Post by kieronsomhairle on Aug 17, 2011 2:11:08 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 350px; height: 380px; background-color:#E3E3E3; border-left: 30px solid #883a2f; border-bottom:30px solid #883a2f; border-top:30px solid #883a2f; border-right: 30px solid #883a2f;] I am going to get a fucking promotion today. His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling in his bedroom as they had been for over an hour now. It was almost seven in the morning and it was nearly time for him to get up and begin his morning ritual. After time served he had needed these rituals in order to keep his sanity, it was as if the little demon inside of him wanted order even if it was wrapped in the chaos of Kieron's dark skull. Every morning he would roll out of bed and perform calisthenics--push ups, sit ups, he would drag the weights that hid underneath his bed out into the light and lift until he was satisfied. Next came the boiling hot shower that usually served as a salve for the wounds created by hangovers and a night full of nightmares and crazed insurgents with bombs on their chests. Out of the shower and shave. Stare at yourself in the mirror and try to figure out just what the fuck went wrong. Pretend that everything is okay. Take a deep breath. Don't put your fist through the mirror. A cigarette with his morning coffee, grazing the newspaper as he cleaned his piece with a highly practiced hand. Sometimes he would test himself and disassemble the gun just to put it back together, time himself...see how soft he'd gotten since getting out of the service. Today was supposed to be THE day; a day when perhaps his life would make sense and that this promotion would perhaps give him some kind of relief from the monsters he was fighting when alone. Homicide was a unit to be reckoned with and Kieron just somehow knew that righting wrongs and catching the bad guys would be his way to repent for what he had done before...before coming home. Pulling his bullet proof vest from the closet he managed to shake on his leather bomber jacket before traipsing out the door. The morning commute was not as bad, sometimes the wait gave Kieron time to think and today he was dwelling on his acceptance speech. "What are you, a debutante?" Meeting his own gaze in the rearview mirror he rolled his eyes and turned up Radiohead. .... Walking up to the precinct he felt his heartbeat accelerate if only slightly, nodding to a couple of the beat cops before walking inside to the usual chaos. A madhouse. He loved it. "Somhairle!" The sharp bark of his Captain cut through the noise like a meat cleaver and his attention was immediately brought to a square-shouldered middle-aged man with a silver crew cut. O'Fallon was a fellow Irishman and thank god for that, the only fucking person that somehow knew to pronounce his last name correctly the first time and every time after. This is it. Following the jerk of O'Fallon's head he followed the man to his office, hands shoved in his coat pockets so that the shakes he sometimes started to exhibit would not show. He had something to prove here and being thought of as some butter-legged pussy wasn't one of them. Kieron was just about to innocently ask what was going on when he saw the clench of O'Fallon's jaw, one hand fisted on a file and the other one looking up at him. "Captain?" Uncertain but quickly growing fearful that this was not going to be one of the happiest days he'd had in a while. O'Fallon sighed and bade Kieron sit with a wave of his hand, the kid was gonna be pissed. "Look about your promotion...it's gonna have to take a back seat for a little while. We need you to take care of one of our new additions. ALDRIDGE! Get in here!" You've got to be fucking kidding me. notes, for buffy aldridge <3 word count, here[/style] thanks brooklyn from caution |
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