#stranger to get to rattle its ocs around violently

[strangerconnection]

I think it'd be funny to explain some of our sources cuz i mean. a lot of oc introjects but there is so much death murder stuff its liek. do people wanna hear dat

[krisseycrystal]

rated: g+

original story: The Diamondback

prompt: “Hostage Video” + Nayden

requested by: @moominquartz

so the light of my life requested “Hostage Video” with one of my own personal OC’s for a WIP I haven’t even...I mean I’ve shown it only to the writing squad discord server i’m part of, but that’s like, it. so...these OC’s haven’t seen the light of day before

but i guess now they are for this modern-day detective au-ish thing i’ve concocted. funny how that works.

if you read, i hope you enjoy!!

- o - o - o -

Temblor [Read on AO3]

- o - o - o -

There is no coffee in the world kind and dark enough to set Kaimana Lee’s head on straight and wake him up to deal with the slumped over idiot half-asleep on his doorstep with one of those long, fancy smartphones cradled in his lap. 

“Kid,” he grumbles and shoves his toes into the bunched-up leg. When that doesn’t get the teen to rise, he tries his arm. “Hey. Kid.”

As if struck instead of poked, the messy mop of black hair shoots upright. He blinks blearily up at Kaimana, before jumping to his feet. His hands latch around the cell phone, before one jerks away to rub at a sleepy brown eye. “Kaimana Lee?” the kid mumbles. His voice far younger and groggier than Kaimana was actually expecting for one with such heavy and broody eyes.

Kaimana pulls out the toothpick from his mouth and looks the kid up and down. “Who’s askin’?” 

“Boaz Diggory.” Betting by the sudden light taking fire in his hearth-eyed gaze, he thinks the kid is finally awake. Boaz looks down at the phone in his hand. “It’s eleven fifteen.”

“And?” Kaimana turns. The kid backpedals out of his way, but as soon as his front door is open, he hugs close to his heels.

“Your office hours say--”

“--that website hasn’t been updated in years, kid.” The door slams shut behind them with more force than necessary. Kaimana brushes past the Boaz and the empty secretary's desk gathering dust, striding straight for the foggy-glass door at the back. “What the hell do you want?”

“I need your help.”

Kaimana stops with one hand on the tarnished doorknob and turns to give the kid his best hard, duh look. “Yeah. I gathered that,” he gruffs and returns the toothpick to its place between his teeth. “Get to the part where you tell me what for.”

Boaz’s frown is more like what he was expecting; it matches the stiff look in his eyes that reminds Kaimana of an unyielding boulder. But he does hold out the phone.

Kaimana takes it slowly, with one last glance at the kid’s face. He opens his office door.

“What’s the password?”

“February 12, 2003,” Boaz rattles off, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes rake over the messy library of books lined up against the wall, haphazard and unorganized. “Uh, with a zero in front of the two and just the ‘03.”

“Got it.” Kaimana sticks one leg up on the corner of his desk, back hunched over as his eyes zero in on the unlocked screen. “Birthday?”

“If you assume that’s my phone.”

Kaimana glances at the kid. “So what’s this, then? A video?”

Boaz had just sat down; he stands up just as quickly once Kaimana mentions it. With one final look at the kid’s tense form, his thumb taps over the screen. It takes a moment for the feed to come into focus, but once he sees the steel folding chair and the kid chained and blindfolded into it, ice settles in his gut. There’s a pair of overly large ear-muffs wrapped around the back of a head of black hair. 

“Y…you’ll want to turn up the volume,” Boaz says and for the first time since he marched inside Kaimana’s office, he sounds small.

Kaimana turns over the phone, but after a moment of aimless searching, Boaz takes the device from him and presses along its thin side. A crescendo of beeps later, and a low and distorted voice rings out.

“--to see anything happen to him, would you? Then let’s make a deal, Mr. Diggory. If you’d like to see your son alive and in one piece, we suggest you get paying. One million should do the trick. But if that’s too much, don’t worry. We’ll give you one week.”

“How considerate,” Kaimana grumbles.

Boaz’s fists clench at his sides.

“We’ll be in touch soon regarding a drop-off location. And if you even think about going to the cops, we’ll--”

Kaimana drops the phone onto the desk. He looks at Boaz. “But you thought hiring a private investigator would be fine?”  

Boaz glares by way of answer.

“I take it this is your father’s phone. And this kid here’s your brother.”

“Sister.”

There’s a fire and fight waiting to happen in that voice. Kaimana watches Boaz: he sees the unspoken dare in the kid’s gaze and the tension in his form. He looks to the phone lying face-up beside his thigh, still paused on the image of the other kid in question. It’s hard to make out any identifying details other than they had been moving. Writhing. Trying to pull against their restraints unsuccessfully time and time again while the stranger had been talking. The footage is undoubtedly set on loop; the voice track had been recorded and overlaid afterward.

“Sister,” Kaimana repeats.

Boaz nods. “Her name is Nayden.”

Kaimana taps the screen and rolls the video back to the beginning. “Got it.” He runs a hand through his hair but a moment later regrets it. He had pulled it into a loose bun for a reason. He reaches back instead for a notepad and pencil. “Apparently, someone didn’t get the memo.”

“Yeah, well. That someone doesn’t fucking matter.”

A small smile quirks onto Kaimana’s face. “I take it you and your family have reason to believe the threat is real and not just a hoax?” 

“Are you calling me a liar?” 

There’s a moment--a strange instance--in which the fight and the fire reached its peak and burst--and with it, at the same time, Kaimana’s bookcases rattle. A small magazine that had been stuffed to lay on top of his incomplete collection of Zane Grey novels flutters to the carpet. Kaimana snaps around a hair too late; by the time he’s taking stock, everything is still again. Dust motes have been flung into the air, illuminated by the midday sun filtering in through the windows.  

Kaimana frowns and looks back at the kid.

Boaz’s eyes flick open, caught in the middle of a slow breathing routine. As he carefully exhales, his hands unclench.

“Okay,” Kaimana slowly says. “Where’re your parents?”

“That’s why I’m here.” In two quick strides, Boaz stands in front of the desk and turns the phone. He drags the tiny red marker on the bottom until Nayden’s head is turned as she’s jerking in her seat. He points at the pair of giant, bright yellow ear-muffs wrapped around her head. “I have good reason to believe my father arranged this entire thing.”

Kaimana freezes.

His frown deepens. He curls forward further, resting his forearm against his knee. His notepad dangles loosely from his fingers. “The video is addressed to him.”

“A ploy to throw off suspicion.”

“Are you sure?”

“I--” Boaz’s eyes flicker to the phone again. His mouth opens and shuts once, flapping uselessly, before he fists the hand that had been pointing at the earmuffs. “--I can’t tell you why. I just am, okay! I have my reasons.” 

“All right.” Kaimana rises to a stand and tosses his notepad onto his desk. “So then why don’t you take those reasons with you to the cops?” 

“It’s complicated.”

“Then what, exactly, are you hiring me for?”

“To find her!” 

There it is again: the small, unfelt tremor that shakes the room. The notepad and desk lamp rattle; Kaimana’s eyes snap to the short, violently swinging gold chain on the side of the lamp’s green porcelain shade. 

When he looks back to Boaz, the kid’s hands are fisted on either side of the phone. His head of black, messy hair is bowed.

“Please.” Boaz’s voice is as tight and bare as a whisper. “She’s all alone. She…”

Slowly, Kaimana’s eyes drift to the opposite wall. He doesn’t have much that he’s bothered to hang up, but his framed diploma and license that he nailed the same day he signed the lease to this small office are two small wooden-framed dots in the midst of all the cornflower blue paint. They hang slightly crooked, now, bothered by whatever strange force it is that has been bumping his room off-kelter.

Earthquakes?

After a long moment, Kaimana sighs. He bows his head and pinches his temples. “Damn it. Private investigators ain’t cheap, kid.”

Boaz’s head snaps up. His brown eyes are enormous on his pale, round face. Immediately, he jerks upright and wipes his sleeve over his face. “I know.”

“I take pay by the hour.”

“I know.”

“You’ve got the money?”

“I’ll get it to you.”

Somehow, that severe, hard look in those eyes is like a promise. Not for the first time, Kaimana feels a little unsettled by just how hard they seem to be. They are too much and trying too hard to be so strong for someone clearly still so young. If he’s bluffing about the money, he doesn’t give any tells.

Kaimana would be lying if he tried to say half the reason that gaze is so unnerving is because it reminds him too much of a damn mirror.

He grumbles and reluctantly picks up his notepad again. “Fine. Tell me everything you know.”