|captainofthejagannath sent: [text] You're driving with your stomach again.|
[text] I was maybe thinking about cronuts when it happened.
[text] Are you going to give me directions or do I have to beg?
|captainofthejagannath sent: [text] Good job. You took the left on Pike, didn't you?|
[text] I went right on 53rd.
|captainofthejagannath sent: [text] Are you lost?|
[text] I never get lost.
[text] Ok maybe a little.
- [text] Are you lost?
- [text] NO! That was a typo
- [text] Did you buy it?
- [text] I think I’m a mermaid
- [text] I know it’s 3am, but come over and cook for me.
- [text] Too lazy to booty call, so have this text instead
- [text] Need to bury a body, it’s urgent.
When Cara graduated high school When she graduated, there was no thought as to finding university, but due to having to miss so much work when Cory became ill and Martin began to go missing for long periods of time she was fired. Desperate, she applied for anything and everything, and was accepted into the US Marshals training program.
To her and her superior officers’ surprise, she excelled - Cara passed the physical testing with flying colours and proved to be fearless in all practical exams. Very quickly, she was placed in a Specialized Operations Group (SOG) only to conflict with her superior officer over the secretive nature of the team. It was then revealed to her that she had been accepted to the Marshals and placed on the SOG because of her father - who had been, in fact, what was called a ‘hunter’, a mortal from a long line of others who were skilled in and dedicated to eliminating supernatural beings who disturbed the peace and harmed humans.
She flourished and before long was allowed to conduct quiet investigations (mostly due to her inability to work well with others) into problems the government feels have a distinctly non-human feel to them. Though it is well known she has problems with procedure, she follows the hunter code to a ‘t’ and believes strongly in honour.
Very recently Cara has been sent on an investigation to Beacon Hills. The happenings there have been closely watched by officials for some time and she is somewhat of a scout to determine just what the situation is and if her team is needed to step in.
Faye watched the cars driving down the road as she stirred in the creamer in her cup of black coffee, which was now slowly turning light brown. It was early in the morning and the sun hasn’t even come out yet and Faye’s the first customer in the nearest diner from her penthouse apartment. She was waiting for Cara, her detective friend and ally, after asking her to meet her there, in their usual rendezvous spot. Faye removed the spoon from her cup and took a sip from it. She kept her eyes on the view that she could see through the window, expecting her female friend to arrive in any second.
It was not often Cara was up earlier than necessary, but she supposed the fact that she had hauled herself out of bed a full two hours before she normally woke on a weekend was a testament to how highly she regarded her friend. She had groaned when she asked to meet her earlier, but it seemed as though she had wanted to talk about something, and she had few enough friends she could not afford to blow off one of them.
Hair still slightly a mess, she glanced habitually in her rearview mirror as she pulled into an open parking stall outside their usual diner and straightened it before finally stepping out and wandering inside.
She spotted Faye immediately and offered the other woman a small, sleepy smile.
It was a surprisingly slow day at the precinct when Cara arrived. The scent of treated leather (boots and belts) that was more plastic than flesh sharp in the air, an almost stark contrast to the sweet smell of coffee and whatever baked monstrosity was concealed in a pink cardboard container one of the officer’s wives had baked; only the sounds of low voices, the tapping of computer keys, and occasional booted footsteps could be heard.
No one looked up when her slightly lighter steps joined the soft ruckus, or noticed that - as usual - she had a disposable cup from the bakery down the street in her hand already half full of the black coffee she preferred. If they had, they might have noticed that instead of the usual dark circles under her blue eyes were a little less noticeable, and her jeans actually clean’ and that when she sat a relatively tidy desk with a plate reading ‘Det. C. Brand’ it was with less weariness in her weight that would ordinarily make the grey swivel chair squeak.
All were signs that she had gotten a good night’s sleep, something that only came with the completion of a case.
Not that anyone in the precinct needed to see Cara to know she had brought in the man who had been murdering women in the area. Nearly everyone had heard about it already, either through someone else in the office or on the news when images of the young detective looking too tired for twenty-seven with a face with no need for makeup (not that she ever bothered anyways) and thick blonde waves the colour of sand in need of a brush had been included in the local and even a few national news slots.
She was the darling of local law enforcement, so to speak, and while she had not expected a standing ovation when she walked into the station the fact that everyone seemed to be avoiding looking directly at her and had not so much as glanced her way by the time she opened her email had Cara’s nerves on edge.
At the sound of the chief’s gruff voice she looked up to see Chief Ball standing in the doorway of one of the multi-use rooms.
"Meeting, here, five minutes."
She simply nodded in reply and, again, her skin prickled. Typically others would be in the room already trying to grab back seats and fresh coffee and something told her this was not a meeting to discuss her latest case. With the caffeine from her coffee already working in her system, Cara ran through every possible reason that the chief could have for calling her in to speak in private looking less than pleased as she fiddled with her email for a few minutes before finally standing and making her way towards where Ball had beckoned her.
Just beyond, through glass blocked by bllinds, she could hear a quiet but heated discussion and, straightening her top (no thought as to her hair) she stepped inside to face whatever it was the curiously tense morning was about to bring her.