capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

WHO:

nyc_detective
WHERE: Police HQ, Maza's office
WHEN: Back dated to Monday morning, 22nd March
SUMMARY: After Bond's little Nazi escapade, he's noticed a distinct lack of his communicator. Maybe Elisa can help
WARNINGS: Probably very little
FORMAT: Whatever

A nights sleep has done Bond the world of good, though such a short time can't quite heal all wounds. Still, after Sunday's frivolities, James has found himself lacking in several of his previous possessions, his favourite car being one, while his communicator being not quite so missed but nevertheless just as important, if not more so. In this city, he's a little lost without a comm, really.

It's logical that the wreckage from Sunday morning would have been cleared by now, considering it's positioning in the middle of an intersection and Bond's almost certain his communicator was still sat somewhere in his car during the crash. Seems to make sense that he'd go ask the police, then.

James does his best to sneak into the station without too much attention, he knows he's not the most well liked among the force, and he's soon tracking down the office he's after, giving a very brief knock before inviting himself in immediately.

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Before she can even say, "come in," her guest has already taken to entering, earning a frown from the harried acting Commissioner.

"Ah, Mr. Bond," she says dryly. "Please, come in, make yourself at home."

Naturally he's already doing as she says, so her dryness is well timed. The room gets a quick look around before he's deciding to settle himself on the seat the other side of her desk, gaze still wandering for a moment after until he focuses on her.

He's dressed in a fine suit, thankfully covering most of his injuries, though he can't hide the amount of scratches and scrapes covering his face. "Ms Maza..."

She's not one for tact, at least not around people she sort-of likes. "What happened to you? Lose a fight with a lawnmower?"

"Not quite," he replies, lounging back in the seat delicately. James has long ago learned the skill of covering the extent of his injuries. "I've a favour to ask, seeing as you owe me for all that previous information."

She shoots him another concerned look. "You know, we do have healers in the City, and while girls may go after that scarred, rugged thing, I'm sure that it hurts like a bitch now."

Ah, so it's right down to business, is it? "The information that you gave me by way of apology for acting like a total ass, you mean? And I owe you for that?"

"I'll be fine," James assures, with a dismissive wave of a bandaged hand. He's far to stubborn to consider healers for such artificial wounds.

But then he's thankfully got the matter he's there for to discuss. "Well... if not owing for that, then out of the goodness of your heart. I've lost something rather important, and I'm assuming one of you might have come across it..."

Her curiosity's piqued, and she's too nosy for her own good. "Tell me what happened and I'll pop down to the station's 'lost and found' box."

James, however, isn't amused. "Don't play with me, Ms. Maza. My communicator, please. I know one of you must have collected it. There's information on it which really doesn't need to be getting into the wrong hands."

"Your communicator? Why would we have your communicator?" She looks at him askance.

"What... Do you honestly not have it?" And he was so certain she'd be mocking him for his loss of it or something. Even if it's totally not his fault.

Elisa sits back in her desk and looks at him. "Why don't you tell me how you lost it?"

James is staring her down for a moment before exhaling heavily and turning his head away. "... I left it in my car."

"Your... car," she echoes. But it slowly dawns on her. "And the reason we would have your car is... oh, no. That was you?! That pileup at [location] was you?!

"You are far less charming than you seem to think you are," she says with a small smile. "And you're James Bond, of course you're resourceful. Almost done?"

"I don't think I'm charming. I know I am," he snarks back lightly, scribbling his statement quickly. He's done more than enough reports for the MI6 so he can churn paperwork like this out more than easily. "Almost. Do I get a thank you for aiding the police in their fight against crime?"

"Why thank you, Mr. Bond, for stealing and trashing a car, causing an accident that shut down a major intersection for several hours, and killing a few people." She looked over the report before tossing it back on her desk.

"All right, let's go."

"You're welcome!" He will ignore that sarcasm and take it for a totally genuine thank you, obviously.

Once he's handed over his statement, he's rising gradually to his feet and moving to follow her. "Oh, and I promised I'd say something... there's a new import looking for a job with your lot, behind the scenes work, analytical, CSI type... wasn't really paying much attention if I'm honest." He was more intent on chatting her up.

"She waits for him and naturally slows her pace a bit. She's not completely heartless, after all. "That so? Do you have any more information to give me? Like a name? A description? A comm number?"

He doesn't do too badly to keep up anyway. Bond's far too used to being injured that he rarely lets them hinder him these days.

"Hm, uh. Comm number 25101935. I think. Forgive me if my memory is a little worse for wear, but I had quite a serious car accident yesterday and concussion isn't as entertaining as it sounds. Temperance Brennan is her name. Forensics."

Concussions aren't fun. She knows this from experience. "I'll be sure to talk to her, then. Thanks. Since Greg left, it's been a lot of work on Eve to do all of the forensics stuff, and it's not really her specialty. Not the way someone properly trained would be."

Concussions aren't so bad for Bond. He has an incredibly thick skull and his enhanced endurance thingy has come in handy. "Yet another service to the police by me. I really do deserve a medal for all of this. You can just thank me later when she actually aids in finding a few crooks."

"A parade, several medals, and perhaps even a key to the City, right?" Elisa asks as they walk. But still, bantering with him is fun, even if he's a jackass.

"Sounds about right. Diplomatic immunity might be rather nice too. Along with access to the police filters." James is a jackass to the ones he loves. She should be honoured.

"Heh, how about a nice "thank you" instead?" Elisa laughed. She opened up the door to the evidence locker and quickly found his comm. It was definitely worse for wear.

It's okay, it just adds character to the comm, like the millions of scars and scratches that cover James. "If a thank you is all I'm going to get, then I suppose it'll do. Still wouldn't mind that police filter viewing though..."