John arrives wearing a fedora and trenchcoat that are both now a tiny bit in need of repair, and carrying on his back a rather large and heavily packed duffel bag. Shaking off water and hail as he enters, he finds himself a cot and sits down to make what would appear to be a check that everything in his bag made it through okay.
Oddly enough, his inventory of items -- clothes, a few canned foods, a bottle of whiskey, a couple of books, etc. -- doesn't appear to reach nearly into the bottom of the bag, almost as though the bottom half was full of stuff that he preferred not to make visible unless necessary. But that'd be silly, right, and who'd be paying attention to a thing like that, anyway? More noticeable, perhaps, might be that John doesn't appear to be paying nearly as much attention to the inventory as he is to looking around at who else is around.
Well. This was interesting, raising at least one or two questions that he couldn't really readily ask straight off. None of them were really pressing questions anyway, so instead he just looks at Bridge, then over where she looks, then back, with a smile.
"Well, Bridgette, I imagine you'd all been through a lot before getting here. It's been a rough time for all of us. You can tell her I understand, and that it's okay."
"She's only three, so she doesn't listen all that good, but I'll try tell her and maybe she'll understand, because she's been getting really good with words-- or she was." Before Trips happened. "But maybe she'll understand," she repeats, and there's a sinking to her tone that indicates she doesn't think that will happen.
More seriously, she asks, "Did you lose a lot of people, too?" Bridge and polite conversation don't mix all that well, sometimes.
John nods. Another sister? One who died? An imaginary friend, or something else? Marie, three years old. Assuming there was ever a real Marie, it was a damn shame to have one die so young
( ... )
Bridgette listens - then around the final question, her eyes widen in surprise. She opens and closes her mouth for a second. Finally, she works past the shock and can say what she wants.
With the air of someone standing by the grave of a loved one, she says in a small voice, "I'm very sorry you didn't have a family, sir."
Not having a family is close to Bridgette's conception of hell.
...Well. That's an interesting way to put it. He looks puzzled by it a moment, but then shrugs. "It's all right. I'm not really much of a family man, anyway. Too much trouble from the job."
Aw, isn't that sweet of her. John briefly wonders if his parents had ever spoken of him with anything like that kind of pride. "I used to be, but that was a long, long time ago. I'm a private investigator now."
Bridgette looks confused by the strange new words. Mommy and Daddy tended not to use job-specific terms when they talked about their jobs to the girls.
She mulls this over and comes up with: "How can you investigate something that's private? Private means a secret."
Right. He should've expected something like that. Okay. "In this case, what 'private' means is... police solve crimes, but sometimes someone needs to find something out that isn't about a crime, so they come to me instead. The work I do is private, between me and the person that hires me."
Well, okay, sometimes they were crimes that the police didn't know about yet, or any number of secret -- and seedy -- things, but he's not going to get into that with a young kid, even one so precocious.
Bridgette's face brightens at the word 'police'. "Oh! Mommy works with the police. She's a consultant for the district attorney's office of the city of Phoenix. Her boss is Mr. Devalos. And I talked to detective Scanlon once or twice. He," and her face twists into an exaggerated serious expression, "has a very serious face. And takes lots of notes!"
Despite appearances, Bridgette actually heard Mr. Smith's job description. She just decided that talking about her mom is infinitely more interesting.
Oh. Oh, dear. She's referring to her Mom in the present tense. That's... not necessarily a good sign. Okay, no, steady on, don't go there, don't want to freak the kid out. Keep it light.
"Yeah, well, y'know..." John adopts a slightly exaggerated version of his own hard, slightly squinty-eyed, deadly serious expression. "Police work is very serious. It's important to have a very serious face." He smiles again.
Well, he doesn't really consider himself much of a kid person, but this isn't so bad. If it weren't for that instinctive sense telling him that trouble was due sometime fairly soon, this could almost be fun.
Bridgette looks very thoughtful at Smith's serious face.
"That," she compliments, "is a very good face. I would give that face an A if I were teaching serious police faces. But you need a bit more," she squints her eyes to demonstrate.
Bridgette's eyes are technically closed when she squints them.
"I've had a lot of years to practice that face. But let's see..."
John, you're really going to wreck your tough-guy reputation if anyone sees you making these goofy faces, with your eyes all scrunched up like that. Hopefully no one's looking for those few seconds.
Bridge looks extremely serious as she contemplates this.
"I think you and detective Scanlon would've been great friends." This is solemnly said - praise of such magnitude is not tossed around lightly - before she favours John Smith with an approving smile.
Oddly enough, his inventory of items -- clothes, a few canned foods, a bottle of whiskey, a couple of books, etc. -- doesn't appear to reach nearly into the bottom of the bag, almost as though the bottom half was full of stuff that he preferred not to make visible unless necessary. But that'd be silly, right, and who'd be paying attention to a thing like that, anyway? More noticeable, perhaps, might be that John doesn't appear to be paying nearly as much attention to the inventory as he is to looking around at who else is around.
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"I'd like to apologize for Marie when we met," Bridgette says, glancing back at the cots. "She can be like that."
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"Well, Bridgette, I imagine you'd all been through a lot before getting here. It's been a rough time for all of us. You can tell her I understand, and that it's okay."
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More seriously, she asks, "Did you lose a lot of people, too?" Bridge and polite conversation don't mix all that well, sometimes.
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With the air of someone standing by the grave of a loved one, she says in a small voice, "I'm very sorry you didn't have a family, sir."
Not having a family is close to Bridgette's conception of hell.
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"My Uncle Mikey isn't a family man, either. Are you in the army too? He was in Iraq. Fighting bad guys." There's some pride, there.
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She mulls this over and comes up with: "How can you investigate something that's private? Private means a secret."
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Well, okay, sometimes they were crimes that the police didn't know about yet, or any number of secret -- and seedy -- things, but he's not going to get into that with a young kid, even one so precocious.
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Despite appearances, Bridgette actually heard Mr. Smith's job description. She just decided that talking about her mom is infinitely more interesting.
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"Yeah, well, y'know..." John adopts a slightly exaggerated version of his own hard, slightly squinty-eyed, deadly serious expression. "Police work is very serious. It's important to have a very serious face." He smiles again.
Well, he doesn't really consider himself much of a kid person, but this isn't so bad. If it weren't for that instinctive sense telling him that trouble was due sometime fairly soon, this could almost be fun.
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"That," she compliments, "is a very good face. I would give that face an A if I were teaching serious police faces. But you need a bit more," she squints her eyes to demonstrate.
Bridgette's eyes are technically closed when she squints them.
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"I've had a lot of years to practice that face. But let's see..."
John, you're really going to wreck your tough-guy reputation if anyone sees you making these goofy faces, with your eyes all scrunched up like that. Hopefully no one's looking for those few seconds.
"There. How was that?"
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"I think you and detective Scanlon would've been great friends." This is solemnly said - praise of such magnitude is not tossed around lightly - before she favours John Smith with an approving smile.
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