(open) you're gonna need a heap of glue when they all catch up with you

[helloneighbor]

Who: Chief of Police Dale Harding and YOU
When: January 16th — February 1st
Where: Throughout town
What: Santa Rosita's very dignified chief of police makes some very dignified appearances around town, meeting and greeting some very undignified people.
Warnings: Language, alcohol abuse, one man's poor life choices.



[Interesting fact: Approximately 25-30% of drinkers are resistant to hangover symptoms.

Dale Harding is not in that percentage.

Santa Rosita's chief of police is certainly an elusive figure. Many of you likely haven't seen him since the Christmas gala. In fact, as you go about your business today, running errands throughout Shadyside and Santa Rosita, you might even miss him altogether. But once you notice the 5'7 man with his unbuttoned sleeve cuffs and distinct lack of service jacket or hat that would mark him as an officer, save for the shiny silver badge pinned to his belt along with the holstered handgun, it's difficult to ignore him. He doesn't look like the other police officers you've seen around town with their plastic smiles and neatly pressed suits. For starters, he doesn't smile at all — and that's not likely to change no matter what he's doing and where you see him.

Harding doesn't keep morning hours, so you're more likely to spot him in the afternoon and at night. Most of the time, you'll see him slowly driving through Shadyside in his police cruiser. Occasionally, he'll be parked in front of Santa Rosita Elementary, always at lunchtime, watching the kids play at recess with his flask to his lips. Other times, you'll see him parked in Rose Garden Park, lying back in the front seat with his sunglasses on. You don't realize it yet, but this will all make sense when you get closer and notice, perhaps not inconspicuously, the string of drool trailing from his lips.

And yet, rarest of all, you'll see him on foot in North Santa Rosita. In the morning and at night, he'll go to the Blue Moon Diner, the bell over the door jingling as he walks in and takes a seat at the counter. Ordering a cheeseburger and coffee, he'll sit silently waiting for his food with his elbows on the table, his fingers laced, pressing his forehead into his hands.

Surely this is the best time to say hello!

ooc: The mods will respond to tags for Harding until February 1st. Please try to keep your interactions with him brief! He is a busy man, after all.]

Comments

blue moon diner

[the_caped_crusader]

[ bruce puts a seat between them at the counter and orders a black coffee, dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a warm jacket. underneath those, he wears his batsuit, cowl and other accessories snugly in the backpack beside him. he doesn't make much small talk, but harding will find that his meal has already been paid for. if he so happens to look, bruce will pass him a courtesy smile and a nod. ]

Long day?

[helloneighbor]

[Harding doesn't move, but his shoulders tense ever-so slightly, and his eyes briefly flick in Bruce's direction between his fingers. After the waitress returns with his cheeseburger, setting the plate down next to his cup of lukewarm coffee, he pulls himself upright.

Completely ignoring Bruce, he starts eating.]

[the_caped_crusader]

Mm.

[ bruce smiles faintly into his cup, turning his head forward. ]

No offense, but you're not like the others around here. A lot of the cops from my city look a lot like you. A part of the job, I guess.

Rose Garden Park

[ribticklers]

[Sans doesn't exactly have any plans to do detective work, but sometimes a sleeping guy in a police car gets dropped onto your lap. Or into the park? Whatever.

Sans's approach is casual, because he's almost never not casual. He's actually checking to see if this is a regular afternoon nap or a "I drank too much" nap, though, insofar as one can distinguish that through a window. It mostly involves looking for that flask he saw Harding drinking out of at the Christmas party.]

through the other | diner | cw for nongraphic purge mentions + smoking, manipulative behavior

[m1895]

[ Vasiliy knows in his very core that he would see this man for what he is even without the badge, the gun holstered on the same side of the body as his own. He's met what must be a million iterations of this man, all neatly lined up in his memory like ripples spreading outward from a central point.

Control.

He's not wearing his service jacket to the diner; he doesn't need to. As he lights his cigarette a few seats down, Vasiliy could swear he feels the cool metal of his uniform jacket's buttons under his fingertips for the first time in years: the gentle pull of the coarse fabric as he deliberately moved his gigline off-center, the smell of mildew, the release of pressure at the base of his throat as he undid his collar by two buttons, normally enough to be backhanded by a supervisor. How icy the door handles to the interrogation rooms always were against his fingers.

Look, he said, Harding said, I'm one of you. I'm not a threat.

He knows otherwise. The man's clearly a drunk, but so was everyone he worked with, really. Goes hand-in-hand, and it never made anyone less brutal. Point being: the slumped figure a mere few feet away decides if he lives or dies, and Vasiliy knows it.

He deliberately untenses his shoulders, removes some of the blankness from his face—these people see neutrality as aggression, generally speaking—and gets up, canting his head to one side, swallowing back his fear to greet an imagined coworker as an equal: upright, unafraid, every muscle in his body asserting that he's not prey. He reaches for the flask in the pocket of his jacket and holds it out. ]

Hair of dog?

rose garden park

[hoshikiri]

[Harding is being Watched. Has been for a while, though from a far distance by a hooded coat donning Takame sitting on a bench in the park. All he saw the officer doing was. Sitting. Motionless. And from as far away as he was he couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. His form returned, his eyes have not.

Nothing for it but to go closer, though he was cautious in his approach. Careful steps shifting his weight carefully so as to not disturb even a leaf or puddle that would give him away, trying to get near enough to spot a sign of breathing. Or anything else of note.]

[helloneighbor]

[Harding's nap is definitely the latter if the flask he's holding on his stomach is any indication. The car's window is cracked just enough to let fresh air in and the sour, stale air from inside out. He doesn't just smell of alcohol — he reeks of it.

He's completely ignorant to Sans' approach and continues to snore lightly.]

[ribticklers]

[Well, the smell alone answers that question. Sans loves when he doesn't have to even think too hard to come to a conclusion.

So, since Harding is clearly out of commission for the moment, is there anything interesting in his car that can be seen from the outside? Sans isn't about to try opening any doors or pushing down the window without cause, but looking's not illegal. Maybe. Sans doesn't know the laws of this place.]

[helloneighbor]

[As Harding waits for the waitress to bring his coffee out, he notices Vasiliy out of the corner of his eye, approaching him like he's not sure if Harding is going to eat him or kill him. Is there a difference? Hell if he knows with these people.

He's perfectly content to ignore Vasiliy until the other man offers him the flask, which actually gets his attention. Quirking a brow, he looks from Vasiliy's face to his hand and back again.]

The hell is that?

[helloneighbor]

[Harding makes a rough noise in the back of his throat, a halfhearted scoff.]

Is that a good thing? [he asks, sounding like he doesn't care either way, as he lifts the bun up to peer at the patty, ketchup and cheese beneath it.]

[m1895]

[ Vasiliy shrugs. ] Vodka. [ Seems like he got the idiom wrong again, but whatever. He's choosing to speak their language, and they should be grateful. With the intonation of someone who understands, he adds a simple, vaguely sympathetic: ] You look tired.

[ And by tired, of course, he means some combination of that and blatantly hung over. The two tend to go hand-in-hand in that particular field. ]

[helloneighbor]

[Sneaky Pete Takame doesn't have anything to worry about. Harding's out like a light, his chest gently rising and falling as he snores like a busted engine. His breathing is shallow, but every so often his chest rises a little quicker as he inhales a little too much air.

His aviator sunglasses sit perched on his nose, shielding his eyes completely.]

[helloneighbor]

[The look Harding gives Vasiliy says it all: No kidding. But, to more important matters—]

Mama told me never to take drinks from strangers, [he says blandly. As the waitress starts walking back to the counter, he takes another short glance at the flask before turning away again.] Put that shit away. You're in a restaurant. Have some class.

[the_caped_crusader]

I guess that depends on your opinion on Jell-O molds and Good Housekeeping magazine.

[ he takes another sip. ]

Bruce Wayne. Member of the new neighborhood watch. I live over on Loomis. While I have you, seems like you know this town pretty well. Anywhere in particular you think I should keep an eye on?

[helloneighbor]

Nope.

[Harding lifts the whole bun up this time, the slab of American cheese practically glued to the bun. He looks more interested in how far he can stretch the cheese than he is with Bruce's question.]

Can't say anything comes to mind.

[m1895]

[ Well, that's a shock.

Kind of.

Vasiliy takes a long drag before answering, partly to put a time cushion between the shit he just heard and his response to it, partly because the nicotine, weak as it may be compared to what was in his old Belomorkanals, is calming, tamping down some of the anger the response—and the unspoken reason for that reaction—stirs up in his throat. Pretty sure you're not supposed to drink in parks, either.

A pointless argument, seeing as he's exempt from the law. Vasiliy knows how this works. ]

Sorry. Old habit.

[ He glances at the waitress as she sets down the coffee, catches her attention. ] Miss? I will pay. And coffee for me. Thank you.

[the_caped_crusader]

Guess that makes sense, town like this...

[ bruce smiles cordially to the waitress and asks for one more cup to go. ]

Nothing like that bus crash. Terrible tragedy. I hear Principal Dougherty was a good man. Speaking of, they ever find those kids?

[hoshikiri]

[Well. At least he's alive. Whether that's fortunate or not Takame wasn't sure. And while his balance has returned with his tail and he could have a prime opportunity here to learn something, he was hesitant to actually try entering. At least without the aid of aetherial stealth.

Though it did not stop him from peaking over where Harding slept, circling the perimeter of his car with the same caution and looking past his hair and hood into the windows for anything worthy of concern.

Besides maybe some Booze. It was a cursory glance, nothing that would detect anything aside from what's painfully obvious. And when he made his way back to where he started, he gave Harding himself a long head to toe scan thrice over. A man like any other, Takame presumed. As a test of just how asleep Harding was, Takame cleared his throat softly but in a way that's clearly meant to get attention.]

[helloneighbor]

[The waitress beams, looking between both men.]

Gosh you're popular today, Mister Harding!

[All Harding does is grunt. Goddamn right he's popular today. That's part of the problem.

As the waitress leaves again to find another clean cup for Vasiliy's coffee, Harding stares straight ahead, still clasping his hands, stubbornly silent. The philosophy he seems to be operating on is an oldie but a goodie: If I don't look at him, he won't look at me.]

[m1895]

[ The kind of person Harding is is becoming rapidly clear: aloof, even toward those he recognizes as his own. These are the men who are truly dangerous—little of the human desire to socialize, no desire to be regarded with fondness. The ones who decline drinks after a long shift, who don't laugh at jokes, who just show up and impassively administer beatings. That having been said, he doesn't doubt that some of this is undoubtedly context: he's tired, his shifts are probably long, and American political establishments are Rightist and anti-Soviet and he's presently sitting next to someone who might as well be a goddamn leper.

Pushing this kind of person will get him nowhere. Hell, he always hated it when civilians tried to strike up conversation with him on the metro after a long shift—so he lapses into silence, thanks the waitress for his coffee, takes a careful sip and determines that it's not scalding or anything.

He lets several minutes pass like that before offhandedly noting, ]

Probably police have been as busy as hospital lately.

[ It's a deliberate, gentle reminder, seeing as they haven't ever crossed paths in uniform: he plays a supporting, albeit gunless role as an emergency medical worker. ]

Santa Rosita Elementary

[righteously]

( Respect for authority? Never heard of her. There's a rather abrupt knuckle-knock on the passenger's side window. )

Hey. Barney Fife. You stare any harder at those kids they're gonna call in Chris Hansen.

( Don't creepily watch children while you sadly day-drink, dude, that puts off some real Vibes. )

blue moon diner

[chromiums]

[ lorna, as it turns out, is not the most domestic person on earth. she can make some very basic dishes and she and sans have managed to make do with pasta, toast, canned vegetables, and eggs for a while, but she quite frankly gets sick of it after a while. so every so often, she'll head to the diner in order to pick up dinner or breakfast. recently she's taken notice of a man, always in the same spot at the counter, always looking a little more run down. she doesn't recognize him as being part of the group who doesn't belong, but there's something obviously different about him that intrigues her.

her dinner and breakfast orders become more frequent, as she keeps hoping to spot him. it's at least three days into this that she finally breaks her silence, keeping her tone carefully neutral as she speaks up. ]

Cheeseburger for breakfast? I guess you are getting protein in early.

[helloneighbor]

[Harding's in the middle of taking a bite from his burger when Lorna speaks up. He's not very surprised that she's talking to him, all things considered, but he is surprised that she's leading with that.

He makes a noncommittal noise as he swallows.]

What can I say? I like to start the day off the right way.

[helloneighbor]

[Oh who the fuck is this now. Harding can't keep all of these guys straight. He has his aviators on, but the look on his face is an unimpressed one as he continues to stare straight ahead, raising the flask back up for another sip.]

Please get your hands off my window, [he says like he's reading from a script, loud enough to be heard through the glass.]

[righteously]

I'm just saying. You sitting here creeping on recess? It's a bad look.

( Hands are off the window, but he ain't going anywhere. This is the first he's gotten any facetime with Officer Friendly, time to do a little recon. Cop a feel.

Get it?

Yeah he's just gonna stand here talking REAL LOUDLY through the window. )

Some of us got kids.

( Not him, but... you know. Not gonna mention that. )