#charles can be a bit of a bastard (edwin is more than a bit) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vizual-static · 2 months ago

Text

DBDPromptober Day 1: Mirrors

First fic! I'll be putting this up on AO3 in the @dbdpromptober collection too in a couple days, but I wanted to start the month off with posting on the proper prompt day, so that means we’re on tumblr for the time being lol. Enjoy!

Blurb: “Oi! You’ll rip your arm clean off! Stop that now!” Charles steps around the edge of the book-laden desk to stand beside Edwin, who looks up at him with his own irritation. The furrow of Edwin’s brow is almost petulant, and there’s a half second where Charles thinks he might rip his own arm off out of spite. Instead, he rolls his eyes and reluctantly stops struggling against the manacle pinning him to the mirror.

Rewrite of the Ep 2 Dandelion Sprites London office research scene: Now with more Coming Outs!

–

Closet Mirror

“Those tomes are perfectly understandable with a bit of study– If I could just–” Edwin pulls harder against the rippling surface of the standing mirror, wrenching his arm until Charles can practically hear the tendons of his shoulder groaning in protest.

Concern shoots through Charles, blotting out the frustration that’s been building up over the last hour of dead end research. “Oi! You’ll rip your arm clean off! Stop that now!” He steps around the edge of the book-laden desk to stand beside Edwin, who looks up at him with his own irritation. The furrow of his brow is almost petulant, and there’s a half second where Charles is worried Edwin might rip his own arm off out of spite. Instead, he rolls his eyes and reluctantly stops struggling against the manacle pinning him to the mirror.

Charles puts a hand on Edwin’s shoulder, almost rubbing lightly at the muscle as if to soothe the ache of his over stretched limb before catching himself. He claps him on the shoulder a second time to still his hand. “I know it's driving you mental, mate, but you can’t go tearing yourself to pieces over this, can you? Here, see for yourself. Nothing on page 181 of big, blue Blood and Bone.”

Charles pulls the thick book across the desk, cracks it open, and holds it between them both for Edwin to check for himself. Charles isn’t even annoyed that Edwin keeps insisting he didn’t read the book right. He can tell his friend’s been off all day since the Cat King laid his caging spell, and some of his current misplaced annoyance is obviously from that. So if Charles can soothe that irritation by holding up every book for Edwin to inspect himself with those beautiful blue eyes–

Not going there, mate. Charles thinks to himself as he hoists the book up a little higher.

Edwin lets out another sigh while leaning in closer to peer at the book. “No, no. I trust that you read it thoroughly,” Edwin says by way of apology, though his eyes do scan over the pages because he really can’t help himself. “I just can’t stand not being able to access the whole collection.”

Charles understands the feeling well enough. He thinks he would also be more than a little twitchy if he was magically barred from his bag of tricks. But there’s something else about how worked up Edwin is that Charles can’t pin down, and he’s pretty sure a certain feline bastard is at the heart of it.

“Honestly, Edwin, can’t you tell me what really happened with the Cat King?”

Edwin stiffens beside him, not looking up from the book. “I have told you the lot of it. He was uncivil, garish, and I was taken off guard when he spoke close to my ear.”

“He whispered in your ear?!” Something flares hot in Charles’s chest, the embers of this past hour’s frustration sparking back up in an instant. He tosses the book onto the desk and turns to face Edwin fully.

Edwin coughs and looks away. “Really, Charles, it wasn’t like that.”

Charles’s alarm only grows. “Wasn’t like what, mate? What did he do to you?”

“He did not do anything other than what I have previously described. There is nothing more to it,” Edwin snaps, flicking a cold look back at Charles.

Charles’s jaw clenches as the urge to push it rolls over him. Charles wants to know what happened in the three hours Edwin was gone. Charles wants to know what that cat freak did to throw ever-perceptive-Edwin off his rhythm so much that he allowed for a magical binding around his wrist. Charles wants to know what he did to put Edwin so on edge.

He takes a deep breath to smother the flames in his chest. “Look, I’m just worried about you, mate. Gotta make sure the Cat King doesn’t try any more funny business, but I can’t know how to fight the bugger if you won’t tell me about his tricks, can I?”

Edwin seems to soften a little, the rigidness seeping from his posture as he lets his mirror-arm go slack. He lets out a short breath. “I do not believe we’ll need to fight him. He just– As I said, he caught me off guard.”

Charles isn’t itching for a fight (okay, maybe he is), but this resignation from Edwin rubs him the wrong way. “You also didn’t think we’d have to fight the ‘docile’ nymphs in the Case of Singing Lake. Always better to be prepared if we have time to plan and research an enemy’s weakness, though, yeah?”

“He’s not that kind of threat.” Edwin shoots back too quickly before his mouth presses into a thin line, and Charles can tell he would be pressing his fists together if he had use of both his hands. His voice comes out strange and tight as he continues, “I assure you, Charles, that none of the Cat King’s ploys would work on you. He seems partial to trickery, as you said, but knowing what we do now, I am fairly certain he would not be able to entrap you using the same mind games I fell prey to. Even after that single encounter, I also get the sense that he himself is not one for direct coercion or violence. Therefore, if and when we do encounter him again, I will simply have my mind more well fortified against his tactics, and you should be perfectly fine as you are.”

Charles still doesn’t like the cloudy picture of this “encounter” that he is beginning to fill in from his friend’s vague words. He huffs. “You’re so sure his ‘ploys’ wouldn’t work on me, are you? I’m flattered, mate, but even I know a trickster god could get in my head if he wanted.”

“I do not believe you would fall prey to his flirtations.”

Charles’s eyes widen, and something twists in his gut. “Flirtations?”

Edwin’s eyes mirror his, suddenly realizing he’s said more than he meant to. He opens his mouth mutely and closes it.

Charles’s temper flares again, suddenly wanting to take a cricket bat to the Cat King’s lair and smash all of his bloody stupid shipping crates to bits, but as quickly as the rage comes, he pushes it deep, deep down. That’s not what this is about right now.

This is about his friend– his best mate– and the implication laced under this whole bloody opaque conversation that Charles had been too dense to catch. Hell, apparently he’d been too thick to catch it for the past 30 years.

He didn’t realize Edwin likes blokes. And that feels like the bit Charles can focus on to ease the tension that’s been brewing since they got back. That feels like the thing he can fix right now. Cause, well, Charles’s been keeping a bit of a secret too, hasn’t he?

He leans back against the rim of the mirror, letting his head rest against the wood frame as he smooths out his features and gives Edwin what he hopes is a convincing smile.

“You’re right. He’s not my type.”

Edwin blinks and turns away, huffing out a nervous laugh before picking up a random book off the corner of the desk and flipping it open. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not that he’s not fit in kind of a Loki way. But I don’t usually go for dickheads who kidnap my best mate, so I should be safe.”

Edwin whips his head around, nearly dropping the book, and Charles springs up off the mirror to catch it, steadying it in Edwin’s hands. Suddenly the two boys are up in each other’s space, and Charles’s chest feels tight for a different reason. He drops his hands.

Edwin is studying Charles with wide eyes, trying to puzzle through his meaning. If Charles could blush, he knows his cheeks would be hot under his friend’s pretty gaze.

“Well, yes. Obviously. Though my assessment was based on the fact that you don’t usually go for– Or, rather– That you tend to express more of an interest in–” Edwin stumbles, like he’s editing himself midsentence, “... People like Crystal.”

Given the course of this conversation and, you know, 30 odd years of friendship, Charles knows the next part will be okay, but he can’t help the twinge of nerves that shoots through him either. Internalized biphobia is a bitch, yeah? He tries not to fidget, though, keeping a soft slouch to his shoulders to remain “casual” as he allows for this revelation. This is Edwin, afterall. And it seems the two of them share this too.

“Girls, you mean?” Charles says the quiet part out loud.

Edwin makes a soft noise of agreement, almost an afterthought, eyes still fixed on Charles with something between anxiety and the intensity of trying to solve a case.

Charles forces himself to smile through the nerves. “I mean, yeah, girls are pretty brills. But blokes aren’t too bad either, are they? So, you know, if you need to factor that into your calculations about the Cat King. I could theoretically be wooed by a trickster god like him. If he wasn’t a giant knob.”

A small smile slips past Edwin’s guard, but he’s still quiet for a moment. As he searches Charles’s face for sincerity it grows wider, dimpling his cheeks in the most genuine smile Charles’s seen on him all day. It makes his insides go all soft seeing that smile.

“I will make note of it for future cases,” Edwin says, overly formal, of course, but there’s a conspiratorial edge to his voice like it's an inside joke.

Charles half expects Edwin to pull out his notebook and write down these new “findings,” and Charles laughs to himself before lightly bumping Edwin’s shoulder. He feels warm and a little giddy with having told this to somebody after so long– his best friend no less– and having it go so well for both of them.

They stay like that for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, Edwin looking down at whatever book he picked up and Charles looking out over their slightly messy office, not trusting himself to face Edwin head on lest his overwhelming fondness show up too plainly on his face. It’s a fondness he’s not quite willing to name yet. But he tucks that away to be examined later. For now he’s just pleased that he helped Edwin to relax a smidge, and let him know he’s not alone.

Edwin makes a startled noise beside him, and straightens up, causing Charles to jump to attention in confusion. Edwin looks sheepish. “I just felt a tug on my sleeve back in Port Townsend. Likely Crystal. We should bring back as many books as we can carry and continue searching through them back at her apartment. Hopefully nothing too dire has happened with Niko while we were dawdling.”

Charles rolls his eyes at “dawdling,” but he scoops up an armful of books with a grin. “Right. Plus she can help us look through them too.”

Charles starts back towards the mirror before Edwin strains forward, reaching towards a book on the far end of the desk. “Be sure to collect the–”

Charles pauses and throws him a look, one leg already phasing through the mirror. “Oi! What did I just say about that arm?”

Edwin drops his outstretched arm with an exasperated groan, turns around, and passes through the mirror back into Crystal’s flat without another word. Charles just shakes his head fondly and follows.

#DBDpromptober2024 #DBDpromptober #dead boy detectives #dbda #save dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #payneland #fanfiction

41 notes · View notes

bryancroidragon · 6 years ago

Text

Dance at Club Lavender

Alright, it is here. It doesn’t fit with the canon but I was writing this before tonight’s stream so I have a justification. The characters featured in this that are of my creation can be used in Artventure, Leon was created by @missvulpix212 and his name has become canon as of tonight’s stream as everyone who has been present for that knows. I’m not going to lie, this story sucks. I keep forgetting that Maggie is the police chief. Is she? I can’t remember if she is or not. Thank you to the people at @internetremix for giving me something else to write while I write stories that are not Noir inspired. Also on one minor note here, I’m definitely going to need to figure out a way to reconcile this with what is now canon. That seems difficult to me. Also another minor note, the posthumous character of Charles was not actually insane, that is just Edwin’s opinion of him.

District Attorney Richard Capp sat opposite of both Detective Sam McSams and Officer Maggie O’Hera in his office. A man of sixty-five years with a white mustache, Capp wore round eyeglasses, kept his hair slicked back and had a cigarette holder with him at all times. He did not look happy with either of them.

“Neither of you had a warrant for Mr. Carthach’s arrest.” Said Capp, his voice a deep baritone.

“He shot me in the shoulder!” protested Sam.

“You and Officer O’Hera attacked a guest of his, one Lawrence McGee, I am told. It seems that you are both in the wrong… As a candidate for mayor I cannot allow arrests to be made without a warrant, thus have I let him go.”

“McGee was a murderer!” exclaimed Maggie. She could not believe what she was hearing. “Edwin Carthach was harboring him in his house!”

Capp shook his head. He took his cigarettes holder from his mouth and tapped the cigarette’s ash into the ashtray on his desk. “And so you killed Mr. Carthach’s guest? Officer O’Hera, no matter how many murderers you send to Beelzebub it will never bring your partner back… Perhaps if you were fully competent he’d still be alive.”

Maggie clenched her fists and glared at Capp. Her reaction only caused Capp to smile.

Standing outside the office, Edwin Carthach listened and shook his head. Capp was such an asshole. The man might have gotten him out of jail but that didn’t mean Edwin had to like the old bastard.

Edwin had served in the war and an old war buddy of his was now a criminal. Edwin was an associate of that criminal and that criminal had killed Maggie’s partner. How often had he heard that story? Ten times probably. Edwin didn’t really like hearing it but the criminal had saved his life during the war. On the other hand the man was on the opposite side of the law and being an associate of a gangster was not a good thing. How long until he became targeted by a rival? Would they target his wife?

Upon Maggie’s exit from Capp’s office, Edwin quickly whispered in her ear “You’ll find him at Club Lavender.” And with that Edwin made his own exit, heading for the door only for Maggie to run after him.

“Wait a minute, who are you talking about?”

“The gangster who killed your partner. I wish I could give you a bit more information but he’s got a lethal temper and his right-hand man, to quote others, is meaner than diarrhea.”

Instantly Maggie knew whom Edwin meant. The right-hand man was non-other than Charles “Beret” Cliff, formerly a freelance hit man who had been involved in a massacre a few cities over. So he was working for someone was he? That gave Maggie some idea of who to look for.

Maggie made her way to Club Lavender immediately. It was the only place in Internet City that was the color lavender, hence the name. Even the neon was lavender colored. The founder of the club had been a gangster known as Hackman and he had founded it back during the days of the war. Hackman had been missing for weeks, some said he had left town others said he had been murdered. Maggie didn’t know who now owned the place and upon arrival she made an inquiry to someone who worked there.

Club Lavender did not open until after sunset, that was how it had always been. At this time it was just practice for the dancing girls, dance sing, the piano player would play his piano, if the owner would be in this early was anyone’s guess. It was the piano player that Maggie asked. He was a tall, thin black man by name of Henderson. His answer was: “Vincenzo Nitto.”

Vincenzo Nitto? That was the gangster that was known as “the Cleaver.” Vincenzo “the Cleaver” Nitto owned the Club Lavender? From one gangster to another… Maggie was finding the belief that Hackman had been murdered very likely. Had the Cleaver been the one to kill her partner? Hackman was unlikely, as Edwin had said she’d find her partner’s killer at the Club Lavender and with Hackman having been missing for weeks he was out of the question.

But what if it was not the Cleaver? All Edwin had said was that Maggie would find her partner’s killer at the Club Lavender. Suppose it was someone who frequented the place. If the killer’s right hand was “Beret” Cliff then what if it was an allied gang leader to the Cleaver and not the Cleaver himself?

How was Maggie supposed to know? She would have to come back later when the Club Lavender was full of people.

Returning to her work, one thing kept going through her mind that day: the night her partner died. The two had decided to take in a movie: “Oliver Twist.” When it was all over, the two went their separate ways but it had not been long until after Maggie’s partner had turned a corner that she heard four gunshots. Maggie ran to the around the corner and found her partner with three bullet wounds in his chest and one in his neck, he was lying beneath a street lamp and his blue cap was lying not far from his head. The killer was gone but her partner… He had not been gone in the metaphorical sense, he still lived but not for long. Maggie fell to her knees and cradled her partner in her arms. He opened his mouth to speak and then life left his body.

Maggie never did find the killer but now with Edwin’s clue maybe she would. “You’ll find him at club Lavender” he had said. He had also stated that the right hand of the guy was “Beret” Cliff so she if she found Beret then she would find the gangster who killed her partner.

Going undercover was what she would have to do and as much as she hated to do it, Maggie would have to wear that dress again.

When night came, Maggie put on that sexy dress in addition to a black wig. She could not risk herself being recognized. After that she drove on down to the Club Lavender.

Entering the club, she listened to the jazz music and the chatter of the patrons. Her eyes darting back and forth, looking for “Beret” Cliff she felt a hand fall upon her shoulder and then heard a familiar voice whisper into her ear: “Wearing the sexy dress again I see. Love the wig, toots.”

It was Sam.

Maggie tensed and whispered to him: “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you and Carthach getting chummy. I followed him and asked him what you two had been talking about.”

Maggie turned to look at Sam. He was wearing glasses. “Those aren’t Edwin Carthach’s glasses are they?”

“No, no, of course not!”

They were. Maggie knew that Sam had taken Edwin’s glasses, taken them right off his face. His glasses had a particular design to them in that the lenses were shaped like the Double Crown of Egypt. It was an unfortunate part of a will that dictated the owner of the estate had to wear the glasses that Edwin’s grandfather Charles Carthach had thought up. Edwin had been perfectly happy with his round glasses but was thankful that he, his father and grandfather were all nearsighted. Charles Carthach had been a very strange man, right down to his will stating being that he be buried upside down beneath the police station in a baseball bat shaped coffin. His son Irving’s will dictated that he should be cremated and his ashes placed in the base of a statue in the family manor. The night Irving died, Maggie had been there to investigate possible foul play and one of the first questions she had asked Edwin was: “Your dad’s will doesn’t say he has to be buried beneath the station in a bat shaped coffin does it?”

To say that no one noticed someone who was not Edwin Carthach wearing the Carthach family glasses would be untrue. For some, Edwin Carthach was just a name. To one person in the club however, it was the name of an old war buddy but there was someone at Club Lavender who only knew Edwin Carthach as a name but knew the face of Sam McSams.

The band started up a slow song and a singer started singing. There was something terribly familiar about her voice but Maggie and Sam did not have the time to see who it was, to blend in they joined the dancing couples.

Maggie and her partner had once danced together like that. Her heart had been all a flutter when she had danced with him she had been as giddy as a schoolgirl. In fact, she had been a schoolgirl. Those were the days before she had become a cop. Those had been happier days. Those days were long gone and Maggie never knew if she would ever know those days again.

Her eyes searching the crowd, Maggie finally spied “Beret” Cliff sitting with a man that everyone had either heard of or seen: Vincenzo “The Cleaver” Nitto.

Vincenzo “The Cleaver” Nitto was in his mid to late twenties. He was a man of average height with enlarged hands and cheekbones and an enlarged nose. He was wearing a tuxedo like many another male patron of the Club Lavender except he wasn’t just any patron. He was the owner.

Maggie’s eyes and the Cleaver’s eyes met and immediately their eyes narrowed. The former now knew that the Cleaver had killed her partner and the latter had seen straight through the flimsy disguise of a black wig. The Cleaver’s eyes had always been narrowed having recognized Sam as wearing his old war buddy’s glasses but upon recognizing Maggie his eyes narrowed even more.

Maggie and her partner had been investigating a rising hood. He kept getting higher and higher in the underworld’s hierarchy every month it seemed. A massacre in a garage had been attributed to him, the rubbing out of William Karloff had also been attributed to him and this hood was the person they now knew as the Cleaver, a criminal who had a reputation for carrying out murders himself.

There was one feeling in Maggie’s eyes upon seeing the man who had killed her partner. There was a number of ways of describing it: hate, hatred, loathing, detestation, dislike, distaste, abhorrence, execration, aversion, hostility, enmity, animosity, antipathy, revulsion, disgust, contempt and odium. Whichever word one chose that was the feeling that Maggie felt upon seeing the Cleaver and knowing that he had killed her partner.

The Cleaver pointed at Maggie and Sam while whispering to Beret. The hate in Maggie’s eyes then turned to something else. Call it fear, call it terror, call it fright, call it fearfulness, call it horror, call it alarm, call it panic, call it agitation, call it trepidation, call it dread, call it consternation, call it dismay, call is distress, anxiety, worry, angst, unease, uneasiness, apprehension, nervousness, nerves, perturbation or even foreboding but that was what had replaced the hate in Maggie’s eyes. She and Sam were two and no doubt the Cleaver had many henchmen here in Club Lavender.

“It’s the Cleaver.” Whispered Sam.

“I know and he recognizes me!” Returned Maggie.

“I can summon the sax gremlins.”

“Times New Roman was one, here we are surrounded. We need to try and avoid a bloodbath for them.”

A tap on Maggie’s shoulder then caused the dancing between her and Sam to end. It was Henderson. “Mr. Nitto would like to see you.” He then looked at Sam and said: “You too.”

The office of Vincenzo Nitto was, like the rest of the club, lavender colored. On his desk was a picture of him and his infantry during the war. Edwin could be seen, lacking the family glasses but he was unmistakable. His head brought a crescent moon to mind and the only people who had heads that brought crescent moon’s to mind was his family. The Cleaver himself both sat behind his lavender colored desk on a lavender colored chair with his on Maggie. Several henchmen were in the room with him with Beret standing at the Cleaver’s right. Sam and Maggie were both standing before the desk.

“Officer O’Hera…” said the Cleaver in his volcanic tirade, smoked-burnished voice. “I’ve been expecting you for a while. What took you? Had I known you were coming I would have got a party started in your honor…”

“You killed Leon!” exclaimed Maggie pulling a gun and pointing it at Maggie. Immediately, Beret and the henchmen pulled out their own guns and pointed it at Maggie.

The Cleaver could only laugh. “Go ahead, pull the trigger. You shoot me, they shoot you and your little avenging for your dead partner ends up being for nothing.” He then looked at Sam. “Now who the hell are you?”

“He’s Sam McSams!” exclaimed a voice with a Boston accent. Sam and Maggie both turned to see a skeleton in the doorway. It was none other than Times New Roman.

“Oh, him.” The Cleaver lit a cigarette and began to smoke it. “I heard that Edwin shot you in the shoulder. I’d say I wished you had been shot in the heart or the head but even during the war Edwin was never really much of one for killing. He was a bit reluctant to be an officer in the trenches. He always tried to avoid battle and never carried his sidearm unless he had to and never kept it loaded. Guess becoming involved with me has made him better.”

Maggie put her gun away and took a breath before speaking again. “If I can’t kill you I will take you to justice and I will see you hang.”

The Cleaver smiled as he blew some smoke. “Keep telling yourself that, O’Hera. I’ve got some people who would prevent me from ever ending up in such a situation. Do you think you coppers are perfect? Do you think anyone on the side of the law is perfect? Here are the facts, I’ve got police, I’ve got judges, attorneys, I am in more of a position of power than you are right now. So here is some advice, go chase after someone else, you’ll either end up dead or with me free. Now either walk away or die.” He then looked at Sam and said: “And for God’s sake get Edwin’s glasses back to him or I’ll return them to him myself after I’ve had you fitted for a Chicago overcoat.”

Leave Maggie did but silently did she swear. She swore she would see the Cleaver hang one day. She did not care how many times it took. She would see the rope around the Cleaver’s neck and would be there when he either died by a broken neck or by suffocating.

Once more at Carthach Manor, Maggie and Sam with the Sax Gremlin sat opposite of Edwin, looking at his glasses, in his office. Maggie was the first to speak and her words were: “Thank you for telling me who it was even if you didn’t tell me the name.”

“Always knew you’d figure it out.” Edwin got out of his chair and opened the office window. He then hurled the glasses out the window. “Good riddance to my certifiable grandfather’s rubbish, I am changing my family’s name back to what it originally was, I am sending in the order for my grandfather’s body to be reburied here, I am doing so much to wipe his insanity from everything here.” He then turned and said to Sam: “Sorry about the shoulder.”

“Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.” Sam cracked a smile.

Edwin then looked at the Saxophone Gremlin. “I apologize for kicking you.” The Saxophone Gremlin responded but because Edwin did not understand what she said he was left standing there with a confused look on his face before saying: “And the same to you.”

“Do you know the names of anyone aligned with the law that the Cleaver has on his payroll?” asked Maggie.

“Just one: Richard Capp.”

#internet remix #gremnoire #sam mcsams #maggie o'hera #saxophone gremlin #artventure

3 notes · View notes