lock down - [orlando]

[aaren penn]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpaddingr,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #f0f0f0; padding: 10px;] The room was silent as we all tried so hard to remember the way it feels to be alive There were probably better ways to have spent the money, as ridiculous of an amount as it was, whereas she could buy anything she wanted, and still have more than enough for necessities. But function wasn't her friend these days, drawled out as they were, and with the sorry state of a recluse that she had become, friends weren't exactly something that came aplenty. She couldn't buy friends, not that she wanted them anyway, so instead she bought books. Tons and tons of books. What was once a beautiful, and rather large, studio, had turned into a mess of shelves, each lined with books of various spines. What wouldn't fit into the shelves were stacked on the floor, one on top of the other, that even a mild earthquake could probably topple the pile. This was where Aaren lived, and how she had lived for the past month or so. A habit turned addiction, impractical use of money, but she could afford it. What was the point? There was no one to chastise her, and as far as she was concerned, it kept her busy. Lost in the tidal wave of books and words, the wonderful view that had made the studio so expensive in the first place had well been ignored. With the ever wondrous invention of the telephone and the internet, she could have her things delivered, food and new books usually, keeping social interaction minimal other than curt nods to the delivery men who came knocking at her door once or twice a day. The kitchen was basically untouched, and perhaps the only place that didn't contain a litter of books around. Paper could burn, that much she still cared. Currently curled around the soft cushions of the couch, knees bent underneath her, she read through her current book as the day passed by. This was how she spent most of her days, in quiet solitude, ignoring the world, as the world ignored her back. made by grey

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[orlando hartigan]

[style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #F0EEE9; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]There are a million better ways for Orlando to spend his afternoon. Instead of being here, cooped into the tiny shaft of an apartment building and waiting for the elevator to close, he could be out there doing his job. Morphs are plentiful now yet just as troublesome as before, if not more so. The minutes spent here should have been spent on parole while keeping in touch with those under his jurisdiction. Those rats could go rogue at any time and do something stupid enough to warrant being put down. But, against his better judgment, he was here. The place his empty paper trail brought him on the faux chance that he’d finally catch up with his cousin’s killer. Or so the records stated. The evidence was damning enough for him to ignore some of the obscure anomalies.

A silent ding would mark the end of his elevator ride and Orlando promptly left the enclosed space. With folder in hand, he glanced back at the apartment number he had been given and continued down the hall. By now the number had long since bore into the depths of his mind but even then he couldn’t help but feel anxious, uneasy. The only thing to keep him going was the large, dark hound beside him, faithfully trotting along with a grim silence. Whatever playful, derpy canine Aaren might have remembered was long gone. Retraining had taught her well into breaking her bad habits and learning how to behave around her new master. While not quite as strict a task master as her original trainer, Orlando would settle for nothing less than being absolute in her professionalism. No more soft babying by Jackie. Being so open and unwary had led to an early demise. The change in ownership would forever serve as proof; Figra had failed.

It wasn’t until they neared the end of the hall that the Houndoom broke free from her master’s side. Repeated sniffs had yielded a familiar scent and it was her job to be alert enough to confirm that indeed, this was the right place. With a curt nod, Orlando took his position on the opposite side of the door.

Knock, knock.

Each passing second become more bothersome than the next. Bought him enough time to take another side swipe at the apartment number adorned outside. Both sources confirmed the location which meant that Orlando had finally found the killer’s housing. Today he would bring the case to a close and with it some closure to his grieving family.

For once, Orlando would hold Jackie with the esteem he had sworn never to give. Only in death would the odd character get the respect her so desperately deserved. Who knew it would take a death in the family before they could finally unite as one. Orlando could only sneer at the thought, bringing his hand up to the wooden door for another knock.

He wouldn’t leave empty handed.

[aaren penn]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpaddingr,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #f0f0f0; padding: 10px;] The room was silent as we all tried so hard to remember the way it feels to be alive The knocks rang sharp and true, piercing through the silence that she had gotten used to. So much so, that it surprised her, attention unceremoniously pulled away from her novel, as she looked at the door with curiosity. Did she have a delivery today? In fact, what day was it at all? Frustrated by the sudden realization of how many days had passed by, she slipped in a bookmark and left the book by a table. She took her time getting to the door, if it were a mere delivery boy then he wouldn't be going anywhere, if it were anyone else... They would have to wait as well. Serving someone else had long since fallen out of habit, and now she only lived for herself, if her life could be said to be worth living. "In a minute." She called out out of courtesy. Feet bare, she approached the door, leaning against it to peer through the peephole. White hair, unfamiliar, a Houndoom by his side. She hasn't seen a Houndoom since.... Well, she has seen a Houndoom since then. But that didn't distract her enough to wonder why there was a man, with clearly no package in hand, at her door. Having a pokemon out at all was enough to rouse her suspicion, enough to have her padding through her home, and grab a pokeball to release a pokemon. The Kecleon was released as she yawned. It's been too long since she last had battle, and with the false pretense of peace, she had turned a tad pudgy in her shape. Nevertheless, Aaren trusted the pokemon to keep her safe. "There's someone by the door. I'd like you to keep a close eye on him when I let him in, as well as his Houndoom." She said crisply, aware that perhaps her paranoia was all for naught. But better cautious than dead, there was no one to watch her back anymore. The pokemon nodded, and scampered onto the walls, positioning herself just above the door frame, cloaked to match the studio's cedar walls. It was only then that Aaren felt somewhat safe enough to open the door. She looked him over for a moment, unsure of what to make of him and his Pokemon. "May I help you?" She glanced at the Houndoom, feeling unsettling in the familiarity of it all... No, it was probably a coincidence, there were hundred of canines just like her after all. made by grey

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[orlando hartigan]

[style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #F0EEE9; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]Well now, she’s certainly taking her sweet time. Precious time that may or may not have been used to better prepare herself for the approaching confrontation. Orlando knows, or hopes, that she doesn’t know who he is. To have a stranger approach isn’t something to be alarmed with, but, as a murderer, it’s not uncommon to have some sort of paranoia. The very same paranoia that begins to dig under his skin as Orlando dreams up the worse. He’s standing here out in the open, vulnerable and just asking to be blow away with a simple handgun. Only now does he realize the gravity of his situation. Reckless ambition has brought him into a dangerous spot and for a moment he considers backing off. Unfortunately, he’s come too far and with no real cover from any surprise attacks, all he can do it steel himself for the worse.

Obediently, Figra sits on guard. Aaren might be a familiar face but the dog knows nothing short of obeying. Orlando isn’t Jackie and therefore Aaren’s amnesty is all but void. Upon command she won’t hesitant to leap and maim her until commanded to yield. Even so, having something remind her of Jackie sets her tail wagging, thumping back and forth on the floor as she waits.

Then the door opens and the world shatters as Orlando finally identifies her. Pink hair, sharp face, but held still with dull features. If spending countless hours glaring at the old portrait the government used for her identification didn’t imbed her appearance into his mind, the occasional letters and photos Jackie sent certainly did. It’s almost awkward for him - already oh so familiar with her while she knows next to nothing about him. Or at least he hope so, praying that Jackie was wise enough to keep his mouth shut about family matters. Luckily, Orlando has never came up, always left forgotten and graciously hidden behind the overly frequent coos and request for prismatic activities.

He knows her.

It’s her.

It’s Aaren.

It’s the killer.

Jackie’s killer.

A whirl of thoughts threaten to draw out the pause but eventually Orlando silences his mind. “Miss Penn?“ The question is a ruse, used to paint the picture of unfamiliarity on his part. He knows this is her without a doubt in his mind, but, he can’t let her know that. All he has to do now is buy enough time for him to think of a plan and execute it. Right now his brain is telling him to attack, to lunge forward and rip out her heart to quench his bloodthirsty vengeance. Maybe an eye too, to fit the quota of an eye for an eye, but it’ll never be enough. He’s still human and also a member of the government. Orlando isn’t anything special. He’s bound and restricted by the same laws and statures placed on the populace at large. If he’s going to have his revenge then he’ll have to resort to justice.

But, with her death comes an end to his need to play the bureaucratic lapdog.

[aaren penn]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpaddingr,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #f0f0f0; padding: 10px;] The room was silent as we all tried so hard to remember the way it feels to be alive He was staring. Why would he stare? She held herself with steady, or as much as she can manage as he inquires about her name. Did she know him? No... Someone like him stuck out too much for her to forget, she blamed the hair. It was frustrating to say the least. Then again, it's not as if she has been hiding. She still payed her taxes, and certainly the bank account she was using had her personal information on them. Perhaps the man had some official business to deal with her. "Yes? May I help you?" She questioned, standing stubbornly in front of the door. Official business or none, letting him inside was a different matter altogether. Who knew where he and his pokemon had come from, and the amount of damage he could do to her books. Especially since it was a Houndoom, and she'd rather be damned than let a fire-type of all things get close to her collection. Nor did she want to be questioned about the absurd amount of novels she had in her home. She continued to ignore the Houndoom, fearing that if she gave it too much thought, certain memories would crop up. Memories she would much rather forget. made by grey

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[orlando hartigan]

[style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #F0EEE9; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]Her answer was more than enough to damn herself for whatever sin she may have committed. But, unlike Jackie, Orlando isn’t a man to falter onto a wave of emotions. Like his pokemon, the human has been well disciplined and knows his restraints. He’ll deal with it properly; through the law.

Carefully, he opened up the folder with right hand, allow it to rest against his palm before pulling out several sheet and handing them over to her. “I have a warrant for your arrest. I’m to apprehend you under the allegation of murdering one Jackie Hartigan along with charges of fleeing the state. Any resistance will be met with extreme prejudice. So make this easy and don’t resist.”

As odd as the claim is, the papers check out. While Aaren might not have been the one to slay Jackie, federal records say otherwise. The very records which, in a detailed report, explicitly point out that Aaren is not just the prime suspect but already convicted of being guilty in his murder. Consider it her pension plan for all those toilsome days she spent working for the system.

The only thing more serious than Orlando’s expression was the seal dotted on each paper. Little does he know that everything he’s been working for has just been one big lie.

[aaren penn]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpaddingr,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #f0f0f0; padding: 10px;] The room was silent as we all tried so hard to remember the way it feels to be alive All she did was glance at them, and immediately decided that she wanted no part of it. She refused to take them, crossing her arms in stubbornness. So instead she stared straight at him, still trying to duly think of why and where she might have met him. But of course he continued. Everything seemed to freeze, except his words were loud and clear, magnified to a degree as she stared him down in shock. Murdering one Jackie Hartigan. Her body seemed to go numb, frozen in place as cold accusation fell upon her. She killed Jackie? She killed her partner? Probably the only person who she truly relied on? The only man to have ever coaxed her out to buy a dress, and wear it while he was inside the stall. For whom a good portion of two weeks was spent, dreading every moment when a bastard memories would cause her to sob uncontrollably. When the fuck had the universe screwed over and managed to toss out that bullshit. What numbness she had felt quickly melted away with her anger, the usual cool blue eyes burning at the thought of it. Withholding a snarl, and honestly a good slew of curse words (then again, she had always been too proper for that), she glared daggers at Orlando, fury barely concealed as her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her palm. "I didn't kill Jackie. How dare you say that. He goes missing, and the next I hear is that he's dead." She hissed. He doesn't call, he doesn't write, he's just dead. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, the cogs turned. He was a government agent, morph or human, she couldn't possibly guess from looks alone. The Houndoom was there to help detain her. It was a warrant, he wanted to take her to jail. As if she'd let herself be taken like that. She made to slam the door, probably useless but at the moment her mind stormed with rage, and every action was done more forceful. She knew she could never trust peace. made by grey

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[orlando hartigan]

[style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #F0EEE9; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]Whether or not she took them, or even acknowledged them, mattered at this point. He had presented her the papers, declared her status, given her a chance to respond, and freed himself of any guilt for carrying out the rest of his objective. But there was no guilt to be dissolved, only an equally sour anger at the presumed murderer. A silent rage that Orlando was unfamiliar with. One that told him to disregard the lies she spewed and the surprise she faked. It was natural for the guilty to deny, right? Well, it didn't matter. The warrant was proof enough - Aaren Penn was guilty until proven innocent.

She could deny it. She could turn and ignore him. She could even slam the door on him, but Orlando wouldn't stop at that. In fact, he was glad she defied him, giving him the grounds detain her "properly". If he was lucky she'd fight back, maybe even hurt him. The more she struggled, the harsher he could be. All in the line of duty.

"On three. One, two - "

The three never came. Instead, a heavy boot came forward, forcefully kick at the door as the Houndoom threw herself at the obstructure. Thump. Thump. Repeatedly, they went at it simataneously, applying added stress until it finally gave way.

No matter how she tried to stall, they would give away if he put up enough pressure. And with Orlando unwilling to settle for nothing short of success, he could only muse at how similiar it felt to his usual day job.

[aaren penn]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpaddingr,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #f0f0f0; padding: 10px;] The room was silent as we all tried so hard to remember the way it feels to be alive Thump, thump, thump. The door went, but that was well ignored by Aaren. She only had two options, to either fight or flee. There was also possibility of capture, but that didn't seem like it would benefit her cause. Proving herself innocent seemed fruitless, considering how much the man was all business, she doubted if he would give her the opportunity to do so. Never mind that she didn't even know how she could prove herself to be innocent, the ludicrousness of the situation still infuriating her beyond comprehensive thought. It was best to leave before the man could break into her home, look for a somewhere to hide until the agent retreated. A good long month of lazing about hadn't exactly helped honed her fighting skills either. But there was still the multitude of books in her apartment she had to account for, really the only things that tied her to the place at all. Unused as most of the furniture were, it was the books that she couldn't bear to leave behind. Sentimentality for the leather bound tomes, and who's money she'd been spending, made her hesitate in her steps. She already had a foot on the window sill, having thought of escaping through the window and down the fire escape ladder just it's side. The Kecleon had scurried next to her, looking questioningly as she heard the door give way, synthetic wood snapping in places from the force. Her hesitation had cost her the chance to run, even if she tried, they'd be close on her tail. Stand and fight or... "I didn't kill him." She said, voice still hot from the accusation, though there was less bite than before. She moved away from the window. "And I'll go quietly if it means I get to help you capture who really did it." made by grey

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[orlando hartigan]

[style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #F0EEE9; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]The hollowed wood does little to prevent Orlando's progress. It doesn't last long, or even stall long enough for Aaren to make her daring escape. All it accomplishes is prolonging the inevitable; her capture. But that doesn't mean she can't still make a run for it. Too bad Orlando expects it, all too familiar with having to chase down rogue morphs. It's why he had chosen Figra, a bloodhound by nature, to accompany him. Even if she darted down the side of the building, she'd never be able to escape her ODOR SLUETH. Who better than Jackie's most faithful partner to bring down his killer?

Orlando motions the dog forward, pausing at Aaren's words. They do little to convince him but if he can stall her long enough for Figra to get a good whiff then he's fine with hearing her out. Immediately, he regrets it, none too pleased with the second denial. It's not like he expects her to fess up - he wouldn't either - but he's not buying it for a second. Wordlessly, he unbuckles the cuffs from around his waist and slows his approach, still wary of any hidden surprises.

"By going quietly you are helping me capture who really did it."

Unlike Aaren, Orlando shows no real emotion behind his words. Their strong, loud, but far from pushing any real tone behind them. This might be personal but he has no intentions of letting her know that. As far as she knows, this is just another job to him. For now, he'll keep it like that. Makes things simplier.

[aaren penn]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpaddingr,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #f0f0f0; padding: 10px;] The room was silent as we all tried so hard to remember the way it feels to be alive Disbelief. There was no surprise there, she hadn't dared hope that he would accept her answer so easily. No room for arguments with this man it seemed. "It wasn't me." She hated that it sounded so much like a plea, it seemed like the only thing to call it at this point. She kept her head held high, accepting as she watches him brandish the cuffs, the feeling of dread simply something she had to make due with for the time being. "Kernat, stand down." She says as she looks behind her where a Kecleon makes herself known, baring tiny pointed teeth but seemingly looking more like an overgrown lizard stuck to the wall. The pokemon pauses at her glaring as she scurries down next to Aaren, sniffing curiously at the Houndoom. She tilted her head from side to side, making curious little motions at the Pokemon before tugging at Aaren leg, muttering quietly. Aaren takes a look at the Houndoom, slightly perturbed by the Kecleon's strange behavior before her earlier thought comes to her. Nevertheless, she raises her hands to him to put on the cuffs but not before saying her inquiry. "Is that Figra?" made by grey

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[orlando hartigan]

[style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #F0EEE9; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]To think for a moment that Orlando would show anything close to mercy towards the supposed killer was sheer delirium. Feeling the cuffs clasp tightly in his hands bring a relief, as if locking her away will bring some closure to the whole ordeal, but it doesn't. Sure, she's still here and he has to actually transport her, but the whole situation is starting to slow down. He can feel the adreline coming to a slow, the whole case coming to an unsatisfying close.

"Sure." Is all he can utter as she attempts for one last plea. Sarcasm isn't something he usually spits out but her mere presence is making him feel something more than foul. At least she backs down, ordering her pokemon to accept her fate. Doing so eases him, if ever so slightly, but he makes no move to thank her for her cooperation. Not until she's slammed with a guilty conviction will he find any heart to forgive her, if at all. It's a petty vengence but one strong enough to change him.

This is justice.

The first cuff is met with a complacent hand, clamp around her wrist as Orlando goes for the second one. Her question catches him before her hands are bound, causing him to shift his foot slightly before nodding. "It's what's left of him," he mutters, none to pleased with his answer. It doesn't do him justice, nor does it feel appropriate. If she really wanted to know then she should have kept to DC.

"Not like you care," he hisses.

The Houndoom in question merely sits there, twisted in her inner turmoil. Aaren was Jackie's friend, right? But Orlando, her master's kin by blood and new master says otherwise. So many thoughts conflict within the canine's dopey brain. All she can do is stand by idly, observing, and waiting for her next orders.

[aaren penn]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpaddingr,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #f0f0f0; padding: 10px;] The room was silent as we all tried so hard to remember the way it feels to be alive She felt nothing for the carelessly tossed answer. For all she cared he could have shrugged and that would have been enough to show what was on his mind. Sarcasm or not, it was a small reveal about the man before her. She had to wonder. Was he always this terse? Certainly, working for the government had it's ups and downs, a form of professionalism was in order if one wanted to be appeal to those in higher positions. She can sense that from him, so at least she knows that he places his duties in some regard. She nodded to the answer. Left of him? What had exactly happened anyway? In the months after Jackie's death, she had never felt so in the dark. Worst off, there was no one she could trust enough to release her sorrows, the only one she had ever considered gone from her grasp. So she had wailed, crying into pillows that served poor substitutes to her dilemma, until she found the strength to steel herself, bury those feelings deep, and resume an introverted existence. Or at least until this man came, quite literally, barging into her life, demanding she pay for her ignorance. b But he couldn't be just anybody. She wasn't about to go into conclusion that this man, who had Figra at his command, had been randomly chosen to investigate Jackie's killer. How had he even attained the pokemon? Something did not sit right in this, but she had given herself up anyway. Running would have proven useless as well, there were no answers in running, only avoidance, and she's done a lot of that in the past few months that she'd like to admit. "She looks well." She offered, a shrug to go with it. Her people skills hadn't exactly improved in her month of solitude, and small talk was more Jackie's thing than hers anyway, there was never any need for her to fill up the empty space that silence made. And there was surprise when she looked at the Houndoom, remembering her to be much more energetic than this canine that sat before her, rather disconcerting to think that this man had managed to curb the usually-more-friendly Houndoom's habits. Handcuffs securely on, she held her arms down, looking up at Orlando in a flicker of curiosity. "So what happens now? Do I get thrown into jail for homicide, no trial, no jury?" She couldn't help that extra bite that manage to bite into her tone no matter how much she tried to keep it back. Being reminded of what it was she was being accused of, no, sentenced with, continued to bring up that hot fury she had felt earlier. made by grey

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