FBI. Night shift.
May. 2nd, 2009 08:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
The Italian restaurant is liberally surrounded with "Police Scene. Do Not Cross" tape. The tall man in the Eisenhower jacket walks right past it and opens the door. Apparently the police have accounted for this possibility as there is an overweight man in a patrolman's uniform with a donut in one hand and an almost empty donut box in the other. He looks up, hand frozen halfway to his mouth.
"Can I help you?"
The Middleman flashes an easy grin. "FBI," he explains, flashing a badge. "Night shift."
The cop nods in acceptance, then holds out the donut box. "Donut?"
The Middleman shakes his head in disapproval. "That would ruin my appetite, officer."
This draws a blink, a shrug, and a thoughtful donut munch or two. The Middleman has already dismissed the officer and is walking slowly around the restaurant examining things through an odd black device of some sort.
"Can I help you?"
The Middleman flashes an easy grin. "FBI," he explains, flashing a badge. "Night shift."
The cop nods in acceptance, then holds out the donut box. "Donut?"
The Middleman shakes his head in disapproval. "That would ruin my appetite, officer."
This draws a blink, a shrug, and a thoughtful donut munch or two. The Middleman has already dismissed the officer and is walking slowly around the restaurant examining things through an odd black device of some sort.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 01:25 am (UTC)"Excuse me. This kid says she's with you."
It's Wendy, still sporting the shorts, tee, and bad attitude. If she's smarting at being called a kid, she doesn't show it, saving all of her annoyance for the mysterious fella in the funny coat.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 01:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 01:41 am (UTC)The officer shrugs in a way that suggests he couldn't care less and wanders out of the room. Presumably in search of more donuts.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 01:47 am (UTC)She takes a quick glance around the room, then looks up at the big green guy.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 01:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 01:56 am (UTC)"Why the attitude adjustment?"
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:08 am (UTC)"No job. No money. No sense of reality now that I know comic book evil roams the world."
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:11 am (UTC)"That is an exotic problem."
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:15 am (UTC)"I heard when comic book evil strikes, you're there to cover it up."
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:32 am (UTC)This situation is not nearly as funny to Wendy.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:37 am (UTC)"How?"
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:45 am (UTC)"People want to believe reality's normal, the ones who don't are freaks." He pauses pointedly. "And no one believes them anyway."
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 02:48 am (UTC)As he pushes past her, intent on some part of his investigation, she asks, "Well – who do you work for?"
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 03:01 am (UTC)He stands up to look over at her. "Maybe Ida runs the show, maybe it's the conspiracy. Maybe it's God." Then he flashes that infuriating grin. "I'm just the Middleman."
As if it's the natural thing to do after this long spiel, the Middleman bends down to pick something up and stands back up shaking his head. "Doggone cops," he sounds rueful and fond, "they always miss the big clues."
He holds his big clue out for Wendy to inspect.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 03:08 am (UTC)"A banana peel?"
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 03:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 03:18 am (UTC)"You wanna know? You gotta sign up."
no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 04:05 am (UTC)She'd get her own Eisenhower jacket, of course, and her own weapons and gadgets and things. They'd team up, fight crime; she'd be the Riggs to his Murtaugh, or possibly the Lowrey to his Burnett. He'd be a little bit country, she'd be a little bit rock and roll. He could teach her all that action hero stuff and she could teach him how to dress. It wouldn't be an even match, that's for sure, but if a lifetime of being saturated in the pop culture ephemera of modern civilization has taught Wendy anything, it's that those are the best kind.
Eventually she shrugs.
"Yeah, why not."