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Tristan Hawthorne

"Wit beyond measure is a man's greatest treasure."

0 · 357 views · located in Sacramento, California

a character in “The Fourteenth Floor”, originally authored by ibecameinsane, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description




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“Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.”
― J.K. Rowling,Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows




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|Full Name|

Tristan Blake Hawthorne

|Nickname|
"I don't have one.
People just usually call me Tristan."


|Birthday|
July 19, 1988

|Age|
25

|Ethnicity|
Caucasian

|Sexuality|
Heterosexual

|Apartment Number|
1427

|Occupation|
Detective Chief Inspector



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“We are all vainer of our luck than our merits.”
― Rex Stout, The Rubber Band




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|Height || Build|

6'4 || Lean

|Character Color|

#58606F

|Physical Description|

Tristan is one of those guys who never had much trouble with the ladies. His looks alone could reel them in so picking up some strange wasn't really a difficult feat. His square jaw, prominent cheekbones, and soft oceanic eyes are traits to be admired but none more than his smile. Though it's not rare to see him with smirk or a toothy grin, one never gets tired of seeing it. It's got a certain charm that never really gets old. He keeps his dark chestnut hair at a longer length than most men, but it never surpasses his shoulders. Most days you'll see a light five o'clock shadow because he rarely puts forth the effort to shave it. Beneath his regular attire of a t-shirt and a flannel button-up, you'll find that the width of his shoulders surpasses that of his waist and he possess one of those 'V-things' the females rave about. His arms are lean and his abdominal muscles are segmented in six.



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“Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.”
― Rumi, Essential Rumi




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|Likes|

Freedom of speech // The Internet // Mountain Dew // Scotch // Reading // Summer // Spring // Lakeside views // Hacking // Investigating // Research // Poetry // Math // Common sense // The word 'aforementioned' //



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|Dislikes|

Crime \\ Homicide \\ Theft \\ Stereotypes \\ The scent of ginger \\ Stupidity \\ Lack of common sense \\ Human savagery \\ Wrath \\ Jealousy \\ Clingy women \\ Mixed messages \\ Unsolvable cases \\ Being demeaned \\ Being pestered \\ The words: moist, crunchy, and panties



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“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone




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|Quirks|

His "bitch face" // Furrowing his brows in confusion // Color coordinating his candy // Running his hands through his hair when nervous // Writing with his right hand // Using a gun with his left // Neck sensitivity (don't touch his neck) // Hair-pulling kink // Only exercises in the morning



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|Hobbies|

Research \\ Computer hacking \\ Reading \\ Working \\ Overtime \\ Having a beer with his partner \\ Jogging \\ Chess



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“Power resides only where men believe it resides. A shadow on the wall, yet shadows can kill.
And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow.”

― George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings




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|Power|

Enhanced Intelligence & Telekinesis
With his enhanced intelligence, Tristan has an inhuman memory and other mental capacities, allowing thinking on various different levels at once and while multitasking. He can immediately conceive complex formulas and models, possible results and other factors on speed comparable to super-computers as well as recall everything he has experienced, connecting and comparing known facts, and solving crimes. However, he is more prone to headaches than an average individual. With his telekinesis, Tristan can manipulate objects with his mind, however he is only able to move objects that can be moved by a physical force (i.e. a book, a refrigerator, and a car.) Use of this ability tends to put a strain on him, making his fatigued when moving larger objects for a long period of time or a reasonable distance. He can also lessen an outside force dew to the physical body (such as bullets) but is limited on how long he can do so and at what range.


|Skills|

Even without his enhanced intelligence, Tristan is rather intelligent. He can strategize at a proficient level; his science of deduction akin to that of Sherlock Holmes. He's particularly skilled in computer hacking and working past certain databases, as well as combing through the internet for liable information that he yet knows. His reading speed is that of 20,000 words per minute. He is a skilled illusionist, or magician, though he won't readily admit it because of all the teasing he'd endured throughout school.




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“If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire




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|Personality|

Tristan's personality is a paradox, a contradiction of itself that keeps him either interesting or confusing. He has a tendency to show self-discipline, act dutifully, and aim for achievement against measures or outside expectations. His conscientiousness is related to the way in which he controls, regulates, and directs his impulses; having a preference for planned rather than spontaneous behavior. Yet, he says, without his partner's spontaneity he'd easily get "bored on the job". Tristan has lower social engagement and energy levels than his extroverted partner. Contrariwise, he's more efficient in communicating with witnesses and interrogating. Though he tends to seem quiet, low-key, deliberate, and less involved in the social world the amount of friends he has would contradict that. His lack of social involvement should not be interpreted as shyness or depression; instead allude more into his independence. He tends to need less social interaction and more time alone. Tristan may not be a social elite but he's good company. His sense of humor is decent, if not a tad dark and blunt, and he's never one to bore you. Tristan tends to ramble on when the conversation leads to a subject with which he is very familiar. This tendency is somewhat annoying to his peers and they often verbally shush him or respond to him with blank stares. He shows an abstract way of thinking and is very open-minded when it comes to almost everything, and yet he shuts down when someone tries to tell him he's wrong. This stubbornness is a great attribute to his work and is known to result in keeping an innocent man out of prison. He claimed to have improved his social status in coaching by "coaching" the basketball team. He used mathematics to figure out plays and advise the team, which led to them winning more, and enabled him to study the mannerism and vernacular of his peers. This ultimately led to his admission into the fraternity where he met his current roommates.



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“Memory was a curse, yes, he thought, but it was also the greatest gift. Because if you lost memory you lost everything.”
― Anne Rice, Blood and Gold




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|History|

Tristan was born in San Antonio, TX on the nineteenth of July, 1988. In his youth, his father left him and his mother as he could no longer deal with her paranoid schizophrenia. Tristan will rarely mention that he was a victim of bullying in school because he faced far worse at home. He received unintentional abuse at home, being beaten with various household objects, while his mother fended for herself during one of her schizophrenic episodes. He went to public school in Las Vegas and was frequently bullied. It was implied that he may have asked for extra credit work during elementary school and offered to clean classrooms for teachers—being on extra good behavior—to compensate for his father's absence and mother's mental instability. In one incident during high school, he was ambushed by the entire football team; they stripped him naked, tied him to a goalpost, and tormented him in front of half the school until they grew bored and left. He never spoke of it until one night when he was under the influence of marijuana in his frat and told his friends. When they asked how’d he get back at them, he simply wouldn’t say but he gave his word that he’d gotten his revenge. Tristan grew up learning nearly everything he knows from books, with his mother often reading to him. His mother was a professor of 15th century literature and read many things to him, including some of the earliest valentine's poems, Chaucer's Parliament of Foules. Still, knew that the way his mother was living wasn't healthy. When he was eighteen, he had his mother placed in a mental institution. Jacqueline Hawthorne still resides in that same mental institution and Tristan has admitted to his friends that he sends letters every day because of the guilt he feels for not visiting her. He is also worried about the fact that his mother's illness can be passed on genetically; once confessing to his partner Wyatt that: "I know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind."




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| Brave | Sara Bareilles |

You can be amazing
You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug
You can be the outcast
Or be the backlash of somebody’s lack of love
Or you can start speaking up
Nothing’s gonna hurt you the way that words do
When they settle ‘neath your skin
Kept on the inside and no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

I just wanna see you {x3}
I wanna see you be brave

I just wanna see you {x3}
I wanna see you be brave

Everybody’s been there,
Everybody’s been stared down by the enemy
Fallen for the fear
And done some disappearing,
Bow down to the mighty
Don’t run, stop holding your tongue
Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in
Show me how big your brave is

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

And since your history of silence
Won’t do you any good,
Did you think it would?
Let your words be anything but empty
Why don’t you tell them the truth?

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

I just wanna see you {x3}
I wanna see you be brave

I just wanna see you {x3}
See you be brave

I just wanna see you {x6}
| Carry on my Wayward Son | Kansas |

Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more

Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion
I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man
Though my mind could think I still was a mad man
I hear the voices when I'm dreaming,
I can hear them say

Carry on my wayward son,
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more

Masquerading as a man with a reason
My charade is the event of the season
And if I claim to be a wise man,
Well, it surely means that I don't know

On a stormy sea of moving emotion
Tossed about, I'm like a ship on the ocean
I set a course for winds of fortune,
But I hear the voices say

Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more no!

Carry on,
You will always remember
Carry on,
Nothing equals the splendor
Now your life's no longer empty
Surely heaven waits for you

Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry,
Don't you cry no more,

No more!




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|Anything else?|

☓ He is an avid Star Trek, Star Wars and Doctor Who fan ☓
☓ Has a partner named Wyatt Johnson
☓ He refers to his partner as 'Wattson' { Watson } ☓
☓ His partner jokingly refers to him as 'Holmes' ☓
☓ He was born with an eidetic memory ☓
☓ His drives a mustang


|As Played By:|
ibecameinsane




So begins...

Tristan Hawthorne's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nailah Wilson Character Portrait: Dina King Character Portrait: Arielle Murdoc Character Portrait: Jordan Cassidy Character Portrait: Gavin Astor Character Portrait: Rebecca Adigail Cassidy Character Portrait: Jacqueline Garland Character Portrait: Cheyenne Sophia Character Portrait: Tristan Hawthorne
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Morning stretched over California with the warm rays of pure sunlight and new beginnings. The sun's beams of annoying light and unnecessary heat flickered through what she thought were closed blinds and a small whine erupted from her throat, causing her to turn onto her side and curl up, clutching the blanket with the need to return to the calm sanctity of sleep. Long and dark lashes fluttered momentarily, almost brushing a pale cheek before her eyes opened to reveal orbs of pure and nearly glowing sapphire. For a second, emerald green pierced through the sea of her eyes before they returned to normal. Her feral side alwas came out to play early in the morningBut then they closed again and the young blonde drifted off into a very light state of weightlessness and euphoria.

A few moment longer and Arielle, or Ellie as she liked to be called, Murdoc awoke and yawned softly. For only just a second, she considered trying to go back to sleep and ignoring her brain's desire to not miss work today. She hardly took sick days; one little white lie wouldn't hurt anyone. And - if her boss was in dire need of her assistance - there was a thing called Skype. However, a small hint of guilt found its way into her chest and weighed down on her until she opened her eyes and stared at a surprisingly still asleep Tristan. Usually, he awoke before her and would actually force her to wake up. It was a rarity to be up before him.

"I really gotta stop doing this..."

Her mutter fell on what she considered to be deaf ears at the moment as she took in the time to admire the way Tristan's hair fell over his face, or the sharp, timeless handsomeness of his face. More importantly, the calm innocence on his face as he slept. His almost always tense countenance during the day and an even harder expression when he was feeling the stress of his line of work or annoyed made it almost impossible for most to think that calm was a good definition to ever use in a sentence with Tristan's name. However, Ellie and a few others were granted the opportunity to see him truly smile or at moments like these; where his face held no tenseness and he was visibly relaxed. The only thing that spoiled the moment was not being able to see those beautiful eyes. A small, barely noticeable and possessive growl snuck its way past her lips and Ellie could see the little bitch inside of her curling up into a ball and smiling to herself happily.

Rolling her eyes, Arielle sat up, throwing the blanket off of her body. The shirt she stole from Tristan - an old one so that she would not get cussed out - fell off of her right shoulder, revealing the straps to the cami she wore underneath. Other than those two items of clothing, that was all Ellie wore last night. She pretty much crashed at some point; she couldn't truly remember when. Rolling her neck, Arielle decided that she couldn't exactly leave Tristan to sleep. They both have work.

"Come on, handsome," she called and leaned over to push against his very broad - don't go there - shoulders. "Tristan, wake up. We have work." Knowing that he would eventually awaken, Arielle decided to go make coffee. Without a lack of confidence in her physique or embarassment for being seen, Arielle stood and stretched, leaning up onto the tips of her toes and extending her fingers as well. The shirt fell to the middle of her thighs. She gave one final glance to Tristan, ignoring the way her heart clenched momentarily, and walked out of his bedroom to go make a batch of coffee.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nailah Wilson Character Portrait: Arielle Murdoc Character Portrait: Gavin Astor Character Portrait: Cheyenne Sophia Character Portrait: Tristan Hawthorne
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Having worked the night shift at the hospital, Gavin is only just returning home now, exhausted by his twelve hour shift. Luckily, there weren't too many mishaps with any of the patients he had been watching last night, though he did have to cover for a nurse who was currently on pregnancy leave until her shifts could be better redistributed, so there had been more of a strain to get everything done and under control than normally. What he'd really like right now is to eat breakfast and then pass out for a couple of hours. He won't be having work for another two days, so he'll be able to rest and such, and perhaps go to the bar with a couple of friends tonight. The thought is very tempting, though it takes a backseat to hunger. He normally would've stopped by a fast food place on the way back, but there was too heavy a flow of traffic for him to get to the other side of the road, so he opted to just eat at home.

The man gets into the elevator, which he only uses after working. A few other people get on as well, but most of them will be going down to work, unlike the young man still wearing his scrubs. He steps out at the fourteenth floor, politely wishing the other people in the elevator a good day before walking down to his apartment, which is towards the end of the floor, and therefore has some pretty excellent windows- more than several of the other apartments, since it's on the corner. It's also an apartment that often has people in it, for the residents are considered unofficial leaders and big brothers of the unique medley of people who rent on this particular floor. Of course, that's disregarding any nighttime visitors of a certain roommate with the ability to manipulate others.

Tired, it takes Gavin a second to find the right key before he can finally get access to his own apartment. He closes the door quietly, in case the others are still sleeping, and immediately takes off his shoes, which are always bothersome constraints for him. Keys make a little clinking noise when he hangs them on the hook beside the door, where he always leaves them. No, not leaves them. Puts them. A subtle but important difference, really.

There is a mirror in their front hallway, and Gavin catches sight of himself in it, resulting in him giving himself a once over. Maybe a shower after food, he decides, definitely needing one- not because he's dirty, but because he does have some sweat from running about, and needs something to wash away the night. Besides, he's always rather liked cold showers.

He is walking down the hallway and halfway through taking off his shirt when he notices that they have a visitor. Not an uncommon one, though. Arielle is standing in his kitchen, wearing what appears to be his genius roommate, Tristan's, shirt. He quickly puts his shirt back on and gives her a smile in greeting. "G'morning. You know you don't actually live here, right?" he asks jokingly, for she seems to be over at this place as often as she is at her own apartment. Gavin notices that she is making coffee, but hardly needs some at the moment, as he plans on taking a nap or something. He's been awake for 24 hours straight now, after all. It's hardly an unreasonable desire. First things first, however: breakfast.

Gavin walks past her and to the kitchen fridge, from which he pulls out a plastic container of left over spaghetti. It'll do. After spooning it all into a bowl and sticking it into the microwave, he turns back towards Arielle. "Were you here all night, then?" having left around seven or so last night, he wouldn't really know, of course. He can, however, guess that the answer is yes.


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Last night had not been fun at the bar. Well, perhaps it had been fun for some of the customers, especially those who had not associated with the fight, but for the bartender who had to break up 2 fights last night, and deal with the typical round of drunken idiots, it had been less than fun. Normally, she actually enjoys her job, despite the drunks and having to deal with the occasional would-be date rapist when she sees them slipping something into another customer's drink. Last night's fights, however, had been unnecessary and downright irritating- and not helpful to the headache that Nailah had been dealing with already. Of course, she broke up the fights, putting on a show of pulling them apart so that it wouldn't look suspicious when both of the fighters suddenly doubled over in inexplicable pain. One of them had gotten a blow on her when she was focusing on the other, and had gotten a double dose of pain for that. Revenge didn't make the bruise on her jaw go away.

Nailah almost wants to sleep in, which is uncharacteristic for a girl who typically claims that "sleeping in too much makes [her] feel slimy." Still, she pushes herself out of bed. By the sound of it, no one else is up yet. Which means that Arielle is probably at Tristan's house still. The thought merits an eye roll. That relationship is one that Nailah finds silly- both of them seem to be constantly tip toeing around the obvious. For people so intelligent, they sure do know how to make things impossible for themselves, that much is true. It isn't really her business, however, and won't be unless Arielle somehow gets hurt in the tangle. Should that happen, it is an accepted fact, one that not even Arielle can stop, that someone will be getting a very nasty pain all over.

After flicking through the channels to find some documentary on Confucianism in modern China, Nailah grabs a box of cereal and some soy milk [she's not a lactose-friendly person], as well as a bowl, spoon, and mug of hot jasmine tea. She's not much of a person for making breakfasts, content with a muffin or a bowl of cold cereal. The tea is to help her headache, and warm up her body. Nailah always seems to be cold- her hands are naturally cold, and she can feel a chill in an above room temperature space.

What she really wants right now is a cigarette, but she'll push it off until she has eaten. In her most recent attempts to cut back, the young woman has begun setting limits that push back when she can smoke. Not before breakfast is the current effort. Besides, she'll want to shower after she smokes. The girl hates the scent of it, to be honest.

To: Arielle
Morning. You at Tristan's?


She sends the test to Arielle with two intentions- to confirm her suspicions, and to make sure that Arielle is awake. After sending it, the girl leans back in her chair and takes a sip while she listens to the narrator go on about the scholar-gentry class and how it influenced the pressure on education in China.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nailah Wilson Character Portrait: Arielle Murdoc Character Portrait: Gavin Astor Character Portrait: Cheyenne Sophia Character Portrait: Tristan Hawthorne
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As Arielle waited for the coffee machine to brew her some French Roast coffee, she breezed through her texts. Without fail, Mrs. Cooper already sent her ten texts this morning, including the fifteen she sent last night as a reminder that there was in fact a board meeting today at around 11 am. She wanted Ellie to pick up some coffees and baked goods from her favorite little bakery a block away from Cooper Coporations. They introduced new models and actors into the world every single day and their meeting was for a partnership that would give the company over $6.5 billion. Rolling her eyes, Arielle pressed for the contact she had on speed dial.

"Morning, Stacy," Arielle greeted cheerily, bouncing onto the countertop. She could hear the third roommate bustling around in his room from where she was and if her nose's reaction wasn't enough, she had no doubt that - once again - he brought another girl home. What was this? The third one? "Yeah, I know. Feels like a wonderful Friday. Anyway, I gotta call in an order today and I need it done by 10:55. I need an array of croisants, bagels, muffins, and as many other delicious pastries that you could find in the store. I also need twelve coffees..." It didn't take too long for Stacy to finish with the order and Arielle hung up the phone. Just as she set it down to get her cup, her hand paused. The push of a key into the hole and a quick flick of a wrist reached her ears and a subtle flick of her nose alerted her to the familiar scent of an exhausted Gavin. She relaxed just as he came through the door and poured herself a cup of coffee.

While fixing herself up with cream and sugar, she listened for movement in both Tristan's room and where Gavin stood. Perhaps, if she honestly brought herself to care, she would feel a tad bit uncomfortable with wearing very little in an apartment filled with guys. However, she was surprisingly at home with them, though she couldn't say for sure that it was the same for Gavin or the other roommate. But, in Ellie's mind, if either of them truly had a problem with her presence, they could say something. So caught up in the task of fixing her cup and her musings, Ellie actually tensed a little when Gavin spoke.

"Is that a complaint I hear, handsome?" Arielle retorted with a twinkle in her eyes as she turned around to face Gavin as he entered the kitchen. She leaned back against the counter and sipped her coffee, a small purr causing her chest to rumble just-so as warm, sweet liquid eased its way down her throat. As Gavin fixed himself a serving of food, Arielle blushed at his inquiry of her being here all night. It was something her friends teased her about constantly and the insinuations a few apartments down and around the corner always had her cheeks burning for reasons she honestly did not want to acknowledge. "Yeah, your place was a lot closer." Arielle went back to drinking, needing more of the God-sent gift that was coffee.

She hadn't necessarily lied. They really were closer to the elevator than her apartment was. All the guys had to do was walk down the hall. She would have had to walk down the hall and around the corner. Call it lazy, but Ellie had not been in the mood for that last night. So, she settled. Plus, she worked better in Tristan's presence, though she kept that bit of knowledge to herself.

"Bet you're sleeping the day away, aren't you?" Just as she finished speaking, her phone buzzed and Arielle glanced to see a new text. Biting her lip at the obvious opinion her best friend, Nailah, had about her current relationship with Tristan, Arielle sent her response.

To: Nailah
Morning, luv. And yeesss!! Gonna be down when I wake Tristan up!! :) :)

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Arielle Murdoc Character Portrait: Gavin Astor Character Portrait: Tristan Hawthorne
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For the third night in a row, Tristan had come home the previous night close to dawn. Four hours. If he could just get four hours he'd be golden. Of course, like many nights, he found that his bed had not one unaccompanied. Arielle was fast asleep in his bed by the time he walked across the threshold of his bedroom. If it had been any other woman, this would've deterred him. However, seeing as she typically made herself at home whether he was here or not, he'd grown accustomed to seeing a crown of blonde hair resting on his pillow. It was for that reason that he remained clothed, taking nothing off but his shoes before retiring for the night. He remained above the covers, dissuading any false assumption that she'd been there for any other purpose other than sleeping. Clearly anyone could waltz into his room without him knowing so—to him—this was necessary. He couldn't be bothered with rumors or illusions of an intimate relationship. He simply didn't have the time.

After the departure of his interloping companion, the bedroom was quiet save for Tristan's soft breathing. He'd no intentions of waking up, regardless of his company and the fact that he'd exceeded his four hour minimum. Arielle's efforts had gone in vain, leaving him bound in his restful state. To any onlooker it would seem that he would go on sleeping for hours more, maybe several. However, a sudden uproarious sound of a guitar riff tore him through his reverie. Tristan rolled over onto his back begrudgingly, groaning as the phone levitated into his waiting palm. He didn't have to look at the caller ID to know who it was, the abrupt explosion of ACDC being a key contributor to his knowledge. It was merely a text, one that simply read:



Holmes. You up?

I am now.


He'd responded as quickly as he'd received it, sitting up with his iPhone in his hands. It'd been his partner, Agent Wyatt Jensen or otherwise known to Tristan as Wattsen. It was a play on pseudonym derived from a combination of his first and last name, ironically coincidental in consideration to the name Tristan himself had been given. Because of his deductive prowess, he'd earned the name Holmes from his best friend. Best friend. Tristan shook his head at the thought. He couldn't remember when he started calling the man that. Then again, when the man has taken more than one bullet for you it seemed almost indecent to refer to him as anything else.


We've got another one. When can you get here?

Give me twenty.


This response spurred him into action, hauling him off of the covers and into the bathroom attached to his room. His shower took him ten minutes and it took less than five to dress himself in his sharp suited work attire. He combed his hair, leaving it to fall haphazardly around his face and yet the style wasn't off putting. Grabbing the basic necessities and pocketing most of them, Tristan walked out into the hall, his attention on his phone. He glanced up briefly to acknowledge the people in the kitchen, "Morning Gavin". His eyes cut to the blonde sipping on a coffee mug, going unfazed by the fact that she was traipsing around in one of his shirts. "Arielle," He left the apartment with nothing more than that, striding to the elevator as he brought his phone to his ear, dialing up his partner.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Arielle Murdoc Character Portrait: Gavin Astor Character Portrait: Tristan Hawthorne
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Gavin raises his eyebrow and chuckles, "It very nearly is." The microwave beeps, but he takes a moment to open it, rustling through the drawer that contains their eating utensils before he finds a small fork which is his favorite for eating pasta with. There is absolutely no reason whatsoever for this preference, as the fork in fact is slightly less practical than a larger one might be for eating. He simply likes it, and thus uses it. Besides, it's the fork that no one else really uses it, so it is good to have an assigned task for it- the fork would otherwise collect dust. "I'm starting to think we should start making you pitch in for rent," he adds with a smile before finally taking the spaghetti out of the microwave. Gavin sprinkles cheese over it, and then coats it with an excessive amount of salt. He's a pretty big fan of the stuff, clearly, something he claims is due to a sodium deficiency, but isn't really. He just likes the taste. Needless to say, he drinks a lot of water, as well- it balances out the large salt intake.

He doesn't bother to ask why she didn't simply make the extra few yards to the comfort of her own apartment. Her excuse of it being a shorter distance has been used before, and continues to be a very weak one. Still, he accepts it all the same, believing, as most of the floormates do, that it's just a very thin coverup for her real intentions. Tristan didn't get home until rather late, Gavin recalls, something he knows because he had sent the man a text asking about some trivial thing. He guesses that Arielle had actually gotten here before Tristan did at least. Maybe his bed is just a lot more comfortable, he thinks, joking with himself to some extent. "Closer? Whatever you say, blondie," he responds before stifling a yawn. He is clearly not bubbling with energy at the moment, reaching the 'too tired to sleep' stage rapidly. He's really hoping to fall asleep before that step has been reached.

With a shrug, he continues to eat the salt-and-cheese pasta mix, eating rather quickly. Mouth full, he can only nod when Arielle guesses that his plan for the day is to sleep. Of course she'll know his schedule by now, she's over frequently enough. Realizing he needs one, Gavin pours a glass of water to help chase down his food. Hearing noise coming from Tristan's room, he glances over, and just in time to see his flatmate walk out, clearly heading out of the apartment. He gives a nod of his head and an instinctive "Good Morning" in return, his greeting perhaps being said just before Tristan leaves the apartment.

Hopefully, Arielle will follow. Don't misunderstand, he doesn't dislike Arielle. He just doesn't want to leave her in the kitchen to go take a shower, and thus will be bound to the room until she leaves. Courtesy, of sorts. "And I suppose you'll be working today?" finally, his response to her sleeping comment comes about.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nailah Wilson Character Portrait: Arielle Murdoc Character Portrait: Gavin Astor Character Portrait: Cheyenne Sophia Character Portrait: Tristan Hawthorne
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Arielle giggled and took another drink of her coffee as Gavin joked that they should probably make her pitch in for rent. Hell, the girls had actually joked about her splitting half of her pay for both apartments just to be fair. She came over here, cooked on occasion, and hung out here more times than she could count. And it would be fair- seeing how she spent most of her time in the guys' apartment, but...she sighed. That would be going a tad bit too far, especially given that she's probably very much blatant to the true inhabitants of the apartment she was currently standing in. When Gavin's tone suggests disbelief at her little lie about her apartment being too far away, her cheeks flushed a lovely rosy shade.

"Kinda obvious, aren't I?" Was what decided to come out of her mouth. Arielle didn't even think about responding to any response Gavin might have for her. In fact, she honestly - truly - did not care for one. Continuing on this subject - and damn her brain for even going there - meant confusion and heartache and honestly, Arielle was starting to believe that she was the only one who was sincerely confused. Already and without her day having to start, a small headache began to form and she winced. She heard Tristan's ringtone go off in his room and a few mere moments later, he was moving.

Arielle had just finished her coffee when Tristan pretty much floated into the room and floated right back with the swiftest of greetings. She didn't even try to call after him when he was out the door, rejecting the way her lips automatically wanted to curve downward into a frown. No. She was not going to be upset over something as miniscule as this. Besides, he was on the move because he had work - the same thing she had. Sighing, Arielle flashed a smile to Gavin.

"Yep...and it's gonna be bad. Thank God it's Friday," she lamented, quaffed the rest of drink, and then grabbed hold of her phone. Usually, if she made coffee, the other roommate would drink the rest and luckily, she didn't even make a big batch this morning. "Well, probably should get going. Enjoy your sleep, love." Ellie barely even registered if he responded or not. She hurried back to Tristan's room, scrambled to put on the jeans and jacket she brought up with her, slipped on her flats, and made Tristan's bed as quickly as she could. With one last glance to make sure everything was neat and a wave towards Gavin on her way out, Arielle was out the door.

A few minutes later, she unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped inside, taking a moment to lean against the door to gather herself. She could hear the munch-munch-munch of Nailah eating cereal in the living room, the TV on some random documentary or was it a commercial? and the stillness in Cheyenne's room. A beat later and she was stepping in, throwing her keys down on the counter and placing her phone beside it. She walked into the kitchen to find something more sustaining to eat before the meeting.

"Morning, gorgeous! Missed me?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nailah Wilson Character Portrait: Dina King Character Portrait: Arielle Murdoc Character Portrait: Jordan Cassidy Character Portrait: Gavin Astor Character Portrait: Rebecca Adigail Cassidy Character Portrait: Jacqueline Garland Character Portrait: Cheyenne Sophia Character Portrait: Tristan Hawthorne
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Cheyenne woke up to the sound of a muffled TV program in the living room. The light escaping her curtains shined on the comfy clutter of her bedroom- glass terrariums, the hanging tapestry over her head, drying herbs, diy cigarettes, shelves filled with empty pretty things, clothes lines, instruments. The scent of warm jasmine and copal incense burning in her room made her feel calm and dreamier than usual. She brushed tiny tangles out of her long disheveled hair and chose to wear a long sheer skirt over a cotton long sleeve leotard that she wore last night.


Her phone beeped reminding her of a tarot reading appointment in the park. She feels nervous and excited whenever she meets a new customer. Last night she littered the walls of the apartment building with her decorated psychic flyers. She had always been too shy to talk to her neighbors, but they hopefully won't mind the flyers scattered in the hallway and elevator and call the number listed on them instead of complaining.


She entered the kitchen to find Naila and Arielle eating breakfast in the kitchen. She smiled at Arielle. "Did you have a nice time last night?" she asked with a knowing smile. Cheyenne made herself toast with almond butter and basil. She took her plate and mug of tea over to where Nailah was sitting and watching a documentary. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, staring at the bruise on Nailah's chin.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Augustus West Character Portrait: Daniella Lianna King Character Portrait: Nailah Wilson Character Portrait: Dina King Character Portrait: Arielle Murdoc Character Portrait: Jordan Cassidy Character Portrait: Gavin Astor Character Portrait: Rebecca Adigail Cassidy Character Portrait: Jacqueline Garland Character Portrait: Cheyenne Sophia Character Portrait: Ryan Sayers Character Portrait: Tristan Hawthorne
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"Thanks for the dinner, Javi," Arielle said as they exited the restaurant, an appreciative smile on her face as the gentleman accompanying her opened the door for her. "I'll make sure to get back to you if there are any changes." The handsome young man smiled at her and led her towards her car, a polite hand at the middle of her back to steer in the right direction. Luckily for him, it was appropriate enough. The other side of her was sated by the steak she ingested and currently found him harmless.

"No problem." She could feel him hesitating when they finally reached her vehicle. Arielle paused, hand still in her purse to pull her keys out and eyes on him expectantly. Javier smirked at that and cleared his fault. "And maybe, if its alright with you, we can do this again some time." A small smile spread on her face and Arielle lowered her head to the ground so that he wouldn't see the other part of her come to life.

No!No!No!No!No!No!No!

"Sure, why not?" Javier was harmless and all they would be doing is hanging out or grabbing a bite to eat. There was nothing serious about. But still, something twisted in her stomach that made her smile feel somewhat forced. However, Javier must not have seen that. His smile was bright and adorable.

"Alright then. Good night." He pecked her cheek gently before walking to his car, waiting until she was seated in her own before entering his. Arielle sat there for a moment to mull over the decision she just made. Was she just leading Javier on? Sure, he was nice and definitely cute. But...was she even interested? Arielle deflated, sitting back in the driver's seat before pulling out her phone.

To: Everyone
Message: Party in Apartment 1416!! See you there!! :) :)


After that text was sent, she sent a quick message to Nailah, telling her that there were a few things she was going to pick up first before she came back to the apartment.

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Character Portrait: Tristan Hawthorne
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Policemen had surrounded the building approximately thirty minutes before Tristan and his partner drove up to the scene. Homocide. That was their reason for being here. Wyatt didn't disclose much else because that's all they knew—why would they call him otherwise? The two government officials fell into step with one another as they approached the scene, flashing their badges for a moment before the Chief Inspector met them at the door. "Inspector Hawthorne. Agent Johnson." Wyatt greeted him as Anderson before they were both led inside the building. The partners met each other's eyes briefly before Wyatt's brows went pert, going in ahead of the taller man. "Rebecca Taylor. Twenty three years of age. Organ donor. No signs of sexual abuse as far as we can tell. No signs of forced entry. No feasible cause of death other than an overdose."

"But it's not overdose-..." Wyatt guessed.

Anderson gave him a solemn look, "We're just covering all the basics."

Wyatt turned to Tristan who had only been half listening to the conversation as his eyes drifted about the room. "Got anything so far, Holmes?"

There are nineteen windows in the building, which has four potential ground level exits and nobody inside. The rust on the padlock on the main warehouse door suggests upwards of three years disuse, a fact which is contradicted by the near-silent swing on the back door which isn’t a door at all but a graffiti-rich plywood panel on a couple of B&Q hinges. No, Home-base; brighter quality of brass, higher nickel content. The broken glass in the concurrent alley is not shards but a fine powder suggestive of small vessels walked into the ground. High traffic area. Vials. Conclusion: drug dealers in operation in this area. Conclusion: trusted, respected, great deal of return custom. Conclusion: good place to score.

All that, by the way, in the space of about half a second, the remainder of which second was dedicated to the delicate last traces of lighter gas and hot metal that mean somewhere nearby someone is already cooking up. There are fourteen girders in the ceiling, the best exit is the fire exit beyond the broken-windowed office on the right, the window of which was broken no more than four weeks ago by the unworn sharpness of the shards and broken from within by the amount of glass scattered on this side. A three-side square of raw, torn wood on the floor shows where a stage has been torn out. In its history this building was a theater. Then it was a munitions factory during the war; again, the markings on the floor give away the benches that were here and the age of the markings gives me the era and it is, then, logically, gunpowder which has stained the floorboards dark in places. Then it was used to store shoes—but don't ask him how he knew that. You'd be there forever trying to comprehend it.

"Not much." Tristan replied with a hint of a smirk on his lips. Wyatt shook his head, withholding the chuckle rising up in his throat because it'd be rude to giggle at a crime scene. Anderson handed over a pair of latex gloves which Tristan hastily put on, squatting near the body of the dead young woman. Addict, he concluded. The blue tinge to her skin and the way it hung loosely against the bone would suggest that. Her malnourished state coupled with the loss of hair, the brittle fingernails, and the chipped teeth also leans slightly toward the idea. Puncture wounds around the radial artery and broken blood vessels. Overall attire of a crack addict. All in all, obvious signs of substance abuse. However, it's not what killed her. Not if the faint bruises around her throat were anything to go by. "She didn't overdose."

"No?"

"No."

"Then what happened to her?"

"She was strangled." Tristan replied in nonchalance, "Look there. Bruising around the throat and a crushed trachea. The bruises look faded because of her poor state of health. From the look of her attire and the state she's in now I would conclude that it was her dealer."

"But there were no signs of sexual abuse." Anderson retorted. "We'd checked already."

Tristan scowled slightly, "Anderson turn the other way, you're putting me off."

"So if there's no sign of abuse-..." Wyatt interjected. "...then it must've been-..."

"Autoerotic asphyxiation," Tristan concluded. "Often mistaken for homicide or suicide. My guess is that she was paying for her next fix with intercourse."

"So the guy had a kink. Why don't you think it was intentional?"

Tristan cocked a brow, "Would you kill a woman who would willingly have intercourse with you whenever you asked?" At this question Wyatt closed his mouth, leaving Tristan an opening to elaborate. "This wasn't their first time I'd imagine. From the state of her health she's been doing this for two to three years. If there's still benzoylmethyl ecgonine in her system that I would only assume that he was under the influence as well. They're in the midst of it, he gets excited, he gets carried away and suddenly she's no longer breathing." Tristan took off the gloves and discarded them next to the body, turning to Anderson, "Have them check her for it during the autopsy. If it comes back positive then you have your answer. Once the body is removed I would suggest keeping an eye on this place. It's a high traffic house for drug distribution and will more than likely be used again once the police have vacated the area. Get someone to go undercover and you should find your guy. Wattson?"

Wyatt watched Tristan leave with a look of amusement before turning to Anderson and giving his a small wave. "Well that went a lot faster than I expected," His partner mused as they both got into the car.

"Did you expect anything else?"

"Nah, I just never get used to it." As Wyatt pulled away from the scene, Tristan felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. It was a text from Arielle, something about a party. In truth he didn't want to go. However if he went home and August was there, the younger man would force him too. He sighed, relishing this last moment of piece as Wyatt drove them to a diner. This manner of socializing he could handle. Parties? Not his forte.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Augustus West Character Portrait: Dina King Character Portrait: Arielle Murdoc Character Portrait: Gavin Astor Character Portrait: Tristan Hawthorne
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Gavin glanced over at Augustus, raising an eyebrow once more, mostly at his comment on the sexual relations between Tristan and Arielle. His reply is buffered with a shrug, partially because he can't honestly say on the matter, regardless of the fact that the young man across from him asks in a mostly joking manner. They both know by now that Tristan isn't really the sort- in fact, Gavin might be hard pressed to remember any instance of Tristan bringing a girl home without some sort of platonic bond being the explanation. He'd guessed, for most of the time that they'd known each other, that the genius was asexual. Perhaps he is, and aromantic as well, though Gavin has slightly greater doubts in regards to that. "Can't say, man. You know how he is,"
and clearly, Augustus does, for he launches into an impersonation close enough to prompt a laugh from Gavin- in no small part due to the great contrast in height between Augustus and the demi-Goliath that he is making an effort to mimic. His following words a source of slight confusion on his part, however.

"Your ship? What?" having never been the sort to go on the internet much, or to be part of fandoms and the like, the term is foreign to Gavin. He is somewhat glad to move on to a topic with which he is far more familiar- the hospital. He finds it a bit funny that Augustus still doesn't really know his schedule, though chalks it up to the fact that he's often somewhere else at night and during the day. At least, away enough to not realize that Gavin works the night shift, not the day shift. "Day off, actually. And as far as lonely lady nurses go- you should probably watch less soap operas," he responds nonchalantly, though with a smile. He's not being entirely honest, though- he is quite popular with many of his female coworkers, as it happens. But, he doesn't like the idea of dating at work- if there's a break up, it would just make things awkward, and that's the last thing one needs rushing about a place full of the injured, ill, and dying.

He glances at the clock, "Besides, you're the one surrounded by female models, right? At the moment, I'm more content to surround myself with a bed and blanket. Have a good day, man," he adds, before grabbing the water bottle, gulping down half of it, and returning to his bedroom for a much needed rest.
---

Just as he is getting to the ending of a movie, after a day of sleeping and then going to the gym, Gavin's phone vibrates; it's a text from Arielle, and he hardly has to open it to guess the contents. After all, her apartment is known for their friday night parties, so consistent that it seems unnecessary to send out a text about it. Still, the man checks the message, confirming his suspicions.

To: Dina, Augustus, Tristan
Are you going to the party tonight?