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The Secret's In The Telling
Who: Jasper and Kitty
Where: Police Station
When: Morning
Two things Jasper McQueen took seriously in life - cars and women. Treat both of them with respect and love them like you’re going to die tomorrow. Part of why who took up the human trafficking unit was due to the mistreatment of Elsie and the vast visions he saw. That shit didn’t erase. It was burned in his memory forever. Jasper took sex cases very seriously and the second Jameson handed the file of a certain Miss Kitty on over to his twin, he was all over it. The blonde had skimmed through the information the night before, knowing that Jameson was blabbing on with the TV on the whole time. Always easier to ask first hand anyways.
Always easier to use his hands, period.
He had to remind himself not to get burned again like he did with Elsie, but then again, this wasn’t Elsie. There was no attachment or years of searching. Jasper considered himself fine. So as he rolled on up to the police station, classic rock music blaring out of his car, he killed the engine and hopped on out with a travel mug of coffee in hand. He wasn’t dressed in uniform like the rest of the crew: jeans, a ratty old tshirt, leather jacket, boots, and gloves. Taking a sip from his coffee, he said good morning to a couple of the officers and poked around the corner to spot a tiny redhead sitting by herself in the lobby. “Reckon you might be Miss Kitty McLain, ma’am?”
( Read more... )
Where: Police Station
When: Morning
Two things Jasper McQueen took seriously in life - cars and women. Treat both of them with respect and love them like you’re going to die tomorrow. Part of why who took up the human trafficking unit was due to the mistreatment of Elsie and the vast visions he saw. That shit didn’t erase. It was burned in his memory forever. Jasper took sex cases very seriously and the second Jameson handed the file of a certain Miss Kitty on over to his twin, he was all over it. The blonde had skimmed through the information the night before, knowing that Jameson was blabbing on with the TV on the whole time. Always easier to ask first hand anyways.
Always easier to use his hands, period.
He had to remind himself not to get burned again like he did with Elsie, but then again, this wasn’t Elsie. There was no attachment or years of searching. Jasper considered himself fine. So as he rolled on up to the police station, classic rock music blaring out of his car, he killed the engine and hopped on out with a travel mug of coffee in hand. He wasn’t dressed in uniform like the rest of the crew: jeans, a ratty old tshirt, leather jacket, boots, and gloves. Taking a sip from his coffee, he said good morning to a couple of the officers and poked around the corner to spot a tiny redhead sitting by herself in the lobby. “Reckon you might be Miss Kitty McLain, ma’am?”
( Read more... )