Winifred Kinney (moreweight) wrote in theunboundic, @ 2020-07-29 22:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! time: july 3 - 9, henri danior, winnifred kinney |
it's like two enlightened hearts riding up the ridge of a ride that's stopped
Who: Fred & Henri
What: Plausible Deniability
Where: Marshal's Office
When: Saturday, July 9, too fucking late (after this)
The perpetual weariness of Fred Kinney was a familiar blanket she could shroud herself in; it was an expected role she could just... slip into, when being anything else was too uncomfortable. The boys at the Marshal's Office, they expected her to be in. No one looked sideways at her for it - especially not in these times - and certainly no one would ask why. She could lose herself in her work, and find bliss in the familiar rhythm of things.
Well, until the clinic ringed her about Boucher being admitted with a number of colorful injuries. The extent of the damage paired with the man's silence (likely from wounded pride, the nurse had communicated sympathetically) meant that her list of suspects was fairly shallow. If it had been a riot, there wouldn't have been just one cop targeted. It wasn't just an ordinary fist-fight, either. She thanked the nurse for the update and hung up, staring at the black enamel of the receiver rubbed matte by dirty hands.
After taking time to order her thoughts while composing a brief memo on the matter - left unsent, Kinney pushed her way out of Marshal Bellamy's office (she'd set up camp there these past few days) and went out to hunt the hunter. If it wasn't him, he'd know who - and if it was him, she had half a mind to shove him in a pen until his brother could come collect him. She'd made a mistake, clearly - driven by emotions, by feeling fearful and lonely and desperate and - and what? The last truth caught up in her chest, sending her heart fluttering and making her stomach turn. No.
Outside, it was cool and damp. The rain was coming and going, and the moisture hung in the air. She didn't even know what time it was anymore, but suspected that the man was somewhere close. It hadn't been that long, and once a man like Henri got started she wondered how long the adrenaline sat in his veins and sought to encourage him further.
"Officer Bellamy," she said flatly into darkness, as if she could intimidate it, too, with how little she gave a fuck about it. "If you're out here, you have five minutes to explain what the hell happened with Boucher."