- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- Multiple posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- No Preferences
- Genres
- High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
By the sounds of the demolition occurring on the floor above him, Robert could guess what Amy was doing. What he could not begin to fathom was why she was doing it. What, had she found a note from the Outsider, or something? And what could possibly make it so urgent that she wouldn't even stop to tell him what was going on? Now she was in a house in France, busting down doors without a warrant... He didn't even want to begin thinking about the kind of mess this would make.
When he finally caught up to her on the second floor his knees were hurting so bad he was starting to wonder how much longer he could remain standing up. In that moment he swore, as soon as he got back to Lyon, he was going to look up the best chiropractor in town, and start exercising at the gym regularly. It had been so long since he had been in a chase, even if it was a chase of his own partner, that he hadn't known how bad it had gotten. What if he had been chasing a perp?
Every thought about his knees or the discomfort his was in vanished as soon as he saw the inside of the room, except for the fact that he realized his knees really could no longer support him. He sagged against the door frame, his breath coming in short gasps as it felt as though all the air in his lungs had just vanished. Robert didn't even bother to try stopping Amy as she walked out of the room. He knew where she was going, and he knew what she had just seen. The blood was fresh on the floor. She must have only shot herself half a minute ago. Half a minute too late.
Robert was still wondering how exactly she had known, the thought that the Outsider might have left a note no longer seemed so preposterous, but he couldn't bring himself to go ask her now. He could barely bring himself to do anything. Slowly he moved into the room, his eyes looking at the dead girl's face. She couldn't be more than sixteen, and her face was smooth, clean, and pretty. He couldn't stand it, but he couldn't do anything about it, either. This was the first fresh Outsider crime scene his team had ever gotten, and they were going to want to go over every inch of it for any possible clue. He pulled a glove out from his pocket, slid it on carefully, before bending down and gently closing her vacant brown eyes.
He had to go talk to Amy, before the rest of Interpol arrived and started asking questions.
When he finally caught up to her on the second floor his knees were hurting so bad he was starting to wonder how much longer he could remain standing up. In that moment he swore, as soon as he got back to Lyon, he was going to look up the best chiropractor in town, and start exercising at the gym regularly. It had been so long since he had been in a chase, even if it was a chase of his own partner, that he hadn't known how bad it had gotten. What if he had been chasing a perp?
Every thought about his knees or the discomfort his was in vanished as soon as he saw the inside of the room, except for the fact that he realized his knees really could no longer support him. He sagged against the door frame, his breath coming in short gasps as it felt as though all the air in his lungs had just vanished. Robert didn't even bother to try stopping Amy as she walked out of the room. He knew where she was going, and he knew what she had just seen. The blood was fresh on the floor. She must have only shot herself half a minute ago. Half a minute too late.
Robert was still wondering how exactly she had known, the thought that the Outsider might have left a note no longer seemed so preposterous, but he couldn't bring himself to go ask her now. He could barely bring himself to do anything. Slowly he moved into the room, his eyes looking at the dead girl's face. She couldn't be more than sixteen, and her face was smooth, clean, and pretty. He couldn't stand it, but he couldn't do anything about it, either. This was the first fresh Outsider crime scene his team had ever gotten, and they were going to want to go over every inch of it for any possible clue. He pulled a glove out from his pocket, slid it on carefully, before bending down and gently closing her vacant brown eyes.
He had to go talk to Amy, before the rest of Interpol arrived and started asking questions.