Do Not Cross [Closed] - Printable Version
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Do Not Cross [Closed] - Tindome - 11-12-2014
![[Image: donotcross.png]](https://alonimi.net/misc/images/graphics/donotcross.png)
Nadine made a face as she considered the yellow tape in front of her, flicking at it as if to test whether it could actually stop her. There was an unlit cigarette in her other hand, and a teal acrylic fingernail tapped against the filter impatiently. Pursing her lips, she bent at the waist, let her curls hang in the air as she considered sideways the corpse behind the tape.
Probably not a zombie. Probably hadn't been turned into anything, in fact, so he was unlikely to wake up and protest the fact that she was intruding on his personal space. Something had ripped out his throat, but since there'd been enough time for the cops to put up tape, it was probably gone.
Probably.
She tapped impatiently on the filter of her cigarette again, and slid beneath the tape, adjusting her skirt as she stood up straight on the other side. Stepping closer to the corpse, she covered the lower half of her face with the sleeve of her sweater and carefully avoided looking at the wound. She circled the body, heels on concrete sidestepping any blood, until she found what she was looking for:
His pack of cigarettes. And her lighter. Pushing her glasses higher on her nose, she bent down to retrieve the zippo with a sense of triumph.
Do Not Cross [Closed] - megs - 11-13-2014
Grayson leaned against his car door to use the roof as a makeshift desk to write out his report. Waiting for the morgue to show up and gather a body would be much less tedious if they could ever be on time. Pen lazily moved across paper, spilling his scrawling handwriting into information boxes entirely too small for it, describing the likely events of the poor sap's demise in unnecessarily gruesome detail, as if to spite whoever made him write these awful reports. He'd discarded his coat over the hood of the unmarked vehicle; his tie had been loosened and his sleeves rolled up over his elbows, he'd clearly been waiting for some time, now. He was alerted to another presence by the sound of heels on asphalt, and he whipped around just in time to see a woman leaning over the body. Despite the string of expletives that came naturally to him as a first response, he settled with barking out, "Get away from there," to seize her attention.
Quick strides had him towering over her in mere heartbeats. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was calmer than the words it carried, the shouting before had been caused by distance, not personal preference. "This is a crime scene. Can you not read? Did you not see the tape?" He fired off questions without giving her time to respond to them, sweeping out an arm to point out the yellow perimeter. The gesture revealed the glinting butt of his gun, from where it peeked out the holster strapped across his shoulders. What he really wanted was to forgo questioning all together, and haul her away from the body by the arm, but the last thing he needed was an over-exaggerated police brutality case lingering over his agenda.
However, she was already knuckles deep in on of the man's pockets, and she was so lucky he'd finished booking everything, or he would have lost his mind. He held his hand for whatever she was pilfering. "Give me that."
Do Not Cross [Closed] - Tindome - 11-13-2014
The yelling came as a surprise, but not enough to make her jerk back or flinch. She could tell by now when yelling was dangerous, and that sounded like someone who was as surprised to be doing it as she was to be hearing it.
She did turn her head toward the source of the voice, adjusted her glasses as she gave him a once-over. Talked like a cop, walked like a cop, carried a gun like a cop, kinda turned her on like a cop. Instinct said he was probably harmless, none of the obvious red flags she associated with potential murderapists. She'd been wrong before, but she didn't like letting outliers dictate her behavior.
"Is that what that is?" she said with a click of her tongue. "Thought it was a velvet rope. Colorblindness gets me every time." This was blatantly and offensively false, but that was what made it funny, as far as she was concerned. It was too late to play innocent, so she doubled down on playing the bad girl, which was easier anyway. She held up the hand with her cigarette to indicate that he should give her a minute, as if she was in any position to be giving anyone orders. Then she stuck her cigarette between her lips, pulled out the Zippo she'd been digging for to light it.
She sighed a happy cloud of smoke ill-suited to her location, then stood, ran fingers through curls that had grown out enough to fall around her ears. "Kay," she said, stepping around the body to approach him and holding the lighter out to drop into his hand. "But try to give it back quick, cuz this asshole said he was just gonna borrow it for a sec and that was three hours ago. And I'm pretty sure he's only been dead for one of those, so that's no excuse."
Cocking her head to the side, green eyes dragged over him again as she took another slow drag. It was the tie that was getting her, she was almost sure of it. Something about a tie like that made her want to yank on it. "Lemme guess," she said, "No uniform, no hazmat... that means you're a dick, right?"
She did turn her head toward the source of the voice, adjusted her glasses as she gave him a once-over. Talked like a cop, walked like a cop, carried a gun like a cop, kinda turned her on like a cop. Instinct said he was probably harmless, none of the obvious red flags she associated with potential murderapists. She'd been wrong before, but she didn't like letting outliers dictate her behavior.
"Is that what that is?" she said with a click of her tongue. "Thought it was a velvet rope. Colorblindness gets me every time." This was blatantly and offensively false, but that was what made it funny, as far as she was concerned. It was too late to play innocent, so she doubled down on playing the bad girl, which was easier anyway. She held up the hand with her cigarette to indicate that he should give her a minute, as if she was in any position to be giving anyone orders. Then she stuck her cigarette between her lips, pulled out the Zippo she'd been digging for to light it.
She sighed a happy cloud of smoke ill-suited to her location, then stood, ran fingers through curls that had grown out enough to fall around her ears. "Kay," she said, stepping around the body to approach him and holding the lighter out to drop into his hand. "But try to give it back quick, cuz this asshole said he was just gonna borrow it for a sec and that was three hours ago. And I'm pretty sure he's only been dead for one of those, so that's no excuse."
Cocking her head to the side, green eyes dragged over him again as she took another slow drag. It was the tie that was getting her, she was almost sure of it. Something about a tie like that made her want to yank on it. "Lemme guess," she said, "No uniform, no hazmat... that means you're a dick, right?"
Do Not Cross [Closed] - megs - 11-15-2014
Grayson glared down at her. She was immediately as annoying as she was baffling. Normal civilians did not go fishing for lighters in the pockets of corpses, and they certainly did not smoke cigarettes in crime scenes with police officers hovering over them. "Are you seriously smoking in my crime scene right now?" This woman was probably a sociopath. There was no way she wasn't. Grayson would have thought she was the one that had torn the fucker's throat out herself, if she had looked at all capable of doing so. Though he should know better than anyone that the worst monsters hardly looked that way.
"Is this really what you want to go to jail over?" He watched her approach, hand still held palm up for the lighter as the other pushed his glasses up his nose. Fingers curled around the Zippo when it was dropped into his possession and he absolutely refused to notice they way her stockings enveloped her thighs in little cat faces. He flipped the lighter over in his fingers. "You're not getting this back," he states matter-of-factly. "This is evidence. You'll probably never see this again." It was curious as to why he wasn't already slapping handcuffs over her wrists. Culprits almost always showed back up to the scene of the crime, and she'd given herself a motive. A shitty one for doing what had been done to this guy, but nonetheless...
"I'm a forensic investigator," he snaps back, automatically. So very, very irritable. "I would have left you behind too, if you're this annoying all the time."
The sound of a car approaching alerted him to the fact that there were still very close to defacing a crime scene. Lucky for him though, it sounded as if the morgue had arrived.
"Okay, look. At the very least could you not hover over the body like some murderess?" He didn't wait for her to respond, just adjusted his glasses again and sort of hoped she'd wander off on her own. He walked back to his cruiser, flipping the lighter open and closed with his thumb.
Do Not Cross [Closed] - Tindome - 11-15-2014
"Unless this city's got some very special cops," she snorted, "I doubt I'm the first person to smoke up your scene." She blew a smoke ring, and it was only a little bit so she could round her mouth and hollow her cheeks. Stepped even closer, because the more irritated he got the more she wanted to invade his personal space.
Sometimes she had to wonder how much of her personality was actually just spite.
"If you wanna cuff me, you could always just ask nice," she said with a flutter of her eyelashes, mouth too wide for her smile to be described as 'impish'. "But you're going to have to buy me a new one," she said, just as matter-of-fact, "because I'm not buying a new one, and that means I'm gonna have to follow you around asking for a light every time I wanna smoke. I don't think anyone wants that."
It wasn't entirely a joke. The parts that weren't spite were stubbornness.
"Not all the time," she assured him, in the least reassuring way. "Only when I can talk." She didn't particularly enjoy hanging around a body, though the smoke helped with the smell, so she followed behind him as he walked. He still had her lighter, after all.
"So as long as we're both done leaving our hair all over a murder scene," she said, "howsabout you give me a ride to Trinity on your way back to the station? I can still walk straight and this club's a little too... corpsey." She made a face, took another drag. "You can use the drive to lecture me about my lifestyle and try to convince me that guy was totally killed by a mountain lion for realsies," she suggested.
Sometimes she had to wonder how much of her personality was actually just spite.
"If you wanna cuff me, you could always just ask nice," she said with a flutter of her eyelashes, mouth too wide for her smile to be described as 'impish'. "But you're going to have to buy me a new one," she said, just as matter-of-fact, "because I'm not buying a new one, and that means I'm gonna have to follow you around asking for a light every time I wanna smoke. I don't think anyone wants that."
It wasn't entirely a joke. The parts that weren't spite were stubbornness.
"Not all the time," she assured him, in the least reassuring way. "Only when I can talk." She didn't particularly enjoy hanging around a body, though the smoke helped with the smell, so she followed behind him as he walked. He still had her lighter, after all.
"So as long as we're both done leaving our hair all over a murder scene," she said, "howsabout you give me a ride to Trinity on your way back to the station? I can still walk straight and this club's a little too... corpsey." She made a face, took another drag. "You can use the drive to lecture me about my lifestyle and try to convince me that guy was totally killed by a mountain lion for realsies," she suggested.
Do Not Cross [Closed] - megs - 11-15-2014
Grayson frowned, because she had a point and he totally hated that she was right. He hated when anyone was right, other than himself. He watched the smoke ring trail along as an excuse not to look directly at her. She moved closer, and normally he would have taken a step back to retain the distance he always did between himself and another person, but with her it seemed like a challenge so he stood his ground instead. Which turned out to be fine because it meant he could no longer see those fucking kitten faces."I should book you just on principle," he mutters, fingers moving to adjust his tie. "I'm not buying you another lighter," he insists. He caught himself wondering why he was even humoring her with conversation. "Just go snag one off another corpse that's not this one, you little grave robber."
Only when she talked, or breathed, or existed for that matter.
Behind him was profoundly not the direction he had been hoping she'd meander to. He turned to face her again with the most exasperated of sighs. "Are you even old enough to get into a club? I'm pretty sure you're sixteen and out way past curfew." He looked over her easily, given her height (even in those ridiculously attractive gaudy heels), and waved at the two men climbing out of the van to gather up the body. He was going to have to file an entirely new report, because she was right, again, about all the DNA they'd likely left behind. The hand that wasn't toying with the lighter pushed his glasses away from his nose to pinch the bridge of it as he closed his eyes.
"I'm not going to the station."
Why did he say that?
"And it wasn't a fucking mountain lion."
He should really just endeavor to stop talking altogether. Stop looking at the way her mouth pursed around her cigarette.
"What's your name?" he asked suddenly. He was not interested in this woman, he told himself. The questions was strictly for his report.
Do Not Cross [Closed] - Tindome - 11-15-2014
"I don’t steal lighters from corpses as a habit," she said, faintly scandalized that he would even suggest it. "I prefer to avoid corpses. This corpse stole my lighter. Special circumstances." She'd stolen it from someone else, first, but that had been a month ago and this was a record in terms of ownership as far as she was concerned.
She cackled when he accused her of being underage, smoke billowing around her face, not remotely ladylike. It was the kind of laugh that seemed like she ought to put a hand in front of it just for safety, but she never bothered. "Twenty-five," she corrected, tilting her head sideways as she watched his face. "Got the I.D. and the middle school raver pants to prove it."
Oh, but he wasn't trying to give her the mountain lion line. Cops loved the mountain lion line. Made no fucking sense, in a city like this, but they always went for mountain lion. He might not be entirely a dumbfuck, after all.
Nadine tended to just assume that everyone who wasn't her was a dumbfuck. She was usually right. Even geniuses had an astonishing capacity for dumbfuckery. She took a long drag on her cigarette, deep into her lungs to make her chest rise and fall beneath the softness of her sweater.
"Dean," she said automatically, because she was always Dean when she was bad. "So where are you going, crankycuffs? If there's loud music and liquor you're still going my way."
She cackled when he accused her of being underage, smoke billowing around her face, not remotely ladylike. It was the kind of laugh that seemed like she ought to put a hand in front of it just for safety, but she never bothered. "Twenty-five," she corrected, tilting her head sideways as she watched his face. "Got the I.D. and the middle school raver pants to prove it."
Oh, but he wasn't trying to give her the mountain lion line. Cops loved the mountain lion line. Made no fucking sense, in a city like this, but they always went for mountain lion. He might not be entirely a dumbfuck, after all.
Nadine tended to just assume that everyone who wasn't her was a dumbfuck. She was usually right. Even geniuses had an astonishing capacity for dumbfuckery. She took a long drag on her cigarette, deep into her lungs to make her chest rise and fall beneath the softness of her sweater.
"Dean," she said automatically, because she was always Dean when she was bad. "So where are you going, crankycuffs? If there's loud music and liquor you're still going my way."
Do Not Cross [Closed] - megs - 11-15-2014
"I don't believe you," he says automatically, loftily. The words spilled before he could stop them and a grin he couldn't control flickered across his features. "You were very friendly with that corpse," he pointed an index finger in the direction of the body that was currently being hauled away. "To each their own, though," he brought the hand back down to spread both of them in front of his chest. "I'm not judging." He snorted, with his hand still pressed to his face. He dropped it and turned away from her, while shaking his head. He should really be asking for her I.D. He should be taking down her information when they inevitably found something the belong to her on the body. Most importantly, he should be considering her a suspect, but he mostly found himself wishing she'd stop smoking, since everything about it was distracting,
"Dean," he repeats, keeping his tone completely neutral. With a thoughtful grunt, he swung open the driver side door and leaned across the seat to retrieve something. When he emerged again, he had an expensive looking camera. Unceremoniously, he tossed the zippo on the roof, lifting the camera to his eye to take a few pictures. When he finished, he snatched it up and turned to toss it to her. "Here. It's your lucky day."
Hopefully, with this gesture she would be on her way. Wrapping the strap of his camera around the device he looked down at her.
"I am going home..."
Ohmigod, stop talking.
"Where there will only one of those things. None of which are for you."
Do Not Cross [Closed] - Tindome - 11-15-2014
So he was capable of smiling, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Irritable. "I do not," she reiterated, "get friendly with corpses that don't come with fangs and a cape." A wrinkle of her aquiline nose revealed a certain amount of disdain. "And even that's a little too much melodrama for me," she admitted, with a wave of her hand. He might assume that she was joking, but she didn't care if he did. "It's good to know you're not judgmental about my corpse-related life choices. Because you sounded suspiciously judgmental, for a minute there."
She watched with a grin as he reached into the car, admiring the view. She appreciated a man with nice legs. And a woman, and a neither, but those weren't quite as relevant at the moment. "See, that was your cue to give me your name," she said, "since you don't want me to keep calling you crankycuffs." She paused. "Unless you do. In which case I have some questions as to the nature of your preferences."
She had some questions even if he didn't.
She caught the lighter, the jingle and clink of bracelets hitting each other with the quick movement of her arm. She unzipped one of the pockets on her hip, slid the lighter inside though the leather didn't give her a lot of room for it. It took real work to find a miniskirt that fit tight on someone as skinny as she was, but somehow she managed.
"I'm gonna guess you're the liquor type and not the loud music," she continued, undeterred. If she came any closer she was going to end up pinning him to his own car. Which, considering their respective heights, might look a little ridiculous. "Now, I'm not saying you have to take me home with you," she lied, "being a classy dame, and all. But if you're not giving me a ride, that means I'm walking at least three blocks – three dark and lonely blocks – with Mrs. Mountain Lion still wandering around looking for hipsters to chew on." She gave her very best pout, and it was a very good one, all wide green eyes and thick lashes and full lips. "In heels," she added.
She watched with a grin as he reached into the car, admiring the view. She appreciated a man with nice legs. And a woman, and a neither, but those weren't quite as relevant at the moment. "See, that was your cue to give me your name," she said, "since you don't want me to keep calling you crankycuffs." She paused. "Unless you do. In which case I have some questions as to the nature of your preferences."
She had some questions even if he didn't.
She caught the lighter, the jingle and clink of bracelets hitting each other with the quick movement of her arm. She unzipped one of the pockets on her hip, slid the lighter inside though the leather didn't give her a lot of room for it. It took real work to find a miniskirt that fit tight on someone as skinny as she was, but somehow she managed.
"I'm gonna guess you're the liquor type and not the loud music," she continued, undeterred. If she came any closer she was going to end up pinning him to his own car. Which, considering their respective heights, might look a little ridiculous. "Now, I'm not saying you have to take me home with you," she lied, "being a classy dame, and all. But if you're not giving me a ride, that means I'm walking at least three blocks – three dark and lonely blocks – with Mrs. Mountain Lion still wandering around looking for hipsters to chew on." She gave her very best pout, and it was a very good one, all wide green eyes and thick lashes and full lips. "In heels," she added.
Do Not Cross [Closed] - megs - 11-15-2014
"Really?" His brow lifted in time with his tone. "You go for the ones with capes? Actually, I'm not surprised." He moved his glasses again, constantly touching his glasses, before running that hand through his disheveled locks in one smooth movement. He shrugged, he'd been a little judgmental. Maybe. "It might grow on me," he replies, distractedly, still fiddling with the camera. He was looking at it now, instead of her. Very deliberately. He regretted the phrase almost as soon as he'd uttered it. He did not like the implication that he would be spending extended periods of time in her presence.
He would not.
With that being the case a name wouldn't be too much for him to offer as a parting gift. "Crawford. Grayson Crawford."
"You would be guessing correctly," he admitted, sliding into the car door that he had left open. Partly to leave and partly because she kept moving closer to him. Convinced that in mere moments he would be driving off to the comfort of his own home and leaving her to find her own way.
Until she opened her mouth again.
That very nice, albeit really fucking annoying, mouth of hers.
"Shit. There's no mountain lion, okay?" The statement was useless, because a man had most certainly had his throat ripped out and if it wasn't a mountain lion it was likely something much more terrifying and that was not the thought he should have put in her head. He was glaring again, but he couldn't help looking to that pout, which was level with his gaze now that he was sitting.
With a curt sigh, he caught her line of sight again.
"Fuck. Fine. Get in."
Do Not Cross [Closed] - Tindome - 11-15-2014
What wonderfully touchable hair he had. Seemed to have. She hadn't touched it, yet, so she didn't really know. He was trying not to look at her, and she considered suggesting he take her picture. She could be very good at posing.
She narrowed her eyes at his name, because there was something almost familiar about it. Familiar in the way of a joke, something on the tip of her tongue, a smart comment begging to be made. She hated knowing there was something clever to be said and not being able to say it. "Grayson," she repeated thoughtfully, and she sighed as much as said it. That was something of a reflex at this point, calling names suggestively whenever she wanted something, regardless of the nature of that desire.
"Mountain lions don't usually wear that much Chanel," she agreed absentmindedly, still trying to puzzle out why she thought his name might be funny. Something about crawdads? No, she didn't know enough about his fetishes to make that joke.
This was derailed with an exaggerated squeal of delight, clapping her hands as she made her way around the car to get into the passenger seat. She could have climbed over him, but that seemed like it might be pushing her luck. She gasped as she sat down and closed the door, letting her cigarette fall to the pavement, realization striking.
"Would it be technically accurate to say that you're a dick named Grayson?" she asked, grin wide and eyes bright. "Please say yes."
She narrowed her eyes at his name, because there was something almost familiar about it. Familiar in the way of a joke, something on the tip of her tongue, a smart comment begging to be made. She hated knowing there was something clever to be said and not being able to say it. "Grayson," she repeated thoughtfully, and she sighed as much as said it. That was something of a reflex at this point, calling names suggestively whenever she wanted something, regardless of the nature of that desire.
"Mountain lions don't usually wear that much Chanel," she agreed absentmindedly, still trying to puzzle out why she thought his name might be funny. Something about crawdads? No, she didn't know enough about his fetishes to make that joke.
This was derailed with an exaggerated squeal of delight, clapping her hands as she made her way around the car to get into the passenger seat. She could have climbed over him, but that seemed like it might be pushing her luck. She gasped as she sat down and closed the door, letting her cigarette fall to the pavement, realization striking.
"Would it be technically accurate to say that you're a dick named Grayson?" she asked, grin wide and eyes bright. "Please say yes."
Do Not Cross [Closed] - megs - 11-15-2014
"Yup. Grayson," he confirms, ignoring her suggestive tendencies. Or trying to anyway. He knew better than anyone what that intonation meant, and was positive he would not let her use it against him. He paused, while in the middle of closing his door, swiveling his head to look at her straight on for the first time since he'd decided that looking at her was a very bad idea. "What did you say?" Did she know something? Or had she just picked it up from the scene. He had close to zero leads and was willing to fish for anything he could get. Putting up with her suddenly seemed worth his while.
As an afterthought, he pulled his coat off the hood and tossed it in the backseat.
He rolled his eyes at her show of excitement, fully closing his door and lifting his hips in the seat to dig his keys out of his pocket. Pulling them out, he settled back in the chair and put on his seat belt. He looked to her pointedly as if to suggest she do the same.
Yep. There it finally was. The Batman joke he could tell she had been grasping for the entire time. "Ha-fucking-ha," he drones, sticking the keys in the ignition and starting the car. "Just fucking tell me where I am taking you, Dean"
Do Not Cross [Closed] - Tindome - 11-15-2014
She giggled gleefully again, a far cry from the cynical cackle of before. You could take the girl out of the comic book shop–
She wiggled in her seat with barely restrained delight, even as she fastened her seatbelt. "If you're not going to take me home, you may as well take me to Trinity so I can find someone who will." Her wiggling brought her slightly sideways in her seat so she could look at him better, which had the unobjectionable side effect of making her skirt ride higher on her thighs. Then she looked down at her stockings with a slight frown, touched her glasses. "Oh hell yes," she said suddenly, "I am totally Catwoman. Eartha Kitt Catwoman, not Halle Berry."
"Aaanyway," she said, arching her back and stretching her arms out over the back of the seat, "Chanel. You must not be a very good dick, if you missed it. Blood ain't generally the color of Passions." She tapped her neck to indicate where the smear of lipstick had been visible on the corpse. "Dude reeked of No. 5 under all the nasty corpsy smells, bitch must have just been just draped in all sortsa fun Nazi stuff. I mean, of all the brands to be loyal to." She rolled her eyes, as if Coco Chanel were the most disgusting aspect of the night.
She wiggled in her seat with barely restrained delight, even as she fastened her seatbelt. "If you're not going to take me home, you may as well take me to Trinity so I can find someone who will." Her wiggling brought her slightly sideways in her seat so she could look at him better, which had the unobjectionable side effect of making her skirt ride higher on her thighs. Then she looked down at her stockings with a slight frown, touched her glasses. "Oh hell yes," she said suddenly, "I am totally Catwoman. Eartha Kitt Catwoman, not Halle Berry."
"Aaanyway," she said, arching her back and stretching her arms out over the back of the seat, "Chanel. You must not be a very good dick, if you missed it. Blood ain't generally the color of Passions." She tapped her neck to indicate where the smear of lipstick had been visible on the corpse. "Dude reeked of No. 5 under all the nasty corpsy smells, bitch must have just been just draped in all sortsa fun Nazi stuff. I mean, of all the brands to be loyal to." She rolled her eyes, as if Coco Chanel were the most disgusting aspect of the night.
Do Not Cross [Closed] - megs - 11-15-2014
"If it at all deters your amusement. I am not named after a comic book character.""Eartha Kitt is definitely the better Catwoman," he muses, pulling away from he scene and taking off down the road. She'd apparently earned some brownie points with her knowledge of comics. Driving was a good deterrent for his attentions that just wanted to hone back in on those stockings. On the strip of skin that now peeked from under her skirt. "So, if I don't take you home. You will go with some other, probably less safe, stranger?"
He did not want to take her home, but for whatever reason the idea of her just going with anyone bothered him. "Do you not have your own home?"
Maybe she could just hang out on the couch or in the guest room and he wouldn't have to see her again until the morning when he could shoo her out the door with nothing more than a cup of coffee.
He kept that idea to himself as a last resort.
"You got all that from being around the body for ten minutes?" Color him impressed for sure. Though, he wouldn't tell her that. He would just infer it. He smirked again at the Nazi comment. "I saw the lipstick, but didn't smell the perfume. So, we've got some Chanel wearing, possibly lyncanthrope, judging by the width of the bite, Nazi on our hands?"
His hands.
Leave her out of it.
Do Not Cross [Closed] - Tindome - 11-15-2014
"It does not," she said loftily, because usually a name of that kind of quality required her to invent it. This was much easier.
She giggled again, which she didn't usually do, but something about the discussion made her unable to help herself. "Wow, you must be a huge nerd," she decided, ignoring that she had initiated the conversation. "Do the other cops bully you? Do they push you in lockers?"
He was asking awkward questions now, that was much less fun. "I'm a very good judge of character," she assured him in a purr. "That's why I'm here with you." She fluttered her eyelashes, not bothering to disguise the obvious flattery. It was true, of course. With cops in particular, she found it easy to pick out the good from the bad. "But, yes, this is the skirt I wear when I'm trying to get a cock in my mouth and I'm not letting it go to waste." She was shameless, utterly, and saw no reason not to be. It might distract from the question of her home, anyway, which was complicated.
If she wasn't careful he was going to think she was clever. "Boys are usually bad at noticing girly details," she deflected. "I don't know anything about lycanthropes," she lied, pronouncing it as if it were a foreign word, "but I'd say you've got a white lady that thinks she's real classy."
She giggled again, which she didn't usually do, but something about the discussion made her unable to help herself. "Wow, you must be a huge nerd," she decided, ignoring that she had initiated the conversation. "Do the other cops bully you? Do they push you in lockers?"
He was asking awkward questions now, that was much less fun. "I'm a very good judge of character," she assured him in a purr. "That's why I'm here with you." She fluttered her eyelashes, not bothering to disguise the obvious flattery. It was true, of course. With cops in particular, she found it easy to pick out the good from the bad. "But, yes, this is the skirt I wear when I'm trying to get a cock in my mouth and I'm not letting it go to waste." She was shameless, utterly, and saw no reason not to be. It might distract from the question of her home, anyway, which was complicated.
If she wasn't careful he was going to think she was clever. "Boys are usually bad at noticing girly details," she deflected. "I don't know anything about lycanthropes," she lied, pronouncing it as if it were a foreign word, "but I'd say you've got a white lady that thinks she's real classy."