Karkinos — Roleplayer Guild

> >  𝙊𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙖 𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙩, 𝙋𝙄 // 𝙄𝙣𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧 𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙩
31 - ♀ - human.
♬ Unfinished Business
𝘼𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 
In full. Pale blue eyes; freckled Type III complexion; average height; makeup; 'utility belt' concealed under coat, gives the impression of being moderately supplied; effective poker face - image-conscious; thoroughly cloaked in black; low, baritone voice that rises in intensity in accordance to whether the focal point of a conversation. Her boots have heels. The pendant on her necklace serves as her on-duty badge to indicate she is a detective. It is enchanted to spell out her title and other requisites in response to physical contact.

𝘼𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨
Minot's "mystic impotency," flatteringly put by an unsympathetic family of mages, means she is immune to all direct magical effects, though incapable of spell-casting herself. A combination of two-faced, pompy upbringing and education as an investigator has also made her proficiency at "poker-facing" where her emotions, her true intentions are consistently unreadable from a body language standpoint. Although as a detective, Minot herself is trained in reading individuals — she has little to hide, anyway, in spite of how gothic her temperament can become. Within her field, her practicality, her sharp eye, and her ability to react quickly in the times she's latched onto a red herring or stumbled onto risky circumstance have proven assets.

𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙒𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨
There's only so much her "impotency" can protect her. In a world of wizards, wonders, and demigods, she is just a woman with an education and a loaded gun. This is especially relevant to the investigator as, beneath her hardened exterior, an envier who wanted to fling fireballs with her siblings is alive and kicking. Minot's inner thrill-seeker is what ultimately led her to Trios to solve the perceived impossible, what spurred her to part from the protection of law enforcement, and to continue to put herself in preposterous situations with the very slight probability of coming out better than the cowards dipping the call.

Otherwise, there's her germaphobia, if the gloves and length of elaborate, black clothes weren't already a flag against physical contact. Those are also the solutions, though, and it isn't commonly an obstacle in her career.

𝙒𝙚𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙣
Her PI status gives her privilege to a licensed revolver — possibly smuggled from her old gig with the police, but she's sentimental for it — a "G. Merlin" model with a compact design that packs the subtlety of a pocket gun when holstered at her hip underneath her coat. She has enough bullets to fully reload one time.

𝙄𝙩𝙚𝙢𝙨
A pocket knife. Pens. A magnifying glass with a rowan-wood handle. A roll of bandages. A pouch with pocket change and cosmetics lined with cotton swabs, and attached to it by a chain. Minot's belt isn't light on utility.

More discernible is the thick manila envelope tucked under her left arm: resources and documents with names just nearing a hundred. All deceased, or soon to be, because there isn't a cure — not yet. 

"TRIOS" reads the cover in black ink.

"Pardon the intrusion; I should be the one performing the inquiry, ma'am."

𝘽𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮
The Minots are upper-class pioneers in the documentation of spell-casting, the microcosm of potential in that occult realm forever being at the whims of their lieges' fingertips. Overtime, they have acquired in a certain taste in two extremes: highly-destructive — maelstroms, explosives, loads and loads of fire — and that seeped in mystifying jargon — magic linked to astrology and "power signs," that active in premeditating events; planting curses; warping the surrounding world; crafting illusions and fake thoughts; summoning intelligible creatures from the void that stares back; etcetera, etcetera. It shouldn't matter to Inspector Minot who was born the youngest of five prodigal siblings, came out the only one incapable of any and all of that wizardry. Under private tutelage throughout her adolescence, in spite of her own personal obduracy and tough regiment, she never fruited. Henceforth, she was diagnosed "impotent," and it came at the expense of her image among her family, in-particular her brother and sisters. It seemed the world at large could accept her; at the academy she intended, her hard work actually paid off, and got her into an impressive law school. But it wasn't a magic school, so at home, she became the worst order of laughingstock, an "inside joke" of sorts in passing, and referred to in roundabout ways by the older Minots. This was all not to mention the verbal lashings and overwrought humiliations of her older sisters.

On a positive note, that sort of familial abuse was what law effectively saved her from. The PI can trace her stalwart sense of righteousness in those years of mistreatment. Attending, and eventually graduating, Auchter School of Law would allow her to estrange from much of her family altogether, shifting from the gated community of her adolescence to the city of New Cantor, a metropolis not without its high places, but ultimately clasped with classism, fraud, and criminal activity. The inquirer wouldn't have it any other way, working as a police detective in her early-to-mid-twenties. In those years, she would retain semi-consistent contact with her brother, older by two years, who worked in the mining industry. 

Around the time of her brother's engagement, the romanticism surrounding Inspector Minot's job began to lift, her responsibilities increasingly concerning the legal bickering of wealthy factory owners — far less of the field work and mystery-solving that she wanted and relied on. Perceiving the system as an obstacle, she broke off as a private investigator at 29, set her office at the heart of New Cantor — it was a relatively recent decision. She was optimistic, but hardly naive enough to presume her first case would be that of her life. 

But it was possible — her sister-in-law's telegraph cracked with grief. 

She had attended her father's funeral some years before; it'd been the first time she'd seen her mother, her sisters, in nearly a decade. The investigator had never anticipated her brother's would be so quick in succession. Dead at 31 — it was a shock. And Delia, that was his wife and the sister-in-law, assured her the death was premeditated. The red-heads's evidence: a curse, one that had traced her close friends and lineage for decades. One only she was immune to because her inability to spell-cast. Minot ought to know, and she ought to want revenge. Both of those insinuations were true, but the rabbit hole went deeper than Minot had anticipated. 

It's been two years with the case laid unsolved in the midst of Minot's detective life. She can't accept any of Delia's bribes anymore, for her own conscience. But she's narrowed it down: two breakthroughs. The first is that the supposed "curse" is rather an illness, one mysterious and incurable. The second is resultant of the first: Minot's brother, Delia's husband, isn't the only victim. They're nearing a hundred, those recorded, all with the same show of symptoms. All with common background: in the gold-gilded capital, the city of Trios.

𝙊𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧
Biggest pet peeve is being addressed on a first name basis by acquaintances and co-workers. She will always introduce herself as "Inspector Minot."

fc: Lucy Thorne, Assassin's Creed Syndicate

The little blob's loyalty was split the instant the monster (@Strong Potato) came surging forward, between someone who had been, in some part, easy to understand for it - a long-eared human woman (@Assallya), fled - and then the man without the mask (@Gentlemanvaultboy) it had trailed for more or less the same reason. There could very well be a monster there; the slime recalls teeth. 

With the mask gone, he steps forward with hospitality. And the distended figure of the thing was so close. 

"This is my friend," the man introduces. He is leaving himself very open. It has to assume this is a formality, and that she is just a meager, viscous pile-up in their eyes; if they were dismissive, inattentive, this action would be subtle: the flattening of her body into a semi-suffusive puddle, the cooling of her temperature as she concentrates, hard. And then it moves, discreet against the concrete, skittering off into the darkness with just that faint glow as indication, and a slight rippling motion: little nubs along the bottom, like the feet of a caterpillar, moving in unison. 

Like a liquid spill sliding along the floor. Then, waves tumbling over one after the other - an amorphous, billowing shape; it's picking up speed. And finally, a figure breaks the surface, and a little girl is skirting down the hallway as fast as she can, risking a glance behind her to ensure she has not been followed or recognized. 

A colossus (@Samdragonx) bares lightning in her path, and she doesn't even notice him-

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