truth is freedom @claireortega - Tumblr Blog

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“Hey -- hey!” Claire hurried across the street just as the light turned. She only paused a moment to yell a string of curse words at a middle aged taxi driver who hollered out the window at her, flipping him her middle finger before she continued on what most would describe as a war path. Stupid -- she’d been stupid the other night, letting herself get so completely shit faced that she’d had to be carted off by... She didn’t even want to think about it. Claire hadn’t been able to handle her alcohol since she graduated college, yet she’d said screw it and downed more cocktails than she’d cared to admit. She’d been there to get a story. Not vent out her alcohol induced rage on that poor lumberjack of a bartender.

“You were at the Golighty Gala, right?” Claire questioned earnestly, rounding the person so that she was half in their way. “Can I ask you a few things?”

#tdrstarter #tdrstarters #{starters}#OPEN

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aaron-rosales

This party was the perfect setting everyone who mattered was here and though he didn’t plan to came out with too much -after all he didn’t want to rush things or arise suspicion.- it was the start of his plan. Also it was the way to get to get himself known, even if he would be playing a part. In many ways he felt that being part of the “new” crowd gave him an advantage in which the others didn’t know him, and so were more likely to buy his persona. Yes, his set and strongest “ally” to call them something was the shadow mob, but maybe some others could be useful in the end, for now they were all means to an end.

“Amazing party isn¡t it.” He said as he looked around a glass of champagne on his hand, “I had my doubts about it, but it’s quite something.” but gaudy and crowded to his taste, but whatever. Irrelevant.

claireortega

Claire knew he was -- it was her job, after all, to keep well informed. In the years that had ticked by since her father’s accident, the criminal activity had spiked in several areas of the city. Red string lingered on the walls of her apartment. It linked faces, areas -- mafias. The Mexican Cartel was among them. And while she wasn’t positive the Rosales family had any hand in the corruption running rampant, she could assume. She could guess.

And everything pretty much pointed to her being right.

The journalist was seated at the bar, several drinks in -- she’d gotten so fed up with the lack of activity that evening, she’d lost track of why she’d been there. She’d been ranting away at the bartender, but quickly slid her attention to him, squaring her shoulders and trying to seem more sober than she was. “People are calling it the party of the year,” She quipped, too friendly. “Mind if I quote you on that? That you had doubts? I’m the press.”

#i couldnot get my gifs to load ugh #{convo}#{aaron-ronsales: first}#{event: a star is born}

bitchycode

#{take it into your own hands: claire}#{muse}#{scrapbook}

@rovnof

Claire’s feet were already aching. She could feel a fresh blister forming at the back of her right ankle, and there was no doubt in her mind it was because of the new heels she’d purchased for the elaborate event. Heels that had already been -- passive aggressively -- pointed out to be fakes by two women who were so shot up with botox that Claire wasn’t sure if they’d been smiling at her or scowling. She was sure they weren’t fake, but she’d also gotten them on-sale at T.J. Maxx that morning. But spilling that information would likely result in ruining their plastic surgeons work for the week, and so instead, she’d snapped her journal shut and wobbled off in the direction of the closest drink. How was she supposed to figure out what criminals were here if every criminal was just another rich person? Even if she exposed these monsters, they’d get off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist.

Claire propped herself up on the bar, bending over to pull her heels off. The leggy reporter sunk down a few inches, breathing a sigh of relief as she wiggled her toes on plush carpet. “Did you know men invented these? And they don’t even wear them anymore.” She groaned to the bartender, giving him a strained smile as she slid onto a bar stool, unceremoniously dumping her heels on the counter next to her.

“Have anything that can save my feet, big guy?”

#im thinking they talk a bit and then raf swoops in??#{rovnof: first}#{convo}#{event: a star is born}

Nothing like a press pass to get you into New York’s most exclusive events. All it took for Claire to get in -- believe it or not -- was simply offering to cover the Golighty heir’s birthday bash on her column. She will, of course, but the real reason Claire insisted on getting into the party was because of the influx of mafia dons and active criminals who are going to be crawling among the champagne flukes. Claire is ready to get herself into some danger, and maybe get a word or two in with the people responsible for New York being nothing but a sewer. The Italians are of particular interest, as well as the rumors of the newer mafia kings and queens in attendance.

#tdrevent01 #{closet}

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@christianvbennet

Claire walked down the sidewalk quickly, mind completely honed in on a recording that played on a loop on her headphones. The feed was staticky -- she could only make out a few words, before it hissed again and cut to a sentence several moments later. She swore she could make out words like deal, and supplier, but after over an hour of listening to it, that was all. It was supposed to be a lead -- delivered to her anonymously, so she couldn’t even ask what the hell it was supposed to be.

She was so lost in thought she almost didn’t notice Detective Barnes through the window of Sunny Maria’s. A curly haired, blonde waitress placed a coffee cup in front of him, then spun on her heels with a smile and went to another table. Claire, who has walked several feet past the window, back tracked, and stopped in front of him. With a happy to see me? smile, she knocked twice on the glass, before she was slipping inside and across from Christian.

“Little late in the afternoon for coffee, isn’t it? Have a late night, Barnes?”

#{christianvbennet: first}#{convo}

tommymaddoxx

@claireortega // need some ice for that sick burn

It had been oddly quiet in the precinct today, maybe people were out actually doing their jobs in the city. Maybe people had actually calmed down for just one day enough for them to take a breather and catch up on some paperwork. There wasn’t a lot of intake though, that could have been due to no one doing their jobs or everyone doing their jobs really well on the preventative side of crime. Either way, he wasn’t going to take the silence for granted.

That could have almost been perfect until Claire Ortega walked in, no it had been more like a strut. He could feel his eyes roll just at the sight of her, but there was still a smile on his face. She had been there more times than he could count really, and she was a friendly face. Tommy had just learned what he could and couldn’t say around her after he learned her profession. “Run out of crime to chase or something? Is that why you came here? To sniff out cases and get the inside scoop before someone else does?” He asked her leaning back in his chair and fiddling with the pen in his hands.

claireortega

It wasn’t a surprise that Claire Ortega was stalking into the NYPD, hair sleeked back in a bun and her glasses low on her nose. Her eyes beneath the frames looked as if she might shoot lasers out of them. She’d thought about it before. More than once, if she was being quite obvious. The feeling was ever present, and the company of Thomas didn’t make much of a difference.

“I only get the scoop because you don’t, Maddox.” She told him in a sweetly sick voice, fingers switching around the dollar store composition notebook at her side. Theories, information, notes. It would have some more entries today, if she got her way. “You know. Since you like to sit here and twiddle pens, or check how you look with a badge in the bathroom mirror.” She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. At least wasn’t Thomas wasn’t as infuriating as Cordova. “I just have a few questions. Humor me?”

Even if he didn’t? It hadn’t exactly stopped her before.

#{tommymaddoxx: first}#{convo}#hes so cute

Do you ever wish that you had a different job?

“...I’d always wanted to be on the force when I was a little kid. My papá loved what he did, but after he ended up in the wheel chair, he made me promise not to. He made me swear. So now I’m content exposing the NYPD for what it is -- cops and detectives who send old men into the line of fire and let killers strut around like they own the city.”

#{honesty hour}#{ask}#{answered}#Anonymous

badbitchesglobal

Jessica Alba

#{face}#{take it into your own hands: claire}#{muse}

rvfvels‌:

Raf sighed. Hard. How many times were they going to do this dance, this back and forth where he was always her personal punching bag? He lifted his head and mustered up a smile for the reporter, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “As a matter of fact, Miss Ortega, you can. Great headline there, ‘Local Detective Tells New Yorkers to Chill Out’. I’m sure people will find that hilarious. You’re welcome.” If he didn’t have his sense of humor, what else would he have? “You just here for my journalistic advice, or did you actually have a purpose beyond pulling me away from my reports?”

“God, drop the miss.” Claire said with a roll of her eyes as she crossed her arms firmly over her chest. Her relationship with Detective Rafael Cordova – who she only ever called Cordova – had always been tense, even while he was her father’s partner. She had a bad habit of getting on his nerves, calling him out during bullshit press conferences and making it a personal mission to be the first at any number of his crime scenes in order to get the scoop on what was going on and what he wasn’t being honest about. “Oh, yeah. They’ll love it. NYPD Tells New York to “Chill Out” While Their Families Are Being Murdered. Has a much better ring to it, considering that’s exactly what’s been going on for the last decade.”

She leaned forward and planted her hands on his desk, a serious try me expression crossing her face. “I want you to release the Adair reports. You’re beating around the bush – that whole family was wiped out by the Italians and you’ve done nothing. And you’re calling it an accident!”

#{rvfvels: first}#{convo}

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rvfvels

@claireortega

“I just have one request. Not a big one, honestly, really small. Tiny.” Rafael sighed and leaned heavily on his desk, face buried in his hands for a moment’s relief from the typhoon of a woman bearing down on him. “Can people just… calm down? For like one day, that’s all, just chill out and go about their days and not bother me while I’m trying to work.”

claireortega

“So that’s why you never get anything done, Cordova. Can I quote you on that?” Claire’s eyebrow arched upward, her arms crossing over her chest. This particular scene was one that had become something of a habit -- Rafael with his head in her hands, and her arms crossed just so. “The way to stop the current gang epidemic is to chill out?”

#{rvfvels: first}#{convo}

@novawells

Claire was on her normal warpath. Laptop case slung over her shoulders, hair thrown in a messy bun and falling around her face. She’d been up all night researching again, the mental red line connecting the various crimes of New York City seeming to just tangle more and more in her head the deeper she dug. Her most recent story?

How the hell had Dante Vicario -- so infamous he’d gotten a literal serial killer nick name, The Ripper -- gotten off not-guilty for not one, not two, but three murders in the last ten years? It didn’t make any sense. Even if Claire’s dad had been a cop, there was no way something messed up wasn’t going on.

“Excuse me, sorry, excuse me,” Claire said -- a little louder each time -- as she pushed into the cafe, in dire need of a coffee. Or, just some sleep.