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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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?!

"Do you have it or not?" Apparently he's not willing to play along with this.

"That wasn't even your car!" She exclaimed. "We pulled a comm from the car, yeah; it's down in evidence. But before you get it back, you get to sit down and tell me exactly what the hell happened."

Despite his continued lounging, James doesn't seem to be eager to be there right now. "It's Stark's car," he agrees lightly, "I was borrowing it." Indefinitely, but still, borrowing sounds better than stealing.

"You stole Stark's car," she accused. "Not only did you steal it, you smashed it to high heaven."

"I didn't steal it," James replies, mostly ignoring such accusations and seeming entirely unconcerned considering he's sitting in a police station. "And the damage wasn't intentional."

"Oh my god," Elisa says in disbelief. "Tell. Me. What. Happened."

"I had a run in with a few Nazis. That would be the bike, the VW car and the huge articulated truck..."

"Details, Bond!" she snaps.

A roll of his eyes. "Would you rather I just did a running commentary of every move made?"

"If I have to go that far to squeeze anything useful out of you, then yes," she replies irritably.

"Fine. If you're really so desperate to know... I was tailed by two VW Phaetons, early yesterday morning, upon trying to lose them, there was the arrival of a motorbike with a pistol and several machine guns from the cars. And then the truck. I'm sure you can piece it all together." He still seems just a little unwilling to inform her of all of this.

She jots down the info. "Indeed." He might be unwilling, but she's irritated and ready to press him down for every drop of info he's got. "Guess what you get to do now, Mr. Bond. You get to fill out a statement."

This is why he hates police and their goddamn stations. James has always had serious issues with authority, and being told what to do by anyone, especially someone with a badge, makes him obstructive on purpose, "I don't want to. I just want my communicator back. What then?"