Post by Satra on Nov 10, 2009 3:02:32 GMT -5
Word Count: 1024
Characters: Most of the cops (not including recruits), some NPCs
So, uh, this just came out of nowhere and demanded to be written. I hope you all enjoy. Let's see if I'm any good at playing these characters. Also, I didn't bother to proofread this. WEEE! XD
“WHAT the HELL were you thinking?! That kind of brutality will do NOTHING but set us back, GEOFFREY!”
He’d been listening to her very high-decibel lecture for a good half hour now. Cripes, the girl had a set of lungs. Weren’t her vocal cords supposed to have giving up by now? He stifled a sigh and just stood there, nodding, waiting for her to finish. Silence and compliance would be the best way to quell the beast.
“This is the last straw, Geoffrey. I’m signing you up for anger management training.” His jaw dropped.
“WHAT?!” he yelled, slamming his palms down on her desk, completely forgetting the strategy that was so close to working. “Anger m—The only way for me to get my anger out is by getting ANSWERS outta these crooks! The only thing that’s got me worked up is what these criminals have done to get themselves IN here in the first place!” He was quickly quieted (but not intimidated) by the Captain’s glare.
“It’s anger management or packing up your desk. Your choice,” she said in almost a hiss. Though she’d not had her station long, he’d quickly learned it was then not to challenge her. He stood up, hand sliding off the desk onto his side.
“Gotta schedule yet?”
Turns out the course was taught by some wrinkled old Midrange Rodent. He handed Geoffrey a 1000-some odd page book on the first day and told him this was his training manual “of sorts”. The hell was that supposed to mean? The leafs were made of a strong but thin rice paper and the front and back covers were simply cloth. It was all bound together with a waxed hemp string. He hated these classes, and they just got his blood boiling even faster. Why in the hell was he in here, with this old man attempting to convert him to Zen, while there were people getting away with murder on the streets? (Literally!) He practically had to beat the man off of him to get to the interrogation he was scheduled for minutes after his so-called “lesson”. He stomped into the room and threw the book down on the table the criminal was handcuffed to.
“Alright, you, I’ve had a shit day, so the sooner you start talkin’ the sooner we can both move on with our lives.”
“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’, you sonuvabitch.” Geoffrey bared his teeth and his hackles raised. He tried to smooth it over, but he saw it in the little scumbag’s eyes: he’d gotten to him with no effort.
“I’m gonna ask real nice,” he growled through grit teeth, “I might even throw inna ‘please’ an’ ‘thank you’ if you’re a real good boy. What do you know, and where’s the man we’re looking for?” At the sound of the crook’s laughter, Geoffrey’s hands balled into fists, knuckles getting white under the fur.
“Or you’ll do what, copper-man? Tell me some Buddha-poems?” he asked before laughing even louder than before. The laughter was cut off very suddenly with something very heavy slamming into the side of his face.
“Oh yeah, love me somma those. How about this one? ‘What’s the sound of one hand clapping?’ “ he slammed the anger management book against the mans’ face again, “Never been able to figger that one out myself, but I don’t think it sounds much like that, do you?”
“Whu—You can’t do that! I have rights!”
“Yeah? Do ya? Ya wanna know who else got rights?” he snarled, emphasizing the word ‘rights’ with another hit from the book, “The two girls missin’ and the family who owned that house.” Geoffrey then proceeded to beat the man senseless until he, himself, was exhausted. He slumped back in the chair meant for him and dropped the book on the floor. A few minutes later, the criminal began laughing again.
“You can’t prove nothing about me, but it won’t be long before there’s plenty of proof against you.”
Geoffrey sighed, picked up his book and left. He had tomorrow... maybe.
Geoffrey came into work, fully ready for an earful. He wasn’t exactly a wimpy fellow and beating someone until his own muscles hurt from use? He was going to get it, he was sure of it. He stormed in, book tucked under his arm. A simple look made Rodney about face and leave the room.
“Evening, Lieutenant,” greeting Faith, who was about to leave the room with a cup of coffee. Geoffrey blinked. She actually gave him a smile... small, but it was a smile.
“Uh... mornin’,” he replied, looking around him. This was real, right?
“I’ve canceled your anger management class today so you could have more time with that slimebag. I don’t know what you did to him, but he’s in shock without a single bruise on him,” there was a hint of suspicion in her laugh, but nothing more was said on that part of the subject, “Sorry I’m having you switch gears so quickly, but you should get in there as quickly as possible. Gotta crack this guy open before the other suspects leave town.”
“R-right,” he stuttered, at a complete loss for words. She gave him a questioning look.
“You okay?” He shook his head.
“I’m feeling great,” he answered, a smile spreading across his face. He walked through the station to the interrogation room with a spring in his step that made Meadows skitter as far out of the man’s path as possible. He shut the door to the secluded room behind him and grinned at the man cuffed to the table. He dropped the book onto the table as he put his hands down on the desk and looked at the other man.
“You look well today,” he smiled, watching the other man’s horror-stricken face pale, “Ready for some more poetry, or are you gonna sing me a little song?”
Characters: Most of the cops (not including recruits), some NPCs
So, uh, this just came out of nowhere and demanded to be written. I hope you all enjoy. Let's see if I'm any good at playing these characters. Also, I didn't bother to proofread this. WEEE! XD
“WHAT the HELL were you thinking?! That kind of brutality will do NOTHING but set us back, GEOFFREY!”
He’d been listening to her very high-decibel lecture for a good half hour now. Cripes, the girl had a set of lungs. Weren’t her vocal cords supposed to have giving up by now? He stifled a sigh and just stood there, nodding, waiting for her to finish. Silence and compliance would be the best way to quell the beast.
“This is the last straw, Geoffrey. I’m signing you up for anger management training.” His jaw dropped.
“WHAT?!” he yelled, slamming his palms down on her desk, completely forgetting the strategy that was so close to working. “Anger m—The only way for me to get my anger out is by getting ANSWERS outta these crooks! The only thing that’s got me worked up is what these criminals have done to get themselves IN here in the first place!” He was quickly quieted (but not intimidated) by the Captain’s glare.
“It’s anger management or packing up your desk. Your choice,” she said in almost a hiss. Though she’d not had her station long, he’d quickly learned it was then not to challenge her. He stood up, hand sliding off the desk onto his side.
“Gotta schedule yet?”
Turns out the course was taught by some wrinkled old Midrange Rodent. He handed Geoffrey a 1000-some odd page book on the first day and told him this was his training manual “of sorts”. The hell was that supposed to mean? The leafs were made of a strong but thin rice paper and the front and back covers were simply cloth. It was all bound together with a waxed hemp string. He hated these classes, and they just got his blood boiling even faster. Why in the hell was he in here, with this old man attempting to convert him to Zen, while there were people getting away with murder on the streets? (Literally!) He practically had to beat the man off of him to get to the interrogation he was scheduled for minutes after his so-called “lesson”. He stomped into the room and threw the book down on the table the criminal was handcuffed to.
“Alright, you, I’ve had a shit day, so the sooner you start talkin’ the sooner we can both move on with our lives.”
“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’, you sonuvabitch.” Geoffrey bared his teeth and his hackles raised. He tried to smooth it over, but he saw it in the little scumbag’s eyes: he’d gotten to him with no effort.
“I’m gonna ask real nice,” he growled through grit teeth, “I might even throw inna ‘please’ an’ ‘thank you’ if you’re a real good boy. What do you know, and where’s the man we’re looking for?” At the sound of the crook’s laughter, Geoffrey’s hands balled into fists, knuckles getting white under the fur.
“Or you’ll do what, copper-man? Tell me some Buddha-poems?” he asked before laughing even louder than before. The laughter was cut off very suddenly with something very heavy slamming into the side of his face.
“Oh yeah, love me somma those. How about this one? ‘What’s the sound of one hand clapping?’ “ he slammed the anger management book against the mans’ face again, “Never been able to figger that one out myself, but I don’t think it sounds much like that, do you?”
“Whu—You can’t do that! I have rights!”
“Yeah? Do ya? Ya wanna know who else got rights?” he snarled, emphasizing the word ‘rights’ with another hit from the book, “The two girls missin’ and the family who owned that house.” Geoffrey then proceeded to beat the man senseless until he, himself, was exhausted. He slumped back in the chair meant for him and dropped the book on the floor. A few minutes later, the criminal began laughing again.
“You can’t prove nothing about me, but it won’t be long before there’s plenty of proof against you.”
Geoffrey sighed, picked up his book and left. He had tomorrow... maybe.
Geoffrey came into work, fully ready for an earful. He wasn’t exactly a wimpy fellow and beating someone until his own muscles hurt from use? He was going to get it, he was sure of it. He stormed in, book tucked under his arm. A simple look made Rodney about face and leave the room.
“Evening, Lieutenant,” greeting Faith, who was about to leave the room with a cup of coffee. Geoffrey blinked. She actually gave him a smile... small, but it was a smile.
“Uh... mornin’,” he replied, looking around him. This was real, right?
“I’ve canceled your anger management class today so you could have more time with that slimebag. I don’t know what you did to him, but he’s in shock without a single bruise on him,” there was a hint of suspicion in her laugh, but nothing more was said on that part of the subject, “Sorry I’m having you switch gears so quickly, but you should get in there as quickly as possible. Gotta crack this guy open before the other suspects leave town.”
“R-right,” he stuttered, at a complete loss for words. She gave him a questioning look.
“You okay?” He shook his head.
“I’m feeling great,” he answered, a smile spreading across his face. He walked through the station to the interrogation room with a spring in his step that made Meadows skitter as far out of the man’s path as possible. He shut the door to the secluded room behind him and grinned at the man cuffed to the table. He dropped the book onto the table as he put his hands down on the desk and looked at the other man.
“You look well today,” he smiled, watching the other man’s horror-stricken face pale, “Ready for some more poetry, or are you gonna sing me a little song?”
