SOUTH-BEE

“Now,” Southby hooked his thumbs through his duty belt. “You don’t look like the smartest individual I’ver ever seen, but I don’t think you’re blind either on account of the lack of a dog, or cane, or sunglasses, or some other such paraphernalia--so I know you can see that that curb is clearly red.”

Southby. Cop. Full-grown adult. Sorta. FULL BIO.

South-bee not South-bye, though you’ll probably wish he was leaving.

Been in town for over 20 years.

Either your worst nightmare or your favorite fella.

Lives off sugar alone.

Bar fight champion two nights running.

Easy to piss off, but probably just hungry.

Not above losing his keys, temper or badge.

Momma’s boy.

“Honey, don’t you want to put on some actual clothes?” Southby’s eyes flicked to his mother. She never told him what to do. Instead, she’d just reason with him sweetly. Or flatly if he kept his eyes narrowed like that. “What’s the point?” Southby shrugged, pushing himself deeper into the couch in his dingy white t-shirt & boxers. All it took was a look & Southby cut himself out of the couch & walked down the hall. “Nothin’ to do anyway.” He said as he walked, finger tips hitting the top of doorframe before he rooted around for a pair of pants & something to put over the tee. It was a small victory for either party & Southby figured he may as well get on out of the house if he was gonna bother putting on pants. That’s how he ended up at Sloan’s garage, poking through her shit. “You ever get so bored ya feel like blowin’ your brains out?“ Southby asked, nonchalantly as he picked up a wrench. He couldn’t remember what it was called, but he was partial to it since he knew it was the one that looked vaguely like a bird’s beak when you worked it open & closed. “What’s this one called?” He asked, already dropping the tool back into the drawer with a loud clatter as he moved on.

Chris couldn’t believe he ran out of gas or well he couldn’t believe he had lost his wallet. He looked over every single inch of his car with no luck, he checked his pockets multiple times hoping it would magically appear. He made a mental note to check that he had money before he pumped his gas. Searching through his car he found a couple of quarters, he attempted to call his parents but forgot they weren’t home for the night. He hardly knew anyone’s number by heart especially when he had spent the evening drinking. He waited a few hours before driving himself home but he must have left his jacket with his wallet in it at his friends place. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of this problem, he didn’t know how well gas stations took I owe you’s. Sure he had been to Stinker Gas plenty of times in the past but there always seemed to be someone different working or someone new. Letting out a groan he made his way back inside the store hoping they would take pity on him.

“Listen I know you might get people doing this a lot but I can’t seem to find my wallet.” He scrunched up his face to show them he was feeling sorry. The attendant just gave him a board look pointing to a sign that read ‘NO I OWE YOU’S ANYMORE.’ He huffed as he turned around to walk down the aisles so he could think without judgement. “Things like this wouldn’t happen if you would stay at home for once.” He spoke out loud to himself. Within a moment he turned the corner and saw someone standing there. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to lend a few dollars to me…I need gas and I lost my wallet.” He gave them a puppy dog face. “Please I promise I will find a way to pay you back it’s an emergency.” He felt himself growing desperate, thinking that maybe he should just walk hisself home. “I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.” He let out as he relaxed a little he could feel how frustrated he was becoming and new he needed to calm down. When he was a child a situation like this would have had him blowing a gasket but now he had ways to cope. He told himself to calm down and to just breathe, that it wasn’t the end of the world if he had to find another way home. “Or a ride would be good too.”

An airy whistle that carried a tune that was nothing like the one being sent through his headphones, Southby perused the snack aisles of Stinker Gas with the sort of glee someone only just clocked out has about them. He was ignorant of the situation transpiring just a few yards over. His biggest worry at current was whether or not he wanted Pringles or sour gummy worms or both. Obviously both. But then there was the matter of what the beverage department could offer. The off-duty officer was half-way through filling up a cup with an eerie shade of blue Icee when he realized someone was speaking. Jerking the buds out of his ears, Southby missed the majority of what Chris had just said but all the same, Southby smiled when he realized who it was. Not even a lick embarrassed that he’d already tore into the gummy worms, Southby gnawed & nodded. “You kiddin’ me, buddy?” Southby set down the snacks in his hands, standing on his tip-toes to peer over the crowded shelves. “Trish, you kiddin’ me? The man’s a firefighter, if anyone’s good for it he is.” Trish merely kept reading & pointed a second time at the sign. “Y’know that’s probably my fault. I’ve got a bit of a tab.” Southby said, lowering his voice so only Chris could here but Trish was listening & scoffed. “It’s entirely your fault.” Southby shot her an angry glance but she still didn’t give up on her article about Daniel Craig in People & so Southby deflated. “She’s kidding.” He said flatly. “I got you.” Southby clapped him on the shoulder, grabbing back up his things & laying them next to the register. Trish finally looked up, looking from the open bag of Trollis to Southby standing there in his uniform looking mildly sheepish. “That’ll be two-hundred & forty three dollars.” Southby gawked. “Goddamn, Chris how big is your tank?” But before he could answer Trish interjected with something about it being the total with Southby’s current tab tacked on. Southby pushed the Icee forward like she could take it back but she rolled her eyes, rang him up again & Southby turned over the cash for a much more modest price in the ballpark of what could be covered by a green-faced Ulysses S. Grant. “See if either of us show up when something goes down.” Southby huffed, tossing another worm in his gob before turning to walk out.

It’s South-bee not South-bye, though you’ll probably wish he was leaving. Lives off sugar alone. He just loves his mom okay? Bar fight champion two nights running. Doesn’t know where his keys are. Kind of a dick. 10/10 needs to be held back. Southby can rub a lot of people the wrong way so I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a few close pals, some people he’s on good terms with, & lots of people that cannot stand him.

lawman -- Southby’s a cop. Albeit, not a very good one. This will, however, make things very interesting when it comes to other personalities on the BPD. I’d love to see him work with someone the exact opposite of him. There’d be a lot of suffering there, especially for someone by the book or dedicated to the job. Additionally, having run ins with him while in uniform isn’t a very enjoyable experience for the rest of the residents of Boise. He’s fairly harsh when he wants to be, but will easily let people slide if he’s friendly with them. Perks of the job.

boozehound -- If there’s one thing Southby enjoys, it’s a good drink. Or ten. Bartenders, regulars, revelers, whomever, Southby’s never in a better mood than when he’s drinking at a good dive bar or having beers at someone’s place.

Dios, How was the man not freezing right now? She was desperate for Cuban weather, as she had been ever since she left. It was windy in Morgan City and the bit of sun that burst through wasn’t exactly enough to warm her up completely. She was lucky she got herself a thick coat back in Munich before she betrayed and left the man she loved. She repeated the question for the man once he had removed the earphones, a grateful smile given when he agreed to help her out. 

“Yes, I did.” She answered him, moving to her end of the furniture, bending down to get a good grasp on it. “I came from Austria.  Europe wasn’t really agreeing with me, so the States it is. And you? How long do you live here?”

“Damn! Austria huh?“ Southby looked impressed. His guess would’ve been Mexico, but then again Austria may as well have been Antartica but luckily, the women identified it as being in Europe. Lifting, he elected to be the one to walk backwards towards the front door. “I’m from Texas.” Southby said. “From a smaller town in than this. If you can believe that.” He smiled. “Where’s this thing going?” He asked. “Been here about ten years. You got a job lined up & all that already?”

          Lisa beamed, “thanks, Southby, you’re the fuckin’ best,” the red headed winked and gave the man a loud smooch on the cheek. She really didn’t mean to use her assets for her advantage, big blue eyes included, but she was in no way, shape or form to walk out of there with a ticket she couldn’t really pay— money had long been an issue for her. At least while in New York she learned that it was in her very best interest to always be good with people, if not for their sake, than for hers. “When you’re off duty? I would love to repay you in some well deserved beer— or food? Maybe both?”

Lisa’s response to getting off with not so much as a real warning made Southby smile ruefully as a he shook his head. Southby shrugged, “Well, you already know I’m never gonna turn down a free beer. You just name the time & the place.” Southby said definitively. “How ya been anyway, Red? No one giving you any problems down at Legends I hope. It’s been a while since I’ve dragged my ass down there.”

Beck nodded. “I suppose public shaming can be useful when used properly.” People tended to worry a lot about what their neighbors thought of them - especially in a place like Morgan City. It was smaller than most cities, which meant people were more aware of each other’s actions. “Remind me never to park illegally around here. My parents could never handle the shame if they found out about it.”

“I wouldn’t.“ Southby said matter-of-factly, tucking his thumbs through his belt as he shifted onto his toes. A look of confusion crossed his face as he tried to decide if this guy was being sarcastic or if... well he couldn’t really judge. He was about to turn thirty-nine & he still lived with his mother. “You work around here?”

The other cop was an acquired taste. But what EJ knew was that Southby would do anything for him, and, truthfully was a good cop. Some others at the precinct didn’t necessarily get along with him so, in an effort to keep up morale all around McBride did his best and offered up the usual stake outs and ride alongs with the other male. Boring didn’t begin to describe Morgan City when it came to Baton Rouge. The high domestic and violent crime rate where he’d just come from kept Eddie busy and then some. Here, they were patrolling teens doing stupid shit late at night. And, on the off chance a domestic dispute. Reaching for the coke he took a sip through the straw shaking his head, “That’s bullshit,” he looked at the other. “Say I kill Oprah, I’m a racist, say I kill Gandhi I’m a traitor to all man kind, say I kill Kathy Bates and I’ve offed one of the best actresses,” Eddie sipped at his straw. “There’s no good choice, you’re a dick.” He pointed out the obvious with a chuckle. “Mmm alright,” he nodded. “I’d have to kill Kathy Bates, but I’d do it quick n painless, mercy killing of sorts, fuck Gandhi and I’ll tell you why,” he held up his hand in defense, “Spiritual guy, but he’s a damn good lover even if I don’t swing that way, it’d be worth it to say I fucked Gandhi, and marry Oprah even though chances are she’s a lesbian and in a committed relationship with Gayle.” He nodded pinching the bridge of his nose slightly. “Alright alright, Marry Fuck Kill…” he thought relaxing back into the seat of the cruiser. “M…Tom Hanks, Michelle Obama, Pope Francis.”

No, it wasn’t exactly the shit you saw in movies. There wasn’t a whole lot of glory to be found in Morgan City. They’d talked about Baton Rouge a hundred times over. Hell, Shreveport or Lafayette. Both of them were scores higher on the scale of shit to do in Louisiana law enforcement. Regardless, Morgan City fit Southby. The same way prison winds up fitting some inmates. He was allowed to be lazy & make mistakes, & to be perfectly honest, those were high in his list of priorities at present. They’d maybe seen one car go down the road in last hour they’d been sitting there. Before that, they’d flashed their lights at three kids in a closed grocery store parking lot. Southby yawned, covering it with the crook of his arm as it turned into a laugh. “Poor Kathy.” Southby laughed. Some joke about EJ being gay was bubbling up behind his teeth, but he let it simper & kept it to himself. For once. “Poor Stedman. Poor you really. That one was pretty cruel. What you got?” EJ’s choices were equally satisfactory, leaving Southby staring out the window. “That’s rough,” He mused, scratching his chin. “Well fuck Michelle Obama. Obviously. I don’t think I could live with myself for killing Tom Hanks, but I do think life with the Pope would be pretty sick. Alright, so we’re fucking Michelle, God forgive me, we’re killing Hanks &-” Before Southby could finish the sentence the radio crackled to life. “Code two high.” Southby’s hand jerked forward for the receiver. “Code two high. Go ahead.” He smiled at EJ. Finally. “Alarm tripped at Charlie’s Bowling Alley.” Southby put the car into gear. “Copy.” He let his finger off the button. “If it’s just a fucking cat or something I”m gonna lose it.”

          “Come on, Southby,” Lisa pleaded the best way she knew how to, pout-y lips and sad eyes, although a knowing sly smirk was being held back poorly, “I was only in there for zero-point-five seconds, it’s not like someone lost their lives because this piece of crap was parked a little on the red,” the red headed crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned on the car, it creaked immediately. “Come on, for old times’ sake? Please?”

Southby shook his head at the ground, planting his hands on his hips. “I shoulda known,” He said, finally looking up. “Don’t start that shit!” He insisted, jabbing an accusatory finger at Lisa. Old time’s sake she said. Wouldn’t that mean she owed him one? Just thinking that made him instantly feel grimy. “Fine. But only because it was three-point-five seconds. & don’ t make it a habit. I swear to God.”