bound_kevin (bound_kevin) wrote in bound_rp, @ 2014-12-16 14:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | daryl rochester, in progress, kevin macguire, private |
Buddy cop
Date: December 16, 2013
Time: 19:46 PM
Location: Self-Storage Yard, Samhain District
Characters: Kevin Macguire, Daryl M Rochester
Description: A Guardian and a hunter bite off more than they can chew.
Status: Private, in progress.
He cruised into the parking bay at the Self Store, and killed the ignition. The ticking of the engine was the only sound in the car as he sat for a moment, staring out at the facility, running through the details in his mind one more time. The staff witches had picked up on something happening in Samhain again, and unfortunate memories flitted across his brain from the last time he was here, with that little wolf girl and her murderous mother. This time, though, it was level three - no cops were involved, and the witches didn't even know what had happened, only that something had.
Lena was off for the night - a private thing, she'd said, and the others were busy, leaving him the only one kicking his heels and, thus, able to check it out. He unholstered his sidearm and checked the load, before flicking the safety off and on again, just to be sure. Unconsciously, once he'd replaced the weapon, his hand touched the new faestone he'd been issued with after his use of the last one.
That was enough in the way of memories, though, and he opened the car door, closing it as quietly as he could as he stepped out into the frigid night air. He glanced around as he flicked the collar of his crombie up against the chill, thinking about how early it became dark, these days, and how late it became daytime. Briefly, he considered going to the front office, but decided that would be too much explanation for a recon mission. Instead, he pulled the small, thin maglite he kept in his pocket for such occasions out, and clicked it on. The brilliant white beam cut through the night like a knife, and he scythed it left and right, looking for the number that he'd been told had appeared in the visions. 106.
He walked with no real urgency, strolling between the banks of corrugated iron that served as doors for the lock-up. It was one of several in the area, which, given its relatively sparse settlement away from the city proper, leant itself well to such enterprises.
He came to the door after twenty seconds or so, and immediately noticed the busted lock on the small front door by the rolling gateway. He frowned - it had clearly been jimmied off in favour of simply kicking the door in, but by whom - and for what purpose?
His hand went to his sidearm, and he unfastened the leather catch on the holster, drawing it out. He brought his torch hand around, rotating the device so that it shone near his little finger, and use the forearm as a brace, his gun hand supported as it lay just above the wrist. With a breath, he quietly nudged the door open, and stepped inside.
"Sheriff's department," he called out. "Is anyone here?"