2010-04-25: Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?



Date: April 25, 2010


Two members of the department try to move past their respective pasts.

Trivia: The IC radio played the title song during this scene. It has an ability, I tells ya!

"Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?"

Downtown - NYPD Precinct House

A typical day in the downtown precinct house of the NYPD. Uniforms are bringing in perps screaming of their innocence, detectives are going about their day trying to make their own collars. Morgana's looking a bit frazzled as she pushes a cart full of folders from one department to another. Files requested to be delivered are kept seperate from files needing to be filed, but that seems to be the most that Morgana can keep together. Her hair, usually up in a tight bun is letting loose a lot earlier then usual, wisps coming down in front of her ears and down her cheeks. her glasses hang lower on her nose then normal and her clothes look as if she'd thrown them on, instead of the usual precision she uses to keep her form hidden. The days have been rough since her former self had been identified as the Doggie-Bag Killer. Morgana had gone cold turkey, trying to stay low and out of the spotlight of the local police. The Dark passenger that sits in the back seat of her mind has moved to the front and has all but taken over the steering. She clears her throat to help clear her head as she makes one more stop on her circuitous route.

Oh, good, a typical day at the precinct. It's been months since Matt has been able to enjoy one of these… because yeah, the perps present are grating on the ears, and the ones at large are grating on the heart, but everyone who works here knows that they're doing their part to make those things better.

Even so, he's full of nervous energy today. His understated jacket and tie are slightly rumpled - he's lost a little weight since the last time he was here, and hasn't yet bothered to go shopping - but the real sign of what's going on, to anyone who knows offhand what it means, is the thin gold chain around his neck; dangling from it, almost out of sight, is a round red chip with a number 3 etched into it.

Morgana continues to make her way through her job, looking forward to getting back to Records to at least put in some time filing. She's by herself then, and can argue with the passenger without looking like some form of lunatic. She's focuses so much on that that she doesn't pay attention and, even though Parkman has lost weight, he's not invisible. She walks herself and the cart directly in front of the man.

With this big of a crowd, Matt has to keep his ability damped down most of the time; to do otherwise is a recipe for a nasty headache. He doesn't have it blocked off completely - just muffled to a background hum, slightly above his normal awareness of who else is nearby - enough to duck out of Morgana's path a second before she would have crashed into him. "Whoa, little intense today, huh?" He should talk.

Morgana looks shocked as she's taken out of her reverie. "Oh! I'm so sorry, sir." She uses the term 'sir' because not every suit in the building is a detective. There are inspectors, consultants, lawyers.. "I should be more careful." She swallows as she stands straight, pushes her glasses back up her nose and attempts to tuck her hair back. "Is there something that I can help you with? Do you need directions?" She can't remember if she'd seen Parkman around the precinct or not, and why is there a gash in his throat? She shakes her head, reality coming back. Fantasy seems to keep creeping into reality the longer it gets between kills. Past also seems to blend into the present at times.

No, it's not blood dripping from his neck, though the medallion is certainly the right color for it - there's even a darker streak near the middle. "No, I'm fine, I— it's just been a few months since I was here. Still trying to catch up enough so I can get back to work, you know?" Belatedly, he offers a hand. "Hi, I'm Matt." And you are…? adds the expression on his face; he doesn't recognize her, either.

Morgana blinks and nods.. "Oh! So you work here." She shakes the offered hand. "Sloan. Morgana Sloan. I work in records." Not Margaret Price. Nope, never heard the name, except for some dead girl in Minnesota. Name sounds like that killer chick, yep, but I've never heard of it. Damn, he's a big guy. It'd take a lot of tape and plastic to keep him on a table, but he may be full of blood… Mmmm… yes.. just think of the feel of the blade as it…. Dammit… She shakes her head once again to stop the tauntings. "Do you have a case that you're working on? if you need any research done or anything pulled from archive, just let me know." She says with a smile, as he tries to push away how good it would feel to take a slice into the man's ample flesh.

It's a good thing Matt isn't listening to that train of thought, or else thirty seconds from now he'd have dragged her into a quieter hallway and started asking some really inconvenient questions. As it is, she seems to be no more than a file clerk with her nerves up— and the near run-in with the cart seems to be plenty enough reason to explain that. "Yeah, I'll do that— like I said, I'm still catching up, but I'll probably get back to you later today."

He doesn't bother putting a lot of conviction into his voice, above and beyond typical politeness. Actually, he expects to be occupied for the rest of the day just wading through what he's already got; his dyslexia is no better than it's ever been. He can compensate once he's out in the field, but he has to get over this hump first so he's not going in cold.

Morgana nods. "Certainly. Take it easy, then. Nice meeting you, Matt." She says as she continues back onto her course, intent on keeping images of innocents on her table out of her head. She needs to kill and soon. Time to go looking in records for a decent victim.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License