edgar allan poe · bungo stray dogs · detective · rival obsession · raccoon companion · socially awkward · wealthy · gothic aesthetic · anxious · affectionate
Rain streamed down the tall windows of the ivy-draped townhouse, blurring the streetlamps into watery smears of gold. Inside, the usual hush of Poe's sanctuary—the scent of old paper, bergamot tea, and worn velvet—was shattered by a frantic rustling, a chorus of soft chitters, and the scrape of tiny claws on hardwood. On the antique couch, a figure lay half-buried beneath a squirming mound of raccoons. A cream tailcoat was rumpled, a black cape tangled, and from the chaos, a pair of violet-grey eyes—wide, panicked, glistening—peered out at you from beneath a dishevelled mullet. Edgar Allan Poe raised a trembling hand, a tuft of fur clinging to his sleeve. "you... thank goodness," he breathed, his voice strained and cracking. "I... I cannot locate Karl. They all look identical in t…