PLAYED BY OOC NAME
PLAYED BY Shimada
| "You on my block you better march on, cuz my pistol pete will take out out the game like Marshawn" |
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Post by Enrico Vivenzia on Apr 28, 2017 3:20:53 GMT
 --- 'My sisters told me that becoming a cop would get me killed. They told me going up against gangs, crooks, the worst that humanity and those in between had to offer would have me ass down in a cheap cemetery, my portrait photoshoped with those phony clouds in the sky and probably my worst looking but endearing yearbook picture stretched to show a smile that I've never used.
Jokes on them. Vodka has done more mortal damage than any bullet, knife or a solid right hook ever done.
See, that sort of pain is straightforward, the kind that's transparent, clear, like the caller ID of a overdue bill. You see it a mile away and there's no convincing you in your heart of hearts that there's anything else coming from this than a headache and mouthful of insults to the asshole who shot you, or the bastard telling you that your cable is getting cut off. The price you pay, be it the check you were saving for a last minute dinner date or a date to the hospital, that cost comes out at the time of purchase. The receipts you keep are as clear as day, a scar or a prosthetic limb as a reminder that the market of conflict accepts no returns.
Alcohol is a different beast. Its the text from a long forgotten ex-girlfriend who says “we should” talk, not prepping you whether she's about to rekindle an old flame or break your heart again. It's a sneaky viper that convinces you that despite your flesh swimming in a pool of regret in a bottle, that your mind is as pure as a school girl in a convent. It kills a bit of you that can't be bought back with a good payday and it leaves a cavity that can't be replaced with a good surgeon or a lot of free time. It, inch by inch, as liquid bliss coats reality to your choosing, asks for a price at the whim of a dice roll. Sometimes you get lucky and the worst you have is a hangover and a messy pillow.
And sometimes, the bill of sale requires your soul, and you're left looking in the mirror, not recognizing the corpse staring back, asking would a bullet been a much better bargain.'--- There were too many stairs. Way too many stairs.A groan escaped his lips, replacing the curse he originally prepared but lost to the aches of a lingering pain and fatigue that couldn't decide on whether to topple him over or just play coy in the background. Gravity stacked her deck against him, subtly pushing his shoulders down to a low slump that dragged the white plastic bag across the bottom of the first step he reluctantly dared to cross. He gave up looking ahead, already the swaying corridor that inched towards the dark ceiling that was this complex sapped enough of his enthusiasm. Now his trek was just an exercise of raw stubbornness than anything else. A flattened bullet fell from his thigh, falling behind him to the abyss of concrete and broken glass. His hair, though often kept in this odd balance of style and youthful carelessness, was now peppered with ash. A light touch of crimson, whether his own blood or someone elses, soaked in the bangs, bangs that covered tired eyes from the occasional onlooker unlucky enough to see a walking specter of a man continue to climb heavenward. Black, his color of choice, was darker in some spots, soured by a nauseous mix of blood, mud, and mechanical lubricants but all married with the odor of wet copper. His shoes slapped across the stone in weary, but purposeful steps, dragging the black loafers across as if the rag doll that was his body had simply grown fond of mimicking the motions of his master's strings. His inner jacket pocket hummed to life. A phone hissing away more jubilant than its owner as it occasionally beat against the breast of a holstered pistol. The slide drawn back, spent and warm from use, the gun, in the few instances it peaked from the cover of his jacket, looked about as ragged and abused as he was, beaten and scared from too many conflicts that it wasn't allowed to survive, but stubbornly did so anyway. He finally stopped. Blue eyes starred at the door, a number that he barely could make out but in spite of the many months of absence, somehow knew it was the right one, and simply lingered in silence. Outside the music of a city drowned out labor breathes and the subtle hisses of his own mortality before he made a haphazard knock at the door—with his forehead. “Talia...it's me, Enrico.” The white bag in hand was lifted barely to his waist as if presenting it to an audience that no one but himself could see. “I brought tequila.” Gravity made another gambit and threatened to throw him to the floor once more.  ♠ |
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Post by Deleted on Apr 28, 2017 14:44:04 GMT
[attr="class","oho"] where is the honor in playing by the rules when you know the game is fixed? [attr="class","monalisa"]She would have been convinced that the pounding was all in her head as she woke up. She was sprawled on the couch, with her head having over-corrected. It was drooped over the arm rest, and her fingers tingled as she pulled her arm from the back of the seat, and she rubbed the tips together to encourage circulation. Her neck, however, was less easily cured of the soreness that came from the angle it had been in for the last several hours. The world tilted alarmingly as she sat up, and she stepped on a fallen newspaper to recover her balance. The noise that it made was enough to make her head hurt even more. That was when she heard a familiar voice, as if out of a daydream.
Enrico? That stupid bastard was still alive? Maybe it was just another hallucination. Maybe she could just lay back down and go back to sleep, and ignore it. She tilted her head to the left and the right, cracking her neck. There was still the sound of rustling outside the door, and that was what convinced her to go check.
Her coordination was nearly non-existent as she stumbled to the door and leaned her head against the cold surface. Oh gods, yes... that felt nice on her forehead. But she opened her eye to look through the peephole. That was when she saw him. Yeah, her old partner was still kicking. Else he was a pretty elaborate hallucination. She fumbled with the locks on her door and swung the door opening, hardly caring that her apartment was a mess, she smelled like a liquor store, and she hadn't bathed in a couple of days. She didn't look any worse than he did.
"So you're still breathing, are you?" she asked, leaning on the door frame for support.
She looked at him for a long moment, then down at the tequila in the bag. Another drink sounded all too good right now, but she had always hated the taste of tequila. Despite that, he looked like hell. There was some kind of substance on his hair, but the darkness and the blur of her eyes made it hard to decide what it was. Not that it really mattered. She was fairly confident that he was real.
"You might as well come in," she decided. "But leave that Surajan piss-water outside."
Pushing off of the door frame, she turned away and walked back inside her apartment, not turning the light on. The light in the hallway was uncomfortable enough.
[attr="class","credits"]made by Mizo of ww. [newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar]width:3px;background-color:#b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #252525;[/newclass][newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width:1px;background-color: #b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #b4b4b4;[/newclass] [googlefont=Open+Sans][googlefont=Playfair Display][newclass=.credits]font: bold 7pt calibri; text-transform: uppercase;[/newclass] |
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
PLAYED BY Shimada
| "You on my block you better march on, cuz my pistol pete will take out out the game like Marshawn" |
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Post by Enrico Vivenzia on Apr 29, 2017 5:51:05 GMT
“So you're still breathing are you?”
'That's the most romantic thing anyone has said to me all year.'
Enrico would have laughed if he knew it wouldn't hurt more than the already throbbing pulses antagonizing the few fleshy portions he had left. Still, he opted for a signature grin before following Talia into the dark abyss of her bachelorette pad, silently questioning why of all the five senses that were under assault, smell had to be the latest victim. Stubbornly, he still carried the bottle of tequlia inside, though the bag dragged along the floor, carrying junk mail and whatever was left in the hallway in a brief drag until he stopped in what he assumed to be the living room.
“I'm going to introduce you to something called bleach. Starting tomorrow...”
Karma retaliated swiftly on Talia's behalf, nauseating him with a swift upset of pain and warning screens.
The bottle and bag met the ground solidly before he stumbled over to where he thought the nearest couch would be. Momentum and fatigue guided him into a decent that only half of his frame found purchase, the other tripping over whatever was unfortunate to be in the way whilst he scrambled more of dead weight to the cushions. “So before you start cursing at me in your mountain speech, there's a really good explanation for all of this...” Something Enrico knew he had to start elaborating upon quickly as he twisted out of his stained jacket, a jacket peppered with bullet-sized holes that matched the pattern on his shirt and bruised chest almost perfectly.
“Good news. Yes, I'm still alive. Hoped you missed me. You look as darling as ever. Bad news? Nothing much, might had inadvertently started a gang war, you know, little stuff.”
It was then, as if he was benevolent enough to let the world and Talia time to digest the ridiculous reality he dropped on the flat of a coffee table, did this maverick cop(?) finally opt for silence...
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Post by Deleted on May 1, 2017 14:23:01 GMT
[attr="class","oho"] where is the honor in playing by the rules when you know the game is fixed? [attr="class","monalisa"]Started a gang war, did he? That was her old partner. Always neck deep in more trouble than anyone needed, and conveniently out of radio contact. She wasn't sure whether or not to be happy to see him. Sure, she was glad that he wasn't dead, but his timing wasn't exactly the best. Her hangover was beating her over the head, and she wasn't in the best mood to deal with anyone, much less Vivenzia. Still, when he tried and failed to make it to the couch, her worry ratcheted up a couple of notches.
"I'd say something snappy about introducing you to a bullet, but it seems like you've already met a few," Talia commented, watching him stumble around with very little pity in her eyes.
She made her way to the bathroom, taking it slow so that her balance wouldn't betray her. Her first aid kit wasn't exactly outfitted for bullet wounds, but it was all she had, so it would have to do. By the time she made it back into the living room, he finally seemed to have made it onto the cushions of the couch, and so she sat on the coffee table next to him, looking over his injuries with tired eyes. Her breath was rancid, and she still felt nauseated, but it seemed that she wouldn't have time to look after herself just yet. Whose blood was it, if it wasn't his? She wasn't well enough acquainted with how much of him was flesh and blood and how much was machinery, but she would do whatever she could. Even if she was fighting the urge to punch him.
There didn't seem to be much broken skin, so she gingerly opened his shirt and felt for his ribs to see if anything was broken. She wasn't one for asking for permission, not when he'd showed up at her door. Her hands shook a little, but she checked him anyway. As little coordination as she had left because of the booze, she still had experience working for her. He wasn't in any immediate danger of dying. But with so few real, serious injuries, the smell of blood on him was worrisome.
"You know, I would feel a lot better about not punching you if you were actually dying," she commented. "Now, why don't you start over with why the fuck you're at my apartment."
[attr="class","credits"]made by Mizo of ww. [newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar]width:3px;background-color:#b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #252525;[/newclass][newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width:1px;background-color: #b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #b4b4b4;[/newclass] [googlefont=Open+Sans][googlefont=Playfair Display][newclass=.credits]font: bold 7pt calibri; text-transform: uppercase;[/newclass] |
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
PLAYED BY Shimada
| "You on my block you better march on, cuz my pistol pete will take out out the game like Marshawn" |
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Post by Enrico Vivenzia on May 2, 2017 4:23:44 GMT
Delirium and fatigue collaborated for a tag team assault, hoping from the rafters in a tidal slam of nausea that forced the room to spin against pull of gravity. Whatever mix of blurred vision and threatening HUD displays faded into the background, trailing behind the sound of Talia's cynicism that drifted away with the rest of reality akin to water through clenched fists. Enrico stubbornly fought to find focus, an exercise in futility, where his mind opted to fill the gaps of what was true to whatever was the first to surface.
“This is the last time...” The best lie he ever told her...and he regretted every time he did so.
The echo of his own voice cut through the illusions of a fleeting consciousness, drop kicking him back into the truth of his painful circumstances. Where did first aid kit arrive? Did he actually make it to the couch? When did Talia get so close? Who was he talking to? The logical gap only threw him into more of a panic, an anxiety that was suddenly eased by the...gentleness of Talia's touch. He sank into the cushions, unsure whether he was too exhausted to dispute or just comfortable with his partner's examination.
Another woman being the witness to his own recklessness was a habit he really needed to break. Soon.
“You know how every great story begins with 'well what happened was...?” He began, flashing a grin that looked as genuine as it looked pained. “This one is going to be long...but as far as why I'm here. Which explanation would you like better? That I just wanted to see your darling face or that my place blew up.”
“I guess you could say it was pretty lit, eh?”
Even he didn't laugh at that one.
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Post by Deleted on May 2, 2017 13:38:54 GMT
[attr="class","oho"] where is the honor in playing by the rules when you know the game is fixed? [attr="class","monalisa"]Talia rolled her eyes at his pathetic excuse for a joke, folding his shirt back over his chest to cover it as she closed the first aid kit. There was nothing that she could solve with such paltry medical supplies. It wasn't particularly surprising, given that she only had basic medical training, and he was a Cyborg. Anything that could be done to help him was something that would take a tech, or at least someone trained in machinery. At least she could provide a couch for him to rest on. Even if his mixture of oil and blood would permanently stain the upholstery... Oh, whatever. It was probably already ruined, from what all she'd accidentally spilled on it, and the fact that she'd not cleaned her apartment in so long.
"I hope you have a plan for what to do if they followed you here," she commented, putting the first aid kit on the coffee table. "I'm gonna be pissed if you get me blown up."
For all that she said, her tone didn't have an ounce of fear or concern in it. At this point, she didn't much care either way. Dying couldn't be any shittier than what she was living through. But she was going to need something better than tequila if she was going to have to put up with his smart mouth for any length of time, and from the looks of it, he wasn't going to be leaving any time soon. She pushed herself to her feet and headed to the kitchen, almost stumbling over her own feet on the way there, but managing to stay upright.
What was she going to do about him? Clearly, he'd gotten himself into the middle of something that wouldn't have been in her department, even if she wasn't suspended. She wasn't about to call the Captain about it, because he'd ask that annoying question of whether she'd gone to the alcoholics group that he'd suggested. She mulled over what to do as she started to make coffee, scrubbing out the pot before she filled it with water and started the process. The smell of it was a welcome relief, and it helped her feel somewhat more lucid. As she waited for the coffee maker, she rifled through her cabinets, looking for some aspirin for her headache. She didn't find any.
She breathed a long sigh, leaning on the counter top with her head in her arms, wishing the world wasn't spinning. How did her life manage to get so godsdamned complicated?
[attr="class","credits"]made by Mizo of ww. [newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar]width:3px;background-color:#b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #252525;[/newclass][newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width:1px;background-color: #b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #b4b4b4;[/newclass] [googlefont=Open+Sans][googlefont=Playfair Display][newclass=.credits]font: bold 7pt calibri; text-transform: uppercase;[/newclass] |
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
PLAYED BY Shimada
| "You on my block you better march on, cuz my pistol pete will take out out the game like Marshawn" |
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Post by Enrico Vivenzia on May 2, 2017 22:35:07 GMT
Talia's frustration wasn't lost on him, though he figured focusing on staying consciousness was more concerning than appealing to her sensibilities. Still, he was at least appreciative that she bargained to watch him haphazardly recuperate and if at worst, oversee his last rites, opposed to just shutting the door in his face. Weariness was settling in, overcoming any attempt to resist the lull of slumber. And this was fine to Enrico for now. He had slept in worst conditions and the quiet scorn of his partner in the force was far more comforting than napping in an alley.
“Thanks.” He finally offered as trailed off. To what in particular, even he wasn't quite sure. But the gratitude was genuine nevertheless.
The clap and clammer of cabinets and coffee pots nestled in the background while Enrico stared at the ceiling, finding visions flutter by between blinks and exhausted sighs. He pulled out the spent handgun that dug into his side and let it flop to the floor, meeting the carpet with a solid thump. “Right after we got assigned to security at that winter ball...I ran into a acquaintance that should have been dead. Spoiler Alert: She's not.”
'Acquaintance 'Rico? Really?'
A long, strained reach and his fingers snaked around the edge of the tequila bottle on the floor, removing the cap and taking a hefty sip that burned nearly as hot as the bullet rounds that had a brief affair with his mechanical bits. Coughing, he continued to talk what he felt like was to the audience of no one. “She had helped me a long time ago on a case in Dagos. Gangs were getting their hands on some extremely high end cybernetics and military equipment, prototype weapons, experimental uppers...you name it. Everyone thought it was just some underground network of suppliers but even that didn't hold water. You're talking about guys who just last month had to share switch blades to sporting guns so new the paint is still sticky and with special ops training to boot.”
“I was getting close to finding out who was supplying the gangs and why...and well let's just say I didn't get these fine pieces of human ingenuity because I wanted to star in reality T.V.” He flippantly waved his one mechanical arm around, bits of metal flashed through the veil of synthetic skin and nerves in a macabre whirl. “Though if you think I got my ass kicked you should have seen the other guys.”
The smell of coffee was a welcome sensation against the dull odor of blood, booze, and gunpower. “Black with one sugar by the way. Much appreciated.” He continued, downing another swing of tequlia that set a warm blaze in his abdomen. “Anyway. I wake up to half of my body no longer unable to sneak past a metal detector and thinking my um, contact was dead. She told me she was being hunted by the same jokers who tried to take me out back in Dagos who also thought I was dead. Spoiler Alert: I'm not."
"Unfortunately for our hero, they find about this and I had to lay low, do some investigation, fight a few bad guys, you know the song and dance. Somewhere in the midst of all that, I found out some gang family in Ikagai are the ones who tried to put me under, the Boo Shoo something, I might have killed the son of their leader in an ambush, my apartment is now blown to bits, and my friend? Yeah, she's vanished again. So if you're asking me if I have a plan what to do if I was followed, I was hoping to borrow some ammo, point, shoot, and make everyone who was stupid enough to come through that door have a really bad day."
"But since I think they're taking a lunch break, I'm hoping you don't mind me staying here for a little bit...because I'm sure I make a better roommate than the roaches you've got. And you're the last person I can imagine counting on in this city right now...”
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Post by Deleted on May 3, 2017 1:59:46 GMT
[attr="class","oho"] where is the honor in playing by the rules when you know the game is fixed? [attr="class","monalisa"]"I wasn't actually looking for a roommate, oddly enough," Talia said, lifting her head from her arms to look at the level of the black liquid that was filling the apartment with good-smelling steam. "And at this point, you'll probably get my ass fired permanently if you start a fire fight in my apartment."
His story was a... frankly, a long one. And her attention span wasn't what it really needed to be, to retain much of it. She'd only really absorbed that something from his past had come looking for him, and that there was a woman trying to kill him. For some reason. She supposed that was enough to go on. She watched the condensation trickle down on the inside of the coffee pot as she tried to decide what to do. When she'd been suspended, the last thing that she'd expected was for the police work to come looking for her, even to her own front door.
It was ironic and cruel, really. Police work had been her drive for so many years that stepping away felt like laying her purpose down to the floor. But if she tried to resume the work, she would be fired for sure. If she didn't, her partner would probably be murdered. The smart thing to do would have been to call the Captain and explain the situation. But she was still more than a little pissed off that the Captain had put her in this position. And besides, would he even take her phone calls now, knowing that she hadn't done anything he'd asked, in order to be reinstated?
She pulled a pair of black mugs down from the cabinet, filling each of them about halfway. A little sloshed over the sides, and she used a wet cloth from the sink to clear the bitter liquid away from the base of each mug. She didn't get any sugar or cream, because she didn't have any. It wasn't as if she'd been expecting company.
"I don't have sugar," she called from the kitchen. "It's black or nothing."
Picking up the mugs, she managed to get the drinks to the coffee table without tripping or spilling anything on herself, and she sank to the carpet opposite from Vivenzia. She eyed the bottle of booze, contemplating whether it was worth putting up with the taste of tequila to steady her nerves. In the end, she pulled a nearly empty bottle of vodka from beside the couch and poured some of the potent booze into her coffee.
tags: Enrico Vivenzia --- words: 428 --- notes: if you give an alcoholic a cookie... [attr="class","credits"]made by Mizo of ww. [newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar]width:3px;background-color:#b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #252525;[/newclass][newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width:1px;background-color: #b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #b4b4b4;[/newclass] [googlefont=Open+Sans][googlefont=Playfair Display][newclass=.credits]font: bold 7pt calibri; text-transform: uppercase;[/newclass] |
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
PLAYED BY Shimada
| "You on my block you better march on, cuz my pistol pete will take out out the game like Marshawn" |
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Post by Enrico Vivenzia on May 3, 2017 4:10:31 GMT
Curiously enough, Enrico preferred black coffee. The raw bitterness akin to something like medicine than a beverage. While he mouthed his appreciation and took a sip, mixing with the twinge of tequlia still on his tongue, Enrico took a somber look at the apartment. To say it was lived in was an understatement, something he was mildly surprised at. His reluctant partner gave him plenty of impressions, this however, wasn't one of them.
'You probably weren't looking to pass a health inspection either, but hey.'
He wanted to live. So he kept those words in the safety of a still throbbing headache and occasionally blurred vision.
And for a long moment, he merely drank in silence. The ambiance of a well worn air conditioning unit, the crackle of a cooling coffee machine, the small shifting of two well worn people with black bitterness in a cup and poison in a bottle. And in spite of the whirlwind of circumstances both carried on their shoulders, the portrait of those two in the moment was, at the very least peaceful.
“Well, enough about me for now,” Enrico quipped in, watching Talia poor vokda into her cup with something between curiosity and concern. “Since I'm obviously not in the condition to go anywhere, what's happening in the world of Ivanov? Take down that trafficking ring while I was out being a hero?” Rapidly, he scanned around for a clock of any sort, his wristwatch long missing in the last scuffle he'd been in.
“I'll make sure to be out of sight when your boyfriend is on the way. I mean, can't have him feeling inferior with me around of course.” He grinned in his typical way as he took another sip, only to regret again the raw combination of cheap booze and likely even cheaper coffee.
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Post by Deleted on May 3, 2017 12:51:47 GMT
[attr="class","oho"] where is the honor in playing by the rules when you know the game is fixed? [attr="class","monalisa"]Talia didn't answer him for a long moment, electing to take a sip of her doctored coffee instead. Oddly enough, the additional booze didn't help her headache like she thought it would, but at least it helped to still the trembling in her fingers. Her stomach didn't particularly like the new addition, and she had to sit still while it settled. Her maroon eyes stared down into the dark liquid in the cup, watching the iridescent swirl on the surface that was the only visible sign of the vodka inside. Aside from the Captain's periodic check-in phone calls, Vivenzia was the first person to stop by since she'd been suspended. It had been over five years since she'd had a boyfriend, considering her borderline obsession with her job.
"No," she finally said. "Brass tapped me for the busy work on the Hunter homicides, and left my informants dangling. Three of them turned up dead. The fourth fled the country."
She wished it had been her fault. Perhaps she could have handled it, if it had been her own inadequacy that had led to those deaths, but instead it was because the top officials in the police had refused to let her work her case. Maybe they were involved in the trade she'd been investigating. Maybe they were getting a kickback. Or maybe they just didn't give a shit about missing Magi, and had screwed her case through neglect. Whatever the case was, she'd reached the point where doing her job had become all but impossible. And then it had been her Captain who had suspended her.
Her mother had always worried that this job would get her killed, but Talia had thought that she'd meant that someone would shoot her. She hadn't realized that her death would be this drawn out, filthy affair in which she slowly died from the inside out. It was ironic, really. Her mother was supposed to be the one dying, and yet Talia was just about racing her now. But was it the job that was killing her, or just her inability to do it?
"Then a couple weeks back, the Captain put me on suspension," she admitted. "Said he wants me to get myself 'sorted out.' Join some kind of a program. Like it's any of his damn business."
She ignored his commentary about a boyfriend. When it came to Vivenzia, she had to expect a certain amount of machismo, irritating as it would have been otherwise. She took another, longer drink of the coffee, closing her eyes in relief at the burn that ran down her throat and dizzied her head further.
[attr="class","credits"]made by Mizo of ww. [newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar]width:3px;background-color:#b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #252525;[/newclass][newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width:1px;background-color: #b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #b4b4b4;[/newclass] [googlefont=Open+Sans][googlefont=Playfair Display][newclass=.credits]font: bold 7pt calibri; text-transform: uppercase;[/newclass] |
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
PLAYED BY Shimada
| "You on my block you better march on, cuz my pistol pete will take out out the game like Marshawn" |
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Post by Enrico Vivenzia on May 5, 2017 15:41:39 GMT
“Maybe he just wants you to take a bath.”
Enrico took a near finalizing gulp of his coffee, almost thankful that of all the sensations to be robbed from him with cybernetics, a sense of taste and a digestive tract wasn't one of them. Whether he was purely indifferent to Talia's circumstances or otherwise never surfaced beyond the typical aloofness he maintained as he adjusted himself on the couch, dirty dress shoes propped up on the arm rest as if he needed to get anymore comfortable.
“Bureaucracy is a funny thing. When it works, it works. It writes checks and gold stars for people like you and I.” He mused, eyes far too blue to be natural finding some sort of solace in the ceiling fan and the waltz of dust through rays of sunlight. “When it doesn't work...it can cost a lot of people's lives and make a few people regret living theirs.”
He shut his eyes, allowing himself to drift in the lull between sleep and awareness all while fighting against the tide of reflections that threatened to engulf his dreams. “Since I doubt you threw away any of your journals or leads, let me look at 'em in the morning. We'll pick up from there. You like your eggs sunny side or scrambled?”
'I bet she'd like her eggs scrambled, if you know what I mean.'
He shook his head, escaping the delirium even if he shouldn't shake from the small grin that curled at his lips.
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Post by Deleted on May 8, 2017 21:33:11 GMT
[attr="class","oho"] where is the honor in playing by the rules when you know the game is fixed? [attr="class","monalisa"]Talia couldn't think of a lot of times when bureaucracy had really worked, other than once in a blue moon. The last round of firing from IA hadn't gotten rid of the corruption in the department. Just got rid of the sloppy people, like her old partner. The corruption that remained were more firmly rooted, in the higher echelons or with just the right number of favors or black mail to keep them beyond the touch of internal affairs. Truly honest cops were rare, especially in big cities like Ethea and Dagos.
He diverted her attention again by asking about eggs, and she squinted at him, as if trying to figure out why he would ask such a question. Oh right. The hour. He wasn't in any shape to be going anywhere that night, and they were both a few minutes away from passing out. She guessed he would just have to spend the night on the couch. She pushed herself to her feet again, stumbling a little before she could get her feet firmly beneath her.
"I don't like eggs," she answered, her eyes slowly opening and closing as if she was having trouble seeing. "But if you want to get on the investigation, knock yourself out."
There was a certain level of nausea that was starting to creep up her esophagus, so she picked the first aid kit from the coffee table and headed toward the bathroom. Once it was back in the place where it needed to go, she tried to rinse her face with cold water. It did very little aside from make her shiver, but at least she had a clean towel to wipe her face. Her head ached, her stomach was rolling, and she was tired. Everything hurt. But she eventually moved away from the sink and leaned on the wall outside.
"I'm going to bed," she said. "You can sleep out here. Try not to die on my couch."
tags: Enrico Vivenzia --- words: 331 --- notes: feel free to time skip to morning. [attr="class","credits"]made by Mizo of ww. [newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar]width:3px;background-color:#b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #252525;[/newclass][newclass=.monalisa::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width:1px;background-color: #b4b4b4; border: 1px solid #b4b4b4;[/newclass] [googlefont=Open+Sans][googlefont=Playfair Display][newclass=.credits]font: bold 7pt calibri; text-transform: uppercase;[/newclass] |
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