Clayton
Rogue Werewolf
LAPD Sergeant: Crisis Negotiator
Somebody get me through this nightmare; I can't control myself.
Posts: 7
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Post by Clayton on Jun 22, 2010 15:37:37 GMT
CONTINUED FROM: Building B; The Roof.
The air down on street level was noticeably thicker than that up on the roof, and as soon as Clay stepped out from the lobby and onto the concrete beyond, he found it stifling and close, claustrophobic almost, making him pause and take a moment to gather himself, rein everything in and regain control before it could even falter. There were people everywhere, ranging from onlookers to police officers, paramedics and firemen and of course, the inevitable press. Clay didn't even look at them, just cut off to the right once he was out of the door and around past the taped-off line, ducking under it when the officer lifted it for him, moving more on autopilot than anything else.
What awaited around the corner -- thankfully out of the way of most of the larger crowd and a good deal of the press -- was hardly welcoming, but the area was cordoned off and controlled already. Clay's stomach didn't even so much as threaten to flip. After the things he'd been through in his time, he had an understandably high tolerance, and as grim as the sight of the jumper's remains was, it didn't really touch him. Not in that way, at least. Emotionally and mentally was a different matter.
"Where's the sister?" he asked the nearest officer, giving a short description of the woman, which got him directions to the open ambulance waiting several feet away. The view of the body was blocked by officials of one kind of another, for which Clay was glad, as he moved past them, and towards the vehicle and the woman seated inside. "Ms. Greene?" There was no response, and he hesitated, unsure as to whether or not he should try again. One look at the pair of paramedics had the older of the pair, the senior of the partnership, hopping down out of their open bus to speak with him in a hushed voice.
"She's in shock, hasn't said a word since the officer brought her down." A shrug of lean shoulders under the dark uniform told Clay what he needed to know before the paramedic -- Ennis was the name on his shirt -- went on to say, "I think you guys are gonna have to wait a while."
"Okay," Clay mumbled and then pulled in a breath. "All right. Thanks." Glancing one last time at the woman, feeling his chest constrict painfully, he turned and headed away, giving her the space and the time she so obviously needed after the death of her brother.
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Mareike
Rogue Werewolf
Departed
Face down in the dirt she says, this doesn't hurt she says I finally had enough
Posts: 5
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Post by Mareike on Aug 28, 2010 15:07:03 GMT
Continued from: California State University; Parking lot
She pulled into a nearby parking spot a couple of streets over from the location she had been given for Clayton, taking a couple of seconds to simply sit behind the wheel and breathe deeply. It would be alright. Whatever had happened and she was probably over thinking, over worrying, to be this concerned, everything would be fine and she would probably just get a couple of confused or knowing looks from those around them, one checking up on the other when they didn’t have to. It made for a lot of gossip, whispers that they were more than just friends, but Mareike didn’t care what other people said, thought, whispered. Of course they were more than ‘just’ friends, what had happened to them had seen to that, her feelings for Clay were something she didn’t feel able to put into words – or perhaps she was just unwilling. Whatever the case, she had to tell herself that he was fine before fingers uncurled from around the steering wheel, Mareike locking the car behind her as she set off.
The worry that she had only so recently managed to suppress flared back into life as she reached the apartment complex, taking in the cordoned off area and the ambulance she could see parked a little way back, crowds milling around with ghoulish enjoyment on their faces, mingled with sanctimonious show and horror. Something had happened, something had gone wrong, Mareike weaving in and out of the crowds as she headed towards the tape marking off the area. Eyes caught one of the officers keeping everyone back, motioning him over with a wave of her hand. She pulled out her wallet, flipping it to show him her identity, Mareike not instantly recognizing the man and not willing to wait until she could attract the attention of someone she did know.
“What happened?”
“Jumper Ma’am, Sergeant Roth tried to talk him down but it didn’t go his way this time.”
She nodded absently, a rapid series of blinks the only sign Mareike gave to this news. A jumper. It would be a jumper of course, a jumper that he hadn’t been able to help and she knew how much he disliked working with jumpers, and how they unsettled him. At least he had tried to call her, instead of waiting until she got home to work out something was wrong. Hair was flicked back over her shoulder before ducking down under the tape as it was lifted slightly higher for her, nodding a brief thanks at the unnamed officer before heading off in search for her friend. The mere sight of him was enough to confirm the belief that the jumper had indeed gotten to him.
“Clay?”
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Clayton
Rogue Werewolf
LAPD Sergeant: Crisis Negotiator
Somebody get me through this nightmare; I can't control myself.
Posts: 7
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Post by Clayton on Sept 9, 2010 19:42:15 GMT
After leaving the jumper's sister alone with her thoughts and her grief, Clay had taken it upon himself to move out of everyone's way, finding himself at the side of the building and soon leaning against it, watching the world go by with his hands in his pockets until that had seemed disrespectful and then he had simply let them hang empty and limp at his sides instead. That seemed strange too but honestly Clay didn't know what else to do with himself. Not long after he'd rested himself against the cool, hard brick, the officer in charge of the scene had come over to take his official statement -- a version of which he would shape into a viable report when he got back to his office and after he had collected his scattered thoughts -- but since that point he had been left to his own devices. Clay had simply stood there, looking somewhat out of place and feeling it too. It didn't help that he was convinced he could feel the weight of eyes on him, not necessarily judging or accusatory, but knowing. As a negotiator, Clay was trained to deal with crises of all shapes and sizes from hostage situations -- his speciality, even if his methods were somewhat unorthodox and therefore frowned upon by some within the Force -- to jumpers just like the one he had lost tonight, but in all honesty he had never been able to handle the latter well. There was always something helpless and desperate about them, a kind of defeatism and something so very final about the look in their eyes that he almost recognised and it frightened him; they had nothing left, nowhere to turn, and Clay remembered how that felt. It was true that Mareike had come for him and saved him, but that didn't change the fact that he had felt alone and without hope, simply waiting for the end, however slow or painful it might ultimately prove to be.
The familiar voice close by jolted him out of his numbing reverie and brought him back to reality and present time with a subtle start, his head lifting and his eyes with it, light gaze landing on the blonde female not far away, but it took his brain several long, silent moments to recognise that it was really her, that she was actually there standing not five feet away from him.
"Mare?" The familiar and affectionate shortening of her name probably didn't help whatever rumours were currently circulating about them -- the same ones that did the rounds wherever they went, no doubt, off and on, the same cycle of stories and gossip about one thing or another -- but he didn't care. Right then all he cared about was having something safe and steady to rely on, and that was Mare, just as it always had been; she was his anchor in more ways than she knew, and that had been true for years. He remembered then that he had called her office and left a message. "I'm sorry, I--" He shook his head, straightening a little against the wall only to slump his shoulders back against it as he lifted a hand to rub over his face. "I didn't mean to make you come all the way down here."
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Mareike
Rogue Werewolf
Departed
Face down in the dirt she says, this doesn't hurt she says I finally had enough
Posts: 5
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Post by Mareike on Sept 27, 2010 15:19:37 GMT
Her greatest regret about that time was that it had taken her so long to be able to come for Clayton, that she had been forced to stand on the sidelines and let him suffer, that he had been alone for so long. He should never had been forced to that state in the first place, should never had been made to suffer in that way, Mareike’s heart contracting painfully whenever she remembered what had happened to him, or she saw the traces of that time in his actions even now. Everyone was shaped by what had come before, herself included, and it didn’t matter if they had lived twenty years or two hundred years, those moments which shaped them, defined them, would still burn brightly. Mareike believed that those times had made them stronger, had made both of them stronger, able to over come everything the world, her father and that wolf – even now, Mareike couldn’t even think his name without a shudder running down her spine, proof, if she needed it, that she wasn’t as healed about those memories as she liked to believe. They had survived though, they were here, they were still standing.
Mareike didn’t question too deeply the nature of her relationship with Clayton. What they had went beyond mere friendship, beyond any of the whispers and rumours that circled about them, about the way in which they sometimes looked at each other, spoke too each other. It didn’t matter what other people said, she knew that they weren’t what the rumour mill delighted in implying they were. How the blond would actually define their relationship if pressed into giving some kind of answer was another matter however, one that she wasn’t sure of the answer to.
She smiled softly, patiently, waiting for him to come back to this moment and in a way Mareike was sorry that she had to drag him back to the now, to a moment that wasn’t the most pleasant for him. Still, better that he be mentally here, with her, rather than trapped somewhere in their past. “I chose to come down here,” Mareike reminded him gently. “You didn’t have to ask.” Clay would never have to ask her for anything, be it support, help or simply driving across a city to make sure he was alright. “Was it a bad one?”
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Clayton
Rogue Werewolf
LAPD Sergeant: Crisis Negotiator
Somebody get me through this nightmare; I can't control myself.
Posts: 7
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Post by Clayton on Oct 9, 2010 17:13:16 GMT
They had survived and Clay too liked to tell himself that they had emerged on the other side stronger and better equipped to deal with pain and difficulty than ever before but he couldn't believe those things when his fears took hold, when the darkness crept in close and seemed to threaten to suffocate and smother him in the night, when his panic and terror from years gone by claimed his mind in sleep and woke him screaming and shaking, forgetting that he was safe, that the men who had done such horrible, unthinkable things to himself and countless others were long dead and buried, that he had outlived them all by centuries. Such thoughts crept into his days time and time again, made him uncomfortable about the strangest and most mundane things like shaking hands or being approached from behind. Clay knew he had been affected and deeply by the experiences from years gone by, that it was never as easy as people liked to believe to overcome those kinds of traumas. He only wished it was, not just for himself but for Mareike too.
He was probably better off in the now, back in the present where all he had to think about was the next moment and addressing the situation as it would progress from this point on. The past was never a good place for him to lose himself. It had only been a short time ago but already he had managed to half-lose the memory of trying to contact her, proof positive for him at least that the events of the evening had taken their toll on him. "I should have been quicker," was his tired response, his gaze drifting past her to the ambulance that was just beginning to get underway, rear doors closing with the victim's sister inside. "I wasn't quick enough." It didn't matter how many times it happened, whether it was the first or the fifty-first; a failure was still a failure and someone had lost their life tonight when it had been his job to keep that from coming to pass. The woman in the back of that ambulance had trusted him to save her brother and he'd let her down. That wasn't going to be easy for him to deal with. It never was.
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