Detective Rachael Blackthorne returned to the temporary sanctuary of the brick and mortar building which housed the Eleventh Watch Precinct in Old Temple. Her scarred features briefly held a pensive cast before she schooled them into more impassive lines. Then she claimed the nondescript institutional functional metal and vinyl chair at her equally constructed by the lowest bidder functional metal desk and settled in to both log in her reports and check on any messages.
The Detective switched on her terminal and waited with studied patience for the spinning hourglass to clear on the amber on brown monitor screen. Rachael's sapphire-hued gaze, protected by the dark lenses of her Lunar Gray Gargoyle sunglasses, narrowed in study of the messages presented there.
RGardoza@NH03.gov Re: Clothing Donations Drive
SKBridges@OT11.gov Re: Funds Collection Drive
With a click of the putty gray computer mouse on her desktop, the Detective soon accessed the first message in the queue. Rachael's lips twitched in restrained amusement while she perused the correspondence.
Hey Rach.
The clothing donations drive is going well. Word went out that you were involved with it, and we may just top that last drive you ran before you left our district.
Question. You've still got connections in those dueling games, right? Do you know about some big half-orc trying to steal clothes in our district?
Anyway.
Hope to see you soon to catch up over some cerveza and taquitos at Mamacita Ruby's. You're buying the taquitos, I can't afford to feed you on my pay (haha).
Hasta la vista, amiga!
Robbie
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Robert Gardoza
Lieutenant
Public Relations Officer
Third Precinct, New Haven
Rachael's black leather gloved fingers played her keyboard like a concert pianist while she typed out a response to the message.
Robbie.
That is welcome news about the clothing drive. Since relinquishing that custodianship, I have, as it is said, continued to keep a finger on the pulse of events that occur in New Haven.
Regarding the reports of the half-orc attempting to steal garments there, those are most likely a grave misunderstanding. I know the one that is associated with the duels quite well, and he is not one to act in such a fashion.
I look forward to sharing cerveza and taquitos again to, as it is said, chew the fat about what goes on at our respective locations soon, but you know all too well how it is here. I remember the last time that we visited Mamacita Ruby's, and how much cerveza that you imbibed. We are therefore going Dutch.
Vaya con Dios, amigo.
Rach
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Rachael Blackthorne
Detective Lieutenant
Special Victims Unit
Eleventh Precinct, Old Temple
With two clicks of the mouse, the Detective both sent the message on and turned her attention to the next message in the queue. The scar along the left side of Rachael's face twitched in time with her heartbeat while she perused the amber on brown words that burned on the monitor screen.
Hey Lieutenant.
The fund drive's going great but the Captain's on the warpath about it.
Watch your six.
-------
Stuart Bridges
Lieutenant
Public Relations Officer
Eleventh Precinct, Old Temple
The Detective closed the message with a click of her mouse.
I shall have to speak to Stuart about this privately.
"Detective Blackthorne, I need to see you in my office. Pronto," Captain Wesley Johnson declared.
And so, it begins.... "Oui, Capitan." Rachael rose from her chair, and her measured strides took her into the Captain's office. She closed the door behind her.
"What's this scuttlebutt about you running a fundraising campaign here?"
The Detective took a deep breath and released it slowly. "The campaign is to raise funds for charity in our district, Capitan. Those patrolmen and officers who are performing the collection duties are doing so on their own time, and not on the clock. It is good public relations for those of the Watch to be openly seen to perform charitable duties in the wake of such recent negative public perception, is it not?"
"Are you running it, Detective?"
Rachael regarded the much younger man with studied detachment. "I am in liaison with our Public Relations Officer with regards to the campaign, Capitan."
Which is the truth, from a certain point of view.
"Mrph. See that it doesn't become a publicity nightmare and interfere with your
real duties. Such as the stack of paperwork on your desk awaiting your review,
Lieutenant Blackthorne. Dismissed." Johnson's voice oozed with unctuousness with his deliberate emphasis on her lower rank in comparison to his lofty title.
The Detective briefly dipped her raven-haired head in carefully feigned respect to the Captain. She left the office, closing the door behind her with extremely great care. Rachael reclaimed her chair at her desk and glanced at the foot-high stack of hardcopy reports that rested on one side of her desk. She sighed softly.
Miaow?
Rachael turned her focus from the paperwork to the young chocolate brown and white furred tomcat that sat beside her desk. A fleeting smile twitched to her normally stern lips as she slipped off her right black leather glove to give the tomcat a proper greeting scritch under his brown furred chin. "Oui, Clancy, he is on the warpath again," she murmured.
Mrrrrrow.
"Oui, I know. Best to return to your duties, before you are put on short rations."
MOW!
"You know that I shall not let that occur." Rachael retrieved a bag of salmon jerky from one of her desk drawers and offered a generous portion to Clancy. Her ungloved fingertips scritched the star-shaped blaze of white fur on his furry chest while he gnawed on the salmon jerky.
Once the tomcat finished his treat, he butted his head affectionately against Rachael's ungloved hand before he trotted away with his tail held high to resume his patrol for mice in the Eleventh Precinct.
The Special Victims Unit Detective's dark lens shielded gaze tracked the tomcat's progress until he disappeared from view. Then Rachael slipped her leather glove back on her right hand, retrieved the top sheet of paperwork from the stack and returned to her duties.
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