anxietyrat
Straight outta the garbage.
𝒯𝑜 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒.
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Hello, I am Rat.
Currently, I am seeking partners to weave intricate tales with, crafting something of intrigue for us both.
I, subjectively, consider myself advanced.
I have had the itch to have some more folks to write with to hone my abilities.
So, here we are.
People have called me intimidating, I don't see it, but please don't be intimidated.
I'll write with any skill level, so long as you can help carry a plot and make engaging posts that leave me hungry for more.
So, how about a brief introduction?
︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸
✎I am twenty-five years of age.
✎I am an avid world builder, plot creator, and character developer. I can play multiple sides as well.
✎I work full-time, but can still get around to posting most days.
✎My style is a bit of a pill to swallow, and I have inclinations towards a more extensive vocabulary.
✎I love OOC and talk incredibly casually despite my formalness in this thread.
✎I'm meme garbage.
✎I game a lot, wanna talk games? I'm all for it.
✎ While I like to consider myself moderately advanced, I'm not an asshole. I don't mind if your grammar isn't perfect or if you have difficulty with English due to it being your second tongue. If you can carry a plot well and create intriguing characters and work with me, I'll work with you.
✎I draw huge inspiration from music and lyrics.
✎I am an artist.
✎I can be a slow writer, I ask for patience, the same of which I'll return to you.
✎Overall, I'm chill asf.
︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸
I have an overabundance of plots, however, to keep this concise and tidy, I'm not listing them in the OP, but they'll be in the first comment below here.
I'm also up for whatever plot you may have in mind, and I will do anything for the most part.
Ask me about fandoms, although, I don't desire to play any canons at this point.
I will likely ask for a writing sample to check for compatibility, don't worry, I'm not judge-y.
Onward to the samples, shall we? I can provide more than these if need be.
︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸︸
Granted an allowance to exit the perimeters of the facility to which he knew himself bound by the behest of an enigmatic higher-up amongst government ranks- one going by a coined moniker of "The Fetcher," Eli found himself free again. Albeit, outfitted with a rather vexatious and snug collar before being ushered away. Of course, the collar served as, from what Elias inferred, a device engineered to track each one of his very movements. To his ire and chagrin, a sharp, biting shock derived from an electrical flow emitted from it should he traverse further than the designated zones to which his imprisoners sanctioned him.
Damn, how often, indeed, had he ran the metaphorical ball and chain through a multitude of trials defined by persistence, only to find the irksome hunk of metal to be both impenetrable and impossible to dupe.
Such was the life of a government dog. All in all, what is a dog without his muzzle and leash? Without the ability to give an instantaneous heel when commanded? Without fangs suitable to strike down the foes of his master?
To his disdain, in honesty, Eli had risen to become a favored pet of the government- a tool utilized with a singular, primary purpose and this was to annihilate cryptids.
Indeed, molded to fit the whims of the government, as if sculpted by an artist with preferential for the macabre, one of whom that damned him to a fate not enviable nor one to pine after. Regardless, as Elias ambled down a dilapidated sidewalk, his lips twisted into a sneer of utter revulsion, he began to muse on how uncomprehending- how fucking oblivious- the mass of humanity was, eyes averting to the occasional passerby in a glower with no residual pity.
An endless hunger panged in his core. Gnawing away, festering- and being amidst those that retained normalcy only exacerbated it until he felt his skin begin to crawl and itch, and yet if he were to act upon or fancy the instinctual urges that roused beneath his surface, he would meet the electric touch of the collar that felt smothering enclasped around his neck. So, in that end, he had taught himself to maintain composure, no matter the sprawling insatiable void within him.
Although should he fulfill the requirements of the operation given to him by designation, the reward was what he coveted most. However, the sanguine liquid so essential to his being never quite fit the specifications of his inclinations in particular, instead, more akin to that of meager table scraps.
Why would the government that utilized him as a tool to suit their particular, twisted ideologies and, furthermore, the very same collective that fragmented his trust give a toss about what contended his longings?
Either way, he jolted his ruminating mind back to the task at hand, which had, in fact, proven to pique his intrigue.
As the government deemed it a necessity to silence fellow cryptids through the embrace of death unless chosen to become ensnared within their covert facility, Elias oft faced foes so alike it became mundane after a certain point. Of course, with this assignment, his quarry was, in particular, a rare breed of cryptid. A necromancer, to be specific, and despite his reluctance to play the part of a pawn, he found himself nearing exuberant to meet the fellow of which he sought. A great pity indeed that it would only end in bloodshed, Elias would have savored scrutinizing and formulating inquiries into the victim's exact nature and skill behind his necromancy.
Alas, the government did not allocate time for interrogation, only for the hunt itself.
In regards to the hunt, Elias found himself nearing the destination where his prey awaited, proceeding to an apartment complex. While the trek to this complex was lengthy at best, Eli did not feel wearied nor diminished in energy, his innate strength giving him the capability to journey long distances without suffering from the hindering complications a human might.
Given that it was the eve, Elias might go as far to state an invigoration held him, a particular shade of energy coursing through him that bordered on manic.
Clad in black, he blended into the darkness wreathing him, only furthering his elation.
Regardless of his pointed viewpoint on his "masters," Elias did, in thoroughness, procure a grand gratification from hunting assigned quarry. Alongside being beneath the splendor of the silvery moon above, it seemed to solidify to him, that at this moment, he lavished in what freedom would taste like, so close yet so far.
Putting the fascinating idea of being freed from his shackles aside, Elias came to an abrupt halt at a unit that displayed the numerals given to indicate the correct address.
So, this was the residence that a supposed necromancer resided in, perhaps not the imagery one would envision.
Despite holding within its confines a rarity, in stark, it lacked in anything engrossing to its exterior. Regardless, Elias tested his weight against the door, calculative and knowing it to be a weak barrier against the brunt of his impending force.
Without hesitance, Elias collided his body into the frame of the door, demolishing it into mere shatterings of its former self, all in all, the least problematic and lesser task of his duties.
Damn, how often, indeed, had he ran the metaphorical ball and chain through a multitude of trials defined by persistence, only to find the irksome hunk of metal to be both impenetrable and impossible to dupe.
Such was the life of a government dog. All in all, what is a dog without his muzzle and leash? Without the ability to give an instantaneous heel when commanded? Without fangs suitable to strike down the foes of his master?
To his disdain, in honesty, Eli had risen to become a favored pet of the government- a tool utilized with a singular, primary purpose and this was to annihilate cryptids.
Indeed, molded to fit the whims of the government, as if sculpted by an artist with preferential for the macabre, one of whom that damned him to a fate not enviable nor one to pine after. Regardless, as Elias ambled down a dilapidated sidewalk, his lips twisted into a sneer of utter revulsion, he began to muse on how uncomprehending- how fucking oblivious- the mass of humanity was, eyes averting to the occasional passerby in a glower with no residual pity.
An endless hunger panged in his core. Gnawing away, festering- and being amidst those that retained normalcy only exacerbated it until he felt his skin begin to crawl and itch, and yet if he were to act upon or fancy the instinctual urges that roused beneath his surface, he would meet the electric touch of the collar that felt smothering enclasped around his neck. So, in that end, he had taught himself to maintain composure, no matter the sprawling insatiable void within him.
Although should he fulfill the requirements of the operation given to him by designation, the reward was what he coveted most. However, the sanguine liquid so essential to his being never quite fit the specifications of his inclinations in particular, instead, more akin to that of meager table scraps.
Why would the government that utilized him as a tool to suit their particular, twisted ideologies and, furthermore, the very same collective that fragmented his trust give a toss about what contended his longings?
Either way, he jolted his ruminating mind back to the task at hand, which had, in fact, proven to pique his intrigue.
As the government deemed it a necessity to silence fellow cryptids through the embrace of death unless chosen to become ensnared within their covert facility, Elias oft faced foes so alike it became mundane after a certain point. Of course, with this assignment, his quarry was, in particular, a rare breed of cryptid. A necromancer, to be specific, and despite his reluctance to play the part of a pawn, he found himself nearing exuberant to meet the fellow of which he sought. A great pity indeed that it would only end in bloodshed, Elias would have savored scrutinizing and formulating inquiries into the victim's exact nature and skill behind his necromancy.
Alas, the government did not allocate time for interrogation, only for the hunt itself.
In regards to the hunt, Elias found himself nearing the destination where his prey awaited, proceeding to an apartment complex. While the trek to this complex was lengthy at best, Eli did not feel wearied nor diminished in energy, his innate strength giving him the capability to journey long distances without suffering from the hindering complications a human might.
Given that it was the eve, Elias might go as far to state an invigoration held him, a particular shade of energy coursing through him that bordered on manic.
Clad in black, he blended into the darkness wreathing him, only furthering his elation.
Regardless of his pointed viewpoint on his "masters," Elias did, in thoroughness, procure a grand gratification from hunting assigned quarry. Alongside being beneath the splendor of the silvery moon above, it seemed to solidify to him, that at this moment, he lavished in what freedom would taste like, so close yet so far.
Putting the fascinating idea of being freed from his shackles aside, Elias came to an abrupt halt at a unit that displayed the numerals given to indicate the correct address.
So, this was the residence that a supposed necromancer resided in, perhaps not the imagery one would envision.
Despite holding within its confines a rarity, in stark, it lacked in anything engrossing to its exterior. Regardless, Elias tested his weight against the door, calculative and knowing it to be a weak barrier against the brunt of his impending force.
Without hesitance, Elias collided his body into the frame of the door, demolishing it into mere shatterings of its former self, all in all, the least problematic and lesser task of his duties.
{Rather dated, historical-fantasy setting.}
To leave the confines is to sleep with death, to stay in the confines is to wish for death.
Born abnormal, as they said. Perhaps presumptions stemming from stigmas attributed to being an orphan, or rather- Thom's favored theory- set framework structured by an overbearing adoptive "mother" whose compassion echoed hollow, bound by vanity entwined with pity that sickened him, doting only for appearances, not from tender seeds of love.
In regards to his parental relations, if that was all he knew, what would render desire to stay?
'There shall be nothing here to miss, and no one shall miss me.'
A thought- one dripping with vitriol, so saturated with a cynical venomosity. Acute enough that it wavered Thom's focus. All those about him appeared to align with the belief that he lived in a senseless reverie, sundered from reality, yet, if he were to have a say, they lived within an illusion molded by foreboding and mythos, and he grasped conceptions they condemned out of ignorance.
Since youth, Thom felt allured, magnetized, to the world that lay beyond the banal visage of the town, where no strict rules and regulations governed his life nor his dreams; where foliage grew dense, and a provocative sense of mystery flowered and enveloped like ivy. However, forever did the ability to elope eluded him until finally, chance revealed itself and two eves prior he slunk away when all fell into the embrace of sleep, set to venture, brimming with exhilaration in a stark almost humorous opposition to the present tense. Where, for now, Thom floundered with a sliver of regret, utterly lost, pining for the quench of fresh, unsullied water, perhaps accompanied by the warmth of liquor and a hearty meal. To at last curl into bed with promises of comfort a simplistic sleeping bag placed upon frigid earth could not provide.
Regardless of a situation not particularly fortuitous, Thom concluded ambling without aim within the woodlands proved ever more titillating than the mundanity he grew accustomed to. Often had he heard rumorous whispers that spoke of remote villages, landscapes distinct and foreign, beasts that devoured, their hunger perpetual, yet, all Thom unveiled thus far from within the forest were only trees and their littered leaves- green growth as far as the eye could see.
Albeit, traces of life subtly presented themselves as if the undergrowth tucked away secrets of its own. However inconspicuous, Thom noted trodden paths- a sign of humanity, perhaps,- and marks upon the trees he could not decipher.
Coming to a fork amidst a clearing, wearied, Thom settled against a grand oak, whose limbs sprawled skyward.
Well, this is a lovely predicament.
With little in the way of forethought, Thom found himself calling out, his voice reverberating, fragmenting the ghostly silence that seemed to haunt him throughout his trek.
"Hello?"
Chiding himself at once for such a foolish action, Thom shuddered, a peculiar sensation of trepidation beginning to gnaw away at him. What amongst him could he have awoken; fluttering the eyelids of creatures with snarling maws, perhaps?
Moreover, Thom began to reflect if he had made a grave mistake, one of which would lead him to starve in depths where none of those he left behind would find, yet another statistic to be fodder for the local fairytales.
Born abnormal, as they said. Perhaps presumptions stemming from stigmas attributed to being an orphan, or rather- Thom's favored theory- set framework structured by an overbearing adoptive "mother" whose compassion echoed hollow, bound by vanity entwined with pity that sickened him, doting only for appearances, not from tender seeds of love.
In regards to his parental relations, if that was all he knew, what would render desire to stay?
'There shall be nothing here to miss, and no one shall miss me.'
A thought- one dripping with vitriol, so saturated with a cynical venomosity. Acute enough that it wavered Thom's focus. All those about him appeared to align with the belief that he lived in a senseless reverie, sundered from reality, yet, if he were to have a say, they lived within an illusion molded by foreboding and mythos, and he grasped conceptions they condemned out of ignorance.
Since youth, Thom felt allured, magnetized, to the world that lay beyond the banal visage of the town, where no strict rules and regulations governed his life nor his dreams; where foliage grew dense, and a provocative sense of mystery flowered and enveloped like ivy. However, forever did the ability to elope eluded him until finally, chance revealed itself and two eves prior he slunk away when all fell into the embrace of sleep, set to venture, brimming with exhilaration in a stark almost humorous opposition to the present tense. Where, for now, Thom floundered with a sliver of regret, utterly lost, pining for the quench of fresh, unsullied water, perhaps accompanied by the warmth of liquor and a hearty meal. To at last curl into bed with promises of comfort a simplistic sleeping bag placed upon frigid earth could not provide.
Regardless of a situation not particularly fortuitous, Thom concluded ambling without aim within the woodlands proved ever more titillating than the mundanity he grew accustomed to. Often had he heard rumorous whispers that spoke of remote villages, landscapes distinct and foreign, beasts that devoured, their hunger perpetual, yet, all Thom unveiled thus far from within the forest were only trees and their littered leaves- green growth as far as the eye could see.
Albeit, traces of life subtly presented themselves as if the undergrowth tucked away secrets of its own. However inconspicuous, Thom noted trodden paths- a sign of humanity, perhaps,- and marks upon the trees he could not decipher.
Coming to a fork amidst a clearing, wearied, Thom settled against a grand oak, whose limbs sprawled skyward.
Well, this is a lovely predicament.
With little in the way of forethought, Thom found himself calling out, his voice reverberating, fragmenting the ghostly silence that seemed to haunt him throughout his trek.
"Hello?"
Chiding himself at once for such a foolish action, Thom shuddered, a peculiar sensation of trepidation beginning to gnaw away at him. What amongst him could he have awoken; fluttering the eyelids of creatures with snarling maws, perhaps?
Moreover, Thom began to reflect if he had made a grave mistake, one of which would lead him to starve in depths where none of those he left behind would find, yet another statistic to be fodder for the local fairytales.
{Setting: Modern, noire}
Oh, how new quarries oft led to unfurling opportunities, tantalizing as they were endless, entwined with the high of the pursuit and yet, Alexander found himself lacking any semblance of wonder nor traces of elation. Despite his sizeable distance from Boston, he had been the agent above all chosen for this case. Particularly one of profound renown- this, of course, should have incited an exhilaration of sorts. Perhaps it would have if he knew he could work with more autonomy, however, being sent to another district to take the reigns always pinched nerves and carried the tendency to make everything arduous for all those involved.
An inclination towards a particular shade of mania, if you will, for the job had its benefits, however, and he owed his position to this. Since, overall, Alexander had amassed a reputation of maintaining an unshakeable devotion that might border boundaries befitting the title of "unhealthy,"- although, that was something of which he would dispute with fervency. Regardless, he did not lack in proficiency, and the tenacity landed him a well-known case alongside a free ticket and stay in Boston miles from good, ole New Orleans.
Humoring the satirical, Alexander reflected upon receiving the call, specifically on how he was in a shoddy motel relishing the endings of a high induced by ecstasy mixed with shots of vodka. Remembrances of being curled around his latest indulgence, their bodies tangled with bare flesh more than brushing struck him. Settled adjacent to them on a bedside table his phone began to vibrate, and he had stifled a groan as his partner sniggered, blue eyes piqued with interest.
Dallying fingers trailed his chest.
"Important?"
Sobered in expression, he eyed the girl, her cascading tresses golden in hue and wild from their heated tumble, an appreciable curvature noticeable beneath the almost sheer sheet that veiled her body, her plump lips curved in a coquettish simper. Not the norm in regards to his type, but molly tended to blur the lines for him, and indeed blurred they were.
Damning himself for lack of foresight, Alexander finally fumbled for his phone, outreached fingers trembling- remnants from the high- and recognized the number at once- his boss, of course, rather timely, at that.
"Nothing you need to worry yourself about, it's work. Fortuitous for me, I’m sure."
A sardonic utterance, however, Alexander entertained little in the way of appeal in divulging his life with a lay that would trickle from recollection in a week's worth.
With a sharp inhale and a prayer to no god in particular for a collected composure, Alex endeavored to steady his pulsating heart- which seemed to reverberate in his ears in pounding thumps- and overall, not sound utterly wasted as he was.
"Hey, chief."
While a simple greeting, the words came slurred, thick like honey.
"Bad time, Alexander?"
Curt, surely not the response Alex hoped for in regards to the circumstances.
"Nothing terrible with your timing, Lucas, I've had a bit to drink, that's all."
Although, a bit to drink was, well, certainly an understatement.
"A bit?"
There was no excusing that especially probing tone, yet Alexander refused to budge.
"Yes, a bit. Now, it's rather late Lucas, and you only call like this when something needs doing."
With a suppressed giggle, the girl untangled herself from beneath his embrace, swaying her hips to entice as she sauntered to a nearby window, flicking the switch of a lighter and kissing a cigarette to the flame it bore.
"I've got a job for you; however, it is... far from our district."
Calculating, he gave no reply as he hoisted himself off the bed, meeting his affair o' the night to share in the vice of smoking, returning a sliver of a grin as she lit the cigarette he plucked with practiced fingers from the pack between them.
"How far?"
How far, indeed, and who would cover the subject of fees for such a trek?
Matters of a family were a non-issue, there was little he would pine over should he opt to leave. So, why not pursue an opportunity that lay ripe?
"Boston, that far, Alex, expenses paid."
Amusement laced Lucas' voice.
"You had me at expenses paid, alright, I'll take the case."
Not long after the call that eve, he jilted his fling early, floundered home, intoxicated, lavishing in a high, and went to his flat to collect what belongings would prove necessities and scheduled the flight, from there by the morn, he was Boston-bound.
All in all, an uneventful trip spent in the extravagant indulgence of first-class with expensive wines aplenty, yet, once he arrived, his demeanor grew solemn lacking the exuberance held during the evening he received the call. Thoughts of the macabre were gnawing at his core as he prepared to delve into the depths of these murders that afflicted the city like a sickness, permeating airs of dread.
Traversing the city, he noted the bolded print on the newspapers served to arouse further a sense of foreboding among the civilians with woven re-tellings written on The Terror case, queries formulating about when the killer would strike once again, and, in the midst of it all, Alexander found himself centralized within.
Finally arriving, stepping out of a taxi, he heaved an exasperated sigh, glancing towards the building where he would be conducting operations, although, not particularly on his own; not this time around.
Unwilling to dally, he trudged onwards, feeling as though he were trekking through thickened mud and slop.
Incognizant to the reception he would receive, the unknown left him nothing beyond a vast realm of pessimism.
Ambling through the doors, nonchalant, Alexander promptly met with a detective with a gruff visage, stoicism keeping his expression leveled.
"Who are you?"
A simple query, although one with tracings of vexation that Alex could scarcely grasp onto, endeavor or not.
"Alexander Thomas, I'm from the FBI, I'm here to assist in the workings of The Terror case, I believe I am to meet with a detective."
Blinking, as if processing the utterance, the officer crossed his arms, and, beyond that stoicism, Alex reckoned there lay buried intrigue.
When eyes trailed to his badge, Alexander flashed it, causing the man to nod, brusque.
"Right, come along, Myers is right this way."
Undeterred by the officer's mannerisms, Alex, quietened by way of rumination of this detective he would be working alongside with, trailed behind, feeling like a lost duckling in a vague sense. An unfamiliarity enveloped him like a gale, threatening to topple his composure, yet, he endured, expression leveled.
"Detective Myers, agent Alexander Thomas is here to see you, I imagine, of course, over the case."
Hints of a tautness Alexander did not quite understand laced his tone.
"Indeed, The Terror case."
Piping in, Alexander put his hands in his pockets, awaiting this detective with a creeping, sprawling interest.
An inclination towards a particular shade of mania, if you will, for the job had its benefits, however, and he owed his position to this. Since, overall, Alexander had amassed a reputation of maintaining an unshakeable devotion that might border boundaries befitting the title of "unhealthy,"- although, that was something of which he would dispute with fervency. Regardless, he did not lack in proficiency, and the tenacity landed him a well-known case alongside a free ticket and stay in Boston miles from good, ole New Orleans.
Humoring the satirical, Alexander reflected upon receiving the call, specifically on how he was in a shoddy motel relishing the endings of a high induced by ecstasy mixed with shots of vodka. Remembrances of being curled around his latest indulgence, their bodies tangled with bare flesh more than brushing struck him. Settled adjacent to them on a bedside table his phone began to vibrate, and he had stifled a groan as his partner sniggered, blue eyes piqued with interest.
Dallying fingers trailed his chest.
"Important?"
Sobered in expression, he eyed the girl, her cascading tresses golden in hue and wild from their heated tumble, an appreciable curvature noticeable beneath the almost sheer sheet that veiled her body, her plump lips curved in a coquettish simper. Not the norm in regards to his type, but molly tended to blur the lines for him, and indeed blurred they were.
Damning himself for lack of foresight, Alexander finally fumbled for his phone, outreached fingers trembling- remnants from the high- and recognized the number at once- his boss, of course, rather timely, at that.
"Nothing you need to worry yourself about, it's work. Fortuitous for me, I’m sure."
A sardonic utterance, however, Alexander entertained little in the way of appeal in divulging his life with a lay that would trickle from recollection in a week's worth.
With a sharp inhale and a prayer to no god in particular for a collected composure, Alex endeavored to steady his pulsating heart- which seemed to reverberate in his ears in pounding thumps- and overall, not sound utterly wasted as he was.
"Hey, chief."
While a simple greeting, the words came slurred, thick like honey.
"Bad time, Alexander?"
Curt, surely not the response Alex hoped for in regards to the circumstances.
"Nothing terrible with your timing, Lucas, I've had a bit to drink, that's all."
Although, a bit to drink was, well, certainly an understatement.
"A bit?"
There was no excusing that especially probing tone, yet Alexander refused to budge.
"Yes, a bit. Now, it's rather late Lucas, and you only call like this when something needs doing."
With a suppressed giggle, the girl untangled herself from beneath his embrace, swaying her hips to entice as she sauntered to a nearby window, flicking the switch of a lighter and kissing a cigarette to the flame it bore.
"I've got a job for you; however, it is... far from our district."
Calculating, he gave no reply as he hoisted himself off the bed, meeting his affair o' the night to share in the vice of smoking, returning a sliver of a grin as she lit the cigarette he plucked with practiced fingers from the pack between them.
"How far?"
How far, indeed, and who would cover the subject of fees for such a trek?
Matters of a family were a non-issue, there was little he would pine over should he opt to leave. So, why not pursue an opportunity that lay ripe?
"Boston, that far, Alex, expenses paid."
Amusement laced Lucas' voice.
"You had me at expenses paid, alright, I'll take the case."
Not long after the call that eve, he jilted his fling early, floundered home, intoxicated, lavishing in a high, and went to his flat to collect what belongings would prove necessities and scheduled the flight, from there by the morn, he was Boston-bound.
All in all, an uneventful trip spent in the extravagant indulgence of first-class with expensive wines aplenty, yet, once he arrived, his demeanor grew solemn lacking the exuberance held during the evening he received the call. Thoughts of the macabre were gnawing at his core as he prepared to delve into the depths of these murders that afflicted the city like a sickness, permeating airs of dread.
Traversing the city, he noted the bolded print on the newspapers served to arouse further a sense of foreboding among the civilians with woven re-tellings written on The Terror case, queries formulating about when the killer would strike once again, and, in the midst of it all, Alexander found himself centralized within.
Finally arriving, stepping out of a taxi, he heaved an exasperated sigh, glancing towards the building where he would be conducting operations, although, not particularly on his own; not this time around.
Unwilling to dally, he trudged onwards, feeling as though he were trekking through thickened mud and slop.
Incognizant to the reception he would receive, the unknown left him nothing beyond a vast realm of pessimism.
Ambling through the doors, nonchalant, Alexander promptly met with a detective with a gruff visage, stoicism keeping his expression leveled.
"Who are you?"
A simple query, although one with tracings of vexation that Alex could scarcely grasp onto, endeavor or not.
"Alexander Thomas, I'm from the FBI, I'm here to assist in the workings of The Terror case, I believe I am to meet with a detective."
Blinking, as if processing the utterance, the officer crossed his arms, and, beyond that stoicism, Alex reckoned there lay buried intrigue.
When eyes trailed to his badge, Alexander flashed it, causing the man to nod, brusque.
"Right, come along, Myers is right this way."
Undeterred by the officer's mannerisms, Alex, quietened by way of rumination of this detective he would be working alongside with, trailed behind, feeling like a lost duckling in a vague sense. An unfamiliarity enveloped him like a gale, threatening to topple his composure, yet, he endured, expression leveled.
"Detective Myers, agent Alexander Thomas is here to see you, I imagine, of course, over the case."
Hints of a tautness Alexander did not quite understand laced his tone.
"Indeed, The Terror case."
Piping in, Alexander put his hands in his pockets, awaiting this detective with a creeping, sprawling interest.
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