11 Works by pilotfive
Listing Works
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Maybe he realises that actually, for once, you were being sincere. He joins you in cloud watching, the silence comfortable. You’re so often on edge around others, a learned response. One of your early guardians had likened you to a feral cat, in constant fight-or-flight, and perhaps they were right. You can’t remember the last time it felt like this. Easy. Comfortable.
Safe, maybe.
Who the hell is this man?
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A series of vignettes, as if our two detectives had met long before ‘51
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You’ve been here before. The new you, the one that smokes like a chimney but doesn’t drink or shoot up, has been here before; 2 or maybe 3 months prior, riddled with insomnia, performing the usual ritual of walking the streets until something made sense or pulled you in. You’d stood in the early morning haze and felt something unknown and external tug at the centre of you, like an unpleasant hook through the bellybutton.
Standing here now, deeper inside the carcass of this long abandoned warehouse, swarmed at the edges by RCM patrolmen, the pull comes again, unusual and unsettling. You don’t have enough words to speak it through with your partner yet, and you hadn’t wanted to think about it before either; for once the desire to explore had been unceremoniously extinguished.
You weren’t so lucky this time.
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In which Harry and Kim work a case and fall down a rabbit hole.
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It’s snowing again.
It’s becoming something of a recurring joke between Harry and Jean at this point. Every time it snows, Kim is at the window, frowning, furious in his usual understated way. ‘Maybe he thinks if he glares at it enough, the snow will melt away’, Jean had offered. Harry’s not one to join in when it’s at Kim’s expense, but it is, genuinely, so funny how angry he gets. About snow, of all things.
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Après L’Espionnage, Le Sommeil by pilotfive for itsGERALD
Fandoms: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
20 Aug 2022
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Jean is somewhat correct. The lack of sleep (and nothing else, Jean confirms, and you flush with relief) has made Harry…well. It’s made him…something.
He stands in your apartment doorway, propped up by Vicquemare, and pulls a face somewhere between ‘eating a lemon’ and a smile, all crinkled eyes and pursed lips. Jean’s face is just the lemon.
“Where d’you want me to put this oaf, then?” Jean asks, and Harry mutters ‘fuckin’ rude’ whilst Jean manhandles him towards one of the two chairs at your tiny kitchen table. He slumps there, and you stand over him with Vicquemare, until the combined image of the two of you causes Harry to blush, to cover his face with two hairy paws and giggle.
“S-stop!” He hiccups. Jean audibly sighs and looks up at the ceiling. You excuse yourself on the basis of making tea, so neither one of your guests sees your smirk.
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In which Harrier Du Bois gets a bit silly this time.
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Before, you would have doubted it. But it’s been like this for long enough to know that it’s yours. You are no longer giving with both hands to someone who wants none of it. He receives and gives in return.
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A lazy Sunday morning for our favourite boys
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The gist of it was this: infiltrate La Puta Madre, get key names, dates and locations, and get out. As if this was an easy task, and not something the RCM had been struggling to achieve successfully for decades.
The Moralintern’s present, Benjamin Setsuna, was a recent addition to the Madre, previously not physically present within the Jamrock locale. La Madre knew a name, that he was Seolite, his necessary business dealings, but had never actually seen the man.
Kim resented that this task had fallen to him, as the precinct’s only high ranking Seolite officer. He had accepted the task, mask carefully in place, but he felt Harry shift angrily next to him at their secondary briefing.
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In the beginning you dream about a shard of light, illuminating the path ahead of you. It wavers; sometimes it’s unbearably bright and warm, other times it struggles. It takes you longer than you would like to admit to realise that it always relates to him. When he has a good day, your dreams are steeped in gold. When he flirts along the edges of relapse, the light isn’t quite there, like a faltering lightbulb on the brink of burning out. He stumbles in the waking hours and you stumble in the dark.
Little by little he is becoming something in your rote routine, breaking it apart in a way you aren’t quite prepared for. You’re frustrated by it, by how quickly he had such a hold on you. You’ve never needed another soul in your life.
You’re beginning to need him.
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02.06.22: This has been updated to include a little extra content! -
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You haven’t spoken with anyone about this, not even Kim. You run a lot of things past Kim, but for once you just wanted to branch out on your own with this one. Even though Kim’s experience would probably be incredibly valuable here, more so than anyone else’s.
He’s half the reason you’re doing this in the first place. Well, more like 90% of the reason, but you’re still pretending he hasn’t fast become the centre of your little universe—you’re too chicken-shit to put a name to it, too fearful that he might yet become another apricot-scented tragedy.
On the bed in your room you’ve laid out an outfit…waiting, accompanied by a yellow printed flyer, an advertisement for the club you want to try tonight. You’ve had it hidden for as long as it’s been in your possession—too shy to take that final step.
But you’re doing it tonight, you’ve decided. You stand, once your work is done, in front of the mirror and look at your new face with renewed determination.
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You’ve thought about it many times, but now that it’s actually happening, you’re not sure you ever wanted it quite like this.
He’s slumped against the bank of filing cabinets in C Wing’s main space, legs splayed out in front of him, head rolling. Jean pulled you here, from the breakout room; interrupted your dutifully sober festivities to show you Torson’s latest handiwork.
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In which Kim Kitsuragi gets very silly.
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“A small item for your review, Lieutenant,”
It’s spoken quietly, almost inaudible, but Harry had felt her walk up to his desk and had dutifully ended the last sentence in his report in preparation. When he looks up at Alice’s figure stood over him, she’s holding out a small paper envelope, a soft smile on her face.
He has all the time in the world for their newest recruit from the 57th (anyone with the full backing of Kim is A-OK in Harry’s book); she’s polite and pleasant, very good at her work—and most importantly, there’s a streak of competitiveness in her that manifests in innumerable delightful ways.This week she seems to be focusing on revealing small tidbits of ‘Lt. Kitsuragi’ to Harry, and he is more than happy to facilitate this at every opportunity.
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He is never chasing after a suspect younger than 15 again.
The little shit had had the cheek to dip into a previously unseen turn at the edge of the field—had leapt with practice, used to the terrain, over a particularly large stretch of mud and filth, hidden in the dark unless you knew it was there. Jean had not seen it until he was face first in it.
Thankfully, the precinct’s locker rooms are blissfully silent at this time of night. The night shift are already in situ, so no one will be using the facilities likely until the day shift returns in the morning. He is lord of this particular domain for the time being and intends to make the most of it.