The Gene Genie, lives on his back...

[im_the_sheriff]

Finishing his drink, Gene spared the newspaper clipping on his wall one last glance before getting to his feet and pulling his jacket back on. The lights flickered off behind him and he straightened his tie as he stepped out of his office. Everyone else was already off having a plonk, and he refused to sit behind his desk and mope about Sam-bloody-

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[9mmshotglass]

"Welcome to the magic fucking island, I'll be your hostess, Dani Reese and welcome you to Hell," Reese said, not even pausing as she moved through the room and rummaged through the bookshelf. At least it wasn't hitting her with Austen. How to Avoid Sexual Injuries, however, was popping up like a fucker. She glared at the bookshelf. "And you're not dreaming. I'm also not flashing my knockers for you, not even if you ask nicely." She glanced at the man for a moment.

"You smell like a fucking bar," she said, eyebrows arched. "Tell me you brought liquor."

[im_the_sheriff]

Gene really only caught the words 'fucking' and 'hell', which really was more than enough as far as he was concerned. He might have heard the word 'knockers' as well, but that might have just been because he was staring at hers.

"Not what I expected," he said, more speaking to himself than her. "But I'm not fussy."

And with that he grabbed her and kissed her firmly on the mouth, his hand sliding down to pinch her bum.

[9mmshotglass]

Reese jammed her knee into his groin, flipped him so his nose was pressed to the carpet and her knee was buried in his back. She had a hold of his arm and had twisted it behind him, putting enough pressure on it so it hurt. Thank God for police training. When she spoke, her voice was very quiet.

"I'm usually not fussy, either," Reese said an extremely cordial tone. "As much as I enjoy being kissed, I generally like a mild introduction, a nice drink, and maybe a few more somewhere else."

She released him neatly.

"Let's try this again, shall we, without the sexual harassment? I'm Dani Reese and this is not a dream. And if you're really smart, you may have balls left after this conversation."

And she smiled.

[im_the_sheriff]

Gene grunted as he hit the floor, rolling over as soon as she let go. He didn't bother getting up, instead staying sprawled out as he took his flask from his pocket and took a swig.

"I hope you know, you have just assaulted a police officer, you crazy bitch," he said, sitting up and tucking his flask away again. He groaned in pain, but eventually got to his feet, eying the gobby tart as he fished his badge out of his pocket and flashed it.

"Where the bloody-hell am I then?" he asked.

[9mmshotglass]

"Yeah, the crazy bitch is a police officer, too," Reese growled. "Island Police Department and, Los Angeles Police Department, Homicide Division of the former." She dug hers out of her pocket and shoved it in his face. She kinda wanted to etch the badge into his forehead, too. "You, my very drunk bastard friend, are on an island that will fuck with your head more than the alcohol ever would. If I tried explaining it to you, it just won't work. Shit happened, you're here, in the middle of nowhere on an island that is, yes, magic and hates you. When you're relatively sober again, it probably won't make sense either."

She crossed her arms and arched her eyebrows.

[im_the_sheriff]

"Detective Chief Inspector of The Criminal Investigation Department, Metropolitan Police," Gene growled in return. "And I am not drunk."

He muttered something about PMS and guns as he took out a cigarette and lit it, still scowling, even as he smoked.

"How am I on an island? Never mind, don't answer that, I don't want to know," he decided. After all, none of this was real. Couldn't be. He was either dreaming or he'd finally had a heart attack.

[9mmshotglass]

"Oh please," Reese snapped. "I'm not a fucking moron, Detective Chief Inspector Asshole. I've been in the world enough to know someone who's had enough to drink a bar under. You're wasted. And you really don't wanna know. Fuck, I don't even want to know, but you'll get used to it."

[im_the_sheriff]

"If you're quite finished, why don't you un-knot your knickers and calm down," Gene said, taking another long pull off his cigarette. "I am not wasted, and if I were, that would be my bloody business. Now why don't you be a good girl and run along to find me someone worth talking to?"

[9mmshotglass]

"Which obviously isn't you." She turned back to the bookshelf and started rummaging again. "I'd save those cancer sticks if I were you. What you have is all you get unless the Island decides to take pity on your black lunged soul."

Reese directed a pointed stare at him.

"The last time someone called me a 'good girl' in that capacity, they were picking their balls out from their nose. What year are you from, Detective Chief Inspector? I'm gonna guess it's the 70s from your crap suit and your lack of manners, though I know an asshole who'd fit in real nice with you. Maybe one day you'll meet Bobby Stark, though I'm sure I'll deck the bastard the next time I see him. The pair of you could become the next dick squad."

[im_the_sheriff]

"I'll have you know I'm from 1981," Gene said gruffly, though truth be told, he'd not progressed much since around 1976. His jaw set firmly, lips pressed flat around the end of his cigarette, and he folded his arms over his chest as he watched her.

It occurred to him, belatedly, that being asked about what year he was from wasn't exactly a normal question, and he scowled slightly as he spoke again. "Why do you want to know what year it is?"

[9mmshotglass]

"Because where I'm from it's 2007," Reese said flatly. "This isn't London, this isn't 1981, and this isn't some prank. This is your new life on an island called Tabula Rasa, where you get a second chance to fuck everyone over. There are all sorts of people in the place, probably more than three hundred now, and they come from different times, different places, different worlds. Some of them are real people, some of them come from books, movies, hell, even comic books."

Reese shrugged lightly.

"I don't think they have years here. No fixed one. I've been here for, oh almost two months, maybe. At leas you showed up somewhere safe. When I arrived, I'd been shot in the leg and wandered around for three hours bleeding to death before I was found. I was way out in the middle of some fucking jungle. At least your wasted ass ended up at the Compound instead of outside getting eaten by the local animal population...or the dinosaurs

[im_the_sheriff]

"Are you always this pleasant?" Gene asked. "Or is it just that time of the month?"

He had taken in most of what she'd said though, trying to make heads or tails of it and then shaking it off. It couldn't be real. Couldn't possibly.

[9mmshotglass]

"Are you always such an insensitive prick or do you just never get laid?" Reese asked and her voice was smooth. "Come on, take a walk with me Detective Chief Inspector Asshole. Outside these walls there isn't any electricity, no running water, and absolutely no no damned bars. Save your flask and stash your smokes, you're about to get a guided tour of Hell."

She snatched something with Cardassian on the title and gave the bookshelf a pat.

"Or you can sit in here and rot, ah. That's the book I was looking for." She gave the man and slight frown and wandered to the door. "Hopefully you can walk a straight line."

[im_the_sheriff]

"You know most people just call me DCI Hunt," Gene replied, eying her bum as she started to walk to the door.

"Go on then Officer Knotty Knickers, take me to the pits," he decided, finishing his fag and using the sole of his shoe to stub it out.

[9mmshotglass]

"I'm not most people," Reese said with a shrug. "Seeing as you're eying my ass, you're now DCI Asshole. I'd call that a nice compromise. And as long as we're getting titles right, I'm a goddamned detective."

She stopped short.

"The next time you wanna stub one of those out, find an ash tray. This isn't your damned living room." Reese started walking down the corridor to the nearest exit, not really caring how fast he could follow or if he had a heart attack in the process.

[im_the_sheriff]

"Doesn't look like your living room either, Detective Knotty Knickers," Gene replied.

Despite the booze and the smoking, Gene was still quite well for his age. Maybe not as toned as the younger officers and much more likely to run out of breath, but years of chasing bastards had left him able.