sirenspull_logs | The dead cannot cry out for justice;

Who: Celes Chere (

runebladeknight) and Jake Marshall (

cowboycop)
When: February 28, evening
Where: SPPD station
Summary: Late night at the office. A cop's work is never done, after all.
Warnings: Cliched cowboy-speak? Seriously, shouldn't be anything. Will update if necessary.

It wasn't as though Celes had much of a life outside of work anyway, so staying late shouldn't have been as much of an annoyance as she was finding it to be.

As a general, she'd had the authority to delegate the more mundane of bureaucratic details to her junior officers, but she held no such rank with the police here. Thus she was stuck with menial reports to fill out.

To say nothing of having to review her own testimony for the upcoming trial of Szayel Apporro Grantz. That was eating up her time, as well.

She poured herself a mug of coffee. It was a discovery of hers in this place. Wonderful drink, really. Even if the stuff brewed at the station house was hardly the best.

Speaking of something mediocre at best, she furrowed her brow at the twangy music issuing forth from the radio. A glance over her shoulder confirmed her suspicion of who was playing that.

"Does that really need to be so loud, Marshall?"

She wasn't trying to be rude, really. But that music was starting to get tiresome.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jake was currently working on his own cases, mostly on the paperwork portion. He hadn't really been bothering with rushing through all his work to get home on time since the middle of the month, most notably on the 19th. In fact, he'd been a little sluggish since then.

As he finished the last portion of the form he was working on, Jake let out a bit of a sigh, dropping those in the box to be processed in the morning. He leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes before setting to pinch his nose. He really had to get out of this funk. But how?

It was then that his eyes turned to the radio.

Country music always had a way of cheering him up, and he could really use the cheering up right now. So, he turned it on, hoping that the soothing southern twang would help him feel better.

But, not moments after he'd turned it on, he heard a voice telling him to turn it down. Not that he wasn't used to it - he was fairly certain the only person who actually enjoyed his music was Re-l, and that was after a long exposure period.

"Like to apologize, Miss Chere," Jake said a bit seriously, as his fingers moved out to turn down the volume knob. "Didn't mean t'get on yer nerves er nothin'."

The twangyness set her teeth on edge. It was involuntary. Though if she'd known that Marshall was trying to cheer himself up with it, she might have held her tongue on the issue.

But she still wasn't the best with guaging other people's emotions and taking them into consideration. She'd improved, but her childhood socialization was difficult to overcome. Emotions were not valued while she was growing up.

She shrugged and sipped a bit of the coffee. Ugh. Needed more sugar. So she scooped a couple of spoonfuls in and stirred the drink for a moment. Then took another taste.

Not terrific, but it wasn't vile anymore. She could live with that.

"Just been a long few days."

And it was no wonder - whenever Jake got a chance, he had that radio turned on and tuned to that twangy guitar with that two-beat and the deep Southern inflection to the voice. Jake had started keeping several spare batteries in his file cabinet in case any of the other officers tried to trick him by pulling out the batteries before he got into work. It had happened twice, now. Thankfully he had enough sense to anticipate any sabotage to it. He'd already hidden a spare radio in the back of his file cabinet too, in case they tried to smash the cheap pawn-store one on his desk.

He hadn't been trying to show he was feeling depressed in the first place, it just sort of slipped out occasionally. But Jake had been trying his damnedest to not show any weakness - cops couldn't afford to be weak. Especially not in a town as rough as this.

He noticed Celes making a face out of the corner of his eye. Without a second glance, Jake pulled open his desk drawer, that housed his backup radio and batteries, and pulled out a bottle of creamer. He held it out to her if she felt like putting a little in, to mask the bitter taste of the coffee. Living with Godot here, and having been his friend since college, he'd gained the unfortunate habit of being utterly unable to stand terrible work coffee, not even with two spoonfuls of sugar in it. He had an arsenal of things that made the coffee tolerable in his desk drawer.

"I hear ya on that one, miss Chere. It's been a long few weeks, t'be perfectly frank."

At least if she were going to do something about Marshall's taste in music, she would have been up front about it. Why sneak around? That would have been childish. But some officers were just overgrown children, in the end, weren't they? Was really no different than the military, when you got right down to it.

She offered a small smile when Marshall held out the creamer for her, and she accepted it. "Thanks."

A bit of that added in, stirred accordingly, and she tried the coffee yet again. Much, much better this time. What could she say? She had a sweet tooth.

"I almost miss the days when I could delegate some of my paperwork. It'd certainly help."

He gently accepted the creamer back once Celes was finished with it, placing it back in the drawer it came from for now. If he decided on getting a cup of coffee, or if she wanted more he could always fetch it out again. "Ain't no trouble, just some secret weapon of mine. But don't tell my roommate I said that, he may disown me as his best friend for ruinin' it with creamer.

Slowly, he returned to his work, thinking about what he was going to do now, when suddenly Celes spoke up again. Ah, office talk. Thank god, a nice distraction from this annoying chore of a "job requirement". He dropped his pen down again, a little bit of a smile creeping up onto his face as he turned around in his swivel chair, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back. "Certainly wouldn't hurt, naw, hell I'd be a lot happier lettin' one of the young'uns do this sorta thing while I hunt out more cases. But that's the problem - noody's close enough to the crime scene 'cept the detectives on it. Reckon that's the only reason why we do the paperwork 'stead of someone who's just barely outta their diapers."

The dead cannot cry out for justice;

no subject

no subject

kjskdjflk late tag is super-late

We shall be uspeakably late together!

Hooray <3