Inspector Morray doesn't often go out socially like this - and he isn't, tonight, he's just lurking around like the least out-of-place cop the SCD1 had for something like this, Gillis sure as hell wasn't going to do it - but that wasn't always true and at a glance, you might not know it. After acquiring a drink that raises questions about his sexuality (particularly when paired with a tendency to quote poetry in casual conversation and why in God's name does he own that jacket), Bellamy moves away from the bar and through the throng, a little more animated than usual. It's calculated, like how Pratchett once said some people have to have a couple of drinks just to be sober - a little more outgoing by his own standards puts him about on par with everybody else
( ... )
Hasibe spots him fairly quickly, in fact, and thinks for a few moments about how she wants to do this. If he doesn't know this is supernaturally affiliated yet, he's going to soon, and she thinks he'd rather have the heads up. Time to blow some of her cover- not that either of them really bought that the other was perfectly normal. She eases closer to Bellamy, brushing a hand over his arm without thinking, and she speaks quietly into his ear so that she can be heard over the music (they're near the speakers, and to talk even close together they'll have to move a bit away from the crowd and closer to the shadows).
"I need to talk to you- dance with me, nobody'll notice us out here."
Glancing up when Hasi touches him, he scrutinizes her for a moment before smiling (to anyone familiar with him, it wouldn't look properly natural because he doesn't do that, but it's mostly for the benefit of anyone who might be puzzled as to why he'd be frowning under the circumstances) and moving with her. "What is it?" he murmurs back, under the music.
This is the type of inappropriate (because of how this place is, how Hasi is, and how close they need to be for her to talk to him without having to raise her voice) she did not ever really anticipate occurring while she attempts to assist with a police investigation, but Bellamy is so professional all the time she suspects she's not going to get a trace of response out of him, anyway. Still, they're hip-to-hip, and she briefly leaves her fingertips on the side of his neck when she leans in to speak.
"I hate to blow past the veil of 'don't ask, don't tell' we've had going here, but your guy is dabbling in magic. I say dabbling because it's like he was wearing someone else's cologne, it's all borrowed power. And if he shows up again, if he gets close enough to me, I'll feel it."
You don't forget the sensation of seeing someone wear another person's magical skin, after all.
"It certainly opens up new avenues of motive, though, doesn't it?"
The word that Bellamy mutters curtly against her ear doesn't really go with his usual dedicated politesse (and neither does the way his extremely professional hips are moving, but one of those is for show and the other is not) - it's worth noting that he sounds resignedly pissed off rather than anything like surprised. Suspicion confirmed. "Yes, it does. How close is close enough?" he asks, grimly.
"Thirty, forty feet. If there aren't any other auras getting in the way." She bites her lip, shifting with an apologetic little half-smile so that her hair stops brushing the side of his neck and cheek. "How do you want to play this, Inspector? It's not exactly within the conventional bounds of policework at this point."
"What time'll it be quiet where they park the cars, or is that a pipe dream?" he asks, tilting his head back far enough to get a look at her face - because he wants to see how she takes that question, mostly, but the necessary closeness dictated by their surroundings does put them at an interesting angle. "I've got an idea-" if they can amplify that faint trace enough that he can feel it, maybe he can do something here that won't make him feel like a heel for involving her in a murder investigation, "-but I don't know if it'll work."
She looks briefly contemplative, wondering what he's got in mind; Hasi turns to look up at the huge overhanging clock, lit up brightly above them. "Ten minutes or so and there's a designated break - every three hours, they close the gates so that the bouncers can switch up."
She turns, now, her back to his chest, her head tipped back against his shoulder; it's easier to watch the crowd at this angle, and although it continues to put them physically very very interestingly together, the roll of her hips steady and practiced, there are certainly worse things. Even if the timing is God-awful, but that seems to be thematic with these two.
If someone were to glance in this direction, with Bellamy's hand on the front of her hip and his mouth under her ear, they would probably not think he's having a conversation with her. Or certainly not that it sounds like this. "I'd prefer not to have to ask you to dig around for him yourself," he says, incongruously apologetic, "if I can feel what you feel, then I could do it myself." This is still a 'maybe', depending on what it is and how much both of them are capable of- but it's a possibility.
He's not explicitly saying anything about what he is, what he knows or what he's capable of - but the implications are relatively plain, as far as they go.
"I don't know how to cut that off at just your feeling his presence," she says, apologetically, after a pause, "and I don't really want you to feel everything I feel."
There are myriad ways to interpret that, but what she really means is that not everything Hasibe receives from her surrounding is restricted to auras, and it can get really jarring. She doesn't know how it'd effect a non-witch of strictly human ancestry (so far as she knows); an interesting experiment, to be sure, and she's mostly sure a guy like Bellamy would be able to handle it, but it's not one she wants to attempt while they're waiting for a psychopath to show his face.
"You're stuck with me, at least for tonight- but I'm not going to get in the way of the police aspect, the last thing I want is to fuck up your investigation. The rogue magician bit, though, that's a bit more up my alley of involvement, you know?"
"It's not outside my own," he sighs; this is one of the reasons he's been transferred to work under Fred, not that he's inclined to mention that at present. "I'll see if I can do it by myself. I know what i'm looking for."
He can feel it just enough; maybe he can feel more if he puts some more concentrated effort into it. It's worth a shot, even if he's not disagreeing with the fact he seems to be (in her words) stuck with her for the night.
"I noticed that," she murmurs, regarding his own magical involvement; sorcerers are uncommon, but not practically died-out like witches, since they tend to be people who have a natural possibility they discipline, sort of like how some people have artistic talent and can hone it and some people just don't.
She pauses, freezing against Bellamy.
"Speak of the devil," she exhales, tugging at his hand, "he's by the door, come on, we've got a minute to catch him--"
But there is a whole crowd to navigate. Hasibe doesn't normally do this at work, but she presses that hypnotic aura of hers against that of the throng of the people, and they seem to part with a certain blankness that suggests they don't even realize what they're doing- and she's not going to mention it, because while it is the sort of thing you could almost chalk up to coincidence, she knows Bellamy will know better.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" his chivalrous exterior is taking a dent this evening, though despite his obvious distraction he fails to miss the parting of the seas they're dashing through or the probable cause. Maybe he'll bring it up when there isn't something else more presing on their attention - his attention, she is not a part of this investigation-
Bellamy skids out the door in time to catch sight of the limo beginning to pull out into the street.
The decision she makes is split-second: she has this power to pull and push people's minds and objects, and that limousine, while gigantic, is not outside her sphere of influence. Its tires skid as she presses down with her mind, holding it into place (she hopes Bellamy is seeing the license plate, because she can't focus on more than the first couple of digits), rubber squealing--
Their target is not happy to have been interrupted, and he's panicking, inside of his vehicle; she can't make him out at this angle, but she can hear a woman's voice inside and thinks that she sounds scared, whoever she is. The magical blow he tosses back their way comes in the form of seething, shimmering, almost-translucent blue-white energy, like sinister smoke, which is roughly as wide as the actual car, and aimed directly at the girl who is preventing him from getting the fuck out of there.
The spell Bellamy uses instinctively is designed for moments like this - no requisite movements or precision, just harshly hissed words and his hands coming up to catch the the faux-smoke in the wide space between them. He draws it in, seals it around, and the blast from the implosion of the other man's spell inside his own throws him back into Hasi and the pair of them off their feet.
"I got the license plate," he announces in what breath he's still got, rolling off her almost as soon as they hit the ground. "Are you okay?"
Hasibe looks deeply annoyed, by all appearances, but at least they're on asphalt and she didn't ruin her dress- she holds out her hand, so he can help her up, and once she is on her feet, she just exhales before speaking.
"I'm going to punch this wannabe in the neck if I get the opportunity, but I'm fine. At least you got the plates, and I got a sense of where he's borrowing that power, because it certainly isn't his." Her accent gets thicker when she's a little irritably off-balance like this, by the way, but presumably Bellamy is in no mood to crack any Scarlett O'Hara jokes.
Inspector Morray doesn't often go out socially like this - and he isn't, tonight, he's just lurking around like the least out-of-place cop the SCD1 had for something like this, Gillis sure as hell wasn't going to do it - but that wasn't always true and at a glance, you might not know it. After acquiring a drink that raises questions about his sexuality (particularly when paired with a tendency to quote poetry in casual conversation and why in God's name does he own that jacket), Bellamy moves away from the bar and through the throng, a little more animated than usual. It's calculated, like how Pratchett once said some people have to have a couple of drinks just to be sober - a little more outgoing by his own standards puts him about on par with everybody else ( ... )
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Hasibe spots him fairly quickly, in fact, and thinks for a few moments about how she wants to do this. If he doesn't know this is supernaturally affiliated yet, he's going to soon, and she thinks he'd rather have the heads up. Time to blow some of her cover- not that either of them really bought that the other was perfectly normal. She eases closer to Bellamy, brushing a hand over his arm without thinking, and she speaks quietly into his ear so that she can be heard over the music (they're near the speakers, and to talk even close together they'll have to move a bit away from the crowd and closer to the shadows).
"I need to talk to you- dance with me, nobody'll notice us out here."
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Glancing up when Hasi touches him, he scrutinizes her for a moment before smiling (to anyone familiar with him, it wouldn't look properly natural because he doesn't do that, but it's mostly for the benefit of anyone who might be puzzled as to why he'd be frowning under the circumstances) and moving with her. "What is it?" he murmurs back, under the music.
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This is the type of inappropriate (because of how this place is, how Hasi is, and how close they need to be for her to talk to him without having to raise her voice) she did not ever really anticipate occurring while she attempts to assist with a police investigation, but Bellamy is so professional all the time she suspects she's not going to get a trace of response out of him, anyway. Still, they're hip-to-hip, and she briefly leaves her fingertips on the side of his neck when she leans in to speak.
"I hate to blow past the veil of 'don't ask, don't tell' we've had going here, but your guy is dabbling in magic. I say dabbling because it's like he was wearing someone else's cologne, it's all borrowed power. And if he shows up again, if he gets close enough to me, I'll feel it."
You don't forget the sensation of seeing someone wear another person's magical skin, after all.
"It certainly opens up new avenues of motive, though, doesn't it?"
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The word that Bellamy mutters curtly against her ear doesn't really go with his usual dedicated politesse (and neither does the way his extremely professional hips are moving, but one of those is for show and the other is not) - it's worth noting that he sounds resignedly pissed off rather than anything like surprised. Suspicion confirmed. "Yes, it does. How close is close enough?" he asks, grimly.
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"Thirty, forty feet. If there aren't any other auras getting in the way." She bites her lip, shifting with an apologetic little half-smile so that her hair stops brushing the side of his neck and cheek. "How do you want to play this, Inspector? It's not exactly within the conventional bounds of policework at this point."
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"What time'll it be quiet where they park the cars, or is that a pipe dream?" he asks, tilting his head back far enough to get a look at her face - because he wants to see how she takes that question, mostly, but the necessary closeness dictated by their surroundings does put them at an interesting angle. "I've got an idea-" if they can amplify that faint trace enough that he can feel it, maybe he can do something here that won't make him feel like a heel for involving her in a murder investigation, "-but I don't know if it'll work."
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She looks briefly contemplative, wondering what he's got in mind; Hasi turns to look up at the huge overhanging clock, lit up brightly above them. "Ten minutes or so and there's a designated break - every three hours, they close the gates so that the bouncers can switch up."
She turns, now, her back to his chest, her head tipped back against his shoulder; it's easier to watch the crowd at this angle, and although it continues to put them physically very very interestingly together, the roll of her hips steady and practiced, there are certainly worse things. Even if the timing is God-awful, but that seems to be thematic with these two.
"What's your idea?"
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If someone were to glance in this direction, with Bellamy's hand on the front of her hip and his mouth under her ear, they would probably not think he's having a conversation with her. Or certainly not that it sounds like this. "I'd prefer not to have to ask you to dig around for him yourself," he says, incongruously apologetic, "if I can feel what you feel, then I could do it myself." This is still a 'maybe', depending on what it is and how much both of them are capable of- but it's a possibility.
He's not explicitly saying anything about what he is, what he knows or what he's capable of - but the implications are relatively plain, as far as they go.
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"I don't know how to cut that off at just your feeling his presence," she says, apologetically, after a pause, "and I don't really want you to feel everything I feel."
There are myriad ways to interpret that, but what she really means is that not everything Hasibe receives from her surrounding is restricted to auras, and it can get really jarring. She doesn't know how it'd effect a non-witch of strictly human ancestry (so far as she knows); an interesting experiment, to be sure, and she's mostly sure a guy like Bellamy would be able to handle it, but it's not one she wants to attempt while they're waiting for a psychopath to show his face.
"You're stuck with me, at least for tonight- but I'm not going to get in the way of the police aspect, the last thing I want is to fuck up your investigation. The rogue magician bit, though, that's a bit more up my alley of involvement, you know?"
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"It's not outside my own," he sighs; this is one of the reasons he's been transferred to work under Fred, not that he's inclined to mention that at present. "I'll see if I can do it by myself. I know what i'm looking for."
He can feel it just enough; maybe he can feel more if he puts some more concentrated effort into it. It's worth a shot, even if he's not disagreeing with the fact he seems to be (in her words) stuck with her for the night.
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"I noticed that," she murmurs, regarding his own magical involvement; sorcerers are uncommon, but not practically died-out like witches, since they tend to be people who have a natural possibility they discipline, sort of like how some people have artistic talent and can hone it and some people just don't.
She pauses, freezing against Bellamy.
"Speak of the devil," she exhales, tugging at his hand, "he's by the door, come on, we've got a minute to catch him--"
But there is a whole crowd to navigate. Hasibe doesn't normally do this at work, but she presses that hypnotic aura of hers against that of the throng of the people, and they seem to part with a certain blankness that suggests they don't even realize what they're doing- and she's not going to mention it, because while it is the sort of thing you could almost chalk up to coincidence, she knows Bellamy will know better.
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"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" his chivalrous exterior is taking a dent this evening, though despite his obvious distraction he fails to miss the parting of the seas they're dashing through or the probable cause. Maybe he'll bring it up when there isn't something else more presing on their attention - his attention, she is not a part of this investigation-
Bellamy skids out the door in time to catch sight of the limo beginning to pull out into the street.
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The decision she makes is split-second: she has this power to pull and push people's minds and objects, and that limousine, while gigantic, is not outside her sphere of influence. Its tires skid as she presses down with her mind, holding it into place (she hopes Bellamy is seeing the license plate, because she can't focus on more than the first couple of digits), rubber squealing--
Their target is not happy to have been interrupted, and he's panicking, inside of his vehicle; she can't make him out at this angle, but she can hear a woman's voice inside and thinks that she sounds scared, whoever she is. The magical blow he tosses back their way comes in the form of seething, shimmering, almost-translucent blue-white energy, like sinister smoke, which is roughly as wide as the actual car, and aimed directly at the girl who is preventing him from getting the fuck out of there.
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The spell Bellamy uses instinctively is designed for moments like this - no requisite movements or precision, just harshly hissed words and his hands coming up to catch the the faux-smoke in the wide space between them. He draws it in, seals it around, and the blast from the implosion of the other man's spell inside his own throws him back into Hasi and the pair of them off their feet.
"I got the license plate," he announces in what breath he's still got, rolling off her almost as soon as they hit the ground. "Are you okay?"
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Hasibe looks deeply annoyed, by all appearances, but at least they're on asphalt and she didn't ruin her dress- she holds out her hand, so he can help her up, and once she is on her feet, she just exhales before speaking.
"I'm going to punch this wannabe in the neck if I get the opportunity, but I'm fine. At least you got the plates, and I got a sense of where he's borrowing that power, because it certainly isn't his." Her accent gets thicker when she's a little irritably off-balance like this, by the way, but presumably Bellamy is in no mood to crack any Scarlett O'Hara jokes.
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