2019-05-15 - Out Of Service

At one of the tables in the back of the shop sits a brunette curled up on one of the mismatched chairs in here, a croissant on the table next to her, a cup of steaming tea, or coffee, beside that. On the table in front of Sutton is a small puzzle pulled from one of the shelves, featuring some kind of botanical illustration of peonies. She has about six pieces plugged together, but there are about 94 more left to be connected, and most of them are varying shades of pink and green. Very similar shades of pink and green.

Sutton wears civvies, per usual these days, black cargo pants, a studded belt with a decorative buckle, and a long-sleeved white tee with a deep neckline. Her thumbs are tucked into holes in the sleeves, half her hands covered by the fit. She wears a pair of shiny silver aviators tucked into her hair. An earbud is tucked into one ear, though the other is free of music, podcast, or whatever the hell she's listening to. She picks up her tea to take a sip, scowling at the puzzle pieces.

The front door of Espresso Yourself opened with a tug of an incoming customer, and a six-foot something man in the dark navy uniform of a police officer and a nameplate stating 'E. Sullivan' passed beneath the overhanging coffee-bean shaped sign. Honey-brown eyes give a precarious glance toward it as he does so, as if he's not entirely certain it's the safest choice he's made, though he does anyway. His left hand inclines to the hand-mic fastened to the center of his chest, routed over the left shoulder and the zipper of his softshell jacket left low enough that it's likely affixed to his actual uniform shirt, "Dispatch, unit 187, out of service" - his voice was a low, silky sort of tone that bore a weighty confidence and coolheadedness even on something so simple being spoken.

His hand rested against the bulky black plastic buckle of his duty belt as he waite in line to place his order for a medium coffee and, despite all stereotypes to the contrary, a croissant.

Sutton reaches up to adjust her mirrored shades as they begin to slide from the waves of her hair. She slips them off and tosses them onto the table with a light clatter, strands of her hair clinging briefly, falling back out of place. The thing about beachy waves is it's really hard to tell the difference. When she sips from her cup, it's clear her hot drink has, at the very least, a lot of milk or cream in it. She doesn't look up when the door opens. She doesn't even look up when she hears the boots. She does look up when the radio crackles, and the hears that out of service call. Before she glances up, her brightly glossed lips curve into a smile. Her cup hovers there hiding it for a moment. She sips, and when she puts her cup down with a light thunk, the smile is gone. She turns her left wrist to check her watch, which is secured over her extra long sleeve. "Like clockwork, 187." Her voice, a little throaty, a little soft, carries well enough. And it will seem quite distinctly familiar. It might spawn a moment of dissonance, as it's not piping in via the radio. There's a little smirk after.

Sutton picks up a puzzle corner piece, and clicks it into place with the others.

To the coffee shops compliment, they had the order finished up quick and out for Sullivan to pick up. The medium sized coffee cup with accented cardboard insulative band which bore the namesame of the shop, and a small, nearly translucent white pastry bag for his croissant. His attention was pulled toward the brunette in the back corner when she opened her mouth, and he turned to take her in for a moment.

Sullivan's left hand transferred the coffee to his right, turned his watch to observe the time, and then returned the coffee to his hand. "Usually I make it three minutes earlier." he replied in a simple tone of nonchalantness, though his honey-brown eyes squinted beneath the dark lines of his brow, giving homage to what his head of hair likely was prior to becoming a sea of salt and pepper. "Shouldn't you be routing an engine to go get a kitten out of a tree or something?"

Those words were the beginning of a slow transition across the coffee shop toward the back corner, he looked down at the table to survey the puzzle as he took a sip from what could only be assumed to be black coffee from the time it took to draw it. "A direct reflection of your problem solving skills I see, dispatch" he commented and hooked the corner of a chair across from Sutton to pull it out for him to sit on. Setting his pastry bag atop the table.

Reaching up to tuck a few chunky strands of hair behind her ear, blonde-tinged locks joining deeper caramel-colored hair there, Sutton pins the cop with that hazel gaze. Her eyes are on the warmer side of amber today, the green less obvious at the edges. She tips her head when the cop mentions the 3 minute disparity. She tips back with her tea in hand. "Three minutes. Whew. You feel okay?" She lifts a hand, wobbling side to side. "I know how temperamental you senior officers get when your schedule's off by the slightest margin." She waits for Sullivan approach, and then to join her at her table before she speaks again.

"All the boys are busy. Would you like to take one?" She hms. "I think I might like to see that." Sutton sips her tea again, then puts it down. She tips her chin up a touch. "I'll keep you in mind for the next one." She fishes around in the puzzle pieces for another corner, collecting the edges as she finds them, but her gaze comes back to him soon enough. "You miss me tonight, don't you?"

"Nah" Sully responded without so much as a hitch when proposed if he missed Sutton tonight or not, and shook his head to reinforce his comment. Looking from the puzzle up to Sutton, he sat his coffee cup down and began to unwravel the pastry bag with a crinkle, "Not hearing your british lilt on the radio reminds me that we're in America, have things like guns, and aren't called something retarded like fucking 'bobbies'" he smirked a bit at that last portion, the silver of his beard catching the lighting in a slight glimmer.

He pulled the flakey croissant from its bag and paused a beat, glancing up from looking it over toward Sutton again, "If you send me to a kitten retrieval, I'm going to pull you over just to waste your time like you did mine" and then he bit into the buttery goodness, a significant little crunch suggested there was something internal to the croissant, and in this instance it would be chocolate.

A few chew down into the indulgence of his snack, and one more sip of coffee and he reached over to pinch a puzzle piece from the table and press it into place with a low click. "What are you doing here anyway? Isn't it past your bedtime or something?" and he took another bite.

Once they're both seated comfortably, Sutton looks over to Sullivan and then looks him over. She spends a moment surveying his hair, and face, then the fit of his uniform. Perhaps she's looking for flaws in the fit, or crooked pins. Or she's just putting a face to the voice she spends most of her shift tracking -- one of them, that is. She's the custodian of an entire relief, and she knows them all by their numbers, and some a little better. Her gaze finds his name tag eventually. "Oof," she says. "The accent's barely noticeable, love." Except when she says things like that. Nevermind that just today someone asked her where she's from originally.

Sutton reaches up to brush a finger under her chin lightly, puzzle pieces gather in the same hand. "You do seem rather fond of your weapon."

The brunette watches Sullivan take a bite of his croissant. Her lashes lower slightly when she looks sat the pastry, then flick up again when she finds the cop's gaze. "Do they have chocolate croissants here?" Quietly, like she didn't know, and now she's a little bit miffed about it. She glances briefly over toward the counter, and then back to him, not to be distracted. "Sully, you'd have to catch me to pull me over. You're welcome to try." She smiles, and it persists even when he touches her puzzle. "What makes you think it's past my bedtime?" She doesn't answer what she's doing here, in particular.

If Sutton was looking for any errors in the display and appearance of Sullivan, there would be none to be had. He was a man who clearly took care to arrange such things in a meticulous way. Appearance was a form of presentation and discipline, after all. Rather than mention that fact to her, Sully partook in another bite of his croissant just in time for her to say that her accent was barely noticeable, to which his reply was simply an inclination of brows. It was incredulous in nature.

"Sss" he corrected her in her commentary, "Weapon-sss. Plural." and then he drank a bit more from his coffee while studying the pieces on the table. He shifted, grabbed another one, and sank it into place. Rather than acknowledge her query of chocolate croissants, he just took another bite, and then glanced at her. A small piece of flaky pastry clung at the edge of his lip as it twitched upward into a smirk and he retrieved it with a faint flick of his tongue to the corner of his mouth.

"Needing to catch you is a common mistake. Everyone has to come home eventually, and if they don't, the problem solved itself" he admitted and finished his croissant with a bit-too-big bite of the tail end which he sort of shoved into his mouth. Brushing his hands together aside the table to clear them of any pastry flakes, he picked up his coffee again and placed a fingertip atop another piece, though tapped it twice to signify it, "Because I figured you were born yesterday"

You can bet she's watching him click that puzzle piece into place, then she's tucking a corner about where she thinks it should fall, sorting through the edges in her hand to finally find one that fits. The fourth one she puts down fits. She glances up to catch that rise of his brows. She narrows her eyes just briefly, like a one word response without the actual words.

"Pardon me, officer." Sutton lifts her hand, gesturing lightly with a couple of pieces. "Weapons." She enunciates for him this time, giving that s a little hiss. When she sees him casually pick up a piece and slot it right into the puzzle with no hesitation, she watches his hand for a moment, then glances up again. She says nothing about it. Is she watching him eat? Yes. He hasn't answered her. "How many do you have? Is it an offensively large number?" She leans in a little, reaching down to fix another puzzle piece after discarding one. "You do know I was born in Seattle." She splays her fingers, then circles them over the puzzle, fuchsia nails bright.

"If I find you waiting for me outside my apartment, we can revisit how you'll spend your next shift busy criss-crossing town 45 times in eight hours." She picks up her tea with her other hand. "Yesterday? Honestly. How old are you?"

One side of Sully's cheek bulged of black and grey whiskers pulled taut over a delicious chunk of croissant that he was working on getting down. He does so a few moments prior to her asking if he posesses an offensively large amount of weapons, to which he simply downturned the edges of his mouth and shrugged, "Is there such a thing as an offensively large number of firearms? Do I need to reiterate that this is America again, or did you miss that bit? Everyone needs a hobby. Mine is just multipurpose" he replied and leaned forward a bit in his seat, lifting his coffee cup to take a long sip through the small drink slot of the lid which caused the small air port to whistle subtly as he did so.

"I do now" he noted at the mention of her having been born in Seattle and he looked up from the puzzle toward her again. No emission of a hum or sound of contemplation, though he did seem to be working a bit of pastry out of the back of his teeth with his tongue for a moment. "Probably not old enough to be your daddy. But old enough to know that me saying you should try calling me that sometime would be socially unacceptable" and with that he displayed a flash of white teeth and then it dissapeared as he nudged a piece of the puzzle toward her, "Which apartments?"

Sutton's lips press together briefly, that ridiculously bright lipgloss definitely less than professional. She isn't, however, in uniform, or at work, and so the fact that it takes years off of her age doesn't seem to concern her. No chief or lieutenant can gripe about it in a coffee shop. Her lips remain just upturned at the corners, her eyes almost perpetually amused. Perhaps she enjoys Sullivan's company, what with his incredible warmth and all. "I would think," Sutton begins, "That if you can't fit them all on your person at one time, that would be an offensively large number." She watches him, and her lips part like she's thinking about asking if he unhinges his jaw, will the croissant go down easier. She doesn't, but there's that slight shift in her expression that says she thought something along those lines. "If your collection could in any way be called, on its own, an armory, that could certainly be termed offensively large."

She glances down, fingertips sorting through the pieces. Of course they still a beat after he's said something about social acceptability, and her attention comes back to his face, then his eyes. "Is that what you're saying?" She reaches across the table to take the piece he nudges, very nearly visibly annoyed when she turns it and it fits next in line along her edge there. She taps it twice with a fingernail once it's settled into place. "I do enough of your work for you during my shifts, Sergeant. Why don't we see how good your footwork is without a guiding hand." There's a subtle inflection on the last two words. She picks up her tea and finishes it.

"It's definitely an offensively large amount, then" Sully replied in a matter-of-fact inflection that suggested it was likely closer to the latter comparison than the former. He gives no particular attention to her expression shift about the time she's likely thinking he should just unhinge his jaw.

"Am I saying what?" he replied without looking up, and then finally doing so, he gave her a slight smile and canted his head a bit when she mentioned doing 'enough of his work for him' during her shifts. The amusement came out in a level of laughter intentionally constrainted between the two since they were in public, "Is that so? Huh. Here I thought you just sat in a dispatch room and talked to people all day." which, of course, was more or less what she was doing as dispatch.

However, he tapped his fingertip atop five pieces, one after another and slides them out of the pile to piece them all together in a small cluster which he then lifted and raised from his seated position to bend over the puzzle and place the small cluster of puzzle pieces into place with a satisfying click. His honey-brown eyes trailed up to look at her, faces close for the briefest of moments, "I have impeccable footwork, Dispatch. It comes with years of experience." and he lowered himself back down into the seat, taking a sip of his coffee. "What's your name anyway, Dispatch?"

"I figured that when you waved the flag early on in the conversation," Sutton replies, tone verging on dry. She sets her cup side, and rips only the end off of er plain, lightly toasted croissant, pastry flaking everywhere. She pops it carefully into her mouth, then mms and takes a moment to dust rogue crumbs from her sleeve. She licks a flake from her thumb, then waves off his first question with a casual gesture.

"I could argue that's just about the same as you, save the little room and the arguably stylish little headsets they give us." Yeah, Sutton dips a little bit into her radio voice for that one, which is smoother and more modulated, slightly, than her casual one.

Sutton watches him click several pieces together at once, and this time her lips press together briefly. Just briefly. There's a moment of consideration, then she takes a slow, measured breath the second time Sullivan calls her dispatch. "Most everybody calls me Sutton. Don't move." She lifts a hand, reaches over, and brushes a croissant crumb out of his facial hair. At least, that's what it seems like she's doing. But maybe her hand never makes it that far. "Squared away."

"Except for the whole wearing a vest, doing patrols, responding to events, wrestling criminals, catching badguys thing. Yeah. I guess we're pretty similar" Sullivan responded in an equally dry tone to Sutton's original comment on him waving the flag. He sat upright and took a little hitched breath, taking a sip from his coffee mug, he looked at her evenly for a moment prior to her opening her mouth to mention her name.

The delicate knit to his brow of contemplation for a beat was interrupted by her telling him not to move and his eyes followed her movement toward him to pick the croissant crumb from his beard. "Thanks." he said and took another sip of coffee, gesturing a fingertip toward the puzzle pieces, "Trade you a secret to help you out for your number"

"Wrestling criminals." Sutton's eyes widen slightly, "Hm. Sounds very, very dangerous." She nods briefly, then brushes her hand across her thigh. She picks up a discarded pastry bag on the table, and tucks her croissant into it, unfinished -- barely touched, really. A little crinkle of the paper and it's rolled shut. She picks up her sunglasses and folds the arms, before she reaches down to suspend them from the dip of the neckline of her tee.

"I wear a vest sometimes. They're incredibly uncomfortable." Sutton drapes an arm along the table, inside of her wrist up. She shifts in her chair, both feet moving to hit the floor. Her jaw tense slightly when her left leg comes down. "You're welcome, Sully."

Sutton leans briefly on the table. "Tell me your secret." She glances down at the puzzle and back up. "I'll let you know if it's worth my number."

Sullivan looked over at the various puzzle pieces, and he swirled his coffee mug idly, the liquid therein sloshing about as he did so, "Don't play coy. You know it's way more dangerous than dispatch, we both do. They're both important" he half-grunted at her and finally took a long drink from his mug, the familiar whistle of air clearing the air port emitting from it.

"Seems a little unfair" he told her and leaned forward the move another piece away from the masses to a small clear area next to another piece, "Give me your number, I'll tell you my secret, and even let you know my first name" he smiled through closed lips and sat his cup down with a gentle thunk.

Both of his feet down flat atop the surface, he hung his hands in his lap, forearms on either thigh and rolled his left wrist toward him gingerly to glance at his watch, "We've got five minutes"

"Yes, Sully, I do." Sutton's teasing aside, this, when she says it, is serious. Just for the space of those words. Just that. "I'm riding that desk because it's less dangerous that yours and my usual trade." She glances over to his name tag again. "E. Sullivan. I feel like I could guess or find your name pretty easy." She rises. When she does, there's a moment when she stands that she hesitates, then takes a step to turn toward the table. She seems fine, but for a beat it was as if she didn't totally trust both legs to keep her upright. Maybe not. "Hm. Maybe."

Sutton tips her head to look down at the puzzle, Sullivan's hand on the table, too. "I need to order a Lyft." She drops a hand to the table, fingers resting there a moment, before she raises a finger to point at his chest, more specifically his pens. "May I?"

Sullivan studied Sutton as she became remarkably agreeable for the slightest of moments, and doubly so when she rose to her feet, glancing over her as she did so he pursed his lips together a bit. Some questions weren't polite to ask over coffee. "Probably. Could say the same." he responded to her being able to work out his name. When she put her hand on the table, he gave them a glance and then pivoted at a forty-five degree angle to view her as she spoke.

Rather than give her permission, Sully simply slipped one of the pens from their position and extended it toward Sutton, "Be my guest" he opined and offered her a simple smile as he did so.

The brunette steps in closer, so close her boots are almost touching his. She reaches down to both take his wrist, and the pen, one in either hand. She smirks when she clicks the pen, apropos of nothing. She bends at the waist, then uses the pen to write along Sullivan's inner wrist, scrawling neat, tiny numerals what appears to be a phone number. She does it quickly, efficiently, and clicks the pen again. She reaches over to tuck it back into the sergeant's pocket herself, tapping it down lightly enough that it doesn't then click the pen tip out again. "You could say the same. You'd be wrong."

"There you go." Sutton slides her phone out of her pocket, but doesn't raise it to use the app yet. "Tell me." She lingers there, just next to Sullivan's chair, and her fingertips return to the edge of the table.

Sullivan glanced at the woman's approach and pointedly at the lack of space between their boots with obvious amusement. He laughed lowly and shook his head, "You're ridiculous" he replied and he turned to survey the redelivery of his pen to its appropriate pocket with a slight smirk of his lips. However, while she wrote the detailed little numerals on his wrist, he unzipped the snug thigh pocket of his pants and withdrew a slim cellphone with a black resin case, entering the numbers she wrote down there - and about the time she'd replaced the pen, he was pressing the green 'dial' button on his phone, placing it to his ear.

He watched her for a moment and that quaint bit of a smile was left on his lips, "You understand" he assured her simply and then looked toward the puzzle, nodding his head just-so, "The colors are similar, pale green and red, yeah?" he inclined his free hand and tapped the edge of his eye-socket, "Tritanopia. Blue-yellow colorblind. You see the green, and then the red, which are similar. I see kind of a greyish color, and vibrant red pieces..." he explained and then tapped the large chunk of the puzzle that he'd assembled, a part containing a large section of flowers.

"You asked ridiculous for her number. What do you think that says about you, hm?" It certainly says something about her that she wrote her number across his wrist while he's in uniform.

Sutton blows out a breath when the phone makes an appearance and he checks her number before he answers her. Her phone is in her hand, so she turns the screen while his phone is dialing out. She keys around it for a moment. Her phone is already lit. It doesn't ring while he's speaking. But his phone rings, and rings, and on the fourth ring, someone picks up and gosh if it doesn't sound like a popular local Thai restaurant.

"That secret... that tip doesn't help me solve the puzzle, does it? I suppose you didn't say it would." Suspicious creatures, both. "That's incredibly -- cheating. You have peony puzzle super powers. It's really lucky for me you didn't ask me to bet."

Sutton puts her phone down on the table, and holds out her hand, palm up. "Give." She probably means his phone this time, rather than adding a second line to his wrist, which could very well be the best taco joint in town.

"I never said anything about me, if I was, or wasn't ridiculous. But we /have/ established I have an offensively large amount of firearms" Sullivan replied with that upturn to his lips, which seemed to only grow when the Thai restaurant answered and he clicked the 'end' button on his phone, twitching an eyebrow at her, "Really? Thai? Well now you owe me Pad-Thai sometime" he remarked and handed his phone over toward her, remained unlocked.

He gathered himself to stand, the lack of space between them meant that when he stood, there was still a distinct lack of that. He crumpled his white pastry bag into one hand with a series of crinkling crunches and he glanced down over himself to insure no crumbs fell on the dark navy of his uniform, his forehead nearly touching Suttons when he did.

"I'm going to keep that number though, for when I'm really craving some noodles later. You think they deliver to Bayside?"

"The noodle stir fry and dumplings are better, but the Pad Thai isn't bad." Sutton smiles a bit at that. "Really. Trust but verify is more your speed. I'm kind of a mercenary type this month."

Sutton glances full on up at him when he mentions Bayside. "Sorry?" She gives him a bit of a look at that. It's subtle enough, but not really from this distance. There's no way he could miss that hesitation and mini-double-take. So either he's seen her and she hasn't seen him, or that's a total coincidence they both live in the same place. She takes the phone in her left, then navigates to his address book, opens a new contact, and enters in what is, hopefully, her actual information, though her fingers pause, then she saves it.

When Sullivan stands, she touches his side briefly, well, his vest. He might not even feel the brief pressure of her hand. "If they do deliver, order double and text me." She then steps back, putting a more polite distance between their bodies. That probably sounded a lot more salacious than she intended. She sweeps up her croissant and her phone. She finally navigates to the app to order a ride.

Sullivan, in contrast, made no such effort and instead he glanced at her hand against his side which he's quite certain he doesn't feel, and she can likely obtain as much due to the fact that she can no doubt feel the bulky wrap of the vest about his torso. Her double-take however, he was well aware of, and it caused a twitchy smirk at the edge of his lips that he did his best to suppress.

Once he reclaimed his phone, he looked at the contact information to see what she chose to list herself as and he tapped the 'call' button again, placing it to his ear. "I'd give you a ride, but my passenger seats are real hard" he told her and listened to his phone ring softly against his ear. "Get home safe, if anything goes awry, feel free to call the police" he winked once.

"Don't wink at me." Sutton says, probably because he's dialing again to check to see if her number, this time, is the accurate one. She turns her volume down in preparation for the ringing to begin. Her ringtone is simple: Henry Rollins screaming: answer your fucking phone. It repeats one and a half times before she clicks the accept call button and puts her phone to her ear.

"I wouldn't get into a cruiser by choice. I know what happens in those backseats." She says this into the phone while looking at Sullivan, which is a little silly, but that's what happens. "I can handle my business, but thank you for the neighborly concern, Sergeant." Sutton clicks a few buttons to save his number into her contacts, though who knows what she puts him under in the address book. "Watch your back out there." She's put herself in his phone under E. Sutton. "It'll be another couple weeks before I can do it for you." Whatever that means.