[Izzy Montoya] The moon is full. Not only is it full, but it – according to the ‘experts’ on the nightly news – it’s the fullest it’s ever been, or likely to be for a few years. For those of the Nation it means a time of magic, a time of rites and rituals. For the kin, it means something else. For THIS kin it means something else entirely.
It means double shifts, and homicide. It means people getting their drink on, their crazy on, their murder on. It means endless paperwork, no sleep and a thankless job. Just another day at the office for one Detective Izzy Montoya.
Which brings us here: The door to an apartment blocked off with the flutter of yellow police ‘do not cross’ tape. A meatwagon pulling away, no lights or sirens, signaling the occupant inside is most assuredly dead. Police vehicles pulling away, moving on to the next call. And one tired Detective leaning against the front fender of her police issue unmarked vehicle, trying to light a cigarette in the ever present Chicago Wind.
She ducks her head, her hand cupping around the flame held to the end of her cigarette, dark hair sliding to hide features that are strong rather than pretty. The flame flickers once, twice, and then finally as she flicks the battered zippo a third time, comes to life and sets tobacco and paper aflame. She takes a grateful drag, and tucks the lighter into her pocket, looking up toward the moon as she exhales the grayish plume that will never be the death of her, despite what they say.
‘They’ are idiots, anyway.
[Derek Anderson] He was walking, coming out of a bar where he stopped ofr a drink after working, yes working on a staurday. Some break ins, msot with the same MO and he had been called to look at them. It had taken most of the day and part of the evening. It had sucked, htey made little headway and he jsut wanted to relax, away from Garou, which meant no BroHO, no Loft, no Kristen.
He was dressed in dark pants, purpple shirt, lossned tie and warm coat otnight. His hands were in his pockets as he walked, wondering if he should get home or maybe have a drink elsewhere. He noticed the police car and make hisway to it
He recognized the woman leaning against the car as he got closer and he smiled. “Good evening Izzy” He say, looknig at her then at the tapes and back at her
“Sucky night I guess?”
[Izzy Montoya] “Detective Anderson.”
She scrubs her free hand over her face, before she looks toward the other detective walking toward her car. There is nothing in her gaze to suggest they are more than co-workers, that he’s seen her naked, that she fucked him until he couldn’t breathe, then – like one of the guys – rolled over and went to sleep. There’s nothing in her demeanor that shows shared intimacy, or anything one might expect.
It’s simply a look. A look that sees far too much, and gives far too little. She takes another drag, and exhales to the side as she slides her fingers through her hair, and lets it fall again.
“Just another night at the office.” a beat. And then, a subtle give. “I fuckin’ hate the moon.”
[Derek Anderson] He stopped at a respectable distance and nodded to her “Yeah, I understand what you mean” He keep his hands in his pocket, looking at her as he would look at any other cop. He could also play the game of let’s pretend in didn’t happen, when in public.
“Are you working all inght long or is your shift over once you’ve dealt with everything you need here? If there’sanything left ot be dealt with that is”
His eyes scan the scene. Everyone except her has left, so unless she has more paperwork to do, nothing else could be done. He didn’t asked what happened or who was the victim. If she was here, it’san homicide. The who, why, when and all weren’t for him to know, unless she felt liek talking about. Which he doubt she would.
[Izzy Montoya] Of course, it’s a good likelihood she’ll not mention it happened even in private. It’s just her way. He’s not John, not anymore than Patrick is, or any of the others. Despite her intentions to forget, it still remains – John holds her heart, holds part of her no one else will ever see, ever touch. No matter what else of hers their fingers dance against…
Is she working all night, or done here? “Yes.” Cryptic. She smirks, slightly, and shakes her head. “Done here for now. I’ll do another sweep tomorrow.” Alone, she means. To see if she gets another one of her “hunches” as the boys call them. Little do they know… “And there’s always reams of fuckin’ paperwork that I’m currently avoiding.” and likely will continue to avoid until it’s absolutely necessary.
[Derek Anderson] He nodded at her words “Hmmm all right. So, how do you plan avoiding the paperwork tonight? Any specific idea in mind?”He ask, watching her, his face hard to rad. Did he had an idea, was it that kind of idea? Did he think she had that type of idea in mind? Or maybe he was jsut asking to make conversation
“Depending if you want comapny, I could hang around. My evening and next morning aren’t really busy. So I could stay up for a while without problems.” he shrugh. He wouldn’t push his presence on her either. They were, well friends? maybe? lovers? not really, they had sex once and maybe it’ll be the only time, so acquitances? something else? He didn’t really care, they probably jsut were and their relation shifted from day to day, depending on how htey meet it seem. Which was fine with him
[Izzy Montoya] How does she plan on avoiding it? She looks toward the apartment again, her eyes unreadable in the dark, the only suggestion of just how bad it was inside showing in the tension along her jawline. But it must be bad, because the next words? Are…
“By getting really motherfuckin’ drunk.”
She tears her eyes away, lifts her cigarette to her lips, and eyes him through smokey exhale. “Why, Detective Anderson… are you hitting on me?”
Bemused, that smirk. She hasn’t told him to get lost though. Not yet, at least.
[Derek Anderson] He cuckled at her answer. He could see a pattern wit her. When hse wasn’t getting drunk after the job, she probably was being fucked. And when she was lucky or wanted it to happen, hse got both. Once in a while she had video games..and sex after.
He grinned at her when she hasked if he was hitting on her “Me? Naahh you scare me too much for me to dare hit on you”He say iwth an undertone of playfulness in his voice “I just thought that you might enjoy some company and I think yo don’t mind mine too much, since you haven’t puched or shot me yet”
His grin turned into a smile
[Izzy Montoya] “Yet.”
She smirks again, and looks down, watching her hand as she flicks the ashes from the tip of her cigarette. She knows he’s seeing a pattern. What he doesn’t know is it’s the pattern she wants him to see. As far as most know, there is very little else to Detective Montoya, and she is just fine with that.
She’s quiet a moment or three longer, and then pushes to stand, flicking her cigarette to the gutter where it sputters to an early death. She tips her head toward the car, then moves around to the drivers side, opening the door.
“You’re buying.” It’s as much an invitation as he’s likely to get.
[Derek Anderson] He grinned at her: Yet comment “Must be my boyish charms that are saving me right now” He walked to the other side of the car, in no hurry “All right, I can live with that, next you, it’ll be your turn to buy”
Does he think they will be a next time. Yeah, definatly. Well there was a good probability they will see each other again and probably drink or eat together again. Sex? That’s always the question mark. In his mind, it’ll happen again. He’s not really worried about that. If it doesn’t, ah well, life goes on right.
He liked her, she was beautiful, tough and smart, but he wasn’t attached to her or falling in love with her. It was meant to be casual and it’ll stay that way/
[Izzy Montoya] She narrows her eyes at him, giving him a once over that probes far deeper than his skin, as if judging his boyish charms for herself. She snorts, then – because she’s ladylike like that – and climbs into her car without comment. Whatever it is, she keeps it to herself.
the engine roars to life seconds after he closes the door, and she pops it into gear. Like many a detective, she has a casual disregard for the laws of driving. She pulls out fast, drives faster still, and treats the random stop signs as if they are suggestions instead of demands. She doesn’t wear her seatbelt, and she doesn’t say anything, other than to dispatch as she calls in her intention to take dinner. Dispatch tells her to go the hell home and sleep already, and she tells dispatch to suck her dick. It’s good-natured enough that it seems like habit, a nightly affirmation that everything is all right.
Situation normal – all fucked up.
He thinks on what might be, what is, what has been, and what may be tomorrow. She thinks nothing of these, concentrating in stead on finding the near hidden entrance to some hole in the wall bar that serves food, and doesn’t frown on cops getting shitfaced before going home. Joe’s, it’s called, and it’s a perfect little dive of a hell hole where clientele don’t ask questions, and fights break out almost nightly. she broke the bartender’s nose once – and shot the bouncer. They’ve a mutual respect born from that night that allows her to find some sort of comfort, of casual anonymity in the establishment.
And they cook a steak so fuckin tender and rare it practically moos on the plate before melting in the mouth.
She wastes no time parking, and getting out to head inside. And she still hasn’t agreed to pay ‘next time’, either. Likely she won’t, even as she holds the door for him to procede her into the dimly lit bar.
[Derek Anderson] He stepped inside with her, not reacting ot the place. It was a dive, he wasSilver Fang. But luckilly ofr him, he wasn’t always a proper Silver Fang kin it seem. His choice of women was certainly different than msot of his tribe. He liked then hard, tattoed, unusual, smart and funny. Either, a combination of or all were good. Izzy certainly could be associated with with a couple of those categories.
“Thanks” He say passing the door then he went to sit with her, taking off his jacket, not caring that she hasn’t said anytihng about a next time. It’ll happen if and when it happen. “So what do you suggest as food and drinks here?”
He ask her, kind blue eyes watching everywhere and everyone for a moment, before they settle on Izzy again.
[Izzy Montoya] She has never said anything of his tribe. After all, he’s not the first Fang she’s fucked. Likely won’t be the last either. For one who hates the nation, hates what she must do for them, hates what they have done to her, hates the duty that she is pressed into, manipulated into, forced to perform… she certainly has fucked her way through a lot of it. Discretely, of course, else she be tied up, shipped to a Fenrir sept somewhere, forced to procreate. All hail the motherfuckin’ Nation.
She slides into the booth, slipping off her jacket. There’s the brief gleam of light off the handle of the weapon holstered at the small of her back, before she settles back to hide it from the light again. She lifts a hand toward the tattood beast behind the bar, holds up two fingers, and turns her attention to Derek again.
“Whiskey, steak, eggs and homefries. Already ordered.”
She’s a regular here, obviously.
[Derek Anderson] He smiled at that “All right, sounds like a good start to a night” He leaned into his chair, watching her, not staring or anything, just keeping his attention on her. He let his fingers drum slightly on the table.
“I heard there has been a kin meeting yesterday. Held by..none else than Amunet” That made him smile widely “I odn’t know who went or what wasdiscussed. Did you know about it?” He ask with a tilt of his head “And somehow, I doubt it was a good thing.”
He shrugged slightly. From what he heard, nothing that would have Amunet at it’s head was a good thing. The girl will get herself killed and afew people with her as well. No one will catch him follow one of her ideas.
[Izzy Montoya] A kin meeting. She arches a brow slightly, then snorts. “Again? Seems they fuckin try that shit every few months or so. Let’s organize an’ protect ourselves so the precious assholes blessed to be fuckin’ true don’t have to stoop to dealin with us…” She shakes her head. “Nah, I didn’t hear about it. Last one was headed up by some shadowlord bitch who wouldn’t take anyone leading it but herself. All ideas had to be hers. It dissolved shortly after the ‘Coalition’ was born.”
As for Amunet, that gets another snort. “Shoulda shot that stupid cunt when I had the chance.”
Opinionated, ain’t she?
[Derek Anderson] He chuckled at her words “Yeah, seem like only the disgruntled and those unable to deal with how things are want to lead those things. We don’t live in a perfect society, but I do my thing, play my part and guess what? They don’t bother me. They leave me alone. So why would I try to get them pissed at me by associating with disrespectful punks?”
He shrugh “There should be a kni network, so everyone cna pass messages to the others, but beside that. We should all do our thng and no one will mind us”
He look in the bartender’s direction to see if hte drinks were coming at least.
[Izzy Montoya] The drinks arrive, and the tattoo’d bartender leans down to whisper something in Izzy’s ear. She smirks, and nudges him with her shoulder as he smacks her on the arm and walks away, leaving two whiskey’s in his wake. She shakes her head, and then brings her attention back to the conversation.
“I can be a disrespectful cunt.” Hello, understatement 101. “but I do my duty, and keep my shit to myself. Most folks see this shit as some sort of precurser to an uprising, a way to get equal rights or whatever the fuck they want this time. Fact is – shit ain’t gonna change. The nation is like an old white boys club – no riffraff allowed. Fighting it just brings shit down on all of us.”
She knows – all too well. She fights still, but far subtler in manner. She rebels – but she doesn’t get caught. “We live in the age of fuckin internet and cell phones. If folks wanna pass or get the info, it can be done easily enough, without all the kumbyya bullshit.”
[Derek Anderson] He nodded to her words “Yeah, no one in their irght mind willcall you a good little soldier” He grin at her “And you’re right, a contact list would be more than enough for everyone.” He took the whiskey and drank form the glass
“My guess, one or two of them will get punished eventually and things will return to normal.” He shrugh “It suck but I guess they’ll get what they brought upon themselves. Anyway, it’snone of my business”
He smiled “So, anyway what have you been up to, beside work?” His eyes were on her, a smiel on his lips. He much prefered to talk abotu other things than a group of no nonsense Kin
[Izzy Montoya] “More than likely, one of us that ain’t done shit but mind our own shit will get punished. Then I really will shoot that fuckin’ bitch.” She’s already had her fair share of ‘let’s corral the kin and make them behave by squashing them like the little bugs they are’ for one lifetime.
She takes a healthy swallow of her whiskey, and snorts. “There are things besides work?” She scrubs her hand over her face briefly, and then shrugs. “Honestly, nothing. It’s fuckin’ crazy at the station and tonight’s moon ain’t gonna help.”
She is her job.
[Derek Anderson] He didn’t say anything when hse said she’d shoot Amy. She hadn’t done anything to him personally but when so many people has a problem with someone, there must be some truth to it right?
He drank some more form his glass “Yes, I noticed things are crazy at my station too. I don’t deal with homicides but all kinds of crimes has been up lately. Sometimes I think the world is jsut getting crazier every year”
He pass a hand in his hair. “I odn’t know. SOmetimes, there is no motivations behindcertain acts except jist a need todestroy things. I don’t get it”
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly. “I get it sometimes. But mostly – its just fucked up.”
To put it mildly. She chuckels though. “Don’t worry. In no time you’ll be a jaded veteren like me.” Who spends most of her time drunk, and or shooting things. Now there’s something to aspire too, hm?
[Derek Anderson] –
[Izzy Montoya] [slaps pause]