Property Crimes

Warehouse District 
#1
"Voluntary overtime" was a euphemism that applied to most of Lunny's spare hours.

It could mean a lot of things, some of them unsavory. Today was perfectly respectable, though. Strictly speaking it was not her job to be investigating property crimes, but something about this particular situation seemed...odd. Maybe she was reading too much into it. But post-full moon, and with the uptick in goat-related mayhem, and just all-around strangeness that had been firing off since the first of the month...it seemed worthwhile to be cautious about what she would loosely categorize as funny business.

So, even though it was technically not her job, she was eager to get a look at the vandalized warehouse (with signs of potential recent occupancy) and just...make sure it was mundane.

Who was she kidding. She was hoping it wasn't.
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#2
Guess what? Cris was fucking around in a place she probably wasn't supposed to.

This part of town got extremely sketch as the sun went down, but she had... brain itchiness.

The kind that made her want to call Carmen for another electricity lesson. Or Osvald to do a blood exchange. Or else stalk some stranger on the street until she tired herself out enough to focus again.

For all of her life, she'd assumed this would get better, but it was definitely getting worse. Could you be some kind of... mimicry addict? They didn't really have recovery programs for that.

She'd found an open warehouse door (flat out open, not just unlocked) and decided to make it her business to wander in. If someone yelled at her, she could haul ass out the way she came. But it was lit only by some emergency exit signs, and that made the whole thing kinda spooky.

Whatever. She had a ghost's ashes hanging out in her apartment. What did spooky mean anymore.

But Cris had only just stepped through the door when she heard the sound of someone else outside. Maybe. Maybe it was her own footsteps?

As she stopped, it became very clear that it was not, in fact, her own footsteps.

Panicked, she decided to flatten herself against the wall by the door, hoping whoever it was would just keep walking by.

Please fuck off. She wasn't doing anything wrong. Please fuck off.
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#3
Please fuck off.

She picked it up like a radio between stations; sometimes thoughts came as words, sometimes in concepts, and this was something in-between. Like a hound who's scented a rabbit, Lunny's head went up, eyes flickering green behind the glasses it was honestly too dark to be wearing.

Well.

Hand at the hip, fingering open the holster. Her eyes narrowed, and she nudged in closer, toeing the door open wider.

There should have been tape up. She made a mental note of its absence. Somebody would be getting their ass chewed, if she remembered to do it later. Then again; some things didn't bear much investigation, and Cedar Creek had bigger fish to fry. Chewing someone's ass cross-departments and jurisdiction wouldn't be winning her over any favors.

Well. Regardless.

"Police." She announced, easing her way inside, back to the door. "This is a crime scene."

Mental radio tuner ready to filter through the static, listening in.
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#4
Of course it was a fucking cop.

Her face scrunched into a scowl. There were probably cameras here, maybe? All she'd done was walk in, which was maybe a crime but definitely not "this is a crime scene" levels of a crime.

Either way, hopefully she wasn't about to be shot. She was white passing enough, and being pretty helped. She put her hands up against the wall for good measure, raised over her shoulders, and waited.

But with each step closer Officer Whoeverthefuck took, something else came to the forefront of Cris' mind.

This was a... witch. Gifted person. Whatever. And Cris couldn't immediately pinpoint her powers.

"I literally just walked in because the door was open."

So eat her dick, lady.
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#5
Her hand lingered at her hip, but she didn't draw the gun.

The girl knew how to behave, attitude aside, and honestly -- she found it almost immediately endearing. It was a knee-jerk, instinctive feeling, the exact opposite of that predatory drive that had sent her following after the whatever-she-was at that vintage store. If this girl had been stupid enough to run, she might be bleeding right now.

Instead, Lunny stood opposite, well aware that she was back-lit in the doorway, that the girl would have to squint at her for a proper look, and sized her up.

"Someone seems to have taken down the tape," she said, in a tone that was as close to gracious as she could manage, leaving some room for excuses. "So I'll forgive you not noticing. Have you been living here?"
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#6
Sure. Sure, there was tape, lady.

Cris wasn't moving a fucking muscle because, again, have you seen those videos? But she couldn't make out a whole lot of the cop other than that she was about her height, which she hated.

"Nope, but it is nicer than my apartment."

A beat, and then:

"What's your power?"

This was always a moment of truth, and she awaited some stuttering denial that hopefully wouldn't end in being tased.
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#7
"A Ruger LCP .380," she replied, deadpan, brows lifted. "Enough power to put some holes in a smart-mouth kid."

Her lips twitched with a smile. She was fucking with her. But with Looney, well. It was hard to tell.

What's yours? She added, silently, curious at what type of response she'd get. Sending didn't always work, but if the kid was tuned in and listening...well. Maybe it would.
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#8
"Cops shooting people, that's hil-"

No no no no no Cris fucking hated this power. Her words cut off in immediate recognition of it, and she felt almost a little panicked?

Chill. Chillax. You're not in a crowded place. The only thoughts she was at risk for hearing was this bitch's and guess what she could probably hear all of these right now.

"Your-"

Ugh.

Yours. I copy powers.
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#9
Sounds like a shit power to have.

Honesty. No point in bullshitting when they could sit here and read each other's minds back and forth. Not that Lunny was one for bullshit, usually.

"There was a break-in here," she said, aloud, all-business, though there was a bit of a smirk accompanying it. "You know if somebody's been squatting?"

Someone...undesirable. She didn't give a shit about some bum. Let them sleep.
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#10
"It is."

Spoken out loud because talking in her brain was fucking weird. Which this woman would probably know because she could read her mind. Everything about it was unsettling and Cris unabashedly loathed it.

"Someone probably is. But I don't know 'em."

That didn't entirely explain why she was here, so.

"I just saw an opportunity to poke my head in, so I did. And then you showed up."

She shrugged. It was the boring truth if nothing else.
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#11
"Well enough" She moved her hand, abandoning the side-arm and crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture of peace or trust or goodwill -- what have you. She leaned back into the door frame, head tilted as she sized up the kid. "This is a shit neighborhood," Self-effacing, because she knew it first-hand. Just come take a look at her place. "You live around here?"

Her eyes faded, and she glanced upward, letting out a breath and trying to work some tension back out of her shoulders.
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#12
About fucking time she moved her hand away. Cris had done absolutely nothing to threaten this woman, but like all cops, she was so eager to pull the trigger on something if she could.

"Not far," she said with a shrug. "So I know it's shit."

With a certain level of boldness, her hands still well away from her pockets or anything, she moved to take a few steps further into the warehouse if she could.
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