

“Ah, yes. They’ve all got their own trips, though.” Dr. Stevens sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Do you know of anyone who may be interested by chance?” 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Ratigan had seen the article. In fact, it had made him chuckle. Perhaps this was cruel to do so at the expense of Mrs. Robinson but it had. For as successful as she was, and for as much technology that her husband created, this had all been bested by a careless act and one silly little excuse for a man capitalizing on it. 

It was also, to someone like him who cared not for the culture of music celebrities and awaiting for new material to be presented and marketed for him to purchase, a silly problem. Though, he did understand the violation of privacy and for that (plus the story that had been run on Bonfamille-Lyons) Mr. Determined would need to have an eye kept on him.

He followed at Mrs. Robinson’s side, allowing an expression of amused surprise to cross his face at her suggestion of what to do with him— she was joking, of course, but he couldn’t help but to think of how easy it would be. 

This was all quickly brushed away as her displays of love and affection for the child took over. He pressed a smile to his face, ignoring the way the wolf inside of him grew excited by seeing them in such a happy state. (It, apparently, was still not over her brush with death. Both of them.) 

“Yes. And vice versa.” Which was true— she would grow up well off and be set for the rest of her life with the cumulative wealth her parents would leave her. (So long as they wrote their wills with good diction and the other Robinson child did not turn greedy.) Ratigan knew nothing of what a good parent should have been from a personal standpoint, but the child had all the essentials and so much more. “So, what is it that you needed me for?” 

Cheap Seats || Crime Show Theme Song

(the bop I used for the title)

@professorofcrimeratigan

It was that time of year-slash-every-couple-years again. Franny was on a songwriting kick specifically for songs she needed a male singer to test out with her. Sometimes she’d rope Laszlo into it (he could at least carry a tune), sometimes her son, but neither of them had the voice she needed today.

If you ignore his disappointingly English accent, of the men she knew who could carry a tune in this town, Pedram had the versatility she needed today. With Toby Determined’s leak of a heap of her un-polished demos, Franny was determined to have a few songs to present to both Daniel for Dara & Danny, and to Seoul Hanoi’d with some of the harmonies already worked out.

“Thanks for coming to be my guinea pig yet again,” Franny said, as Sovanna waddled behind them as they walked into the room where all of her instruments and awards lived. “I owe you one.”

Now, if only Pedram would let Franny teach him how to play banjo…

“I’m so pissed off, I had a good-ass back catalog of demos ready to be fleshed out for my projects, but now most off them are out in the open. So I’ve been writing like crazy to have enough content to mix with what Toby leaked. Should I kill him?”

Franny was only barely joking.

As if to give her opinion, Sovanna, still standing up all by herself on her wobbly little legs, went “Ah! Mama!”

Franny snapped her fingers into finger guns pointing at Sovanna. “She thinks so. You think Mama should go do a murder, don’t you?” “Ah!” Sovanna clapped her tiny hands and giggled, tumbling into her mother’s lap immediately as Franny settled into sitting on the floor. 

“Aw, baby. I love you so much, kiss, kiss, kiss,” Franny kissed her all over her little face. “Can you be good and play with your stuffies while Mama does some work with Mr. Pedram?”

Sovanna giggled and slid out of Franny’s lap to crawl over to the little play spot Franny had set up for her. She was very good at recognizing when her mama had made her a play patch and going to play in it. 

“She really is such an easy baby. We got lucky with her.”

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Bumper Cars || Errol + Ratigan

hngrylikethewoolf​:

@professorofcrimeratigan​

Errol could feel Ratigan’s eyes tracking him as he urged the crowd to back away, to give them room to work, told one woman sternly (but professionally) that she was too close to the scene and that she needed to move behind the line he’d cordoned off. She’d strayed too close to Ratigan, the tourist’s car, and the other two people in it. Errol didn’t want the headache of dealing with a curious onlooker, an irrate professor who, if he was remembering their ambulance ride correctly, might not enjoy enclosed spaces (not that he’d ever say it aloud, nor mention it. Errol liked his balls where they were, and he liked breathing just as much).

Besides, it wasn’t untrue. She shouldn’t be that close to what was becoming, unfortunately, an active scene. Errol didn’t want it to be. Didn’t want Ratigan involved, didn’t want to be involved, but this was the job and these were the roles they had, so Errol moved the tourist away from the car with gentle words, a comforting smile for the kid as she stared at him, Ratigan, and her da from her spot in the backseat. 

Performing a quick field test while he waited for the crew to unload their kits, Errol determined that the tourist was certainly off his head with worry and potentially concussed, trying to maneuver around Errol to get at Ratigan. He kept him at bay easily, kept him far enough away and himself between the pair. The EMT took him and the girl away a few moment’s later, exchanged a few words with hmi, and Errol’s smile faltered once they were out of sight. 

He sighed, then, and turned to Ratigan, hands going into his pockets as he hiked both of his brows, taking the other man in, almost warily. “’m nah gonna perform a test, but yer gonna say I did when they walk over ‘ere tah ask. ‘e said ye hit yer shoulder an’ yer hip when ye fell, maybe yer ‘ead. Does any o’ it still ‘urt?” 

These were questions he had to ask, not questions he wanted to ask. Not really. 

Errol knew Ratigan wouldn’t like any of the questioning, most definitely didn’t even want him here, but he couldn’t walk off when someone’d told him another person had been run into by a car. In Swynlake, Ratigan wasn’t a werewolf with quick healing; he was a professor, human, and Errol was the first person who’d gotten to the scene. 

In order to get them both out of this situation without putting Ratigan into the back of an ambulance they’d need to think quick like.

Ratigan looked up from where he had been focusing on his phone’s unfortunate demise when the sheriff turned his way. His eyebrows arched, expression open and curious like anyone would be in a situation like his— just a simple man who was in the middle of a situation that had gotten a bit out of hand because it was true. For all intensive purposes, Professor Pedram Ratigan was a simple man. So long as he was within Swynlake he was not going to let that persona come down. 

It was almost funny that the sheriff thought he could think that Ratigan would crack simply because he knew, if it weren’t so aggravating. (This, at least, the wolf could agree on as it grew defensive once again in the presence of the other werewolf.) And if he thought just because he had been allowed to live with the knowledge meant that they could somehow work together—? 

Well, Ratigan had already determined that the man was lacking as far as intelligence went. It was actually not all that surprising. Disappointing, really, considering he wore a badge and was still going around pretending like he cared to uphold what it was supposedly meant to be for. 

His brow creased upward in confused concern, eyes shifting sideways for a moment before darting back to the sheriff. “I’m— sorry? I don’t know what you mean, sheriff? I’ll gladly take the test! I’m not harmed, which is what I told the poor gentleman that hit me. To be honest, it was no doubt my fault. I practically walked into the car myself.” 

He held up the phone, shoulders hunching with guilt. “I wasn’t paying attention, you see.” A sheepish smile crossed his face as he tucked it back into his pocket and used his free hands to motion to the man. “Whatever you need to do or ask, I’ll answer.” 

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Common Ground  || Mads + Ratigan

mads-morey​:

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Mads could kiss Professor Ratigan. Er, well he could if he weren’t straight, he supposed. It would’ve been so easy to throw him under the bus and right into Dr. Stevens’ clutches!

“Yes, Professor Ratigan is correct, unfortunately. I’ve just been abroad for several years. And I desperately need to be using most my time outside of class to finish writing my Ph.D thesis.” Mads put on a face, like he was very apologetic.

“Perhaps when I finally have those little letters by my name I’d be easier to convince.”

Ratigan had just been about to give the barest hint of praise to the young man— but then he went and blew the lead before he had even crossed the finish line. Inwardly he sighed (even the wolf gave a huff), the urge to shake his head at Morey almost too much to resist, but he managed. 

Why, when he had a perfectly good excuse to avoid this for the rest of his time here at PrideU, have he given an opening? 

“Oh? And when do you think you’ll be finished with that?” Dr. Stevens gave a smile, eyebrows arching in wait of the answer. Ratigan had no doubt it would be marked in the departments calendar and someone would be at Morey’s office door as soon as that day came.  

[professorofcrimeratigan]

Tequila Little Time || Crime Show Theme Song

Word Count: 5538

Date: Sometime in January, 2022, at the height of Franny’s post-sacrifice-and-nerve-damage-to-hand spiraling

Summary: Ratigan and the Magic of Friendship part 267902

CW: alcohol use, Ratigan being Ratigan, Franny being dramatic

@professorofcrimeratigan​

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