undergrounds | The June Detective [Open]

A: Everyone's a critic

The only negative thing about his promotion was that Heiji really only had a select few people he could even tell about it -- mention you weren't really a human in casual conversation, see how long till you ended up under psychiatric evaluation. Still, Heiji could hardly conceal his good mood. Thus he had rewarded himself with the latest moderately detective-themed airplane novel by a decent writer that he could find, and was rapidly making his way through it on the train, in the park, wherever.

"I dunno. I can understand likin' a writer a lot. I don't see why anyone would commit murder because of it, though. Ain't that goin' a little too far?"

B: I've just had a little fae experience

Provided they slipped through just the right set of trees, someone might just find the rest of London fade away -- the noise of traffic, the noise of the crowd. Dense forest would press in from all sides, but a stone walkway would lead up below a long row of brightly-painted red wooden gates of some ceremonial significance.

At the top of the stone steps: a small shrine, with two guardian fox statues on either side. How curious...

C Other! Open to suggestions and such; Heiji will also just be outright barging into the personal space of whoever he's friendly with and starting up conversations during the month, so that's a thing, too.

Threaded | Flat

A cool breeze preceded her, frosting the needles on the nearby trees as she made her way through the forest, only to hear the complaint off to the side. When she broke through the tree-line she glanced down at the man focused on his book, and tilted her head. "Sometimes it isn't a matter of making sense. If someone likes something they simply wish to keep it to themselves." Her voice broke the silence he'd lapsed back into as she looked down at him and his book, a little curve of her lip showing some amusement at having found him complaining about mortal literature. "Personally I find it a waste."

Hood pulled up over his head, he makes the trip across London to visit the shrine. While the weather isn’t particularly dour this day, it’s cool enough for a Californian like Stiles to feel chilled. So he donned his favorite sweatshirt before following the directions Heiji had given to him via text message. The request to meet had been vague, but after the Blackthorn Mansion incident, Stiles’ trust in Heiji is fairly strong. He even leaves behind his precious lacrosse stick.

Once he reaches the shrine itself, he pauses to spin on a heel and soak in the sight of the place. The architecture is fascinating, though the statues kind of give him the creeps.

“Hey, Heiji! You there, dude?”

Talking to yourself on a train isn't healthy Heiji. The other humans give an occasional glance or outright ignore him, but the air is tinged slightly fae with far too much silver to be healthy, and the one sitting across with their face hidden in a newspaper is the only one that answers.

"It's a type of mirroring. The culprit obsesses over the writer, then replicates the writer's story in an attempt to show similarity to said writer. Most likely in some delirious attempt to gain the writer's attention, praise, or friendship. The motive is less a desire to kill, but more of a desire to send a message to the relevant person. Additionally, stop trying to judge a third-rate novel to higher standards."

The entire statement is delivered in a neigh-monotone to the obituaries section, automated and bluntly honest, but hey. Valid points. Mystery nerd located.

Perhaps a little of A but in the Other Realm?

B

A; Hey lookit how late I am do I get a medal