milliways_bar | (no subject)

Consider these the trousers of time.

"I've always been tickled by the use of murder as opposed to kill. Silly humans." He pinches her on the cheek.

"I think we'd both be out of work. It's a good thing I have a wealth of hobbies to choose from."

"Trust me, you know a crime against fashion when you see one. It's like knowing where things are the moment you hurt them."

"Well, I am the Smart One....okay, so I'm not, but for the sake of arguement pretend that I am."

"Mmmm...well, I suppose the difference could be intent. You murder someone, when it is done for no other reason than you felt like it, or some other stupid reason like that. You kill in instances of self-defense, or defense of another person. I had to shoot a suspect holding a knife to the throat of a young girl. He died." She shrugs slightly. "That wasn't considered a murder."

She laughs at the mention of hobbies. "Mine are...listening to the police scanner, reading, and ballet. I suppose I could volunteer at the women's shelters again..."

"Mike, I officially dub thee The Smart One, with all privileges it entails," she says solemnly.

"Yeah, but either way, something dies. Don't get me wrong, I see the distinction, it's just not as solid as people seem to think it is. I uh...I won't share any of my stories."

"Ballet? Really? That surprises me...though", he looks her over with an apprasing eye, "it makes sense."

"SWEET! Wait until I tell Don."

She nods, a dark look on her face. "That story is--well, the only one where I have a clear distinction, personally. There are times when I wish I could just--" she cuts off her words.

"Does it? I danced when I was younger. Picked it up again recently. It's very freeing--just me, the dance floor, and the music. Almost like flying at times."

"Uh, oh. Will he beat me up?" She gives him a mock-frightened look.

He gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but says nothing.

"Well, ballet is to dance what poetry is to language. It's beauty is in it's control. You seem like someone who likes personal control. Me? I'm a breakdancer. Mostly because I tend to break things...."

He grins, hoping the self deprecation cheers her up.

"Don? Nah, he's a pacifist."

She snorts at that. "Trust me. If I'm not in my pointe shoes, I'm wonderfully uncoordinated. I trip over the air at times." She smiles again, appreciating his efforts.

"Then he'll try to stump me at Scrabble, then." She sighs. "Will it never end?"

"I suppose I do like being in control. But it does feel good to let loose as well. Which reminds me--will there be dancing at the soiree?"

"That's not all that unheard of you know. Dancers being clumsey. It's like actors who studder in real life. Like James Earl Jones. Things are just easier to do when you know ahead of time.

Wonder if I could do it. Ballet dance."

"I hate to say it, but Don taught us all to read, figured out algebra, and built a television by the age of seven. I'm pretty sure that he could kick anyone's butt at scrabble."

"Um...there could be dancing. Indy and I have been discussing the music. Don't know what that guy has against Barry White...."

"True enough. Ever heard the saying Dance like no one is watching? I have to do that, mentally, whenever I did a stage performance."

"I don't see why not. Most major-league football players do ballet as well. Improves balance and coordination, as well as learning to move quickly on your feet. You might try asking Meg, the ballerina. She's the one helping me with my dancing."

"Wonderful. If I ever challenge him, I'll bring three dictionaries as backup."

She beings laughing again. "He has no sense of style, it would seem. Stick with adult contemporary, some classical, and some jazz, and most people should be happy with that. If he raises a fuss, send him to me. I'm good at changing people's minds." She smiles wickedly.

"Performance anxiety, huh? Never had to worry about that myself."

He huffs on his fingernails and rubs them against his shell.

"Do you think she'd have a tutu in my size. Just, you know, out of curiosity..."

"Yeah, you'd better. Don's smart, but he's also ninja. We're not known for playing fair."

"Might I suggest a firm kick to the shins? It's the best non-lethal way of dealing with someone."

"Not truly anxiety. I'm self-conscious. And I really don't like being watched. But if I'm not aware of it, or can pretend otherwise, I'm fine."

"If she doesn't, I could probably find one in Vegas. We have...everything there," she says with a perfectly serious expression. "I learned that when we had to visit a store that sells adult baby items."

She snorts. "If there's one thing I cannot stand, it is a fair fight. Or something like that. I'll bring my Klingonaase guide while I'm at it. I'm not above fighting dirty as well."

"True enough. Or you just send the annoyance out to process a decomposition. Not that I would ever be that mean or anything." She looks perfectly innocent.

"If you ever want to learn to disappear in plain sight, you just let me know."

Mike, who frequents furry conventions just 'cause, is not surprised by this...well, much.

"Like whole stores? You're kidding me. I thought it was just black market stuff."

"Okay, that's it. You and Don are moving to Massachusetts to get married. There's really no other way around it."

"MMmm. decomposition."

"In plain sight? Sounds intriguing. How do you do that?"

"Yeah--we had to figure out the death of this casino owner. A truly Big Baby. His case is complicated, and I can't share any more details because it hasn't gone through court yet."

"But yes, there is an entire store. My friend Nick went there with Grissom, and was informed he was lucky to have such a nice daddy." The memory makes Sara laugh. "I would've paid good money to see the looks on their faces. I don't think Grissom has lived that down yet. Or Nick, for that matter."

"I don't have a say in this?" She gives him a wounded look.

"It can be a true damper on the dating scene. It's impossible to remove the smell from your shoes."

"Well first you have to wear a bell."

Mike laughs out loud.
"Yeah, I can imagine. It's always awesome to see tourists at those things."

"Sorry, it's meant to be. You'll love him. He...he's quiet. And he makes stuff. Neat stuff. And he saved most of New England on his own."

"Yeah, I can imagine. I mean, I live in the sewers after all."

"We also had a strange death at a furry convention. That was also unique. And coming from Vegas, that is saying something. I did manage to score a leopard-print leotard at a lovely price though, with matching print cat ears."

She puts her head in her hands. "Great, a reptilian Grissom. Just what I need." She shakes her head mournfully. "Sorry, Mike, I don't think I need further blows to my self-esteem. Besides, I kinda have my eye on someone here. It wouldn't be fair to lead your brother on."

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten that. Sorry." Now she feels sheepish.

"Those conventions are a frickin' riot. And I'm not just saying that as an anthropomorphic reptile...no, wait. I am."

"But...but...then we could give you an artist name and you'd be one of the family. You and Kahlo. Come On...please? Wait...eye on someone here? Okay, it's alright, Don will understand if you like me more. I mean, I am the favorite. He's used to it by now."

"Why? It's cool down there."

"Well, next time someone dumps a vial of bitch-in-heat hormones over your back, let me know what kind of a riot you think it is," she says dryly. "That did NOT amuse me."

"What's wrong with the name I have?" She looks mockingly insulted. "And sorry Mikey, it's not you, though you are a true sweetheart. You'll make someone very happy."

"It would be, wouldn't it?"

"Noncon stuff doesn't amuse."

"Once a bridesmaid, never the bride."

"Especially in the summer. You really get used to the smell after a while."

"To be fair, the person ended up not being involved in the death we were investigating. Threw it at me as she was running away. But god, I had never had to fend off so many dogs in my life."

"Awwww." She pats his arm consolingly. "Your time will come. With your charm and smile, how can it not?"

She nods. "True enough. After 12 or 14 hours, you barely notice that the guy you're working on has been down a mineshaft for two years."

"I'd hardly call that fair. There are some levels that even I won't stoop to. That's just wrong."

He bats his eyes, sighs dramatically, and then rests his head on her shoulder.

"Well, it beats the time I was held hostage. Then again, that's when I learned to dislocate two arms at the same time." She grins. "I never catch a break."

She pats his head consolingly. "Someday, you'll look back on this and know I was right. Or be laughing your ass of at me. One or the other."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like a fun way to spend a Friday night. I should know, I'm pretty sure I've had the same Friday night."

"Why do the pretty ones always have to be human"

"Mmmm...well, it was also worth the expression on Brass and Grissom's faces when I came out of there dragging the guy, him cussing a mile a minute and me snarking right back at him. Brass is still afraid of me."

"Finally, someone calls me the pretty one. And I don't know--maybe you could hook up with a shape-shifter?"

"Okay, maybe you're too close to family to marry my brother. I officially adopt you as my honorary sister. New name forthcoming. Have to keep the tradition alive."

"I don't think shapeshifter would cut it. Turtles are sort of...species specific. Oh what a cruel fate."

Can't you feel the drama and angst?

"A new brother. Wow. Another one to add to the collection. You and Nicky would get along well. And if I don't like my new name, I won't answer to it." She resists the urge to stick out her tongue.

"Can't help you there, I'm afraid. Unless you find a way to turn into another species."

Oh yes, the angst just drips down. Poor, poor Mikey. She pecks his cheek consolingly.

It works every time. Lay on the pout, and women just melt. What can he say? He's just that good.

[ooc: sadly, I must flee. you? with the rocking of the total!]