24 - Couldn't You've Put On a Proper Uniform?

[thinkb4ublink]

[Here's Slater in his usual long coat and 'you're all a pain in my backside' expression.] Listen, I don't know where you new lot are coming from, but stay out of the way unless you know what you're doin'. Unless you do know what you're doin'... in which case just don't get in my way, all right? Enough trouble...

Just here. [He sends the latest intelligence of what's going on.] Don't leave a mess.

Comments

[themountie]

Of course. An... accident of misinformation, Leftenant.

[thinkb4ublink]

Right. [It's not clear whether or not he believes him, but regardless, he's not going to push it.] It's a triage situation and we're haemorrhaging badly. I'm not going to say leave the looters and vandals alone but prioritise people over property. Don't engage alone even if it looks like you're an even match.

[themountie]

Of course. Where are you, sir?

[thinkb4ublink]

Broadway and main. Where are you?

[themountie]

On the east side, I believe, but I may be within proximity. May I join you?

[thinkb4ublink]

[Sighs.] Yeah, sure.

[themountie]

Thank you, sir. It will be an honor to watch you work.

[He switches off, but he's already jogging in the direction he recalls being Broadway. It would be easier if he knew the city, of course, or at least had a sextant... But eventually, he makes it to Broadway and Main.]

[thinkb4ublink]

[Muttered 'suck up' is the response, though not directed at the communicator.

The temporary headquarters is bustling with Slater sitting in a patrol car more or less in the middle of it, a talkie in one hand, a stub of a cigar, barely lit, in the other. In front of him is a tablet with a map displayed, several colours from green to red on various sections. A fedora sits on the wheel beside him.

The talkie has a fairly non-stop flow of conversation come out of it, except for when Slater speaks instructions or the other end signs off in time for someone else to sign on.

Probably the only reason he meets Fraser's eyes at all is because of his red serge.]

[themountie]

[And there's such a lot of red serge to draw the eye, too. Fraser throws up a salute as he approaches, regarding the operation with keen interest.]

Good day, sir.

[thinkb4ublink]

Oh, yeah, fabulous day. [He looks up at a nearby officer.] You having a good day, Hoskins? [Hoskins replies with an equally sarcastic 'oh, yes, sir'.] Find something for him to do.

[themountie]

I'm glad to hear it, gentlemen. [What is sarcasm?] And yes, where can I be of assistance?

[thinkb4ublink]

[That earns him a dirty look from Slater. This is not a good day, this is life and death. Gallows humour is ok, not so much cheery obliviousness. Hoskins exchanges a look with him before handing him a sheet.] These are the orders given to various squads. Liaise and make reports on their activity.

[themountie]

[Of course, it's almost the polar opposite of obliviousness. Fraser knows very well what's going on today. All too well. But this is life for them, for police, every day, just as it's always been, and he's seen what happens to the men who become too embittered.

After all, one of them seems to be his inmate.]

Yes, sir. I suppose you wouldn't know this, but my last posting actually was as a liaison officer, so I may be uniquely suited to the task.

[thinkb4ublink]

[He's not so much embittered as exhausted, frightened and angry. He's been at this for weeks, as far as he knows.] Don't care. [He grabs his talkie as it comes to life again.]

[themountie]

[Yes, but so has Fraser! His smile takes on an edge of grim determination, but he doesn't respond to the jab; just takes the files and goes. He'll return a few hours later, looking exactly the same, not a hair out of place, but with a notepad full of details on squad activity.]

[thinkb4ublink]

[By the time he does, it isn't long before an officer comes up urgently.] Sir! Incoming on this location. Penguin's guys!

[Slater rises and calls out to his people.] Get ready!

[themountie]

...Did he say Penguin, sir?

[thinkb4ublink]

[Gives him a look, like 'oh, you're there'.] Cobblepot.

[themountie]

Excuse me?

[thinkb4ublink]

[He doesn't really have time to explain as he draws out his gun when the shape of figures start forming in the darkness.] Gotham City PD! Identify yourself!

[Thuggish chuckling is the only response.]

[themountie]

Ah. Right. [He doesn't have a gun, and he doesn't go for one, but that's never stopped him before. He slides smoothly into police mode, stepping towards the shadowy figures, face still and calm as Great Slave Lake.]

I believe the Leftenant asked you a question, gentlemen. Please identify yourselves immediately.

[thinkb4ublink]

[They're not particularly cooperative, in fact there's something akin to a war cry. Then quacking.] Ducks. [Yeah, that's practically a curse.] Grab that shield. Explosives coming in.

[themountie]

Did you say duck or ducks, sir? [It says a lot about Fraser's life experiences that he wouldn't so much blink at either, though. When the quacking continues, he nods, grabbing the nearest shield, which happens to be a randomly discarded trash can lid.]

Ducks, sir! Duck!

[He crouches low, but stays between the quacking and the "Leftenant," holding up the makeshift shield.]

[thinkb4ublink]

[Slater ignores him and moves to fire at the items. Their response is to explode and he takes cover. They are far enough away that no one should be hurt beyond a few first degree burns. Sore, but no more.]