- Location
- Postcard from the Root
[X] Go get your things from your old workplace.
Light Up (Dresden Files)
- Thread starter Bladestar123
- Start date
[X] Go get your things from your old workplace.
Bladestar123
Happy
- Location
- Man, wherever
Votes Locked
LostDeviljho
Flame Dragon Princess
- Location
- The glorious Pacific Northwest
- Pronouns
- Any
appears I was a bit too late to get a vote in, but this looks fun. Good job blade.
First Offense (II)
Bladestar123
Happy
- Location
- Man, wherever
[X] Go get your things from your old workplace.
You walk outside, and get in your old Corolla. The faux leather upholstery creaks comfortingly, cracking around well-worn stress seams. You stop for a moment, head against the cushion, considering your options. There's no shortage, especially considering that you don't really have a solid pin on the man you are likely to be working for. Despite being Lieutenant, Roarke hasn't really made the rounds, so to speak. He's a relative unknown, and you had only really ever bumped into him around Central. There were rumors however, that he was retired from undercover work, and had recently moved in as his just dues. You're not sure how to take it; a few old friends had left to do exactly that, moving elsewhere, and you had never met someone who had returned. You wonder idly, how has it affected him? He seems well-adjusted, but you know for a fact that so many many men need therapy after such work. Is he - ?
You're taken out of your thoughts as you jam your fingers painfully against the dashboard.
Sucking them, you look resentfully at the dash and it's lack of a radio for your fingers to catch. You were usually on beat at this point, and it felt strange not contacting dispatch.
Well, that made up your mind. Time to clean up while everyone else is out; looking at the time, daily briefing likely ended maybe half an hour ago? It should be pretty empty of patrolmen, so grabbing your stuff won't be difficult. Frees up time for for idle speculation later, anyway.
You kick the car into motion, and you take your time in the heavy traffic. It would be pretty embarrassing having one of your colleagues pull you over, and listening to them bitch about the extra paperwork from your dumb ass is an experience best left to jokes and suppositions.
But even being careful, you arrive smoothly in front of your station around a quarter to 10, a slight guilt in your heart at not being in uniform. You know for a fact that, even in broad daylight, patrolling is as active as ever, and dispatch rarely has a clean board for you in these parts.
You quietly open your door and make your way inside, deeply uncomfortable with the looks of pity some of the passerby give you. Perhaps they decided you weren't a policeman because you were so late, or lacked a bag? Or maybe you really did look that miserable and guilty after all.
Or maybe it was the cold. The snow thawed for the most part, but you see little baby bergs hanging out on patches of grass, yet to succumb. Certainly cold enough for you.
The inside is warm enough to put a mild vindicated smile on your face, and you take off your puffy jacket to Jenna's scandalized look at your choice of outerwear.
You ignore it.
"You shouldn't. That's just unhealthy."
You disagree, frankly.
He rolls dull black eyes, and waves you in. You're not surprised he knows why you're here; this had been in motion since they'd found you bent around your squad car worse than the bloody light pole beside you. Jenna had been the one to spot you waking first, in the ward you had been consigned to alone, and you were glad that the stocky man had been there to intercept some of the more terse conversations that followed with nonessential personnel. It hadn't been the first time, nor were you the first he had stuck himself out for; despite all your feigned dismissal, you have a soft spot for the man and his willingness to put up with some of the bullshit patrolmen bring in.
You've yet to see another being so willing to refill the pot for everyone else.
You walk through, and head to your desk, head down, and hoping no one else notices you. Things had been awkward here since then, and you didn't anticipate many people waving you goodbye.
But one of the people who did, gave you pause; a square-jawed brunette waits somewhat awkwardly by your desk.
You swallow slightly, not anticipating this conversation, but step forward. The other desks are not particularly full, save for a few men doing paperwork. Most of the others have probably already left on their beats.
Mary steps forwards, chewing her lips, and you pause in your movement. She doesn't seem to know how to take this, floundering slightly, before lightly clearing her throat anyway.
"Hey. You...you here to clean up?"
You nod slightly, uncomfortably. It's a short and jerky movement, and so small you worry if she caught it at all.
She waits a few seconds, and then realizes that that is the extent of your response. You flush slightly, struggling with words, but she speaks up first again, eyes slightly cooler. "Yeah, so, you're heading out."
"Y-yeah." You look at her, wondering what this is about.
She looks conflicted. "Yeah. Okay. That's, that's cool." It's not cool, and she knows it. This station alone knows the full extent of what you looked like, and she's not stupid enough to think the resulting promotion is a good thing.
Sighing a little bit, you slide around her as politely as you can manage, and move to your desk. It's not got much, you were never one for a cluttered desk. But what's there is... well. A crusty coffee mug, a picture frame, three pens, paperwork, some messages, some cables, a spare nail clipper you had forgotten one day and pad of paper. All of you, laid bare, save for the loose wrappers and disposable plates you'd already removed. You slowly begin shifting it to a little purple basket you kept under the table, moving every minute detail with care, so it's organized neatly. Better to be clean than quick.
"Are...are you sure?"
"What?" You blink.
She looks a little deeper. "Are you sure, you want to do this?"
"Don't have much of a choice, do I?"
"That's horseshit." She snorts. "You have plenty of options David. You just don't want them."
Your silence is answer enough, and she looks a little more comfortable. A familiar arrogance has returned to her eyes now that you're on the backpedal, and this comforts you too. You shift the basket from your set to the tabletop, the last of your preparations functionally complete.
"What's your point then?"
She looks around, and a quick look shows the officers shoving their heads back into their papers. This fails to surprise you, but you notice that she seems almost...bolstered by their reactions. A slight inkling starts to grow, just a vague idea...
She sighs, a deep and gusty breath that somehow doesn't bother you as much as the crust around her eyes. She works the night shift, and you aren't surprised she's tired. What is more surprising, is that she bothered to wait for you. Her kids are usually awake by now, and you've seen what she does to men that keep her from them.
There's something more here, if there was anyone to wait to talk, she would not have been one you expected.
"SIU."
You blink. "What? SIU?"
Her expression twists in the slightest impatience, and you redden a little, hastily speaking up. "I don't know what you mean. What about SIU?"
"Are you sure," she carefully enunciates, "That you want. To go work. For SIU?"
And with that, it's clear. You hadn't realized that knowledge of your promotion maybe not being a good thing would put shade on the department itself. Perhaps that should have been evident - SIU was new after all. Untested. Of course having you be the first recruit would put up alarm bells for people aware of the details. No vets, no sergeant, no one but you.
[ ] "No, I'm not."
[ ] "This is a good opportunity, for me."
[ ] "There's more to it than you think."
[ ] "Don't worry about it."
[ ] "Why do you want to know?"
[ ] "Better than nothing."
You walk outside, and get in your old Corolla. The faux leather upholstery creaks comfortingly, cracking around well-worn stress seams. You stop for a moment, head against the cushion, considering your options. There's no shortage, especially considering that you don't really have a solid pin on the man you are likely to be working for. Despite being Lieutenant, Roarke hasn't really made the rounds, so to speak. He's a relative unknown, and you had only really ever bumped into him around Central. There were rumors however, that he was retired from undercover work, and had recently moved in as his just dues. You're not sure how to take it; a few old friends had left to do exactly that, moving elsewhere, and you had never met someone who had returned. You wonder idly, how has it affected him? He seems well-adjusted, but you know for a fact that so many many men need therapy after such work. Is he - ?
You're taken out of your thoughts as you jam your fingers painfully against the dashboard.
Sucking them, you look resentfully at the dash and it's lack of a radio for your fingers to catch. You were usually on beat at this point, and it felt strange not contacting dispatch.
Well, that made up your mind. Time to clean up while everyone else is out; looking at the time, daily briefing likely ended maybe half an hour ago? It should be pretty empty of patrolmen, so grabbing your stuff won't be difficult. Frees up time for for idle speculation later, anyway.
You kick the car into motion, and you take your time in the heavy traffic. It would be pretty embarrassing having one of your colleagues pull you over, and listening to them bitch about the extra paperwork from your dumb ass is an experience best left to jokes and suppositions.
But even being careful, you arrive smoothly in front of your station around a quarter to 10, a slight guilt in your heart at not being in uniform. You know for a fact that, even in broad daylight, patrolling is as active as ever, and dispatch rarely has a clean board for you in these parts.
You quietly open your door and make your way inside, deeply uncomfortable with the looks of pity some of the passerby give you. Perhaps they decided you weren't a policeman because you were so late, or lacked a bag? Or maybe you really did look that miserable and guilty after all.
Or maybe it was the cold. The snow thawed for the most part, but you see little baby bergs hanging out on patches of grass, yet to succumb. Certainly cold enough for you.
The inside is warm enough to put a mild vindicated smile on your face, and you take off your puffy jacket to Jenna's scandalized look at your choice of outerwear.
You ignore it.
"You shouldn't. That's just unhealthy."
You disagree, frankly.
He rolls dull black eyes, and waves you in. You're not surprised he knows why you're here; this had been in motion since they'd found you bent around your squad car worse than the bloody light pole beside you. Jenna had been the one to spot you waking first, in the ward you had been consigned to alone, and you were glad that the stocky man had been there to intercept some of the more terse conversations that followed with nonessential personnel. It hadn't been the first time, nor were you the first he had stuck himself out for; despite all your feigned dismissal, you have a soft spot for the man and his willingness to put up with some of the bullshit patrolmen bring in.
You've yet to see another being so willing to refill the pot for everyone else.
You walk through, and head to your desk, head down, and hoping no one else notices you. Things had been awkward here since then, and you didn't anticipate many people waving you goodbye.
But one of the people who did, gave you pause; a square-jawed brunette waits somewhat awkwardly by your desk.
You swallow slightly, not anticipating this conversation, but step forward. The other desks are not particularly full, save for a few men doing paperwork. Most of the others have probably already left on their beats.
Mary steps forwards, chewing her lips, and you pause in your movement. She doesn't seem to know how to take this, floundering slightly, before lightly clearing her throat anyway.
"Hey. You...you here to clean up?"
You nod slightly, uncomfortably. It's a short and jerky movement, and so small you worry if she caught it at all.
She waits a few seconds, and then realizes that that is the extent of your response. You flush slightly, struggling with words, but she speaks up first again, eyes slightly cooler. "Yeah, so, you're heading out."
"Y-yeah." You look at her, wondering what this is about.
She looks conflicted. "Yeah. Okay. That's, that's cool." It's not cool, and she knows it. This station alone knows the full extent of what you looked like, and she's not stupid enough to think the resulting promotion is a good thing.
Sighing a little bit, you slide around her as politely as you can manage, and move to your desk. It's not got much, you were never one for a cluttered desk. But what's there is... well. A crusty coffee mug, a picture frame, three pens, paperwork, some messages, some cables, a spare nail clipper you had forgotten one day and pad of paper. All of you, laid bare, save for the loose wrappers and disposable plates you'd already removed. You slowly begin shifting it to a little purple basket you kept under the table, moving every minute detail with care, so it's organized neatly. Better to be clean than quick.
"Are...are you sure?"
"What?" You blink.
She looks a little deeper. "Are you sure, you want to do this?"
"Don't have much of a choice, do I?"
"That's horseshit." She snorts. "You have plenty of options David. You just don't want them."
Your silence is answer enough, and she looks a little more comfortable. A familiar arrogance has returned to her eyes now that you're on the backpedal, and this comforts you too. You shift the basket from your set to the tabletop, the last of your preparations functionally complete.
"What's your point then?"
She looks around, and a quick look shows the officers shoving their heads back into their papers. This fails to surprise you, but you notice that she seems almost...bolstered by their reactions. A slight inkling starts to grow, just a vague idea...
She sighs, a deep and gusty breath that somehow doesn't bother you as much as the crust around her eyes. She works the night shift, and you aren't surprised she's tired. What is more surprising, is that she bothered to wait for you. Her kids are usually awake by now, and you've seen what she does to men that keep her from them.
There's something more here, if there was anyone to wait to talk, she would not have been one you expected.
"SIU."
You blink. "What? SIU?"
Her expression twists in the slightest impatience, and you redden a little, hastily speaking up. "I don't know what you mean. What about SIU?"
"Are you sure," she carefully enunciates, "That you want. To go work. For SIU?"
And with that, it's clear. You hadn't realized that knowledge of your promotion maybe not being a good thing would put shade on the department itself. Perhaps that should have been evident - SIU was new after all. Untested. Of course having you be the first recruit would put up alarm bells for people aware of the details. No vets, no sergeant, no one but you.
[ ] "No, I'm not."
[ ] "This is a good opportunity, for me."
[ ] "There's more to it than you think."
[ ] "Don't worry about it."
[ ] "Why do you want to know?"
[ ] "Better than nothing."
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LostDeviljho
Flame Dragon Princess
- Location
- The glorious Pacific Northwest
- Pronouns
- Any
Hmmm. Is it just me or does our PC have a somewhat different perspective from the rest of folks?
[x] "This is a good opportunity, for me."
[x] "This is a good opportunity, for me."
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NúmenoreanNazgûl
Witch-King
- Location
- Minas Morgul
[X] "There's more to it than you think."
Hm. I wonder if we do a good enough job, we can prevent the SI unit from getting the crap reputation it gets is canon.
Hm. I wonder if we do a good enough job, we can prevent the SI unit from getting the crap reputation it gets is canon.
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LostDeviljho
Flame Dragon Princess
- Location
- The glorious Pacific Northwest
- Pronouns
- Any
Proooobably not. SIU has their rep for mostly unavoidable reasons, being the branch they shove shit that can't be solved proper-like off on.
The whole point is unsolvable cases which we can't tell the public even if we did solve them.
But I like to think we actually LIKE the job
[X] "There's more to it than you think."
Khawy
TITANNNNNNNNNNN
- Location
- The United States of America
[X] "This is a good opportunity, for me."
This sounds the least condescending so I'm gonna go for it.
Better than nothing sounds a bit too defeatist to my taste. Like, it's the thing you say when you have no expectation at all.
This sounds the least condescending so I'm gonna go for it.
Better than nothing sounds a bit too defeatist to my taste. Like, it's the thing you say when you have no expectation at all.
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Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] "Better than nothing."
NúmenoreanNazgûl
Witch-King
- Location
- Minas Morgul
The point of the SIU is to give plausible explanations to magical crimes. In canon they were in way over their heads since they had no magicals in the department. But if the MC gets good enough in magic, we could solve the cases and "solve" the cases too, which if done correctly could salvage the departments rep. We don't have to succeed in every case, no one is looking for a perfect record. Just enough that we don't look any less competent than other departments.
Aodyssey
The glass will not protecc you
- Location
- Chaldea
[x] "No, I'm not."
If someone was honestly concerned for you, accepting help seems like a wise decision.
ChildishChimera
A umbran summon
- Location
- New York
[X] "Better than nothing."
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