2022-04-25 - Mustachioed

It's been a busy day at the precinct, and the Chief -- like a few others -- is putting in a few extra hours tonight to try to knock off a few case files now that he's got some down time. His office isn't too hard to find; it's the one that reads Javier de la Vega, Chief of Police and used to belong to Clarence Thatchery back in the day. Before someone put a bullet in his head and retired him from the force. The way the snarly Mexican tends to operate, a few folks wonder when it'll be his turn to wind up in a ditch somewhere with a 9mm in the back of his head. But, maybe he's just that good at playing Felix's lapdog.

He's slouched in his chair, door open a crack, sifting through the contents of a file folder while going through voice mail. The cop's in civilian attire, as per usual: faded dark grey tee shirt, snug black jeans, baseball cap and scuffed boots. Battered leather jacket slung over the back of his chair, and his usual Sig P320 holstered at his hip and buckled in place. He looks bored out of his mind.

It isn't all that rare for the coroner to stop by from time to time in order to check on case files, or catch one of the local detectives up on something that was wrong with a body. So Ava's face is known at the station, and not terribly a surprise. "You here to see, Deacon, honey?" she's asked at reception with a grin, Ava's head shaking back and forth. "Not this time. I'm actually here to have a little chat with the Chief. Have to return some files. Plus I have a little surprise for him." There's a little wink there, which earns an 'oooh' and a giggle before Ava's gestured back.

In contrast to cop shoes, her stilettos make a distinct noise on approach. She's always in civilian clothes, but they're always some sort of fancy, today's being a fitted black skirt, an off the shoulder blouse with a wrap around collar and little black bow, and sharp black heels. "Chief." A little knock as the door peeks open some and her head pokes in. "I have some files to return."

Javier's eyes tick up at the intrusion, and there's a count of about four or five seconds where he takes in his visitor. Not too many of them walk in dressed like that, after all. Mostly uniforms around here. Clearing his throat, he returns his attention to his file folder, and continues to flip through it with what appears to be disinterest. Maybe he isn't finding what he's looking for. Or maybe he just needs more coffee; his cup's empty, and he's been at this for a while.

"Brennon. Hey." He rifles about for a pen in his drawer, and scrawls something down in the margin. "You can leave them there." He nods to an empty spot on top of his desk, near his closed laptop. "I'm off in.." He checks his watch. "Fourty-five minutes ago. So I hope you don't need those reviewed tonight."

"Oh no. I don't need them tonight." She walks in, nudging the door back to the cracked position it was behind her with a heel rather than leaving it open. Which may seem odd until Ava follows that up with the next statement. "Most of what I wrote up is just track covering information regarding the single shoe that was left behind for the missing people." The folders are dropped, leaving her just holding a small bag. "All non-shiny standard information. I know what happened to the five mission people, but none of it can actually be entered into the report or told to their love ones," she offers with a slight frown."

Her hip leans against the side of the desk as she watches him, still holding that little bag as he works. There's a curious tilt to her head, expression easily read as 'should I leave you alone, or should I go on?' even if none of that is actually verbalized.

The cop still doesn't take his eyes off the file folder he'd been perusing when she walked in. Despite the fact that he's no longer reading it. Not when she mentions missing people. His eyes narrow a fraction, and there's a little twinge of something in his mouth. Like he wants to bare his teeth. But that would hardly be civilised, now, would it?

"No, claro que no. Entiendo." It's murmured softly, and he rubs an inked forefinger and thumb against his temples before closing up the file folder he'd been looking at. A creak of his chair as his weight's relinquished, and he climbs to his feet, and steps past her to go return the thing to the filing cabinet at the back of the room. "What else do you have for me. Off the record?"

"Me alegra que entiendas." A gentle sigh as the lean against his desk shifts into a half sit. Ava doesn't turn to watch him move around the office, he'll come back to the chair whenever he does. "How aware are you of the name Haggleford and the stuff that he's been up to in town for at least the past few months," she wonders. "About two months ago, give or take, he left little messages for myself and a couple of others to go to the old saw mill alone. There was a cryptid there as well, being tortured. A Mothman. It was a whole shit show." She shuffles the fingers of one hand through her hair. "Turns out it was only a body double of the man, so when he got downed it wasn't really even a deterrent."

There's a quiet scoff of amusement from Javier. The drawer he'd been sifting through has its folder replaced, and is thumped shut and locked. "Name rings a bell," he admits. "I've, uh." He starts ambling back over. "I've tried to stay out of that shit, for the most part. Had my hands full keeping the Spokane boys under control." Whatever that's supposed to mean.

He sinks back into his chair, and collects a pair of what look like reading glasses from one of his desk drawers. Clearing his throat, he reaches for the folder Ava had set down for him when she arrived, and drags it closer with two fingertips. "So tell me what the fuck this tortured cryptid's got to do with missing people?"

"Well, we don't think where he's going is to the Other Side. Wherever he's going requires a portal to get to. So he's been unleashing the cryptids out onto our side of things. Then he gets the bodies he needs, last month it was the five listed in that file the park folks and the real estate agent, then he sacrifices the cryptid and uses their blood and death to open the portal to get back to wherever the fuck he's coming from."

Ava frowns darkly. "We're not sure if it's slave labor, or flesh trading, or what he's doing with these bodies yet, but it's a lot of missing people. At least three cryptid citings that I've heard of. I can't imagine the ones that we've missed." Once the folder is opened she gestures to one of the maps of Humptulip where the bodies vanished from. "We found a portal still partially active here. I'm planning on taking Vyv there to see if he can figure out a way to open a sort of ... window through it. Maybe we can see the other side."

Probably says something about the Chief of Police that he doesn't even bat an eye, discussing the goings on at the old saw mill. Discussing portals to the Veil and cryptid citings. But then, the man fairly radiates power of his own; like a living web of electrical circuits, anyone with a lick of the Sight can practically taste it on him.

"Officially speaking, they've been moved to unsolved crimes," he informs her, scratching at his beard with his thumb while he peruses the folder. The missing persons, he must mean. "Off the record, I've been keeping tabs on them. Because I've had a feeling there was some Veil shit involved."

There's not just a lick of sight in the room, but a veritable lighthouse. His living web of electricity plays along the licking flames of dancing energy that make up Ava's power as she talks about Haggleford and the things that he's been up to. "I'm hoping that we'll be able to find and bring them back. But it's a fool's optimism at best."

She leans over his arm for a moment to gesture to a spot on one of the maps. "Right here is about where the last portal he used is. The spot around that area is dead. Any living thing goes into it and it basically just loses it's energy and dies. I put a tall hedging around it outside of the radius to keep out animals and nosy hikers. It will probably fade before too long. But If we have a chance to follow this asshole, it's going to be that portal. But the obvious issue is --obvious."

There's a fleeting glance for the brunette leaning over him, and then his attention shifts back to the contents of the folder. More specifically, the spot she'd pointed at. Reaching over, he unclips the page from the rest and liberates it with a thoughtful huff as he leans back in his chair.

There's a rap on the door, which he answers without looking up, "Be with you in ten." The officer on the other side pauses a moment like he might argue, then opts to retreat.

"Vyv, huh? Vyvyan Vydal? The one who owns the cake shop, or whatever the fuck it is?" He gestures at Ava with the page. "I don't like him. But he's good at what he does. You know who else you should bring? Rosencrantz. Itzhak Rosencrantz. Strongest goddamned mover I know."

As he pulls out the map and leans back in the chair, Ave shifts and turns to lean back against the desk to keep him in view. Ankles fold as she rests her weight against the top of the desk and watches him with curious eyes. "The pastry shop, yes," she offers with a cheeky grin. "He is quite good from what I've heard." The mention of Itz changes the nature of her grin to something far different, and more natural. "I'll ask him to come along. But Itz and Vyv in the same place? How well do they get along?" She seems to be under the impression that Ruiz would certainly have this information.

"Pastry, sure." As if he wasn't fully aware that Vyv runs a patisserie. He's lived here long enough, there isn't a chance in hell he doesn't know that. He's probably just being an ass. Because he can.

Another brief skim of dark eyes, and he catches the tail end of her cheeky grin, and his mouth twists to one side like he might try to smile in return. Not quite, though. Instead, he shifts in his seat, fingers brushing past his gun as he goes to tug open a drawer in search of a pen. "What kind of a question is that?" There's a note of something in his voice. Amusement?

An almost smile. Now we're getting somewhere. He should know better than to encourage her, but he doesn't yet. Maybe eventually. "I thought it was a fairly straight forward kind of question," Ava offers in a tone filled with pure innocence. Her eyes are a little wide, fingertips pressing against the center of her chest in mock offence. "Are suggesting otherwise, sir?" How very dare he!

"Perhaps I just need to know how big of a bottle of Tylenol I'm going to need to bring with me in order to deal with the two of them together for any length of time." That's probably a fair question, to be honest.

The top cop's a tough nut to crack, with a filthy mouth to boot. Anyone who's been in town long, knows this. "It.." He gets the drawer open, fishes out a pen. "..was not," Javier finishes, clicking it on, and doing a quick test scribble on the pad of paper he slips out of his pocket. Nothing. "Fuck. You got a pen I can borrow?" He tosses the dead one atop his desk in disgust.

As for the pair of men in question, "Rosencrantz likes Vyv just fine. Far as I'm aware. Vyv can be a mouthy little fuck, and Rosencrantz likes to start shit sometimes, but.." He runs his tongue along his lower lip thoughtfully, then hitches his big shoulders in a shrug. "What, you're worried about them swinging their dicks around, or what? I'm sure it'll be fine." He holds his hand out. Presumably for said pen.

"Of course." Granted, that means Ava has to shift away from the desk for a moment. She straightens and moves back around the desk to grab her purse. It's organized well, so it's a quick reach in to grab the pen. Of course, this also reminds her of the little gift bag that was brought in with her, which is also plucked up before making her way back around the desk. The pen is offered out. The dead one he tossed back on the desk? That one is scooped up and dropped into his trash bin so he doesn't accidentally put it back into his drawer. Clearly, she knows how these things can go.

There's a pause for a moment, her eyes drifting. "Well, now that is a nice mental picture. But no, I'm not worried about dick swinging so much as going for each other's throats. But as long as they get along well enough, it shouldn't be a problem." The little bag is set with a rustle on top of the open folder. The cheeky grin has returned as she settles nearby again.

"Gracias," is murmured with a little wink, pen plucked out of her hand. Ava's probably never seeing that pen again; hopefully she's not too attached to it.

Then he sets to work scribbling a few things in the margin of the report, pausing at one point to check his watch before continuing. "Like I said, they get along fine. Sounds like you know him." His eyes tick back up, and linger on the brunette and her cheeky grin this time. "Rosencrantz." He watches her for a time, then raps the pen against his desk once, twice, three times. And reaches for the gift bag without taking his eyes off her. Still no smile from the surly Mexican.

"De nada," is offered in return. Do not blush, Dr. Brennon. Nope, too late. There's a hint of pink on her cheeks at the wink, but you wouldn't know it from the rest of her which is easily playing it cool and cheeky. The pen appears to be the expensive sort, but there doesn't seem to be any sort of engraving. Whether or not there's any sort of attachment remains to be seen.

The pink only deepens under further inspection and talk of Itzhak with his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, but working on going back to being boyfriend? Ah, whatever. "He saved me from becoming an accidental murderer. Granted it was Haggleford's clone body I almost accidentally murdered. But it still counts. I owe him a lot." Her tone is earnest as she says that, with a mix of soft and thankful. "You are probably very good at interrogations, aren't you? I already feel squirmy." That came out wrong.

Her eyes stay on his as he reaches for the bag.

Well. If there's one way to get Javier de la Vega to smile, it might just be a pretty girl blushing at him. Because he does, finally. Smile. Just the faintest blink-and-you'd-miss-it glimmer of one, before he collects the bag and digs his other hand inside to see what it is she's--

"The fuck is this?" He dangles the mustache between thumb and forefinger, and examines it from both sides in apparent confusion. On the bright side, it's significantly less awful than some of the stuff he's been gifted with from grateful civilians who've walked into his office and plunked unmarked bags down on his desk. But then something she's said is catching up to him, and he remembers to ask, "Accidental murderer? I'm, uh.." He's still making a weird face at the mustache. "Well, I'm glad he was there. Sounds like he means a lot to you."

His smiling because she's blushing only makes the blushing all the more obvious, and the back of knuckles reaches out to nudge his shoulder. "Stop," Ava demands with flushed cheeks and a defiant, sheepish smile.

Thankfully she is saved from the too-red cheeks by his apparent confusion in the gift. His perfect reaction just causes a small peel of laughter. "Have you already forgotten our talk in the hardware store about how devilish you'd look in a handlebar mustache? Well!" A hand sweeps towards the mustache. "You said 'I owe you one', I recall, when I found you those bolt cutters." She leans in a little, expression devious. "So I'm getting that IOU in picture form." It's her turn to wink, smile so big that it dimples.

"Haggleford," she goes back to, the smile faltering at the sides. "When he tried to kidnap us for his schemes. He pulled a gun on Itz. I can heat metal, so I figured that was the best way to get it out of his hands before the trigger could get pulled. Turned his attention on me. When he came for me I lit him on fire. And I pretty much, um, rotisseried him in a single blast." She doesn't look proud of that, more horrified than anything. "Itzhak put out the flames and made sure he didn't die. I'm sure part of it was because he wanted answers, you know. But it still meant I didn't kill anyone with my powers."

The mustache is scissored between two heavily inked fingers, and held up between them. Stop? Un-fucking-likely. "This," he explains, "is not what I had in mind for that IOU. And what the fuck is this about a picture? You're not taking any pictures of me in this thing. The last time I let a girl take pictures of me, they wound up on tiktok." He leans in a little closer. "And you can put the dimples away, too. I'm working."

News of someone pulling a gun on Itzhak immediately sears away any amusement he might have had with the situation, however. There's a naked ferocity in those dark eyes; like he'd have enjoyed the opportunity to tear into Haggleford himself. Rip him apart, tear him to pieces, make him suffer for daring to hurt who he loves. Like maybe he'd have enjoyed it, too.

Javier glances away after a moment, swallows thickly. "He was looking out for you. Good."

"I am so taking pictures of you in that thing. You forgot to add any stipulations to that IOU. That's your own fault. If it makes you feel any better, I do not have a tiktok. But I will consider making one if you'd be so kind as to give me her handle? For research purposes." As he leans in, Ava's head tilts a little. "You're working, but are the dimples?" Lashes flutter cutely.

Of course all of that is gone in the flash of ferocity. Ava sees that look and she knows that look. Her hand reaches out for his shoulder, curling around it in an attempt to sooth some of that rage. "Don't worry, that man is going down. I don't think anyone has qualms with the fact that he has to die now." Not even her. "I barely knew Itz at the time that happened and I wasn't going to let that man hurt him. I'm sure as fuck not going to let anything happen to him now. Nobody will. I protect my friends. Just like he protects his, with his stubborn ass."

Javier isn't thinking about the IOU at the moment, or the ridiculous mustache sitting on his desk. Or the picture Ava's hellbent on getting out of him for her trouble in finding him a pair of bolt cutters. And especially not the damn dimples. He's a little tense under that touch, but allows it with an audible huffed breath through his nose.

"Stubborn's about right," he mumbles, ignoring the irony in that statement. "Look, there's worse shit than Haggleford out there, yeah?" He watches her thoughtfully, then flips the file folder closed, and reaches for the mustache resignedly. "Just.. ten cuidado. Esto no termina con él."

Ava brushes her thumb against his shoulder as it stays in place. Her eyes are soft and her expression speaks to a whole world of understanding regarding the tension that's coursing through him right now. "Believe me, I now it doesn't stop there. I'm dealing with the Vivisectionist too right now and the fact that she thinks it's fun to screw with all of the healer folks powers. Which includes mine. It's always something here."

The shoulder gets a little squeeze before Ava drops the hand away and offers a single shouldered shrug of her own. "All I know is is that we're gonna kick Haggleford's ass, then we're going to kick Vivisectionist's ass. Then I'm going to have a stiff drink. Then I'm going to take on whatever comes next."

This one, however, isn't a healer. And he isn't a mover, either. What he is, is an empath. And when Ava maintains that prolonged contact with his shoulder, she might start to feel the tension bleed into something else. Something hot and dark, like another presence in the room. Something with serrated teeth and claws like meathooks and golden eyes, and it's him and yet it's not. Something haunting the very edges of the shadows of her mind; but try to look at it, and it's gone.

"That's what you think, huh?" He gestures with the fake mustache to emphasise that. Dark eyes on hers, and he isn't smiling. "I like that you've got balls. But you're going to get yourself fucking killed."

It's noticed as it stalks the dark shadows of her mind, of which there are many. The fears she hides in the bravado displayed are easy places to hide, but even there, Ava can catch a glimpse. It's enough to cause a slight hitch in her breath before her hand fell from his shoulder. The researcher in her might want to hold on tighter to study, and to draw it out. But the logical side that says don't be a creep, stop groping the Chief of Police says to let go. That side wins.

There's an almost hazy look in her eyes for a moment as they lock onto his while he scolds hers. His dark eyes meet her opposite, bright ones and she does smile. "I trust the people who end up in these situations with me. We don't always have a choice. The bad shit is going to happen. We can embrace it and fight back or bury our heads in the sand and let someone else deal with it. If I do get 'fucking killed' some day, then I go out knowing I saved as many people as I could along the way. I'm damn proud of that. Fact is, I could be killed getting hit by a car. At least this way I'm doing something good."

"Or you could listen and learn about what you're going up against, and believe me when I say the Vivisectionist is not something to be taken lightly, gringa," Javier argues, without breaking eye contact. His cell phone goes off, and he scruffs at his beard with his thumb absently before easing forward to check who the caller is. Not important enough to take, apparently; he dismisses it with a swipe, shoves it into his jeans pocket, and pushes to his feet, perfectly aware of how close it puts him to Ava. His watch is checked again as he goes to grab the battered leather jacket slung across the back of his chair.

"Since her first act against me was to blow up my brand new clinic with Ravn and I inside of it just to leave me a post-it note, believe me when I say I don't take her lightly. I'm scared as hell," Ava offers. "That doesn't mean I'm not going to find a way to kick her ass." There's a defiant little lift of chin there and a puff of chest that's cuter than it is intimidating. Not at all what she's going for. But the chin lift does help as he rises and pushes into her space. She straightens some, no longer sitting against the desk. "Were you one of the ones who had to deal with her?"

The chest puffing and raised chin gets an eyebrow raise as he tugs his jacket on. He's not particularly tall for a man, de la Vega, but he is built like a brick shithouse.

"Sure. Was a while ago, now." He recollects the stupid fake mustache, turns it around between his fingers, stares at it like his mind's somewhere else entirely. "Wonder sometimes what keeps me in this shithole town, you know?" He sniffs, and then crooks her a lopsided smile, brief. "You ready?" Then he holds it up for her to take a picture. The smile's gone. Just a grumpy Mexican cop, and the backdrop of the impound lot out the grimy window, and his sad little potted cactus on the sill that he waters too much. There's a stuffed bear on his desk, next to his empty coffee cup, with a Mexican flag and the words 'happy 48th birthday!'

"Maybe you can tell me about it when you have time, then." Ava studies him for a moment. "The people that you love," she answers simply. "That's probably the biggest part of it. It's what keeps me here." His lopsided smile earns a bright one in return. But it's clear that Ava wasn't ready for the 'you ready' from the stunned look that follows a second later. "Oh! Yes!" She shuffles for her phone really quickly and pulls up the camera, aiming it at him. CLICK. Laughter follows as she shifts and settles her weight against his side to show him the pictures. "See? Dastardly. Now, let me see!" She wiggles her hand for him to hand over the mustache. "One more photo. I wanna see how I look."

"Hmm. Maybe." Ava's study is returned with that same intensity from earlier; a man who does interrogate people as part of his job. Among other things. When she moves in close, it's his very loaded gun she bumps up against, after all. He does not keep that thing strapped to his hip for show.

The pictures make him grimace, then laugh huskily. "You ever share this with your friends and I will fucking hunt you down and make your life miserable," he warns, gesturing at her with the mustache to underscore it before handing it over. Then his own phone is dug back out of his pocket, unless she objects.

"Oh. Oh, it's getting shared, so do your worst," Ava rumbles. "I'm sending it to Itz as soon as I get out of here. Like first thing," she warns with a delighted, teasing smile. The gun doesn't seem to bother her at all, but she does shift out of the way to be careful not to lean against it so much. Shoulder bumps good, accidental shootings, not good. There's a pause as he studies her again, her head tilting just a little. "You don't have to just stare at me like the answers will just pop out of my mouth, I'm not a Pez dispenser. What?"

There's a giddy noise as she takes that mustache. "It's so big," she laughs. There doesn't seem to be any objection to his phone coming out as she leans against his shoulder for the picture and holds up the giant mustache to her own face. Her eyes glide to his phone for the first shot, then to hers for the second, making sure they both get a good one. "I dunno. I think I might pull it off better."

"La venganza es una puta, recuérdalo," de la Vega warns, clucking his tongue. He takes a quick picture, then after a pause to consider, pops one off using Ava's phone as well. It's held back out to her once he's sneaked a glance at her lock screen, and maybe her contacts, if he has the opportunity. Because he is what he is; and what he is, is a cop.

No comment whatsoever on the size of the mustache, though. He's not going to go there, apparently. A smirk tells her he's aware of the landmine he nearly stepped in, though. "I think you're fucking delusional," he argues, gesturing to her jawline. "The shape of your face is all wrong."

"Is it revenge that's a whore, or the one who seeks it, darling?" Ava wonders in a gruff tone, obviously meant to match that mustache. Or maybe she's trying to match his tone? Of course there's scoffing as she's told she's delusional. "My face shape is wonderful, I'll have you know. These cheekbones could cut diamonds!" Hair is tossed dramatically over one shoulder as if she surely just told him off with that one statement.

Moving to put the mustache back down on the desk, she's turning around, not noticing at first that her currently unlocked phone is being gone through. Oh no, the secrets. Pictures are probably the easiest to notice because he's already in the gallery. The most recently downloaded comes from a text from Itzhak which is the Halloween picture of him dressed as sexy little red riding hood. The rest of the recent pictures appear to be from a recent neighborhood barbeque and a couple of her with one of his detectives, Deacon. There's a lot of lot of numbers in contacts to be expected of a local, a doctor, a coroner, and a 'fixer'. He's probably well aware that she's the one who 'fixes' the books regarding all things hospital and death to keep things a secret from the bureaucratic folks that the Veil doesn't seem to be able to stop for whatever reason.

But there are three contacts that have tiny hearts next to their names. Is revenge the whore, or is her heart? He may be trying to sneak a peek, but that's when she's turning around, spotting him. "Oh my god!"

Javier's doubtless been paying enough attention to know, by now, that she's dating one of his officers. That part's not news to him. The little red riding hood costume he recognises, too, and it gets a smirk out of the cop as he scrolls past it. By this point, of course, Ava's on to him, and he has to play keepaway with the phone to try to sneak a glance at the names she's hearted. Because he's just that curious.

"Madre mia, what's this, you have a crush on my boyfriend?" Now he's amused, and chuckles as he relinquishes the phone at last.

Ava is trying to get at the phone, and though he may not be as tall as some, he is taller than her, even in her heels. "Give that to... Give it!" There's a squeaking noise that parts the back of her throat at that last comment and she overcompensates a little bit expecting more of a fight when her hand actually connected with the phone, having not expected relinquishment. She squeaks and has to catch herself on his arm. A moment later that arm gets a swat.

"Mean boy," she tells him as she tucks the phone away and smooths out her skirt, looking anywhere but at him as she will the burning redness on her cheeks to please go away. There is no way to answer that question in a dignified manner. "That hardly matters. It changes nothing about anything, thank you." She clears her throat and finishes smoothing out her shirt. "Besides, people can be attracted to a bunch of people."

His hands are held up in supplication, once the phone's been given over. "Hey. Hey. I'm not judging. He is a good looking man, if I say so myself." Well, of course he'd say so. He's dating him. Or.. was. Aren't they exes? Though he did say boyfriend, so maybe they're more on than off.. or maybe it was just a slip of the tongue.

"You tell him.." He grabs the borrowed pen, forever his now, and tosses it into his desk drawer before shutting it. "..I said hello, yeah?" He's not going to say a word about people can be attracted to a bunch of people. If the rumours are true, he himself is in a polyamorous relationship. And closed lipped as hell about it. "And if you are going to go after the Vivisectionist, drop me a fucking line first?"

"Of course I'll tell him. But you should also tell him. He likes it coming from you a whole hell of a lot more than from me," Ava winks, grinning. There is no disagreement about him being a good looking man, just a little drift of the eyes for a moment. Yes. Yes he is. Earth to Ava. Her eyes snap back to attention, watching as her pen gets tossed into a drawer. That is not a tossing pen, sir. That is a placing pen.

"So far she's been coming to us whenever we try to use the highest level of healing. So that's all I have to do if you want to say hello to her. But I promise if we're going after her, I'll let you know first, alright?" There's a pause, amusement in Ava's eyes. "You worried about me, suddenly, Chief? Don't tell me I've suddenly grown on you!"

"You trying to tell me what to do with my love life?" Javier retorts, unfastening the holster clip on his gun so he can slide it out, and check it in perfunctory fashion on the way to the door. His keys are snatched up on his way by and shoved into his jacket pocket, and the file folder's collected and tucked under his arm. "Come on, I'll walk you out. And no, don't flatter yourself." He tugs the door open. "I don't let people grow on me."

"Mmhmm. I sure am," Ava offers as she grabs her bag, slinging it over a shoulder. Quick, heeled steps bring her quickly up to his side. After they're through the door, she takes the folder for him so that she can slips her arm through his nice and easily while leaning in to offer another of those cheeky, dimpled grins. "Too late, I'm already flattered. I can already see the roots of adoration spreading through you like an ever present weed." Just you wait, there will a montage any moment of us doing every day tasks together, me bubbly and smiling. You grousing but loving every minute of it deep down grumpy heart of yours.

The Chief scoffs at that, though allows her to relieve him of the folder. His arm, however, is another matter. If she thinks he's going to let anyone mistake him for a gentleman, she's got another thing coming. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders going rigid and making it impossible for her to keep hold of his arm as they walk. Nobody ever accused him of possessing any social acumen, though. He's a public relations nightmare.

"I think you're mistaking that for the sandwich I mistakenly bought from the cafeteria downstairs earlier." That place has had multiple health code violations in the last month alone. "Pretty sure it was expired."

Hah! Ava welcomes the challenge. Smirking to herself as he shuffles things around and her arm has nowhere to grip. Two can play at that game. She can't fit her arm in there, but maybe she can get her fingers wiggled in there, right by his elbow. Not a full on grip, but close enough? If Ava is one thing, it's stubborn. Which is also what she seems to surround herself in, stubborn people.

"Oh, is that what you think? Nope. It's just me, worming my way into your heart. Don't worry if it stings a little bit, you'll get used to it. Though, if your left arm starts to go numb, I'd give me a call so I can make a home visit, because that's when things are really dire." There are those dimples again. "Which reminds me, I only have your office line. If things happen and you're not on duty, I need another number to call you on. Do you have a card for that. I'd let you put it in my phone, but you have proven to be untrustworthy with such things."

"That's what I think," Javier concurs in a low murmur. Consonants smudged, vowels elongated in that remnant of a Tijuana gutter drawl that he has. Chuckling, he shakes his head at the request for his number, and reaches for her hand. Not to hold, but to pointedly remove from his arm. Why? So he can dig in his back pocket for his wallet, and fish out what looks.. dun duuuun. Like a business card. It's held out to her, scissored between two fingers; one inked with a fish and the letter K, the other with the letter E. The card has his name written on it, Javier Ruiz de la Vega, and Gray Harbour Chief of Police. The number is the exact same as the one she already has.

Yes, he's being an ass.

He earns a little pat. "It's okay that you're wrong," Ava assures of his low murmur. "It doesn't make me think any less of you, I promise." Those lashes give a little flutter. She pauses so that he can dig out the card and hand it over to her. It's studied for just a moment, slender brow arching up. There's a smile for a moment before she opens the folder and slips it right into it. "So helpful, thank you. If she attacks during business hours I'll be sure to reach out, then. If not, I'll be sure to appraise you of what happened after the fact."

He gets a pointed look and a sharp smile then before she starts to take the lead. With his file, and a sway in those steps.

The cop scoffs quietly at that. "Think less of me?" Did she just flutter her lashes at him? "Think less of me?" A couple of officers headed in the opposite direction give him a look, like, is that little brunette giving you trouble, sir? complete with bemused smiles. They're scowled at in response, and he reaches past Ava to tap his badge against the card reader that unlocks the door downstairs. "Are you for fucking real?" he grumbles. "I already have an ADA who comes up here and busts my balls." Which isn't to say he's not watching her ass when she walks. Come on, who wouldn't?

In a pencil skirt and heels it's practically impossible not to, especially given that she's taking the time to make a show of it. Ahead of him, Ava barely contains her faint grin as she hears him growling and stalking up behind her. "Well, if you didn't care about me at all, then it certainly wouldn't matter what I thought, now would it, Chief?" she retorts in a knowing tone, her pace never changing. "But if it makes you feel any better I would never bust your balls. I'd be far more gentle than that."

There's no containing the grin after that, but luckily he can't see her face at the moment.

"Eres otra cosa, no?" Javier grumbles, waiting for her to precede him out the door and down the stairs, before thumping along after her. His cell phone goes off again just as he shoulders open the door at the bottom, and he answers it in a low murmur, his expression instantly softening, "Hey, baby." A chuckle follows, low and warm. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll come right over. Sure." He touches Ava's shoulder to direct her along, as if she needed it. She doesn't. "Mm, okay. I'll stop by on my way over. Adiós."

The phone's shoved away again, and he digs for his pack of cigarettes as they reach the front door of the station before querying, "You got a ride home?"

"No pretendas que no te estás divirtiendo," Ava offers as she flickers another of those looks with the fluttering lashes over her shoulder towards his grumbling self. That is, once she's successfully removed the grin from her face. The grin returns a moment later, but it returns as a softer version as Ava watches his expression soften, and the tone as well. "That was sweet." It's not mocking, clearly. Just a pleased observation in viewing a different side of him."

No, the woman doesn't need to be guided, but allows herself to be, regardless. "I'd love a ride home, but I'd hate to keep you from your prior engagement."

Outside, the evening's cool and a little crisp. It smells like the rain they've just had, and the rain they'll likely have again later tonight. Javier blows out a heavy breath as they head across the parking lot, mostly full of marked cop cars at this end. Over there, a few civilian vehicles. He's headed toward an unmarked, mud-spattered black Charger at the end of the lot. Keys jangled out of his pocket with one hand while he takes a precious drag off his cigarette.

"What makes you think you have any idea what I do for fun?" he murmurs, tapping the key to disengage the security system on the car. "And I wouldn't have fucking asked if it was an inconvenience. Where do you live?"

"Because you're the kind of man to walk away from bullshit that you're getting nothing out of, I'd imagine," Ava retorts in an easy tone. It's her turn to fall back now, letting him lead the way to the car since she has no idea which one is actually his. At least until the alarm disengages. "If you weren't enjoying it a little bit, you certainly wouldn't be letting me into your car to bother you in an even smaller space." Her interrogations are usually done through forensics on dead bodies, but that doesn't mean she is completely lacking in detective skills, right?

"1 Oak Avenue. Right next to Ravn Abildgaard if you know his place. The yard is very distinctive, it'll be hard to miss." He might have heard of the faerie gardens on Oak Avenue already after all.

Quite to the contrary. Dead bodies can't talk back. Not verbally, at least, which requires a certain finesse in said interrogations. A finesse the Chief can certainly appreciate and respect. And might even admit to, grudgingly, if asked.

"Abildgaard? Sure, I know where he lives." Javier drags off his cigarette a couple more times, then swings into the driver's seat, and reluctantly puts the thing out. "Get in."

The Charger's what she might expect from a cop car: there's a laptop taking up much of the centre column, which he closes and locks while she climbs in. His radio's stowed in the glove compartment, and she might catch a glimpse of the contents if she's looking. There's an actual gun rack on the roof, and a bulletproof cage separating the front from the back seats; and a portable set of lights that can be set on the dashboard in the event he actually has to go code three.

"I thought you might." Know where Ravn lives, that is. Most people seem to know the man. Plus, he's Itzhak's bestie, so there was a solid chance. Ava has to settle into the seat first before turning to guide her legs in. Pencil skirts are great for making your ass look good, but not so much for getting into cars. The door shuts and the purse is slipped to the side.

Of course she's going to peek in the glove box, just like she would have gone through Ruiz's phone the way he did hers had she been given the same chance. Scientists and cops. Both so nosy. They need to know things. So she's peeking for as long as it takes for him to finally shut it, before glancing back towards the cage in the back. "I can't imagine how many times people wish they had one of these for me to keep me from doing something stupid."

It's all about priorities. Svelte asses in skirts clearly rank well above the practicality of said skirts. At least as far as he's concerned.

"You make a lot of assumptions about me," grumbles the cop, firing up the vehicle's engine with a testy snarl that's not unlike his own. He's about to pull out of the lot when he spots her snooping around in his glovebox. And reaches across her lap to shut it firmly. Which is probably a tetch too late to stop her spotting the handful of condoms, (strawberry flavoured) lube, and collection of zipties. "Oh," he murmurs to her, looking her in the eye, "I have some idea."

"Until I get to know you better, assumptions are all I've got. If you don't want assumptions, you're gonna have to suck it up and spend more time with me, I guess. Either way you suffer," Ave teases, leaning in to whisper that last part in a whispered laugh. Of course he's reaching across to shut the glovebox at that point and looking her in the eye. Her smile grows, bright eyes sparkling with a new kind of glow. The whisper turns devilish as a finger gestures in that direction.

"Do they have anything to do with the glovebox? Strawberry is a pretty good flavor," she teases.

Left hand on the steering wheel, his right hand curves over the gearshift. tap, tap go his fingers as he considers. Then, "You," he murmurs, half turning back toward the brunette, dark eyes on her lap rather than her face, "are the kind of trouble I don't need." His tonguetip touches a canine, crow's feet sitting heavy at the corners of his eyes as he thinks about that for a few moments.

Then, finally, he puts the car in gear and backs them out of the lot, before turning onto the street proper. The engine growls in response, and they're off. Not a talkative sort, the cop seems content to drive mostly in silence for the time being.

Well now she was teasing him but that-- that has her all kinds of curious now. Her eyes flicker to the canine touch for a moment, a slender brow arching upwards for just a moment. The engine roars to life and the silence lingers. Even Ava lets it sit for a little while as she ponders all the different meaning that could have had. But can she actually stay quiet the whole time? Probably not.

"Nope. Can't do it. I tried. I want it on record that I tried. What is that supposed to mean?" Her body shifts slightly so that she can keep him in view, studying his profile.

Javier chuckles, but keeps his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel. His profile ain't pretty; he looks more like a thug than a cop, truth be told. "Means what it sounds like. You're trouble. I see why Rosencrantz likes you."

He shoulder checks before switching lanes, and then drops perhaps the most and least casual thing ever, for a woman he barely knows, "I don't care if you fuck him, by the way."

"That doesn't answer my question at all, and you know it. If you think I'm not going to be persistent until I get a satisfactory answer, you haven't been paying attention." Thug or cop makes no difference to Ava, it seems. Her attraction scale according to the phone stars seems to run all over the place. Ex-criminal, cop, doctor. Male, female. Doesn't matter. "He likes me because I am a good battle buddy and an excellent healer, and we end up in a lot of shit together."

There's a second where she can only make a squeak sound, where she was going to speak, but then he said that. "I think he would care though. We're friends, but outside of that, that boy doesn't know I exist."

Javier de la Vega says a lot of things. Things most people wouldn't. Things most people shouldn't. It's part of his charm. "The fuck do you want me to say?" he fires back, shooting the younger woman a perplexed look. "Nobody ever called you trouble before? You walk into my office and tease me, you think I was born yesterday?" He chuckles, rough, like he's put his body through a too much smoke and drink and -- no doubt -- drugs in his nigh five decades of life.

"As for Rosencrantz, you ought to tell him to open his fucking eyes." He still looks amused, though it's dimmed to something fonder.

Ava grins at the perplexed look. "I get the trouble part. I get that a lot for various reasons. All of them true. It's the kind of trouble 'I don't need' part that has me curious. Especially because you said it to my lap, rather than my face, which makes me wonder if it was directed specifically towards my lap, or if that's just where your attention was at the time. Because that's an important distinction." There's nothing gruff about Ava, but she's about as honest as he is so far.

"That's funny. I was very blatantly hitting on him one day and then the next day he texted me to ask if I was flirting with him yesterday. All I could say was 'Since the first day we met, Itz. Thanks for finally noticing.' Then he mentioned trying to get back with an ex. Who I later found out through Ravn's big mouth was you." Ava shrugs. "I wish it were as easy as just shaking him and saying hey, be attracted to me."

Ah, Ravn. Of course. The pieces are starting to fit together, now. He's quiet for a time after Ava's spoken, just that brutish profile offered as he drives; and little to be gleaned from it, in the waning light of day.

Another chuckle at the description of hitting on his boyfriend, and the text that followed. And, "He's had, uh. Some bad luck with women. So, you know." He doesn't seem inclined to explain it beyond that.

His baseball cap's tugged off, and his knuckles scruffed through his dark curls briefly before it's replaced. "Look, I've uh. Don't worry about it. Yeah?" He looks over again, meets her eyes this time, and tries to smile.

Ava doesn't ask for an explanation about the bad luck with woman beyond what's offered. She figures that is for Itzhak to tell her, after all. It does earn a faint nod. It doesn't seem like it's the first time she's heard something about that, however since her expression doesn't seem surprised by the information.

As he glances over, he'll find her already watching, eyes soft and curious with brows slightly lifted. The attempt at a smile earns a gentler one in response. "Had some bad luck with women yourself?" she wonders in a cautious tone. Her hand reaches out to rest on his upper arm, giving it a light squeeze. "Sorry, " she sighs. "You look like you really don't want to talk about it, so I'll shut the fuck up," is promised with a more earnest smile.

His arm gets another light squeeze before she pulls it away to put it in her lap, straightening herself in the seat and gazing out towards town. In contrast to him, her profile is rather striking. It's the cheekbones.

It doesn't take a super sleuth to figure out that, yes, he's probably had an entanglement or two. He looks like he's wondering whether Ravn and his big mouth have mentioned those, too. But she doesn't say anything, and he's sure as hell not going to say anything. And the squeeze makes him glance away again as the light goes green.

"Nothing to apologise for," he murmurs.

A brief glance is stolen at that profile, all sharp cheekbones and dark hair no longer paying attention to him, and then he drives on in silence until they reach her place. Or, well, Ravn's place. "Which one's yours?" he wants to know, as the Charger pulls up to the curb with a throaty rumble.

Nope, it wasn't Ravn this time around. It was all just a matter of context clues and Ava being able to piece a few things together. It's probably clear that she wants to talk from the way that her fingers toy with each other in her lap, but she's a good girl and stays as quiet as she promised that she'd be.

"The first one." Ava gestures to 1 Oak Avenue. She's right, it's hard to miss. Houses 1, 3, and 5 of Oak stand out from the others. Their gardens have taken on a life of their own. It's Eternal Summer in Disney Utopia on Oak street. But only for those three. Everything is perfect, to the picket white fences with the beautifully bloomed roses. Gorgeous hedges, perfectly bloomed flowers and trees. Are those deer? Bunnies in the front yard? This is absolutely not normal. But it is beautiful.

Well, if nothing else, she can tell her friends she got to ride home in a cop car. Even if the cop keeps questionable shit in his glovebox.

"What the fuck's with the front yard? Is that bambi?" He squints a little as he draws to a stop. "Tell Ravn I said hi, yeah?" His gaze traces her intertwined fingers, then travel back to her face as he waits for her to climb out.

Ava laughs. "I might have done a little sculpting. The faeries from the faerie ring in Ravn's backyard are bribed to keep up the gardening, but they've gone a little overboard and decided that eternal summer is our new theme. You should see my Greenhouse. I have some Veil Fruits planted back there that August gave me, too. Can't wait to see what Faerie gardening does to them." Yeah, see? Trouble doesn't begin to describe her.

His folder is placed on the dash as she collects her bag. "I'll let him know. You know, I had fun. Even if you don't agree, I'm definitely the kind of friend you need in your life." Her eyes find his as she offers a warm smile. The door cracks open, but before she gets all the way out she leans in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thanks for humoring me with the mustache. I'll see you around the station."

He never did give her his cell number. It'd be easy to think he'd forgotten about it, except that when she leans in close to deliver that little peck on the cheek, a big hand snakes around her forearm and grips it tight. Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly enough to let her know she isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Wait." His other hand dives into his jacket pocket, rifles around a moment, and fishes out another card. Similar to the first one he gave her, except this one lists a second number on it. A cell phone, on the bottom. He releases her arm, and offers it up between two fingers. Fun? He doesn't look like he's going to admit to it, one way or the other. But he probably also doesn't give his personal number to just anyone, either.

Ava hitches a breath for a second at the grip. Bright eyes are almost owlish as she glances down at the hand on her arm, then back up at his eyes. There's a head tilt a second later before he's holding up that card and recognition washes through her face. "Oh!" Flushed, pink cheeks and a little smile are offered back towards him as she takes the card sheepishly. "Here I thought I'd have to call you during office hours."

"Have a good night, Javier," she murmurs softly as she finally starts to make her way out of the car.

He'll wait until she's gotten the door open, and stepped inside her house. And then, if she looks over, she'll spot the unmarked cruiser receding into the night.