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captainryan wrote in milliways_bar
Scowling, thoughtful looking man sitting at a table with his back to a wall. On it is a half-empty pint and an open sketchbook. In his left hand is a pencil.

It's a distraction. Only it isn't working as well as it's supposed to, seeing as how there's nothing on the page. Help him out?

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River is carrying a single comm pad when she returns from the Library. Usually this signifies that she's gathered so much information, she can't carry it all in one trip.

She stops at the bar and picks up two pints of Guinness, thanking Bar softly before turning to follow his scent to his table.

Hello, my love. "A sketch pad, hmm?"

He kicks out the chair next to him for her to sit in. The pad is pulled a little closer, in case of potential spills.

"Aye," he answers, taking a pull of his current glass. "Nothing to see."

"Yet," she answers, setting their pints down carefully. She waggles the pad at him as she sits.

You are a very lucky man, you know.

She nudges the toe of his boot with her own.

He plucks it back from her just as quickly, one brow arched.

Am I?

She stole his notebook. But she also brought him beer.

He opts not to poke back just yet.

You are indeed.

She replaces his empty sketchbook with the comm pad, which contains all her notes on the murder investigation, including the crime scene photos and her copy of the autopsy report.

Her foot retreats and she sits quietly on the far side of the table, sipping her pint and waiting for him to skim the contents.

Edited at 2009-07-24 04:31 am (UTC)

It takes a while. He probably looks at the photos a little longer than he should but he makes up for it with his speed at skimming the rest of it.

There's a distinct thread of relief in his scent, though it's still tempered by wariness. It doesn't seem he killed the boy, but he still may have nibbled.

It seems I am.

Thank you.

Now
he pokes her foot back.

The relief scent is matched by one of cool confidence, tinged with a hint of curiosity. You're welcome.

She gives him a long considering look across the table, blinking every so often.

He finishes his first pint before he gives her a faintly curious look back, blinking.

I'm going to continue assisting them. And I suggested to Claire that she should arrange a memorial. In the hopes that someone of interest might show their face. He should know the name from the notes. I'd need your help for that.

She taps her finger along side her nose. Beneath the table, her foot shifts slightly, her knee brushing against his.

He looks thoughtful, still watching her.

Fair enough. He leans his knee into hers, happy just for the contact. Any particular scent we're hoping to catch?

She returns the pressure, her eyes flickering with that smile she only ever smiles for him.
yours, my love.
I don't know. Does guilt have a scent?

He raises both eyebrows a bit.

You're expecting guilt from a body mangled like that?

He was thinking pride or smugness.

"Richard," she cocks her head a little to the side. Her hand slides the fresh pint across to him, using the movement to cover her consternation. She returns his notebook as well, collecting the comm pad and thumbing it off.

You told me to ask for your help, and I'm asking.

Consternation? Well, all right, he supposes that remark was a little cold.

He's frowning now.

I am. It's a valid point. That many different wounds... People who would feel guilty would have reported it, not done more damage to a corpse.

Perhaps not guilt, then. But something...

She leans forward on her elbows, hands fretting with her pint.

I believe the body was tampered with, multiple times, post-mortem. And as gruesome as that is, it doesn't concern me as much the person who actually ended his life. That is the person I'm hunting.

He can scent the moment the epiphany hits her. She's hunting now. With all the resolve and intent of a wolf on the trail of her prey. This isn't just an inquiry, it's a hunt.

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