@jeoseungsaja | "i'm not drunk enough for this." (another wild card IUWHEDU, LOVE YOU❤️)
400 RANDOM DIALOGUE PROMPTS
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That’s one of those comments the likes of them shouldn’t enable during working hours, nor encourage outside of them, but Seok-ju still reacts by bursting into laughter, unabashed and far too fond of the possibility of taking these circumstances by involving the steely-eyed, sharp-tongued detective imported straight from Seoul in a more inebriated rendition of his self.
He hadn’t known how to feel about it at first, understandable as this reaction was considered by many. Working with officers and detectives and inspectors from other cities usually ends in a lot more ‘let’s never do this again’ than ‘I’m so happy we did that’. Interest and styles tend to clash, even in a field that should be as clear-cut in its procedures and rules as this one, only perhaps rivalled by the medical world, where opinions barely exist unless it’s to decide between two options, and even then you’re supposed to choose which makes more sense according to the rules and precedents that has gotten that world as far as it got.
Detectives especially tend to clash, each used to handling things their own way and preferably on their own, flanked only by people who will look up to them for decisions and execute the orders they settle upon, they’re used to the people beneath them and the people above them and the freedom that comes with a lack of uniform and the weight of a badge attached to a hip, power with individuality intact.
So yeah, how to feel about the notorious Grim Reaper from Seoul’s main precinct’s violent crimes division somehow getting dragged into a collaboration with the one detective in the Chuncheon force known for uncovering details even the most dedicate forensic had brushed right over, and this usually after he’d been caught staring into nothingness for ten minutes straight, or walked into a room with a look on their face not resembling the personality the ones around them are trying to apply to him, something odd and new about their gait that they can’t explain without explaining a bit too much.
He did think it pretty hilarious that detective Lee Hyuk’s moniker was that, of all the possible titles they could have given him. Hilarious in that semi-hysterical way where his mental laughter is a tad too shrill and desperately holding onto the blanket that’s keeping their internal eye from all the mess that lies beneath it.
But that’s where the amusement had stopped. Once they’d looked – up – at the guy, seen the look on his face, listened to his first greeting and understanding what the rest of his demeanour was offering, they’d quickly settled back into the resignation of this being a very difficult collaboration, and thanking whatever deity had made them stubborn yes, but not nearly conflict-seeking enough to butt heads with another officer.
No, Seok-ju’s style is just doing what he thinks is right, and if you don’t like it, he’ll just wait until you leave. And then do it. All within the natural order and laws that dictate the field they work in. Not so much the natural order and laws of life, but that’s for another day.
So he’d done his greetings, gotten through the introductions, gotten into a car, reached the crime scene, and readied themself for a day of minimal conversation and deep sighs, the kind meant to reel in the displeasure generated by having to defend your ideas over and over, before a man who perhaps meant to emulate his moniker to the best of his abilities.
But now Seok-ju is leaning against the side of his car, hands folded in front of himself, and shoulders slightly hunched as they allow the laughter to ripple through them.
Hey, he does have a sense of humour after all, look at that! He’d thought the joke they’d thrown out, about the witness’s own state of inebriation would be met with silence at best, and a genuine scolding at worst, to hear this muttered in response, well.
Seok-ju pushes himself off the car and comes to rest next to the other detective, contrasting his words and his stance with a much more relaxed version of his own. It’s true. Certain scenarios are best dealt with enough lacking wit of mind that you wouldn’t be forced to slam headfirst into the logical barricades your brain has to offer in response to what you’re asked to witness.
The witness in question is currently nearly completely invisible safe for the mop of hair and the hand Seok-ju can see peek out through the mountain of cardboard boxes he’d most likely been thrown into, or fallen into after one bottle of Soju too many. He looks like he’d spent the night there, which is of course just perfect, in the most sarcastic way Seok-ju can enunciate the word, for the purpose he’s meant to fulfil in ongoing investigations.
The other detective’s frustration is only understandable. When it comes to police investigations, the human element is always the most difficult to handle. But knowing that doesn’t exactly make it easier to swallow. And knowing that there’s no way around it, considering the seriousness of the situation, doesn’t make it better either.
You try hunting down what the precinct is slowly suspecting to turn itself into a serial killer – reason why they’d dragged someone in from Seoul, as if coming from Seoul instantly made you that much more capable, or maybe it’s the moniker and the reputation that precedes him for miles – when the only witness you managed to scout out after weeks of sleepless nights turns out to be this.
Seok-ju themself is trying to take it in stride because he was the one with sleepless nights and if they don’t joke about it a little, they will most definitely start screaming. So, rather than startling everything around an inconveniently quiet area, he reaches out and delivers a few amicable pats to Detective Lee’s arm.
“I’ll buy you a few rounds after this, promise,” he offers, eyebrows drawing together as their head tilts, turning their blooming smile into one of genuine apology.
Then he turns to the living corpse – for he hardly looks like anything more than that – still snoring away in what must be the most uncomfortable sleeping position he’s ever seen, and this is coming from someone who has found a permanent resting place in the most uncomfortable of chairs, they know what they’re talking about.
“So, rock-paper-scissors or do we toss a coin?”
Because their offer of drinks doesn’t extend his attempts at kindness and amicability to volunteering to wake this guy up.
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