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Post by Deleted on Aug 8, 2017 20:15:18 GMT -5
a little thread for @borderline and I!
plot a small, unassuming town has accepted the fact that people disappear from time to time. it's alright in the end, though, since they always turn up unharmed, just dazed and confused--but in one instance, instead of the missing person wandering back to civilization, their body is found. the town's sheriff begins to investigate who they believe is the source of the crime, a local gangster, but when they deny their involvement, an investigation begins, headed by the unlikely pair.
setting the town itself (Pleasantville, Indiana), set in a bit of a rural backdrop, is quite quaint and endearing--or, at least, parts of it are. half of the town has quite a bit of money; houses are big and have white picket fences, lawns are manicured, and overall has an attractive upper-middle class image. the other half is much more dilapidated, and doesn't make the town advertisements even though it's just as big a part of it. think cracked sidewalks, broken bottles, rusted fences and abandoned buildings. the divide is quite clear, and either half doesn't look on the other fondly.
locations nice side of town
- Pleasantville High School: home of the Knights. considered the better school in town
- the Bean Scene: a comfortable, swanky little coffee shop
- --- Farms: a huge, expansive farm on the edge of town. primarily exports wheat, considered a town staple
bad side of town
- The Broken Tap: a bar/lounge, frequented by hoodlums and delinquents of all kinds in the worse side of town
- South High School: home of the Seahawks. not a very good school
- The old drive-in: an abandoned lot that used to be a drive-in movie theater. home to many knife fights, secret drinking, and hookups
characters
the sheriff (revali)
Dante Alvarez -- 33 years old Virgo
There hasn't been one person who's looked at Dante and thought wow, he's intimidating, but that's just how life goes, he supposes. He's 5'4'' or thereabouts, possibly on the lower end (he hasn't cared to check like an obsessive child). He has a lean-muscled, sturdy build that seems to absorb hits fairly well - which is useful, in its own ways. His skin is a medium-brown with freckles over his small nose and over his cheeks - they're usually easy to miss unless its a sunny day. More freckles scatter over his shoulders and back, but these ones aren't usually seen. He has a small beauty mark at the outer left corner of his lips. His hair, cut in an undercut, is a dark brown-black in colour, with longer bangs that he generally tries to push out of his face. No facial hair; he doesn't really grow it and it doesn't suit him. His eyes are an amber-brown in colour, and are generally focused on whatever captures his interest. (Hint: not much does). When Dante isn't in his uniform (which he usually is, despite hating it), he's usually in skinny jeans, a black shirt and some sort of plaid. He liked that sort of fashion and it looks good on him - he has nice legs and he won't deny it. Sturdy combat boots complete the look, and it's fairly rare to see him like this considering he never catches a break. He has various scars over his body; faint, older ones riddle his forearms (usually hidden by bracelets if he's in casual attire), there's a nasty curved scar on the palm of his hand, various little dotted scars are over the backs of his hands, he has a particularly wicked-looking scar over his lower abdomen, his thighs have pale scars over them and he has a single cut through his right eyebrow, parting the hairs there and generally securing a semi-bad*ss look.
Keenly intelligent and watchful, there isn't much that misses his eyes. Dante may have a sharp memory and a genius IQ, but his social intelligence is lower. He does not care about people, he does not give a damn about what they think of him, and he does not give less of a sh*t about whether they die or not. He does not form emotional bonds easily, and he is an introvert, preferring to be alone with his thoughts. Noise bothers him after a certain point in his day, making him somewhat short-tempered, and he tends to show his discomfort openly. It's the only emotion that's readable on his face, really. Nobody has ever used the word 'kind' to describe him - he doesn't lie, he'll openly tell someone how he feels about them (it's usually negative), and he just wants his personal space. Hell, he doesn't even want to be working in the job he's in right now, and he's damn open about that - but there's not much he can do about it.
There aren't many redeemable features, really, about his personality. It's a safe bet to trust him considering he will never lie; he's a highly reliable person who does not go back on his word. He has touch aversion, showing obvious distaste if someone even brushes against him, and he's not exactly the most humorous of people. It's best to leave him to do his own thing, and it's even better to just ignore the details of how he gets a job done. He's effective and quiet, doesn't really speak often, and frankly, he's not interested in a social life. Leaving him alone is a good choice to make, and if someone doesn't get that upon initially meeting him, then they'll learn a very quick and very painful lesson soon after.
Despite everything, he's prone to moments where he does appear to give a damn, though they're few and far between, and reserved for only those he actually cares about (very few people, as edgy as it sounds). He's used to a harsh life of being forced to live a certain way, and he's trying his best to make something of himself.
Trivia: - He's originally from Zamora, a city in Mexico. It reflects heavily in his accent. Due to this, his first language was Spanish; English later became his third language after moving (his second language being Turkish, due to his mother).
- Dante is a transgender man, and is currently 6 months on Testosterone. He's had no surgeries, and is still mistaken for a woman. It was only recently that he could afford transitioning, and he decided he wanted to go through with it.
- Though he initially dropped out of high school not long after moving to America, his mother pushed him into getting an education - and then she later forced him to try to become part of the police force. He only moved to this town in an attempt to find a lazy workplace, and he did not anticipate becoming the sheriff due to his unfriendly nature.
- He has a 16 year old son named Simon. He's a pain in Dante's a**, but he swears that his father is one of the kindest people he knows. He's also the only person to ever say that.
- Because he prefers to save money (and, believe it or not, his job isn't the world's highest paying one), he lives on the poorer side of town in an apartment. He's lucky that it's pet friendly, as he has a Tamaskan dog named Shasta, and two kittens named Abel and Cain. The dog is his partner for work; the cats were Simon's idea.
- Everyone in his department knows that he has a heavy past, though the guesses range from 'ex-delinquent child' to 'mafia boss heir'. He doesn't talk about it.
the gangster (viridian)
Jasper Owen -- early thirties IFNP / Cancer A rather unassuming but mostly unkempt looking young man that most certainly embodies the spirit of grunge. He stands at just under 5'10", and has a bit of a slight figure for an adult man; even though he's slim and slender, with a good degree of muscle tone to his arms, stomach, and legs, he's skinny in the underfed sort of way (in fact, he has difficulty putting on weight, and keeping it is often a struggle). His general lack of care about his physical appearance shows itself in his haphazardly cut dirty blond hair, which usually looks too tousled to be tasteful, and his constant stubbly facial hair. His blue eyes aren't the bright, vibrant blue hue that most natural blondes have: instead, it's a more faded, worn gray-blue tone, close to the color of an old pair of Levi's. They are usually flanked by faint dark circles underneath them, reflecting his terrible sleeping habits. Jasper's posture isn't very good most of the time, as he stands with a slight slouch--and to add to his already off-putting appearance, his natural resting face is a scowl. The years clearly haven't treated him well, but he still manages a somewhat attractive silhouette. The man isn't one for fashion, really, and he tends to wear and buy what is cheapest. Outfit-wise, he tends to cycle through dark-colored jeans and Henley shirts, with the occasional v-neck or graphic band t-shirt thrown in. The only items of clothing he bothered to put much money into are his boots and leather jacket, both of which are worn soft and scuffed from long years of wear and tear. Most of his scars are limited to his hands and forearms, mostly little nicks from knife scraps here and there, but two thick pink scars mar the insides of each wrist--and asking about them will get anyone a prompt knuckle to the nose. He also has some tattoos, primarily plain black ink ones, most of which are on his upper arms and chest, hidden by clothing for the most part. As far as this young man's personality is concerned, there is much more to him than what first meets the eye. To strangers, and basically everyone besides the few in his inner circle, Jasper portrays himself as disagreeable and unlikable. He acts in an aloof, uncaring, defiant manner, quietly rebelling against what he believes is the status quo. The blond is incredibly bitter. He cannot stand being told what to do, regardless of who it is that's telling him, and will respond to even the smallest implication of this with aggression and hostility--he's got a a sharp glare and even sharper tongue. Even his sense of humor is marked by a certain intangible darkness and negativity, and often times, his sarcasm cuts much deeper than friendly humor. His jokes also tend to be self-deprecating, reflecting his low self-esteem, which to people that don't know him well, could be a potential source of concern. The young man isn't afraid to start a fight, whether it be verbal or physical--he isn't afraid of much, to be honest. Well, it's not so much that he isn't afraid of anything, because he certainly has his aversions; there's not much in general that he cares about, and he goes through life with an apathetic attitude. Beneath that abrasive surface, however, those few very lucky individuals will be met with a surprisingly thoughtful young man. Though he might not be book smart, Jasper's quietness is of the intellectual kind, and he'll surprise even the people that know him best with particularly thought-provoking conversation. He likes to tackle the big topics people tend to avoid, such as religion, politics, and ideology. His initial meanness is actually a cover for his shyness and deep insecurity; his introversion embarrasses him, as does nearly aspect of his appearance. He can be quite kind at times, and even though he isn't one for much physical affection, such as kissing or hugging, his level of intimacy with someone can be measured by how much of himself he reveals to them. Jasper is an extremely private person, with good reason to be, so his trust is very difficult to earn. That being said, once that sacred trust with someone is broken, there's basically no way that relationship can be repaired. Trivia - He is a failed musician, formerly a singer and electric guitarist. He had aspirations of making it big in a band, but failed miserably. When he's drunk, if you're lucky enough, you might hear him play a tune or two.
- He never finished high school or went to college.
- Jasper hails from Seattle, Washington--and doesn't say much else about his past other than that. Prying any further could get your nose broken.
- He used to be a heavy drug user when he was pursuing music, but has since reeled his habits back. One could still call him a bit of an alcoholic, though, and he frequently smokes (mostly cigarettes but marijuana on occasion).
- Jasper owns a bar and lounge (The Broken Tap) and a gas station, both on the poorer side of town. Both of which are hubs for his gang and budding delinquents alike.
- Lastly, he has an undiagnosed stomach condition (most likely ulcers of some kind--he never had the money to get it properly examined) that pains him greatly from time to time, primarily when he's stressed out. It renders him immobile for a long time.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 5:13:46 GMT -5
i'll try and get a character up soon-ish.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 6:06:26 GMT -5
Dante Alvarez -- 33 years old Virgo
There hasn't been one person who's looked at Dante and thought wow, he's intimidating, but that's just how life goes, he supposes. He's 5'4'' or thereabouts, possibly on the lower end (he hasn't cared to check like an obsessive child). He has a lean-muscled, sturdy build that seems to absorb hits fairly well - which is useful, in its own ways. His skin is a medium-brown with freckles over his small nose and over his cheeks - they're usually easy to miss unless its a sunny day. More freckles scatter over his shoulders and back, but these ones aren't usually seen. He has a small beauty mark at the outer left corner of his lips. His hair, cut in an undercut, is a dark brown-black in colour, with longer bangs that he generally tries to push out of his face. No facial hair; he doesn't really grow it and it doesn't suit him. His eyes are an amber-brown in colour, and are generally focused on whatever captures his interest. (Hint: not much does). When Dante isn't in his uniform (which he usually is, despite hating it), he's usually in skinny jeans, a black shirt and some sort of plaid. He liked that sort of fashion and it looks good on him - he has nice legs and he won't deny it. Sturdy combat boots complete the look, and it's fairly rare to see him like this considering he never catches a break. He has various scars over his body; faint, older ones riddle his forearms (usually hidden by bracelets if he's in casual attire), there's a nasty curved scar on the palm of his hand, various little dotted scars are over the backs of his hands, he has a particularly wicked-looking scar over his lower abdomen, his thighs have pale scars over them and he has a single cut through his right eyebrow, parting the hairs there and generally securing a semi-bad*ss look.
Keenly intelligent and watchful, there isn't much that misses his eyes. Dante may have a sharp memory and a genius IQ, but his social intelligence is lower. He does not care about people, he does not give a damn about what they think of him, and he does not give less of a sh*t about whether they die or not. He does not form emotional bonds easily, and he is an introvert, preferring to be alone with his thoughts. Noise bothers him after a certain point in his day, making him somewhat short-tempered, and he tends to show his discomfort openly. It's the only emotion that's readable on his face, really. Nobody has ever used the word 'kind' to describe him - he doesn't lie, he'll openly tell someone how he feels about them (it's usually negative), and he just wants his personal space. Hell, he doesn't even want to be working in the job he's in right now, and he's damn open about that - but there's not much he can do about it.
There aren't many redeemable features, really, about his personality. It's a safe bet to trust him considering he will never lie; he's a highly reliable person who does not go back on his word. He has touch aversion, showing obvious distaste if someone even brushes against him, and he's not exactly the most humorous of people. It's best to leave him to do his own thing, and it's even better to just ignore the details of how he gets a job done. He's effective and quiet, doesn't really speak often, and frankly, he's not interested in a social life. Leaving him alone is a good choice to make, and if someone doesn't get that upon initially meeting him, then they'll learn a very quick and very painful lesson soon after.
Despite everything, he's prone to moments where he does appear to give a damn, though they're few and far between, and reserved for only those he actually cares about (very few people, as edgy as it sounds). He's used to a harsh life of being forced to live a certain way, and he's trying his best to make something of himself.
Trivia: - He's originally from Zamora, a city in Mexico. It reflects heavily in his accent. Due to this, his first language was Spanish; English later became his third language after moving (his second language being Turkish, due to his mother).
- Dante is a transgender man, and is currently 6 months on Testosterone. He's had no surgeries, and is still mistaken for a woman. It was only recently that he could afford transitioning, and he decided he wanted to go through with it.
- Though he initially dropped out of high school not long after moving to America, his mother pushed him into getting an education - and then she later forced him to try to become part of the police force. He only moved to this town in an attempt to find a lazy workplace, and he did not anticipate becoming the sheriff due to his unfriendly nature.
- He has a 16 year old son named Simon. He's a pain in Dante's a**, but he swears that his father is one of the kindest people he knows. He's also the only person to ever say that.
- Because he prefers to save money (and, believe it or not, his job isn't the world's highest paying one), he lives on the poorer side of town in an apartment. He's lucky that it's pet friendly, as he has a Tamaskan dog named Shasta, and two kittens named Abel and Cain. The dog is his partner for work; the cats were Simon's idea.
- Everyone in his department knows that he has a heavy past, though the guesses range from 'ex-delinquent child' to 'mafia boss heir'. He doesn't talk about it.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 10:39:40 GMT -5
ayyy I really, really like Dante! seems like a hella interesting character, and it'll be real interesting to see how these two get along for sure. can't wait tbh. I'll add him once I'm off mobile uhh is there anything else we need before we start though? I though about a location list but it's not like we really need that, but it could be nice to have a reference point also who should start us off? lowkey feel like a sheriff is in the better position to but I'll also do it, if you want
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 11:40:59 GMT -5
im not sure how he'll be in-rp but lul here we go i dont think so! and idk abt places, lul, im not good at american geography ah i'd prefer you did if you dont mind
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 12:03:02 GMT -5
oh--didn't realize you weren't from the US. we could totally do a different setting if you'd feel more familiar with it? honestly idc at all, it's whatever you're good with and sure! I can have it up in a few hours, gotta do some stuff first
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 12:05:20 GMT -5
also, idk if we ever really established what the secret that this town has. now that I'm thinking about it, some locations could be helpful (ex: someone's farm, another bar, a hidden shack in the woods nearby, stuff like that). there's a possibility we could need some more characters too, as people involved in this whole mess, and just do little two/three sentence references about them. but what should the secret be? drug trafficking, people trafficking, white collar corruption,,, idk for sure what I really wanna settle with tbh. you got anything?
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 12:08:39 GMT -5
im fine w the us! nbd. i just meant if u were expecting me to think of a place that would be a good setting then im outta it for that luls i dont mind rping in the us bc ive gotten used to it d: sounds good dude
i don't think we did but tbh locations & stuff can come up later, nbd + im chill w side characters bc it would be pretty boring w just two luls uhh people trafficking would make sense if people are going straight up missing (and the body that's found can be someone who tried to escape or something)
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 12:25:35 GMT -5
ohh ok gotcha. good, just wanted to make sure you were all cool! :'^)
ok, so I'll just throw togeher like a little list of places later. and same thing w characters too, though I'll neee your help for that oh true, that makes a lot of sense actually. ok sick so we can go with that! who should be responsible though? I'm thinking maybe the town's beloved pastor, maybe the mayor or a revered high school principal/teacher, or maybe even the head of the rich dude who owns the town's main business? ahh so many ideas
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 12:37:13 GMT -5
yee im gucci
sounds good to me bro idk what side characters im using lul they'll come to me eventually a revered highs school teacher could be cool + interesting.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 12:49:45 GMT -5
sounds good! take your time ooh I actually really like that idea? they'd def be a pillar of the community type person, the one who the school sends out to speak on its behalf and everything, but since they've got access to teens/young adults all the time, that would give them a large pool to draw from and... yeah. that's sick but makes sense. guess we'll go with that then!
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 14:33:03 GMT -5
yep yep, it's more interesting than just some creep, and it's someone that flies under the radar easily. if its primarily teens/yas that are being taken too, it gives dante more motivation than just the fact its his job
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 17:07:30 GMT -5
for sure, yeah. and I'm sure some other town big wigs are semi-involved too, but the teacher is the real ringleader. awesome! love it aight so I got one last appointment happening in a little bit, and then I'll finally be free and able to write this starter. sooo pumped tbh
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2017 20:13:22 GMT -5
8:53 a.m., tuesday morning.
The first odd thing of that fateful day was the fact that Jasper's phone rang before 10 in the morning, which was a very strictly enforced rule. The only exception he'd ever given was to send him a text, as in one singular message, if the world was literally ending--but if that wasn't the case, he preferred to spend his mornings undisturbed.
His terrible little flip phone, one of the kinds with actual physical buttons and was probably the farthest thing from any kind of smartphone, rang with shrill insistence at his bedside table. The man jerked awake at the sudden unanticipated noise, body tensed and hands balled into fists right away, expecting the worst. When no blow came, Jasper rolled onto his side and blinked confusedly up at the ceiling of his mobile home. And his phone still rang--the default, all too sing-songy, cheerful ringtone he wouldn't ever choose for himself. I gotta change that, it reminded him, but he probably wouldn't.
Who the f-ck is callin'? His tired eyes moved to a haphazardly drawn curtain, which let in a weak stream of early daylight between a crack. It's too damn early. Jasper sat up in his bed, then reached for the phone and flicked it open. Swear to God, if it's just someone tweakin', or somethin', I'm gonna--
"Who is it?" Was the first thing he said, tone already snappish; he couldn't be bothered to check the caller ID, as if he could even read it in the almost darkness. "And what do you want?"
To his surprise, a familiar, much softer and lower-pitched voice was on the other line. "Jasper--dude, some real sh-t went down not too long ago," the man on the other line hurriedly drawled. He sounded as if he was out of breath. "I know it's early, but you gotta hear me out, man, it's--"
"Jesus Christ, Badger, slow down," Jasper interjected, cutting him off. It was something he thought he'd never say to him, a notorious stoner and practical embodiment of a perpetually hibernating bear, except he was almost always harmless. Still though, the uncommon insistence in the man's voice alarmed him, so he sat up a little straighter and rubbed the crust out of his eyes. "Just--just tell me. What the hell happened?"
He heard Badger swallow. "Someone's dead, man." His tone was grave, uncharacteristically so.
Jasper furrowed his brow. "Who?" He asked, then added a moment later, "It ain't us, right? No drugs?" The beginning of his anxiety rose in his chest, its fingers starting to tighten his throat.
"No, no--it was a kid," the other man answered. "We don't sell to kids. It was a, uh, a girl from Pleasantville. Washed up on the lake this morning. 'S all I know right now."
The blond cursed lowly, rubbing at his temple with his free hand. Even if many things didn't get to him anymore, the news was startling, to say the least. Things like that didn't just happen around these parts; sure, some of the richer kids wandered to their side of town to beg for something to take the edge off, and they sold to whoever else could pay for it. Every now and then, they'd key a car or slash some tires, just to send a message, but Jasper made sure his people never got involved in stuff like this. People with drugs could get off with a couple years, max--killing people was different.
Maybe this place finally was starting to lose its charm, its innocence, and that really bothered him, for some reason he couldn't place. ".. 'Aight, man," he mumbled after a long pause. "Why are you tellin' me though? Why wake me up?"
" 'Cause--" Badger sighed. "I saw a cruiser goin' your way, man." Jasper immediately stiffened at his words, and was suddenly no longer tired. "They think it's us. You tell 'em it ain't, alright?"
"Yeah.. Yeah--yeah, I will." He sounded a bit distant, since he was already thinking far ahead of this small conversation; the blond had sprung to action right away, flipping back his sheets and rummaging the floor for some clothes to put on. Of course he was immensely appreciative of Badger's gesture of looking out for him, but he had to save himself now. "Thanks. I'll let you know what happens." Then the blond snapped his phone closed, and was left to deal with this budding crisis on his own.
Jasper was worried as hell, and had every reason in the book to be. He'd been through something similar before, and heard stories of other that had gone through worse, and both scenarios didn't look good for him; even if he wasn't involved in this girl's death, which truthfully, he wasn't, the cops wouldn't believe him when he told them all so. Who were they to trust him of all people? Then he'd spend however many nights in a jail cell that it took to find the actual culprit, but they'd release him without any sentiment of apology or wrongdoing whatsoever. The law never liked hoods.
But, most likely, the investigators would try and tie his hands. They would search his home, find some weed or one of his nice glass pieces, or maybe something more contraband if they brought their dogs in, then say something along the lines of: We'll drop these charges, or give you less time, if you can help us find this girl's killer. And as he thought about what he'd say, tugging on his jeans and throwing a shirt on, his mind drew a blank. Jasper had lived in this place for--a while, and besides the passive-aggression between soccer moms with lattes in their minivans, he didn't know of any real tensions in Pleasantville. He frowned. I'm f-cked.
Someone knocked on the door as soon as the blond stepped into his boots. Jasper let out an exasperated sigh, and after he let a moment pass, he reluctantly rose off the edge of his bed and made the short walk to his front door. Sure enough, two strapping boys in blue were there to greet him, and one had an unlocked pair of handcuffs in his hand. He glared at them both, but didn't fight when hands were put on his shoulders and he was turned, arms pulled uncomfortably back. His buzzing mind droned out their Miranziding--he could practically recite it better than them at that point. For whatever reason, his cuffs were always too tight.
The man found himself whisked away in the back seat of a police car, and had to listen against his will to the two debating over which coffee shop they ought to visit once this was all over. Then they arrived to the station, and they guided him (which Jasper thought was absolutely ridiculous, since he really had no intention of fighting them or his charges, since he certainly was innocent, and hadn't resisted his arrest at all) through the doors, down the hall, and to the left to the small station's only interrogation room--the blond had the building layout practically memorized by this point.
And then, he waited, in a room by himself with only two chairs and a table. Jasper thought he heard one of them say something about a sheriff meeting with him soon, but he couldn't have given a damn, in all honesty. All he knew was that he was exhausted, hadn't had anything to drink or eat since he was so rudely woken up, and his wrists hurt terribly. But worst of all, this was a huge waste of both their time. The blond hoped it would be over quick, but he knew quite well that it wouldn't be.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 0:55:23 GMT -5
i'm working on a reply now!! i just woke up so bare with me if my wording of things is funny luls
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 1:58:44 GMT -5
9:45pm, Monday night.
He was supposed to be off-duty, no calls and no requests to go into work. In fact, he was supposed to be on a week's break after a massive case had been broken, but the world seemed to hate him. At present, he was stretched out on the little couch, bare legs dangling idly over the edge, console controller in his hand as he played one of Simon's FPS games (he thought it was called Over-something, but he didn't know. He just knew that he was an excellent sniper and was apparently 'carrying' Simon up in ranks in competitive, and he could deal with this). It was just...a lazy Monday night, nothing was supposed to be wrong. He could hear his son in his room, likely talking to friends with his laptop, and he could hear the loud neighbors below him as they argued. Something about lettuce. It was rather ridiculous.
Dante's work phone usually had a high volume, and it was no different today, even though he was on a well-deserved break. It began to ring rather loudly, and, cancelling the queue for a match on the game, he picked it up and frowned, before answering it with a sigh.
"You are not going to believe this," said his coworker. It sounded to be Sarah, though he wasn't quite sure. She had a similar voice to Carly; both had been raised here, both were low-pitched. "Found a kid, right? You heard about that?" he hummed to confirm, "thought they were just passed out, right? Approached her, she was dead. It's some serious sh*t, higher-ups want you in on this case."
"I'm on a break," his tone was bland and he stared at the television, a small frown forming on his face. "Is this the sort of case that's going to have me with an empty threat for job loss if I don't take it?"
"Pretty much," Sarah replied, and from the rustling, she was nodding. "Look, you don't gotta come in until..sh*t, what was it? 9am, I think? They're gonna bring in a suspect and you can interrogate and all sh*t will be right as rain. I suggest you bring Shasta though, he's a good intimidation tactic."
"Yeah, okay, whatever," he flicked his gaze up to the ceiling and frowned as the argument downstairs turned from lettuce to something about rattlesnakes. Maybe other men? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if he cared, honestly. "9am's fine. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."
He hung up without waiting for her goodbyes, and returned to his game. As frustrating as it was to have to go into work after one whole day of a break, he supposed he'd have to. Then, maybe he'd be able to get a break. Just one. He was tired and he had been working for close to four years with no break save for Christmas (which he didn't celebrate for any other reason than to give Simon presents), and it was something that was taxing on him. On the upside, it meant more money. On the downside, it meant that things were going down. A dead kid - he remembered that she'd been described as a teenager, probably seventeen or so - was a sure sign that things were bad. It wasn't as if people didn't go missing, but they didn't usually die. It was...bad. He found that most of his concern stayed with the fact that Simon was of a similar age to the kid.
There's no pattern yet, he told himself firmly, and he knows how to take care of himself.
5:30am, Tuesday morning.
Mornings in the Alvarez household weren't messy. They were rather relaxed, with Dante in the kitchen making breakfast, and Simon in the living area (which was in the same room as the kitchen, so he didn't know why they were considered separate) trying not to get too absorbed in his games. The two had always had a strong bond; Simon did not once say my mother out of embarrassment (he was a good kid), and Dante did not pry into business that was not his unless Simon wanted him too. He hadn't realised how close they had been until a teacher's evening when one of Simon's teachers had pointed it out. Frankly, he had thought that it was normal.
"I'm going to work today, so I can pick you up from school later," he said, breaking the comfortable silence as he piled eggs and bacon and mushrooms onto a plate. He set one plate on the kitchen island, and heard as Simon padded over to discover what had been given to him. The scrape of cutlery grated his ears, but it meant that his son was eating, which was good. "Taking Shasta with me too."
"'kay," his son yawned blearily and ate while standing up, which only irritated Dante mildly. Simon had grown so much recently; he was notably taller, now. Probably approaching six feet even. Jesus. A giant kid. "Why'd you agree, though?"
One of the cats - he thought it was Abel - jumped up onto the counter and mrrowed in a demanding fashion. After a couple of seconds of debate, Dante grabbed the two bowls for their kittens and cut up small pieces of bacon and egg into them, before setting them on the floor. Cain darted out of Simon's bedroom at the scent of food, and the two troublemakers were soon eating. He did not miss the watchful eye of his dog, who was resting idly in his dog bed. When he thought that Simon wasn't looking, he tossed the large dog a strip of raw bacon. It vanished within an instant.
"I saw that."
"You saw nothing, mijo," replied Dante, unable to hide his faint smile.
The rest of the morning passed as expected - eventually, Simon forced himself to get dressed. Dante checked the date on the calendar before he pulled out his little 'bag of tricks' (Simon had taken to calling it that), and sorted out his injection before sitting at the couch and wiping over the area of his thigh, injecting the testosterone without much parade. It had become a normal part of life. As he was cleaning up from that, he watched as his son wandered back into the room.
"Your voice has been getting lower," he observed, though it was an idle sort of observation. "It's been breaking. It's still soft though."
"It's been six months," Dante replied patiently, grabbing his binder from the laundry basket and wandering back towards his own room, "precious little has changed, and that's all I can tell you without giving you too much information for a sixteen year old boy."
"Disgusting," Simon said cheerfully, and went back to playing his games.
Dante dressed in his uniform for the day and checked himself in the bathroom mirror, then brushed his teeth and washed his face. He had showered the previous night so that wasn't a problem, though his hair had a serious case of bedhead going on (though he had to admit, with his mildly curly hair, it didn't look too bad). After a few moments, he decided to leave it and left the room.
The clock told him that it was nearly 8am, and he groaned quietly as he picked up his car keys, and whistled for Shasta to come over. The dog came at call and sat to attention, ears perked up and head tilted. Dante rummaged around for a moment before he found the dog's 'Police K-9' harness, and he put it on with little problems. Shasta immediately seemed more alert as his leash was clipped to the harness, and Simon finally stood up and grabbed his shoulder bag.
"Gimme money, father figure."
"I don't owe you anything?"
"Wanna get coffee in the posh side of town at lunch," Simon shrugged lazily, and grinned as he was given some money. "No questions? No 'mijo, you need to stay in school for lunch'?"
"I believe in your ability to sprint when you realise you're late," he smiled up at the kid and raised an eyebrow. "I'm trusting you to go back to school, and if you don't, then you have broken my trust."
Simon laughed and pressed a hand to his chest, but otherwise didn't respond. The two of them left the apartment building and approached the car, at which point Simon held out his hands. After debating the consequences for a few moments, Dante gave the keys to his son as he opened the back door for Shasta (who flung himself inside and immediately sat down), and then he entered the passenger side. The drive to the school was uneventful, and Dante slid into the driver's side and waved Simon off before he drove to work.
The police building was not large and it was not pretty; situated almost in the middle of the two divides of town, it was clearly supposed to be for the poorer side. Hell, the pay suggested that they weren't getting jack sh*t in funding, and so it was just how life went. As he settled into his parking space, he checked his work phone for texts.
9:00am;; gone 2 get suspect. go do paperwork or something.
Useful. He sighed as he exited the car and opened the door for Shasta, taking hold of his leash and slamming the door shut. Locking the car was a lesser affair, and soon enough, he was in the building and sitting at his desk. Shasta was at his feet - usually, he would've gone to the kennels, but if Dante was going to rebel against being dragged into work on his break, then he was going to rebel to the best of his ability.
It was around 10am when he was finally told that he could go talk to the suspect, and he took Shasta's leash off and clicked his tongue for the dog to follow him. He had been given a file earlier and had read over it; the victim in question had been seventeen, likely drugged, and had suffered various shallow wounds to the abdomen and neck. It was bruising on her neck that suggested she'd been killed by strangling, but without official autopsy results, they had very little to go from; and besides that, the bloating from water hadn't helped. To think that the cops who'd found her had thought that she was alive - they were stupider than he'd thought. He flicked to the suspect's file on the way there; Jasper Owen, early thirties, he'd been brought in a good few times and there were often complaints about him, but Dante had never met him. The listed crimes were not murder-related in the slightest, but there was always a way to get information from people. He entered the interrogation room and sat on the free chair, Shasta settling neck to him. The table was low enough that the dog's ears were obvious, but nothing else. Most people mistook Shasta for a wolf - his grey fur and eyes often did that, but it was a staple of his breed. Just another reason why he doted on the pup.
"I won't bore you with pleasantries, I'm sure you've been here multiple times before," he said bluntly, leaning back in his chair and studying the other man carefully. He didn't look like a killer - but from what he'd heard, he wasn't a very pleasant person. "And I'm sure you know why you're here, otherwise the cops who picked you up are sh*t at their job," he glanced down at his dog as Shasta shifted, did not pay much attention to the low growl. He doubted that Jasper Owen smelled very good, and Shasta had a sensitive nose. "Give me good reason to believe that you did not commit the murder."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 13:26:07 GMT -5
your reply is totally fine! no worries at all man working on a response rn, fyi
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 13:50:41 GMT -5
Since he had been left alone and undisturbed for quite some time, and he'd stayed up until some vague odd hour earlier that morning, Jasper began to drift off in his chair. He struggled to keep his heavy eyelids open or maintain his uncomfortably rigid posture in his chair. It was the only natural thing to do, in his mind. Running on only a couple hours of sleep made him drowsy, and more irritable than usual--which was quite a statement in itself, since the man wasn't known for his friendly, agreeable disposition.
The world picked up its whirling speed around him once more when he heard the door open. Out of mere instinct--nothing reflecting respect, mind you--the blond jolted back to attention, and found another man sitting across the table from him. Jasper blinked at the unfamiliar figure in front of him as his eyes readjusted to the daylight, trying to gather any information he could about him. Whoever this was, he was the sheriff of Pleasantville, judging from the shining star badge pinned to his chest, but the man thought it odd that they'd never crossed paths before.
Still, there was something intangibly feminine about the sheriff's face, but Jasper didn't comment on it; the gruff, authoritative way he spoke didn't leave room for him to poke fun. Thankfully, it seemed as if he wanted to handle this as quickly as he could, too, and once they established that he was, in fact, innocent, through all the (reasonable, though the blond was too prideful to admit that the officer did have every right to question his involvement, given his record) doubt, they could go their separate ways. Jasper sighed, eyes narrowed.
"You want a reason?" He asked, a light tone of hostility in his voice. "How 'bout this: I don't wanna go to prison. Murderers go to prison, and I got a lotta sh-t goin' on here." The blond paused, then shifted his arms behind him a little, hoping he'd find a position even remotely more comfortable. "There. Happy now?"
It then occurred to him, against his nature to give authority a hard time whenever he could, that this was not going to get him out of this room and the handcuffs any sooner. The sheriff's face was serious, unflinching--compelling, in a strange way. So, he continued on after a moment, albeit hesitantly. "I got an alibi, though," he muttered. "I work at my bar every goddamn night, and I got time stamps. I know those can be forged, or whatever, but I ain't about that. There's witnesses, too. Go knock yourself out."
In his drowsy stupor, though, Jasper hadn't noticed the pair of furry pointed ears just off to the sheriff's side until a low growl resonated from underneath the table. He stiffened, set his jaw, eyes still carefully veiled, but fearful. "I swear to God--if you turn that damn dog on me, I'm takin' you to court," he snapped at the sheriff. "I swear, I didn't do nothin'. I don't--we don't kill people. We're not about that life."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 13:59:11 GMT -5
lul i just refreshed this page after being afk im blessed
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 14:11:18 GMT -5
From what he'd read in the file, this man didn't seem to be of the murdering sort; they were drug accusations, mainly. Dante studied him carefully before glancing down to Shasta - who did not move from his alert position. After a couple of seconds of debate, he made a subtle hand motion. As a well-trained dog (he responded more to certain hand signals; it was useful), the wolflike dog stood up and padded towards the door, turning around and sitting to attention with his gaze firmly focused on the suspect.
"Reasonable," he said smoothly, "I suspect that heavy drug involvement gets you into prison, too."
He did not press on that matter, however, and quickly moved on to focus and think about Owen's alibi. It was reasonable, and if there were witnesses and time stamps, then it would line up. He scratched his chin idly and squinted thoughtfully. It would be easier to go to the bar right now and see the evidence. After a couple of seconds, he exhaled slowly and shook his head.
"Alright," he stood up and kicked his chair under the table lazily, moving around from the table, unlocked the cuffs. He didn't see a reason for that once the other man was in the interrogation room - it wasn't like Dante couldn't take him down (he looked like a scrawny man) and it wasn't as if he had a dog for a reason, but whatever. "Come on. We're going to your bar. My dog isn't going to attack you, but he will accompany us no matter where we go."
Shasta flicked an ear and stood up once he realised that his handler was up, but didn't move from where he stood. He knew better than that; he hadn't been commanded to sit, only to wait at the door. Nothing else. The dog tilted his head to the side and shifted his weight between his paws, but was no noticeably uncomfortable. Once he had the cuffs off (and dumped on the table, because he had his own set on him), Dante moved towards the door and idly put the leash back onto Shasta, as a second thought. He'd kept it on the back of his belt, looped up.
"Once we've checked your alibi, we'll work out where to go from there," this man was a gangster. He had to know the darker sides of the city, and the more shortcuts that Dante could take, then the better. He felt his personal phone in his back pocket but ignored it - any problems that Simon had would, unfortunately, have to wait until he was in a better place, preferably one without a heavy investigation ongoing. Admittedly, he'd probably check once he was to his car. Sometimes (and this was a very sometimes thing), Simon managed to dig up some information about victims. It was a scary thing, but considering he'd gone to the same high school as the murder victim, well. He wasn't going to deny information about her. "I'm not going to cuff you," he added, "but my dog will chase if you run."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 14:57:49 GMT -5
throwing a teeny tiny little timeskip/assuming Dante's actions into my response, simply for the sake of saving time. hope it's ok! :'^)
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 15:03:38 GMT -5
yaaa it's fine bruh idm
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 15:22:22 GMT -5
We're actually going to the bar? The man internally echoed, pleasantly surprised by the sheriff's proposal. Usually, officers didn't trust him enough to even bother letting him verify his claims; they'd escort him to a cell and let him sit and twiddle his thumbs behind his back, and wait until they took however much time they needed to find what they needed. Jasper was grateful, but kept it to himself. He stood up and kept his eyes low as the sheriff fiddled with the key, and as soon as his hands were freed, he rubbed the red marks the handcuffs left behind. They really did do 'em way too tight, he thought as he squinted at the reddening lines. But what could he do about it?
It was an unprecedented act of kindness--all of it was, the small extension of freedom and the return to comfort that the sheriff had given him. The blond acknowledged it only with a curt nod. Even if he was immensely thankful, and part of him wanted to tell the sheriff to make his officers treat people like him with the dignity he's shown just now, Jasper didn't speak with cops more than he needed to. It was an unspoken rule of sorts. There was no need to be real friendly with someone who could just as easily arrest him for the drugs, too, like he said; the sheriff still had his foot on his throat, in a way. He wouldn't be able to rest until that threat was gone, and even then, the guy was still a cop.
Despite the other man's gentle warning, Jasper couldn't help but eye the dog warily. That ain't no damn dog, he said to himself as he watched its movements. It was too big, too foreign-looking, resembling the bigger cousins of those coyotes he scared away from his garbage cans every now and then. That's a wolf. Thing probably does whatever the hell it wants, anyway. It'll probably take my arm off if I look at it wrong. As he thought about it, though, he realized he was unarmed--and he hoped to God that he dog really was as obedient as it seemed. "I got no reason to run," he murmured in reply, half to himself. "I didn't do anythin' to that girl." But, if he was on the other side of things, Jasper wouldn't ever dream of running from that dog in particular.
He then followed the sheriff back out of the station, following the same path they'd entered through. As he lingered a pace or two behind the shorter man, walking easily, hands in the pockets of his jacket, the blond couldn't help but look smug and self-satisfied as he passed by the two officers that had arrested him. The glance they exchanged was uneasy and tense, of course, but Jasper never shied away from situations like these; it always stoked his pride to stick it to the ones that tried to lock him up. Once he made sure his unspoken message had been sent, he smirked dryly to himself, then followed after the sheriff and his dog out the front doors, back into almost-freedom.
Jasper was hesitant to enter the sheriff's car, with good reason to be, and watched with wary eyes until both the driver and the dog had gotten inside. He then sighed and slipped into the passenger seat, subtly uncomfortable with the arrangement. But, again, he hid it behind his ever-present mask of vague discontent and steely grey-blue eyes, and only spoke to give directions. Besides his occasional muttered right or left turn, the ride was quiet, and the blond watched his surroundings out of his window with disinterest as the clean, new sidewalks melted into grey gum-spotted and tree root cracked ones. At first, the stark divide of the two halves to Pleasantville bothered him, but now, he'd just accepted it as fact.
The Broken Tap was deep in the heart of the second city, tucked into a lot purchased just off the side of the main road, flanked by untouched woods on the other three sides. Though the location wasn't his first choice, that plot of land had been the cheapest to buy when Jasper moved here, desperate for some quick money to get on his feet again, so he invested and had the thing built. Its quality was somewhat superior to the buildings around it, since it was relatively new, but still, it looked nothing like the hipster cafes on the other side of the tracks. Jasper loved the place, though. A small piece of his soul lay somewhere between those nailed dark wood boards.
He lead the way to the place's front doors, then produced a set of keys from the back pocket of his jeans to unlock them. The inside of the bar was almost as dark as its wooden interior and seemed a bit run-down in the daylight, but when the dim lights were turned on, the bar had a vitality that Jasper couldn't describe. Every worn couch, barstool, every billiards table and dartboard, had been so well-loved by each occupant that none of it looked bad to him. Maybe it was the owner's pride for the fruit of his labor that made him blind to it all.
The blond met the sheriff's gaze out of the corner of his eye (and had to resist the urge to grimace at the shut of an animal inside his bar). "The time stamps are in the back office," he told him. "I'll, uh, be right back. Swear I'm not runnin' or anythin'." Something in his voice was honest, even if he tried to keep anything genuine out of it. Before heading off down a dark hallway, Jasper glanced one last time at that monstrous excuse for a dog, then turned his back on the two.
He reemerged from the dark after a couple long, quiet moments passed, official-looking government work documents in hand. Jasper walked to the bar and pulled out two stools, then spread the pages out on the countertop. "See?" The blond pointed an index finger at his check in time. "Started gettin' this place ready for business at five fifteen at night, then stayed and and worked 'til two-ish." He watched the other man's expression for any trace of doubt, then spoke again, just in case. "These ain't forged. Swear, drugs n' stuff like that is all I do."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 15:49:23 GMT -5
In the back of the car, Shasta was patient as ever, though his eye was watchful. Dante didn't bother to watch the dog because he knew that he wasn't disobedient - probably the most loyal and trustworthy partner he'd had. He simply followed Owen's directions, fingers tapping out an absent beat on the steering wheel. He wasn't surprised that they ended up in the worse part of town (it was always going to be home to him, so at least it was familiar territory), and he parked where he could and followed without much of a fuss. He kept Shasta on a short leash this time, didn't miss the slight strain as the dog demanded to try to look around.
Honestly, the bar was a little bit of a surprise to him. It felt like the sort of place he would've liked to hang around at (hell, he still would), the sort that he'd often ended up in on nights when he'd been in a rut, where he'd made temporary friends and had gotten drunk and had chilled, and honestly, it was...nice. Shasta didn't think so, but he sat down patiently and tilted his head. Despite everything, his tail was wagging slowly, which was a good sign. The pup was in a good mood.
"Gotcha," he said, watching the other man leave before checking his personal phone. It was, as he'd suspected, from Simon; something about him going to the nice coffee shop and talking to some kids from Pleasantville High about the girl. No-one in South High knew her aside from knowing that she had been pretty, but that seemed to be about it. He exhaled slowly and typed out a message about behaving and being back in school before he had to go pick him up, got a blurry picture of a teacher in return, and that was that. He shoved his phone back into his back pocket just as Jasper returned, and he flicked his gaze up before walking forward.
He perched idly on one of the stools as he read over, checking the data with what he'd been told. It did seem to line up, and he didn't think they were a forgery - a damned good one if they were. He absently flicked his gaze over it a few more times to commit it to memory, before nodding and tilting his head back.
"Witnesses?" he prompted, "I'll take your word on these not being forgeries," mainly because he couldn't be f*cked to deal with all of that work when he had no suspicions; and besides, the other man had admitted to the drugs while denying the forgery, and that seemed honest enough. "I just need to get enough 'proof' before you're free of being a suspect. Then I might need to poke around some more for clues to the actual murderer."
Which meant that he wouldn't be out of Jasper's hair for a while, even if he wasn't a suspect. Sometimes it went like that; but gangsters were always useful sources. The other cops didn't like working with them, but hell, gangs had always been the most trustworthy people towards Dante.
He did hope that he could get a good amount of leads before the day ended; he didn't really like mixing his work and personal lives. Simon didn't go to the station and didn't talk to people that Dante knew from work - it was just the sort of deal they had. If he had to deal with dropping Simon off at their apartment while he was still with Jasper, then he'd just have to deal with that. It just wasn't something he wanted to have to deal with. He pinched the bridge of his nose to push away the threat of a migraine, and reached down to idly scratch behind Shasta's ear. The dog almost (but not quite) fell over, tail wagging a little faster than usual.
"If you or your gang have any input on this, it would be useful," he added, "I don't need to give named sources. They can be anonymous, and I'm unlikely to tell anyone in the station."
Because they disliked his methods and didn't see that it was useful, but hey. That was just how the sheltered folk were.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 20:51:29 GMT -5
ughhh finally done with the majority of the move. after spending a day unloading a truck in 90-100 degree F weather, I've never appreciated a shower more tbh :'^))) replying rn
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 21:16:40 GMT -5
He watched the sheriff analyze the documents with veiled interest, following the other man's darker eyes follow each line meticulously. When he did finally admit that the papers did seem real, that same self-satisfied half grin returned to Jasper's face, a little lazier, less obvious than the one earlier. For whatever reason, Jasper didn't feel like this sheriff was out to get him, like his superiors were--or, if he was, he hid it well. It kept him cautious, guarded.
"Witnesses," he murmured as he thought, furrowing his brow. The blond was hesitant, and it showed in the way he drummed his fingers against the counter top. ".. I really hate givin' names to cops, but, if the charges are murder--I guess, follow up with the bouncer, Barry Winchester--" calling Badger by anything other than his nickname was strange to him, since his true name was so rarely used--"And the bartender, Mike Harris." He could only wonder what the rat-faced, spindly redhead would have to say about being questioned. "I paid 'em both last night," he added, for good measure.
Jasper mulled over the smaller man's words as he absentmindedly watched him scratch that dog's ear, and bit his lip, resting his elbow comfortably on the counter. He knew he had to be extremely careful with whatever he said, whether it be verbal or nonverbal, to a man like this; anything from a hesitation to a white lie could spell guilt for him and the rest of them, for all he knew. But, the circumstances brought him to walk the line between becoming a narc and withholding information from a police officer. The blond swallowed, feeling more stuck between a rock and a hard place than he ever had before.
".. I'm not givin' you any more names," he said slowly after a moment passed. Though his tone was firm, unyielding, there was nothing disrespectful in it; and if the sheriff had been paying close enough attention, he could've picked up a twinge of almost fatherly worry for the rest of Jasper's crew. "You speak to me only about this, for now on. The rest of 'em don't do anything unless I tell 'em to, anyway, so I'd know most of what's goin' on." He had no doubt in his mind that the few people he did tell what to do had his back, even if the thought was a bit naive.
He settled a little more comfortably in his stool as he paused. "I heard through the grapevine that the girl was drugged," Jasper continued on. "If you can find out what it was, tell me. We only sell--I'll know if it's from us, depending on what you say." That much was true: though he wouldn't want to tell the sheriff right then and there, his people did have a bit of competition from a couple towns over. The blond didn't get involved with them, despite their offering of a partnership. They were rougher, went harder than he felt comfortable doing. In all honesty, he wouldn't be surprised if they had a hand in it.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 23:23:05 GMT -5
bruh i passed tf out bc i took like ten thousand meds so (': im replying now
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Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2017 23:43:41 GMT -5
"Is there anywhere I can meet with them without me having to put them in prison under different charges?" his tone was bland, if not mildly amused. If anything, he would like to avoid having to see evidence that he'd have to speak up against later - and Shasta's behaviour was already on edge, which didn't bode well for the other men. "If necessary, I can come back here once I'm off-duty. That way, only testimonies about you and the murder will be recorded," it wasn't as if he gave a sh*t about the gang, but he wanted to make sure that they stayed out of prison if they weren't causing harm. It was just...a thing, he supposed.
Shasta whined lowly as if he disproved of Dante's words, and he made a quiet note to have Simon take care of him if he had to come back here after hours.
At the news that no more names would be given, Dante nodded idly, crossing his arms over his chest and thinking about it with a tilted head. "Makes sense, I won't ask for more names," he said. "As long as the information isn't classified, which it rarely is, then you can know more about it, especially since it would be a good idea to keep you in the loop."
If the gang didn't hold the murderer, then they'd have more reliable sources than the police would. Hell, they would probably be even more useful than Simon's little adventures to the richer side of Pleasantville - his kid had helped him in a lot of cases related to the better side, seemed to integrate well. Though he'd chosen South High because of the less of a chance of getting bullied, Dante didn't think that he would've been too bad in Pleasantville High. It was just a thing, but it became useful in cases related to that side of town, where Dante hated going (but he had to patrol there a lot, so he had no choice).
"We haven't had news of the drugs since we haven't had autopsy results, but I'll see if I can find out what it was," he told Jasper, frowning a little at the thought. "If this is definitely going to be my case, then I'll have them by the end of the week, possibly sooner. All we know so far is that she was from Pleasantville High and likely came from an upper-class white family," he shrugged lightly, "hence why there's a lot of worry about it, aside from the fact that she was, y'know, very murdered. It's theorised that she likely was in the forest, but..."
He trailed off and shrugged. People went missing in the forest a lot - it was just a thing. None of them had ever been killed, though. Usually they came back, disorientated and with a lack of memory but safe, and sometimes they vanished entirely and became a cold case. Sometimes they were discovered in other states entirely. They were usually teens and young adults - they were the sort who wandered in due to the rumours of ghosts and the like, but he didn't believe anything. If the woodlands were connected to the murder, then it would likely be the murderer's way of being hidden. Maybe this had been a f*ck up.
Dante's trail of thought ended when he realised, with vague amusement, that he'd never told Jasper his name. "Name's Dante Alvarez, by the way," he said with veiled amusement, "do you need a way to contact me that isn't through the station? Something tells me they might try to arrest you again if you go there."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 11, 2017 12:51:19 GMT -5
He considered the sheriff's idea carefully, toying it over in his mind as he stroked the rough scrub of facial hair on his chin. Of course, the idea of law enforcement, regardless if the officer was on or off duty, in his bar--a sort of safe haven for both himself and all its regulars--scared him. Jasper didn't know how the others would take it, God forbid word got out; losing his customers would be the least of his problems, that's for sure. But, then again, if the sheriff was able to put off a welcoming enough disguise, there'd be no better place than here to chat with Badger and Mikey.
Jasper sighed, moving his eyes to the floor. Even if his handcuffs were off, his hands were still most definitely tied--it wasn't like he could flat out deny a police officer from trying to get more information. It would only help him, anyway, considering it was to verify the fact that he hadn't killed anyone. "I guess you can come here and try to talk to 'em," he muttered in reply. "Just--I dunno, make it low key. If they find out you're a cop.. I don't even wanna think about what they'd do." Something genuinely fearful laced his voice, but it was gone the instant he continued on.
"Yeah, I--" He hesitated a moment, then glanced down at the dog as it whined. The idea of keeping you in the loop, as the sheriff had put it, bothered him deeply. Who was he to be kept informed about an ongoing investigation by a goddamn member of law enforcement, anyway? Let him be normal--let him find out the old fashioned way, through newspapers and rumors and whispers over picket fences. And why him, of everyone Pleasantville PD could have questioned for this girl's murder? The blond bit his lip, again feeling more stuck than he ever had in perhaps all his life. ".. Alright." His tone was resigned, quiet.
He nodded thoughtfully along with the information the sheriff spared him, gaze thoughtful, brow furrowed lightly. So far, everything about her supposed wealth background matched up with a lot of clients he and his people served: they were usually rich, usually on the younger end of things. Because of the possibility of situations like this, Jasper stressed that they never sold to kids either in high school or under eighteen years old, whichever came first, but it wouldn't surprise him if some kids had fake ID's. "Mm." He cleared his throat softly. "Yeah, uh--definitely tell me those results, when you get 'em." A tinge of worry ran up his spine at the thought of having been partially responsible.
The blond only blinked at the sheriff--now named Dante Alvarez, which fitted his dark complexion and vaguely foreign look--as he told him his name. I never asked, part of him wanted to snap back, but at this point, Jasper knew better than to push his luck. This man had been good to him this far, so why ruin it? He might be able to help him out down the road, someday. "It's a pleasure," he muttered snidely back, expression lacking the light positivity that Dante's carried.
So that's it, then. Jasper had difficulty hiding how uncomfortable the sheriff's proposal made him. Are we--collaborators or somethin' now? Christ, I can't believe this. He didn't want to work with a cop. It just didn't feel right to him, since, despite his high talk and disrespect of them and publicly proclaimed hatred for them all, the blond was afraid. But, he reassured himself by saying that this was only for this investigation, and that the two wouldn't be getting very deeply involved.
"I--uh, yeah. Good point," he remarked dryly as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He hesitated a moment, staring at the phone in hand. C'mon, man. Just say it. "Can I get your cell, or somethin'?"
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Post by Deleted on Aug 11, 2017 13:08:07 GMT -5
To look like a cop in a place like this was bad news, and Dante knew it. He doubted that Jasper would even recognise him out of uniform, but he didn't tell him that. "I'm not an idiot," he told him in a bland tone, and left it at that. There was no need to push that matter; Dante's casual clothing would likely have him fit in here pretty well. He knew how to act, too. Sh*t, it wasn't even like he acted like a cop. It was always a question of holy sh*t, you're a cop? if he bothered to tell someone. At least it would work well here. It always worked pretty well, when he had to go undercover - but hey, this wasn't undercover. If he just happened to come here, off-duty, asking about the murder, then it was just useful.
He wondered what cover he could use to figure out if Jasper had been here last night, but decided that it would come whenever he thought about it. He scratched Shasta's ear again and shortened the leash as there was a slight pull, ensuring that the dog was close at his side.
"Mhm," he raised a single eyebrow and watched the other man's reactions, but did not comment on them. It wasn't his place, and he didn't particularly care about anxieties. If he was being honest with himself, he was only keeping Jasper in the loop because it was useful to him. He could use the gangster's knowledge of the darker side of this town, and if the drugs did trace back to the gang, then he could likely find out who had bought them. No big deal.
When the idea of giving his number was brought up, he considered it briefly. It would..be best not to use his work phone for this. He didn't have a burner, either. With something like resignation, he pulled out his personal cell and recited the numbers in an all but bland tone, deciding that if it was for the job, then it was fine, whatever. Also - it would probably be useful to be in contact with someone like Jasper, or at least have a way to get a hold of him.
"There," he said, and glanced up from his phone (Simon had sent another text, but he hadn't read it yet), "is there anything I can help you with? You're a moron if you're doing this sh*t for free, and you don't have any charges I can drop. They've already been dropped, according to your record."
He didn't like the idea of owing people, either. To have to push so far into Jasper's personal business - it rubbed him the wrong way in the sense that he, personally, would've hated it. A lot. Especially when he had been younger - hell, he probably would've decked a cop who'd come sniffing around, but it seemed that Jasper was civil, at least, and knew better. Or had had a bad experience with cops He didn't want to put that thought away; he knew that the cops at the station were righteous a**holes half the time, didn't know as much as they pretended they did, and had often caused a multitude of paperwork with wrongful arrests. Dante was a tired, tired man.
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