(2018-10-22) Don't Get a Tattoo on Your Face
Jameson and Elizabeth head out to talk to the neighbors about the Jiminez murders
Players:
elizabeth..jameson..

Things are quiet here at the Station, for the most part. There are two large white boards set up with the information from the two open murder cases. A few detectives add things, change things and discuss while they're on the phone. Elizabeth breezes in, heading for the locker room. She's dressed as if she just came from the gym. She sneers at two rookies, tosses a saucy wink at an ogling detective and then blows a kiss at Jameson before she disappears into the back. It only takes about ten minutes before she reappears, damp and clean, wearing civilian clothes. She is tucking a firearm into a holster, and then she pulls her hair back, braiding it. "I got a very early start this morning. There better be coffee in the coffee maker if you all value your lives." There is an audible gulp from a rookie at a desk.

It should be no surprise that Jameson was already here, riding the desk. It was like his home was set here or something. The pile of paperwork was starting to dwindle though, slowly being whittled down report by painful report. He was dressed in a white button-up, the sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons undone, along with a pair of navy slacks, his badge and sidearm at his side. There was hardly even a glance for Elizabeth as she breezes in, though one of the other deputies gave him a smack when Liz blows that kiss. It just makes him roll his eyes. Still, there was a fresh cup of coffee on her side of the desk by the time she's reappeared from the shower. "You're gonna make the rookie piss his pants," he says, pointing a thumb to the coffee. "Someone was hopeful that you'd find happiness at the bottom of the cup this morning."

Elizabeth finally gets her gun secured, and ambles toward the desk she shares with Jameson. "If he pisses his pants because of me then he probably should find a new profession. There are people out there a lot scarier than I am." She picks up the coffee and takes a deep drink, only wincing slightly at the heat before she drags a chair over. "I'll find happiness when I'm eighty and two days away from death." She props a booted foot up on the edge of the desk. "Are you almost finished with that? I need someone to ride with me down to the Jiminez scene. Chief wants people to talk to the neighbors again, and I'm pretty sure if they see me coming they're gonna lock up. Now you.." She gazes at him over the rim of her cup as she lifts it to drink again. "..you are fresh and new to them. I'm sure they'll at least say hello to you."

"I don't know. I mean, if I had a choice between bunking with you or Charles Manson…" There's a dramatic pause as he reaches for his coffee cup, looking at her from over the rim. "I might choose Manson." There's a wink before he takes a deep drink, setting the cup aside afterward. The sight of her booted foot on the desk brings a frown to his lips, but he says nothing. He only sighs and casts a glance to the paperwork. "I can finish up the rest once we get back, I guess," he sets his pen in the cup where all his office supplies are neatly arranged, his lips curving into a smirk as he rises to his feet and grabs his jacket from off the chair. "You never know, they might slam the door in my face for merely associating with you."

Elizabeth aims a smirk at Jameson, watching him set aside his paperwork and get to his feet. She waits until he's halfway in his jacket before she lazily takes her foot down from the desk. "I'm a lot prettier than Manson, and while I'm bitchy — I probably won't kill you." She snags her jacket and pulls it on, checking to make sure she's not messy. "You can drive, I hate the rusty vic's we have to deal with." She pours her cup of coffee into a pink travel mug and falls into step with Jameson. "They might, but I can still say that I tried, and we can keep an eye on the place for a few hours until lunch." She turns and waves to the rookie who has been steadily avoiding her, and he just blinks, waving hesitantly back to the blonde. "I'm kind of proud of that." She says to Jameson, jerking her thumb toward the rookie as she palms the door open. "Having a reputation makes all the things easier."

"True. You don't have any forehead tattoos, so that rather instantly elevates your attractiveness," Jameson retorts, that smirk on his lips tugging a little more distinctively. "Which is then immediately countered by the fact that you threw 'probably' in there when it comes to killing me. Oh well," he breathes out a sigh, pouring his own coffee into his travel mug (black) and screwing the cap on carefully as he walks over to the door. The rookie gets nothing more than a cursory glance. "I guess there are worse reputations you can have," he remarks in a tone of voice that suggests that's something he knows good and well. But he walks through the hall down to the garage, grabbing a set of keys off the wall for their vehicle before he steps into the bay. He's nice enough to pop the passenger side door open for her before he gets in on his own side of the cruiser, the ignition coughing to life as he inserts the key. "You got the directions up there?"

Elizabeth slides into the car, pulling her seat belt on and securing it. "I think I'd look good with a forehead tattoo, but I'd never do that to my face. Elsewhere?" She looks thoughtful before she shrugs, taking a drink from her mug. "Listen, Jay. I like you more than I like about ninety nine percent of the population of this shithole, don't push your luck. If you got too annoying, I might shoot you. You'd really have to work at it though." She props a foot up on the dash and pulls her phone from the pocket. "Yeah, I could be a slut." She mutters, rolling her eyes as she taps her phone with her thumb. "Guess you have to be kind of friendly to get that reputation though, people don't fuck you when they're afraid of you." She leans in, sliding the phone into the holder. "There you go, Chief." She turns her head on the headrest to watch him as he drives. "Did you get a look at the crime scene photos? Someone hung these people and gutted them. The patrolman on duty tried to stop me from going in, thought I'd be too delicate to handle it." She glances around, they're alone in the car but she still squints at him. "Don't tell anyone this, but I was kind of freaked out. I've never seen a body worked over like that, even in a scary movie."

"Don't get a face tattoo," is Jameson's solemn life advice, apparently, because there's nothing that comes out beyond that related to the subject. He reaches to snag his seatbelt and pull it into place before he steers the car out of the lot and onto the road. He keeps his eyes trained on the street ahead, though there's occasional - and exceptionally brief - flickers of his blue eyes towards her. "You do realize what will happen if I get into a car crash and your leg is up like that, right? The airbag will pop, and that leg will go through your head. Literally impale you to the seat," he remarks oh-so-casually, turning the wheel as the GPS signals him to take a left. "But the feeling is mutual. At least as it concerns the ninety-nine percent of the population. But maybe I just haven't gotten out much," he smirks, though the expression fades as she talks of the crime scene, his lips pressing into a grim line. "I looked at a few of the photos, read the reports," he replies, his voice growing a touch softer as he looks back to her. "I won't tell anybody. I don't think there are a lot of people in the world that can stomach seeing something like that for real."

"I'm not getting a face tattoo." Elizabeth confirms, watching the road as he follows the directions from the GPS. One hand is on her knee, tapping out a beat that she's hearing in her head. She turns to look at him, nodding slowly. "Then don't crash the car, Jay. I may not be liquid sunshine, but I don't wanna die yet." She sighs and puts her foot where it belongs, opening the glove compartment to make sure it has an extra weapon and the registration. "I think you stay home more than I do. I met a trauma nurse the other night, nice lady, seems keen on Fireball. I might have wonky radar but I think she wanted to drag me in for a cuddle snuggle. If I was wrong, maybe you can meet her and, I dunno, get snuggled yourself." She rolls her eyes, looking a little bit annoyed at her own idea. She goes quiet for a few minutes, gazing out the window as the scenery drifts past. "I don't think it was the pig-headed puta. I think something is going on, and people see it and they're afraid to talk about it. I think the Chief thinks so too."

"I'm not making any promises. /I'm/ a good driver, but you can't trust these other assholes on the road," Jay remarks as he trains his attention back on the street, accelerating once they hit the highway while still keeping his speed just barely above the limit. "I'm not a homebody. I go to the gym, I just don't talk to a lot of people there. And I've been out jogging, but the trails are pretty quiet around dawn, so," he lifts a shrug, tipping his head to flash a glance at her as she talks about the trauma nurse and cuddle-snuggles, his brow slowly lifting. "Oh are you.. yanno. A lesbian?" He asks, a touch of hesitance in the question, and then an immediate grimace afterward. "Sorry, that's probably too personal. I'm not judging. Just wondering."

"I trust myself. Occasionally you, and maybe the Lieutenant." Elizabeth replies, watching the scenery with a placid look on her face. She turns to watch Jameson as he drives, a tilted grin on her lips. "You go out, but you don't go out to meet people. Face it, Jay. You're a homebody." She turns back to watch the road, missing the glance in her direction. "No, I like men, but until I find one that can handle the shock I seem to give most men, I'm destined to be single." She lets out a bark of a laugh, sitting up a bit in the car seat. "Jeez, Jay. Lighten up. Are you gay? It's okay if you are. I don't care about asking personal questions, I have to work with you. Sometimes I'm stuck with you for hours at a time. I might judge you, but I doubt it'd be harshly." She grins and brushes a loose hair back behind her ear. "You don't hardly ask any questions, that bothers me more than you asking them. Just pointing that out."

"This is why you're like pineapple on pizza," Jay remarks, clicking on his blinker as the GPS triggers them to prepare for the exit up ahead. "You're an acquired taste. And not everyone will like you, and some people will think you are gross. But those people are wrong, and they have to live with that," he lifts a broad shoulder into a rolling shrug, turning the car to merge onto the exit, and squinting at her at the same time. "Whoa, wait, what? How did my asking if you were a lesbian get turned around back on me? No, I'm not gay," he huffs out a sigh, easing into the brake as they hit a red light at the bottom of the exit. "I like women. It's just nearly impossible to find somebody willing to work with the schedule, let alone women who will work with the schedule and not get insane about my female partner. It's not worth the trouble," he shrugs. "And I ask questions. I just asked a question."

Elizabeth winces, turning to look at Jameson, both eyebrows raised enough to almost be obscured by her bangs. "Not everyone will like me." She repeats, snorting out a muted laugh. "You mean, most people will not like me at all, ever. People get pushed away and they stay away. I pushed at you and you ignored me." She looks amused at his reaction, nodding at him when he huffs out a sigh. "Hey, it seemed like the best time to ask. I didn't think you were, by the way, I just..wanted to be cheeky? I mean, technically we could both go to HR about it, and we'd get in some shit for asking." She reaches out, squeezing his shoulder before she moves to unbuckle her seat belt, they're getting close. "Yeah, but really? All they'd have to do is meet me and they'd probably feel about a thousand percent better. My attitude alone makes women feel like I'm not side chick material." She rolls her eyes and checks her holster, muttering. "You could stand to ask more." She blinks and then gazes back in his direction. "I mean, come on Jay. We've been partners for a little bit now, and beyond the basics, we know next to nothing about one another. You realize we're gonna be stuck together for a while, right?"

"I don't know, Liz. I just happen to think people are more than what they put on their packaging. You pushed at me, I ignored you, and look what happened. We're mostly civil, and you're mostly nice now," Jay says to her, a slow chuckle padding his words which deepens as she talks of going to HR. "You really shouldn't unbuckle your seat belt until the car's done moving," he states, but it was only a few minutes until he was pulling up to the curb, easing on the brake and pushing the car into park. "And you'd be surprised what women tend to think about your partner. Male or female. It doesn't matter. Although I suppose it's entirely possible that I just tend to date women who have a few screws loose." He unhooks his seat belt, turning in the seat to look at her, his expression fairly neutral. "You know the basics. If you want to know more? Ask. I'm basically an open book."

Elizabeth lets out a sigh, fingers brushing her bangs away from her eyes. "This is downright friendly on my end, Jay." She mutters, pulling the mirror down from the sun visor to make sure she looks okay. "My car etiquette isn't up to your standards, and it's probably not going to change — much." She flips the mirror up, pushing the sun visor away, opening her door before his words get processed. "Well stop dating the crazy bitches. It's not that difficult, honestly. You won't find any by going to the gym early, and jogging when nobody is around. You'll find them at the grocery store, and at a library and maybe at a bar or something, but you have to make the effort. If you wanted to, which it sounds like you don't." She steps out, bending over to grin at him. "Don't tease, partner. I've got brass balls, I'll ask questions that will curl your hair more." She shuts the door and dusts off her jeans. "I might ask to see the index first, you know, sometimes you can find better questions that way."

"It's not car etiquette. It's standard safety procedure," Jameson replies with a sigh of his own, rolling his eyes as she flips down the visor to check herself out. But then he does the same thing, smoothing his hand through his hair to press down the curls. "Thanks for the advice, but this is all assuming I /want/ to find someone. Which you're right. I don't. But if I wanted to, sure. I'll go to the grocery store and pick up a side of female companion along with my water bottles," he chuckles, opening his door and stepping out, checking to make sure his sidearm was in place and that his shield was visible. The car was locked as he slams the door shut again. "I doubt you could ask anything that would make me so much as blink, Liz."

"It's car etiquette." Liz repeats, falling into step with Jameson, squinting at the neighbors house with a look of distaste. "You don't need my advice, partner. You're a full grown man who looks mighty fine. You won't have any problems once you get your shit into gear." She nods as the wife steps out of the neighbors home, a frown on her face. "Yeah, well we'll see. I'm gonna start being nosy, just to beat the boredom if nothing else."

The woman has her hands planted on her hips, scowling. "I told you Officer Rothschilde, I don't have any more information for you. I don't understand why you're here." Elizabeth puts on a polite smile, just the wrong side of polite, and tilts her head toward Jameson. "This is my partner, he might think of a few questions that I haven't. You've surely got five or six minutes for us, don't you Mrs. Lewis?"

"To-may-toe, to-mah-toe," Jameson says of car etiquette & safety procedures, double checking that the cruiser's locked before he dusts some lint from his jacket. "Mighty fine, huh? Get your eyes off my ass, Liz, and let's get this show on the road," he snorts a laugh, purposefully swinging his hips in an exaggerated motion as he saunters up to the neighbor's house, where the frowning woman has appeared.

"I'm real sorry to bother you, ma'am. Officer Greene," he shows her his badge in a plain manner. "I know this whole thing is very troubling, and probably a right pain in your ass. All these cops coming and going. But if you've got time? My questions are easy." He flashes her a bold grin.

Elizabeth tries very hard not to swat him in the ass, folding her hands behind her back as he speaks to Mrs. Lewis. She restrains herself, not rolling her eyes even once. She just watches the pair of them with a polite-ish expression on her face. "The sooner we figure out who did this ma'am, the better off for everyone in this neighborhood." She rests her hand on her firearm, gazing toward the crime scene house.

Mrs. Lewis lets out a heavy sigh, a disgusted look on her face. "Didn't you catch the person who did it? Wasn't it their daughter? Fine. Questions, I'll answer them."

"We just need to fill in the details, ma'am. So whatever you can tell us, that would be very helpful," says Jameson, reaching for the notepad and pen that he keeps in his back pocket. It's swung open to an empty page, and he readies the pen tip against the paper. There's a glance to Elizabeth, a wary sort, his lips bending into a faint frown before he looks back to Mrs. Lewis. "How long have you known the family?" he lifts a brow. "What can you tell me about their habits?"

Mrs. Lewis rolls her eyes heavenward, letting out another sigh. "They've lived here for a few years. Raised animals in the backyard. Pigs, chickens, that kind of stuff." She glances toward the house, dark inside now. "They kept to themselves, didn't come out and about a lot. We weren't close neighbors, we did occasionally do business, we bought a chicken or two." She glances past Jameson at Elizabeth, pointing toward his partner. "How come she didn't ask these questions earlier?"

Elizabeth ignores the question, drinking her coffee with a blank look on her face. She finally does deign to peek around Jameson at the housewife. "I did, but you said you didn't want to talk to me. I was rude. Remember? Told me to come back when I learned manners. So I brought him instead, he was brought up right." She points at Jameson and scuffs her boot in the dirt.

"I wouldn't worry too much about her, Mrs. Lewis. This is just standard procedure, to come back around and do some interviews after everything's settled," Jameson says to the woman, another glance given over his shoulder to Elizabeth. She might be perceptive enough to note a faint furrow when she suggests he was 'raised right', but the expression flattens after a moment. He takes a step, putting himself clearly between Mrs. Lewis and Elizabeth. "So they kept to themselves, quiet type. Maybe just came out to go to the store?" he jots down something on his pad, brows lifting. "What about their daughter, hm? Did you interact with her much? See her go out, see her bring anybody home?" There's a soft chuckle as he adds, "She's young, yeah? Probably had a few boyfriends coming around."

Elizabeth covers a laugh, turning her back to the pair so she can look at he house for a few minutes, uninterrupted.

Mrs. Lewis sighs and folds her arms over her chest. "They seemed to buy in bulk, like most of us do out here. Winter comes fast and hard and often times we don't have the time or the proper vehicle to head downtown." She shakes her head, smiling at Jameson, finally. "I never spoke to the daughter myself, she came home in a truck a few times, it was dark brown. That's all I know about the younger girl." She gazes around Jameson at the blonde who has their back to them. "I wish you luck, young man, but I've got to get dinner finished before my old man gets home." With that, she turns and walks back into her house.

Elizabeth steps up to Jameson and she gives him a gentle nudge and a smile. "Did good. She gave you more than she gave me."

"Dark brown truck, all right. Well, I thank you for your time, Mrs. Lewis. I'm sure we won't need to bother you again," Jameson says to the woman as he flips his notepad closed, flashing her a bright smile. "Have a good dinner," he manages to say before the door is closed in his face. It was then that he exhales, his shoulders sagging some as he turns back to Elizabeth, nudging her right back. "Didn't get that much out of her, except for that brown truck. And that's not even enough to run through the database, really," he says to her. "But at least we know what we need to ask other people. I wonder where they were buying their bulk items."

"Food4Less offers some things in bulk." Elizabeth shrugs, looking bored for a few moments. "Think the man in the truck knows what happened to them?" She asks, turning a look at Jameson. "Irregardless, it's time for lunch, and then maybe we can sit at the feed store or something. They'd have to move their feed for the animals in a truck, and they didn't own one." She raises her eyebrows. "Perhaps it was someone who worked here, who knows." She starts to walk back to the police vehicle, lost in thought.

"We'll need a subpoena for the trucking manifests, probably. But it might be worth chatting with the manager down there," Jameson says of Food4Less, considering this as he slides his notepad back into his pocket. He casts a glance over to the murder house, a thoughtful frown twitching at the corners of his lips. "Yeah. Lunch sounds good. We doing Chinese, my little wanton?" he smirks, snickering as he starts back to the car.

"Ah the way to my heart, through food." Elizabeth opens her door and slips inside, pulling her seat belt on again. She puts a foot up on the dash and then realizes what she's doing, putting it back where it belongs. "So what was that look on your face for? You weren't brought up right?" She asks, shifting so her gun doesn't dig into her hip. She sets her coffee in the cup holder and aims a thoughtful look at their surroundings. "Think we should put the lights on so we can get there quicker? I'm reallllly hungry." She jokes, making a face at her partner.

"So that's the secret then? Keep you fed, and keep you full of coffee. Darlin', you're not the same when you're hungry," Jameson laughs as he gets into the car, pulling his seat belt on before he fires up the engine. There's a direct glance to her boot when she lifts it, his smile turning smug when she brings it back down again. But the expression, and his laughter, falter at her question, and he clears his throat as he turns his attention to the windshield. "What look?" he replies, pulling the wheel to get them off the curb and back to the street. "I was raised fine. My mom was a good cook. That's where I learned my stuff," he shrugs, then glares at her as she suggests the lights. "There's a cliff bar in the glove box. Eat that. If you're lucky, I'll go five above."

"I don't have a secret. I just like food. Since I seem to be one of those lucky women who can eat whatever she wants without gaining weight.." Elizabeth trails off, a smug look on her pretty face. She curls a lock of hair around her fingers, ignoring Jameson for a few minutes as she watches him pull back out on the highway. When he clears his throat, she turns to gaze at him. "You realize you're talking to a cop, right? I know when someone is feeding me a line." He talks about his mom for a moment and it's her turn to sigh and look away. "Good for you. You offered to cook for me, and I'll take you up on it to see if you're actually any good." She opens the glove box, fishes out the bar, and opens it. "I'm lucky. I'm lucky. Let's fucking go!"

"That's a lie. -Everybody- has a secret, but I guess you needing a Snickers to keep you satisfied isn't one of them," Jameson flashes her a broad grin, rolling his eyes as she curls her hair around her finger. He swings his focus back onto the road as he pulls the car onto the highway, breathing out a slow sigh. "I'm not feeding you a line, I just didn't like the whole 'raised right' thing. You were raised fine, obviously. You're a cop, you just cut through the bullshit. I know how to fake it better," he shrugs, glancing back to her with a small measure of concern in his gaze. But at least he presses on the gas to speed up the car when she shouts at him - going 6 above the speed limit instead. Living dangerously!

Elizabeth gets an impish look on her face as she shifts her gaze to Jameson. "Sorry partner, a snickers bar isn't big enough to keep me satisfied." She jokes, letting out a brief laugh as she takes a bite of the bar that was in the glove box. "Alright Jay, if you say so, you say so." Then he says that she was raised fine, and she starts to laugh. She continues to laugh as he looks at her and pushes his foot down on the gas. She wipes gently at her eyes with the back of her hand as she sighs, leaning back against the seat. "Partner, I pretty much raised myself. I wasn't raised fine, I was just smart enough to not let my surroundings get to me." She beams a smile at the sign that lists Wok This Way, among other restaurants available at the next stop off the highway. "I'm going to get enough for dinner too. Mmmm yes yes yes."

Jameson's brows lift as he looks back over to her, laughing at the look upon her own face. "Was that a penis joke? Aren't we too old for bathroom humor, partner?" he snorts another laugh, shaking his head as he looks back to the road. The chuckles die out with time, replaced by comfortable silence until she finally speaks up again. Her words make him frown, his brows knitting together. "I'm sorry to hear that, Liz," he says that genuinely enough, as he turns the car into the next exit. Wok This Way wasn't too close to the highway, so her prayers for lunch & dinner would be answered quick enough as they pull into the parking lot. "For what it's worth? Families suck, and they end up just dragging you down. So," he puts the car in park, twisting in the seat to look over to her. "You did good, for your circumstances."

"I mean, I don't think I'm ever going to be too old for penis jokes. They're just funny in general." Elizabeth counters, and she grimaces as he gets a look on his face. A concerned, slightly frowny look. "Don't be sorry, Jay. Foster care is foster care. You either hit the jackpot and find some great people, or you get the shitshow and you learn how to survive. I'd be a lot softer if I was brought up by kind people, so.." She shrugs and unbuckles her seat belt, beaming up at the restaurant sign. "Yeah, a friend told me once that I was lucky. I could pick my family." She glances at him and shrugs. "I wouldn't say good, but look at me, I'm alive. I have a decent job, and I'm about to have one hell of a lunch."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License