2019-10-12 - The Three Stooges with Guns

Carter is new on the force, a rookie, only recently joine din the past month and a half or so. But since he joined, he's been working patrol beats around the city and making himself generally useful. Currently, he sits at a desk doing some paperwork, catching up with the usual forms and research that he needs to do before he heads back out for another patrol. He has a half-consumed cup of coffee on the desk next to him, and has his head down in his paperwork.

Malachi hasn't been around too long either. Two or three months at this point perhaps. Though keeping a lot to himself and doing his job as a traffic cop, to gain some experience before being a proper CSI. Wandering into the place himself as he tries to look around some. Getting a coke for himself. "Hey." Offered towards Carter. "A lot of paperwork?" Asked with a small nod towards the papers on the desk. Opening his can of coke and taking a sip.

Carter glances up from where he was working when Malachi comes over and nods with a faint sigh, "Yeah. Lots of paperwork. But, that's kind of the way it goes, right?" He grins a little bit lopsidedly and then straightens from where he had been hunched over the papers in front of him, stretching a bit and letting out a sigh. "So, Porter, right? I've seen you around, but I don't think we've ever really been properly introduced. Carter Reid." He offers a hand.

Malachi chuckles and nods, "Unfortunately that is usually how it goes." About to move when the greeting is offered. "Ah, right. Malachi Porter." Taking the offered hand. "Nice to meet you, Reid."

Carter gives Malachi's hand a single firm but friendly shake he says, "Nice to meet you." He then says, "Don't let me keep you if you were busy.." waving with one hand a bit, indicating that he'd noticed that Malachi was about to move. He looks back down at the papers in front of him and sighs, shuffling a few off into a folder and stacking them in the 'finished' pile.

Malachi does offer a firm shake in return. A nod at the other man's words. "Oh, no worries. Just some paperwork and relaxing for a moment. Wanting to get as much experience as I can though." Shrugging some. Going to a nearby desk to start on some papers of his own. His doesn't look to be as stacked though, just a few things. "At least we don't have to sit alone and almost fall asleep over the paperwork." He suggests with a grin and a glance towards the rookie.

Carter nods and then rests one elbow on the desk, chin on his hand, as he flips open the next folder and set of forms, looking them over. "Experience is good," he agrees. "I'm still getting used to how different this place is from San Francisco. So much smaller. Yet, there's such a high murder rate lately. It's pretty crazy." He then glances over at Malachi and grins, "It is nice to have company."

Malachi chuckles and nods, "Yeah, don't I know it. Quite different from Seattle as well, I assure you." He says and grins. "I guess the numbers can have several reasons. Not sure on the size compared to population, haven't checked that. Can also been the location, the town itself and so on. There is a weird eerie feeling though. I am sure that you have noticed as well?" He suggests. Perhaps seeing something similar in Carter as in himself. Also being quite the observant one he is trying to take in which hand Carter seem to be dominant with, as well as any other things that Carter's body language might give away. Always one wanting to be aware of things. Even his position and which desk is his seem to be thought of from a strategic viewpoint.

Carter, for his part, seems relaxed, his demenaor one of quiet resignation to the dull task of filling out forms as a necessary evil of the job. The desk he's chosen is just one of the small pool set aside for the patrol officers to use temporarily between shifts. Unlike the detectives, he doesn't have his own, so it is just whichever one was open at the time he'd walked in an hour or two ago. He appears to be right-handed. He continues to tick off boxes, write in notes, and sign his name in the requisite spots as they talk. "Yeah, there is," he says when Malachi mentions the eerie feeling. "I noticed it when I got here." He glances over in Malachi's direction for a moment, studying him, looking him over closely for just a moment, and then looking back down at the papers in front of him. "People around here, too, seem a little different. But, maybe that's just smaller town life."

Malachi most likely doesn't have one of his own either, but one he prefers to use. One day he might, but for now. He is in the same boat as Carter. Nodding agreeingly at the words. "Yeah, seems to be. I noticed when I was coming through as a kid, seemed different then, and still quite different today. THe people seem slightly different as well. But yes, that can just be due to the town size, and style." Starting to fill in the papers and trying to go at it with a good pace.

"I'd never been here before Claire and I moved here," Carter admits. "I'd never even heard of the place." He nods in agreement though, at Malachi's assessment of the town's size and people. "So what brought you here from Seattle?" he asks. It's the kind of idle small talk one makes while doing paperwork that doesn't require a lot of focus, but is good natured and companionable while they both try to get work done.

Malachi shrugs some, "A bit of this and that. Seemed like an interesting place. Especially the rates that you spoke of. I do want to do forensics. What better place?" He offers and smiles. Not really giving up too much at the moment, still getting to know the people at the station. "How about you? And Claire?" Trying to figure out who she might be.

A complete and utterly anarchist-looking mess of a man comes wandering in past the reception's desk. A recently groomed, now made scraggy beard; curly, sideways hair draped to one side. He wore a waist-long, brown and suede leather jacket with a puffed, fur collar, cut and open on the front. Below it a dark brown shirt that hung just below his neckbone, showing the aforementioned. His pants were the cargo type, loose and torn copiously across each sleeved drop, descending atop knee-high timberlands that too looked scuffed and messed from front to back.

A more aged, experienced officer looked to be dialoguing with Nasir as he entered, and that same man pointed at Carter instructively from the distance. That bedraggled guy encroaches forward towards the pair - Malachi and Carter, respectively - and stops only short of the latter's desk, dumping a mag-emptied handgun on his paper-dotted banister. Beside it a filled form, and he'd talk with a hoarse, forcibly dogmatic tone unnatural to either his physiognomy and disposition;

"I'm here to renovate my gun license. Here's the form."

"Forensics has always been pretty fascinating to me," Carter says, "But I don't know if I'd have the stomach to do it all the time." He considers and then says, "Maybe. I don't know." Then he signs another paper and shoves it into a folder, tucking it onto the finished pile as well. "We never knew our father, but apparently when he died, he left us the house here. We were struggling in San Francisco. It was too expensive for us. And the will left us the house and whatever was in it as long as we agreed to occupy it. So.. here we are."

The approach of Nasir is noted, and the paperwork and firearm being dropped on his desk earn the man a raised eyebrow. He glances over toward the older officer who gives him a look like 'he's your problem now', even though the rookie isn't the right person to handle the firearms license. He smiles though, patiently, and says, "Sure. You got two forms of ID? I can bring this over to the window with you. We'll get it taken care of."

Malachi grins at Carter, "True, it isn't for everyone." Listening about their father, since he speak about them both, he is piecing the puzzle. Before he can go on Nasir is coming along on the scene.

Shifting some as he looks to Nasir when he step over. Trying to take in all that is him, but also his tics and behaviour. Which hand does what, where does the weight lay on his feet. Dominant hand, any limping? All of such as he studies the two during the exchange. Continuing with his own work at the same time. Letting Carter handle things for now.

Nasir was a beehive of tics; his every hand shifted, every knuckle hardened, and fingers crossed and squeezed like the end of a bear's fur-dotted claws with difficult strain. He looked dilapidated and impossibly lean- so lean and austere it looked like someone must've ran shoe polish across his skin, now made rugged. Veins on fingers latched so much against the flesh they looked like roping, and with Carter's response, he squeezed his right fist with visible stress. Forms, ID's, bureaucracy, all nonsense- all air to the wind, but he expected it.

He pulled out a wallet from his right back pocket, one puffed and huge with pamphlets, papers and other such nonsense one tends to pick and hoard while under the Capitalist regime of coupons. He fished out his ID, and a veteran card, both which he laid out beside the gun. On further inspection, the handgun wasn't at all that odd- it had zero modifications, the handle was made of a polished, wooden finish and the barreling, mechanisms and all metals a now worn, silvered color. It was an M1911, holstered in a leather strap. "Here you go," Nasir replied, finally addressing Malachi's stare- which he only did catch soon as he looked back down to the papers. Nasir was left-handed, and it was obvious now as he laid his palm into his stomach; "Everything alright, Private Blue?"

Carter takes the two forms of ID, looks over the form to see if there are any obvious glaring errors that he can spot and point out before they go through the process of standing at the window and having the actual clerk handle the process of renewing the gun license. But, finding no errors or omissions on the form, and the weapon looking to be in shape, he gets up from the desk and gives Malachi a bit of a grin and a shrug of his shoulders. This is rookie life. "It's right over here, Mr. Khairan." He then leads the man over to where the license renewal is handled and passes over the forms and ID to the clerk who looks them over, and looks Nasir over, giving Carter a dubious look. Carter says, "Take good care of Mr. Khairan for me, hm?" flashing the woman a charming smile. She nods, and then motions to Nasir to move up to the window, as Carter says, "Nancy will take care of you, and then if you need anything, let me know. I'll be right over there." He nods back toward his desk and paperwork, which he returns to.

Malachi raises a brow at Nasir, "You okay?" He asks, perhaps even noticing his reaction to Carter's response. Taking in the behavioural patterns, perhaps recognizing a lot of it. Malachi himself not so much staring as taking in details, spatial awareness and taking in the surroundings and details about things and people. Smiling at Nasir's question. "All good, just doing my job." He assures him with a smile. Turning to nod to Carter as well. Have fun. He offers to him before seeing Nancy helping the man out.

Nasir didn't bother to think much on it- the veteran's ID named him indeed Khairan, and his credentials at the back placed twelve deployments under his service. Some other markings, Delta's symbol, it was all there; there on the ID, as it was on his face. Dejection, and a very, a very crestfallen individual, who saw it all as a chore; who felt there out of place, and out of want. He walked beside, not after, Carter, and once he reached the counter and what one could only assume to be an attractive girl - even if not really, she was in the force - he looked disconnected from the time. "I'm good, Blue," he re-assured Malachi from the distance, and he'd stand there; there beside the counter, in silence, as Nancy worked his ID's and went through his documented story, unblemished.

He even dumped the expected two hundred bucks on the counter, well-aware of the tax.

Carter doesn't seem to mind Nasir walking beside him, not really attempting to lead, just assist, and once the man is getting the assitance he needs, he returns to the desk next to Malachi's. It's not that he doesn't make note of Nasir. He certainly does, from his demeanor right on down to all of those tics, but thing is? Carter just treats him like a person, seeming perfectly comfortable and respectful. He stares at all the papers again and lets out a whoosh of a sigh. "You going out again today? Or are you done after this?" he asks Malachi, keeping an eye out in case Nasir needs anything.

Malachi doesn't seem to mind as Nasir wanders. A smile and a nod to Nasir though at his words. Letting Nancy help him out. "Let us know if you need anything." Turning to Carter then though, hearing his question. "This is the last few things before I get to be free for a bit." He offers. "You?"

Clung to that seemingly perennial snarl on his face. The heat inside, the sound of chatter in the background, the uniformed servants of the Law, all he eyed shiftily, like a wolf in a den of lions. His feet were shifty, and his gaze worn; tired and, in a way, derisive. Each question Nancy made of him made him grimace, everything she did; every behavioral tict, reaction, and act of kindness all earned a hinted snarl and a less-than-willing response as informative as she needed it, to continue the process along.

Some forms came his way, and he signed them; Thank you for your service, thank you for your service, thank you for your service, and away he nodded, officer after officer, each and every thanking feeling like an insult; like a weight on his shoulders that met a new one stone with every thanking, but it was his fault; he had left that ID out on the table, and anything that says 'Veteran' gets that fucking thanking.

And he hated it for it.

"I'm supposed to do one more patrol out by Gray Pond and then I'm done for the night. Want to go grab a beer or something?" Carter doesn't have many, no, any, friends in town outside of his sister.

Nancy wrapped up the paperwork and smiled brightly at Nasir. "Is there anything else I can help you with today, sir?" she asked pleasantly. Nancy was a sweetheart. There was a reason that they had her working with the public. She was the epitome of nice in a bureaucratic hell of paperwork and signatures.

Malachi hasn't really bothered to thank him for any service. Not really wanting to bother the man, busy with forms. Instead looking to Carter as they talk. "Ah, I see. Not alone, I hope? Patrols are usually better with back-up after all." He tells Carter. Nodding about a beer. "Sure, I could hang out for a bit. Just send me a text when you are done."

"No," and he picked his permit, and its fresh stamping recently slapped on it. He'd slide it neatly into his wallet, plastified as it was, and took some other forms to slide them nicely into a yellow folder he revealed to had been cradling under his right arm, under that worn jacket. Last came his handgun, strapping it to his waistline's belt latches so that it'd hang. It loosened his cargo jeans some, enough so that the end covered part of his boots with the drop.

Somewhat satisfied with the ease of the process, he took back to Carter and Malachi while working a cigarette packet out of his jacket's inner padding, fixing one of its rolled bits between his lips. "Hey, rookies- can we smoke in this piece of shit?" he finally asked the pair, furrowing his brows respectively to the question while looking around, searchingly. An engraved zippo soon manifested on his left palm after some rummaging, and he looked intent on lighting the thing right there as it clung to his mouth.

"Nah, no smoking laws in all government buildings and restaurants, man," Carter said with a nod toward the door. "There's a smoking area just outside there, though." He then nods to Malachi, "Alone. I mean, this PD is barely big enough to have separate departments. Not every patrol has a partner either, though it'd be better if it did." He shrugs his shoulders. "Haven't run into anything I've needed backup for though, not yet. If I do, I'll call it in." He then says, "I'll shoot you a text when I'm on my way back. Unless you're bored and want to ride with me."

Malachi let Carter explain the situation on smoking. "Sorry, but at least it isn't too far to get to the smoking area." Turning to Carter with a sigh and nod. "That is true." Nodding some about Carter. "I could." Turning to Nasir. "Though I suppose we could show where the smoking area is, if you want?" The last question directed to Nasir.

Nasir shook his head, he had heard everything he needed. Once, twice, thrice a snap, and his zippo's flint wheel knocked the rivet and from its eyelet a proud flame spit out. He leaned his cigarette's end into it, inhaling a nice puff of smoke; an intake tasted brimstone which fire burnt away at the rot of his insides, bringing enough warmth to his face as to greet the two young officers with a more approachable expression. "I'm good, I'm good; so, you two are new in the force? Fresh out of boot camp-- green on the socks, all that?" he wondered aloud, approaching Carter's desk and docking the side of his hip against it, his mouth turning some to let the cigarette slide to its left flank, out of the way.

"How's it looking around here with the girls, except Nancy, for you two? Any takers?" he teased, smiling a wry smile while sneaking a subtle glance over the shoulder, to nowhere in particular, before eyeing the pair again.

"You really can't smoke in here," Carter re-iterates when Nasir strikes up the lighter and lights his cigarette inside the precinct. He gets up from his desk then, after throwing the paperwork into a drawer and locking it. "Come on, let's head just out there." He nods in that direction and begins to head toward the door, continuing the conversation as he goes with a chuckle. "Yeah, well, I did my first year out of the academy in San Francisco, but I'm new to being pretty much on my own here." When Nasir asks about the girls, though, Carter smiles a ltitle wryly and says, "Wouldn't know. I make it a point not to date coworkers. Doesn't seem like a good idea."

Malachi sighs as Nasir smokes anyhow. Rising to his feet. "Not quite, but still got some time." He offers and shrugs. Moving to follow along, his own paperwork seems to have been finished anyhow. Just some reports and so on. A chuckle and nod as he agrees. "Usually a good rule to follow." Hands going into his pockets.

Nasir squinted- the warning had been too late, and he made a begrudging expression while throwing the cigarette on the ground, stomping it under the hard sole of his boot. "Well fucking hell, you made it sound like it was a so-and-so type of thing," he neared and walked beside the pair, his shoulders hunching him forward as he walked, like a crow of a man. His palms dug into his jacket's pockets, and he waved it slowly forward with every step, on the path outside; "Yeah, you don't want to date any of these cop girls. They'd sooner shoot your gonads off than see you do a fatal slip and look at another girl. If you want my advice? Date nurses," while speaking, he dipped his head sagely, eyeing the pair expectantly- this was sacred wisdom, wasn't it; they wouldn't besmirch it, would they?

Once they are outside in the smoking area, Carter wanders over to one of the picnic tables and sits on the table with his boots on the bench in front of him, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "I also tend to date guys," Carter says, "Though that doesn't rule out nurses." He smiles a little bit amusedly. He isn't entirely refuting the sacred wisdom, it seems, though probably not the way that Nasir intended it to be interpreted.

Malachi hmms some at Nasir's words, "Don't put ideas in my head." He offers a bit playfully. Perhaps enjoying living on the edge. Though there is another nod about nurses. "I suppose someone to patch you up is better than blown off bits." A sagenod at that. Following the out to the smoking area. Not seeming to react much to Carter dating guys, other than a smile and a nod. "Yeah, seen nurses of both genders." He agrees.

Nasir took one long, drawn-out stare of Carter. His eyes furrowed, his nose crunched and his shoulders did a double-take of a straightening to get a good look of him, as if to try and discern something beyond that stock photo smile and amusement on his face; the kind of amusement Nasir didn't seem to straightforwardly understand.

"You're doing it wrong, and I'm going to tell you why. Give me a second, though," the Arab ramshackle of a man worked a palm back into his jacket, fetching that packet that from this distance very clearly said 'Weyland' on its surface. He tapped the bottom, letting a roll out for his lips to catch.

He looked back at Carter there, yet made sure to get a sidelong glance of Malachi to ensure the taller one was listening- this was for both, clearly; "If it's the boys you're going to want to date, you don't go for the he-nurses. No, man; no, what are you thinking?" he sat down beside Carter, yet his feet didn't go anywhere from having planted themselves on the floor. He slapped his zippo in front of the rookie, and asked rather casually; "Light my cig," before smoothly transitioning into the lingering topic of conversation;

"You want those Bob the Builder types. I'm talking bared arms, yellow red hats-- I mean, fuck, you've seen the ones remodelating those apartments here-town, ones that Byron-guy is working on? I'm not exactly into guys, but the way they've been putting down those foundations and that satin roof I've got to say, shit," a beat, and another glance towards Malachi; "They've got to have some huge sledgehammer huevos down in their pants. Beautiful groundskeep work, I'll tell you right now."

Carter doesn't seem phased by the stare at all, apparently used to getting those sorts of looks, the smile not leaving his lips. Though one brow does creep up when Nasir says that he's doing it wrong. His expression flickers with a little bit of skepticism when the man says to give him a second, but he listens none the less, patiently waiting to see what comes next. What /does/ come next has him laughing just a bit, and shaking his head. That was definitely not what he was expecting, and it's written on his face. He picks up the lighter and flicks it, bringing a flame to it and holding it out for Nasir to light his cigarette before handing it back. "Yeah well, I'm not really into the super beefy guys, but there are some nicely cut construction workers out there that I'd definitely consider if they were interested." He shakes his head, "But, there's nothing wrong with nurses, either." He then glances over toward Malachi and asks, "What about you? You have a girlfriend, Porter?"

Malachi chuckles a bit, not really offering much other than listening to them both. Shaking his head, "Been focused on work." He explains without really giving a real answer to anything of interest. "I am sure you can find interesting matches in any field, really. Sports is usually a good spot, I suppose."

He didn't appear at all convinced with Carter's answer, tucking the cigarette between two fingers to point at him skeptically with the burning tip's end, right after an inhale. And he'd exhale, right then, as he spoke- a nice, grey misty cloud that'd erode off with his words. "If you're going to go for a dude, you may as well go all the way- if they're not a wandering beefcake with arms so vascular they've got an ecosystem of blood types in each vein, you're not doing it right, little oho," it wasn't a disagreement as much as it was a warning; a cautioning statement, one that Nasir spoke of with subscribed conviction. Next came Malachi, because of course- he took the zippo from Carter's hand or table if he did put it down, and pocketed it away while taking a drag of his smoke-top, studying the darker-skinned cop, thinkingly.

"You know, you can cut the sleepy, quiet shit and tell us the real events, Blue. You've been eyeing a nice spread out there, haven't you? Get honest, man-- I just came back from fixing some redneck's piece of shit truck, his suspension was all over the place, you can talk to me. I'm Nasir, by the way-- who's you two?"

Carter studies Malachi for a moment or two when he gives his answer and then shrugs his shoulders, not seeming as inclined as Nasir to try to cajole the guy into talking if it was something he didn't want to talk about. He grins and says, "Swimmers," when Malachi mentions sports, but then he shakes his head, amusedly, at Nasir. "I think that's a pretty narrow view of masculinity and what makes masculine attractiveness, but to each his own." He reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair lightly. "Is that what you do?" he asks Nasir, trying to pull him away from pushing Malachi on the topic. "You a mechanic? I'm Carter Reid." He doesn't speak for Malachi.

Malachi chuckles and shakes his head, "Not really. I do remember meeting someone as a kid, when I came through. But other than that, not a lot of people that I have talked to outside of work. One thing at a time." He explains to Nasir, "Malachi." Is offered to him, and letting Carter introduce himself as well. Nodding about swimmers. "Ah, right. I get that." He agrees and nods. "There are a lot of different ones."

Nasir smiled, however subtly- he had taken a liking to Malachi's dismissive answers, piking his interest tenfold. As the man spoke, he listened; his brows furrowed some, and he didn't look at all happy with the shallow depth of a childhood girl he had spoken of. Still, his interest did dwindle off at Carter's question, right before he could bury in more questioning daggers into Malachi. Mission accomplished.

"It's what I do now, yes-- it's not what I did before. But you know how it is, we inherit our father's profession and all of that. Or so everyone keeps saying-- I can assure you, my father had not the ounce of skill I have. I'm the fucking best, kid-- anytime, any-thing, ever breaks," amidst his proud, self-servicing monologue, it'd be almost magical how his hand subtly went into a pocket and from it procured an employment pamphlet. A little card, with comic sans hinging every word written on it; "FIX YOUR SHIT ON DELIVERY - NASIR IBN KHAIRAN - WE'LL EVEN FIX YOUR MARITAL ISSUES, FIX COST DEPEND ON THE SIZE OF WARES," which he promptly placed on the table, to better splay it to the pair.

"I do upholstery, car detailing, engine checking- engine building, AC checking, repairing, reposting; fuckin'-- chasis putting, oil-changing, tires, fucking; fucking radios, you want some radios? My number, right here, you just call," he reached out with his right hand, putting fingered emphasiz on the number itself, etched on the paper.

Carter grins over at Malachi and says, "There are, yeah." Then he looks over at the card that Nasir produces and sets down. He reaches out to take the card, flipping it over between his fingers to read both sides, and then he tucks it away in his pocket, apparently planning to hold onto that. "Wouldn't know. I don't even know what my father did. I figure we'll find out as we continue to unearth all his stuff in the house. Though we might have some stuff that needs fixing. There's a lot of stuff in that house that needs fixing. Maybe we'll give you a call." And with that, Carter pulls himself up off the table and says, "But right now I gotta go do my patrol before it gets too much later. Porter, I'll shoot you a text when I'm done. Should be.. about 30 minutes or so unless something crazy happens. Mr. Khairan. Nice meeting you." He dips his head to both and then goes strolling across the parking lot toward one of the cruisers.

Malachi didn't feel any need to explain about the person he met. Gender or reason for remembering the encounter. The fact that it might be glimmer related rather than anything else. All Nasir get on it is a grin. "Ah, No clue for me." About inherintg the parents' profession. Raising a brow as he looks to the card, a bit of amusement showing. "Interesting. Always good to have someone that can help with most things." Nodding about Carter's father. Nodding to him. "See you later. And if you are too tired, there is always after work the next day." Is suggested with a grin. "Take care, Reid."

Nasir puckered his lips, hanging onto a dubious expression thorough it all of Carter's departure. Something in it all didn't fit in the back of his mind, or he hadn't gotten the entirety of the information he wanted. With a flick of his middle finger, he threw the butt of his fully inhaled cigarette off, shooting it with good accuracy into the opposite corner of the room's basket. The speed and force of it rattled the plastic thing, even if it was a little wee butt, and he pushed himself from the bench with a nice, palmed press down to his stomach and leggings, adjusting his attire from its worn-down state to a less worn-down state.

"Sounds good. You two care now, yeah? I've got to go. Girl to date, and all of that-- girl way, way, way out of my league, too, but gotta' keep on dreamin' the dream, I'm sure you understand," he lipped a Cheshire smile for them both, his self-deprecating terms of engagement a tease, a joke and a truth all in one greedy three, one he walked out of the station with.

Somewhere along the way, down those steps, he went for his packet of cigarettes again, most likely to smoke his third on the way to his dingy ATV. Or fourth?