[Frost] ((You’re all alone in here.))
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] (*L* yes I am. Care to join?)
to Frost
[Frost] ((I would love to. How about if you set the scene and I’ll jump in from there.))
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] (alrighty. :) but don’t tell anyone – I’m a notorious ‘not me!’ when it comes to scene setting. :) )
to Frost
[Frost] ((Your secret is safe with me.))
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] There are better areas of town. Better places to be on a Saturday night. Better things to do, to see. Nevertheless, she is here, at a building that is blocked off with the fluttering yellow ‘do not cross’ tape, wrapped about the door, the windows, and part of the sidewalk too by the local Chicago Police Department.
Cops don’t get weekends off. Ever.
The majority of the work has been accomplished, and the ambulance pulls away, the lack of lights and siren signaling the body inside has already declared dead and is headed for the autopsy room at the local MEs office. The police cars are pulling away too, one by one. No lights, no siren. Until there is only her left.
She leans against the fender of her car – a shitbrown ‘unmarked’ vehicle that all but screams ‘cop’ by its very non-descripted-ness. She is dressed in business casual – dark slacks, and a lighter blouse tucked into them, the first couple buttons undone. Over it, a blazer, well tailored to fit her lean form to perfection. Around her neck a chain that holds her badge against her, just under the swell of her breasts. She’ll never be called stunning, or beautiful – her features far too strong for that – but she stands out, nonetheless.
The Fenrir say it is because of her breeding, her blood all but sings the songs of heroes of old. The mundane just say she has presence. Or that she’s just a bitch. She is all of this, and more.
And right now -she’s tired. As the cars pull away, one by one, she reaches into the pocket of her blazer, pulls out a battered pack of cigarettes and her lighter, using the latter to set flame to the end of one of the former, and inhaling deeply, and exhales slow.
[Frost] As the flahing lights fade and head lights vanish, each giving way to twin red tails.. like demonic eyes fading into the night, taking their tribute of dead… someone still remains. Overlooked until now perhaps, standing in the shadows. Dressed in black under a fading moon she may have gone unmarked were it not for the silvery blonde hair. How long has she been there, watching? It’s hard to know. The pale eyes settle on the lone officer that remains.
[Izzy Montoya] Izzy scrubs a hand across her face, before sliding it up through her hair. She holds it at the back of her head, before letting go, the waves falling down about her shoulders again. She’s tired. It’s clear in everything about her, and – thinking herself unwatched – she has let her guard drop enough that it is evident.
For now, she simply smokes her cigarette, and gathers her strength for what she intends to do next.
[Frost] Her footsteps are quiet as she treads over dead grass, slowly closing the distance between herself and the remaining officer. The woman tips the scales at six feet tall in her boots. Flanking the other woman, she draws quite near before she speaks. “Good evening officer.”
[Izzy Montoya] Her steps are quiet, but enough to draw the dark eyes of the Detective upwards – her shoulders straighten and her muscles tense, though she remains deceptively still. Her expression changes – guarded now, as she corrects.
“Detective. Can I help you?”
Her tone suggests she won’t.
[Frost] Glaciel blue eyes travel over the detective, sizing her up perhaps, then drift to the building strewn with yellow tape. “Quite a ruckus…”
[Izzy Montoya] “That’s not an answer.”
She bears the scrutiny well. Shoulders straighten, and her free hand settles to the edge of the car, just behind her hip. She takes a deep drag off her cigarette, and exhales slowly to the side.
“Its over. Might as well move on.”
[Frost] “Might as well,” she notes, “And yet you are lingering here.” She glances around. “Expecting something else to go down?”
[Izzy Montoya] “Couple be tying up loose ends.” Simple, that. Yet likely not at all. “Or perhaps, just finishing my smoke. What’s it to you?”
[Izzy Montoya] (couple – could. *L* whoops.)
[Frost] “Just an observation. What happened here?”
[Izzy Montoya] “You can read about it in the Monday Edition, just like everyone else, or hear it on tomorrow’s news. If you’re the press looking for those details, then my official statement is ‘Fuck off, no comment.'”
She takes a final drag off her cigarette, and flicks the butt to the ground, where she sends it to it’s final death against the cement with a twist of her boot.
“And if your not, that’s likely still my statement. People do stupid shit. The end.”
[Frost] She gives the woman an amused look when she tells her to fuck off. “Nooo, I’m not with the press. FBI. Special Agent Carrington. And you would be?”
[Izzy Montoya] She smirks. “Is that so. May have been born at night – but not last night, lady. What’s your real play…”
[Frost] “Geez, you didn’t ask to see my badge. Is it really that unbelievable?”
[Izzy Montoya] “Wouldn’t have to ask a real agent. They flash that shit everywhere. They give’em lessons n’shit in how to annoyingly shove that shit in your face.”
There’s that smirk again. Vaguely amused this time. “Assholes. And you didn’t answer.”
[Frost] Chuckles. “Muat have been out sick that day, when they taught flashing 101. Not doing anything official, was just passing through and caught the action. Kind of hoping to find the old pack I used to run with.” Watching her as she subtly emphasizes a certain word.
[Izzy Montoya] “That so.” There’s a flick of a brow, upwards with the emphasis on the word. There’s also a tension riding under her skin, weaving about her spine, tension under the deceptively easy way she leans against the car.
“And what pack would that be.”
[Frost] She studies the woman a moment. She either lacks subtlety or doesn’t get it. She deliberately lets her eyes drift towards the waning moon. “New moon coming.”
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts. “I ain’t fuckin’ stupid. I caught it the first time. Now try again – who ya fuckin’ lookin for?”
[Frost] “If you got it, then you know who I’m looking for.”
[Izzy Montoya] She actually slaps the palm of her hand to her forehead and groans.
“Wow. Really. Do you have any idea how many of you assholes there are around here? How about you narrow it down JUST a little, so I can point you in the right direction, then finish my damn job.”
[Frost] “No, not really how many?”
[Izzy Montoya] She finally stands up and just shakes her head. “Enough to make me wish I worked somewhere else.”
And with that, she doesn’t go to get into her car, as might be expected, but instead heads into the building, ducking under the tape. “and since you won’t tell me who you really are, and who you are looking for specifically, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
[Frost] She trails after her into the building. “I rather suspect… you are who I’m looking for.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Somehow, I doubt that. But why not fill me in on why you think so.”
She doesn’t seem to really be paying attention to her now. Instead, her dark gaze is sweeping the room, the crime scene, with a practiced eye. It’s been canvased already – but perhaps she thinks she’ll see something new. “And watch your fuckin step. There’s blood everywhere.”
And there is. Izzy seems immune to the effect of it splattered across the walls, trailed along the floor.
[Frost] She does indeed watch her step, careful to avoid the blood, her eyes tracing she pattern of splatter, while her mind assembles a scenario to match it. “I’m not looking for any one person in particular. I don’t have any names. You’ve just… got the look about you.”
[Izzy Montoya] “And what look is that? A tired bitchy detective who wants nothing more than to get home and fuck her equally tired and sometimes bitchy detective boyfriend? Cuz that look, I’ve certainly got.”
She stops in the middle of the room, and holds up a hand.
“Tell me in a minute. Silent now.” It sounds like a command. It very much IS a command. Izzy takes a breath and falls perfectly still, simply looking around the room at this level, to see what the patterns tell her…
[echoechodoihearanecho?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 7)
[Frost] She freezes, tilting her head slightly to listen.
[Izzy Montoya] She flinches, and sinks to a crouch, her fingertips resting on the floor as she follows something around the room. Something unseen, unheard.
No, daddy, stop! It wasn’t her fault!
If you lay one hand on her..
slap.smash
NOOOOOOOO! STOP IT!
I said, be STILL.
Daddy, please… I’ll be good.. I promise I’ll be good…
You’ll do what I say…
daddy, no…not this time… daddy…
DO IT
She flinches again, her dark eyes sliding across the room. She lifts a hand to her head, slides fingers through her hair, and then braces her hands against her thighs, and pushes to stand.
Then, as if nothing has happened (and indeed, for Frost, nothing has..) she nods – as if she isn’t still hearing things no one else can hear. “You were saying?”
[Frost] She watches the woman crouch, and then flinch several times before rising again, and stands there studying her in silence for several minutes. She’d heard nothing. “I suppose I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
[Izzy Montoya] “How about this. You tell me plainly what and who you’re looking for, and I’ll tell you upfront if it’s me – or if I know where to find it, alright?”
Simple enough.
[Frost] Purses her lips. “It’s not the sort of thing one speaks plainly about, unless they are certain who they are speaking with.”
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts. “That so. Because I missed so many of your dropped clues, is that it? I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for. Or they’ll find you.”
Neither sounds very pleasant when Izzy says it, does it? She turns on a heel, and heads toward the door, and her car outside.
[Izzy Montoya] (i gotta run and pick up my kid from work – shouldn’t take long. :) )
to Frost
[Frost] “Call me paranoid,” she says, carefully edging around the spilled blood then ducking under the tape. “Good night, detective.”
[Frost] (midnight here, I’m probably gonna drop off soon. Tag me if I’m still on though. ooc name is Sylkie)
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] alrighty – thanks for playing! And she’s a bitch to everyone.. its not just Frost. :) probably shoulda warned ya. *L*)
to Frost
[Frost] ((I like her. *G* Good night.))
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] “Paranoid.” She smirks, and then shakes her head, and heads to the car. Once there, instead of getting in, she lights another cigarette.