Makino — Roleplayer Guild

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Anastasia Noir

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“You shouldn’t be smoking in here, Mrs. Bosquét. About the man-”

“Miss Noir. I want to be called Miss Noir, detective.”

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A glass wall laid between the authorities and young man; they could see him, but he could not return their gazes. How many victims had he raked, exactly?..

“Ms. Noir..”

A hesitant thumb ran through notes as the male detective spoke irrelevant words, hungry eyes eating away at the information sprawled with haste. 

This man, the murderer, he had such a bright future. Why was it he ruined it? Was there a motive behind all the murders, or was he simply crazy?

Smoke filled the room with each puff the slim woman took, she didn’t care. She was called due to the severity of the situation, the top of her class and the best at her job. Skimming through her notes, she flickered her gaze to the detective.

“He won’t talk to anyone, hm?”

Plucking the cigarette from her lips, it had swiftly been stubbed out atop the cold countertops; a look of discomfort flushed on the detective’s face.  The woman fluttered her attention back to the man sitting in the room, it was a humorous sight. One would say it is the treatment a true criminal like he deserves.

“No, Miss. Not yet, that is..”

Her thoughts had trailed off once more, away from her partner’s husky words into silence. There was nothing he could tell her that her notes had not given her, nothing he could say that she could not figure out. The mind was her field of work and study, she knew it well. 

Criminal.

Her thoughts were almost a whisper, perhaps she was too focused elsewhere to hear them fully, possibly ignored them the same as the detective. The man.. Murderer sitting within the room was attractive, young and outwardly appeasing. At least, he was to her; the very fact she found him a slight bit handsome left a bitter taste far worse than any smoke could. She contorted her face with disgust while gazing at him, tracing the chilling lines of his skin while delicately glancing up to the wisps of his dark black hair. 

This man was a murderer; surely one would think he was crazy, that he was no better than any other sorry excuse she had met before.. But, there was something strange she took in about him. Something that made disgust well deep in her throat..

“Miss Noir! Pay attention, please! Have you forgotten already that the man killed his last psychologist? With a pen at that, it is clear he enjoys harming; all he could simply say after was ‘kill them all’.”

Snapped back into reality, the woman strode with callous clicks of her heels to stand before the steel door into the solitary room, she painted a cruel smile atop her lips. 

Could it be the one before she had not been careful, triggered him with bad questions? A psychologist has to find answers they need without asking the questions, they need to sneak. There was something more to this man than a simple bloodthirsty intent, one she would find out. His mind was an egg, and she now craved an omelet.

“No,” She retaliated. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? He’s so calm despite the things he’s done. He had a perfect life. He doesn’t appear aggressive, what was his motive to kill the man here before me? The want to? Perhaps, but you don’t know that.”

The detective stood puzzled for a moment at her intentions, not having the chance to answer her questions.

“I will be the one to find out. He hasn’t spoken yet to anyone over the case, yes?”

Still not given the chance to answer, the detective was barely given a glance from the female. 

“I guess we’re lucky I am not just anyone, right detective? I succeed where others fail, that is a promise.”

And with those words, smooth and confident, the door had been open and shut firmly behind her rear. 

Silence.

The woman was now within the devil’s den. Her eyes first drifted to his restraints, a strict reminder to indicate who was in charge, before drifting upwards to inspect his face. Unlike before in the glass room, she could now make out the handsome portions he showcased.

Criminal. Remember, criminal. He doesn’t deserve your gaze.

 Her lips parted with barely a moment’s hesitation, eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the man. Her challenge to slip into his mind had now just begun. 

“Hello, Colton. I am Anastasia Noir; I believe you have time for a chat, right?”

Sleepy Thoughts


Happiness is strange.
It is neither a gift nor a talent. 
It is not something that someone else can truly give you.
Perhaps a momentary laugh or sense of euphoria;
But, with their departure they take that “happiness”.

There are those who can give themselves joy,
But often with the aid of something else.
Is happiness truly a joyful thing?
Or more so a curse;
A taunt of something we will never truly live out?


There are some who embrace their natural state.
There are some who turn to enjoy dark themes.
There are those who take a strange enjoyment in loneliness,
Feigning their desire for a nicer existence,
Enjoying the attention.

To some the world is black and white, 
Bold and definite,
Right and wrong.

To some, the world is a mix of colors,
Complex and incongruent,
Neither just nor immoral.

There are those who cannot even think of what the world is like, 
For ignorance is their bliss.


No matter how many different types of flawed humans there are
They all have surely understood happiness.

We all take joy in many different things.
It is like a quick high that fades far too fast.


Is it truly nice to be happy?
Or would you be better off emotionless?

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