littlepriest: (★ ɴɪɴᴇ)
Detective Rustin Cohle ([personal profile] littlepriest) wrote in [community profile] herbgarden 2017-02-28 01:27 am (UTC)

The silence of the holding room buzzes in waves like a refrigerator motor -- maybe it's the fluorescent lights above? No. The hum of fluorescent lights gives him a texture on his tongue like fry bread. This buzzing in the air around him makes him grind his teeth, because that's exactly what it feels like in his senses: scraping his teeth on slate rock.

Crash knows exactly where this is going, of course. The only part that's making him a little anxious is being in a different state than where he's stationed out of; that's going to make this shit he's about to pitch a lot harder to sell. Well, worst case scenario, he has to cooperate through all of the expected processing stages before he can get someone on the phone with his reporting officer.

Seated with elbows on knees, dry hands idly rubbing each other open-palmed, Crash is attentive immediately when the door opens and officer Graham -- he picked the name up off someone else's lips when they arrived to the station -- and he would actually admit to having some relief that it's him returning to process him, if he were asked. It's procedure, but Crash has less of a chance getting someone to listen if it's any other officer in this building (save for Broussard, of course.) He relaxes further into the chair, practically slumping over the back, arching his neck to the side to pull out some tension. The teeth grinding's doing a number on him.

Graham begins to speak, and Crash learns his head up and back, considering the officer as he moves. Kind of...nervous? Distant. Cautious. Like a squeamish medical student who can stomach an anatomy book but can't make himself look during a dissection.

Yup, strip search. "At least you're by the book," Crash drawls lowly before moving to sit and then stand upright with uncanny ease.

"But before that, there's something you ought to consider." Crash steps toward Graham, movements natural yet no longer the stalking large cat strides he has taken up until now. He flicks an intent glance at the blue latex gloves. "You're gonna have to make a call to Houston police, to a senior officer Amelia Hill. You're gonna tell her, and your supervisor, that you got an undercover narcotics detective in custody. She'll provide you my file with photograph and fingerprint identification, and procedure for moving forward, if your department hasn't yet dealt with undercover workers. Whenever you wanna take down my name and badge number."

The grinding speech has eased, words flowing more smoothly like water, softer. Through the gleaming sweat and the bloodshot eyes, an awareness and presence has turned on like a light switch. He still keeps a distance, knowing the delicate balance he has to maintain on this tightrope walk. There's absolutely no reason why Graham should believe him.

Which is why Rust adds, with one more pointed look at Graham's gloved hands. "I'll let you choose whether that's before or after the cavity search."

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