Copper Script

by K.J. Charles

Detective Sergeant Aaron Fowler massaged the base of his skull. It didn’t relieve the pain in his neck, because that was sitting opposite him in an expensive suit.

London was full of men who lacked hands and arms and legs and eyes, and that was the damage you could see. It wasn’t even the most notable thing about him. That would be the moustache, which was horrible.

I like this. but KJ Charles does love to maim her poor heroes!

given that self-inflicted disfigurement,

😂

Blunt, not to say a touch aggressive. He had what Aaron’s father would have called front, a way of meeting the world jaw-first. Aaron had no objection to that; he found bluntness more appealing than charm.

Hmm 😍

this chap’s got a lot going on inside that’s a challenge for him, therefore it’s liable to be a challenge for someone who loves him. I’m not saying he’s not worth it, not that at all. I think...I think, if you could...” He looked back at the paper. “Actually, I think it would be absolutely worth it. There’s so much pent up, so much feeling. God. If someone could just cut those laces for him, I bet he’d—” He clamped his mouth shut on that, the copper eyebrows shooting up. Aaron said, “He’d what?” “Nothing.”

This is hot and sweet at the same time.

The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread.’” “Exactly!” Wildsmith said. “Did you just think of that? It’s jolly good.” “Anatole France.”

Aaron saw quite a few things, one of which was that Wildsmith was very good at what he did, which was nothing to do with handwriting. He clearly understood people, and particularly the two most potent human desires of them all: to be found interesting, and to gossip about others.

“Please, just go to the police. Ask them to spare five minutes from their busy schedule of harassing the Irish and entrapping men in public conveniences, and look at this fellow.

😂😂😂

Aaron was going to give his cousin the sort of dressing-down that led strong men to emigrate.

According to Aaron’s hasty reading, such luminaries as Disraeli, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Browning had believed in the power of graphology, but they were a pack of writers and not to be relied on for common sense.

😂😂😂 She is killing me with this one!

GK Chesterton had taken issue with the Holmes quotation. He’d said that if you told him the Prime Minister was haunted by a ghost, that was impossible, whereas if you told him that the Prime Minister had slapped Queen Victoria on the back and offered her a cigar, that was merely improbable, but he knew very well which of the two was more likely to be true. Which was all very well, but Aaron didn’t believe in ghosts. He reminded himself of that several times as he walked home.

KJ is writing goals!

Aaron could imagine Challice had an advantage when it came to interviewing a three-year-old whose father had given her gonorrhea, or a thirteen-year-old who’d been raped by four men in a row and was now pregnant, but

Um, gross. Maybe not necessary.

skin tended to be thin where it had been previously rubbed raw.

Without the foliage he had a lovely mouth, with a perfectly curved upper lip and a full lower one.

Nothing more telling than noticing the beauty of someone's mouth.

“You did that last time. I’m not a great admirer of policemen who pretend to be private citizens. It tends to end badly for the people they lie to.”

poor sod . That's an excellent point.

“I don’t think I’m being importunate, although you’re certainly being obdurate,”

This is a startling bit of vocabulary.

Aaron weighed it up rapidly. He wanted answers, and he had nothing else to do, and Wildsmith had shaved.

So you'll do it because he's hot? 😂😂😂

He hadn’t served in a war for people to go around not offering other people tea.

Lol!!!

He had a feeling that behind him Fowler was looking around. Probably at his inept efforts at writing, maybe at his bleak room. There was very little chance he was looking at Joel’s arse.

But there's always a chance 😂

He’d initially held his mouth tight and hard in a decidedly unappealing way, but when he’d been startled it had softened and rounded and...oof. Joel could be a fool for a man like that. If that man wasn’t a rozzer. Which this one was. So fuck him, and not in the good way.

I didn’t think much of him,” Joel added. “I’d choose my cousins more carefully if I were you.”

On your telling, you’re an extremely lucky man.” “Yes, I often think that,” Joel said, absolutely deadpan, and saw the flick of Fowler’s eyes to his left arm.

“As for what I’d do in your place... I hope I would realise that the graphologist whose time I’m taking up couldn’t possibly have intimate knowledge of my cousin’s post-coital correspondence or my brother-in-law’s horticultural pursuits. That I’m fretting about a couple of freak coincidences, and everything else can be explained by the fact that said graphologist is as talented as he is good-looking.”

plosive,

Now you tell me, who wrote the second paper?” “Why do you want to know that?” What he’d have liked to say was That hand was hot as hell and I want its owner’s name and address. Any ideas?

“When I read your friend’s letter, I thought that was someone who, in the right circumstances—the right hands—would bang like a barn door in the wind.

Oh I'm using this!!!!

Then he put his back to the door, slid down to the floor, and laughed himself sick.

Lol. you're an asshole and I love you!!!

but talk about self-control, a thing Joel respected more in the breach than the observance.

obdurately

Joel intended to make himself fit for civil life and work. He had a plan. But for that he needed money, and so he’d turned his talent to account. He could read character in handwriting: if you called it graphology, it sounded like something you could charge for. As such, he’d built up a bit of a reputation and a growing clientele, enough to afford this poxy little room all to himself and start to accumulate savings. He was a respectable member of society if you didn’t look too closely and Fowler’s disapproval was neither here nor there.

This kind of paragraph is what I need to do for jade. Something like jade knew she was different afterward. She stumbled through her classes with somnolent determination, Earning a S. in a fugue state Without committing a single fact to memory

when some men got cold feet, they used them to kick with.

“Thanks for the advice, but I don’t have a great deal of choice,” Joel said. “And, you know. Thank you for...” Being honest would probably offend. “I realise you don’t believe in what I do, and you didn’t have to listen to me at all, so—thanks, that’s all.”

This is masterful writing because this entire scene is interesting, but so powerful in establishing Aaron's character. She didn't say "Aaron was a kind honest man who would do whatever he could to right wrongs and propagate justice." But she showed this, and laid a beautiful foundation for Joel to fall in love with him.But she illustrated this through actions and laid beautiful ground work for Joel to believably fall in love with him.

He’d also heard of colleagues taking payment in kind from ladies of the night in return for looking the other way, which was a very euphemistic way to say extorting sexual services and not doing their job.

More excellent and effortless characterization for Aaron

But it didn’t do to flinch from painful truths,

as a result thoughts of Wildsmith wouldn’t leave him. The way he switched between cockiness, outright aggression, and a sudden vulnerability that the prickliness was clearly protecting. The quickness to laugh, or to anger. The unfeasible claims. The wide, joyous smile.

That conversation in his dingy room had been too much: Aaron had been left speechless, deeply alarmed and, unfortunately, extremely aroused. Bang like a barn door in the wind. The cocky little swine.

“Red-headed, left-handed, and queer,” Wildsmith said, the words thankfully low enough to be lost in the chatter around him. “Is that what you mean?” “Well—” “I didn’t choose to be any of the above.

It was absurd. You couldn’t get hot for handwriting. And yet he had, a response deep in the flesh, squeezing his lungs and tightening his groin. He’d sunk into the hand and felt all that discomfort and self-control to the point of pain and those bottled-up longings, and he’d wanted nothing more than to pop the writer’s cork.

“So will you do it?” “Do—?” “The test.” He paused, then added, “I wish you would.” “Because?” Joel said, and then, “Because you still don’t trust me. Not ‘still’. I mean, you don’t trust me. It’s always in the back of your mind that you think I’m a liar or a cheat or some kind of Svengali genius capable of setting up an elaborate deception scheme.” “Not the last one. I’ve discarded that possibility.” Joel eyed him malevolently. “I hope that was a compliment.”

Joel read it about six times, sinking into the black letters, feeling the maelstrom of Fowler’s tensions and wants, and then gave up, rolled onto his bed, and put his right hand to urgent use.

😂😂😂😂😂😂

Wildsmith hesitated. Then he leaned forward, and put his hand very gently on Aaron’s knee. “Look,” he said. “I have no idea about this, but I do know that you’re a decent man. More than decent. I am absolutely sure you’ll do the right thing if you can.”

I’ve yet to see you be wrong.” “Stick around, boyo.” “About graphology.”

“I do think I can trust you,” he said. “That still leaves the question of whether you might be able to trust me.” The words landed in silence. Not uncomfortable, more a quivering awareness that he’d taken a step forward. A moment of recalibration. Wildsmith’s eyes didn’t leave his face. “We could put that to the test too, Detective Sergeant. If you wanted. Though if you’d prefer gin and toast—” “What test do you have in mind?” Wildsmith took a deep breath. “I could make an indecent approach and see if you arrest me?”

It was probably the worst-timed come-on he’d ever given and certainly the most reckless.

I think you probably realise I don’t have a lot of experience. Certainly not as much as you.” “Are you insinuating something, Detective Sergeant?” Joel enquired, mock-huffily. “Habitual bad character?” “Yeah, fair enough.”

Aaron sat, and kicked his shoes off, which was very polite of him, then lay back. He looked like a man in a dream. Judging by his visibly straining prick, it was the kind of dream that left you wanting new sheets.

“You’re remarkably easygoing.” “No, I’m not. I’m a stroppy bitch.”

😂😂😂

Joel dug gleefully into an aromatic slow-cooked mutton dish, made indescribable noises over the curd with spinach, and had a religious experience with the fish, which was served whole and rubbed red with spices, then fried till the skin was crisp perfection and the flesh flaked effortlessly off the bone.

here he was now, waiting for a man with a laundry list of problems who’d ignored him for weeks and then sent a telegram ordering his presence, and who was even now in the back room with a doe-eyed and handsome restaurant proprietor doing God knows what. That said, Joel would fuck for this food, so he couldn’t argue that one.

“Well, ‘Last time was wonderful, shall we do it again?’ would be nice, and ‘I’m too much a coward to ask for what I want’ would be truthful, and ‘I’d rather be celibate forever than fuck you again’ would at least put an end to this farrago. I’d just like you to make up your mind what you want and stick to it, that’s all, because this pissing around is—” Painful, he wanted to say. Gutting. Leaving me lonelier than just being alone would. “Fucking annoying.”

Man. He IS a stroppy bitch.