Lt. Morgan reporting for ... some shit (tag to police types, OTA)

[efffthisshhhht]

So, Deb woke up with a motherfucker of a hangover. Her head felt like a big balloon filled with cement that was mixed with tequila. Fuck. Gabriel must've gotten her back to her room because she sure as shit didn't remember getting there

Comments

[yippiekiyaymf]

A beefy bald guy aopeared in the doorway.

"Can I help you?"

[efffthisshhhht]

Wow, okay. They came big here (maybe a little on the short side, but still). Deb held up her badge. "Lieutenant Debra Morgan, Miami Homicide, now stuck in weird fucking village."

[yippiekiyaymf]

John chuckled, and opened the half door that led further into the station and motioned her in.

"John McClane, NYPD, now Chief of Police. Welcome to Quaintsburg, Lieutenant."

[efffthisshhhht]

Going through the door, Deb looked around. "You're the Chief, huh?" She offered her hand. "Good to meet you. So... what's up around here? Gotta say, it looks really fucking boring."

[beyourclaymore]

Dyson was at his desk, head back and eyes closed. There were a couple empty RedBull can's on his desk next to his propped up feet. If he looks exhausted it's because he is, Bo had gotten a little over zealous and fed, really fed, for the first time in months and he was feeling the after effects.

He didn't want her to know so he'd told her he had to work, even though he didn't, and had gone to rest at the station.

The woman who smelled like tequila was welcome to notice him, before or after she talked to the chief but since the chief was here and Dyson wasn't actually on duty he didn't do much more than open one eye to look at her then close it again.

[efffthisshhhht]

"Place keeps you on your toes, I can tell," Deb noted as she approached. "Don't get up on my account."

[beyourclaymore]

"It has it's moments," but then the chief had probably told her about that. He looked up at her and then reached for a third RedBull.

"I'm not being rude, but I wasn't going to get up." Lines of exhaustion were etched into his face, even more evident when he was looking alert.

"Dyson," he took a long swallow from the can then offered her his hand.

[efffthisshhhht]

"So, you're Dyson. The werewolf." He didn't look like a werewolf, whatever that fucking meant.

[numbersnfigures]

Spencer glanced up from his file and then moved across the room to the irritated-looking woman. Perhaps she was here to register some kind of complaint.

"May I help you?"

[efffthisshhhht]

"You tell me!" Sarcasm laid on thick. She flashed him her badge. "Miami Homicide, just arrived to this fine town last fucking night. So ... yeah, I guess you can."

(Sorry, Spencer. On a good day, Deb wasn't exactly diplo-fucking-matic.)

[numbersnfigures]

Spencer glanced down at her badge. He was going to assume that her anger was mostly due to the fact that she had woken up in a magical village and had no idea how she had gotten here and why she couldn't leave.

"Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI.. as it were."

[efffthisshhhht]

"FBI.... "

Deb nearly deflated. "Any chance you know Frank Lundy?"

She still really fucking missed Lundy.

[soldier_blade]

ooc: had to XD

Sonya normally didn't work Saturdays, but Ren was with the kids this afternoon, and she used the free time to sort out some paper work-which really just meant cleaning out and putting some files on computer.

She was just finishing up and heading out when she heard the 'greeting'.

"Here and just heading home-need anything?"

She doubted the woman was here to recieve any 'real' help, atleast not for a crime. Judging from the woman's expression, not to mention the gun, badge and general 'don't fuck with me' air that seemed to come off her in waves-Sonya was guessing 'newbie'.

[efffthisshhhht]

"Yeah, are you a cop?" Deb asked, hip cocked to the side. "I'm supposed to get a job in this fucking place and since I'm a cop." Homicide, bitches! "Here I am."

[soldier_blade]

"Consider yourself lucky, I'm army back home and this is what I had to settle for instead." Not that she was really complaining, not anymore, but it was a little tricky to go from living and working on an army base to a police station, but hell, she made due. "You'll have to talk to McCane about the actual hiring, but I can help with everything else: questions, tour guide, things of that nature."

She also felt to get something for the woman's headache: she wasn't even trying to 'read her', but she kept getting the inkling that the woman's head wasn't exactly 'behaving'.

[efffthisshhhht]

If Deb knew someone was poking around in her (aching) head, she'd flip. But that was neither here nor there. "Lucky, yeah. McClane, yeah. Where's he?" Even she expected the boss to be a he.