Mag Paget, Shotgun Knight (clippedwing) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-02-02 11:43:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, !log, bram thornton, magnolia paget |
the floors are falling out from everybody I know.
Who: Magnolia Paget & Bram Thornton
What: Storming the castle
Where: EKP HQ, Bram's office
When: 1/31, after this
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Status: Complete!
Many around EKP headquarters were used to seeing Mag come and go. She was no Peacekeeper, but her friendship with Bram was no secret. Often, she had brought the detective inspector coffee and a snack for the long nights spent poring over case reports. The smile that she would normally have shared with the officers working at their desks was nowhere to be seen on her face as she burst into headquarters and made a beeline for the door marked Bram Thornton, D. Insp. (No need to ask if he was in, which such a recent murder case on his hands. If he wasn’t, she’d go find him at Bahamut, wherever.) Knocking was for people with a cooler head. The door hit the cabinet by the threshold and bounced back, closing behind Mag as he jerked away from his paperwork. Before Bram could speak, she slammed her palms on his desk and said, “Sorry I forgot to bring a white mage along. You must not be feeling well, Bram.” His eyes narrowing, Bram rolled his chair back from the desk (the shotgun knight was leaning too close into his space, her entire body thrumming with aggressive energy, body looming over him and scattering papers and pencils). The initial alarm was quickly quashed, stamped underfoot in favour of his best attempt at a deadpan: “Excuse me?” “See, I have two options here.” She did not budge an inch. “I can believe one of my best friends is an asshole who made a joke in really poor taste, or I can believe you actually think Lavitz for Amell killed his dead friend’s widow.” A deep breath—a futile attempt to curb the anger―and she asked, “Which should I believe, Bram?” “I don’t believe anything yet, Magnolia.” She bristled. He was using her full name. It was that kind of day. “It’s still an active investigation. We’re exploring all possibilities.” The urge to make a comment about what he and his agents could explore was quashed, just barely. “Well, Thornton,” she said. “This isn’t one. I’ve known this man for years and he wouldn’t murder anyone like you seem to think he did—or you would have struck him off the list already, for fuck’s sake—” A pause did nothing to abate the need to reach out and shake Bram. She curled her hands into fists. “He did not kill Leola. Especially not like that. I can promise you that much.” Bram stayed quiet and patient, letting Mag rail on and unleash all of her anger in the tirade. His hands were knitted in his lap. For one short bitter moment, he almost asked Are you done?—the same condescending irritation he’d levelled at Conan Deirgard’s antics at the fete—but he suppressed it . “People can surprise you,” he said carefully. “Even after so many years. And you can’t deny that fon Amell hasn’t experienced an extreme amount of stress over the past few years. And the facts remain: he saw Leola Vancoor last, he was there at the docks with her, and it’s the same place where…” He was speaking as though he had never met the man at all. To avoid reaching out, she knocked a pencil holder off the desk and slammed her hands on the wooden surface once more. His eyes flickered downwards, watching the mug rolling across the floor, before returning to meet Mag’s livid gaze. “Now you listen to me,” she began again, seething. “How many dockhands work in that area at any time? But they didn’t kill Leola, did they? They were there too!” She took another deep breath, but it was cut short by her building rage. “So why is it Lavitz you’re looking at? He would have killed himself before he lay a hand on Leola. His friend Nowe loved her. He would have died for Nowe—he would be dead now, if he thought that may bring either of them back.” Bram scrubbed at his face, some signs of distress finally bubbling their way to the surface. He’d never seen Mag shout like this before—never seen her lose her temper, her composure shattered, being on the receiving end of such jarring anger from the woman he saw as a little sister. “Things were tense between them after Nowe’s death, weren’t they?” he said bleakly. “Something could have gone sour. Anything is within the realm of possibility. Again, Magnolia, I’m not saying that he did—” “Stop calling me Magnolia.” “—fine. Mag, I am saying it’s something that I’m fucking duty-bound to consider. To do our due diligence, cover all the bases.” “Well, you’ve considered it now. You’ve done your due diligence. But what do you think?” She met his stare without budging an inch. “If you tell me you personally think it’s possible, you’re gonna have to explain your reasoning to me, because I just don’t get what the fuck you could be thinking.” And just like that, Mag had finally whittled down the last of his patience. (A smear of blood on a stone wall, a missing officer, two new folders on his desk, an interrogation with a dragoon he considered a friend.) That patience ebbed away and anger rose up to take its place. “I don’t owe you any explanations, Paget.” Bram stood out of his chair at last, his knuckles whitening against the edge of his desk, meeting her eye-to-eye. “This is my job, and it’s an active, in-progress investigation, and you’re not going to tell me how to run it. Maybe it was suicide. But maybe it’s a murder, and maybe he’s innocent, or maybe he’s guilty, but either Faram-damned way, we’ll find out in due course.” Now, get out. The words were there, right there, hovering on the tip of his tongue, the last volley he could use. “I really want to punch you right now,” she said. “Then you could arrest me too.” “If it would make you feel better,” he said stiffly, his voice like steel. Bram’s temper was a rolling boulder, steady and inexorable and dry, but with no fire, no flame. Counterpoint to Mag’s, a spark that didn’t burn easily but combusted the air around her when it did catch fire, thinning her breath and pounding in her ears. She looked at the man she considered one of the closest friends she had in the city, who had helped her pull herself together after her arrival, and knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that nothing good would grow from the current situation. “I want to think it wouldn’t.” Her nails dug into her palms. “But you have the wrong man, Bram. He’s innocent.” Another deep breath. Bram would not budge, and neither would she. But she would be in this office every day if she needed to, if that was what it took to convince the man in front of her. They stared each other down for another long second, and Mag felt her fist itch to find out the answer to Bram’s words. She stepped away from the table, clinging to the last shreds of self-control. “Fuck your due diligence,” she said, and stormed out. The door slammed behind her, rattling the frame and sending the pencil holder rolling across the floor. |