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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jun 5, 2013 13:40:01 GMT -5
Sunny kept going on like they were on some kind of bloody date, but no no, he daren't call it that, because Sunny had an ex-wife, and if Greg saw her, would he mind giving her a message? YES I FUCKING WOULD, Greg thought, but focused on driving because crashing the car would do neither of them much good, though with any luck Sunny would shut up for a few seconds.
“So, like I said, I’m good going to where you live, as long as there’s good coffee," he babbled on, "Did you know that most places with staff rooms never clean their coffee makers? That’s why they always say the coffee tastes like shit. A word of advice – never buy a fancy coffee pot. It spoils you for all other blends, my friend.”
"I don't live at the police station,"[/color] Greg muttered under his breath. He made a solemn oath not to listen to a work Sunny said for the rest of the drive there, and so he did. The method of not-hearing-anything was something he'd picked up when he was a kid trying not to beat up his herd of younger brothers and sisters for being so damn noisy all the time. He was pretty sure the fact that he was using this technique again now was testament to the state of the man he'd shoved in the back seat.
Thankfully it only took a few minutes to the get to the station, and Greg parked the car, bracing himself to get the guy out. He would almost rather go with someone violent than this idiot. Right, he was so sticking up for himself from now on. Yeah, the others had more important things to do at the moment, but he could be home right now, reading a book and not having to deal with some crazy man blocking the crosswalk.
Greg opened the door. "Okay, come on,"[/color] he said, reaching to grip the chain that held the guy's hands handcuffed together behind his back. He'd call the stupid number once this guy was inside and unable to piss Greg off any longer, thanks to locked doors.
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SUNNY CRUSOE
High Class
Robinson Crusoe
"A question that sometimes makes me hazy - Am I or are the others crazy?"
Posts: 91
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Post by SUNNY CRUSOE on Jun 11, 2013 16:42:31 GMT -5
Sunny only hummed when the guy claimed he didn’t live at the police station. Sunny knew better than to believe that. After all, he’d stayed there enough times to know that people did sleep and eat there. And if he had some place somewhere else, then he was doing well for himself. But that seemed to be the only thing the man was interested in saying, so Sunny had to babble to himself the rest of the drive. Of course, he was the most entertaining person he knew, so he wasn’t too put out. In fact, he was having a good discussion about how things were going to go down in his latest drug runner story and how Irish’s character would play out. He was really actually getting into it when Irish parked and Sunny nearly bounced with glee. Oh, he knew this station. This was definitely a good place to be.
"Okay, come on," Irish finally directed, reaching to help him out of the car. Sunny went gladly, bounding out. He straightened up to his full height and took in the sights, thinking that this was a great little station.
“Well, Irish. You out did yourself. They have primo coffee here.”
He could enjoy this place. He had a lot of fun there in the past, after all, and it was a great way to kill an afternoon until either Thursday caught up with him or his publisher, Jack, got him out of the bind. He never saw it as a bind, but he certainly got lectured as if that was what it was. Until then, he was up for some fun. He practically dragged Irish along in his hurry to run in.
“I can see why you live here. The people are pretty great. Did you know there’s a guy upstairs who literally gets called Captain? I don’t think anyone even knows his first name, outside of Captain.” He shrugged a bit, thinking that was pretty cool.
“So, to booking, then? Or are we going straight down to holding?” he asked, smiling at people he recognized. “Because they have a file on me this...well, if I could hold my hands apart, I’d tell you how thick it was. It’s thick,” he offered. “You’re just going to be making it thicker, Irish. I get the feeling you write long reports.”
Men who said nothing were wordy on paper, after all. He knew how that was. He’d met a lot of Admirals who were just perfect examples of that. Hmm, now maybe Irish was important if he never said anything...
“Are you important?”
He doubted it, but he always liked to cross his chest and dot his eyes and such.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jun 17, 2013 3:14:03 GMT -5
“Well, Irish. You out did yourself. They have primo coffee here.”
"You sound familiar wit the place,"[/color] Greg said dryly, leading Sunny with more force than necessary into the station. He started talking about someone called Captain while Greg spoke over him, giving the lady who worked with the files a quick low down. “So, to booking, then?" Sunny continued on. Greg wondered if this guy ever actually shut up. Legitimately wondered if he knew how to be quiet. And the fact that he knew the names of all these sections of the station was more than a little off-putting. "Or are we going straight down to holding? Because they have a file on me this...well, if I could hold my hands apart, I’d tell you how thick it was. It’s thick. You’re just going to be making it thicker, Irish. I get the feeling you write long reports.”
Greg stopped for a second at that. And, strangely, he found himself snorting quietly in the back of his throat to avoid laughing. It was an acute observation on this idiot's part that the self-deprecating part of Greg found highly amusing.
“Are you important?”
"Yeah," Greg said roughly, sarcasm in his voice, "So important. I mean, I look at dead bodies. So maybe that's why you piss me off so much, you talk too much."[/color]
He really hoped no one else heard that as soon as it was out of his mouth. It was not a good day to get in trouble. And anyways, usually he refused to talk to guys he brought in at all. Granted, they had usually done something highly more punishable, like killing someone else, but for some reason this guy's so annoying mantra was wearing on him so much that he'd already resorted to sarcasm. Great.
He cleared his throat, annoyed with himself. "Sit," he said, annoyed at Sunny and himself now, "I think I ought to call whomever's on that card of yours."[/color]
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SUNNY CRUSOE
High Class
Robinson Crusoe
"A question that sometimes makes me hazy - Am I or are the others crazy?"
Posts: 91
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Post by SUNNY CRUSOE on Jul 7, 2013 2:46:11 GMT -5
"You sound familiar wit the place,"
Sunny felt like laughing. Of course he was familiar with the place. This seemed to be where all the policemen he knew lived. And he couldn’t blame them. It was all about location, after all. And this location was close to where he lived, and close to where his publisher was, so it was all kosher. Well, if Kosher meant what he thought it did. If it was just a fancy word for salt, he was going to be mad.
But that was going to have to wait for later. Being manhandled into the station was his main priority right then. After all, if he dragged his feet, he’d probably trip and squash Irish. The guy didn’t look like he was going to be a great cushion if that were the eventuality. Besides, that would be rather counter-productive to the street cred he’d built up in the place. He was eccentric and chatty, not clumsy.
And witty. He was witty. And intuitive. He had this cop pegged, and he was only proved right when he actually got a bit of an aborted laugh out of something Sunny’d said. Just what that was...well, he said it, whatever it was. He’d figure it out later, like how his books managed to sell. Well, he was still trying to figure that out...
"Yeah, so important. I mean, I look at dead bodies. So maybe that's why you piss me off so much, you talk too much."
Sunny paused, making sure to lean back a bit so he wouldn’t get tugged over. He blinked, looking over the mild mannered man before him.
“You look at dead people?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “That’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard. Is it a sexual thing or do you just contemplate life or something?”
It would be an interesting twist to the character. He’d never had a character who suffered from necrophilia in a book before. He wasn’t so sure that his readers were ready for something like that, but then he did have his own private cuts of novels. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that, either though. Thursday would tattle on him if he wrote something like that. She was one cold hearted little woman.
"Sit. I think I ought to call whomever's on that card of yours."
“Oh, Jimmy Joe-Jack-aroo,” he replied with a shrug, picturing the way his publisher was going to turn purplish at the news. Jack was funny that way. “You’ll like him. He gives me the same looks that you do.”
Sunny flopped down on the chair, trying to get comfortable with his wrists cuffed. It was annoying and mean and he wasn’t happy with it. Irish was supposed to be the one unhappy with all this.
“Care to un cuff me, Irish? I promise I won’t go anywhere. After all, I do like the coffee here,” he reminded.
No, he wasn’t about to go anywhere when there were a million fun things he could explore on the desk beside him. And when that got boring, he could think of other things to push Irish’s buttons. After all, he was going to be a wonderful character.
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