Nick Burkhardt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
connate) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2014-06-04 12:53 pm
connate) wrote in maskormenacelogs2014-06-04 12:53 pm
Entry tags:
i tried to find lyrics
WHO: NICK BURKHARDT and LYDIA MARTIN
WHERE: A shifty back alley!! The usual.
WHEN: Evening, 06/04.
WHAT: Introductions via corpse-radar.
WARNINGS: Currently none!
[ It's not like Nick prefers getting called in for murders, but— actually, yeah, he kind of does. He put in due time with minor complaints and being dragged out at odd hours of the night to follow up on "disturbances" years ago, and falling back into the old routine takes some getting used to.
It's easier to remember why he bothered when he speaks to the woman who made the call. While he's 90% sure there's nothing to it, her concern's real enough; speaking to a cop (an import, no less) helps ease it, and he leaves her with the reassurance that he'll make sure the neighborhood's clear. He's checking the last alley in the row of houses when he hears something and freezes, breath going shallow while he listens, hand hovering just over the holster of his gun.
While he's focusing on the sound, his pulse slows. Slows enough to stop, if only for a few long seconds; his temperature drops with it, skin going white. The loud clatter of a raccoon knocking the lid off of a trash can snaps him out of it, pulse skipping back up to speed and color settling back into his features. His deeply annoyed features, of course; good news for the woman, obviously, kind of a joke for a cop who's used to dealing with legitimate homicides.
The second sound registers half a second after he drops his guard. Nick turns quickly, glancing down the alley, and this time he does draw his gun. It's an instinctive gesture, but the barrel's kept low, aimed towards the ground. ]
Who's there?
WHERE: A shifty back alley!! The usual.
WHEN: Evening, 06/04.
WHAT: Introductions via corpse-radar.
WARNINGS: Currently none!
[ It's not like Nick prefers getting called in for murders, but— actually, yeah, he kind of does. He put in due time with minor complaints and being dragged out at odd hours of the night to follow up on "disturbances" years ago, and falling back into the old routine takes some getting used to.
It's easier to remember why he bothered when he speaks to the woman who made the call. While he's 90% sure there's nothing to it, her concern's real enough; speaking to a cop (an import, no less) helps ease it, and he leaves her with the reassurance that he'll make sure the neighborhood's clear. He's checking the last alley in the row of houses when he hears something and freezes, breath going shallow while he listens, hand hovering just over the holster of his gun.
While he's focusing on the sound, his pulse slows. Slows enough to stop, if only for a few long seconds; his temperature drops with it, skin going white. The loud clatter of a raccoon knocking the lid off of a trash can snaps him out of it, pulse skipping back up to speed and color settling back into his features. His deeply annoyed features, of course; good news for the woman, obviously, kind of a joke for a cop who's used to dealing with legitimate homicides.
The second sound registers half a second after he drops his guard. Nick turns quickly, glancing down the alley, and this time he does draw his gun. It's an instinctive gesture, but the barrel's kept low, aimed towards the ground. ]
Who's there?