[Tristan Stern] He’d promised Henry that he’d make the call for him – but he did not promise that he’d wait for Henry to have the meeting. In fact, after last night, it seemed wiser to let his husband sleep, instead of subjecting him to more stress…
…at least for now. Thus, leaving Henry at home with some to do lists for their vacation they’re going to leave on after the weekend (providing they’re still ALIVE for vacation and all), one prettyboi Eagle kinfolk makes his way to a little cafe outside of Eagle Territory, slipping inside to get some caffienated fortification of the iced variety, then takes a seat outside under the awning, where most folks are steering clear, preferring the drier and air conditioned inside.
He’s a few moments early, and has Detective Thorton’s card sitting in the table in front of him. That, and those curls, make him very hard to miss.
[Detective Thornton] While Tristan is inside gathering his caffeinated sustenance, a black Ford Crown Victoria pulls to a smooth stop at one of the curbside parking spots across the street and a short distance up from the cafe. The engine purrs steadily for a few moments, as the figure within rummages through the glove box within the vehicle, then abruptly dies to silence as the key is turned. A few moments later, the door to the former police interceptor opens, and the figure from within emerges…
His hair is a conservatively trimmed brown mop, thick in seeming defiance to the elements, framing a fair-complected deadpan expression that belies neither inner thought nor emotion. A pair of simple black sunglasses with thin metal frames rest upon his nose, furthering the untelling nature of the figure. His clothing is business semi-formal, with a long sleeved white dress shirt buttoned to the collar, a silk tie of navy hanging taut and straight from about the man’s neck. His pants are a matching navy shade, cotton dockers by the cut and small brand logo near the back pocket.
A polished five pointed star rides on his belt near his hip, opposed by a well-maintained heavy caliber pistol on his right.
In short, the man appears all business as he approaches… Though as he comes closer, the image becomes less distinct. His clothing, for all its professional nature, is wrinkled in some places… The complexion perhaps a tad pale even for the most fair-skinned Chicagoan. And his hair showed furrows from the frequent passage of weary fingers.
Just such a man approaches Tristan, and after a brief moment to pass through the cafe and order coffee, he appears at the door to the outside tables. His approach is calm, casual… As though he had time to spare.
“Mr. Stern.”
It wasn’t a question… Nor was permission to join him asked as he took the opposing seat to Tristan at the table.
[Tristan Stern] Iced coffee, today, as it’s hotter than hell and muggy as all get out. Mocha, with whip topping, and a caramel drizzle, because he doesn’t really need to care about his weight, and it’s been a week where a caramel drizzle is simply the best thing to have happened to him and by god he was going to enjoy the drizzle! Which he does. with a straw.
While Detective Thornton is dressed professionally, if a bit wrinkled, Tristan has left work early, and didn’t bother to change before heading here – which means he’s wearing some godawful red and white checkered comfortable pants, and a white t-shirt, that was under his chef’s coat for the duration of the day. He looks a bit rumpled, with stains that are unidentifiable (though almost certainly delicious) splattered here and there. He’s a working class, working man.
And also, upset. And tired. Though he does well to only let it show in his eyes as he starts to stand as he’s approached by the Detective, until Thornton simply takes a seat. “Detective,” he says, by way of greeting, as he leans forward with his elbows on the table, his hands wrapped around the iced coffee between them as he searches for a way to begin. “Make it official, first off, I suppose. Dr. Imogen Slaughter gave my husband your number, as you’re family and possibly in a position to help. Henry and I both are Kin, I’ve know Dr. Slaughter for a number of years, as we both are under Eagle protection. I”m not sure what you can do to help, but we clearly need someone on the inside.”
A pause, and then…. “What have you heard of the O’Leary investigation?”
[Detective Thornton] John considers for a few moments, his mouth widening into an expression that was not a smile, not at all, but was closer than his previous expression had been. An errant hand reaches into a pocket; a small microrecorder appears and is placed on the table before him, under his hand.
Then, after a sip from the coffee cup, John speaks.
“I understand the family connection as to how you found my name…
But I think it best if you tell me what you know of the O’Leary investigation, before we go to the heart of the matter.”
[Tristan Stern] He looks at the hand, and the recorder, then meets Detective Thornton’s gaze evenly. “I will. Off the record. This is family business first.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Speak of the devil…
Doctor Imogen Slaughter appears.
It’s not actually that dramatic, though the coincidence is at least something for one to raise an eyebrow at. She steps through the door, the ring of bells announcing her entrance.
Imogen is dressed casually, non-work attire a sharp contrast to the other kinfolk. She wears jeans, a t-shirt beneath a thin linen coat, tailored to her slight size. Her gaze comes to rest upon the two, their conversation, pausing there to study them, or perhaps simply marvel at the possibilities of coincidence. Then, she moves to the counter, one hand resting on the cheap plastic as she leans forward to speak her order to the man behind.
Her bright hair is vibrant, her skin sharply pale. There is a suggestion of remoteness in the way she speaks to the server, a reserved politeness that can leave more than a few thrown off. When she’s received her cup of coffee, she moves toward the table at which the two kinsmen sit.
[Detective Thornton] “This merely saves me time taking notes. As it is family business, it’s all off-the-record. The tape is destroyed once I have what I need.”
John shrugs, taking another swallow from the coffee cup.
“However, if you want my help, then we do things my way. On that, I insist.
Besides, I may find later some minuscule detail that seems trivial now, but makes all the difference as I proceed. If I rely on memory alone, or take note of merely what seems important now, I might miss it.
Neither of us want that to happen.”
John nods in greetings as the good Doctor approaches.
“Hello, Doctor.”
[Tristan Stern] He studies him, a long moment, and then sits back. He lifts a hand, dragging it through those corkscrew curls, holding them from his face for a moment before letting them fall forward again to slide along his jaw. He looks up at Imogen, and offers her a small version of his usual mischivious grin. “Hey, Imogen.”
Then it’s back to the matter at hand. “Alright. O’Leary was my husband’s ex-boyfriend. It didn’t end well. Henry is a suspect, for a variety of reasons. He spoke with O’Leary a few days before, he doesn’t have an alibi for the night in question, and doesn’t really remember what happened that day due to being in the wrong place at the wrong time during another Family altercation, and at some point during the night he doesn’t remember, there’s an unanswered call on Henry’s phone record to O’Leary’s number. To make matters worse, one of the people responsible dumped his guilt on my husband, recently, which destroys all plausible deniability, and that makes Henry look like he’s hiding something, because he now is: Family involvement. What I need is to know if they’re still looking at Henry as suspect, and how we can get that spotlight off him. That’s why we called you.”
[Imogen Slaughter] She takes a seat without asking, leaning down to set her purse on the floor, her other hand setting her coffee down on the table. She straightens, a hand lifting to her face to push strands from her eyes, tucking the ends behind the shell of her ear.
The kinwoman eyes the tape recorder, then says nothing.
[Detective Thornton] After a few moments, John takes a long swallow from the coffee cup, then shakes his head as he places it back on the table.
Then, after what seems an eternity, John speaks again.
“I may be able to help some small bit with this, though admittedly, it’s a missing persons/ homicide investigation. I’m primarily involved in vice matters.
Before I answer though, I have to ask…
How certain of Henry’s innocence are you? It won’t make my life any easier if I find out after the fact that I helped the guilty party evade the law.”
[Tristan Stern] The question is answered easily enough. “I am 100% certain that Henry had nothing to do with it, Detective Thornton.”
He already said the guilty party dumped it in Henry’s lap recently, so he does not repeat it.
[Imogen Slaughter] Tristan had questioned the use of the recorder but accepted it after Thornton’s explanation. Imogen, however, appears to be making her opinion known in her silence.
Then again – she is not the most garrulous to begin with and Tristan has answered the detective’s question with the appropriate level of firmness. She merely sips her coffee.
[Detective Thornton] “Alright.”
John runs an absent hand through the thick mop of brown hair while thinking, before asking another question.
“The guilty party… How exactly did he or she deflect guilt onto Henry?”
[Tristan Stern] He shakes his head, a flash of anger… no, fury flashing in his gaze. “Not like that. Before, Henry had plausible deniability – he didnt’ know anything, wasn’t hiding anything, because he didn’t know. Now he knows. Everything. Because some fucking…” breathe, Tristan… “family member decided that confessing his guilt to a complete stranger would be an AWESOME use of his fucking time.”
There’s an explosion of breath, followed by a quietly furious “They hook him to a lie detector and he fails, because now he knows, and as Family, it’s our job to keep our mouths shut. You worry about protecting the guilty? That’s all we do. And now the innocent may pay the price if we can’t get the view off my husband.”
[Imogen Slaughter] She sits back in her chair, her cup held in her hands, the ceramic sharply warm against her skin. She is a sharp contrast to Tristan and his anger, his obvious worry for Henry. Little reveals itself in her expression though her eyebrow stirs as Tristan mentions confessing guilt. Soon after, it settles, leaving a faint line between her brows.
She lifts her coffee and takes a swallow of the black liquid, and the line is gone by the time she lowers the cup.
[Detective Thornton] John turns off the tape recorder and removes his sunglasses. His eyes are hazel, heavily bloodshot hazel and ringed in circles so dark as to seem bruised. A weary hand rubs the recesses of his eyes with his palms.
He speaks only after his hands leave his eyes, the hazel gaze taking in Mr. Stern and Dr. Slaughter both.
“Look. If you don’t give me any names or specifics, I can’t really help. Details like that can make the difference between clearing Henry and watching him burn…
The tapes are my own private use… The department doesn’t get them. Ever. Not even if I end up dead…”
He speaks the word with an odd tone, not dread, not fear… wistful? Then, he continues.
“You need to realize I’m really going to help you. But the price you pay is in helping me to help you.
If you doubt my sincerity… Well, I’ll tell you what I have in mind now, and you can decide for yourself.”
A few moments as the all-too-weary detective rubs his eyes anew while speaking.
“First, cancel any travel plans you have for the immediate future. If Henry looks like a flight risk, they may take him in sooner than later to avoid giving him the chance to run…
Second, he needs to get his story straight. What I do know of the case is that his story keeps changing; that makes him look more and more guilty. He needs a solid, cohesive story that accounts for as many details and facts the police know as possible. Not all of them; a story too perfect seems contrived… But as many as he can.
Third… We need to see to it that blame is shifted to the guilty party. To do that, I need to know what was said, by whom, to whom that shifted guilt onto Henry. I can’t do that without names, details, or specifics.
Now, you need to stop panicking and think. You know what I am, who I’m related to. Given that, you needn’t doubt my loyalties… Especially if Henry is innocent, and we know who is guilty.
I may be many things, but I believe in the Law… Where the guilty get their due punishments. And I believe that our mutual enemy is the biggest threat to the Law….”
His voice becomes the merest whisper as he continues, his level look whispering of Get fury, resolve, and a desire to unleash those upon his enemies.
“…My personal scores with the Wyrm notwithstanding.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen abruptly leans forward and shuts off the tape recorder. She is smooth – swift.
“The guilty party is a Garou,” she says it flatly. “They are not to be involved. All Tristan is askin’ for is fer yer assistance t’make it easier fer Henry t’avoid takin’ the fall.
“And none of us – none of us will speak our secrets on tape.”
[Tristan Stern] The recorder goes off, and it’s not without some form of relief, even as he listens to the rest of it. “I can’t give you the damn name, Detective Thornton. Period. As much as I hate the asshole, I’m not giving you his name, because that’s my job – YOUR JOB TOO – as a Kinsman.”
A breath, a sigh. A glance at Imogen with a nod, and a little smile of thanks for the back up.
“As for his story – he’s ended up with two concussions within a 48 hour period. He wasn’t there, and he can’t remember exactly when the last time he talked to O’Leary is. That’s all. Those are normal inconsistancies with the pounding he’s been taking lately. And I’m taking him to the beach this weekend. I’ll have my phone on me though, and you’ve my word we won’t be on the run.
My word as kinfolk.”
((dashing to take my kid to work – brb!))
[Kemp Oates] Fortunately Kemp had not made his appearance when there was question of recordings. Not present when there was mention of the guilty party. Not present until the moment he suddenly strolled up to the trio.
“I got sweat running down my fuckin crack.”
Was the greeting. It was hot and humid and apparently didn’t sit well with the tall lean Garou.
[Detective Thornton] Hazel eyes move to where Imogen’s finger rests atop his thumb on the off button of the recorder. Then, John just shakes his head, his eyes moving down to the ground as he does so, his free hand raking the brown mop of hair yet again.
“Details like that make all the difference, Mr. Stern. And I know my job, as a kinsman… You can save the lecture.”
This to both Imogen and Tristan in turn. Taking the tape from the recorder deftly, he slides it across the table to Tristan or Imogen.
“Do what you will with it.”
Placing the recorder back in his pocket, John shrugs… Though there’s something of a frustrated edge in his tone as he continues.
“I’ll do what I can. But you have to realize the less you trust me, the more what I can diminishes.
As for your beach trip… your word as kin means nothing to the detectives handling that investigation, nor does your cell phone number. They won’t simply accept my word either. So, don’t be surprised when he’s picked up shortly after your return, or if an apb is posted upon police discovery that he’s left the city.
Whether or not you’re really running means less right now than the appearance of running… The appearance of guilt.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Kemp comes and makes his declaration – she turns slightly to glance at him over her shoulder. The kin’s gaze is dark, and merely rest there a moment before she turns back to the table.
Imogen takes the tape, her fingers closing around it, palming it for now. “Ta.” She has an edge to her own voice, though it seems less directed, ungeneralized.
“You need to stay, Tristan,” she says, simply. “No matter how much yeh want t’get Henry away.”
[Tristan Stern] (back, reading then typing)
[Tristan Stern] Kemp arrives, and he gets a look, and a slight smile, but it’s clear that Tristan is upset, aggitated, and…
frustrated. All the way around. He shakes his head, and leans forward, his elbows on the table his hands dug deep into his hair as he watches the table, intently, as if the answers would appear right there in front of him. “You don’t understand. I have to get…” he stops.
His eyes close, and he nods, slight, defeated. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Detective Thornton. I wouldn’t have called you otherwise. But you know damn well there are some things I can’t say. Including the name you so desperately want to know, because they cannot be involved. Period. That’s our job. I just… I don’t know what else to do. I know that Henry had nothing to do with it, wasn’t involved. I just…”
He stops.
He sighs.
And he leans back again and let his hands fall to his lap as he looks out over the street… and gives in. “Ok.” How the hell he’s going to explain this to his husband is simply another problem on his already overflowing plate. He’ll figure it out. It’s only risking Henry’s sanity, after all. Nothing important, right? “Ok.”
[Kemp Oates] He drug out a chair, letting it scrap loudly before dropping onto it with the grace of a panther balancing on a branch.
“What’s going on?”
He looked between all the faces present with a faint narrowing of his eyes from behind the dark strands of hair that always seemed to hang over his eyes.
[Detective Thornton] “Right… It’s not that you don’t trust me… It’s just that you don’t trust me.”
John shrugs, the not-a-smile widening on his lips, before continuing.
“I guess we’ll take what we can…
“Step two… Whatever Henry can remember, that needs to be his story. But whatever that is, it must be consistent. Every time he tells it, forwards, backwards, sideways… The facts need to add up the same. Changing stories are indicative of making up the truth as you go along. It’s a dead give-away that what you’re saying isn’t the truth as you know it.
Henry, whatever he can remember, must stick with that alone. You and he should drill his story into his head to where he’s speaking it in his sleep…”
John takes another swallow of coffee before continuing.
“That way, when they really apply the pressure, he’ll have only one story to tell.”
[Detective Thornton] ((I gotta go… Might bbl… *growls at his phone* Work…))
[Imogen Slaughter] (… hm.)
[Tristan Stern] (what’s that, his cell phone ringing? Why yes, YES IT IS! Lookit him walk over THATAWAY. :) )
[Kemp Oates] ((well that kind of kills things LOL! ))
[Tristan Stern] (no it doesn’t. *L* he walks away to take a phone call, we three can continue. :) )
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen moves, instinctively toward her handbag as a cellphone rings – but John picks up his first, getting to his feet almost before he’s greeted whoever has dialled him.
The redhead watches him leave before she answers Kemp.
“Th’cop who died,” she says, “Henry’s a suspect. It occurred t’me tha’ he might be o’ some help.”
[Imogen Slaughter] ‘He’ being John Thornton, indicated with a lift of her chin.
[Kemp Oates] “Well if ya ask me, the little bit I just heard about Henry being consistent tells me he’s about as much help as any ole cop. I hope that changes.”
He snorted as he turned his head, scoping out where to get a drink and looking like he might start bellowing for service.
“How is Henry, Mom?”
[Tristan Stern] Thornton walks away, and takes his phone, and Tristan watches him for a long moment, before he returns his attention to his forgotten iced coffee, and the his two remaining companions. He takes a long swallow, and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What the hell doesn’t he understand about not giving him the guilty parties name? IAm I speaking in tongues or some shit?” His frustration builds through every word, and he shakes his head slightly. “Ain’t like I don’t wanna. I more wanna put my fist through his face though. Fuckin… gotta confess, someone’s gotta know…” a glance at Kemp, and a wry grin. “I miss the old days – when Get was Get, not these new whiny fuckin’ pity me pansies.”
And how’s Henry. Tristan sags back in his chair, worry clearly etched in his face. “He’s not good. S’why I wanted to take him out of town, give the meds time to adjust without this fuckin…” he gestures absently. “He asked me t’take him to see the ocean before he dies. That’s how he is. He’s as consistant as he can be. He got two concussions in less than 48 hours, he can’t remember anything about the night in question, and details over the last couple months are fuzzy at best. But he wasn’t even THERE that night, and I can’t prove it by pointing them in the right direction because it was family business, everyone doing their job. Bug for one fuckhead who thought he’d make himself feel better by confessing to my husband – just 2 minutes after meeting him, who’s already on medical leave due to stress and a tendency to get his ass regularly beat with baseball bats.”
He shakes his head, and forces a smile. “Other than that? We’re just peachy.”
[Tristan Stern] (bug? but. *L* and many other typos. )
[Kemp Oates] “Yeah, I know he weren’t there.”
Six words that fell flat in the air. Even as he turned his head to watch the way Thorton went. Slowly turning back to look at the pair at the table.
“Henry dying? What of?”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen takes another swallow of her coffee – hot when she had bought it, but somewhat cooler now, enough that she can take a significant swallow.
Tristan speaks and she watches him absently, her expression composed.
When Kemp speaks, Imogen pauses before saying, “Or is he merely morbid?”
[Tristan Stern] “Stress, mostly. You guys know Henry is usually quiet, internalizing everything. That he even said that means his head is all fucked up. And I can’t even take him outa town for now.”
Explaining that will be fun, tonight. “Morbid, mostly. He’s been on anti-anxiety meds for a year now. They stopped working. We’re in the middle of getting things adjusted so that he functions again, but all of this happened, and well… Yeah. Morbid is just the tip of the iceberg.”
[Kemp Oates] “Ya know, I heard them meds don’t do shit. That they can infact make things work. And yeah, leaving town when under suspicion is a dumbass thing to do. He’s smarter than that. If ya gotta, just cuff his ass to a bed and when the cops come looking for him, explain it’s sex and if they wanna watch ya could have grounds for a lawsuit on your hands.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen is not the type one goes to for understanding. It likely never even crosses someone’s mind. This conversation would never happen without Kemp – Imogen would never have thought to ask about Henry, even if Tristan would have answered her as honestly – and perhaps he might have.
Still – she is not the type one goes to for understanding. It is yet another thing that can be blamed upon her bedside manner, another thing to put at the door of her career, or perhaps that can be used to explain her choice of being the doctor for the dead.
So, it is perhaps not surprising that she is more or less silent as Tristan speaks, explains and then Kemp responds.
“Find other things t’do here,” she says, setting her mostly empty coffee cup down and starting to get up, “It’ll be harder, but I’m sure yeh’ll manage something.”
[Tristan Stern] “Helpful.” he says, with a soft chuckle. Kemp didn’t see Henry before the meds, after them, with them. He doesn’t know – and as such, Tristan just lets it drop.
He nods, once more. “Yeah. I’ll figure something out. I always do.” Which is actually the truth. He’s Gnawer kin, after all, and they are built to adapt, to survive, to keep going on. “I appreciate you giving us his number, Imogen. It’ll work out somehow.”
One way or the other.
[Kemp Oates] “Ya need me to straighten Thorton out?”
Of course everytime he got near the Kin he wanted to eat his face, but that was one of his fantasies when irritated and Thorton irritated him.
[Imogen Slaughter] “I don’t think it’s necessary,” she says, glancing briefly down at the tape still palmed in one hand. She slides her fingers into the pocket of her low slung jeans. Her fingers only fit knuckle-deep, she prods the mini-cassette deeper.
“He hasn’t done anythin’ wrong.”
A glance at Tristan, “Yer welcome. Hopefully somethin’ more will come o’ it.”
[Tristan Stern] He laughs softly. “Nah, he’s just doing his job the only way he knows how.”
A pause, and then a slight smirk. “though if you should discover an occasion to make Sam Modine eat your fist, I wouldn’t be adverse to watching that shit on video. Over and over again. Slow-mo, even.”
He lifts his drink and takes a long couple of swallows, and then sets the cup back on the table, wiping the condensation from his fingertips off on his pants.
[Kemp Oates] He snorted with a shake of his head.
“One, the Kin is not doing the right job. His job is to help family first. And Sam…”
He shook his head slowly.
“I want to say I ain’t never seen nothing like it, but I have. Makes me feel fuckin ancient cause I remember a time when it seemed these things just didn’t happen. There’s only one good thing. By his opening his mouth in this confession to Henry, he set about the means for Imogen to know to offer a name that should be able to help. If he gets his head out of his ass.”
[Imogen Slaughter] “He said he would help,” Imogen picks up her purse, sliding it over her arm. “Gi’ him a bit and see what he does. I don’t believe he quite grasps the issue.”
She readjusts the strap of her purse, her head tilting slightly to send strands of hair spilling away from her eyes.
“I need t’head off,” she says. “Good luck,” in particular, to Tristan.
With that, she heads for the door.
[Tristan Stern] “That’s not why Henry went to Imogen – he was a suspect first.”
But he drops it. He’s tried to explain other things to Kemp before – sometimes, it’s just easier not too. The two things were unrelated, other than putting Henry in a worse spot than he already was in – so he just goes in a different direction instead. A lighter direction.
“But you can’t be ancient. I’m too young and too good-looking to be defacto mom of someone who’s ancient.”
He smiles at Imogen as she stands and heads off. “Thanks again, Imogen.”
[Kemp Oates] He watched Imogen speak and then walk off before he turned his full attention to Tristan again.
“I was there when Henry spoke to Imogen, Tris. I was there when she gave the him Thorton’s name.”
He shrugged, sagging back in the chair.
“So if Henry has been falling apart for so long, sounds to me like his doctor’s suck.”
[Imogen Slaughter] (thanks for the scene, guys!)
[Tristan Stern] He shakes his head. “There’s more to it. But it’s nothing for anyone to worry about.” Cept himself, apparently, because there’s clearly worry there.
Time to change the subject. “So how’s things with you… you don’t come round as much anymore. Everything alright with you?”
[Kemp Oates] “I don’t go around many much anymore. I guess I prefer my own company, or maybe I’m saving others from suffering by keeping my ass to myself? I do my duty, I work, I send money to take care of Luc and sleep now and then.”
His head tilted as he watched Tristan for a moment.
“Ya know, could be said that goes two ways. You don’t come around much anymore and I know how things are with you. They are worrisome.”
Big word for him.
[Tristan Stern] “I never considered a visit from my kid suffering, and you know it. How’s Luc doin? Getting big, I bet.” He chuckles softly. “I’m not even sure where you’re living now. After the wedding, Henry and I decided to lay low for a while. We work, come home, sleep, wake and do it again. It was nice for a while, not to have to live and breathe the Nation. But you know how it is – the Nation is always there, and sooner or later it demands your attention again.”
He pauses, and watches his drink as he spins it idly on the tabletop. “Henry’s never handled the demands of the Nation well. His family did a real number on him, and well. Most day’s it’s all I can do to keep him together and keep Decker’s boxers clean.”
[Kemp Oates] “I live in the same storage shed I moved into when I left the packhouse over two years ago. Home sweet home. And Luc, he’s doing well. Growing, walking and says a few words. I got a picture if ya want to see?”
He leaned forwards and pulled a worn wallet out of his back pocket. The picture he pulled out was recent, even if it was a little dog-eared from pulling in and out of the wallet. In the picture was a dark haired toddler.
[Tristan Stern] “I’d love too see…” He reaches and takes the picture, and studies the little guy, chuckling softly. “What a cutie. Seems your genes aren’t as defective as ya always said they were, hm?” He teases, and after another look hands the picture back so it can be placed where it belongs.
“Hard to believe that scrawny kid that started to call me mom so many years ago is all grown up sometimes. Makes me feel old. Not ancient, mind you. Just old.” The easy grin is there – if just a bit more tired than it usually is.
[Detective Thornton] At this point, John closes the cellular phone and re-approaches the group, now short one member. Reclaiming the seat he had but recently vacated, he merely sits and watches for a short time. An errant hand runs through his scalp, as he considers the problem anew…
[Kemp Oates] “Heh, he’s doing good now and gonna stay that way.”
He pushed the picture back to Tristan.
“Here, I got another one back home.”
With Thorton’s approach he rose and spoke.
“I gotta go. I know Thorton here will do his best to see to it that Henry comes out of this unscathed. All that matters is Henry is innocent and I really don’t care if ya got to come up with some other poor fucker to point the finger at or what, just do it.”
The look he gave John spoke volumes.
“Ya call me Tris if things do go as smooth as grease through a goose.”
[Tristan Stern] He takes the picture back and grins. “Thanks. If ya ever want me to take a run down and bring him stuff, or ya know, just check in personal like, let me know. I’d be happy to help in any way you need.” He tucks the picture away, and nods as Kemp gets up to go. “Thanks, Kiddo. We’ll talk soon.”
And then he returns his attention to his drink, and the detective before him.
[Detective Thornton] John’s look back to Kemp likewise spoke volumes… Though it was not fear, or anger… Merely resolve.
As though he would do what he would do regardless of the repercussions.
Then, turning his attention back to Tristan, he waits to see what the man has to say next…
[Kemp Oates] He bent to clasp Tristan on the shoulder, murmuring near this ear.
“Seriously, if he don’t do right, if he gives ya shit, come to me or Deck to straighten him out.”
With that he gave Tristan a pat on the shoulder and turned to leave.
[Kemp Oates] ((Thanks., falling asleep. Night!))
to Detective Thornton, Tristan Stern
[Tristan Stern] He doesn’t miss the look between the Fenrir, but chooses not to say anything about it. He lifts his hand to touch Kemp’s on his shoulder, and nods with a soft chuckle. “Will do.”
Then, he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, two, maybe more after Kemp has taken his leave. His gaze is firmly on the cup of coffee that he rolls between his fingers. His fingers are long, strong – musician’s fingers, though that is not his primary occupation any longer. With scars, now – testament to his new profession.
Finally, he speaks. “I know the likelihood of you being able to do much is slim, but as Family, we go to family when we have need. Anything you can do to help, even if it’s getting me some inside info on what they’re doing, the investigation, whatever, just.. ya know, keep us in the loop so we can make informed decisions, it’d be appreciated. I know I’m asking you to look at it from a kinfolk perspective first, and that’s not easily done, but your the best chance Henry has.”
[Detective Thornton] John nods, considering Tristan’s words before answering in kind.
“I will do all I can to get Henry off the suspect list. But you have to understand that I won’t frame somebody else for this…
I’ll try to direct the investigation toward other suspects, I’ll do what I can to help Henry help himself, I’ll try to find ways to make him less of a suspect…
Kemp can do all he likes, but I won’t do that… I can’t do that…”
John considers for a few moments more before speaking.
“Another suggestion I have is to get a good lawyer started working with him. The sooner he has legal counsel, the better prepared he’ll be if push comes to shove.
It might be worth asking around to see if there are any family members in the Bar association in Chicago.
But it sounds like his biggest problem is alibi…”
[Nessa] Old stomping grounds?
Her clothes, ragged jeans and an old tee kinda fit. Or rather, they don’t, with that Thrift Store Special look to them; her hair is a bit frizzy with the humidity, carefully teased to look so. Makeup to blend in, to dull features to extra-forgettable. There’s a pretty large and rather bland bargain bin purse over one shoulder, flatter than it was earlier.
There is always time to veer off course to say hello to a friend, and so she does, towards the cafe with the interior light hitting a familiar face or two dead on. INto the building, where she can catch John’s eye and wink just once.
[Tristan Stern] He shakes his head. “I don’t expect you to frame anyone – I never suggested that. I just know Henry’s innocent, and with everything else… I” He sighs, he’s clearly worried. And it’s more than just this.
“Anything you can do will be appreciated. He was at home at the time – without witnesses. The inconsistencies of his story are in the last time he talked to O’Leary. He can’t remember exactly, and ya know, a guy with two concussions forgets shit – it can’t be helped. He was sent to the hospital, found beaten in a restroom the night of that phone call to O’leary, the call that didn’t get picked up. He doesn’t remember making it. That’s why they’re still looking at him, but he was at home, on medical leave, the night O’Leary disappeared.”
How many people say they’re home alone instead of committing a crime? 99% of them. This time, it just happens to be true. “I’ll see if we can find anything. The worst part is that Henry can’t lie to save his life, and now that a trueborn has put him in a precarious position by confessing… it makes it seem like he’s lying all the time, you know? Frustrating. Like we don’t do enough for the bastards, they gotta go and make it twice as hard, huh?”
((They’re at an outside table, actually.))
[Nessa] (… walks up to them outside… *EDITS LOL*)
[Detective Thornton] John nods… his deadpan tightening momentarily.
“It makes it hard sometimes to feel like they even consider us people…”
He considers for a few moments…
“It might be worthwhile to have some of Henry’s medical records from the night he got roughed up on hand. One thought I have is to say that Henry was in no way capable physically of harming a full grown man with police training. I find it surprising the detectives haven’t picked up on that.
Did they get the evidence for the call from Henry’s records, or O’Leary’s? I wonder if one of our more computer inclined family members could modify Henry’s records so that he got a phone call lasting perhaps thirty minutes during the time they think the crime was committed… That would form the basis for an alibi.
When they ask why Henry hadn’t told them of the call before, he could say he forgot with the medicine he was on… Another reason I find his location on the suspect list rather strange…”
A familiar face walks past and winks… Causing John’s deadpan to widen into the not-a-smile once again.
“Maybe that’s another avenue… Did they send him home with any significant medications or painkillers? Anything that would cause drowsiness or has a motor vehicle operation warning sticker on it?”
[Tristan Stern] “Henry’s stronger than he look – he’s a paramedic, and was a firefighter for 9 years before that.” He listens, though, taking mental notes. “I’m not sure on who’s records it was from, I’ll check with Henry. I’ll get a list of the medications and timeframes too. While he was in the hospital, they couldn’t give him any, because they couldn’t mix the meds. I’ll make sure we’ve a full list of everything and durations he’s been on them on hand.”
He looks over at Nessa as she approaches, then, and goes quiet.
[Nessa] The Not-smile is enough invitation; any more would be too tame, any more would make her joining them completely legitimate.
And she isn’t.
Nessa slips into the chair beside John, nods Tristen, a raise of fingertips in greeting. She smells of cheap, second hand cigarettes, which is also appropriate to Cabrini Green. “Privyet…”
[Detective Thornton] John nods, considering further.
“Strong or not, it sounds to me like he was in bad shape. If he took any medicines that would have made him drowsy, I think the medical route is your best bet…
Either way, I’ll do what I can.”
Then, turning to Nessa, John’s brow raises curiously.
“Why hello there…”
[Tristan Stern] “I’m pretty sure at least one of them does. I’ll check them when I get home. I appreciate the help.”
Then he nods to woman. “Hi, Nessa.” and the majority of his attention returns to his half gone iced coffee.
[Detective Thornton] ((30 min warning))
[Nessa] “How is Henry?” She asks, for someone is sick. Surely not Henry. How would a paramedic surrounded by helpful garou with healing gifts get terribly ill, after all? A positive answer is all she expects.
But, perhaps, better to be cautious.
Nessa eyes John’s coffee cup for stealability, weighing the pleasure of the theft with the following neccesity of having to put whatevers in the cup into her mouth.
Its a difficult decision. She’s never seen him drink blueberry flavored coffee.
[Nessa] Willingly.
[Detective Thornton] John’s coffee has a plastic top on it, leaving its color hard to determine. However, from the scent drifting from the cup, it is simple black coffee… No cream or sugar.
John sips from the cup quietly, letting Tristan answer as he would.
[Tristan Stern] “Henry’s fine.”
The lie is much easier than explaining the truth, and truth be told, Henry would be upset to be seen as anything other than fine to begin with. “We’re planning a seaside vacation soon – a second honeymoon of sorts.”
Though now, soon is not as soon as they were hoping.
[Nessa] (may i roll empathy to detect the lie? Do you mind?)
to Tristan Stern
[Tristan Stern] (Sure.)
to Nessa
[Nessa] “St. Lucia is quite nice. Is very romantic. Bahamas were incredible too.” Least she can do is be helpful, while she studies Tristan’s face. Familiar, a mask for deeper things.
(Per+ empathy (Specialty: Detect Lies)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]
[Nessa] ( i know what yer rememberin ya were feeeeelllinggg last summer!)
[Detective Thornton] ((Jesus` criminy… I think she got ya… *blink*))
[Tristan Stern] (jesus, just a little. *LMAO*)
[Tristan Stern] The lie is obvious, and Tristan probably knows it. The real question would be – does he care, and will he decide to answer differently. “Never been to either. We’ll check them out.”
Guess not.
[Nessa] Tristan is fine.
No he isn’t.
She nods as if she heard him and believed it, reaches out with the most casual motion to swipe John’s drink. “What’s wrong with him?”
[Detective Thornton] John lets Nessa have the drink, his face a neutral deadpan…
Though a part of him wonders how she will fare with the bitter brew.
[Tristan Stern] “Nothing a good vacation can’t fix.”
Which can easily be read as a very polite ‘none of your business’, if one were inclined to take it that way. He stands and nods to the Detective. “Thanks for all your help. I trust this meeting will remain between us.” He clearly means he doesn’t want him to fill in Nessa the moment he leaves. “I appreciate your time.”
Then he grabs his iced coffee and turns to go. “Goodnight, Detective. Nessa.”
[Nessa] (Manip + subt to hide OMFG NASTY NASTY DRINK!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Detective Thornton] “Mr. Stern… Keep me informed; if things progress, I may be able to make things easier, if I can’t defuse the situation entirely.”
John nods…
“Goodnight.”
Then, his curious hazel gaze focuses on Nessa…
“How’s the coffee?”
[Nessa] The trouble with telling secrets at one point and then requesting secrecy after the fact ,is that… the damage is done.
She looks rather like somethign has left a bad taste in her mouth. Yes. ANd its not neccesarily the coffee.
“Goodnight, Tristan. Coffee is.. black, John.”
Politely, thoughtful creature that she is, she waits for Tristan to get out of hearing range before she starts to pump John for information.
[Tristan Stern] He nods slightly, and makes his way down the walk toward home.
[Detective Thornton] “Be glad I’m on duty…”
John’s heavily bloodshot hazel eyes move to the cup for a moment, as the not-a-smile widens still further.
“If not, it would be scotch.”
(I gotta jet, falling asleep. Thanks for the rp Lessa and Share. *wave* I had fun)
[Nessa] She nods, and then leans in to work on John…
[Nessa] (ngiht! damn i am tired too. Sleep well when you get to it!)