#fugitivefound

“Don’t even talk to me,” Devon groans, kneading her temples and keeping her eyes closed against the morning sunlight shining on the scene. Getting together for just a beer or two ended up an all-nighter, stopping at a convenience store for a 12-pack and taking it back to her motel room to reminisce their horribly childhoods, warm and hoppy and still fuzzy on her tongue. The only thing stopping her from barfing is that she can’t contaminate the crime scene. “If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘I brought you the biggest coffee I could possibly find’ I don’t wanna hear it.”

Sly was in an troublemaking mood, thus how had ended up splattered with blood. Glamour rune being not entirely functional as tiredness from the use started kicking in. Propped against an building wiping an throwing knife on blood stained gray jeans. Had been an morally gray night but to be fair most the blood was- from the patrol partner who “accidently” died to an demon. One less shitty circle member in the world. Not minding the footsteps cause was human territory. So didn’t expect anybody who would notice them. Tucking the knife back away then stretching. When noticed- actually had been noticed. “So you can see me- damn you’re not human or- Oh an downworlder.” Grateful hadn’t taken off the hood that cast shadows and made facial features all but non existant. “Swear I’m not an serial killer this is just an accident with an blood delivery truck.”

“you’re  good  at  this.”

“There’s that thing,” Devon starts confidently, then stops when she doesn’t know the name of that thing. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she looks up at the ceiling while trying to recall what the hell she’s talking about. They’re a few drinks in at this point. “When a daycare takes all the babies on a walk in those huge wagons that seat, like, nine babies. Babies are strapped in, can’t get away, they might cry but it’s not a disaster getting them from point A to point B. Done it, nailed it, your turn or drink.”

Swinging by the station to say hi to her father; well plus secretly see if was any chatter about her nightly crime fighting. Or well the mysterious, faceless crime solving figure more specifically. Kicking back in the desk chair since the desk was unoccupied which meant he wasn’t at it. Quiet night. Really needed to get back to hitting the pavement about an drug dealing group she’d been handling. To get enough to leave an anonymous tip off about from an payphone. Registering the footsteps- not her father in fact an new face. “Must suck working night shift tonight.”

she  glances  up  when  he  grabs  her  hand.  it’s  dangerous,  really.  people  at  ace  didn’t  touch  her  when  it  wasn’t  necessary,  after  years  of  learning  that  the  smallest  emotional  change  could  end  in  rain  being  hotter  than  a  stove.  hands  were  always  especially  dangerous.  she’s  looking  for  any  signs  of  pain,  because  despite  how  she  acts,  she  worries  about  tim.  (he’s  one  of  the  few  people  she  feels  bad  for  hurting).

“i…  i’m  fine.”  she’d  just  left  the  room  to  go  find  something  to  eat.  the  station  was  a  boring  place  to  be,  and  while  she  wasn’t  usually  the  kind  to  not  do  what  she  was  told,  no  one  around  here  ever  stopped  her.  they  were  too  scared.  “sorry.”

“i’m  okay.  seriously.  go  catch  that  asshole.”  and  she  doesn’t  seem  like  she  would  mind  if  she  was  left  behind.  she’s  more  pissed  that  she  can’t  go  do  it  herself,  honestly.  “i  mean  it.”