woop-woop! that's the sound of da police Who: Fred & Henri What: Meeting of the Minds Where: Bellamy’s Apartment, despite neither party living there When: Wednesday, July 6th (evening)
Fred had done difficult policing in the past. She’d done things, or allowed things to be done, that didn’t make her feel good. That didn’t make her feel like justice was served. Whatever she felt, though, she had ultimately flinched away from action; she was too dedicated to the letter and not the spirit, or perhaps she was just a coward. Her arrival in Glynn had felt like a firecracker in its own right, but now everything around her was on fire and she was helpless and alone. The Marshal’s condition had worsened; the Llewellyn case had been pried from her control by the boys from Castyll, and she’d been strong-armed into accepting a curfew from the same loud and obnoxious men. Outsiders.
Then again, what was she? An outsider, too, and a silent one. She just nodded, did as she was told.
The patrol was quiet, at least, and she had time alone. Time to think to herself, to try and come to a different conclusion than she always arrived at. It was easier to just accept things as they were, she used to think. Now, she wasn’t so sure. It was hard to resist the powerful pressure of what Clovenne wanted of its forces, but it was becoming harder still to swallow it. The last time she’d felt so utterly helpless had been when she was much younger, when she’d made the decision to start down this path. It made every choice feel impossible; like no matter what she did she was going to make things worse for either herself or the communities she valued.
Without thinking, she’d ended up on the street where the Marshal’s apartment was. The last time she’d been around, it’d been for the card game. That evening was perhaps a blueprint for all the ways that things were about to go wrong. She resented the whole affair, and with startling clarity she realized she resented the game, the Marshal, and -- a light was on. She stopped short and stared upwards into the cool dark. Allen wasn’t there; he’d been transferred to a Castyllian hospital. His apartment should be empty.
Her throat tightened with the surge of adrenaline. More problems. She quietly crept into the courtyard of the flathouse. She was careful to keep to the left on the narrow stairs (she’d noticed the other side was loose, would creak if you put weight on it), and after she reached the landing she confirmed that the soft glow under the door was from the Marshal’s place. Someone had broken in and made themselves at home. Her hand went to the knob, hesitated, and she considered her options. Do the right thing, something inside her rumbled, and she took a deep breath and put her hand to the club on her hip and banged her other fist against the flimsy wood.
“Open up!” She said, far more forceful that she’d been the prior week. It reverberated deep into her gut, the release of all that inner volume she’d suppressed. “Marshal’s Office. You have until the count of ten!”