InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "You so care about me!"

playing the game -- rick austin (takingsides) wrote in bellumlogs,
@ 2010-01-13 22:40:00

Entry tags:

beauty, cheshire cat, meg giry

Who: Rick, his willing volunteers, and OPEN to unsuspecting bystanders press-ganged into assistance.
What: Moving in.
Where: Starting in the lobby.
When: Late afternoon.
Warnings: None!
Notes: Assume Rick posted a date and time. See this post.

Rick generally went with the flow. When his Giancoma contact hinted strongly (with cross-streets and an address, no less) that he move into this building when his last apartment building was condemned (that's progress for you), he had no overwhelming objections. He was smart enough to know that a change of location would neither help nor hinder his own personal game plan. Rick tried not to get too attached to material objects, but somehow he always ended up possessive of space, a habit he had tried to avoid even though the job pretty much defined 'territorial.' His private occupation as informant, his public profession, and his personal preference all supported the idea of working on as much information as possible, and that meant getting to know his neighbors.

Acquaintances and almost-friends from the department helped him haul most of the skeletal furniture into the lobby. Most of it wasn't anything all that impressive, everything masculine in color, rich brown leather for the armchairs and couch, an oak bedframe, a thick pseudo-Persian the height of a man, and, the pièce de résistance, a wide entertainment center made to fit a modest widescreen. Boxes of dishware and bedding was already upstairs, this was the stuff he couldn't haul up on his own. To all appearances, Rick was an utterly normal, bachelor type, who probably liked to watch some seasonal sport on his television, didn't smoke, and had no family. He'd already locked up the gun and the badge upstairs, and he wore jeans and a Mets sweatshirt.

Still wondering (without apparent concern) if anyone was going to show up for this, Rick leaned against his upended bedframe and pocketed his cellphone.

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takingsides
2010-01-14 07:23 am UTC (link)

No matter what anyone tells you, police work is sixty percent paperwork and calls and forty percent waiting. Rick was a practiced, patient waiter--not the kind that serves drinks, the other kind. To pass the time, he started going through the first dozen karate pinan katas he knew in his mind, unhurried, one by one. He knew a guy on the department that just stopped doing everything when he waited, just sat there and breathed, and some other guy that watched movies in his head from memory--most others got a smoking habit, chewed sunflower seeds, that kind of thing. As he visualized the motions in his mind, he absently shifted his weight from hip to heel to toe and back.

Several minutes later his phone rang. The conversation was short, and went like this: "Austin." (He had a pleasant phone voice, the epitome of conversational, though surprisingly low, like a cat's purr.) "No, it's my night off. ...Really. ...Did he pick him out of a line-up? ...Nice. ...No, don't wait. Go for it. ...No. I'm moving. ...Uh-huh. Let me know how it goes. Don't get shot." (Smirk.) "You too." He hung up without an additional farewell, and went back to midway through the fifth kata (crane spreads wings).

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bookshelved
2010-01-14 07:33 am UTC (link)

She didn't have a notebook on her, but she made mental notes all the same. Patient, with an air of practice to it. People unaccustomed to waiting fidgeted, she'd noticed fairly early on. She liked to think it was because they didn't like to be alone with their thoughts, undistracted. But this man, he wasn't that sort of waiter at all. He was focused on something, even while he focused on nothing. She wondered if his mind ever went quiet.

When the phone rang, she listened to his half of the conversation, even though it made her uneasy. She was willing to try this observational tactic this once, but she decided, just right then, that it wasn't for her. She felt like she was spying; Ed, she decided, was wrong about this concept.

He was a cop. The mention of a line-up, of getting shot. He could have been a dealer, a thief, a petty criminal, a crime lord. But no, the detail about getting shot made her think enforcement over enforcer.

She cleared her throat, and she smiled at him in a friendly manner. Back to her standard tactics; at least those didn't keep her up at night.

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takingsides
2010-01-14 07:42 am UTC (link)

He turned, not as if he was surprised, and smiled, though not as wide or as long as he was able. "Hello. Are you passing through, or joining the party?" He added a jovial note of entreaty to that last option, even though she wasn't bulging with muscles or Clark Kent tendencies. His elbow fell easily from the bedframe, and he put up a hand to steady it even as it tipped. Built like the kind of athlete that favors lithe muscle and light weight over bulk, Rick had the unconscious grace of someone who knew where his hands and feet were at all times, but also a cop's trademark division of weight toward one hip or the other.

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bookshelved
2010-01-14 07:49 am UTC (link)

She didn't recognize the cop's trademark, but she did recognize the grace and the quick recovery of the teetering bedframe. It was unthinking, and she added it to her mental list about him, about 'the cop,' as he was temporarily labeled in her mind.

"Much like Alice, I simply stumbled upon something unexpected," she explained with a smile, looking over the items. "Is this your life scattered throughout the lobby, would you say?" she asked. The question was casual and smiles, but her eyes were alert, clearly interested in the answer. She wasn't deceptive, and she didn't hide what she was thinking well, probably because she didn't try. "I'm Ella," she said, holding a hand out.

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takingsides
2010-01-14 08:02 am UTC (link)

Rick's shake was practiced, dry, firm, without the need to intimidate. His palm was soft in the centermost, but he had interesting callouses on his fingers, knuckles, and the heel of his hand. "If this is all of my life to be scattered, that would be very sad indeed," he said, with an enigmatic smile much more worthy of her Alice than his first one. "I hope the rest of it isn't so easily lost--or marooned on the first floor." A flash of white teeth in mirth. "I'm Rick Austin, most recently of Five-oh-five and Wonderland. I'm waiting to see if the building offers me some menial assistance." He gestured to the furniture with a tip of his head, without breaking the unblinking blue gaze.

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bookshelved
2010-01-14 08:10 am UTC (link)

She memorized the callouses with the intention of looking them up later. She wondered if they were from guns and fighting, and she made a temporary assumption of yes in her mind. "The rest of your life, or the rest of your belongings?" she asked, her smile friendly. "I find that life seldom becomes marooned, even when we think it is. Belongings, on the other hand, have a way of finding new owners at the most unexpected moments." She smiled wider at his return comment about Wonderland, and she inclined her head in recognition of it. "Perhaps the Queen of Hearts will send her men to help you. I recommend you avoid the croquet, however at all costs."

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	takingsides 2010-01-15 03:10 am UTC (link)
	Rick had seen that movie with one of his nieces. "Noted. I hope you're not planning on helping any of my belongings find a new owner. I was just hoping to get them up the stairs, myself." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	bookshelved 2010-01-15 03:42 am UTC (link)
	"If I find anyone in search of furniture, I shall do my best to divert them," she promised with a smile. She looked over her shoulder as people began arriving, and she looked back at Rick. "I believe your white knights have come to the rescue." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	takingsides 2010-01-15 03:46 am UTC (link)
	"Just in time," he said, winking at her. "Wander along behind and pick up the splinters of whatever we drop on the stair; there's going to be food upstairs after. Unless you want to be the one doing the dropping." And with a parting challenge of a smile, he sauntered over to the others clustering near. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	bookshelved 2010-01-15 03:58 am UTC (link)
	She laughed, and she moved to the stairs, though she didn't join in the carrying. She leaned folded arms on the bannister, and she watched, observing silently, not wanting to disturb the scene in progress. (Reply to this) (Parent)

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