( open like a box of donuts )

[dextirpate.livejournal.com]

WHO: Dexter Morgan | dextirpate and YOU.
WHERE: HARDWARE STORE. Or outside, before/after he gets on with his shopping. You decide!
WHEN: Today, why not.
WARNINGS: TBA
SUMMARY: Inner monologues give way to discovering the Death Count power. TIME TO GO SHOPPING. Feel free to have your character recognize from the MAC or Police Force, whateva whateva.
FORMAT: Empty... like him (by which I mean whatever you prefer)

( BLABLABLA JUST SKIP THIS PART ) I felt it. When I first stepped into that cold, metal room... I knew something was over. My resources, my plans and files, the game with the Ice Truck Killer. Those voices in the network were helpful, but none of them knew what I really needed. Directions to your brand new single room apartment can only give you so much guidance. And Harry's code never mentioned anything about interdimensional travel. It's amazing how time flies when you're trying to figure out what to do with your life. It's been over a month since he's been here. He's been lost and wondering what to do with himself, with the Dark Passenger. He's been quiet, that one, something Dexter hasn't quite decided whether he should be thankful for or worried about, reminded constantly that he's in there somewhere, even if only because the machine somehow captured him and carved his name into the dog tag carefully tucked away in his pocket. He isn't sure how it happened. He was lost in his thoughts as he walked down the street, weighing the pros and cons of trying to figure out where his purpose went as long as he had a job. The spell was broken when he finally paid attention to one of the many strangers on the street, a man in his forties wearing his proudly slicked back hair. Pink shirt, thin glasses and an air of dignity in his pressed lips and tipped chin. Eyebrows creased as he looked for something in his very expensive cellphone. Dexter was focused on something else entirely, sitting right above the man's head. There it is. That number. It was telling him something. Was he the only one who could see it? He definitely was the only stranger on the street staring at him with something short of a gawk. He stopped and turned quietly to watch him walk away in the company of his very expensive and demanding phone. Something told him that was what he had been looking for. Not just the number, but what it represented. Maybe the Dark Passenger didn't leave him after all. He just went out for a walk and waited for him to catch up. How could he say no? ⚫ OKAY YOU CAN READ THIS INSTEAD August 19th. It's been a week since he followed that man and grabbed his wrist. Something unexpected happened, and yet... something in him almost knew it was coming. He saw the faces of two young girls, blond with blue eyes. Tied down, probably screaming. It didn't take a genius to understand what was happening -- what had happened. The number above the man's head told a story that he had seen in quick flashes. It was invigorating. He felt... relieved. Satisfied. Yes, a lot was taken away from him, but something was given in return. He can see killers. He can see what they've done without having to dig through files and photographs and carefully covered up bureaucracy. Of course there still has to be some investigation involved. That's why he finally bit the bullet and signed up to be in forensics after multiple invitations... But for now, it's time to redecorate.

Comments

[dextirpate.livejournal.com]

He looked at her, parted lips holding his breath, then exhaled with a drop of his shoulders.

"Right." He shook his head, smiling again, uncompromising and casual. "Sorry. I'm still pretty new here and you looked like you knew what you were looking for, so."

He played the part well more often than not.

[meowminx]

"New here, huh?" That caught her attention much more than the question had. "ImPort?"

[dextirpate.livejournal.com]

Another moment was spent in silence, as if thinking it through. He finally smiled, pointing in realization, still taking his time to answer.

"Yeah. That's the name. I read it somewhere."

[meowminx]

Well, the slowness in replying was a bit odd. But some people were just a bit odd.

"Probably on the Network." She fished her comm out of her bag and showed it to him. "Have one of these?"

[dextirpate.livejournal.com]

"Uh, yeah." Arched eyebrows looked down at it -- it was perfectly identical to his own. "I left mine in the apartment."

It could be a tracking device, for all he knew, and he didn't want (what were going to become) frequent shopping trips to go on record so easily.

He could give her a false name when showed her his hand, considering the number over her head, but she obviously had access to his introduction. It wasn't worth the risk.

"Dexter Morgan."

[meowminx]

She smiled. And had a very firm handshake.

"Selina Kyle."

[dextirpate.livejournal.com]

He noticed. He also tried to keep his concentration in one place when the physical contact brought him the expected visions (a gun in her hand, shooting someone in the head, judging from the aim). They were slightly underwhelming, but still there.

He let go, exhaling.

"How long have you been here? If that's okay to ask."

[meowminx]

She nodded. "It's fine. Going on three years now."