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Detective Rustin Cohle (
2017-02-28 02:53 am (UTC)
The first words out of officer Graham's mouth aren't what Rust expects; it draws a surprised bounce out of his brows, though he is hardly alarmed at the response. More like...pleasantly surprised. Good to know for a dog with little bark, he has a bit of bite.
Rust seems to relax somewhere deeper than skin-surface, and were he in better condition, he might even have a chuckle to give. Graham is pulling out his phone before anyone can continue, and it grabs Rust's attention, eyes pulling just a little wider with attention.
Well, shit...isn't that a fucking relief. Rust's head tilts down from it's confident tilt backward, and he can even afford an understanding nod once Graham seems to begin a phone call. Rust swallows against a dry mouth, and clears his throat. "Rustin Cohle, one-five-five-seven-four." Hill had known he was on his way into Louisiana, unfortunately she probably would have liked a check in before now, but she knows by now how this sort of thing goes. Rarely as planned.
Rust doesn't realize it when he slips into some natural habits -- he bends his arms back, hands planting themselves on his waistline, posture nearly straight as he stands idly on this end of the phone call being made.
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