2019-09-03 - Fish Food

It's a well known fact that the Gray Harbor Committee for Community Betterment regularly stocks the pond in the summertime with freshwater fish for catching. It is an even better known fact that the policy is catch-and-release with a strict emphasis on DO NOT EAT; not because of all of the dead bodies that have wound up in this pond over the years (no one ever talks about that) but because of 'environmental concerns'. Riiiight.

Anyway, it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood. The muggy weather is gone and there's a faint breeze in the air, perfect for going out and about. Harvey is one of those out-and-abouters, currently seated on a log that's conveniently positioned near the edge of the pond. The distance (or lack thereof) to the water's edge is important, of course, because Harvey's got himself a pole and is in the middle of casting the line out towards the pond's center. He is not the only one fishing today, but he's the only one sitting on the pond's edge - there are a few small boats out in the distance doing the same thing that Harvey's up to, and a couple of canoes too from one summer camp or another. It's nice, so nice, it almost makes you forget about the people that are rotting beneath the water's surface.

Love wanders along down the grassy area near the quaint stone bridge connecting this little lake to the park-side pond. She carries a cooler in one hand, and is dressed for a little lounge in the sun, tee tied up under her ribs, hair up, skinny jeans instead of shorts, though. She knows nothing of the dead bodies in the pond, or the catch and release rules, but every lake in every town, at the end of every dead end street, or under the watchful eye of a creaky old estate has a story about thin ice and tragic drowning, doesn't it? Every one. So why not the lake in a sunny little park. Love may have even skated across the edge of this lake on a dare when she was a kid, back when she lived in Gray Harbor, but back then she was a very small child, all black hair and pale eyes and braided pigtails. She remembers none of these things.

Love tips a pair of mirrored aviators onto her nose and, scans the area for a good picnic spot, and of course notices Harvey fishing. "What a beautiful day." She plunks down the cooler, blanket still under her arm, within easy hearing range of Harv. Her voice is gentle, easy, which is either her usual way of speaking, or her effort to not scare the fish while she chats with the fisherman. "Do you mind if I sit? You picked an excellent spot."

Is Sarah Stevens the Fish and Game warden? No. No, she is not. So why is she out here in the middle of Pond Country? It's best not to ask too many questions. Maybe someone called 9-1-1 because their dog got loose. Again. The life of small town crime. Everything is either mysterious murders or animal-related.

The day is grossly humid enough that the blonde-haired LA Supercop is rolling down the road in her old beat-up two-door, mustard-yellow sedan in a gray tank top and a pair of jeans. At least she's clean, if clearly rednecking it in her wife-beater and dismal ride.

The clunker pulls up on the road that leads to the pond's boat landing, before the engine dies as she turns the ignition switch off. Flipping down the sunvisor, the GHPD detective catches her giant, regulation-cop sunglasses as they fall, slipping them onto her nose, before grabbing the handle and stepping out of the vehicle.

Who should be closest, but poor Harvey and Love. It's time to bother Harvey and Love.

The blonde makes her way through the grass, sweeping hair back with one hand, the other resting in an empty beltloop. The badge and gun at her waist are difficult to miss. "Hey, folks." She flashes that pearly-white, dimple-carving, Hollywood smile. "Seen any drunk people around throwing beer cans in the water?"

There's a bit of thoughtful, almost melancholic whistling that arrives before Jonathan. The ex-athlete is currently wearing a faded green t-shirt with the logo of the University of Alaska Anchorage on it, in addition to other summery clothing that seems to be chosen for comfort. He blinks a little as he sees the people present, or maybe it's because he sees where he is, who knows when people are walking around lost in their own thoughts...

Justin comes wandering down along the road where he'd left his car, taking a walk around the pond with a small half-rottweiler/half-doberman puppy (http://tinyurl.com/y2hxqxuu) on a bright blue leash that matches the collar around his neck. He's dressed in a pair of comfortable shorts and a plain grey t-shirt, a pair of sunglasses on his nose. "C'mon little guy. Let's do at least one lap around the pond, eh?" The puppy lets out a little bark before trotting along beside him, occasionally trying to dart off to the side to examine or smell something that catches his attention..

There's a distinct clink to Carver's coat as he heads over the stone bridge. With the muggy weather faded and a slight breeze, he's absolutely got an excuse to throw over his heavy-set cotton and polyester black jacket. You know, the one that doesn't show signs of being set on fire recently.

He's got a couple of manila folders tucked under his arm, and with tongue poking the corner of his cheek, begins to open one up and flip through the contents while taking a comfortable lean against the edge of the bridge. Handy disposal of any papers that don't help his current task, that.

Like so many men in this world, Harvey's got his attention entirely on his pole. So much so that he doesn't acknowledge Love until she's already in his space, plunking her cooler down nearby. Away from the pond he looks, a few blinks of hazel eyes as they tune in on the mirrored surface of her sunglasses, brows climbing at her question. "You got anything good in the cooler? Because that might change my answer one way or the other," he chuckles, shrugging in a non-committal manner otherwise. He's not going to throw her cooler in the pond and demand she find elsewhere to sit, at least! "All I got is a bunch of worms that don't seem to be attracting any fish today," he points out his own 'cooler', a small thing that does, in fact, hold bait.

But speaking of hopeful beer cans that will be traded, here comes the police. He glances up as Sarah approaches, showing off a dimpled smile. "No ma'am, no beer can throwing here."

"Yeah, all the good stuff. I share your spot, you share my snacks. Seems fair to me." Love flips her blanket out, smoothes the edges, setting up a nice lounging spot. Her gaze wanders a bit, and she's just noticed movement on the bridge when the fisherman mentions he only brought worms to the park. Carver's noted and she lifts a hand in greeting, but can't help saying something first. Not that she's judging Harvey's cooler choices, but, "How long you been fishing?" Is she quietly judging a lack of snacks? Well. Welllll.

"... Uh." It actually takes a few minutes for Love to realize Sarah's talking to her-ish, which is funny since she just walked up and started talking to Harvey in a similar fashion. "No? Is that what people do around here?" She eventually glances back, and her gaze finds the badge first. FFS more cops, is probably what she's thinking. Her mirrored shades remain turned to Sarah for a beat. Something about the voice is familiar, but she hasn't looked up at the face yet. And she doesn't, because puppy.

There's just enough slack on the leash that Caleb can run off to the side of the path a bit to either side as Justin walks, not keeping the little guy too constrained and letting him pretty much do what he wants at his own pace. So it's as he nears Sarah, Love, and Harvey, that Caleb decides he needs desperately to check out all these people. Chuckling, Justin says, "Hey. Sorry, he's curious," as Caleb tries to scamper over to all three at once. If he were as big as he'll get when he's older, he'd probably be dragging Justin along bodily. But at his current size, he's easily held back a bit. Not everyone wants curious puppy attention.

"Hnn, never trust a whistler."

Sarah mutters as she turns at the sound of a tune to eyeball Jonathan with all the seriousness of someone who considers absolutely everyone around her to be a potential threat at all times. Discerning nothing other than a lost puppydog stare, the policewoman bobs her eyebrows at him with a tight smile in greeting.

Then comes the sight of Justin. More importantly, the man has a puppy. A PUPPY, okay? That's important. The blonde watches as Man and Pup approach the pond, doing her best to reign herself in as her smile tightens to something more akin to gritted teeth. She looks away from the dog. Then sneaks a glance back again. Then away. She's going to resist. She glances back again. Away. No. Will not. Okay, one more glance...

"Well, that's good. Try not to, um... litter. It's a fine, or something. Sometimes asshole teena- Young hooliganish vagabonds come out here on their daddy's boat and trash the place." Sarah replies to Harvey and Love off-handedly, squinting out at the boats with lowered eyebrows, as if trying to activate her telescopic vision to see if any of THEM appear to be littering. As if she might swim out there and write them a ticket. "Or maybe is was a prank call. Anyway, you two catch any bodies yet? Call someone else if you do. Floaters are just gross."

No, she's not going to resist. Sarah turns when Justin is near enough, walking a short distance to step almost directly in his path, holding up her hand with a serious frown. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm going to have to check your dog for contraband." A beat. "Kidding. What's his name? Can I pet him?" Detective Stevens absolutely does not wait for permission before she crouches down and begins to try and pet the Doberpuppy, ruffling ears and tickling chins.

Cigarette. Peer. Light. Peer More.

Property documents have far too many legalese words and veiled threats for Carver to really deal with on such a lovely day. But at least the view's nice, right? He can take in the view, google what the hell 'Trover' means, and watch a small puppy check out everyone and everything. In fact, it's because of the puppy that the guy even fails to spot Love until such a time as she's pup-adjacent. Which should say something about all the paperwork. It's not like she doesn't stand out.

Other than that though? Bridge troll is a lurky lurking bridge lurker. With smokes.

"H..uh. Okay then," Harvey blinks once at Sarah, then nods his head in firm commitment to the no-littering policy set forth by the cops. "I don't think you have anything to worry about from the two of us," he includes Love with a point of his thumb. "We're practically devotees of Captain Planet. He's our hero," there's another flash of those dimples before he looks back to Love with a slow chuckle. "Only the past hour. I heard they refilled the pond yesterday, I should've gotten here before sun-up. But who really wants to wake up at like five thirty in the morning?" Nobody, that's who. He works on making a hole in the ground to set his rod in, while Sarah oogles over the puppy. His own attention goes towards Carver, the bridge troll. "What a weird place to do paperwork," he says to no one in particular.

"Wait, when did all these people come here?" Jonathan is sounding a little surprised as he looks around, before heading over towards that main group of people. "Lovely day, isn't it?" he asks, after a few moments. A look towards the dog, and he smiles. Dogs are nice animals, after all.

Justin watches Sarah with amusement as she resists the siren call of the puppy, and finally gives in. "His name's Caleb, and sure, go for it. He loves it." And Caleb does, in fact, love all the attention. He's energetic and friendly.

Justin glances over at Harvey and says, "I doubt that they managed to fish them all up before dawn. You'll catch something." He grins a bit confidently and then says, "Most summers friends and I would come out here and catch at least one or two fish." Not that he'd been fishing on the pond in a while, but he has a few fond memories of doing so. The comment about paperwork draws his attention over toward Carver. "At least the weather's nice. I should bring my laptop out here to do some work sometime."

A smile of greeting is given to Jonathan and Love as well, and he chuckles, saying to Jonathan, "As soon as the mugginess cleared up and it stopped feeling like you needed a shower as soon as you walked outside. Folks are enjoying it while they can."

The one actual desk on Carver's property is in a basement. The carpet beneath that desk keeps trying to massage between his toes. The bridge is a perfect place to do paperwork. Not that anybody would know that. "So... he bought that, got the rights for-" and right as he's pointing towards a piece of paper pulled aside, a gust of wind catches it to send it skittering over and along the bridge, darting between legs and feet before catching an updraft and hauling ass skywards.

Carver... watches. Sighs. Exhales a cloud of smoke that soon follows the drifting path of the paper. "Got the rights for something. Fuck. That was probably important."

A woman with a pushchair gives the bridge troll talking to himself some serious side-eye.

Love immediately hits her knees on the blanket and holds her hands up for the pup to sniff or lick. "Look at you, you little bruiser." In that instant, the sing-songy sweetness dissolves any misconceptions anyone might have had about a tall woman with this many tattoos being some kind of tough guy. All it takes is one fat little puppy and she's powerless. She does control herself somewhat and lets the pup come to her if he wants the lurve.

"Yeah. ... Litter is wack." Belatedly. Way belatedly. Oh, Carver. Over there littering.

She gives the puppy a little scruff scritch, and accepts any slobbery kisses offered up. She glances up at Justin, "He's super cute." And with Jonathan she agrees, "Gorgeous day." No rain. How'd that happen?

"Whozza good boy, whozza good boy, whozza good boyyyyyyy?" There is no shame in her puppy game. Sarah Stevens absolutely makes zero effort to play it cool or not ga-ga over the canine like someone just produced the most adorable infant in the world. "Ah! Got my hand? You got my hand? Yes, you did, so ferocious, GRRRRRR!" She's only interrupted when the voice of Jonathan cuts through Caleb Time.

"No." Her reply is automatic, though not overly caustic, as if listing facts. "It's been pretty shitty." A look back to the Rotty she mock-wrestles with one hand. "Untiiiiiil now. Rrrrrrr, owwww, oh God, sharp teeth. Caleb. You wanna come home with me? I don't usually take men home the first day, but, well, you're just cute enough to break the rules. Aren't'cha? Arrrren't'cha?"

"Okay, sir. Your dog is clean. You're free to go." With a last ruffle to Caleb's ears, she whispers loudly to the dog. "/This/ time!" Standing back up to full height, Detective Hollywood dusts off her hands and pretends she absolutely did not just spend the last few minutes squeeing over a tiny dog like she was five.

Her eyes land on Love briefly, frowning at the woman from behind her shades. "You seem... familiar. I ever arrest you?" What? She absolutely LOOKS like someone who'd get arrested! Though Harvey's gaze at the grumbling Bridgetroll brings her eyes that way. "Ah. So we DO have litterers out here. Ugh. My ticketbook is all the way back in the car. You win this round, litterbugs."

"Ah, I don't care much," Harvey says to Justin about catching a fish. "The sign says you have to release them, and it's not as much fun if you can't cook them later. But it was something to do to avoid work, so here I am," there's another grin, but his attention drifts away from the puppy and back to Carver there by the bridge. Or, more specifically, Carver's errant piece of paper that takes to the wind. He shouldn't do anything - he should just let it fly away, he knows this. But, well. Perhaps the winds are kind to bridge trolls this afternoon, because something catches the corner of Carver's paper and drags it right back to him, slipping back comfortably into the manilla folder.

"I think there are a few good places where you can keep the fish you catch, although you might have to go out of town to find those," Jonathan offers, a bit lightly. "I seem to remember someone speaking about that once." He looks over towards the dog again, taking a few steps in that direction. "Caleb, was it?" Leaning forward a bit, his hand held out a little. "Such a nice dog you are, Caleb," he offers.

Justin grins at Love and says, "Thanks." Caleb is more than happy to dart over to Love for attention once he's accumulated some from Sarah, and then back and forth between them while Justin gives him just enough slack on his leash so he can do so without being too impaired, but not take off too far. He chuckles at Sarah, grinning a bit when she seems inclined to confiscate the puppy. "Thank you kindly, officer," he says to her with a doff of an imaginary hat. Both brows raise though when she asks Love if she's ever arrested her before. Not a greeting one hears every day. To Harvey, he says, "Yeah you probably don't want to eat anything out of that pond, to be honest, or to go swimming in it for that matter. It's pretty to look at, though." He's entirely oblivious to the shenanigans of Carver's paperwork on the bridge.

Love finally glances up to Sarah's face instead of looking at her badge. It's hard not to when they're bot assaulting a cute lil pup with love. She squints and says, "No, pretty sure you'd remember it if you arrested me, blondie." Either she's also trying to shake loose a sense of familiarity, or she's just extra cheeky when cops are around. Could be the puppy influence. It'll come to her eventually, at some point, if she does know the blonde. That sense of familiarity isn't entirely out of place in Gray Harbor. She's already run into a few people she knew as a child and hasn't yet put the pieces together.

The tattooed woman opens up the small cooler quietly, and pulls out a selection of items purchased from the Safeway: deli sliced meats (ham, chicken), cheeses (sliced sharp and small wheel of soft brie), fruit, crusty bread, and a selection of beverages including root beer in glass bottles, mini Coke cans, a few water bottles, and probably something alcoholic under all the ice. She flips the lid onto her lap, effectively making a little sandwich station. That's a lot of food and drink for one person. "Help yourselves to the food. I'll be right back."

"Neat."

Sure, Carver looks around for the source of the unnaturally good luck that sees his paper returning home in a way that only the most naive of children could think was an accident. Sure, he narrows eyes at anyone looking in the bridge's direction, and sure this gets another round of glares from people pushing pushchairs.

But he seems pretty content to throw them a shrug, poke out his tongue at a couple of the more indignant glarers, and then waggle a couple of fingers in the direction of the sizable bunch of people and puppy that seem to be having a lovely picnic on the side of the river. He's got no idea which of the one's looking in his direction did it, nor if it was an actual bridge troll just happy for the company, but Alistair Carver's the kind of guy to not only look a gift horse in the mouth, but count the teeth and steal any of the ones with gold caps on.

"Well, friendo," Sarah looks back to Harvey, T-Rexing her arm with her elbow close to her side to point at the pond. "You don't eat the fish because more dead people than you would believe have been in this water. And the fish eat the bodies. And if you ate the fish..." She spreads her hand to the side as she trails off, letting the group draw their own conclusions on that train of nasty.

An eye is kept on the man on the bridge, whose papers... float right back down into his folder. Well. That's lucky. Her yellow eyebrows eventually come back down from the orbit they'd taken up around her hairline, juuuust as Love responds. Her mouth quirks to the side, a little nod of 'Touche, beyotch. Touche.' is given. When she can come up with no better nickname to throw back than 'Tattooie', Sarah gives up trying to do so and instead leans waaaaaay down into the tattooed woman's space.

"This looks suspicious." She whispers with dramatic aplomb, narrowing her eyes behind her sunglasses, nose only a few inches away as her hand closes around a Coke can. "I have to confiscate it."

As the woman mentions being right back and momentarily departs, the blonde turns to look at the rest of the assembled cast. "I'm pretty sure I've arrested her." Popping the tab on her pilfered can, because not staying and drinking something means she'd have to go back to investigating a mysterious case of someone leaving flaming bags of dog doo on the porches of Teaher's Union members, Sarah leans down to give Caleb a little more attention. Riiiiiight under the chin.

"I'm going to steal your dog. Hope that's okay."

There's no return waggle of Harvey's fingers to the man by the bridge; mostly because Harvey's fingers are occupied by him reeling in the line on his pole. There's no fish on the other end, alas and alack! But at least Carver gets his paperwork back safe and sound. In case it really was important. "Do you think the town puts the fish in the water in order to get the fish to eat the bodies?" It's a curious question in Sarah's direction, brows lifting as he hops to his feet. "It'd be smart, you know. If you were trying to keep the bodies out of the news. Floaters often get too much press."

"If you must, cop. The grapes are probably holding. You should totally interrogate them." Love's reply to Sarah comes with a tiny smirk.

The woman grabs up a brown glass bottle from the cooler contents and heads over to the bridge nearby. Love's patent leather Chucks are pretty quiet on the journey, but she's five feet, eleven inches of lady covered in tattoos. Not exactly subtle on approach. "Hey, you. Feeling better, I see." Not doubled over in pain wishing for death, she means. She presents the Brit with an ice cold bottle of root beer. "Come have a sandwich, watch this dude fail at fishing? It's all the rage." Her black lips curve into a grin. She's on the friendly side for a black-lipstick wearer. "Did you come to the park with paperwork? Little weird, babe. Just saying."

"So, you remember everyone you've arrested?" Jonathan asks in Sarah's direction, before he shrugs a bit. At the the talk of the bodies in the water, he shrugs a little. "They say you're not in trouble until the dead bodies climb back out of there, hmmm?" It's offered a bit lightly as he glances between the other.

"Not that ocean-caught fish don't eat a lot of dead things, too. It's just less likely that you knew them," Justin opines from where he stands, shrugging his shoulders just a bit. "Thinking about it for too long is ill-advised." He keeps an eye on Caleb as the pup runs over to Jonathan as well, sniffing at his hands and allowing for scritches and pets as well. He shrugs his shoulders when Sarah says she thinks she's arrested Love before, apparently not being in a position to know. "Not entirely," Justin laughs, "But you can borrow his attention for a while." Attention she needs to share with Jonathan at the moment. He glances over at Harvey and says, "Wouldn't that be tampering with evidence though if they were doing it for that purpose? Or something like that?" It's clear he has no idea. It just seems like it would be an unwise idea.

"I really, really, really try not to think about that." Sarah replies to the question of intentional fish-body chomping. "Not only because it's evil, but because I want to be able to sleep at night without the fear of having walked straight out of my life and into the plot of Hot Fuzz. Much as I love Simon Pegg. Man's an international treasure."

After Love has walked off to make friends with the Magic Paper Fairy, Sarah takes a second glance at the cooler that is just there. Sitting open. Begging for a blonde nordic viking to plunder it. Detective Stevens will do in a pinch. "This cheese also looks suspicious as Hell." She declares, so grabbing some of it to nibble on. "Can't take any chances."

Talking with her mouth partially full, the policewoman in the tank top nods her head with grave seriousness. "Every single perp I've ever arrested." She taps her temple with the mini-can of Coke. "Locked right up in here. Don't doubt it, and definitely don't quiz me. Just take my word for it. Always."

She waves her cheese in Justin's direction. "It's okay. It's okay. It's really gross evidence, so I don't mind."

"Good to see my cooler bringing ways are spreading across the land, Love." Carver's got the folder closed back up, wrapping a little loop of string around a fastening tab by the time Love's made her way over to offer a drink, which is naturally accepted without a second's thought. "You shoulder have seen me buying a damn house with the pale skin and fever sweats, though. I'm pretty sure I just made a realtor throw up her hands, scream 'I'm out', and give up on the career forever."

Which, really, that's how Carver works in most things. How'd'you think he got the folder? The folder that he waves in front of Love. "And don't you judge me, Missy. I told you I'd look in for your dad, din't I?"

An elbow jabs at Love's ribs once he's done waving a folder and sipping from a cold bottle of root beer, hand going out for her to lead the way. "C'mon then, introduce me to all your friends."

"If you ask me," Harvey begins, even though no one has really asked him anything at all, "It sounds like there's quite a story in that pond. Or.. several stories, maybe." He quirks a grin at Sarah and then steps aside so she can go plunder the ice box, shifting his pole over his shoulder. "But hopefully none of them come to the surface while you're investigating the cooler, eh? It was nice to meet you, ma'am," to the officer. And there's nods all around to Jonathan and Justin, and Love and Carver too! "I'm sure I'll see you all around, but there's a stack of papers calling my name." And then he's off.

If Love's worried she'll return to a cooler left with nothing but a single grape and one lonely can of Coke in the bottom, she doesn't seem it. Brave is the provisioner who leaves her supply in the company of a hungry horde and one very chub pup. "Shit. Just the thought of owning property bigger than my Mustang gives me cold sweats." Imagine how she's going to react when she finishes going through the stack of paperwork her father left for her.

"I don't actually know any of these people," she asides, before she reaches over for the folder. Grabby! "Is that what this is?" Oh god, more paperwork. "Wait, no you keep that and ... it's sandwich in the park day." No paperwork. Harvey makes bad decisions. Look at him running to do just that!

"Love Liven." Somehow, the name sounds even better in Carver's accent. Especially when he's feigning incredulity. "Do you mean to tell me you approached a gaggle of strangers with a cooler and nary a second thought to your own safety?" He adds, tucking the folder away from her barely-motivated grabbing hands and under his arm to watch her walk, finishing off his cigarette as they go. "That simply doesn't sound like you at all."

Not that the exact circumstance in a different place would be how these two met, anyway. It's a little shuffling as they walk to make drinking his drink relatively simple and not look like he's juggling geese, but the man manages it, throwing her a little nod as he watches Harvey bail into the distance. "It's what of his I could get, yeah. All seems pretty straightforward so far, but I keep getting interrupted before I can properly delve."

"Eh, more like where stories end." Sarah proclaims as Harvey makes his goodbye. She shoves her mouth full of the rest of her chees in her hand, and then smiles BIG at him by way of goodbye. A big damned cheesy grin. That's his parting gift from the mysterious Detective Stevens, who tells no one her name while pilfering food from people she doesn't know.

Like that house guest who stays over way too late after the party has ended whose name no one can remember.

Suddenly the light of recognition goes off behind the blonde-haired policewoman's eyes. She snaps her fingers, swallowing down a whole mess of Havarti as she points at Justin. Points right in his face, actually, finger less than a foot away. It swirls around and around as she drinks from the tiny can of Coca-Cola. Because whatever she has to say is definitely not more important than imbibing pure sugar and caffeine, apparently.

"Ah!" She says as she finally comes up for breath. "Justin Cooper. That's you, right? From L.A.? Running around, causing trouble, all that? I saw you once. Well, in the papers a lot, but at some event, too. What was it... premier of Toy Story 3 or something?"

"A shiny in her peripheral vision catches her eye. "Oh, here comes the almost-litterer."

"You know, as weird at it sounds, I wish I was in his situation," Jonathan remarks thoughtfully as Harvey heads off, before he pets the dog a few more times. "Sounds like a good memory," he offers to Sarah, along with a brief smile. He then goes quiet again as he listens to the others for now. Not moving for food or drink yet.

Justin does not raid Love's cooler, despite her leaving it out in the open like that. He smiles as Harvey departs and says, "Better luck with the fishing next time." He then wanders over to sit down on the log that Harvey abandoned, letting Caleb merrily run around between the people paying attention to him. The fact that the pup hasn't noticed the cooler or the lunch meat is probably only due to the fact that he's completely enamored with all the people.

"This little guy is making sure I get out of my office and away from papers," Justin chuckles. "He's got too much energy to stay cooped up in the house for too long." Then there's a finger in his face, or at least very close to his face, waving around in circles, and he lifts his eyes to look at Sarah with her mouth full of cheese, waiting for whatever comes next. He doesn't look surprised when she recognizes him, though. "Yeah, though my trouble-causing partying days were kind of a while ago." He considers for a moment and then says, "I went to a few premieres, but I don't think Toy Story 3 was one of them." He says, "At least you never arrested me."

Love glances over her shoulder as Carver says her name. She never says it out loud like that unless she has to, because it's basically a bumper sticker, isn't it? "Love Covey Liven," she replies. "And yeah, basically. Nobody's going to chase me down at the lake when there's a ham sandwich to be had." That's her theory and she's sticking to it.

"You're right. Definitely sounds more like you." Cooler, sharing snacks with a bunch of strangers. She pulls up to the gathering, her blanket and cooler of delights. "Makin' a brie and ham sandwich. You want?" She pulls a knife from her back pocket and rips into the bread, sawing it in half. "Oh, the fisherman's leaving. Well, back to sandwiches on a beautiful day." She moves to sit on the blanket, loading up a sandwich with cheese and meats. "She think she arrested you too?" She laughs and eyes Justin. Maybe he does look a bit familiar as well, though her life's been spend in hardcore pursuit of two things: waves and art, so her familiarity with celebrity is rather niche.

The reaction is instant and instinctual when Carver catches sight of a badge.

He tucks the folder a little more firmly up underneath the put of his arm, allows all the humor to drain from his face, and then settles in about two feet behind Love, tucking the long hem of his coat beneath his legs to sit upon as he tucks his head down and sips from his drink, using Love as something of a physical shield between himself and those other's gathered. Which, unfortunately, means he's totally missing out on pup. Aw.

As for words? There are none.

Alistair Carver has officially shut the fuck up.

The blonde gives Justin a suspiciously non-believing look when the man mentions his party days being things of a bygone era. "That's what they all say." Then the bit about her not arresting him. "Well, the day is young. Play your cards right and ca-lick!" She mimes slapping a pair of cuffs on one of her wrists.

Then Sarah lifts a shoulder, tilting her can back and polishing off the soda contained within. "You must not have gotten mixed up with too many hookers and blow. I was working undercover Vice in those," She sighs with mock dreaminess. "'Glory days'. Nothing like standing out on a sidewalk for six to eight hours a night in a wig and fishnet stockings asking who wants a good time. Highlight of my career, that's for sure."

As Love and Carver come back into earshot, the Detective glances their way, wondering how much longer she can play hookie from doing any actual detectiving before getting called out on it. Though technically, she's out mingling with the community, showing police support. That's important, right? The Captain said it when he hired her, anyway.

Carver's reaction is pretty weird. Unusually, suspiciously weird, and the policewoman notices every bit of it. She side-eyes the man hiding, yes hiding, behind the woman for a long moment, before she reaches up to push her sunglasses from her eyes into her hair. All so he can see her wink at him, with a bob of her eyebrows and a little side-smirk tugging at her lips.

Making people nervous was her favorite part of the job.

Something about the very unusual name being bandied about as the pair got closer triggers a long-forgotten memory. After a moment, another lightbulb clicks, and she whirls on the sandwich-making, tattoo-bearing woman with a dramatic point. Really, it would do Phoenix Wright proud. "BLACKS BEACH!" Sarah crows in triumph. "You were the ho, yes 'ho', that won, just, like, every wave and gave the rest of us an inferiority complex so massive we couldn't go back into the water without therapy.

Jonathan shrugs a bit as he listens. "At least I know I've never been arrested by anyone. Unless we count referees in ice hockey, that is." It's offered a bit lightly as he nods to the others. "Jonathan Wallgren," he offers his name. Pausing as he looks between Sarah and Love for a few moments, then back to the others again.

Justin grins at Love when she returns and shakes his head, "Nah. I never managed to get myself arrested. I wasn't /that/ much of a troublemaker." By L.A. celebrity standards, he was practically a boyscout, and a huge nerd. He nods at Carver in greeting when the bridge troll joins them. "How's it going?" Caleb immediately, however, has to visit the new guy, and he's more than comfortable climbing /over/ Love to do so if need be. Justin barely catches him before he tries to clothesline her with his leash. "Hey, Caleb.. no," he says quietly but firmly, scooping him up, all four feet scrabbling to get purchase on the ground that is no longer there. "Sorry about that," he says to Love, putting the puppy back down with a little shorter run to his leash, which only causes him to whine a bit. But. But. But. There's a new person who has not yet given him scritches! This is a travesty!

Chuckling at Sarah, Justin says, "Yeah, hookers and blow were never really my thing." Both brows raise when the pointy-finger goes to Love instead and he says, "What's Black's Beach?" He pauses when Jonathan gives his name and says, "Oh.. Wallgren. That's why you look familiar. Nice to meet you. Justin Cooper." He repeats his name, even though Sarah already mentioned it, in introduction to Love and Carver.

Love helpfully shoves a ham and brie sandwich into Carver's hands to keep his mouth busy. She's a good friend like that. Less so in other respects. She picks off a little bunch of grapes from the bag of them, and sits there eating them and watching the pup. She's just about to say something about the Englishman's sudden quiet attack when Sarah makes the connection for them both. She glances over, reaches up and hooks a finger over the lens of her shades, drawing them down her nose to look over the rims at the blonde.

Give her a sec, she's picturing Sarah with a ponytail and a wetsuit. "Home beach advantage." She smiles, though it looks suspiciously like a smirk. "Didn't you have a pink and yellow board?" That was an adventure, all the spectators bitching about the little steep goat's trail down the beach, and all the promo photos ruined because of the nudists who call that stretch of sand home, dubiously legal as it is to go junk out on a beach that isn't officially nudist. "Black's Beach, La Jolla. One of the best San Diego surf spots. Large swell window." Surfers.

"You still salty about that loss? I probably couldn't take you these days." She grins a bit at that. Probably. "Still surfing?"

"Aly Carver." Carver raises his head just enough to greet the two that gave their names, even going as far as to raise the bottle some ways and throw a smile at the scrabbling Caleb, although he's not a chance to throw scritches in the pup's direction before Love is being de-pupped. "Aw, pup. You've got a face!"

That sounds like a compliment. He also, somehow, manages to make it sound like something he's not -entirely- used to. Before anyone has time to really digest that thought, though, he's being forced to digest a sandwich, which comes at a perfect time to make him both completely avoid the fact he's being creepily focused on by a cop, and not have the opportunity to say anything else before Surfer Talk™ is utterly underway, leaving him free to chew, consider, and make kissy faces at a dog.

"Salty? Naw, I sucked. I dunked on Round Two on that one. Eesh. Only did a couple other competitions after that. Got tired of having my ass handed to me by professionals." The blonde gestures with her empty can. "Talent like that, I doubt it's something you've just forgotten. But be modest to appease my bruised ego if you must. I won't mind."

"Only every summer." Sarah gestures out at the pond. "Any excuse to get wet, right? What about you? I still keep up with a few of the legends. You leave the life of the Rich and Famous for..." A sweeping gesture around. "...all this?"

Now people are introducing themselves. The Detective internally debates the merits of doing such, wondering if doing so might get one or more of them to call her boss and complain about the lippy policewoman invading their good times. Would not be the fifth time. "Sarah Stevens." She almost looks defeated as she indicates herself by tapping the bottom of the empty can against her belt buckle. "Don't let the badge fool you all. Underneath it, I'm really not a very fun person."

Once Caleb has settled down a bit, Justin says, "Going to be good?" Caleb licks his face, and he chuckles. "Uh huh." Then he lets him back down, giving him a bit of gentle guidance so he goes around Love rather than through her to get to Carver. With his leash let out again, he is able to make it over to the man and sniff at him, even more curious about the man's sandwich, now that he's caught wind of food. Justin seems content to listen to the surfer talk, once the clarification is given as to what they were talking about. Surfing was not something that he ever learned how to do.

Love's smile lingers, though it isn't as strong when Sarah talks about talent like that. "Getting older, slowing down. I still get out there now and then." She nods, "Moved on to painting. Teaching painting up in Vancouver. Family business brought me here, at least for a little while." That's it in a nutshell, with a lot of omissions. "Good to see you again, Sarah, without so much sand in your hair. Love." No last name given, though she was just tossing it around to Carver a moment ago.

She thumbs to Carver. "Good people." She can at least vouch for one person here beside the pond. She reaches over and ruffles the pup. She doesn't take it personal when little furbutts try to trip her up with enthusiasm. "Where did you get this sweet face?" She's only here for a while, but damned if this little doggo doesn't make her consider becoming a puppy mama.

"San Diego..." Jonathan offers the words a bit quietly, thoughtfully. "Haven't seen much more of the city thn the rink, hotel, some restaurants and the road, myself." He pauses as he looks to Justin again. "Nice to meet you." Looking between the others, he smiles, "All of you."

Carver regresses by gradual degrees at the sight of an inquisitive pup allowed to approach him, eventually reaching a state where he's holding the remnants of a sandwich slightly above his own head and doing little else than chanting "Pup, pup pup, pup, pup-" over and over again as Love and he both give Caleb the ad-hoc ruffling of his little pupper life. Teamwork makes the dream work, after all.

Sure, the inquisition makes actually eating his sandwich a little difficult, but who'd mind. Really?

Jonathan is given a little thumbs up. Well, sandwich up when he offers the 'nice to meet you', a quick form of retort that's the best he can muster after shoving a mouthful of ham and brie into his mouth. Which means the "Sure." Love gets in reply is more of a "Shfur." and sends a tiny piece of ham dog-wards.

"Cool, cool. Maybe I'll see you out there then, this summer. You should give me a call if you ever want a rematch, Love. Number's Nine-One-One. Listed first in the phone book. I have been dying to kick your ass for like seven years, and now you're old and gray, I think it's my time."

She turns abruptly as Jonathan mentions San Diego. "I'm sorry. That must have been rough. I'd want to move far away from there as fast as possible if I was from San-D, too. You poor thing." At least she wears a small smile to show she's teasing. Maybe. Sort of. Why doesn't that smile touch her eyes?

"Okay!" Detective Stevens sets her Coke can on the ground with the declaration. "I'm going to go. Everyone keep an eye on 'Good People' here," She indicates Alistair with a flick of her head. "He looks tweaked the freak out and might explode." She steps harshly on the can, crushing it flat into the grass.

Leaning down to pick it up, Sarah straightens once more, flicking her fingers towards Justin. "Stay away from the hookers and blow. You never know when the next one will be me in a wig." She turns her waving finger towards Love. "You and me, rematch of the century, coming Summer 2019. Drop by the station sometime if you wanna set it up."

Turning, she frisbees the now-flat can out into the water, before turning, waggling her authoritative finger at those assemebled. "No littering. From none of you. I mean it. Only warning." So saying, the Hollywood blonde slips her sunglasses from hair back over eyes and begins to saunter back towards her beaten ass old car, throwing a hand in the air as a farewell wave.

Caleb regales in the attention, anad alternately nuzzles into Love and Carver, stealing any bit of food that happens to fall within his reach. Justin doesn't seem to mind, and tells Love, "Minerva actually rescued about a half dozen pups that were abandoned near Firefly woods. Couldn't resist taking him in." He certainly seems a healthy little thing for having been abandoned.

Justin raises a brow at Sarah and says, "I think I can probably manage that, Officer." He does look a little surprised when she chucks the can out into the lake, though. Then he just shakes his head, watching her go for a moment. "I'm pretty sure I've seen her in something, too." But he can't quite put his finger on it. But then, everyone in L.A. aspires to be an actor, don't they?

"You should go back, see a bit more of it," Love says to Jonathan. "I'm sure the hotel, rink, and restaurants are nice, but the coastline is amazing." There's a pause before she asks, "Hockey?" It doesn't take long to make the link. She has been living in Canada, after all. Hockey's the thing.

"Keep hope alive, Sarah." She nods and pops another grape into her mouth. Once the blonde's turned around after litterbugging it, headed off, and got into her car, Love makes up a little sandwich of her own, about a third of the size of the one she handed to Carver. "Cops, man. They're all chatty in this town. At least she didn't try to get any papers out of us."

"Who would abandon this little one? That's so sad. Have they all found homes?" Her pale gaze flicks up to Justin, and she scritches across the pup's back to just above his tail where she treats him to those long, almond shaped nails. Good scratchin'. She'll have to call Minerva later. The name's uncommon enough, and the town small enough that the Minerva whom she's met is probably one and the same. "Do they? Probably. When I lived in Cali, I skipped around LA. Too many Keanu wannabes surfing Malibu."

Carver's baby-talking the dog. Let's just get that clear and out into the open right now. "Can we trust cops, lil' buddy? No we can't! No we can't!" Justin should probably at least be pleased Carver's not trying to teach Caleb about how there's no ethical consumption under capitalism and that wage labor is a tool to suppress the workers. Gift horses aside, Gift Carver's should never, ever be looked in the mouth.

Running a hand around the back of Caleb's ears for a moment, Carver glances up at the word that they were abandoned near the woods. Nothing huge in his demeanor changes, but it would seem as though for the foreseeable future, he's eyeing that pup a little more closely, chewing his sandwich more thoughtfully than before as he watches how the lil' pup moves, how it acts, how it feels. Which is totally normal. Everything about Carver is totally, one-hundred-percent normal, people.

"Mm." Goes to Love. Noncommittal as hell. Must be the sandwich and the dog. Nobody here'd know it, but this is totally a Carver turning over a new leaf with regards to badmouthing the PD.

Wait, hang on...

...Yeah, this is totally a Carver turning over a new leaf with regards to badmouthing the PD.

Jonathan shakes his head as he hears the words of the leaving detective. "Hmmm..." he offers, before he nods at Love's words. "I think some of my teammates mentioned something about some interesting golf courses out by the cours, but I haven't really ever played golf." He nods a bit slowly, "Hockey, yes. Got to play that, up to the top level..." He goes quiet again, glancing around for a few moments. "Sometimes, I think I would like to get a dog, but then again, the others at home might not agree."

"Yeah," Justin says to Love, "I think she found homes for all of them the day she found them. They were pretty charming little guys. Didn't take too long." Caleb barks in response to Carver's talking to him, as though he were participating in the conversation in his own canine way. If anything, Justin just seems entertained by everyone's conversations with the dog.

When Carver scrutinizes Caleb however, the pup just rolls over on his back in the grass and barks. He moves like a puppy, behaves like a puppy and feels like a puppy. There is nothing at all unusual about the pup. He's either the stealthiest hellbeast ever, or he is actually just a pup. Glancing over at Jonathan he says, "Yeah, I was fortunate that Dahl doesn't seem to mind him. I think he's going to grow on her. And Stefano helped name him, after all." Stefano actually /did/ name him, moreso than helped. Justin just vetoed the other options til he found one.

That leaf Carver's turning must be the one skittering down the walk spiraling end over end.

Love watches Jonathan for a moment, when he mentions how he got to play that up to the top level. She doesn't pursue it, not right now. She continues to watch him after he trails off. She swallows, looks away, and then digs into the cooler for a drink. She knows a few things about competing at the top level in the past tense. The crack of a can opening, the fizz of a mini can of Coke snaps her out of it. "Everyone comes around eventually for a dog, unless they're allergic."

"Drink, anyone?" She offers the contents of the cooler again, in case there've been any changed minds, still shy about partaking. "I'm glad they all found homes, or I might be tempted." She glances up to Justin, then back down to Caleb. "If you ever need a dogsitter, I'm one hundred percent there."

Carver's finishing his root beer just in time for the offer to come anew, seemingly content with his appraisal of the dog. Face: Adorable. Belly: Rubbable. Fluff: yes. Dog status is confirmed, and his hand goes out to make grabby motions in the direction of the cooler.

And then something that Jonathan said catches his attention, and the dark eyes of the man snap up as he looks at his face with a little linger of a gaze, head slowly tilting to one side as he seems to consider a few things. Would it be the hockey mention? Or the golf courses? Teammates?

"Exactly." He seems to agree with Love, almost looking like he was about to pat her on the shoulder for a second there. "Fuck 'em, mate. Get a big enough dog, who the hell are they to argue?"

Nope. Dogmode is fully in power.

"Sure, you never know when I might need a dogsitter," Justin says. "You got a card or contact info?" He chuckles at Carver's opinion on Jonathan's housemates and their potential objections to canine companionship. Just then his phone begins to buzz in his pocket and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen. He taps out a message and then tucks it back into his pocket. "Looks like it's time for me to get going. Got a couple of errands to run before plans later. Was nice meeting you all, though." He calls to Caleb, who takes a moment, but eventually runs back over to Justin, "C'mon little guy. Time to go home. You can come back and play with people more another day."

Jonathan shrugs a little. "Maybe I'll spek with them about it," he offers. The mention of the drinks makes him reach for some water. "Thank you," he offers, a bit quietly.

"Minerva has my digits," Love calls to Justin. "Reminds me, I need to get some new cards done up." She shakes her head, flops back on her blanket with the sandwich, and looks out over the Death Lake toward the boats. "I don't know what all that talk of corpses and fish food was all about earlier..." She looks toward the bridge, then along the water's edge. "Doesn't look haunted at all." She snorts. "Small town drama. Part of me loves it."

She leans over and pokes Carver in the arm. "I'm tending bar at the Platinum now. You should come by for a cocktail and a lap dance." She nods to Jonathan. "You too. It's good for all that ails you." Or it'll make it worse, you know, but it's a good time either way.

Somehow, even despite the attempt to turn the topic towards that of the Platinum Cabaret, the topic for the rest of the afternoon between those that remains stays largely focused on dogs and previous careers. A strange mix, to be sure, but one that flows all the easier as the contents of the cooler slowly diminish as time goes by.

Disappointingly for some, no bodies emerge from the river, nor do any more officers come by to warn about littering. In fact, the only occurrence for the rest of the afternoon here that could be considered strange would be Carver being completely glared down by all gathered as he seems to veer ever closer to a tirade about ducks and how goddamned untrustworthy the feathery bastards truly are.

One by one the remainders leave, having spent a relatively relaxing afternoon on the edge of the lake. And to think, would any of this have happened if it weren't for one man who looked out on those calm waters, damned those who would judge him, and grabbed his rod in front of all and sundry?

Well. probably. But it wouldn't have been as fun.