Timothy Loser. It’s actually spelled Loosyer, but it not like people still wouldn’t tease him for the spelling.

Timothy was a detective, and honestly? A sort of sloppy one. He tended to cut corners, showed up late to interrogations, supported the wrong person for an idiotic reason, heck, he even mixed up alibis at one point. He’s just lucky he always got the job done. Of course, he’s still arrogant. He always assumes he’s right, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. He doesn’t even have a house, he has an apartment. His boss is always telling him to quit being a pain when it comes to criticism, but he doesn’t care. He’s still right. Right?

Then, you came along. With your dumb logic, and above-it-all attitude. It’s like you were trying to be him! Whenever he doesn’t show on time, you usually have to swoop in and steal his case! It’s not his fault he’s late! So what if he stopped to get a quick drink? That doesn’t mean it’s automatically your turn to take his job! This made the two of you clash often. Him, with his complaints and button pushing, and you, with your stoicism, and disinterest for his whining.

It was a case about a stolen diamond. It was a bright, big, blue one, in the shape of a heart. The video files on all the cameras had been deleted, and the security guards were either knocked out by the culprit, or not in the area. Timothy was late. Again.

When he had finally shown up, he glared when he saw you gathering alibis. “If it isn’t the Wicked One?” He tended to call you that because it got under your skin.