THOMAS CARRAWAY
Scorpio ♏
Posts: 4
Age: Twenty-eight
Occupation: Detective
♡ Status: Single
OOC: Sky
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Post by THOMAS CARRAWAY on Jun 9, 2013 4:59:19 GMT
God, this was rough. Thomas couldn't remember the last time he'd been this bored with his job.
The young detective stifled a sigh, silently chastising himself. Of course he didn't expect his life to be like an episode of Criminal Minds every day, but there were birds more fit to be watched than this. People were so paranoid. And somehow, some way, they always found him to investigate their imagined problems. It'd been a few months since he'd had a decent case, and Tom wasn't one to complain, but this was so pathetic it was laughable. But the tired smile he cracked didn't quite touch his eyes.
The young woman he was hired to follow was a pretty thing -- long, auburn hair and striking green eyes. The first time he'd seen her, a painful lump had risen in his throat. She was the splitting image of his little sister, Constance. By now, he had accepted that cruel irony with his usual bitter reserve.
At least it was a nice day. The last few days he'd been following Mrs. Danforth had been dreary and dark -- just a lot of overcast clouds, and a seemingly endless drizzle. He'd been perpetually wet for the past forty-eight hours, if he really thought about it. At least the money was good, he supposed, sighing as he glanced down at the giant German shepherd sitting at his feet. He stroked the dog's furry neck and allowed his mind to wander. It had the better part of a week, but he'd finally pieced together what the young woman was up to.
Her paranoid husband had turned up at his office just last Monday, twiddling his thumbs and sweating bullets. Tom thought he had witnessed a murder or something, and nearly made to point him in the direction of the police department. But the man's terror was a common one. Too common, he'd thought at the time. Mr. Danforth was convinced his wife was having an affair. Typical work for Detective Carraway. And so for the last five days, Thomas had been tailing her. During that time, he learned that Mrs. Danforth had a secret weakness for McDonald's, loved shopping at Tiffany's, and absolutely loved meandering about Central Park. Oh, and her big secret? She had a gay friend. The entire situation was ridiculous.
It seemed Mr. Danforth was more than a bit judgmental. And upon diving further into the man's affairs, Tom had emerged enlightened. It seemed like they had had a rough marriage. Not to mention the fact that his wife was a good seventeen years younger, the man was filthy rich, and took more pleasure in taking expense commercial vacations with his company rather than spend time with his young wife and their newborn son. He left her home alone to visit with stuffy old men -- Thomas really couldn't blame her for wanting a friend. And her husband left her little choice but to keep the whole bloody thing a secret. Besides her fondness for fast food, she was completely innocent. That, Tom knew for a fact. She went to great pains putting on disguises, just to buy a Big Mac. The troubles of the upper class. Resisting the urge to chuckle to himself, Thomas stood, rolling his newspaper into his fist -- not needing to tug at the leash. The beast of a dog rose as he did, looking up at him with deep, dark brown eyes.
"Come on, boy. Time for us to head home," he said, strolling off down the path. He wasn't looking forward to meeting with Mr. Danforth again, but at least it meant a fresh check in his hand. New York was bulging with people eager to learn other people's secrets, so Thomas was never out of work for long -- but the past month had been rather slow. As for Mrs. Danforth, he hoped he never saw her again. Her red curls and green eyes had been too much like Connie's for his liking . . . but he wished her every luck in the world. Hopefully, she made better choices in friends than in husbands.
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Jack Carrington
Capricorn ♑
Posts: 114
Age: Twenty-seven
Occupation: Lawyer
♡ Status: In a Relationship
OOC: Kassie
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Post by Jack Carrington on Jun 22, 2013 2:20:53 GMT
Friday, June 6th.
8:37 p.m.JACK had been admiring his textbook for quite sometime; it was a more recent addition to his library, one that would surely claim a spot on the top bookshelf on the lower floor, which so happened to be his collection of favorites. He had occupied the same park bench for nearly four hours - four hours that could have just as easily been spent in his comfortable abode, but the fresh air sounded much more enticing that night. Much to Jack’s liking, it had been. The summer air was thick with warmth, perfect for an evening spent on that park bench, enjoying the company of Theories of Mankind: The Truth Behind the Phenomenon. Of course, Jack knew all too well that it wasn’t actually the truth. The interesting part was the vivid imagination behind the author and his ridiculous, unethical experimentations. Jack had never been a scientific man; lawyers were molded for speaking, not absorbing theories. It was just that mindset that was the downfall of so many attorneys. He’d seen it so many times before; in fact, a particular case came to mind immediately. Jack had still been in law school - freshly twenty years old, jotting down notes from the jury’s standpoint in the courtroom. Amy Dientel, a rather short woman of sixty-nine, had been accused of theft from her son-in-law, Dean Sanders, in New Jersey. All of the evidence proved Mrs. Dientel innocent; fiddling in the back of courtroom was young Mr. Carrington, eager to explain just how Amy could not have possibly been near a ten mile radius of New Jersey of January twenty-third at eight forty-four. It was blatantly obvious that the woman would have still been driving into New Jersey, if she had arrived at her daughter’s home at eleven-thirty. His thoughts had made young Jack began to fidget lightly, and he clenched his jaw. Amy’s attorney had been a poor one, missing the misguided information entirely. He let those small details slip; the man hadn’t seen the lying smile on the witness’ face - why hadn’t he called her out on it? Was he not aware that the witness had, in fact, clearly been Dean’s mistress? The jury had been the smarter end of the court, however, and Amy was cleared of all charges much thanks to Jack. He never spoke with her saw Amy Dientel again until he saw her name in the obituary three years later - he did the favor of sending the woman and her family a dozen roses signed anonymously. Shaking the memory, Jack stood and carefully arched his back. He sighed; sometimes, he felt much too young to feel so old. Something was always missing, and that something always left him waiting. Waiting, Jack quickly discovered, was a tiring undertaking. It wasn’t long after Jack had made his way towards the street that he came upon a man walking his dog. Making eye contact with the man, Jack offered him a nod and smile before moving on. The dog, however, began an uproar of menacing growls and an array of yelping. Startled, Jack whipped around, thankful to find that the Shepard was on a leash. |
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THOMAS CARRAWAY
Scorpio ♏
Posts: 4
Age: Twenty-eight
Occupation: Detective
♡ Status: Single
OOC: Sky
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Post by THOMAS CARRAWAY on Jun 22, 2013 4:38:27 GMT
Thomas could hardly keep his eyes open. Mrs. Danforth was a busy woman. He half-wondered how she didn't collapse from exhaustion. But then again, she had a rather large secret, in her eyes, to keep from her husband. No matter how tired he was, he rarely stopped thinking of the work he had to do; the files stacked by the hundreds on his desk . . . of cases fresh and long cold. He'd originally meant to go catch up with one of his other cases, but he hardly felt like tracking the man through Times Square. It could wait. He hadn't had a night off in weeks. The thought of it was relaxing, but at the same time unnerving. Especially recalling the fresh bottle of whiskey back in his apartment. Again, he thought of the green-eyed Mrs. Danforth, and found himself walking a little faster, eager to get home.
Kane lazily walker alongside Tom; his ears pricked, his dark eyes seemed to study his master a moment, as he tipped his chin up -- pink tongue lolling. "What are you looking at?" Tom murmured, a slight smirk on his face. The dog only nudged his hand with his cold nose before trotting ahead, tugging slightly at the leash.
Tom sighed, shoving his free hand in his pocket. Most of the time he couldn't stand to be around himself. That's when Jack became his company. But it was a hard habit to break . . . and Tom's efforts thus far were, to put it mildly: nonexistent.
So instead of facing the matter, he did as he usually did, and pushed it entirely from his mind. Instead he walked along the barren path; offering the occasional passerby a small, polite smile, and the nod of the head. But his thoughts were buried deep in the files on his desk back at his office; he refiled through it with his photographic memory, recalling names and pictures that had stood out to him. New York was a big place, and he couldn't possibly handle every case that came to him. But he usually solved them quickly and quietly, to the satisfaction of his clients. In fact, some of his old comrades at the station had taken to calling him Sherlock. He was a better detective than he'd ever been a cop.
Before his accident, he'd been too emotionally invested in cases. He was passionate about the things that he thought were being overlooked. He was not a patient man, but being a detective, at least he had something to do while he waited. He didn't just sit around and twiddle his thumbs until someone pointed out the bad-guy and expected Thomas to give chase. The NYPD had been a mess for him. Because every victim was Constance come again . . . at he felt old pains every time he'd failed. Even in the cases he'd been successful, the feeling was bittersweet -- those nights had often ended with him sitting in a bar.
Thomas was jerked back to the present at the sudden tug of the leash. His eyes flicked up to catch a stranger walking by; offering him the same nod Thomas gave to everyone. Tom allowed the hint of a smile before Kane was barking and straining at the rope around his neck, spinning Tom one-hundred eighty degrees with the sudden lunge. But he acted quickly, securing the leash with his other hand, "Kane. Sit," his voice was calm but firm -- full of authority. But quiet. Nevertheless, the dog stopped, and sat -- eyes still on the probably wary stranger -- but an ear flicked back towards Tom.
Accessing the big canine for a moment, Thomas brought his attention back to the man, his expression apologetic, "I'm sorry, I don't know what got into him . . . he's usually not like that," Thomas brought his free hand up to run his hand through his hair -- clearly embarrassed, and uncomfortable. His clearly accented voice had Kane turning his head around to blink at him -- but Tom ignored the dog; one of his partner's old rules. "You all right? Bloody dog -- his bark's worse than his bite."
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Jack Carrington
Capricorn ♑
Posts: 114
Age: Twenty-seven
Occupation: Lawyer
♡ Status: In a Relationship
OOC: Kassie
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Post by Jack Carrington on Jun 23, 2013 21:24:07 GMT
Friday, June 6th.
8:37 p.m.THE quickness in which the dog obeyed the man’s command was rather impressive. The German Shepard was a sharp breed; both in beauty, intellect and power. Despite the former display of aggressiveness, Jack admired the breed before returning his attention to the dog owner. “ I’m quite all right, thank you.” Jack laughed lightly. “ I’m sure it was my mistake, my apologizes.” Jack grinned, scanning the man’s features for a moment. He was well-dressed, much as Jack typically was despite the majority of grunge witnessed in New York, especially the Bronx. Jack wondered just what a man of this caliber might be doing here, all the same, the man across from him could have been wondering the same thing. Feeling a bit social after a long read, Jack found it best not to part ways with the stranger quite so quickly. “ Jack Carrington.” Jack stated with a smile. He considered crossing the space between them to shake hands with the man, but stopped in mid-walk when he recalled the dog’s protectiveness of its owner. Instead, he extended a nod to the man as greeting instead. Jack hoped it wasn’t curt. Silently, Jack considered what the man had been doing here. It dawned upon Jack that not everyone enjoyed occasional readings in the park; the man hadn’t a book, only a dog. Did the man live here, or did some odd occasion call for a man in a suit and tie to bring his pet to the northern part of New York? |
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