rawly | [locked to the Crowbar][all employees]

Yes, you do. It's a talent.

Hey, I'm right 99.9% of the time so. We should have no trouble there.

Yeah, I know. Someone saw him, and we'll figure out who.

I'll see you there. Don't really want most of my people to go near that particular crime scene after everything.

I'll see you. [OOC: Would you be cool with this turning into a log? :o I'll be slow cause I'm /cough/ writing my paper rn, but... I want more of their threading. ;;]

It really is.

I know you are.

Okay. I'll see you there.

[OOC: YAY :D And then I just finished my paper.]

Sonny has not been back to the wreckage since the day that it happened. There is not much to find there. The police have already combed over the wreckage, but the man had to have entered the building across from it too if he'd set up bombs. People working in establishments nearby likely saw something, and Sonny has a picture of the bomber in his pocket for questioning the relevant witnesses.

It's fucked up.

That's all he's really thinking of as he stands over the wreckage that looks all too familiar to him. A couple years ago, it was him, clawing his way through remains, hoping to find a hand or anything.

It's fucked up.

Deb's kept away from the wreckage until now. She's seen it on TV, watched everything there is until she can't shut her eyes without it replaying in her head, but it's -

Different, up close.

As a cop, she's seen plenty. More than most cops her age have, probably. But Miami was a completely different fucking breed than this, and it still takes her a minute, when she gets close to the site. She's scanning everything, taking in possible entrance and exit points, everything she would have done herself.

And in taking it all in, she finds Sonny. Even with everything else going on, she can't help but think it's strange, seeing him anywhere but in the bar. He looks out of place, somehow.

But then, anyone would look out of place in front of a bunch of fucking wreckage.

She lets out a quick breath and says, "Hey."

[OOC: IT IS. ;; Not that a zillion things didn't crop up making me slow anyway. :|]

Sonny hears the footsteps before he sees her. Instinct tells him to turn to be certain that it is her, and not someone that wants to try to jump him for his wallet. It is Chicago. Monsters are common. Muggings are just as common.

No one said this city was pretty in any sense of that word. If he wanted pretty, he would have left a long fucking time ago, but people like him-- demons like him don't fit in pretty places. Pretty places don't need help.

He turns before she says anything. His one hand had curled into a fist but he forces it to relax again now that she's here. It's another important reason that he not do this alone as much as he doesn't want to have most of his team seeing this. The demon has a habit of getting out of control when he's alone.

Why stop? Where's the reminder that he's anything but a demon?

"Hey," Sonny says, and then looks grimly back at the mess in front of them. "It's a real pretty sight."

Ah, sarcasm. It serves him well... even when it sounds rough around the edges as it comes out of his mouth.

"There's not much left, but if there was a bomb in the party too, he had to have gone in to set it up. I don't know if anyone even found it. If it's fucking magic. It could look like whatever he wanted it to look like."

Deb would have to disagree with you there, Sonny. Plenty of people came to Miami for the scenery, for the beaches, for the sunlight - and plenty of them ended up in bodybags.

If anything, sometimes Chicago's a little more cut-and-dry fucked up. It does exactly what it says on the tin, and never really tries to make any excuses for it. It makes the brief good moments you get seem so much fucking better.

It doesn't make things like this seem any less shitty, though.

If Deb notices how tense Sonny is, she doesn't mention it. They're all tense, even people outside the supernatural community. It's to be expected, and there's nothing any of them can do about it but find this guy.

She nods briefly at him, and her lips twitch but she doesn't smile. "I don't think it'll get put on any postcards anytime soon," she manages, turning her head back to the wreckage.

"Fuck," she says softly. There's so much rubble, so much that doesn't look like anything anymore. "I hadn't even thought about that - about it not having to look like..." she shakes her head, then turns to look at the still-intact building. The one that nearly looked exactly like this. "Where's the fucking Rift-powered bomb squad when you need it?"

It's been awhile since Sonny has lived in any other city. He forgets there's places that hide their darkness and pain behind sunlight and beaches and pretty scenery.

Chicago operates differently. There's not a whole lot of pretty scenery around, and this city in particular has more destroyed buildings and landmarks than should be right. And they leave it that way. The city is paying for enough as it is without paying to rebuild its landmarks and buildings. It's why there's still a giant hole where the Conrad once was.

There probably will be one for a long time to come.

Sonny glances at her and then back at the wreckage. "You think not? I'm sure people would love to send one of those postcards home. 'Ma, I almost got blown up today. Chicago sure is big. Love, Timmy.' It'd add some nice realism to their lives."

Because that's what people want in a world like this one, Sonny. Realism.

"That's what I'm here for... to think of the unthinkable," he says, and it's more that he's so damn old that he's seen just about everything and knows how these things go. And he snorts. "Right here. It'd be nice if there was one, but it's hard to have experts on anything when the Rift brings in something that didn't exist before, gives people fuckin' abilities that no one's ever had before."

Chicago operates differently, but it's still a place some people call home. It's still a city that doesn't deserve any of what happened here. It's still a city full of people that didn't ask for any of this.

They didn't, whatever one nutjob said.

Deb nearly cracks a smile there, though not a happy one. "What a hell of a vacation that would be."

Not that living here is any better, most of the time.

"Lucky us," Deb says, and it isn't sarcasm, but it's said quietly. There was a time, a few years ago, when Deb had already thought she'd seen enough. That she'd been through enough. It's hard for her to believe that she shut down then, when she hasn't now. She just keeps going, because everyone else is, somehow.

"Christ." Deb brings her hand up to her hair pushes it away from her face, and then takes a step forward toward the wreckage. There's yellow tape everywhere, and it makes her think for a second of her badge back home. Of what they'd all do, confronted with something like this. "The Rift needs to start offering up some goddamn refunds," she says.

Then she pauses, and takes another breath before looking back at Sonny. "Okay. Where do we start?"

"It be one you never forgot," Sonny says with something of a smirk on his face as his arms fold across his chest. "I've never really been one for vacations anyway."

John continues to try to convince him to go on one, but Sonny continues to shot those ideas down. He doesn't leave the Crowbar. Rarely. Like hell he'd go miles and miles away from it. The thought of it-- It doesn't settle well with him. But he does understand the importance of vacations which is why his people are occasionally sent to resort like vacations with easy-ass missions.

He is secretly a really generous guy, okay?

There's something about the quiet way that she speaks that has Sonny looking at her with something closer to concern. A seriousness returns to his gaze, and there's split second where he wants to ask it. Are you okay? It's that ever internal battle, reaching out or keeping that distance. The distance that's necessary for other people's safety, well being. He doesn't ask it this time, but he knows... in Chicago, he'll want to ask it another. Someday he'll cave.

Sonny almost snorts again. "Yeah, the Rift is not real good at customer service. Don't see those refunds coming. Much as I think it'd be fucking nice." To say the least.

"I... brought this thing, sniffs out stuff touched by Rift touched shit or it's supposed to." He pulls it out of his pocket, holding it up so she can see before he tosses it toward the party building. It looks like a metal ball, and it seems to know where it wants to go already. "It's not one hundred percent but...it's better than walking in blind. He said it was disarmed, but I don't like taking chances when it comes to possibly getting blown the fuck up. So we can scour the place to see if he left any trace behind, any clue. Then we... start talking to the locals."

He's a people person in the bar but outside of it? Not so much. Plus, people in Chicago tend to be... dumb about the shit that goes down in it.

"Why am I not surprised?" Deb asks. She looks at him out of the corner of her eyes, the smallest of smirks forming on her lips. "I think you could really work some Mickey ears, Sonny."

Deb doesn't really do vacations, either. The longest she was away from the police station, before Chicago, was after her serial killer fiance nearly killed her - and that wasn't exactly a pleasant vacation so much as an unhealthy amount of time spent at the gym. Deb's at her happiest when she's working toward something, when she has a case - even if the case is something flat-out horrible.

Of course you are, Sonny.

She feels more than sees that look of concern, but she doesn't mention it. She might not be okay and there's a good chance she doesn't look it, but that's why she's here, instead of back in her room in the Tower. No one's going to be anywhere near okay until they get this figured out.

"Not even if I write them a real nice note? I'd even keep the expletives to a minimum. Three per sentence, tops." Because Deb is generous, too.

Deb's eyes widen at the device, half skeptical and half impressed. She doesn't know what she was expecting, but it probably wasn't this. She watches the thing go as she listens to Sonny speak, then nods once. "Good call," she says. "I think." She isn't questioning your methods, Sonny. She's just a little nonplussed, waiting to see what the sniffer thing does.

And then she looks up at him and smiles, not brightly but still amused. "What, no enthusiasm for the questioning the witnesses portion of the evening? You know that's my fucking favorite."

Oh, the sarcasm. All the sarcasm.

"Because you know that I'm a vacation in a package here. If I went to the Bahamas and mellowed out any more, people would start to wonder about me," Sonny says with a smirk of his own before he rolls his eyes, smirk widening. "Look if you want to frighten children with that image, don't let me be the one to stop you."

It would only frighten children because he would be glaring and looking at it with hate. They would worry that he had eaten Mickey Mouse or something. It would be very traumatic for them!

It's best that she doesn't mention it as Sonny would not know how to respond when people call him out on the giving a shit thing. Yeah, he does, and yeah, he's better at showing that than he was before half his family died, but it's... not something he admits to easily.

"Well, knowing you and your persuasive tactics, you might actually get somewhere with that one, but I personally feel you should leave the expletives in," Sonny says though he is never on a shortage of those himself so he may be bias. "It's what makes it fuckin' poetry."

The look on her face almost makes him laugh. He likes that she's not all believing in the first fucking object that she sees. There's plenty of people who would believe every word that he would say and then there are those who need to see shit like that to believe it or to trust it. The latter serves people better. "You'll find I have a lot of those," Sonny says, and then he starts walking toward the building. "It's why they put me in charge."

Uh, he put himself in charge but ya know.

Sonny glances at her and half smirks, half grimaces. "Yeah, I love hearing the What is this about? Well, I heard a noise sounded like a cat run around bull shit. It's my favorite thing." Long, half annoyed sigh inserted here. "I get enough social interaction at the bar, but sometimes... this shit is necessary."

"Sonny, if you suddenly decided to go to the Bahamas, I'd start worrying someone had swapped bodies with you," Deb says, and then makes a face because knowing Chicago, that could probably happen. She waves him off. "Fine, fine. Just remember you're missing out on magic."

Truthfully, Deb lived in Florida her entire life but only went to Disney World twice, neither time of her own particular volition. She's always been more Nightmare on Elm Street than Cinderella in her pop culture tastes.

His secret is safe with Deb, really. She's used to Dexter and his complete inability to express emotion in a functioning manner - compared to him, Sonny's damn near a Hallmark card.

Well, sort of.

"I am pretty persuasive," Deb says, smirking. "I'll write it up and give it to you to proofread."

In that sense, Deb has always been a skeptic. She guesses it has a lot to do with coming from a world whose only magic really is found in cartoons and Disney flicks, but it's also just innate in her to question everything. She believes in monsters, now; she believes in vampires, for fuck's sake - but only because she's seen them. Magic Rift-touched-finding-things work about the same way. "Really?" Deb teases, following him. "I thought it was your winning personality."

Semantics!

Deb snorts. "I'll your cat stories and raise you rapid-fire Spanish when you don't speak the goddamn language." Which, to be fair, is Deb's fault for never picking it up. She's hopeless with languages. "I think between the two of us we can keep verbal abuse of the locals to a minimum." Hopefully.

Sonny snorts, folding his arms across his chest. "It's happened before. Not to me, but I've seen it. It's a real pain in the ass, lemme tell you," he says, rolling his eyes at the memory. "Good to know you'd be prepared if that kinda situation broke through."

He smirks at her. "I've got enough magic in my life as it is, Deb. Think I'll manage to survive."

Expressing feelings is overrated, and Sonny would have some serious questions about her brother if he is a Hallmark card in comparison.

Not so much seriously suspicious questions, but it would definitely make him curious, probably acts more like a much younger version of himself would.

"You really are. I feel like you should write advertisements. Maybe that's some secret life calling of yours that you never knew about," Sonny says, smirking right back at her.

Sonny smirks at her, folding his arms across his chest. "That too." He heads toward the party room, but he doesn't step inside until he sees the ball floating in the air over something, which means it's found something. He hesitates in the doorway turning back to her to finish their conversation before he lays something out to her.

"Yeah, I fucking... hate that too. I can speak Spanish though so if you're with me, you don't have to worry about that," he says. There are other languages that he's encountered. "... I'm thinking between the two of us, the verbal abuse of the locals might actually explode. But hey, I'm likin the faith you have."

There's the long pause. "So... it looks like it found something, but the thing might explode so. I can look at it by myself, move it, make sure it doesn't explode by myself." No sense in them both blowing sky high. Course there are likely more clues around that the bomber left so it's not like she'd have nothing to do but still.

Deb's eyes widen slightly, but ultimately, she's not that surprised. "I fuckin' bet," she says, then grins slightly. "I don't know how prepared you can be for body swapping, but I'll do my best."

"I guess you'll just have to," Deb agrees. She's still cherishing the picture in her head of Sonny with mouse ears, though. Just so we're clear.

Well, Sonny may not be great at expressing feelings, but Dexter's emotionally stunted enough that he's frequently not even sure what feelings he's supposed to have at what time. So Sonny's winning this one!

Also, Sonny's not a sociopath. Bonus points.

Deb snorts. "I'll take it into consideration if I ever get tired of monsters and crazy people." Arguably, she's already tired of both of these things, but something tells her writing letters to the Rift wouldn't be as fulfilling.

She stops when he stops, giving him another quick grin. "That's me," she says. "Full of confidence in our social skills."

Her eyes are focused over Sonny's shoulder as he speaks, looking at the way the ball is just floating over something. It's a little unreal, still, but then she meets Sonny's eyes again and nods once.

"Yeah, okay," she says quietly. Another time, she might have protested, but it's not like she knows a thing about explosives, especially Rift-powered ones. Sonny clearly has the edge, here. "I know I don't have to tell you to be careful, but - fuckin' seriously."

Deb, this is a picture that the world will now get to cherish because you thought it up first. The narration bows to you in thanks.

Oh, Dexter. The narration really needs to get a hold of this canon and check this out, because she would probably love it to a ridiculous amount.

This summer! It will go on her list of tv shows and movies to check out while there's all that time to do so. :)

"You're not already tired of those things? I'm thinking three months after I came into Chicago, I was tired of that shit and that happened about ten years ago so." Yeah, writing letters to the Rift would be a good source of venting and a time waster but not much fulfillment exists there.

Sonny snorts this time, rolling his eyes but smirking. "Yeah, well. Somebody has to be." He really enjoys talking to Deb, but he has this lurking feeling that they may be too much for the average person in a store to handle.

...or the average person in the store may be too much for Sonny and Deb to be able to keep a grip on their sanity.

He looks at her and nods. "I fuckin' will," Sonny says with that smirk on his face still to keep it... as light as it possibly can be. It's not long that he's in there with the bomb, but he handles it for awhile without any imminent explosion and then walks back out with it. "Think I'll have to throw this over the pier later. Maybe it explodes if he dies or who the fuck knows but not taking chances with explosives."

It looks like a napkin holder but it was in fact the bomb, and it had been sitting inconspicuously on a table as though it were an ordinary object. If Sonny weren't concerned with it exploding, he would dissect it to see what made it tick, what was inside it. "Jesus," he mutters sticking it in a trash can next to the site. "I'll come back for it after we've... flexed our social skills."

It was her pleasure!

The narration can only encourage this. ALL THE ENCOURAGEMENT EVER. Because said canon is glorious. ~~:DDDDDD~~

"Okay, yeah," Deb says, "I'm already fuckin' tired of it, but I guess it's more productive do something than write letters." She grins. "Did anyone ever mention you were a saint for lasting this long then, Sonny?" It's said in a joking way, but it's - not completely a joke. Some days Deb can't believe she's made it this long here, much less ten years.

Of course, Sonny's used to these things. Hell, he's a demon, so Deb's definition of normal is already a fuck of a lot different than hers. But she gets the feeling that even with all the experience he has it's still - the place still affects you, plenty.

Sometimes she thinks that might be a good thing, though. That maybe the real problem starts when you get too used to all of this, the way detectives, after a while, can see a mutilated corpse and still eat their lunch shortly after.

It's all perspective, really.

"In that case, I'm a shining fuckin' beacon of optimism," Deb says, and she almost manages to keep a straight face through that statement, but not quite.

...Either/or! They're the one with important shit to do here, so the average person had best just behave themselves. Or something.

Deb tries to keep herself busy while Sonny's in the room, spending her time looking around the place for other clues, but she can't help it if she's a little fucking nervous, and the relief shows on her face a bit when he leaves the room.

And that relief turns to slight disbelief when she sees that the thing Sonny's holding looks like a goddamn napkin holder. "That'd be a little too fucking convenient," Deb says, and then, realizing what she said about the guy dying, she grimaces. "I mean - you know what I mean."

She walks with him back outside, her eyes still trained on the bomb-that-looks-nothing-like-a-bomb. Thank god for freaky Rift-detecting objects, because seriously, who the fuck would expect that? "Seriously," she agrees, and then once the bomb is secure in the trash can, she straightens up and nods. "Right," she says. "Let's get this over with."

Sonny smirks at the fact that she's calling him a saint. "I don't think anyone's ever called me that for any fucking reason," he admits. "But I'll take it. I'll count you as the first."

He has been building up experience with the supernatural shit since he was born and that's been about 80 some years ago. It's hard to keep track, and it's really only the last ten years of his life that have mattered to him. The five years before that were his worst time... when he was the worst of himself and at his lowest point.

It's a wonder he ever got up off the floor and talked to John instead of drowning in that hell.

When this stuff stops affecting you, you lose a certain part of yourself that he wouldn't want her or anyone that works for him to lose. To a certain extent, some of them have. They can shrug off a lot, but there are still tragedies, still shit that will affect all of them.

It makes them human... or as like to human as they can be.

Sonny does not manage to keep a straight face. He is smirking at her, rolling his eyes and laughing. "Yeah, you are. You're like the fucking sunshine or some shit," he says. "You bring the rays of optimism to our lives. Why do you think I hired you?"

That's a running joke Sonny has with anyone that he hires. Always say he hires them for the sarcastic things they say they are.

The average person best SLOW THEIR ROLL...and things of that nature.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Sonny says, and he does. The freaky Rift-detecting object is back in his pocket. It comes in handy, but it apparently only has so many uses in it.

Can never make it too easy on them. "So there's a business across the street on either side of the rubble and then some apartment buildings over here. I'm betting the stores will have seen more than the people in the apartments. I'm sure the police already questioned 'em too so they're probably... going to be real happy about another interview," Sonny says as he walks over to them.

"What can I say?" Deb asks, smirking right back. "I'm one of a fucking kind."

It does make them human, or as close as possible. It's something Deb's always valued in people. She might come off as harsh; she might have a mouth like a truck driver, but underneath it all, Deb's human to an almost painful extent.

But it's better than being empty. It's better than not caring at all. The rage she feels sometimes, the sadness - the occasional bouts of happiness - it's all more reason to stay on her feet in a city that does what it can to knock her down.

That gets Deb laughing, too. "That's me," she says. "Sunshine and daisies and... I don't even fucking know." She makes a face, waving her hand. "The color pink."

It is an awesome joke!

"Right," Deb says. "'Cause if there's one thing people love, it's being asked the same fuckin' questions over and over again." But she shrugs, because as frustrating as this is probably going to be, it'll all be worth it if it gets them somewhere. Even the slightest thing can be a clue, sometimes, can be a lead that makes or breaks the case. So she takes a quick breath, pushes some of her hair out of her face, and walks up to the first door she sees.

This, at least, is something she knows how to do, despite her obvious lack of people skills. It's something she's comfortable with, if not thrilled about. For a second, it feels like any other case.

Sonny snorts. Yes, Deb is one in a fucking kind alright. He agrees with that. In a good way.

He doesn't hire anyone that has lost their humanity. It's too dangerous. Someone has to feel for more than themselves. They have to feel for the shit that goes down in this city.

In some ways, it makes them more prone to mistakes. They are not robots. Their emotions affect them and lead to bad decisions more often than not. In fact, the last cases two sets went on were both nearly ruined by the fact that two of his people flew off the handle.

He didn't fire them though, because he knows that's what makes the difference between the Crowbar and other groups. It's what makes them human instead of prone to killing and having no limits to finding information.

"Don't forget kittens and rainbows," Sonny says with a smirk that widens into something of a smile as he continues walking.

He glances at her. "Yeah, they love it alright. Favorite fucking thing. It's mine too. Love when people show up asking me the same fuckin' questions all the time," Sonny says before he follows her up to that door and reaches over, knocking on the front of it.

There's a man that answers the door. "Hello? What do you want? We're closed."

Ah, fuck me with a hand grenade.

Somehow, impossibly, Sonny is already annoyed.

"Just here to ask a few questions. About this guy." He holds up the picture in his hand, taken from the video that they achieved. "You ever seen him before?"

"Who? The bomber? The cops already asked me questions. Who the hell are you two? Why would I talk to you?"

Thank you, Sonny! She appreciates that.

True, emotions can get you in a lot of trouble. Deb's had plenty of experience with that, truth be told. There have been more than a few times where she's said something she shouldn't have said to one of her superiors - telling off someone from the FBI comes immediately to mind.

But it's different, here. Sonny's not exactly your regular boss, and even though Deb is rarely anyone but herself, anyway, she's less - awkward around Crowbar people. There's less hesitation.

"Yep, those too," Deb agrees with a laugh.

Deb is not impressed with the man at the door. She lets Sonny do the talking initially, until the guy asks why he'd talk to them.

"Oh, I don't know," Deb says, grinning in a way that manages to be both friendly and potentially vicious all at once. "Maybe because if you don't, we're just going to stand here all fucking day anyway."

She folds her arms across her chest. "Seriously. Nothing the fuck else to do. So do you know anything, or not?"

Their patience, Chicago, let Sonny and Deb show you it.

Sonny's not a regular boss at all though he will not hesitate to yell and have some harsh words with people when it's needed. Ahem. However, they're more family and friends than a business, which some would say makes all the difference.

He thinks it does.

He is not impressed with the man at the door either. Though he has trouble not snort laughing at Deb's response, he wants to look serious. So he folds his arms across his chest instead of laughing like he wants to do, and he gives the man a Well look.

"She's right. We've got nowhere else to be. You got a nice door. I could do some staring."

The man looks frustrated, staring between them both to try to figure out how serious they are. He shuts the door, waits thirty seconds, sees that they're not leaving, and opens the door again.

"Yeah, I've seen him. Think he lives in one of those apartment complexes over there." He gestures to the two across from the street. "Don't know his name. He always paid with cash. The police already searched 'em so I don't know what you're expecting to find. There. You fucking happy? You done? You gonna leave now? Cause I don't have time for this shit."

Sonny smiles all thin-like though it's clear that he is trying not to punch this guy in the head. "...have a nice day."

The door shuts behind him, and he turns to her. "Look at how fantastic we are. Already got some clues, and I only want to bang my head against a wall instead of put a fuckin' bullet in it. Progress on the interrogating front."

Deb, in turn, has a little trouble not snorting at Sonny's comment about the door. The narration loves you, Sonny.

She waits patiently - well, patiently for Deb - while the guy decides to play a quick game of hide-and-seek with them; she's used to this shit, really. No one likes having the cops coming around asking questions, no matter where you live. The guy has some serious attitude, but she lets out a relieved breath when he actually has useful information.

The guy gets another smile from Deb, with a few less teeth this time, and she says, "Thanks!" before the door gets shut in their faces.

She grins at Sonny, much more genuinely than she was smiling seconds ago. "Bullet-less interrogation is always score fuckin' one for the home team," she agrees. "I'm guessing the cops might've missed a few things, seeing as they don't have Rift-detector-thingies."

Yes, that is going to be Deb's word for that. She is a motherfucking world of professional, Deb.

It feels weird, for a second, referring to the cops as something she's not a part of - as a group that as far as she's heard can't exactly be trusted. Especially because what they're doing, now, feels almost like police work.

Without the violent feelings toward her partner, that is.

She shakes off the thoughts and looks back at Sonny, then asks, "Door number two, you think?"

The narration loves Deb too. This works out well. :x

Sonny sighs at the door to the face. If this is the kind of people they have to talk to, he is quickly going to move to wanting to send a bullet through his head instead. This shit is ridiculous.

This time he does snort at her response. "So so far we've got one point. Wonder how many we can wrack up. More than two and I'd say we're fucking champions," Sonny mutters as he shakes his head at the door. "Exactly. The little ball might show us where in the apartment's he's been staying. I'm gonna bet he's not there anymore, but if we figure out what name he's been using... easier to find him that way."

It's the best word for it, Deb, and it's not like Sonny has come up with a better one. He keeps calling it a ball which is sorely lacking in information about what it can do.

Sonny is glad she has no violent feelings toward him. It makes this whole process a little easier.

"Yeah, door number two then we try out this thing in the apartment buildings see if someone can't give us a name," he says and then moves on to the next door.

There's some part of him that's cringing already.

All you need is love! Which the narration never thought she'd say in a thread involving Debra Morgan.

Anywho!

"Sounds like a pretty fucking fair assessment to me," Deb agrees. Although if they make it through this day without severely harming anyone, they're champions, anyway. Truth.

As has been said, she does have a way with words. Not a conventional way, but a way!

It really does.

"Works for me," Deb says with a nod, but she takes another breath as they move on to the next door.

This time the door is opened by a woman. She's old, grey-haired, and tiny, and before Deb can even start to say hello, the woman starts babbling at them in what Deb's pretty sure is Russian.

It is really just a perfect day.

The narration diiiiiies over here. Hey, Sonny makes things happen that we never expect to.

All the time. ..that came out wrong somehow.

"I'm good at doing the assessing," he says with a smirk that falls into a grimace. Fucking people. "It's situations like this that make me wonder why I'm putting all the effort into doing good for a city full of so many fuckin' idiots..."

Sonny says that jokingly. The narration thinks.

Maybe.

It's Russian. Sonny recognizes it, but he only knows a few words. He shakes his head a few times at the woman, says something back to her in the few words of Russian that he does know. It's very possibly Shut up as she looks like she's going to smack him before she slams the door shut in their faces.

"...I'm a charmer."

There's a long pause.

"Have I mentioned that before? Feels like I have. I'm a real charming fellow."

Sonny takes a step back from the door. "Lets say we... start out toward that apartment building Grumpy Britches pointed out. I'll use the ball again, see what it comes up with. Kinda limited on number of uses but I'm thinking this is important enough to warrant it."

It's the most perfect day.

"...you want to try it out?" is what he'll ask when they get to the apartment building.

Yes, Deb, do you want to try out his ball?

[locked to the Crowbar][all employees]

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