Put Out a Fire, Put Up a Flame

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  1. High-profit low-profile locations having been going up in flames and a single detective might be the only one who realizes an arsonist is involved.


    This was the fifth job in a month. Usually business was slower than a caterpillar in the pupa, but Regal Condos was an old client changing hands to someone more ambitious than the previous owner. Technically it was the same employer, but his older brother had been the boss back then and was still oblivious to the crime that had been committed. Now? Well, it wasn't part of Tammy's job description to keep track of who knew about what, so long as she wasn't implicated if the cops showed up.

    There were two things important to Tammy when it came to business. The first was something she had to learn when she'd decided to start her career, and it was motive. The motive here was to get her client the supreme real estate they wanted. They gave her a packet of information with pictures, an address, and a load of details about the construction. For instance, the biggest flaw of tonight's mark was an overgrowth of vegetation from the ground all the way up to the highest balcony. Most of it was dry and stiff, and the weather had been particularly arid lately.

    The first step was to collect the maintenance man's used cigarettes and scatter them across the back of the building with some straw for kindle. She lit up a pack of his favorite brand and tossed them in. While they sat there, glowing, she opened up a bottle of wine from the estate owner's secret date the night before and spilled it over the carpeting. His wife had a habit of following him on her days off and spying with a camera, so Tammy bought a couple of six packs of the lady's choice of beer and broke them all over the room, down the hall, and on the wall outside where the glass and alcohol soaked and sparkled into the vines.

    There were accelerants more exciting than leftover alcohol and dead plants, of course, but that was passion. This had to be incompetence, coincidence, and a manifestation of people's bad choices. If the owner refused to sell badly burned estate, then there had to be reasonable doubt in his ability to care for his property. If an investigation was opened, clues had to be planted that would lead to certain facts. And the most crucial element of the crime was the art of making sure that the fire department couldn't say it was arson.

    The best part about tonight was that this was one of those rare cases where the entire block was empty of people, so there was time for Tammy to climb up a fire escape from across the street and sit on the roof to watch the place burn. This was where the second most important thing about Tammy's business came in. She had to take pleasure. She even had a mic in her hand, long and thin like a baton and aimed directly at the fire so she could listen to the way the wallpaper curled, paint crackled, and wood cracked under the heavy heat. There was a sway to the rhythm of flame-induced disintegration, and her bones melted into that quiet bliss. After awhile she even forgot that someone was bound to call in the cavalry once the flames burned high enough and the smoke started spreading.
    #1 Livid Lies, Nov 30, 2015
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 15, 2016
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  2. Precinct Twelve, Downtown District. Usually, on a Wednesday morning like this, it would be particularly full of idling patrolmen and detectives who haven't been assigned cases. But today was different. The Arson department was buzzing with chatter and multiple men were walking in and out of office doors with multiple papers and files on hand. Despite it being in the early waking hours of 8 AM, there were a lot of people milling about the precinct -- probably about the news report earlier in the evening about an estate house being burned to the ground.

    Stepping out of the bus, dressed sharply in a grey suit and a black tie, Alex simply started walking down the sidewalk briskly, without a minute to spare. He heard the news, and he's pretty certain he would be called to the scene. Officers have been holding out the perimeter but he would have to get there as soon as possible, after getting the inevitable briefing from the Captain. Jet black hair, neatly combed over hair, six feet tall -- the young 24 year old detective acknowledged that he was reporting in to the station commander as he stepped in the precinct's lobby, before climbing up the stairs to the Arson department.

    Walking in, he slipped in without a moment's notice, sitting next to one of his fellow detectives, as Lieutenant McAffrey cleared his throat. "Now that Green is here, let's get to business." He started discussing the case details. "Okay, the news have been going crazy on this, so let's get this over with. There's a burned down house at Tulpa Street, by the North Town. Estate belongs to a Mister Patterson, I've sent his file to your email, Green. Get over there, owner is a white male, dark hair, medium build, pretty old. I expect some findings, because apparently the first respondents found some things that point to it being a violent reaction at the victim's affair."
    Alex Green, without saying much of a word, was out on the beat yet again. He nodded and slowly slipped out of the precinct. He was far from the posterboy of the department -- he was just a very good caseman. Well, that's what he's been told. He just does his job. Sometimes, maybe it's probably because he has no family to 'protect' after they disowned him, and the last relationship he had was before he enrolled in the police academy. He's not hateful, or regretful of what he's done to gain the ire of his parents and family, but he just wants to create his own life, at least this time he could prove them wrong by joining the police force.

    Quickly, he requested the keys to his unmarked vehicle by the officer-in-charge of the motorpool, and hopped in his squad car, turning on the police scanner and starting the car, immediately driving out onto the road. Since it was beyond Downtown, he would be stuck in traffic. With the usual chatter of the radio filling the silence, he decided to check his email, turning the swivel mount on his laptop, checking his email for his file. Immediately, he spots the victim's file, Richard Patterson. He gets all the necessary information, down to the reports of her wife taking him to court within the next month or so.

    He stops his car at the scene of the crime, and parks his car outside of the yellow caution tape. He walks over to the officers, and after a brief word, he steps in, viewing the burnt house. Within moments, a man storms up in front of him, clearly not a fellow detective or a police officer. It's the victim, Richard Patterson. "About fucking time you got here! My house... burned to the ground! I can't believe the police force just let this happen!" He stops for a brief moment, as Alex places his hands in his pockets. "Look, sir. I just got this report first thing in the morning. I'm sorry I didn't get here on time, but now that I'm here, can you please help me out here?" Richard didn't really have a choice, so he nodded silently. "...Alright. I arrived here at around dawn... after a few things I had to do. I come home and the fire department is here, hosing down my house, which has been lit ablaze. The gas pipes erupted and the fire department took that long to extinguish the flames. It burned my house to a crisp, more or less."

    Alex nodded and wrote down the important parts of what he said in a small matchbook. Despite it being the 'digital age', he liked writing things -- helps him remember it more. A police officer approached Alex, "I'll take it from here, sir. Crime scene is over by the fire trucks." He approached the scene, and he was surprised at how much it burned down. It was like it was a 'clearing operation' rather than a random burning, leaning onto the notion of foul play. As a typical crime scene is, many men and women with cameras fill the scene, taking images of the damages and whatever clues were found on sight. He took great care not to disrupt their activities as he notices how there was a trail of cigarettes leading to a burnt part of the back of the lawn. He found a box, clearly tossed away as it was slightly crumpled. He reached into his pocket and put on some latex gloves, taking care not to damage the box any further. A pack of Maldivians. Cheap brand, but it gave him some clue as to who did this, he would think. He immediately walked into the blackened and scorched house, seeing as the upper floors have collapsed and didn't leave much evidence, he did find a few smashed bottles. One of them was clearly from a beer bottle, the brand logo was idenfiable in one of the shards, and a cork and a smashed bottle that clearly resembled some expensive wine. He couldn't tell which, though, which he would eventually have to force out of the owner of the house.

    He decided to stop investigating and ask the firemen who were on the scene what they thought, and what the fire department initially thought. Approaching a few firemen sitting at a fire engine's rear, one of the men stood to face Alex, as Alex removed his gloves, placing it in his coat pocket, before extending his hand in a handshake. "Detective Alex Green, Arson and Explosions Division. I'd like to ask some questions if that's fine with you." The fireman simply smiled. "Sure, why not."

    "So, with your initial findings, when did the fire 'spark'?" The fireman shook his head and groaned. "We couldn't get a handle, but it had to be in the evening. By the time we arrived at 2 in the morning the whole place was lit up, and the neighbors were pretty much a bit worried at the state of affairs."

    "What about the fire, did you think it was caused by arson?" The fireman chuckled softly. "Wow, I didn't think it was arson at all. Guy had a fuckin' ecosystem around the back of his wooden house. It was just a big fire hazard overall."

    "Thanks for answering my questions." He nods and then leaves, before another car rolls up. A dark red SUV, with livery belonging to the local fire department. It was Lieutenant Worrel of the Fire and Safety Department. He nearly jumped out of his car, stopping Alex from proceeding. "Wait, wait wait. Hold up." Alex simply raises his eyebrows. "Okay, I'm listening." Worrel sounded rather worried, so he spoke quickly. "Well, from the firemen's findings it's not arson, right? That's why I let you guys in, because I'm pretty sure someone lit this place up. I mean, my guys aren't detectives -- but you're the best thing to happen to the Arson Division, so lay it on me." Since it was Lieutenant Worrel, Alex simply ran his hands through his hair, grunting. "Well... there was a pack of cigarettes by the back that were burned out, but what was really weird was the amount of broken bottles by the house entrance and around the floor. I don't think this is just a plain 'fire' either, but I'm not going to let this go so easily." Worrel sighed. "I've been noticing some nutter's MO. I'm guessing he plants evidence to throw many people off, and they write it off as simple fires, right? But get this, a single realtor company's been buying all the land. Regal Condos. The interval between the crimes were monthly, and lately it's been weekly now. I'm no fucking conspiracy theorist but... Just take this to mind, alright?" Alex nodded. "Sure. Thanks for the tip, Worrel. Saves me having to Google all this crap."

    Worrel and Alex walked off without a word, but Alex had one more thing to take care of. He walked back to Richard, already holding his matchbook as Richard looks at Alex with concern. "So... you found anything? Anything at all?" He lets off his attitude for a short while to ask, in which Alex promptly answers. "I'm pretty certain this is an intentional fire, and the evidence points to a few things. Do you know any other people who frequent your house? Maintenance men, family members, non-family members, friends?" He asks, in which Richard swallows his saliva hard. "...I have a lover, Ellen. And a wife... Astrid. Pretty sure that fucking bitch burned my house down. And my maintenance man... Lawrence. Nobody else visits this house because... this isn't the family home. I go here to cheat on my wife, okay? Fuck." Alex doesn't seem to mind at all, but he digests all this information before taking a bit more focus. "Okay. Addresses, workplaces, etcetera, any way to contact them?" He asks, and after a few moments of exchanging details, he steps out of the crime scene, grunting heavily at the case.

    "There isn't any simple case. Worrel said it was a conspiracy, vic says his wife burned his house down. Maybe they're both the same thing? I don't fucking know." He talks to someone on the phone, driving back to the precinct with a clouded mind -- clouded with possibilities. If Worrel's suspicions were correct, he would have a serial arsonist on their hands. As soon as he arrives at the precinct, he goes into his office, immediately accessing the police databases, investigating on his own for the rest of his shift.
  3. Tammy had fallen asleep listening to the fire. It couldn't have been helped--the frequency of these jobs were running her a little ragged and although it paid good money, it was starting to dig into her stamina. Besides, it was soothing. For all the songs and all the voices she loved, there was no lullaby to put her to sleep quite like fire. Nevertheless, morning came and glinted off the mic in her hand as it teetered downwards until suddenly she could hear the bustle of law enforcement.

    "What about the fire, did you think it was caused by arson?"

    She could barely hear the question with the mic at its current angle, but it was a pair of bells on a hysterically dancing alarm clock that sprung her awake so fast she almost fell forward off the ridge of the roof. Fortunately she was fairly secure, and fortunately she was dressed in a red hoodie with maroon camo cargo pants, making it fairly difficult to notice her five stories up against a brick building. Even her shoes were red--All Stars--and only her working gloves really stood at, but the white cotton fabric was marred all over by ash stains and close burns (hazard of the job).

    The 'ecosystem' comment gave her a little jolt of pride as she aimed the mic to better hear the conversation. She also used the change in direction to more or less identify the speakers. From the look of things, there was a lazy lounging fireman blindly accepting the truth of events that Tammy had set forth. It was funny how willing people were to leave disasters unquestioned when they work with nothing but disasters. On the other hand, who was the one in the fancy suit asking questions that didn't need to be asked?

    She followed him with the mic, tugging the hood of her sweater taut against her face in case someone looked up while she was focused. She was going to let him go had he reached his car without any more questions, but someone else arrived on the scene and stopped him in his tracks to make a fuss. "I mean, my guys aren't detectives -- but you're the best thing to happen to the Arson Division." Arson Division? She'd been in business for several years now, but she'd only moved to these parts a few years ago. In that time, she'd never once run into...that specific partition of the police department. Granted, business hadn't really picked up until about a year ago, but this was new nonetheless.

    "I've been noticing some nutter's MO."

    Nutter? She ground her teeth against the word and gripped the ledge she was perched on as if she expected the cement top to crumble in her fingers. He was making her sound like a psycho. MO. Modus Operandi. The man was clearly delusional if he was treating her like a serial killer. He'd think twice about the terminology he was using if he had a jug of gasoline shoved down his throat. But she had to calm down. She could feel her nails digging into rocky pores, and this wasn't a good time to start bleeding from her fingertips. Especially since her employer was being implicated.

    To be fair, aside from stealing property through arson, Regal Condos was a very legitimate business. The previous owner--Timothy Fitzgerald--had had a pretty smooth operation going, and if it hadn't been for the economy, his brother--Isaac Fitzgerald--would never have had to resort to other means. Alas, the economy was what it was and in order to keep Timothy's business afloat, Isaac signed his conscience to the devil. And how easy it must have been, too. All it had taken was the whisper of a rumor that sometimes there were black market dealings for paid crimes if you found the right middleman. For most people, this didn't usually pan out. Part of the middleman's job was to case out who was a good potential customer and who was just testing the rumour on a whim. Isaac, apparently, had fit the bill.

    Despite the change of hands, Isaac was still running a decent business. If he could make deals legitimately--and make enough profit to warrant doing so--he did, but the enormous profits he'd gained from last year's investments had created a kind of addiction to the high-risk high-gains model that employing Tammy created. If an investigation started involving the real estate company, Tammy's easy life would become endangered. But the biggest concern was probably the fact that one of Isaac's employees had been hospitalized a couple of weeks ago when he'd walked into a meeting between Tammy and the boss.

    She couldn't remember his name or his face, only that his annoying prick voice was nothing but a squeak by the time she'd been done with him. He'd noticed the spike in burnt real estate and how much money Regal Condos was making off of it, and although he was loyal enough not to squeal, he'd accused Tammy in unkind words of being the temptation that made Isaac jump off the bridge in the first place. That man was still in the hospital, recovering from internal damage. His bills were being paid by the company. There was a possibility that if he was interviewed, whatever he said--or didn't say--might steer the blame in her direction in an attempt to save the business.

    The idea of removing this zit of a human being was increasingly becoming an incentive-capsuled amphetamine. With a suspicious detective on the case, Tammy's bed might have to wait in favor of a visit to Highlington Hospital.
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  4. He grabs a cup of coffee, as the day went by rather silently. In his office, he sat there, pressing the mug's rim on his lips as he tastes the rather bitter tasting coffee. It was that, or a very, very watered down coffee. He looked through the pages of files on Richard, his family, and of course, Regal Condos. If Worrel was right, they would have a connection to this, and several other open cases. This was the first he was assigned on, and it was a headache from the get-go. He only had a wife and an 'angry spouse burns down house' lead, but Worrel brought some light into the case.

    Soon after a few moments of searching, he decided not to visit the wife first -- but he decided to poke around Regal Condos. A small story about an employee of Regal Condos, a 'Aaron Serocco', who was assaulted by several thugs. He was beaten up and the report indicated that he was spending time at the Highlington Hospital, just close by the precinct. An interview regarding how he was beat up revealed that he suspected that it was due to some 'internal conflict' that he refused to name. He continued clicking through the news article, but it reached a dead end at that point. Why was he beaten up? He decided to follow up on that, standing up and swiftly storming out of the office.

    He arrived at the Special Investigations Department -- where most of the more glamorous detectives and units are. He rarely went here, only to follow up on information, and he stepped to the officer at the desk. "I need to follow up on some information about a... Mister Aaron Serocco, would you mind?" The police officer points over lazily to the door on the left. "Records are there." He sighs and opens the door to the department's records room, equipped with several computer kiosks, and some filing cabinets if someone decided they were too good for computers. He sat down and went to work, searching on their records.

    Within moments, he found a case that was opened up and was still pending investigation, by Ratton Parker -- a Special Investigation detective. He didn't know the guy, but he completely ignored that, since he wasn't present for duty today. He read through the case notes and the facts. He's an employee for Regal Condos, positioned as a 'realtor'. He has only a few driving under the influences and a few light cases of fraud he was only fined on during the late 90's, but so far it was all clean. The case related to him was the beating, which involved only his own statements made to the press and police on the scene. It involved him and a scuffle allegedly thugs belonging to a 'boss' he vehemently refused to name at all, and that there was this 'firestarter chick'.

    Alex blinked a few times. It was rather blatant, but if these were his words, he's going to have a few words with him. He skimmed through the rest of the case notes, but it ended very abruptly, with a note saying 'Will continue this tomorrow. -R.P.' He gritted his teeth but this was more or less the only lead he was going on. He would of course, ask the wife about his husband, but the faster he confirmed that Regal Condos had nothing to do with it, the better. He walked straight out of the precinct, before hopping back into his car. "It's been three hours and you're back on the prowl? Good luck, and don't get shot or nothin'." The officer by the motorpool mused, as Alex stepped in his vehicle. He checked his handgun, a Glock 19. He wasn't too crazy about his gun, but it saved his ass more than once, so he took good care of it. He removed it from it's holster and opened the glove compartment, placing a magazine in the pistol before cocking it, setting the safety on before returning it back to his holster. It was nothing more than a gut feeling but, he felt like going straight to the hospital would have a few of the men described in the interview to 'reappear', so he was ready for mostly anything.

    Alex drove out slowly, but he knew that time was running out. If Worrel was right, he would be toppling an entire corrupt real estate agency -- burning down homes to make money off of people's misery. It was like something straight out of an old 40's noir film. He turned left, and proceeded down the street, driving towards Highlington Hospital. He hoped that he would be there on time.
  5. With all the curious people in the crowd and their cameras, it wasn't hard to get away from the scene of the crime without anyone so much as noticing a footstep. The bigger problem was finding the man she'd hospitalized. She walked a couple of streets over and hailed a taxi with a note card in her hand that she pulled out from her pocket where she'd written the word "Library". "Yo, there's like three of them around here, which one you want?" She shrugged and handed him a couple of twenty dollar bills. "A'ight, a'ight, one library coming right up."

    Her mic and gloves were safely tucked away in a small backpack and as she walked into the public library, a switch on her Redbox (the term by which she so affectionately called the box modification for her hearing aids) tuned her in to her MP3 player with the bass up high and the playlist on something rhythmic and soothing. It was good background music for sitting down in front of a computer where she looked up the homepage for Regal Condos. The welcome page had a photo of the company's chief staff, including a resemblance to the man she'd beaten. She still couldn't grasp a name, but there was a list of employees with headshots.

    Aaron Serocco.

    Aaron had talked long before the danger had been recognized. There was a news article about his injuries, and the initial read almost made her scoff out loud. Thugs? The man was either smart and knew he couldn't implicate a single person without inquiries going into her relationship with the company, or he couldn't bear his pride being hurt by the idea that a girl could beat him so badly. To his credit, her knuckles were still scarred and healing from roughing it up against his belt and his chin, but it was still her own doing and not his. To her credit--and there was a lot of it--she'd went through the trouble of throwing a chair down on him enough times to break it. The matter of the fact was, he was lucky to be alive. Even Isaac had stopped himself from trying to intervene once he saw the monstrosity of strength she gained when her blood was boiling. Probably why he felt guilty enough to take financial responsibility.

    She wrote the name down on a notecard for good measure and headed out. The next taxi was less friendly and the driver had trouble reading "Highlington Hospital" for a second, but a firm choke against the back of his seat seemed to jog his reading comprehension. She didn't have time to baby an uneducated old man. She barely even had time to think about how she was going to achieve what was coming next. Getting into the hospital was easy. An ambulance had just swerved in and she snuck behind the EMTs as they dropped their patient onto a gurney. Going in through the front doors was pointless since it wasn't busy enough to distract the nurses, but down there by the ER, all she had to do was find some cords for her foot to pull and suddenly there weren't enough hands on deck to take care of a potentially dying patient or two.

    Once the computers were free, she hopped over the counter and took one over. Hospital computers were familiar to her, what with her trips to the doctor for her hearing aids. Finding Serocco's room was quick, and by the time the nurses had plugged everything back in, she was gone. All she had to do was go up to the third floor, dive into 306 and...lock the door behind her with a chair under the handle.

    She couldn't see Serocco's face. He was turned over and facing the window, sleeping apparently. She walked up to his bed and stood there for a little while, wondering what to do about him. She wasn't particularly angry right now, and she hadn't really thought this whole thing through, come to think of it. If she set fire to him now, it would've been immensely satisfying, but she wouldn't have been able to stick around and watch, nor would it bode well for her privacy. How did quiet deaths go? Probably by pillow.

    She grabbed a corner of the pillow under his head and--"HA!" She felt the vibrations that anticipated his movement a fraction of a second before it happened. She jumped back, expecting to be attacked, but the arm hadn't been swinging at her. She touched her hands to her ears, the world suddenly devoid of sound. She looked up, and in the wounded man's hand was both her hearing aids, dangling by the split mini-to-mini cable that normally plugged them into her Redbox. The box was still in her pocket, which was the important thing, but how did he know what to grab?

    "I didn't realize it at first, but I remember looking up at your face while you were kicking me, and that's when I saw them. My cousin's deaf, so I know what these are. You've ruined Isaac, you nearly killed me, and I can only guess you're here to finish me off." With a painful grunt, he pushed the window open and out the BTE's went. "The least I can do is make your life har--" Before he could finish that sentence, Tammy had grabbed the chair from under the door and threw it across the room at his face. She beat him with a wooden chair last time, maybe a plastic and metal one would kill him.

    She accidentally tugged the handle in her rage, and the door slowly started opening while she took the chair and crashed it against his IV drip, the machines around his bed, and his desperately guarding arms. It didn't take long for security to get called in, but it took two guards and a handful of nurses to drag her out of the room and away from her attempt to crush Serocco's ears into his brain. Deafness could only be properly rewarded by deafness. Unfortunately she wasn't sure if she'd succeeded, but she was moved as far away from the patient as possible until he could be stabilized.
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  6. "Car Eleven-King, we've got a... uh... assault on a civilian patient on Highlington Hospital. Victim is an... Aaron Serocco. If you want to take the call, respond."

    Alex knew this was the right call to make. He drove a bit more speedily, and flipped the switch to turn on the hidden lightbars, the sirens wailing as he picks up the police radio microphone, pressing it close to his mouth. "Detective Alex Green, badge twelve-nineteen, on it." He had to run a few red lights, his driving skills showing as he swerved around some traffic, nearly crashing into the back ends of one of the civilian vehicles but he was cutting it close. For some reason, he didn't want to be late. He turned down Feldspar Street, only three blocks away from the hospital. After running several more red lights, he stopped his vehicle by the parking area, immediately stopping his car by the 'disabled' spot. A guard was about to chastise him, but he noticed the flashing red and blues, and decided to stay his hand. He turned off the vehicle and briskly walked towards the hospital building.

    He stepped in the lobby -- his holster in clear view. He was stopped by a guard, but Alex waved his magical police badge and he fucked right off. He approached the front desk, placing his badge on the table. "Detective Alex Green, Brookland Police Department. I need to see a Mister Aaron Serocco." He held back saying why, but he waited patiently for a response.

    "...Room 731. You should really take care of the girl who tried to kill him before that. He's in shock right now, but the guards are holding her at the security office. Please hurry." The nurse seemed rather nervous, and he simply nodded and walked down the hall. Luckily, the security office was nearby, and signs pointed to the right. He knocked on the keypad locked door of the security office. Seemed to be rather high tech, but then again -- it is a security office. A guard flipped open a slit so he could see the man. Alex pressed his badge at the hole. "Yadda yadda, I'm a cop. Let me in." The guard opened the door as Alex didn't wait for the guard to invite him in.

    He pulled out his handheld radio, pressing on the 'transmit' button as he spoke. "Need a patrol car here at Highlington Hospital to detain a perp, over." He didn't wait for an answer, as the typical answer would be 'sure'. He placed it back, clipped on his belt as he looked over to the girl who was sitting in the seat, handcuffs on her arms. "Interesting. I see that you couldn't just confine her in a hospital bed, then?" He shrugged. "Well, I guess we wouldn't like wasting hospital resources over someone who tried to kill a patient in their hospital." The guards simply stood watch, to back up the detective if he was assaulted.

    He tapped her shoulder, snapping his fingers in front of her, unaware of her lack of hearing. "Hey, sleeping beauty. Wake up." He simply assumed that she was fine since she was strapped in this chair. Well, not completely, just restrained there. "You could at least plea insanity in court, you know? Or serve your sentence of attempted manslaughter. You could always help me find some answers." He sounded rather calm, collected, despite the adrenaline rush he got from weaving in and out of traffic from earlier.
  7. Tammy hadn't calmed down until after the entire hall had been removed from her line of sight. Only then had the red begun to dissipate, and the nurses had been able to give up trying to sedate her without worrying. Technically, they weren't supposed to anyway since she wasn't a patient, but they had been legitimately afraid she would hurt someone. Even the guards were visibly relieved when her adrenaline-backed strength curdled down into labored breathing.

    She could tell that people had been trying to talk to her. From the moment they'd rushed in to save the dickwad who'd tossed her hearing out the window to the moment they'd cuffed her arms behind a chair. They hadn't cuffed her to the chair, not after what they saw she could do with one, but if she couldn't lift her arms from the chair or lift the chair from underneath herself, they'd figured she wouldn't be able to use it against them.

    It wasn't until the fancily suited detective arrived that she had relaxed enough to readjust to the world of dead silence. She couldn't hear anything currently, but she could feel the vibrations of the room under her feet. That was the good thing about All Stars, was that they were thin enough that she could still perceive tremors in the ground. During her concentration she'd been huddled forward (as far as her cuffed arms would let her) and her hood had still been intact. The nurses hadn't managed to pull it back--hence the trouble with landing a needle full of sedation--and the guards simply hadn't had enough need compared to the risk.

    She could feel the air shaking ever so slightly, from the direction of the door. The mild addition of footsteps was different from the ones before, so a third party had entered the room. After that came the tap on her shoulder and the little pops of air in front of her face. She was ready to deal with people again and someone was trying to talk to her, so she might as well take a gander at what he was saying. She leaned back, looked up, and from behind the shadows of her hood she could see his lips.

    "...at least plea insanity in court, you know? Or serve your sentence of attempted manslaughter. You could always help me find some answers."

    There was a trash bin near her leg. Her foot went up, then down, and it was around her leg. Then she twisted her torso, followed by her hips, and suddenly the trash bin went flying up over the man's shoulder and into the guard behind him, paper trash and food wrappings scattering like autumn leaves. The guard reacted violently and threw the bin into the wall, his face shaping into a beet. He was the same guard likely to have a few broken ribs from his earlier contact with Tammy. The other guard was smaller, younger, and likely smarter since he was now clearing any and all loose objects from Tammy's reach. He was also the one that decided a warning was in need.

    "Look, detective--you are a detective, right? you look like one--I wouldn't do that whole snappy fingers thing at her. Or do anything at her. She's crazy."

    Tammy had this vague notion that the guard outside of her view was saying something, but her eyes were staring straight at the detective. She'd lifted her chin up just so much so she could see the entirety of him clearly. She hadn't seen him this up close before, so she hadn't recognized him at first, but now she remembered him. At this angle, he, too, could probably see glowing hazel eyes just beneath the brim, and hints of mud-stained straw for hair. Her gaze was wide, but focused, and clearly angry but in a daily basis sort of way. Her lips were tight in much the same manner, thinly pinched together and lightly crusted with dry skin, as if she hadn't licked them much less spoken with them in days. And this was more or less true. She'd almost never used speech in her entire life.
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  8. Alex didn't really know what to say. He expected a buff male, or a stupid young man to try and kill this 'Aaron Serocco'. If the 'Regal Condos' angle was really something to consider, they might have wanted to kill Aaron for good measure -- but in the hospital? Seems more like a personal grudge than one out of the fear of getting caught. Without much of a word, he waited for her response. He didn't expect such a violent reaction, though. Probably must be really tough for a girl like her. He instinctively pulled out his pistol out of his holster and kept it steady at her.

    He noticed that she wasn't just an ordinary girl. She spelled trouble, and she proved it by tossing that trash bin to him and the guard behind him. Alex easily dodged the bin, but the guard wasn't so lucky. After explaining how she was clearly very insane, he decided to lower his pistol, keeping his other hand ready in case she might have some other tricks up her sleeve.

    Alex noticed that she was looking up to him specifically, the formally dressed detective looking rather clean. His face was clean, immaculate -- his murky green eyes looking down upon her. He took a mental note of what she looked like. Since she was staring and observing his features, he would have dark, charcoal black hair with a sleek combover, and one would assume that he takes care of himself quite a bit. He lowers himself down to where she was seated, one leg propping him steady as he tried not to insult her, so he simply looked at her in his own natural way, not masked with a fake smile.

    "Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want you to answer some questions."

    It would be some great piece of advice if he just knew that she was deaf, but she seemed to react to what he was saying beforehand by tossing that trashbin towards the staff to incite hostility.

    He was close enough that most of her focus would be forced on the detective, and unless she turned her head or tilted upward, there wasn't anything else to look at.

    "Do you even hear me?"

    He doesn't try to snap his fingers, but instead tries to treat her as he normally would to another person. Again, it would help if he heard a response. The cold airconditioning of the security room only enforced the awkwardness and her lack of any words would only make the situation harder. How would he know if she was deaf? It's not like she's carrying around a sign or anything. He didn't realize that his 'sarcastic' question was actually going to garner an answer, as he simply lowered himself there, waiting.

    The detective had some patience, and he was going to let a few minutes to pass as he looks into her eyes, trying to check for any 'facial cues' that would indicate anything, since she wasn't intent on talking.

    "I bet you're deaf. Are you? That would be a stupid question to ask, but... nod if you can read my lips." He says it slowly, but only to try to make her understand what he was saying. He only assumed she was either deaf, since she looked at him with the eyes of someone that's trying to understand what's going on.
  9. The hood was nice and wide, so from the angle of his new position he could see that she had a sharp chin. The overall shape of her head was like a slim acorn. Her nose was thin and pointed with a slight flare at the nostrils from her small berserking. She had some stray strands of hair framing her face, but most of it was tied back and how long it was couldn't be determined at this point. Without the access to underneath the hood, Tammy was a pretty indistinct visage. The sweater was thick and baggy enough that her body weight was difficult to guess, and even deciding her gender was hard at a first glance. Most of the cues came from her narrow shoulders and how her cargo pants wrapped pretty closely to thin legs. Though from a distance--say, across the street--most people would've identified her as a teenage boy.

    The pistol didn't much bother her. In fact, she completely ignored its presence. Most people with a gun pointed at them tensed up, froze, or made some physical attempt to protect themselves no matter how pointless. Tammy just didn't notice it apart from watching the detective react. But the reaction was satisfying, and she glowered a little less.

    "Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want you to answer some questions."

    This guy was a hard read. He was clean. He groomed well. He dressed well. But he wasn't being pompous, and he wasn't lording himself over her. And he certainly wasn't trying to be a bad actor like everyone else. The only problem was that she knew what he was looking into, and she was in the middle of it. She wasn't worried about him hurting her, she was worried about getting arrested. Yet maybe she could trust him with enough information to let her go.

    "Do you even hear me?"

    If words could be familiar on a personal level...those words were probably her best friends. There was a cringe in the corners of her eyes--a micro flash of disdain--but she remained civil and slowly shook her head side to side, her earth-filled eyes never leaving the foliage of his. As much as she hated that question (and the attitude that usually came with it), she was anxious to leave the hospital and look for her earpieces. That meant communication, and that meant convincing the good detective to free at least one of her hands.

    "I bet you're deaf. Are you? That would be a stupid question to ask, but... nod if you can read my lips."

    It was a stupid question to ask. There was a visible crinkle around her nose, disgusted that suddenly she was being babied by having the words drawled out for her. She picked up her slouch and leaned forward, close enough that her eyes took over his center of vision and far enough that he could still see under her hood. The muscles around her eyelids squeezed, and from the folds oozed anger but comprehension and an attentiveness to facial cues to match his own. This was as close to a nod as he was going to get at this point, and instead she opted to nudge her head in the direction of the security desk where she'd seen a notepad earlier, chock full of scribbles she could only guess were lyrics or poetry judging from the short lines. Not that it mattered to her, she just needed the paper.
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  10. He noted at how his attempt at trying not to insult her only made her feel offended, so he simply observed her responses. Being a detective was such a chore sometimes. Most of the time a burnt house meant the fire department wanted a detective to find the cause of the fire, and then after that the rest of his shift is filing some monotonous paperwork. Even worse is the paperwork involved of there was an actual motive for the crime, like a family dispute or someone torching a house. Then, he's being sent this. He has to deal with a deaf girl.

    He didn't hate the fact that she was deaf, but he only had to try everything to make sure she wasn't offended but, she is now. He kinda wished he had a bit more tact. He noted at how she was visibly disgusted at how she was being treated differently by him, so he stood up and took the notepad by the table and a ball point pen, but he hesitated for a moment.

    "What makes you think you won't just use that pen to stab -- whatever. Take the cuffs off boys."

    At that point, the guards were very reluctant to let her off the loose, so they decided to approach her very slowly, with a bit of caution. She was uncuffed, and the detective's hand was close to his handgun, ready to threaten her with it at a moment's notice. The detective and the guards looked at her with strange intent, with the guards clearly a bit angry, but their faces showed a bit of fear. Even if she barely reacted to his firearm, Alex still trusted it for a bit of insurance -- although firing on her would be strongly advised against. Without the cuffs to bind her, she could easily try and resist yet again. He decided to try and communicate with her, gripping the pen with his right hand as he wrote on the notepad, at the center of the paper.

    Why attack Serocco here of all places?

    His question was something he thought needed to be addressed, since it was quite odd. Maybe she planned on killing him while he was asleep? It wouldn't work her way either, since surveillance cameras would mark her every move if the murder seemed like an accident. He handed the notepad and pen to her with one hand, his other hand still hooked around the grip of his gun, the guards ready to pull out their batons in case she tries to make a run for it.

    Outside, a single squad car arrives, parking next to Detective Alex's vehicle, two uniformed police officers stepping out and making their way in the hospital. After asking a few questions at the front desk, they reached the security office. The one thing that was helpful with them is that they had stun guns that could pacify the suspect in case she does anything stupid. Looking inside, as they left the door's viewing slot open, they could see Alex lowered down in front of a girl sitting in the seat, and noting the two security personnel armed with batons, they decided not to step in unless something else happened inside.

    Time passes rather slowly, as even if she didn't know she was surrounded, they still felt like attacking her would be rather unnecessary. Alex, deciding to break the silence of the situation, spoke normally -- now fully treating her as a normal person. "Try anything and I'll have the department throw you in a cell. I think my backup is waiting outside the door right now, so please don't give me a reason to give a nice girl like you a concussion." He knew she was important, and he didn't want to lose a lead this early. It's not like he would expect Aaron to spit anything out -- since she nearly scared the soul out of him a while ago with that 'assassination attempt'.
    #10 Sabatron, Dec 3, 2015
    Last edited: Dec 4, 2015
  11. The detective wasn't far off with his assumption about the pen. Her hands twitched at the thought, but she made a point to crush the rage to oblivion inside her fists. The intensity of white tension around her knuckles made the guard behind her come to a full stop before he made the leap to trust the decision to uncuff her. Before the cuffs had fully left her flesh her arms pumped through the air to her breast--a passive (and mostly aggressive) appreciation for having been restrained--and in surprise the guard started on about how "I can cuff you back to the chair" but he stopped when she started looking over her shoulder.

    She was nursing her wrists, still-tensed fingers lining the indentations in her skin in an effort to rub the pain away and keep her anger preoccupied. But she saw the question on the notepad and grunted. It was more a puff of air than sound, but the dismissal was just as clear. She snatched up the pad and pen and just as she pressed the point down to write, she noticed that the detective had written right over the penciled lyrics on the top page. It was only a glimpse, but the words actually weren't that bad and out of sympathetic recognition her muscles relaxed.

    She tore out the page--neatly along the dotted line--which made the young guard behind her flinch, but she flipped it over and wrote "not bad -- do more" before she pushed it off to the side. She felt the tremors of a person clamoring to pick the paper back up, then went ahead and repeated the detective's question on the now empty page before her.

    Why attack Serocco here of all places? The ball rested on the point of the question while she took half a second to think of an answer. She scribbled something down, but after she wrote it she immediately scratched a couple of lines through. It wasn't an attempt to hide the words, just a form of expression that she was reconsidering the point of her response. So she wrote some more underneath and then lifted up the pad for the detective to read.

    does it matter?
    he dissed me
    threw my ears out his window
    i don't care where he is
    i want them back

    She read his lips over the pad and glanced up at the door. More guards. What a pain. It wasn't the prospect of a concussion that made her snarl, just the inconvenience of having no easy way out. If it meant she could get away without being questioned, she'd easily eat a bullet or two--and those weren't the only war wounds she had--but there weren't any openings earlier, and there still weren't any openings now. As much as she hated to admit it, not being able to hear anything also made the chance of escape far smaller. She could feel her immediate surroundings, but guns and sirens and cops chasing her down an alley had a distinct advantage as long as she was completely deaf. So she put the pad down and nearly stabbed it with the pen scribbling something else down.

    MY EARS.
  12. Alex still remained lowered to her level, simply observing how she reacted to being set free. The guard made an idle threat, but he knew that the guard should be worried about the girl, and threatening her wouldn't solve his problems. Without saying much, he was more than aware at how she was deaf, but he didn't know she had hearing aids. He only assumed that she was fully deaf -- or at least was very good at acting like she should. As soon as Tammy took the notepad and pen from his hands, she seemed to relax. Was it some sort of comfort being able to write to communicate?

    Though, it was just that the lyrics were important to one of the staff, to which he paid no attention to. Without saying, Alex was very focused in his work, although he's someone who has a strong sense of justice -- it doesn't mean that the law is always 'fair', he just doesn't have any choice most of the time. She seemed like a nice girl, although she's much more dangerous that he would expect. To have her carry out such an attempt on Aaron's life, it showed how much confidence she had. He couldn't make accurate assumptions for now, but it seems like he can't get the answers out of her.

    He takes the pad back again, reading her words. The way she wrote was more relaxed, but as soon as he mentioned the fact that he was fairly certain the uniformed officers sent to detain her was likely to be waiting outside, the detective instantly grabs the pen and jabs the point onto the paper, twisting his wrist -- writing a few words underneath her own.

    Your ears. I'll find them, if you help.

    He grasps the pen once, flipping it around before gently handing both items to Tammy. Alex was an honest person, and despite her being an 'attempted murder' suspect, he thought that he should at least help her find the one thing that's valuable with her. Maybe it would make her more open to sharing some information, although it's not going to make her trust him instantly. He turned on his heel and stood up, opening the door. The colder hallways of the hospital caused a freezing breeze fill the slightly warm room. He wasn't facing her, so she couldn't tell what he was saying to the cops outside, but the policemen started leaving down the hall. Alex turns his attention back to the frail-looking almost-murderer.

    "I need your help, so I'm doing this for you."

    He simply stated his honest intentions, since she didn't seem like the type to get decieved -- ever. Making threats would make things worse, so he was just going to be straight up honest and maybe she'll oblige -- maybe her ego would get inflated, or because she also needs her hearing aids too.

    "I'll need your help looking for them. I'll take it from here, gentlemen." He was speaking to the other two guards, just standing by the door, waiting for her to stand up. Even though it was going to be less likely that she would try to attack now, he didn't rule out that possibility, his hand still on his firearm. He didn't want to let her know that the most dangerous thing he could do to her is pistol whip her with his gun, but she seemed like she didn't care about getting shot. Waiting for a response, he idles by.
  13. The detective seemed to understand what she meant by her 'ears'--more or less--which made getting her point across fairly painless. But when he returned the pen and pad with the words he wrote, she had to stop and read them (repeatedly). And again. And then again. She vaguely registered footsteps traveling through the floor and after the twentieth or so attempt to absorb the detective's response, she looked up in time to read his lips.

    "I need your help, so I'm doing this for you."

    This was a difficult situation for Tammy. She was getting upset again--angry even--but it wasn't the kind of anger that made her body tense or the air around her heavy. If anything, it was an inner turmoil that stemmed from what most people would know as pleasant surprise, but for Tammy it was nothing more than a lack of volatile reaction that she couldn't quite wrap her feelings around. Extremes came naturally to her, so when faced with what she thought was an enemy who--against all personal experience--showed some sort of off-handed sympathy and a brisk attempt to help first (threaten later) a deaf and violent person such as Tammy, the appropriate response (which she eventually gauged to be reserved and compliant gratitude) felt unwieldy, dangerous, almost fake.

    Even more confusing was the fact that he wrote and spoke aloud practically the same thing, and his face didn't read of anything false, contrived, or deliberate. He was either a bad liar, or he was incredibly apathetic to lying. Her general distrust of people made her inclined to believe the latter, but still found herself light on her feet once she was out of the chair. For half a step she swayed, dizzy from what she could only surmise to be pleasure of the pleasantry sort, the kind she usually only felt when immersed in the waltz.

    Her ears.

    Necessity brought her back down to earth, and she quickly pulled up the pad over her arm--there was a beat and curvature to the motion that implied deeply familiar physical memory--to jot down the room number (306) from which Serocco had thrown out her listening devices. She showed this to him, then felt the smallest knee-jerk reaction in her chest. The pad was again balanced over her wrist, scribbled on, and lifted to show the words.

    find them.
    i'll help.

    The last word was heavily scratched out, drowning in lines that--unlike her strikethroughs--actually did attempt to rid the paper of the word.
  14. Alex still waited there, noting that she was still rather steamed about what seems to be me trying to help her. True, he had no reason to do so otherwise than to force her to help him -- but this is what he had to do. He saw no other alternative. He decided not to comment on her attitude towards him, seeing it as a reaction to her feeling used. With that, he walked out, but waited for her to finish what she was doing. She staggered up, but didn't offer to help -- thinking she might try this as a chance to escape. He read the words and the room number, before motioning for her to follow him.

    He walked towards the elevator, stepping in first and pressing the button for the third floor, waiting for her to come in by holding the 'open door' button. As she stepped in, he let go, the door closing behind her. The awkwardness of the situation dawned on him as the elevator took it's damn time getting to the third floor, the slightly mood-specific -- a monotonous typical 'elevator music' chime -- as he placed his hands on his pockets. Idle chatter wasn't one of his strong suits, but he could hold somewhat of a conversation. He still decided not to try and talk to the deaf girl until she finds her 'ears'.

    The elevator slid open and they walked out, his eyes shifting to try and find the correct room numbers. Eventually they found Room 306. He still turned the handle, pushing the door open as the door creaks at the hinges. This is probably why she was caught -- since she couldn't have possibly heard that. He ignores the tossed items and whatnot, it was left here intentionally for the other investigating police to have the crime scene the way it was. He tried looking out the window first, but he couldn't catch a glimpse of what he was looking for. He wrote something on the pad and handed it to her.

    What's the color of the hearing aids?

    He did notice something amiss from the green shrubs and the neatly planted trees -- there was something colored red, standing out from the rest of the trees. He was quite thankful that it landed there, since he would only have to worry about climbing up that tree.

    "Is that it?" He pointed down to the tree, trying to catch her attention by tapping her.
  15. Idle chatter wasn't exactly Tammy's strong suit either, but the vibrations in the elevator were comforting to her silenced world. She even had her back pressed up against the wall to feel as much as she could gather. These moments might have been painful for the detective, but for her, these were moments that could last forever and she would never so much as make a tremor to break this reverberating peace.

    Unfortunately, life was harsh in the way that peace was never meant to be savored so long. The elevator was abandoned in favor of the hospital room from which her ears had been thrown, but her disappointment wasn't long. She read the question on the notepad and started to write what for her would've been a fairly detailed description--that was how much she cared--but ended up only getting down "cochlear implants--not hea" before the detective interrupted her with a tap. Leaning out the window, she saw the bright red string that was her mini-to-mini cable, and at the split ends she saw the milder orange curls that were supposed to be sitting on her ears.

    All reason left her. The pad and the pen fell from the third story window, but before they hit the grass, Tammy was over the sill and hanging from under the window by her two hands. Then she made a little hop and released herself, only to catch the ledge that slightly jutted out from over the next window, and from there she dropped to the bottom of that window. Second story now, and there were no ledges further down, but there were other window ledges across with small squares pushed out between. She leapt sideways to the square, braced herself, leapt sideways again to the next window, crawled her hands along, then twisted her torso as she jumped off the wall to throw herself at the tree that had her ears.

    She caught herself on the sturdier portion of the tree's branches, swinging a little bit as she steadied her weight, then pulled herself up to get some decent footholds in the V's of the trunk. Her ears were a little further up than where she was, and she climbed as far as she could until the branches underfoot started swaying and bending downwards under her weight. It took some odd combination of hanging and leaning, but she managed to barley reach the cable. Some light--and very careful--tugs loosened the actual devices from the twigs, which worked too well because they were now bungee jumping and afraid they might pop off the cable and hit the asphalt below and become damaged, Tammy quickly wrapped her legs around a branch lower down while her hands reached out.

    Her body fell, swinging around so that she was hanging off the branch by just her legs, torso facing slightly up, arms strut out, hands firmly clasped around the earpieces she successfully rescued. The branch was bouncing gently, but rather than tense up to strengthen the grip of her calves and knees, she relaxed into the clips of her ears and plugged the cable into the modification box zipped up in her sweater pouch. The hood had fallen free of her head at this point, and her horsetail of hair was loose, a bundle of coarse goldenrod streaked with lumpy toffee. With a dull, synchronized snap, the transmitters of her earpieces attached magnetically over her hair to the receivers in her head.

    Then she switched the world to ON.
  16. It all happened in a split second. He didn't know what gotten into her, but he only assumed it was finding the things that allowed her to hear. With her suddenly hanging off the window, he was about to force her to get back up here with physical force, but upon reaching out to try and grab her hand, he pulled back, as she was releasing her grip and holding on to the ledge below. Instinct kicked in, he quickly grabbed his handheld radio and barked loudly into it. "Detective Green here. Need those two boys at the right side of the hospital, suspect is attempting to jump down from the hospital. Just try to incapacitate her."

    He was logical, so he decided to storm out of the hospital room, rushing to the stairs as he makes long strides down the stairs with quickness, but then he starts jumping the staircases. It barely tired him none, his impressive stamina was something to be admired, but he was only relying on that primal rush of adrenaline surging through his blood. Drawing his pistol from his holster yet again, he nearly forces the doors of the stairwell open, before sprinting all the way to the right wing of the building, walking out to try and see what happened to the girl.

    He's never been one to be dealing with disabled people -- it was surprisingly rare, even for his line of work. He always had a hard time dealing with murder suspects who can't even talk to you without a notepad and a pen, or something to aid them. Like playing charades while handcuffed. Tammy was different. Even if he knows barely anything about her, even her name -- he actually admired her tenacity, and how determined she was. Even if she's a suspect, he liked those traits of hers. Mentally, he shooed away those thoughts as he looked over to see Tammy, relaxed, her face filled with comfort. He recognized the implants around her head, and as soon as he was about to raise his pistol -- he decided not to, and lowered his gun. Still, he gripped it as he looked up.

    "Hey. We're not done yet. If you're going to leave it's some obstruction of justice yadda yadda whatever... So I found what you wanted. You happy now?"

    As soon as he said that, the two police officers quickly dashed to the scene, but he gave a 'stop' hand gesture to the two, and they followed through, the pistols in their hands lowered for now. He just waited for her to ask for help or anything before trying, but Alex let her enjoy her regaining her ability to hear again. Even if he wasn't good at small talk with a deaf girl, or the fact that he didn't know how much those things meant for her until now -- he felt a bit bad for having to take her in for questioning. His eyes start to scan around her head, her dirty blonde hair something he kept note. Tapping his foot, he waited for an answer -- thinking that he would seem rather intimidating, flanked by two of the city's finest beside him.
  17. Tammy had sunken into the omnidirectional world of her surroundings, supported by the little mics sitting pretty midst the coils of her ears. She could hear the tree creaking from her weight, the leaves flapping slowly against the still air, a squirrel clicking its paws against the bark of the trunk--sounds that if she had tried to describe them to someone who could listen with their biological ears, would have difficulty understanding because her ears heard things differently. So when the detective started talking to her, she almost didn't recognize him. He sounded different through these mics than when she'd been eavesdropping earlier that morning, and she took a moment to stare at him with blank confusion before unlocking her legs.

    She caught a branch below with her hands and swung around a bit before she dropped to the grass feet first, knee second. The pad and pen were right next to her, so she snatched them up and scribbled on her way to the detective, after which she pushed a switch on her Redbox through the outer fabric of her sweater pouch. She'd switched to a different pair of mics that listened in the specific direction she was facing, which was useful for conversation with one person. Especially since she didn't stop lip reading even when she could hear. Then she handed the pad to the detective.

    am i being arrested?

    Now standing upright, her horsetail of hair was hanging over her fallen hood down to the middle of her back. The tail was frizzled with curves and strays from lack of brushing. She had mildly heavy eyebrows, dotted fool's gold blonde. Her hazel eyes were large, with slight and flattering bags underneath and an amber glimmer from the natural daylight. Other than being able to see her personal features, there wasn't much of a difference from when she'd had the hood on since her face wasn't quite as vivid as her writing. Yet, she eased up her spine and held her wrists out, waiting for cuffs.
  18. Alex watched over her as she dropped down to the ground rather easily and with minimal trouble, snatching up the notepad and writing her response still. With this, he deduced that she was mute, but only deaf without her implants. He holstered his pistol around his belt. He received the pad of paper and read her response. He sighs, fishing his handcuffs and dropping the pad of paper, the two police officers behind him were ready to spring to action. Alex was pretty sure he didn't need their help, though.

    "Sorry, but you're very much connected to the crime -- and you tried to kill someone, so... Yes, you're being arrested and held for questioning. Anything you say will be... ugh, whatever. It's not like you can talk to me or anything."

    He unlatches the lock to the pair of handcuffs, before normally slapping them around her wrists and cuffing her from the front. The police officers then held onto her arms, one at each side, as the detective turned on his heel and walked towards the parking area, where she could be escorted to the precinct for questioning. Without a doubt, she was one of the more odd persons of interest. Not only did she decide the best idea was to murder someone in the middle of a busy hospital, she also had impaired senses. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, though -- since the only piece of information that he had was that she held some sort of grudge with the person he was interested in questioning.

    "I'll take her to the precinct. Don't worry about it."

    His beige Ford Crown Victoria was parked beside a typical squad cruiser, but as soon as the two police officers escort her and place her in the back seat of the detective's car, they hopped into their police car and drove off. Alex stepped in the driver's seat, starting up the car and filling the silent atmosphere of the car with the gentle humming of the engine. "I just thought you were deaf. Sorry if I jumped to conclusions." Alex backed out of the parking lot and drove down the street. It was quite awkward, but these types of situations were things he had to deal with on a daily basis, so he tried to 'get used to it'.
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