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Description
After literal years i finally made a ref for this pretty pair of murderers. even tho it's kinda messy,, pls excuse that; i didnt sleep for more than 20 min last night

┄
►ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ғᴀᴄᴛs◄

ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ

▶ Almost definitely a legitimate sociopath, but extremely high functioning
▶ Enjoys baking & works in a bakery. Pretty passionate about bread; full on cold anger when people do it wrong or not to his standards
▶ Soft-spoken/quiet
▶ Kinda buff? And dresses well
▶ Landon has gotten him kind of confused. Angelo isn’t capable of love in a classical sense but he values Landon and it fucks with his interpretation of himself
▶ Kills “clean” and slow. Enjoys the victim’s fear more than the death; toys with his prey.
▶ Often ends up doing clean-up for Landon’s kills as well as his own
▶ Birthday is August 9, 1993

ʟᴀɴᴅᴏɴ

▶ Undiagnosed but entirely unstable
▶ Abuse survivor
▶ Unhealthily in love with Angelo; idealizes him, puts him on a godlike pedestal
▶ Disorganized as hell when it comes to the kill; zero nuance, all rage. Often ends up soaked in blood and gore. Will continue to stab a victim even after death; sometimes until he bends or breaks his knife or until he physically cannot continue.
▶ Was Chey’s youngest foster brother in his first home—the one Chey saved from being drowned
▶ Birthday is June 5, 1998
▶ Almost always wears a pale pink O-ring collar but this ref was being incredibly difficult for me so I didn't draw it
┄

sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ

Angelo squinted through the rain, dissatisfied with the mediocrity of the storm. Enough rain to partially clear the streets, to get in his eyes and hypothetically hinder his clean-up, but potentially not heavy enough to clean the scene in and of itself. It also wasn’t necessarily heavy enough rainfall to obscure him or his footsteps—and a scuffle could go in either direction when the city was slick with rain. He made his way behind buildings, through the back alleys, his lip curling as he was forced to step over trash and detritus. Glancing up a side street, he noticed a mother with a stroller—preoccupied as she was with her struggle to raise the raincover on the carriage, she would be easy enough to take by surprise. His fingers twitched, itching for his knife. Her fear over her child’s safety would be intoxicating, but therein was the issue. The child...Angelo frustratedly clenched his jaw. The thing would be no struggle to kill, of course, but the murder of an infant would draw the attention of even the overwhelmed and lazy NYPD. It wasn’t worth the risk.

He was about to turn away in search of different prey when the smallest hint of movement caught his eye from an alley just up the side street, about halfway between him and the woman with the baby. Someone else was watching her. Angelo’s mouth curled into an intrigued smile. Interesting. The figure in the alley was shorter than Angelo, stood rigidly, attention fixed on the woman. Their face obscured by an american flag bandana and a mask painted with orca-like markings, Angelo couldn’t guess at their gender—not that it mattered. The most interesting thing about them was the glint of steel in their hand and the slight step they’d taken forward to get a better look at the mother and child.

Angelo didn’t hesitate, just doubled back and headed up the previous side street, drew his own knife as he turned down the alley of the stranger.
He could barely resist grinning as words from a song came to mind; As the last rays of sunlight fade, one killer chases another through the tangled madness of the city.
Angelo stepped closer, allowing the rain and the stranger’s preoccupation to mask his approach. He eyed the other’s knife and gripped his own more tightly. A flash of steel announces the presence of his quarry. The stage is set.
“Are you trying to get yourself caught?”
The night explodes.
The stranger spun violently around at the sound of Angelo’s voice, whipping their weapon upward in preparation to strike. There was no hesitation in their posture; their stance was defiant, not fearful. Angelo stepped backwards, his own knife held up casually as he raised his eyebrows in interest.
“So you’ve killed before. Interesting.” He couldn’t see the expression on the stranger’s face but the way they froze with a near-imperceptible loosening of their shoulders told Angelo he’d managed to cause some confusion.
“Not my first rodeo, no.” The stranger replied, his voice lending credence to his slightly broader shoulders, narrower hips. Average serial killer; Male, usually over 20, potentially white, Angelo thought to himself; Fits. He smirked and let the silence hang in the air, and though the tension remained, the other man didn’t attack—as a matter of fact, his raised weapon lowered slightly. Angelo was intrigued and decided his interest outweighed the urge to slice open the neck of the masked stranger.
“So. Are we at an impasse we’ll have to kill to get out of, or can I buy you a drink?” He finally asked, pleased at the obvious shock in the posture of the other man.
“What?”
“Oh, and names can be falsified, so it would really be beneficial for you to take that thing off your face.”
The stranger leaned back distrustfully.
“My name is Landon.”
“Mine is Angelo. Mask off now.” Angelo said, keeping his tone even, but letting the persuasive flick of his knife gesture the implicit threat. This is a stand-off. Prove yourself or die. There was a moment where Landon made no move to comply and Angelo felt almost disappointed that he’d have to kill the interesting stranger, but finally Landon obeyed; reached up and yanked off his mask. Rain dampened dirty-blonde hair fell to his temples and his pale blue eyes challenged Angelo directly for the first time, his glare distrustful and searching. Angelo gave him an up-and-down, let his gaze linger on the pale pink O-ring collar encircling Landon’s throat.
“Hm. Prettier than I expected. Knives away, now. I’ll count down from three. Three, we lower our hands. Two, sheathe our weapons. One, release and raise our empty palms. Understood, Landon?” He expected the other to bristle at the comment, at being told what to do, but Landon impressed him with narrowed eyes and a stiff nod.
“Excellent. Three…” Both men lowered their arms, knife tips pointing to the ground. “...Two…” Both slowly slipped their knives into the leather sheaths clipped to their belts. “...and one.” They both raised their hands. “Wonderful.” Angelo stretched his out towards the other man. “It’s a pleasure.” Landon stared at him for a moment before slowly reaching out to shake his hand.
“...A pleasure.” Landon repeated. “Right.”
Angelo’s smirk still hadn’t left his face as he released Landon’s hand and folded his arms across his chest.
“I wasn’t joking about buying you a drink.” Angelo said, again allowing his eyes to drift to the collar at the other man’s neck, “Though we could also just find some poor fool to gut together. Either way, let’s get to know each other, Landon. I think we could be...friends.”
It was Landon who smirked this time, eyes glittering. “Friends. Right.”
┄

『ʟᴀɴᴅᴏɴ's ᴀᴇsᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ
ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ's ᴀᴇsᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ
ʟᴀɴᴅᴏɴ's ғᴀsʜɪᴏɴ ʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs
ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ's ғᴀsʜɪᴏɴ ʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs
ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴀᴇsᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ 』

Description
After literal years i finally made a ref for this pretty pair of murderers. even tho it's kinda messy,, pls excuse that; i didnt sleep for more than 20 min last night

┄
►ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ғᴀᴄᴛs◄

ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ

▶ Almost definitely a legitimate sociopath, but extremely high functioning
▶ Enjoys baking & works in a bakery. Pretty passionate about bread; full on cold anger when people do it wrong or not to his standards
▶ Soft-spoken/quiet
▶ Kinda buff? And dresses well
▶ Landon has gotten him kind of confused. Angelo isn’t capable of love in a classical sense but he values Landon and it fucks with his interpretation of himself
▶ Kills “clean” and slow. Enjoys the victim’s fear more than the death; toys with his prey.
▶ Often ends up doing clean-up for Landon’s kills as well as his own
▶ Birthday is August 9, 1993

ʟᴀɴᴅᴏɴ

▶ Undiagnosed but entirely unstable
▶ Abuse survivor
▶ Unhealthily in love with Angelo; idealizes him, puts him on a godlike pedestal
▶ Disorganized as hell when it comes to the kill; zero nuance, all rage. Often ends up soaked in blood and gore. Will continue to stab a victim even after death; sometimes until he bends or breaks his knife or until he physically cannot continue.
▶ Was Chey’s youngest foster brother in his first home—the one Chey saved from being drowned
▶ Birthday is June 5, 1998
▶ Almost always wears a pale pink O-ring collar but this ref was being incredibly difficult for me so I didn't draw it
┄

sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ

Angelo squinted through the rain, dissatisfied with the mediocrity of the storm. Enough rain to partially clear the streets, to get in his eyes and hypothetically hinder his clean-up, but potentially not heavy enough to clean the scene in and of itself. It also wasn’t necessarily heavy enough rainfall to obscure him or his footsteps—and a scuffle could go in either direction when the city was slick with rain. He made his way behind buildings, through the back alleys, his lip curling as he was forced to step over trash and detritus. Glancing up a side street, he noticed a mother with a stroller—preoccupied as she was with her struggle to raise the raincover on the carriage, she would be easy enough to take by surprise. His fingers twitched, itching for his knife. Her fear over her child’s safety would be intoxicating, but therein was the issue. The child...Angelo frustratedly clenched his jaw. The thing would be no struggle to kill, of course, but the murder of an infant would draw the attention of even the overwhelmed and lazy NYPD. It wasn’t worth the risk.

He was about to turn away in search of different prey when the smallest hint of movement caught his eye from an alley just up the side street, about halfway between him and the woman with the baby. Someone else was watching her. Angelo’s mouth curled into an intrigued smile. Interesting. The figure in the alley was shorter than Angelo, stood rigidly, attention fixed on the woman. Their face obscured by an american flag bandana and a mask painted with orca-like markings, Angelo couldn’t guess at their gender—not that it mattered. The most interesting thing about them was the glint of steel in their hand and the slight step they’d taken forward to get a better look at the mother and child.

Angelo didn’t hesitate, just doubled back and headed up the previous side street, drew his own knife as he turned down the alley of the stranger.
He could barely resist grinning as words from a song came to mind; As the last rays of sunlight fade, one killer chases another through the tangled madness of the city.
Angelo stepped closer, allowing the rain and the stranger’s preoccupation to mask his approach. He eyed the other’s knife and gripped his own more tightly. A flash of steel announces the presence of his quarry. The stage is set.
“Are you trying to get yourself caught?”
The night explodes.
The stranger spun violently around at the sound of Angelo’s voice, whipping their weapon upward in preparation to strike. There was no hesitation in their posture; their stance was defiant, not fearful. Angelo stepped backwards, his own knife held up casually as he raised his eyebrows in interest.
“So you’ve killed before. Interesting.” He couldn’t see the expression on the stranger’s face but the way they froze with a near-imperceptible loosening of their shoulders told Angelo he’d managed to cause some confusion.
“Not my first rodeo, no.” The stranger replied, his voice lending credence to his slightly broader shoulders, narrower hips. Average serial killer; Male, usually over 20, potentially white, Angelo thought to himself; Fits. He smirked and let the silence hang in the air, and though the tension remained, the other man didn’t attack—as a matter of fact, his raised weapon lowered slightly. Angelo was intrigued and decided his interest outweighed the urge to slice open the neck of the masked stranger.
“So. Are we at an impasse we’ll have to kill to get out of, or can I buy you a drink?” He finally asked, pleased at the obvious shock in the posture of the other man.
“What?”
“Oh, and names can be falsified, so it would really be beneficial for you to take that thing off your face.”
The stranger leaned back distrustfully.
“My name is Landon.”
“Mine is Angelo. Mask off now.” Angelo said, keeping his tone even, but letting the persuasive flick of his knife gesture the implicit threat. This is a stand-off. Prove yourself or die. There was a moment where Landon made no move to comply and Angelo felt almost disappointed that he’d have to kill the interesting stranger, but finally Landon obeyed; reached up and yanked off his mask. Rain dampened dirty-blonde hair fell to his temples and his pale blue eyes challenged Angelo directly for the first time, his glare distrustful and searching. Angelo gave him an up-and-down, let his gaze linger on the pale pink O-ring collar encircling Landon’s throat.
“Hm. Prettier than I expected. Knives away, now. I’ll count down from three. Three, we lower our hands. Two, sheathe our weapons. One, release and raise our empty palms. Understood, Landon?” He expected the other to bristle at the comment, at being told what to do, but Landon impressed him with narrowed eyes and a stiff nod.
“Excellent. Three…” Both men lowered their arms, knife tips pointing to the ground. “...Two…” Both slowly slipped their knives into the leather sheaths clipped to their belts. “...and one.” They both raised their hands. “Wonderful.” Angelo stretched his out towards the other man. “It’s a pleasure.” Landon stared at him for a moment before slowly reaching out to shake his hand.
“...A pleasure.” Landon repeated. “Right.”
Angelo’s smirk still hadn’t left his face as he released Landon’s hand and folded his arms across his chest.
“I wasn’t joking about buying you a drink.” Angelo said, again allowing his eyes to drift to the collar at the other man’s neck, “Though we could also just find some poor fool to gut together. Either way, let’s get to know each other, Landon. I think we could be...friends.”
It was Landon who smirked this time, eyes glittering. “Friends. Right.”
┄

『ʟᴀɴᴅᴏɴ's ᴀᴇsᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ
ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ's ᴀᴇsᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ
ʟᴀɴᴅᴏɴ's ғᴀsʜɪᴏɴ ʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs
ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ's ғᴀsʜɪᴏɴ ʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs
ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴀᴇsᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ 』