Leon Orcot (under_arrest) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-06-02 09:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, leon orcot |
Who: Leon Orcot
Where: His apartment
When: Morning of Tuesday, June 2nd
What: Leon gets shot in his sleep.
Rating: Blood due to getting shot.
Status: Complete | Narrative
Leon’s dream had started off normal enough – eerily similar to real life, with him getting dumped. When he went to D to vent, D had given him a fucking cactus, which was ridiculous, but what was even more ridiculous was that Leon had taken it home with him. In his dreams, he had gotten awfully attached to the damn cactus – its name, because clearly plants needed names or something, was Gattolotto - sitting beside it and reading to it, blowing off drinks with his coworkers to water it, and treating it like a goddamn girlfriend. Clearly Dream!Leon needed to get a date.
And then he had gone out on a stake-out, and to prevent the perps from fleeing the scene, he had run in himself without waiting for back-up. Some douchebag named Clyde (because of course his name was Clyde) shot him three times, and what he assumed was his last thought was “Who’s going to water Gattolotto.”
Leon really, really needed a date. And then, he was waking up in the hospital, with D hovering over him, and telling him his stupid cactus was dead. Just great.
Leon woke up with a jolt, and knew immediately that something wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be in this much pain. It didn’t take him long to realize that he was also bleeding. There was… a lot of blood. From bullet wounds.
“Chris?!” Leon called out. Someone had broken into his apartment, and the only way they could possibly get to his bedroom to shoot him was through the living room where Chris was sleeping on the hide-a-bed. “Chris??”
“Leon?” Chris’ voice came back, sounding not at all panicked, and instead a little like he had just woken up. That… wasn’t right.
He heard Chris’ jangle his doorknob. “Chris, don’t –“ he winced. “Don’t come in here.” He couldn’t let his little brother see him like this. “I need you to,” oh man, talking was hard. Things were starting to get a little soft around the edges, and it was getting harder to think, let alone give Chris directions. “Call 911. Tell them – ugh – tell them there was a shooting. And then wait for them outside.”
He reached for his phone and… managed to get blood all over the screen. Of course. He sloppily wiped it off, and wiped off one of his hands, and shot a quick text to Sharon.
He had to stay conscious until the paramedics got there. Losing consciousness… that was a bad call. He couldn’t fucking die. First of all, he didn’t want to die, but if he was going to die because of his job, he’d rather it be in a blaze of glory. Not getting shot in his sleep. Perhaps from someone who was pissed off that he had locked them out.
Thinking about the crime… that was the best way to do it. Do as much investigating as he could while… not moving, trying to stop himself from bleeding out, and… what had she meant third rate detective? Leon was clearly a great detective. And what the hell was a third-class businessman anyway? Why would someone possibly want to date that over a detective? He couldn’t believe he had been dumped.
In the Dreams, Leon. The Dreams were not real. Even if he had been shot in them. Right. He had to be thinking about the case. Someone had broken into his apartment, shot him multiple times, and left again before Leon had woken up, all without waking up Chris. On the same night he dreamed about being shot. Maybe he had dreamed about being shot because he had been getting shot. That made sense.
He turned to the window by his bed, to look for bullet holes in the glass, or to make sure that it was still locked, and his froze. There, sitting on his windowsill, was Gattolotto.