02-15-2017, 11:58 AM
The day had been busy. It had been a while since the announcement- and the attack on the Ascendancy and his reveal. Domovoi had been flooded with calls, both from civilians and other precincts and agencies. Having been the pilot program for dealing in all things weird in the CCD- and weird was the only word that fit- meant that their experience, as little and short as it really was, was in demand.
Somehow he ended spending most of his time talking. He didn't mind talking. Or he hadn't, anyway. But answering questions, putting out fires, tamping down fear, explaining procedures or ideas that worked- or showed promise of working- to hungry colleagues was exhausting. He'd wanted to be a cop for a long time, every since he'd seen what a difference Pop had made in his neighborhood. He wanted to serve and protect.
And this was, he reminded himself. "Train the trainers" was the term someone had thrown around back at HQ. But holding classes or seminars or whatever- like he was some big self-help guy trying to sell a book and a box of feel-good- well, that was never gonna be satisfying. He wanted to be out and about, feeling the street, doing what he did. His power wasn't exactly transferable anyway. He wasn't sure why he was called to do this stuff. Poster boy for channelers maybe? Dumb. This gift was meant to be used. Standing in front of a buncha guys was not the way to do it.
So when he had a free moment (and holy crap, since when did it become so hard to find a moment to shove some food down your throat?) he pulled up the squawker and tried to find something of interest. Maybe he could sneak out back real quiet like and go do some actual police work.
The news was loud and clear, all the more so because it had interrupted a
Methos concert. Not really his style. He liked muscle music, dropped low, d-tuning and all that. Didn't have to be complex but it did have to be something he felt in his gut. Always made him feel a rush of energy like he wanted to punch something, which was why it was what he played when he was at Gracie's.
Anyway, he somehow made it to his car without notice and took off. Domovoi would have jurisdiction. He wondered who'd be there. Lucky bastards. Not really. They got called out too and regularly. He was just tired of it.
He arrived at the scene and flashed his creds to the officers manning the place. The smell of smoke was in the air. No. Burned meat and hair and clothing. Sharp and tangy. He pressed through on until he saw a familiar face. Or rather, a back of the head, looking down at something. Vega. He started to walk up to the man when a scream pierced the air. Vega took off and Ivan followed running past whatever he'd been looking at, the power flooding him.
Edited by Ivan Sarkozy, Feb 15 2017, 12:05 PM.
Somehow he ended spending most of his time talking. He didn't mind talking. Or he hadn't, anyway. But answering questions, putting out fires, tamping down fear, explaining procedures or ideas that worked- or showed promise of working- to hungry colleagues was exhausting. He'd wanted to be a cop for a long time, every since he'd seen what a difference Pop had made in his neighborhood. He wanted to serve and protect.
And this was, he reminded himself. "Train the trainers" was the term someone had thrown around back at HQ. But holding classes or seminars or whatever- like he was some big self-help guy trying to sell a book and a box of feel-good- well, that was never gonna be satisfying. He wanted to be out and about, feeling the street, doing what he did. His power wasn't exactly transferable anyway. He wasn't sure why he was called to do this stuff. Poster boy for channelers maybe? Dumb. This gift was meant to be used. Standing in front of a buncha guys was not the way to do it.
So when he had a free moment (and holy crap, since when did it become so hard to find a moment to shove some food down your throat?) he pulled up the squawker and tried to find something of interest. Maybe he could sneak out back real quiet like and go do some actual police work.
The news was loud and clear, all the more so because it had interrupted a
Methos concert. Not really his style. He liked muscle music, dropped low, d-tuning and all that. Didn't have to be complex but it did have to be something he felt in his gut. Always made him feel a rush of energy like he wanted to punch something, which was why it was what he played when he was at Gracie's.
Anyway, he somehow made it to his car without notice and took off. Domovoi would have jurisdiction. He wondered who'd be there. Lucky bastards. Not really. They got called out too and regularly. He was just tired of it.
He arrived at the scene and flashed his creds to the officers manning the place. The smell of smoke was in the air. No. Burned meat and hair and clothing. Sharp and tangy. He pressed through on until he saw a familiar face. Or rather, a back of the head, looking down at something. Vega. He started to walk up to the man when a scream pierced the air. Vega took off and Ivan followed running past whatever he'd been looking at, the power flooding him.
Edited by Ivan Sarkozy, Feb 15 2017, 12:05 PM.