| Interrogation |
[18 Nov 2008|05:19pm] |
Maureen forgot to mention the in-depth investigation part of things. All Jill wanted was access to the government's complete file on Lincoln Park, something beyond what CNN and The New York Times liked to shove down everyone's throat, even more than a year after the fact. If the Federal Bureau of Investigation wanted Jill to take a more active role in the investigation and monitoring of the quarantine area, the agent was going to need access to everything.
Which was what eventually led Jill to this dark room, where she sat in a cold, uncomfortable metal chair. Nodes were attached to her forehead, with cords running from the nodes to all sorts of electronic equipment and computers the agent had never seen. Best Jill could tell, the machinery was some super-advanced form of a polygraph, and as she sat and awaited this most recent line of questioning, Jill felt like this was needless and excessive. She'd already proven her worth as an agent; why go through all this just to upgrade her security clearance level?
She'd never met the woman sitting by the computer monitor, scratching her chin and holding a pencil inches from a pad of paper. She showed no emotion, which when combined with the lack of aesthetics in the room made the agent really uncomfortable. It almost felt like she was being interrogated over a crime, not questioned to determine whether she could be trusted with government intel.
Either way, the sooner this ended, the better. This was the side of government life Jill really hated.
( Past Associations )
[NPC Miranda Guitterez was written by Stargazer.]
|
|
| Roommate Express |
[16 Nov 2008|11:36pm] |
To: "Purity"
From: R.I.Lee@gmail.com
Subj: Bar the Door
Purity,
Next time you get the urge to do something private, like oh... say, sleep, shower, have sex, or undress, you might wanna push the couch in front of the door. This afternoon I was jumping in the shower and the goddamn landlord keyed in to 'check on the toilet'.
Yeah. The one that's been fixed a week.
He claims that the maintenance guy never turned in a completed work order. I call this BS, considering I didn't hear him knock or yell 'MANAGEMENT' or do anything that would've alerted me to his presence, prior to him seeing my naked ass.
You would think the sound of running water would've dissuaded him from barging into the bathroom.
If we get evicted, we'll know he's upset about the broken nose.
-R
PS: Paint cans on the kitchen floor. Let me know if you don't like the colors before I go crazy.
|
|
| Just a Suggestion |
[16 Nov 2008|05:25pm] |
It had been another busy night, filled with off duty cops (they gave Joseph the creeps) and relieved fire-fighters. All of them had spent their time drinking and regaling one another with their stories of death defying stunts and heroic antics, all of which sounded impressive to the average person. Joseph held his tongue on more than one occasion, especially when they had talked about people like him, law breakers and gangsters. He should have known it would be difficult, being who he was and working in the bar. Pat was great, no doubt about that, but Joseph, he just didn't fit.
Thankfully the evening had wound down, and as it did people left to make their way home to their ever loving wives and families, shouting a few goodbyes to Joseph as they left. It was as the last person left that Joseph sagged against the counter and dropped his head, blowing out a long breath and closing his eyes. The longer he spent working behind this bar the more he itched for something more, a little excitement, the sort that had never failed to make his heart race.
He pushed away from the bar and slid his hair back, turning to open the side of the bar so he could walk the length of the it, collecting glasses that all needed to be washed before Joseph could head home. He might not have felt passionately about this job but he never did anything half-assed so he was going to do things properly.
There was still some time left on his shift and Joseph glanced at the door, relieved that nobody had come in just yet, but somebody would; they always did. He turned on his heel and headed back behind bar, placing glasses on the side before he meticulously picked his way along the surface.
Urgh, some people were such pigs.
If a breeze hadn’t come into the warm pub, ushering two dry leaves onto the entry mat, Darian’s entrance would’ve been noiseless. He stayed at the door for minute, having a look at the Smoke Eater’s Tavern. It wasn’t his type of venue; the wood floors and seats covered in green leather were well cared for, but instead of art, fire and rescue paraphernalia decorated the walls. It was not as excessively done as a modern chain restaurant like Appleby’s, but he didn’t appreciate the concept of tacking turnout gear, helmets, and state police badges to the walls.
But he wanted a drink, and the bar down the street that normally received his patronage was closed for renovations. Darian pulled off gloves and tucked them in the pocket of his overcoat. “What time do you close?” He took a couple of steps into the place; the shine on his shoes outdid the polish on the floor. Joseph didn’t strike any chords of familiarity with the Dealmaker. They might’ve circled the same places in the desert, but he didn’t know it.
Joseph's sharp hearing picked up on the light rustling of leaves and his head lifted, resting dark eyes on the tall man that had just entered. He looked somewhat out of place in a venue like this, he looked like the sort of man who might frequent a more classy place without the touch of nostalgia and family pride to it.
"In an hour," Joseph answered. He removed the cloth from where he had been polishing the bar and rested it on the counter behind him. "What can I get you?"
( Out of Place )
|
|
| He has the right idea |
[12 Nov 2008|07:59am] |
|
|
|