Comments | capeandcowllogs: marked and locked in. open.

shawnedium in capeandcowllogs

marked and locked in. open.

Oct 13, 2009 01:05

WHO: Shawn Spencer and the City police department.
WHERE: Police department.
WHEN: Monday morning.
WARNINGS: Rule 63?
SUMMARY: Psych-Man plans on working for the police and waltzes in like he owns the place! Oh, and he got turned into a girl.
FORMAT: Paragraph.

( This is Gold Leader! We're starting our attack run. )

Comments 10

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/hops over hello :x wolfuntamed October 13 2009, 05:49:36 UTC

Saitou, on the other hand, did not appreciate whatever racket had just waltzed itself into the station, groaning under his breath and wiping a gloved hand over his face. He had barely gotten enough sleep last night as it was, what with all of the commotion going on from the entire City either switching genders or powers or both and constantly calling about complaints and...

Some days he really hated civilians. And by 'really hated' that meant moreso than usual.

Though hopefully someone else would go take care of the racket, as Saitou was busy overlooking his own open cases and had no time for trivial matters.

shawnedium October 13 2009, 06:01:04 UTC

He surveyed the are for his favorite Lassiface. One thing he instantly noticed about the station though was that everyone looked like a hard ass. Back in Santa Barbara, they at least at Buzz to brighten up everyone's morning and bring them coffee. Juliet was a shining beacon of hope. Even the narcotics guys weren't too bad. Lassiter had the stick up his ass, but in here, it looked like everyone was suffering from anal blockage.

He walked casually down the hall, eyeing the lady cops and the guy cops and not many officers cracked a smile. He passed the desk of an Asian guy looking like he needed a shot of ecstasy and then there was the detective looking like the Monopoly guy.

"Carlton~" Shawn called out as girlishly as possible before sprawling across his lap.

SHITTLES frobocop October 13 2009, 06:03:43 UTC

She was sitting at her desk at the time, which was, Atsuko Jackson's self-imposed schedule considered, really not all that common. Her thin shoulders were hunched over all that fucking paperwork (she was starting to regret not giving a shit when Edgeworth started talking), her face tilted slightly downward underneath the weight of her own hair, and she'd been progressively sinking towards the temptingly flat surface as the morning went on. Even with the coffee, she'd pulled a ridiculous shift last night, and she was almost about to call it a day and take a nap in some abandoned office when she heard whatever the fuck that was supposed to be. She (due to playercestuous reasons) had been out patrolling during the Gutsucker fiasco, but Atsuko had still seen the wounds after the fact, and she'd hear McClane screaming over the comm, and the way people --the point was that they were on edge. Anyone could be a sick monster here, no matter how innocent they looked. They always forgot that. She'd forget it in a week or two, but right now she ( ... )

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