(no subject)
Thing 1: how much do I love having a Monday off? So much. I love it so much. ;__;
Thing 2: here is a short little story for The Killing!
What You Need (or, 3 arrests Stephen Holder has made)
Gen
850 words
*kinda spoilery up to 1x08
i.
Mostly they pick him because he looks the part, but he tells everyone else that it's because he's a fucking genius with this police stuff, see you all bitches later. (And maybe that's a part of why they pick him, too: undercovers need some swagger to cover up anything else that might knock them sideways.)
Holder's got swagger. He's also got the sharp, angular body of a tweaker. He's cool with whatever, as long as it gets him out on the street instead of being a desk jockey all day.
His first arrest is a small time hand-to-hand, nothing big. When the training officer shows up, he looks from Holder to the arrestee and back. "Couldn't tell which was which for a second," he says with a laugh.
Holder puffs out a lopsided smile. His arrestee doesn't do shit, probably because Holder's got his face smashed up against the side of the car. Underneath the nerves and the adrenaline, there's a tiny bloom of self-satisfaction. Barely a blip, but still, it's there.
He could be good at this, maybe.
*
ii.
It's easy to hide it, in the beginning. He barely gets any sleep in the first place, so that's alright. Then he makes up some story about not being able to figure out what kind of allergens are causing the sniffles and whatever else. Allergies, or it could be a cold that's taking a long time to set in.
"It's at a point where I'm like, 'Yo, what do you need?'" Holder holds his arms out and pretends to talk to his own body. "'You need sleep? You sick? You just hungover?' Help me out here, you know?"
Weiss laughs. "Trust me, I know," he says in a defeated voice.
Holder goes back to refilling his coffee cup. "Yeah, you got two little ones at home, right? Twins?"
"Yup," Weiss confirms. "They're monsters, man. I thought I felt strung out on the job, but it wasn't nothing compared to this."
"Hey, for real." Holder points to Weiss as he takes a sip of the shitty but free coffee. "I'm definitely not jealous of you. But you work it out though, I know you do."
Weiss sighs and smiles. "Yeah, well," is all he says, but he feels validated and therefore doesn't even rethink where the conversation has been steered away from. Holder's always been okay at talking his way out, but talking his way around is what he excels at.
So, Weiss doesn't catch on. Neither does anyone else. But when he cuffs someone later that night -- the other officers call him James and seem familiar with him --, Holder gets a grimy, crawly feeling in his stomach because James stares at him, then tilts his chin up in some condescending nod of recognition.
It takes Holder all he's got not to walk over and smash James's face into the sidewalk. Doing it would be so easy; just palm the back of his head and watch his teeth crack away against the concrete.
*
iii.
Patrol claimed that they had to run some names and numbers, but mostly it looks like they're all just standing around with their thumbs up each other's asses. Holder's standing around because he doesn't have anything better to do except wait.
The squad car sags a little when he sits on the trunk. Janky piece of shit, but he can't talk because it's not like he's got his own. "You bored?" he asks Grant, who's sitting on the curb, ankles crossed and knees open.
"Fuck off," Grant snaps.
"I'm not tryin' to holler at you or nothing," Holder says. "Just looking for a little innocent conversation." The sky is nine months pregnant with clouds but it's not raining, at least not yet, and so he lights up a cigarette. "Hey, what's that game you all play now?" he continues. "Two truths and a lie?"
Grant is getting more hunched over by the minute, elbows jutting out from behind his back. The zip-ties probably hurt like a bitch the first time.
"Hit me with your best shot, little man," Holder prods.
"Didn't you get busted with crank like, two months back?" Grant sneers. "Yeah, because Evan was your hook and he's in county now, so that explains why you look like shit."
"See, you're not playing the game right," Holder says in a scolding tone. "And all this is gonna be a lot rougher for you if you don't learn."
Grant stares up at him, practically vibrating with unbridled anger, and Holder wants to laugh. He wants to berate him for getting caught dealing shitty weed. He wants to take Grant's rage and stoke it into something even bigger. He wants to ruin him.
Instead, Holder leans over and, with a small, self-satisfied grin, flicks a column of ashes right onto Grant's hair.
Thing 2: here is a short little story for The Killing!
What You Need (or, 3 arrests Stephen Holder has made)
Gen
850 words
*kinda spoilery up to 1x08
i.
Mostly they pick him because he looks the part, but he tells everyone else that it's because he's a fucking genius with this police stuff, see you all bitches later. (And maybe that's a part of why they pick him, too: undercovers need some swagger to cover up anything else that might knock them sideways.)
Holder's got swagger. He's also got the sharp, angular body of a tweaker. He's cool with whatever, as long as it gets him out on the street instead of being a desk jockey all day.
His first arrest is a small time hand-to-hand, nothing big. When the training officer shows up, he looks from Holder to the arrestee and back. "Couldn't tell which was which for a second," he says with a laugh.
Holder puffs out a lopsided smile. His arrestee doesn't do shit, probably because Holder's got his face smashed up against the side of the car. Underneath the nerves and the adrenaline, there's a tiny bloom of self-satisfaction. Barely a blip, but still, it's there.
He could be good at this, maybe.
*
ii.
It's easy to hide it, in the beginning. He barely gets any sleep in the first place, so that's alright. Then he makes up some story about not being able to figure out what kind of allergens are causing the sniffles and whatever else. Allergies, or it could be a cold that's taking a long time to set in.
"It's at a point where I'm like, 'Yo, what do you need?'" Holder holds his arms out and pretends to talk to his own body. "'You need sleep? You sick? You just hungover?' Help me out here, you know?"
Weiss laughs. "Trust me, I know," he says in a defeated voice.
Holder goes back to refilling his coffee cup. "Yeah, you got two little ones at home, right? Twins?"
"Yup," Weiss confirms. "They're monsters, man. I thought I felt strung out on the job, but it wasn't nothing compared to this."
"Hey, for real." Holder points to Weiss as he takes a sip of the shitty but free coffee. "I'm definitely not jealous of you. But you work it out though, I know you do."
Weiss sighs and smiles. "Yeah, well," is all he says, but he feels validated and therefore doesn't even rethink where the conversation has been steered away from. Holder's always been okay at talking his way out, but talking his way around is what he excels at.
So, Weiss doesn't catch on. Neither does anyone else. But when he cuffs someone later that night -- the other officers call him James and seem familiar with him --, Holder gets a grimy, crawly feeling in his stomach because James stares at him, then tilts his chin up in some condescending nod of recognition.
It takes Holder all he's got not to walk over and smash James's face into the sidewalk. Doing it would be so easy; just palm the back of his head and watch his teeth crack away against the concrete.
*
iii.
Patrol claimed that they had to run some names and numbers, but mostly it looks like they're all just standing around with their thumbs up each other's asses. Holder's standing around because he doesn't have anything better to do except wait.
The squad car sags a little when he sits on the trunk. Janky piece of shit, but he can't talk because it's not like he's got his own. "You bored?" he asks Grant, who's sitting on the curb, ankles crossed and knees open.
"Fuck off," Grant snaps.
"I'm not tryin' to holler at you or nothing," Holder says. "Just looking for a little innocent conversation." The sky is nine months pregnant with clouds but it's not raining, at least not yet, and so he lights up a cigarette. "Hey, what's that game you all play now?" he continues. "Two truths and a lie?"
Grant is getting more hunched over by the minute, elbows jutting out from behind his back. The zip-ties probably hurt like a bitch the first time.
"Hit me with your best shot, little man," Holder prods.
"Didn't you get busted with crank like, two months back?" Grant sneers. "Yeah, because Evan was your hook and he's in county now, so that explains why you look like shit."
"See, you're not playing the game right," Holder says in a scolding tone. "And all this is gonna be a lot rougher for you if you don't learn."
Grant stares up at him, practically vibrating with unbridled anger, and Holder wants to laugh. He wants to berate him for getting caught dealing shitty weed. He wants to take Grant's rage and stoke it into something even bigger. He wants to ruin him.
Instead, Holder leans over and, with a small, self-satisfied grin, flicks a column of ashes right onto Grant's hair.