(no subject)
It’s been, Liz Sherman reflects, a long night. Hunting a potential kelpie through rainy alleys in Queens was not how she wanted to spend her time between the hours of 11 P.M. and 5 A.M. Particularly when there was no sign of the damn thing.
She pauses in the middle of the garage, watching one particular suit-wearing agent wheel away a case stamped with the BPRD symbol. She frowns. In the background, agents push cases and trunks and machines on wheels, unloading one of the moving vans that serve as mobile command posts. No one else seems to notice Neil.
Liz hesitates a second -- then calls, “Hey,” after the agent. When he keeps walking toward the hall, she follows, tugging her hair out of its loose ponytail. The gun at her hip swings. “Neil.” He still doesn’t turn, and her eyes narrow. “Neil!”
Half the heads in the garage turn to look at her.
Her shoulders tense, but her mouth has stubbornly set. “You want to go to the left with that,” she says.
Neil blinks, looks down the hall, and then looks sheepish. “Oh, yeah.” He waves, says, “Thanks,” turns around, and heads in the opposite direction.
Liz smiles a little bit, crosses her arms, and heads toward section 51.
As she gets closer, the heavy footsteps headed her way -- from up ahead, around the corner -- are familiar.
She pauses in the middle of the garage, watching one particular suit-wearing agent wheel away a case stamped with the BPRD symbol. She frowns. In the background, agents push cases and trunks and machines on wheels, unloading one of the moving vans that serve as mobile command posts. No one else seems to notice Neil.
Liz hesitates a second -- then calls, “Hey,” after the agent. When he keeps walking toward the hall, she follows, tugging her hair out of its loose ponytail. The gun at her hip swings. “Neil.” He still doesn’t turn, and her eyes narrow. “Neil!”
Half the heads in the garage turn to look at her.
Her shoulders tense, but her mouth has stubbornly set. “You want to go to the left with that,” she says.
Neil blinks, looks down the hall, and then looks sheepish. “Oh, yeah.” He waves, says, “Thanks,” turns around, and heads in the opposite direction.
Liz smiles a little bit, crosses her arms, and heads toward section 51.
As she gets closer, the heavy footsteps headed her way -- from up ahead, around the corner -- are familiar.