[Izzy Montoya] (heeee…. poor Kristiana. she may not know WHAT to think after meeting Izzy. Would you like to start? :) )
to Kristiana Coleman
[Kristiana Coleman] (Sure! :) )
[Kristiana Coleman] The weather has warmed up a little, but it’s still not enough to keep the California girl from freezing half to death. Bundled in the new coat once again, she texts and walks with the ease of someone who’s been doing it far too long.
[Izzy Montoya] The holidays are not all fun and games for those like Izzy. No, it’s more work, it’s another homicide, it’s a suicide, it’s drunk drivers taking out innocent children, and it’s reams upon reams of paperwork.
Down the street from where Kristiana walks and texts with California girl ease despite the cold, there are flashing lights of red and blue hue. THere is police tape, fluttering yellow in the wind. There is a body being taken out in a body bag, loaded up into a meatwagon.
And there’s Detective Izzy Montoya. She’s not what one would call pretty – though she’s far from hard on the eyes. She’s strong featured, and lean, curves barely there, and not at all noticed under her Blazer she favors instead of a winter coat. Her legs go on forever, encased in black slacks, and her shoes are of the sensible type. There’s a badge around her neck on a chain, and a notebook in her hand.
It’s not this that makes her stand out, though – it’s the following: Someone hands her a coffee, and she takes an immediate drink, and lets forth with a list of profanity sure to make a good little girl blush. “Jesus Mary Mother of FUCK that’s hot! Christ Finn!”
The men with her laugh, and move away. She just shakes her head, and leans back against the front fender of her car as she watches those on the scene peel away once by one, until only she remains, watching the yellow tape, leaning on her unmarked car.
[Kristiana Coleman] It’s entirely possible that she’s oblivious, and really doesn’t notice the lights going off. Especially when they start to pull away, leaving nothing but a cordoned off area and the woman detective.
A scowl covers her face as she sends a flurry of quick messages, not seeing the tape until she runs into it.
[Izzy Montoya] New to Detective Montoya’s look won’t be noticed until the texting girl is closer, and deigns to look up – her left eye is black and bruised, from far more than the exhaustion that fairly bleeds from her. There’s a cut high on her cheek, and it looks for all the world like Detective Montoya got into an old fashioned bar fight with the boys.
[You should see the other guy.]
Kristiana runs into the tape, and Izzy turns that way, and snorts, amused. Or something.
[Kristiana Coleman] She finishes the text before she looks up, eyes widening in obvious surprise at the woman’s condition.
[Izzy Montoya] Izzy watches her with the kind of direct, even gaze that has made many a criminal squirm and then confess everything, and then some. She lifts her cup of coffee, and takes another swig, despite it being hot enough to burn her tongue… again. Then, she arches a brow, slightly.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
[Kristiana Coleman] She blinks almost audibly, stuffing her hands and her phone in her pockets.
“What happened? All the tape…”
She gestures to the tape, as if the other woman may not be aware of it.
[Izzy Montoya] All the tape, she says, and Izzy snorts again. So lady like, the Fenrir kin. “Crime scene.” duh. “Some asswipe went apeshit on his baby momma over some stupid fucked up reasons. Beat her to death.”
A beat. A smirk.
“Allegedly.”
[Kristiana Coleman] Her mouth works, but nothing comes out. She blinks again, turning six shades of red before her eyes pin to the ground and she clears her throat to manage a single syllable.
“Oh.”
[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles, darkly, and takes another sip of her coffee, before reaching to sit it on the hood of her car, and begin the ritual search for her pack of cigarettes and her lighter.
“What, momma and papa didn’t tell you shit ends up that way in the big city?”
[Kristiana Coleman] “I’m from a city.” There’s a touch of defensiveness in her voice “It’s not like I’m from the middle of nowhere.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Issatso” it comes out all at once, as she finds her lighter and props a cigarette between her lips, setting flame to tabacco and paper with a grateful inhale. She turns her head to blow the smoke to the side on exhale, but her dark eyes are still on the pretty little blond.
“Why so shocked them.” She offers the pack before she puts it away, almost negligently. “Want one?”
[Kristiana Coleman] “I don’t smoke, thank you.” She avoids the other question, eyes sweeping over the crime scene again.
[Izzy Montoya] She shrugs a shoulder, and puts the pack back in her pocket, reaching to pick up her cup of coffee again. Her knuckles are red – more so than from the chill in the air. Apparently she got in a hit or two during the previous night’s fight.
“You didn’t answer the question.” So much for avoiding.
[Kristiana Coleman] “I guess I just come from a nicer place than this.” Her full Fang breeding comes out, and follows the statement with a quick snort.
[Izzy Montoya] Izzy’s smirk is decidedly amused about the edges. “Issatso.” she repeats, “and where would that be.”
[Kristiana Coleman] Her chin lifts a touch, hair tossed just so. “Malibu.”
[Izzy Montoya] That brings actual laughter from the Fenrir kin, as she just shakes her head. “Oh Princess, you were fuckin’ pampered, weren’t you?”
[Kristiana Coleman] “There’s nothing wrong with that. It isn’t my fault that some people are rich and some people aren’t.”
[Izzy Montoya] She laughs again, and shakes her head. “Think I’m poor because I work here, Princess? Oh you have so much to learn. Why brings you to our Crime Ridden City, if not a taste for the real world?”
she lifts her cigarette to her lips and before taking a drag, adds “By the way, you know aggravated assault and rape are the two most common violent crimes in Malibu? Just, you know, FYI.”
[Kristiana Coleman] “My parents wanted me to be out on my own before” There’s a very slight pause “College”
[Izzy Montoya] “And they sent you to Chicago? All by your lonesome?” she snorts. “Something ain’t adding up there, Princess.”
[Kristiana Coleman] “It was suggested to them. We have distant family here.”
[Izzy Montoya] That brow arches again. “Do you now… someone rich and famous enough that I’ve heard of them, I assume. Do they know you’re walking about oblivious to everything but your phone, in a neighborhood known for druggies and prostitutes and babymamabeatin asswipes?”
[Kristiana Coleman] She looks around as if expecting to see one or all three of those surrounding her.
“I don’t… I’m just trying to learn my way around.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Umhm. By watching you’re phone instead of where you were going? Who’re you stayin with, this distant family, Princess.”
[Izzy Montoya] (your phone, not you’re phone. GOOD GRAMMAR LESSA!)
[Kristiana Coleman] “I have pepper spray in my bag” She gestures to her large, obviously designer and expensive bag. Clearly, she considers this sufficient. “And I didn’t. I’m not staying with anyone. I have a suite at a hotel….” She looks around again, apparently unaware of exactly which way said hotel is right now.
[Izzy Montoya] She barks a laugh again, and takes another drink of her coffee. “If you don’t stop avoiding the question, I”m going to have to assume you’re lying, and take you downtown for questioning. What would Papa say about that, in Malibu? And, for the record, Pepperspray only pisses them off, around here. They eat it for breakfast. So answer the question, and tell me what hotel it is, so I can give you a ride, rather than let you wander around like a puppy begging for a dogkickin home.”
[Kristiana Coleman] Her eyes narrow a bit, gaze suddenly suspicious. “How do I know you’re a real police officer?”
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts, and points to the badge around her neck, the police car at her back, the crime scene in front of her. “You get suspicious NOW? Christ, Princess, I should LET Chicago fuckin’ eat you alive. I’m Detective Izzy Montoya, Chicago Homicide, with the best fuckin’ wrap record on the goddamn force. Now, give me your name, the name of this family, and your goddamn hotel before I drag your pampered ass downtown to prove my credentials – in handcuffs.”
She pushes up from the car, and tosses her coffee cup in a nearby can.
[Kristiana Coleman] There’s a tiny, soft squeaking sound from the girl as she takes a step back. “Kristiana Coleman. I’m staying at the City Suites. My family has all different names here. Cordelia” Ohgod. Oh GOD. What is Cordelia’s last name?? “Cordelia Sarafin-Diego”
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly. “Not one I know. But I’ll be looking her up.”
She reaches to open the passenger side door, and smirks as she holds it open. “If I were one of the bad guys, Princess, I’d have already knocked your ass into the wall, drug you to the alley and had my way with you. But I’m not. So get in the car.”
[Kristiana Coleman] Shit… She makes a mental note to warn Cordelia, and slinks to the car to get in.
[Izzy Montoya] She waits till the girl is in the car, before shutting the door behind her, and dragging her hand through her hair. If asked why she was making sure the kid was safe, she likely wouldn’t have an answer – at least not directly.
She stalks around the side of the car, swiping her notebook off the fender as she moves, and takes a final drag off her cigarette. She flicks the butt into the gutter where it fizzes to a final death, before sliding into the drivers seat and throwing her notebook onto the dash. “Buckle up, Princess.”
She turns the key, and the unmarked car roars to life with an engine that’s decidedly not stock, though the rest of the interior is undeniably a Detective’s car – right down to the overflowing ashtray. She grabs the radio mic, and in coded shorthand tells dispatch she’s taking her dinner hour. She hooks the mic back to the dash, and turns to watch Kristiana until she’s buckled in – only then does she pull into traffic.
[Kristiana Coleman] She buckles as instructed, nose wrinkling from the heavy scent of stale smoke that clings to every surface in the car.
[Izzy Montoya] For a cop, as it tends to go, Izzy has a casual disregard for things like speed limits and traffic lights. She’s more likely to be shot on the job than in a car accident anyway. “I’m sure this ain’t the kinda transportation you’re used too.” She caught that look. Izzy doesn’t miss much.
She reaches across Kristiana’s lap and clicks open the glove box, rooting around in it while she watches the road. She finally comes up with the card she’s looking for and sits back up again. She pauses at a red light, and uses the time to write something on the back of the card, which she then tosses to land in Kristiana’s lap.
“My card. Chicago’s gonna eat you alive if you don’t take care. You get in trouble, you call me. I already wiped one dead hooker off the street this week, I don’t aim to have you turn into another. The number on the back is a friend of mine. Teaches self defense – more than fuckin’ pepperspray, but common fuckin’ sense too. This ain’t motherfuckin’ Malibu. You gotta learn to use your head.”
a beat. “or ya might fuckin’ lose it.”
[Kristiana Coleman] (Is the name anyone she’s met so far?)
[Izzy Montoya] [nope, just some random npc type dude that Izzy knows. *L*]
[Kristiana Coleman] “You don’t understand who my family is. They’ll keep me safe.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Really? Where are they tonight?” She scoffs. “You gotta learn to protect yourself, Princess. You ain’t got no one to rely on but you.”
[Kristiana Coleman] Her head leans against the glass, tone indicating that her thoughts are elsewhere. “I’ll have a mate soon.”
[Izzy Montoya] She’ll have a…
“Oh for motherfucks sake.” Izzy snaps the car into the other lane, and then pulls into a parkinglot, slams the car into park and drags her fingers through her hair, taking a breath.
“Name someone else in your local fuckin’ family, Princess.” though it’s with the air of someone who already knows.
[Kristiana Coleman] She looks at Izzy in confusion when they’re suddenly yanked over and stopped, mind racing to try to figure out what prompted this. All she did is say that she’d have a…
Uh oh.
“Um. Kathreine? I don’t know her last name.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Jesusfuckinchristonacracker. Bellafuckinmonte? You’re a motherfuckin Fang. I should have known. They do like to raise them naive and stupid.”
She leans forward and rests her forehead on the steering wheel for a long moment. Then she leans back and searches out her pack and lighter again. “So. This mate. He’ll protect you, is that what you think will really happen?”
[Kristiana Coleman] She winces slightly “Um. I guess? You… um….know her?” Obviously, Krist.
[Izzy Montoya] “Jesus.” It’s all she says while she lights her cigarette, and opens the window a bit so that the smoke is drawn away from the young (god so very young) fang kin. “Know of her more than personal buddies.”
She pauses again, and then turns to face the kid again. “This city is gonna eat you alive, unless you wake up, Princess. You’re family wasn’t her tonight. What if I was one of the bad ones, looking for some purebred inbred piece of ass to impregnate with my evil spawn? Where’s your protection, your mate, your family? Hell, half the time they’re the ones doing the battering. I could tell you shit that’d make your head spin…”
and she could. From personal experience. after all, which one is sporting the black eye? “Can you do ANYTHING to protect yourself? and I don’t mean pepperspray…”
[Kristiana Coleman] Her eyes get big, and then continue to get even bigger as she listens. “I. I’ve got.”
Nothing. She’s got nothing.
[Izzy Montoya] She just stares at the kid. “And your parents just sent you out here, when we have a motherfuckin’ HIVE up north that likes nothing better than to fuck purebred kin in the head?” and other places. She drags her hand across her face and shakes her head.
“Fuckin’ fangs, man. Motherfuckin Fangs. You call that number. He ain’t kin like us, so mind your words. No mate this, or other shit. Learn to do something to protect yourself, because your family, my family, they got bigger things to worry about than their kin. Getting knocked up and mated ain’t gonna do nothin’ to stop the bad shit from happenin, Princess.”
[Kristiana Coleman] She mutters something that almost, might be, sort of sounds like ‘Couldn’t be any worse’.
[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow, slightly. “Really? Is that what you really think?”
[Kristiana Coleman] “Is what what I think. I didn’t say anything. I’ll call him, okay? Gawd” She may be Fang kin, but she’s still 18. She’s invincible. Nothing bad will ever happen to her.
[Izzy Montoya] She smirks and puts the car back into gear and heads back to the street. “Whatever you say, Princess.”
She hasn’t earned Izzy’s story. Most of her tribe hasn’t either, and she won’t get anywhere with the kid even telling her what really happens to captured kin.
[Kristiana Coleman] “I can run. I’m strong. It’s not like I don’t have any skills at all.”
[Izzy Montoya] “So could I.” She makes the turn into traffic and heads toward the hotel.
[Kristiana Coleman] There’s a pause of several blocks. “Aren’t you Trueborn?”
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts. “No. Otherwise I’da know ya for what you are right off the bat, right?”
[Kristiana Coleman] “Oh. Right.” She’s quiet for a couple more blocks. “Who beat you up?”
[Izzy Montoya] “Which time?” she quips, then smirks, taking another drag off her cigarette, relaxing into the drive. She touches the bruising on her face. “Last night? Some asswipe perp who thought he was bigger and badder than me. I shot him. He should get out of the hospital tomorrow.” Probably screaming about police brutality or some shit too.
[Kristiana Coleman] “Have you shot a lot of people? What tribe are you?”
[Izzy Montoya] “Officially? No.” She glances at the kid, and then back to the road. “Unofficially, I’ve lost count. That is, if you consider Spiral dicksucking dirtbags ‘people’. Fenrir.”
[Kristiana Coleman] She blinks rapidly, mouth opening and closing* “Oh. You….” Blink blink “Fight?”
[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow, and sighs. “Look, Princess, I could tell you things that’d make it impossible for you to sleep tonight. Yes. I fight. I will not go gentle into that good night, or whatever that happy horseshit is. This is Chicago. You fight, or you die. Sometimes you fight AND you die anyway. But I sure as fuck won’t go down without fighting. You have any idea what those fucks would DO to you? Have they give you anything other than the Gaia is Good routine?!”
[Kristiana Coleman] Her head shakes, just a little. She is obviously, painfully clueless about anything outside the realm of boarding schools and shopping on Rodeo Drive.
[Izzy Montoya] “fucking Fangs, man.” It’s a curse, and under her breath. She takes a final drag off her cigarette and flicks it out the window, before closing it again.
“The bad guys? They make the worst snuff movie made seem like a Disney flick. They won’t just kill you, Princess. They’ll rape you and beat you and break your bones and use your body however they want for however long you life through it. This ain’t Malibu. This ain’t sunshine and rainbows and rich kids in boarding school. This is the real world, and you’d better wake up if you want to fuckin live to squeeze some inbred fangs through your twat. Cuz god knows we need more fuckin fangs.” She snorts, softly.
“Look, I ain’t tryin to scare ya. But I AM tryin to get you to open your eyes, alright? Someone from the Hive upstate gets a sniff of you, and decides they want ya, and GETS ya? You’re gonna wish you was dead before they was done with ya. Ya gotta use that brain in that pretty lil head of yours.”
[Kristiana Coleman] “I don’t want that….” She pulls her feet up on the seat with her, arms wrapping around her knees.
[Izzy Montoya] “Good. Don’t want that for ya. So first thing is don’t take unnecessary risks. Don’t go wandering about alone in the ‘Green without paying attention to what’s happening around you. Ya got money, right, so take a damn car, if ya need to get somewhere. Don’t go into any alleys at night -hell, or during the day. Keep ya head up and your wits about ya. I scrape enough of our kind off the pavement.”
[Kristiana Coleman] “Squeezing Fangs out…” She turns slowly red. “That’s what I meant. I’ll be careful though. I didn’t know that there were Spirals here. I don’t think they knew it.”
[Izzy Montoya] She laughs, briefly. “Sorry, kid, that’s what they breed you’re kind for. To breed more. If you don’t want that, then why you here all gung ho for a Mate and Family Protection?”
Then, then… “They didn’t kn…” She gapes at the kid, and then just shakes her head. “They’re everywhere. They outnumber us, Princess. We’re fighting a losing war, here.”
[Kristiana Coleman] “I don’t…” She gets quiet, having nothing to say.
[Izzy Montoya] “Don’t what”
[Kristiana Coleman] “Nothing. They probably never checked. They think I’m going to panic and come back.”
[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles. “Ah. Trial by fire. Gonna give them the fuckin’ satisfaction?”
[Kristiana Coleman] “No. No way.” She glances to look the woman over again quickly before her gaze goes to the window again.
[Izzy Montoya] “No fuckin’ way. Well, good. That’s a first step.”
[Kristiana Coleman] “It’s just up here on the right.”
[Izzy Montoya] She’s already slowing down by the time Kristiana points out the drive – this is her turf, she knows it better than anyone. She takes the corner a little too fast, the back skids a bit, and she controls it deftly. She slides into the spot in front of the entrance, and puts the car in park.
“Here ya go, Princess. Just remember – be more aware. You can’t run, if ya don’t see it coming.”
[Kristiana Coleman] “Thank you.” Her hand rests on the door handle. “I will call your friend.”
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly. “Good. And if you need me – call the cell. I’ll come.”
Which is more than she’d say about some of the “good guys” in Chicago.
[Kristiana Coleman] She nods, offering a slight, strained smile before getting out of the car and hurrying into the hotel as if she’s being chased.
[Izzy Montoya] Izzy watches her go, and lets loose a sigh. They get younger and younger, and ever more naive. She lights another cigarette, checks her messages, and curses as she pulls out and heads toward her waiting pile of paperwork.