WHO: Olive Dorough and Luke Quinn WHERE: Subway station, District 1 WHEN: Tuesday afternoon WHAT: Olive received a call from the NYPD: she needs to identify a body they believe is Frieda Cohensen. Luke is told to accompany her, and they run into trouble in the Subway afterward. RATING: R
That was... draining.
Olivia Dorough had never done well around dead bodies. She had never been exposed to one until she (and about a thousand other people) were witness to her father's untimely death, and for all her internal steeliness, the young woman simply could not function very well in the presence of death.
That's why she had gone to Wesley when the police called her earlier that morning, requesting her presence to identify the body of the girl she had reported missing. Wes, of course having more important things to do for the day, delegated his duties as the twisted father-figure to his most notorious dancer to the Irishman she seemed to tolerate better than most of the other figures in his employ. Luke Quinn.
They set out from Jamaica a little after noon, making their way across town to the hospital that housed District 2's recent dead, which ironically was a good hour's travel from the actual borders of the region it serviced. Olivia maintained a somewhat distracted silence most of the way there, but stuck closer to the bouncer than she normally would have, due to some innate sense of fear that was hovering behind the woman's green eyes like a cloud. She must have smoked half a pack of cigarettes on the way.
Of course, all her tension and anxiety was lessened by the fact that the torn up body of a pale young woman presented to them both was not her roommate and co-worker. Probably some street walker, by the looks of the girl.. but that didn't help the fact that she was dead, and thus.. unable to be rightly tolerated by Olivia. The police would have to continue their search, which of course--for a French speaking foreigner, meant they would just be calling Olive every time an unidentified redheaded body showed up on the street. She'd be niave to think they were actually out looking for Frieda.
She and Luke were now on their way down the steps into the stuffy, stagnent air of the subway station a block from the hospital, on their way back to the slums of District 2. The whine of the train leaving the station signaled that they were about thirty seconds too late, and would have to catch the next one.
Sighing quietly, Olive pried her pack of smokes from the confines of a tight pair of distressed jeans, and pulled one from it's brothers with her lips. It bobbed as she talked, or mummbled in his direction... her words accompanied by the search for her lighter. The thickness of that Glasgow dialect sharpened her voice. She didn't hide it with him.