[indent][u][b]February 28th; 7:46PM A Traffic Jam on the Avalon Expressway[/b][/u][/indent] Sasha Jericho was not happy... Then again that was probably to be expected of [i]any[/i] Bludhaven Cop stuck on the Avalon Expressway performing a task doubtlessly considered profane, if not outright heretical in her hometown- [i]Driving to Gotham.[/i] Or at least, [i]trying[/i] to through the usual unrelenting sea of dumbasses and lunatics that usually found themselves parked, screaming and generally losing their minds behind the wheel on the [i]only[/i] direct route to her destination that didn't involve a lengthy trip through the mainland across Bristol County on roads that were pretty consistent in their [i]shittiness[/i]. Even [i]before[/i] a bunch of Greek Gods and magical monsters had tried to kill them all. A low, seething growl escaped the woman as she gripped the steering wheel of her old beater with all the barely restrained contempt for the rest of the people trapped on that aging amalgam of crumbling concrete and rusting steel hanging precariously over the [i]Freaking Atlantic Ocean[/i] with her. 'Not happy' might've been a bit of an understatement. She was absolutely [i]livid.[/i] Though to be fair, it was only [i]partially[/i] the fault of the raging sea of bumper-to-bumper traffic and roadrage that surrounded her. No, it was the [i]why.[/i] [i]Why[/i] was she sitting here on this bridge, garbed up in her stuffy dress uniform, in the shitbox car she hated, on the bridge she loathed, driving to a place she despised? Because there was a charity event held every year in Gotham (because [i]of course it would be[/i]), and after five years of dodging her bosses attempts to get her there, she had finally run out of excuses. And [i]why[/i] specifically did [i]she[/i] need to be there? Because it was a charity event for veterans of the One Week War, because the Bludhaven Police Department was flat broke and [i]really[/i] needed some goddamn money if it wanted to keep paying out the pensions and disability claims that little craptastrophy had left the force and because, as she was... [i]gently[/i] told, her face evoked [url=https://i.postimg.cc/rsGhHNrN/qtpatch.png][i]sympathy.[/i][/url] ...Which was a real [i]gentle[/i] way of saying some crazed bird-lady had scooped her eye (and some of her brain) out of it's socket and she somehow [i]didn't fucking die[/i]. [i]Real gentle.[/i] A low sigh escaped her as her head lightly thumped into the steering wheel, which was going unused in all of this gridlock anyway. [b]BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...![/B] [color=silver][b]"...God fucking dammit."[/b][/color] If there wasn't at least some free drinks at this little shindig, she was going to fucking [i]snap.[/i] [hr] [indent][u][b]February 28th; 9:26PM Parking Lot, Imperial Gotham Hotel, Gotham City[/b][/u][/indent] It took two hours. Many detours. And a whole [i]hell[/i] of a lot screaming at her GPS, but Sasha had finally made it. ...Now if she could just work up the nerve to step [i]out[/i] of her car, march her six-foot-two self through the rain, inside and upstairs, she could actually get this over with. As it stood however, she was apparently content to sit there in absolute silence, save for the sound of the strained breathing through her clenched teeth and the slight, rubbery squeaking as the rubber of the steering-wheel voiced it's protest against the white-knuckled grip of her hands. Going to the Station, doing her job, being out in the public eye was one thing... but going to a party full of rich dickheads in [i]Gotham[/i] for the sole purpose of being [i]gawked at and pitied[/i] was... Well, that was another thing entirely. She bit down on her lip. [i]Hard.[/i] The Law-woman wasn't sure whether or not she was grateful that this [i]big, fancy hotel[/i] apparently didn't have a valet or someone to take her car. Partly because it gave her en excuse to sit here, wait and/or waste time looking for a parking spot. Partly because she was pretty sure she was about to have a fucking [i]anxiety attack,[/i] and she'd rather not have to deal with [i]that[/i] right now. Here. In front of a hotel absolutely [i]bustling[/i] with the local media in a city she was raised to abhor. A cold sweat overtook her, as her forehead once again found itself pressed against the steering wheel. [color=silver][b][i]'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...'[/i][/b][/color] [b]-Tap! Tap! Tap!-[/b] [color=silver][b]"FUCK!"[/b][/color] Instantly, her heart launched itself halfway up her throat and damn near took the rest of her vertically with it, her seatbelt clearly being the only thing that kept her from ramming her own skull into the roof of her car as she turned her one good eye, wide and wild with panic to the source of this interloping sound, and found... [b]Malcolm Fucking Kasimir. Standing at her passenger window.[/b] A moment passed in complete silence, the scarred boy standing there, unflinching and unmoving. Her frozen in place, with what she imagined was an absolutely [i]hilarious[/i] expression as she sat there and tried to remember how to breathe. ...Eventually, she found the will to push the button on her arm-rest that lowered the barrier between them. But not quite enough to actually [i]say[/i] anything to the world's toughest teenager that stared right back at her with a still unmoving, completely calm expression. [color=orangered]"...You alright, Officer?"[/color] [color=silver][b]"Yes."[/b][/color] She answered reflexively. Curtly even. Not to offend the lad, of course- he'd always seemed a good sort with all that charity and humanitarian work he and his mom had been doing these past five years in Gotham, Blud and everywhere in between up to and [i]including[/i] the bottom of the goddamn [i]Ocean.[/i] But, well... If she didn't want to be seen by anybody in her current state, the kid was [i]exactly[/i] the wrong kind of person to be around right now. To her credit, the boy seemed to accept that response; cocking a brow, pursing his lips and nodding along. [color=orangered][b]"Bullshit."[/b][/color] The boy's tone carried little room for argument; and despite their difference in station, adult and youth, Officer and civilian... she found herself at a loss for words. [color=silver][b][i]'...Shit.'[/i][/b][/color] She'd [i]heard[/i] the kid had a way of reading people. The famous and famously scarred teenager seemed ready to continue his interrogation, when he abruptly paused mid-thought, head suddenly perking up and tilting to the side slightly as if he was listening for something. That was a relief. The fact that the [i]'something'[/i] the boy had apparently been listening for was some [i]snappily-dressed figure with a ludicrous blonde pompadour that came barreling out of the hotel and across the parking lot towards them [b]screaming and holding a kitchen-knife[/b][/i] was slightly... less so. Time seemed to slow as adrenaline and years of training kicked in, outright overriding her previous anxiety. One hand went right to her gun as she barked at her hither-to interrogator to get the fuck out of the way... which the teen simply ignored, calmly turning on the spot and casually lifting his hands out of his pockets. Snarling, Sasha clicked off her seatbelt and groped around for the door handle with her free hand, hissing and swearing at how difficult this simple action had become since she'd lost her depth perception and the peripheral vision to one side of her head, finally giving up and breaking her eye away from what was going on to find the damned thing. No sooner had she finally extricated herself from her automobile, gun drawn and ready to go in a matter of seconds that felt almost [i]painfully[/i] like hours did she find... Malcolm. Standing over his would-be assailant apparently none the worse for wear as he calmly adjusted his tie as if nothing had happened at all. Which she found [i]just[/i] a little odd, considering his would-be assailant was now laying on the ground, groaning and crying a little as he covered his clearly broken nose with his free hand. His other? Pinned to his ass. [i]With his own knife.[/i] A moment of silence followed [i]that[/i] particular little visual bombshell. Until she finally found herself again. [color=silver][b]"So, uhh... you alright?"[/b][/color] [color=orangered]"Yup. You?"[/color] [color=silver][b]"Fuckin' [i]Peachy."[/i][/b][/color] Another beat of silence over the whimpering of the man on the ground followed that. The whirlwind of lunacy this night had become in a heartbeat apparently taking a bit to fully process in what was left Sasha's brain, ruling out any possibility of a sensible series of words for it. The boy, on the other hand, seemed to have a much easier time of it. [color=orangered]"We should probably leave"[/color] [color=silver][b]"...What?"[/b][/color] That brought her screeching back to reality as she suddenly stood upright and finally holstered her weapon as she walked over. [color=silver][b]"Kid. I just witnessed an attempted [i]murder[/i]. Now, my jurisdiction or not, I'm still a [i]Cop[/i] and-"[/b][/color] [color=orangered][b]"So are they."[/b][/color] The boy stated calmly but with a little more force now, thumbing up towards the window of the second floor... where she found, among the crowd of people who stood glued to it, an assortment of GCPD suits staring right back down at them, faces twisted in a collection of expressions that seemed to read... [i]abject disappointment.[/i] [color=silver][b]"Okay, what the hell?"[/b][/color] A sentiment that only grew as her eyes fell to the ground to look upon their would-be assassin. Though perhaps for a different reason. [color=silver][b]"Okay, what the [i]hell?"[/i][/b][/color]