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She certainly doesn’t expect him to give in without a fight, but she knows giving in is what he’ll do eventually. She straightens up in a self-satisfied sort of way, her drink all the more refreshing because she wasn't the one paying for it.

“I plan on it.” She tips her glass in his direction, in a sort of mock salute. 

There’s a college basketball game on the TV in the corner and the melancholy blues single on the radio has faded away and into an acoustic hit from the 70′s. Phi sips the foam bunched around the rim of her glass and then looks up, gaze directed at Sigma but somehow still looking past him.

“Hey, can I ask you something? And don’t make it weird okay? I’m being serious--”

“Do you ever have dreams? Well no-- sometimes they’re not even dreams, but like you’ll be spacing out and then suddenly you see stuff, and it’s like you’re recalling some kind of distant memory. It’s in scary detail, but it’s something you’ve ever actually seen or done before.”

A weird question by anyone’s standards, but probably weirder still coming from her. Confiding wasn’t a thing she did often, but it’s been bothering her all week and Sigma seemed as a good a person as anyone to tell.

For various reasons.

It’s unusual for the air to be cold. Perhaps it were the nature of events unfolding – but that’s way too poetic. But all in all it is a too familiar situation – in the sense that somewhere, deep within the vast expanses of his knowledge, resided good memories of this place. That’s why he dismisses Phi’s commentary entirely, or kind of, “And you are rude.” 

It’s comical that they reunite in a place that seems to collect the misery itself, but such is the way of them to spend their “free-time”. The order goes with the basics, beer. Bartender is swift with the task, managing to serve it in a little period of time. One of his hands brushes his face casually before taking the first sip; awaiting for her further answers. 

And he nods when she ends up telling him something he knew, though he wasn’t really that deep in the subject to pinpoint it, “Ah, I noticed. He’s a good guy - at least not as annoying as some folks I’ve encountered in this damned place,” He says that as if the place were a bother, but oh how he enjoys being here, anyway. There’s finally a sip from the glass that contains beer, relaxing and fulfilling – but all ends up ruined when she talks about him paying, meddlesome. 

“Uuuugh, fine,” But there’s no another way about it - despite the kind of childish gruff. However, it’s not like he wants to clean the dishes for the rest of the night because his usual recklessness, “You better enjoy it while you can.”

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She debates starting without him. 

But in the end she doesn’t-- she’s sure he’ll comment on that, and she’s sure she’ll tell him he should count his blessings, be grateful that she’s so nice. 

This place is eccentric in a sort of dirty kind of way. But the booze was cheap and the two of them always managed to see something worth seeing whenever they made the trip. 

“You are a loser.” Is all she says as he takes his place beside her. 

She orders her long awaited beer (because they’re going to be here for awhile and she’s on a budget-- anything that tasted any better than that wouldn’t last through whatever conversation they were going to wind up having) and looks at him through the dim and dusty light.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, though--”

“The guy with the eye over there-- the one we always run into here, asked about you. I said you were on your way but I think he’s too far down his glass to care anymore.” She nods in the direction of a rather sad looking man with his nose in his mug, before turning her attention back towards him.

“You’re definitely paying for the first round though. It pays to be punctual.”

He often bides his time carefully, tonight he didn’t have any apparent reason to expect otherwise - he takes a shower, sprays himself with the best fragrance, puts on some casual clothing - and finally drinks a shady orange juice from his fridge. His mistake. Fortune didn’t come his way, although he is ready, mundane things interfered with his departure.

When he finally leaves, there is some time left to be there in the given hour. Initially he went out to empty the trash. He tries to work more on himself and try to be more flexible. Even so, clumsiness something gets the best of him.

The bar they decided to meet was in the outskirts of the city; an usual favorite of them. They reunite here every once in a while. However, he feels cheated when he notices her unmissable presence - actually being here before him.

At least she was modest enough to wait for him before starting to drink. 

Tiers curve into what appears to be a grin, “You’re here sooner, I feel like a loser now,” He gives an affirming nod, emerging from the darkness surrounding the bar; the usual scent of alcoholic beverages and nicotine permeate nostrils in a familiar way. The music, however, is nice - a  freestyle blues playlist. He settles himself next her, comfortably on the stool, “Did you get here alright? Last time I had some problems with some weirdos.”

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Four shots of flavored vodka, and two glasses of chocolate slush later her face is pleasantly warm and her head remarkably light. She likes to think she wouldn’t be more than vaguely annoyed at his joke (because that’s what it was, a joke) regardless of whether she was lightly buzzed or not.

“That’ll be the day.” She rolls her eyes but orders him another scotch, if only because she can’t take the sad way he keeps hinting and eying his empty glass. 

And he can joke all he wants, but there’s that wistfulness, dispassion, that he’s trying to sidestep around by being the funny guy that doesn’t leave her too worried about having to work under him one day. She doesn’t really know Junpei, but she knows enough people, works with enough sad and lost men to know what jokes like that mean. 

The bartender sets down their drinks, and Phi stares down her glass of whiskey– like it’s holding out on something she wants.

“I almost went to medical school you know.” She speaks slowly, carefully, like every word is deliberately chosen. “Could have done it, almost did. Would’ve done great.”

But instead, she was here.

She brings her glass to her lips, sips it casually like it doesn’t burn and make her tongue tingle uncomfortably.

“If you were my boss..” She speaks, lips pressed against the side of the glass. “I’d shoot myself in the foot.” 

The girls in the corner are overcome with loud raucous laughter as they clink glasses and pucker their lips at their drinks. Phi wishes she could remember what its like to get satisfaction out of such trivial things, get satisfaction out of drinks that were mostly fruit juice. 

“Did you ever see yourself here?” In a bar at dinner time, drinking with someone you didn’t even really like, not being able to look at anything without suddenly feeling unreasonably sad. “You see this kind of thing, adults who hate their jobs and joke about it around beers– you see it on TV, you see it with your parents but you think to yourself– there’s no way that’ll ever be me.”

Call her arrogant, call her idealistic, but the rest of her life had made her hold out some hope for adulthood. If you tried hard enough you were supposed to get what you wanted, right?

Here it comes.

Phi’s not asking out of curiosity. Most of the time, it feels like she says things to fill the air – not to hear herself talk, but because there’s empty space that someone needs to take hold of. Her words have purpose but only for herself. And it’s kind of enviable, that.

Except now’s not really the time for analysis. It’s a time for grimacing, bringing a tired hand to his head while he gives the bartender a longing stare.

‘Shouldn’t you be buying me a drink, first?’ he asks balefully, all the while sounding resigned.

He gives in anyway because that’s what he does.

‘I don’t really know.’ Junpei shifts, watching as the feminine gaggle in the corner gets their Flaming Zombie. It’s all for the girl from earlier, and you have to wonder – do they really care? ‘Here, probably. If I stick it out, my programme should be finished by then. I could go with the PD, take over that old fogey’s position once he retires…’

It’s all just idle wondering. It’d be easy to stay here, let the waves of day shifts and papers beach him on the shores of a job and a comfortable life. He wouldn’t even really mind.

But where’s the purpose?

‘I might even get to chief if I do that,’ he says. He smirks.

‘How about that? If I was your boss, you could actually get promoted – if you bought me a drink.’

Phi found hers in a vacuum, probably, and he wishes it could be that easy –

Except for how he doesn’t.

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It’s that weird time of day-- not quite midday, but not really evening yet either. That time period between 5:30 and 6 where you’re tied from the trials of the day but they’re still too recent to be put out of your mind.

She’s not really paying too much attention to much of anything. It’s her usual way home, a route she knows all too well. She’s almost entirely on autopilot-- turn here, wait for this light, cross this street. The flow of monotony is broken up only by a notification on her phone-- which she stops to check-- and a Styrofoam cup of scalding hot coffee that explodes all over the side of her arm.

Though, it receives little more in the way of a reaction from her other than a quiet gasp and apparent shock-- until the burning sets it.

The culprit, or at least an associate of the culprit seems to have some kind of heart though (not that it does much to help) and she turns to face him, making a show of shaking her dripping arm.

“Keep hoping I guess.” She manages through gritted teeth.

“Here, hold this.” And before he can respond she practically shoves her bag and the stack of files in her hands at him. Hands now free, she pulls back the damp fabric at her sleeve, getting a peek at her quickly reddening skin. “Your buddy likes his coffee hot, huh?” Because it stings too much for her to be anything but passive aggressive.

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Laughing his way out, the young intern took his time crossing onto the sidewalk. Having finished his hospital shift, Merlin left with half-finished coffee in hand. Some jesting with his co-worker caused him to recoil with laughter, eyes crinkling shut.

So, of course, that’s when his buddy decided it fit to throw a cup at Merlin’s head. All would be well, had he not dodged his friend’s gesture. But no—Merlin’s reflexes helped him move out of the way with a jerk of his body in whole. This allowed for a misfortune to occur—it led the cup to hit another passer-by.

   ❝Oh, that was definitely not meant to happen.    Sorry ‘bout that PRAT.❞

The last word was said at a higher volume, a fact which would suggest he wanted his friend to hear. After all, the other had raced off the scene once he realized what happened. He looked with embarrassment to the woman, lips drawn tight with concern.

   ❝You alright? I hope nothing spilled out…❞ 

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Who..-- oh, Sigma’s friend. Of course.

To: Ban

From: Phi

[1/5] So close but so far

[2/5] I dunno what do they look like

[3/5] Why were your pants off in the first place

[4/5] Were you two playing doctor

[5/5] Or did you just spill juice on them again

To: [???] From: [Ban] [txt] aye two [txt] six [txt] nine

Wait, that’s not right. Her name is on the tip of his tongue.

[txt] Philip!! [txt] did I leave my pants in sigma’s lab agaain

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that failure determined the path you followed.

for korras.

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It’s a good answer. 

And whether that’s because his answer is more brave than she expected, or less infuriating than she expected, well she’s not sure. She’ll decide on that later, after another round or so.

There’s something in the way he talks that draws pity out of you, whether you want to give it to him or not. Reminds you too much of that one kid in school who you always felt bad about not being nicer to-- but as an adult.

“What? Can’t see me married with 2.5 kids, house with a yard, driving an SUV?” She tries to act offended, but she’s sure it loses its believability when she downs the remainder of her glorified chocolate milkshake immediately after.  

She doesn’t think too deeply about much of what he says. Most of it was obvious, and the rest of it-- well, everyone in his field seemed to assume they knew people, even when they didn’t actually. It was just his ego talking.

“You’re right though-- with the way things are here, the chances of getting any kind of promotion are well--” She artfully punctuates her sentence with a raspberry-- frustration, amusement, sorrow, all at once-- and motions for the bartender’s attention. Here, not her, it was this place’s fault.

“What about you PsyD, huh? Where’re you gonna be in five years?” He after all, clearly knew quite a bit. Why bother guessing when he could just peer into the future.

There’s nothing to take personal. Not with the way she talks.

It’s all casual words that end up revolving around herself, in the end, a self-centred orbit that somehow manages to be kind anyway. It’s the unassuming trail of her eyes around the room, how she manages to relax in a way that says Ruin this for me, and you’re a goner.

Junpei drums his fingers on the counter and wonders where this all started.

‘Five years, huh…’ he mumbles, gaze brushing feather-light against hers before it wanders again to the table of university girls. You don’t need to know Greek to understand what they’re talking about, and for him, that’s a little disappointing. ‘To be honest?’

He’s not sure she wants the truth, but he gives it to her anyway.

‘Probably right here. I guess… I can’t really see you going anywhere, not with the way things are now.’ He lifts a hand to his chin, a thoughtful gesture he picked up somewhere along the way. ‘Maybe if you got a big lead, or you saved a baby from a burning building. Something like that…’

The beginnings of a grin that pull at his mouth don’t belong, but Junpei doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t need to hide his smiles, not like Phi does.

He’s more the type to hide behind them.

‘But I don’t see you changing much on the inside. So why should the outside change?’

She’s a rock of her own making.

‘Unless you decide you want to settle down,’ he finishes, humour finally creeping into his voice.

‘That’ll be the day.’

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And there it was.

The sandwich stops just short of her mouth, and Phi begins walking, away from the prying eyes of the clearly curious stall owner.

“So you’re threatening me.” She wasn’t naive enough to think this kind of thing unusual. It happened every day to every one who attempted to uphold some kind of structure of authority. Even unimportant traffic cops, she supposes.

That didn’t make her any less mad.

“Listen lady--”

“Your friend broke the law, he could have hurt people. I did my job.” But for all her pride, she’s not stupid. She’s not going to get on her justice soapbox over a parking ticket of all things.

“But I guess that doesn’t really matter to you ‘let me fly you to France to make up for this parking ticket’ types, huh? Tell me though, since I’m curious about what you’ve got in your arsenal-- what are these reasons I might not think of?”

Ah, good… She didn’t mention it or even react. They could just move on then. As if nothing had ever happened.

Josephine nodded, biting her lip slightly afterwards. Something like this wasn’t much of a bribe, but then again if it didn’t work out, she wasn’t losing much, was she? She followed the other woman to the stand and then pulled out her wallet and a twenty dollar bill.

“You can keep the change,” she said to the man who now excitedly began to prepare the meal. It wasn’t really a display of her wealth, which was honestly laughable if you asked her.

“My name is Josephine,” and then she paused, trying to think of the best way to continue in this situation. Different ways for different people. This woman didn’t exactly seem like an ordinary traffic officer, after all. 

“And I do not, actually.”

Her smile was more coy than before. Even so, there was something more natural about it, as if she had let her guard down. 

“But he asked me to do this nonetheless. And I suppose the punishment I’ve given him is worse than jail in a way. For some reason, I always end up doing things like this for my friends, or even for strangers. Why should you do this? For my own sake would be one reason, wouldn’t it? Otherwise I’ll be his one phone call…”

Once again her disposition changed, back to the sugary sweet of before.

“Still, I could properly bribe you. Or I could discuss this with your supervisor. You mentioned that you might lose your job because of this, did you not? That might be true, if not for the reasons you think.”

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There’s some kind of irony she’ll appreciate later about a traffic cop almost getting run over.

She does little more than wobble slightly, foot slipping over the sidewalk before the woman pulls her attentions back to the road, and well not dying.

“Nah, you should have just let me get hit.”

“Then you and me-- we sue the guy for everything he’s worth, split it half and half and the rest is history.” She’s joking, despite the look of quiet contemplation on her face.

“But I guess I should thank you? Or something? I don’t get nearly run over too often so I don’t know how this goes.”

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    .Light places a hand upon the girls shoulder. She seems a bit out of it, far too much and if it wasn’t for the fact that the other had been a bit too close to the edge of the side walk. Lightning would have minded her own business as per usual. There’s no need for her intervention in life, let alone desire to take part of any life saving moments. Though if she was going to wait in this spot, she didn’t much like the idea of a possible dead body lying on the streets.

      ”Back up a bit. The drivers on this side of the city arent        as forgiving as everywhere else.”

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She’s supposed to feel bad for him, she thinks..probably, with the way he looks around the room with quiet insecurity. Someone else would find it endearing.

She wants to ask how many times he’s used that to hit on girls.

But she doesn’t. Instead Phi smiles, for the first time today, for the first time in a long time-- corners of her mouth sharp.

“Keep your concern to yourself, okay?” She raises her glass to her lips, takes a tentative sip, and when she lowers it back to the counter. It takes her smile with it. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, and more successful guys than future you have lead sadder lives.” She shrugs, like she didn’t actually just indirectly tell him to fuck off. Then again, whether or not she really had all depended on whether or not he was in the mood to take what she’d said personally. “Humor me though.” The college kids have cleared out of the bar, off to find a new group of down and out adults to haunt with the regrets they symbolize. It was still early for a Friday after all.

She rests her face on her palm, gaze drifting between him, his glass, and the man who’s still trying to drown himself in his beer mug.

“Where do you see me in five years?”

‘If you’re brave enough to say’ but she doesn’t have to add that part.

His little quip comes back to bite him.

Keep reading

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The mention of it-- college, that instance in particular, makes her scrunch up her nose like she’s just gotten a whiff of something foul. Maybe she has, the kid next to her’s aftershave is pretty strong.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” Her voice is quiet, level, but somehow it comes out as much as a demand as it does a question. She takes her irritation out on the little hallow chocolate stick garnishing her drink, snapping it between her teeth and using the half that remains to stir the muddy mix of flavored liqueur. 

It’s not really the first time she’s heard this kind of thing, and truthfully she can’t really blame him or anyone for thinking that way. Her college days were constantly marked by discomfort and social obligations she followed through with only for the sole purpose of fulfilling personal goals. 

“They’re not too bad a crowd, once you’ve had a few of these.” That was the real reason everyone drank themselves sick at frat parties. No one could tolerate anyone else otherwise. “Then again, I guess most people aren’t. Besides I didn’t stick around long enough to get a monogrammed sweater, so it’s not even worth talking about.”

She’s not really paying attention to him, not when she can spot fifty other things worth watching in that very room. She hated bars but they were truly where the most fascinating aspects of society were put on display.

A little ways down the counter another nondescript and equally as balding businessman in a tweed suit seems to be quite clearly trying to make the moves on a mousy girl, who is quite clearly young enough to be his daughter, and definitely not having any of it.

She sits up, trying to peer over Junpei-- still deciding whether or not to forgo being discrete. It doesn’t really matter in the end though, because the girl scurries away and the man runs a hand through his patchy head and orders another round for himself.

“We’ve come full circle.” And before she explains any further she downs her drink in one gulp, motioning for the bartender to serve her another before she’s even put the glass down. “That--” She points at the group of frat boys on the other side of the room with what remains of her stick of chocolate.

“--eventually turns to that.” She redirects his gaze to the other side of the bar. The sad man in tweed has his nose in his drink.

“Since you didn’t start out as one of those guys--” At least she doesn’t think he did, from what she knows about him. She pops the rest of the chocolate into her mouth and the bartender sets down her second drink. “--wonder how you’ll end up?”

She tries to pose it as an innocent question, casual conversation between two kind of coworkers discussing life over drinks. But she’s bad at hiding when she’s mad-- and really, there’s some satisfaction in her knowing how apparent it is that this is some kind of retaliation for how he’d begun this conversation.

‘How should I know?’ he sighs, a gripe without any force of anger behind it. He follows her gaze and makes no show of hiding it. It’s the frat kids he ends up lingering on, tired stereotypes that remind him a little of home. ‘The usual place was packed. I can’t even guess half the drinks here.’

And he wonders if that makes him sound old – “the usual place.” He figures he’s meant to be more like the boys next to her, pounding the bar and chanting the name of their home football team; he figures most people would see him that way, too. It’s not a hard reputation to live up to.

But Phi’s never cared to be impressed and he’s years past caring to try.

His drink comes, eventually. It’s some kind of scotch from who-knows-where. The only thing he focuses on is the way it burns going down, the way it burns through all of his drinking money in one easy go. The stipend from his program, it’s not much. Not with a kid at home.

But now he really sounds old.

‘You think that could’ve been us?’ he asks, a little later when the noise has died down. It’s not the bar’s ire that’s quieted them, but the lost battle in trying to get a game on the television. ‘You got hazed for one of those sororities once, right? “Lambda Alpha Chi…?” –urgh.

‘Just trying to remember the names gives me a headache…’

He rubs at his temples, interrupted only by the lingering stare of one of the salarymen on his left. His smile of apology is all I don’t know Greek and I’m just a stupid college kid – and it works.

He turns to Phi again, and he gives in. ‘I can’t really see it…

‘But I can’t see you as some grandma, either.’

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This woman comes in-- picture of grace and unflappable poise and all it takes is what? Some minor verbal slip up to make her turn into some shy schoolgirl?

It’d be kind of cute if Phi wasn’t so hungry (still). 

“Nothing that extravagant-- I’ve got a job to possibly lose after all.” She gets up, wiping her hands on the sides of her skirt and motions for the woman to follow her through the office.

“Just buy me another sandwich and I’ll hear you out.”

She leads her out the front door of the precinct and to a little stand on the corner, composed of one man, a wooden counter, and flimsy plastic awning.

“My usual.” Her expectant gaze drifts between the man running the stall and the woman, as she waits for the exchange of money to occur.

“So? What’s your name and why do you think your friend with the accent deserves a get out of jail free card for clearly breaking the law?”

“Hm? Of course not.”

She smiled back as sweetly as ever, not phased by the accusation. It was true, yes, but that went without saying.

“I just think this place is rather dreary… Not the best place to talk. Surely you wouldn’t mind escaping for a bit, yes?”

As soon as the other woman agreed, her face brightened, if it was even possible to be brighter than she already was. 

“It’s a date then. Ah, not an actual date, I mean- You understand, right?”

A sigh escaped her lips, her calm composure finally broken by something as small as this. And it was her own fault too!

“Where would you like to go? Money is not an issue, but I suppose distance is. If you can’t make dinner, then I couldn’t exactly fly you to France and back in time. Not today anyways.”

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She hates drinking, when it’s a social thing anyway.

Bars are loud, liquor is overpriced, and she’s embarrassingly bad at holding her liquor. An ideal setting for consuming alcohol was by herself with some Greek dub of Star Trek as white noise while she polishes off half a bottle of cheap pink moscato. 

But it’s one of those days-- the really exhausting kind. The kind of day that makes parents come home and tell their children how lucky they are to have their youth, with that sort of paternal contempt that made you resent your mom and dad a little.

As if they’d just tried to steal something special from you.

So when he asks to grab a drink after work, she says yes ( “sure why not” ) but with a tone you’d expect someone to say no with.

The bar is packed, as she’d expected of anywhere on this side of the island after five.

It’s a weird mix-- college kids and middle aged folk. The two of them are smack dab in the middle of the spectrum, young enough to be envied and mature (looking) enough to be respected. The prime of their lives, right?

A group of rowdy, clearly American, college kids sit down next to them at the counter, and Phi spares the guy in the PI KAPPA ALPHA sweatshirt a withering frown, distracted only when the bartender sets down her drink.

A frozen cocktail, mostly khalua and chocolate. 

“I hate college kids.” Down on his side a group of balding salary men hopelessly nurse beers. “But old people are kinda’ sad too. What’s this place’s demographic anyway?”

eg0sum

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“As if.” It comes out half scoff, half noise of mild disgust. 

She shrugs, hopping off the desk and slipping right into her shoes with so much casual accuracy its apparent this scene isn’t foreign to either of them.

“But if you’re offering..” He could seem as exasperated by her presence as he wanted, and she could give him shit for days--but the fact of the matter was he always did offer.

“I want a gyro the size of my head-- wait no, your head.”

She glances at him for a second, expression suddenly very serious and contemplative.

“I feel really bad for your mom honestly..having to pop out something of that size..”

“Taller than you, that’s for sure.”

The corners of his lips quirk upwards and form a smirk–however it quickly dissipates, eyebrows knitting together as his eyes flicker to the side and the scan the room for the aforementioned lunchbox.

“If you wanted to go on a date with me, you could have just said so.”

“Seriously though, they need me after 4–so if I’m buying you lunch, you better get off those thunder thighs of yours and move fast.”

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“Are you bribing me?” She sounds offended, she kind of is actually, but it’s also kind of flattering. 

A moment of quiet contemplation, as her scowl drifts between the woman and remains of her sandwich-- no more than crusts and a few crumbs.

“I’ll allow it.” She announces, finally. “Well, you buying me a meal anyway. I’m still deciding on your friend’s deal. But not over dinner, I can’t make dinner. I could go for a second lunch though.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Fortunately, no,” she answered, laughing lightly. She probably would have been a skilled lawyer, others had told her so before even, but. It wasn’t for her. And it truly couldn’t be for her, as it wasn’t something that fit into her mother’s plans. Law school would’ve taken more time too, time she already didn’t have.

Josephine sighed as the woman relayed what she already knew.

“Yes, I’m aware. I’ve seen the tweets in question, even. However, if you’re a fan of his Twitter, I regret to inform you it has been deactivated. Along with his Facebook, Tumblr, and all other forms of social media. As for his phone, it’s been modified to a plan that only allows phone calls, no texts or data. And his car has recently been equipped with Bluetooth, just in case.”

She smiled once more, remembering his outcries and how he had even said he’d have taken jail over her actions, but- It was her unofficial job to get him out of trouble, wasn’t it? 

“But you are a reasonable woman, are you not? Surely we could think of some other way to settle this. Perhaps…”

Her eyes drifted to her lunch, and then back to her again.

“We could discuss it over dinner. My treat, of course.”

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“Shortstack? Seriously? What the fuck are you?”

She remains seated, cross legged on a desk, bristling with anger and sitting up straighter because of it.

“And I dunno’, maybe. Figured I might be able to get a free meal out of you too but I already went through your lunchbox. Do you eat anything other than kale and feta cheese?”

“In the words of the great Mariah Carey: why ya so obsessed with me?”

That bit about his features softening? Redacted. Furrowing an eyebrow, his eyes rove over the screen, facial expression distorting with irritation.

“Ha. Ha, ha, ha. I didn’t even think people still used these apps. The Turn Down for What button is better, by the way.”

He plants his feet onto the tile floor, scooting back to provide himself with enough room for his uprising. Brushing himself off, he folds his arms, a frown tugging at his lips as he towers over her.

“Did you seriously come here to harass me, shortstack–or did you actually need something?”

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“Are you his lawyer or something?” She half scoffs, arching a brow as she takes the slip of paper from her hand. This lady seemed way too demure for that kind of thing-- or maybe that was just how she played it.

Underestimating people was dangerous, that was something she’d constantly strove to prove.

“Oh this guy.”

She looks up from the pink slip, frowning at the woman, eyes tired and brows raised in skepticism. 

“Did your friend tell you how he got this ticket?” But she doesn’t give her time to answer.

“He was on his phone, tweeting, and driving-- speeding too. Hit a stop sign, and then when I pulled him over he tried to tell me he wasn’t doing any of those things. Might have worked, maybe, if he hadn’t live tweeted the entire mess. Do you follow him? He posts some great stuff sometimes.”

It felt like when she wasn’t working, she was doing favors, which might as well be more work. Her friends knew she had a way with people and with words and as such… they often asked for her to handle things, even when someone else might have been better abled. But Josephine’s time, for now, was free, which made her a more viable option. 

Today she had been sent to clear up the matter of a traffic ticket, and the case was one no lawyer would be able to win in court. That was why she wasn’t taking it to the court, or even to an influential person. There was no way she’d succeed there, which was why she had chosen different tactics for today. Such as approaching a single police officer and swaying them to ignore the charges.

Josephine smiled sweetly at the woman, a practiced sense of grace that managed to seem inherent.

“Yes, actually. I was wondering if you could talk to me about this…”

She handed her the ticket so that she could see and perhaps remember what had inspired it. But, it was possible she wouldn’t remember and Josephine really could pass this off as a mistake. That was very hopeful thinking.

“I’m here on account of my friend, the man you gave this ticket to. He believes there’s been a mistake and it would be best if we could rectify that, no?”