Detective Rosa Diaz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
died8yearsago) wrote2021-12-18 04:18 am
died8yearsago) wrote2021-12-18 04:18 am
Entry tags:
77 Godiva Street; Late Satur--FRIDAY Morning [12/18].
So, after all that time, the whole case wound up being a bust, because the guy had actually turned himself in and the entire thing was called off...right when Rosa had managed to get a spot on the choir, too! She was honestly super pissed about it, she had been looking forward to that, but she supposed the silver lining was that she could finally get out of that convent and back to Fandom, which....okay, she would have totally rocked it in that choir, but it was good to at least not have to wear a funny hat all day.
Of course, she'd noticed the compound on an island off the warehouse distract pretty much from the causeway, as she rode her bike across it and started to already wonder what the hell had been going on while she was away. But that wasn't nearly as disturbing or upsetting to her as what awaited her once she made it back to the apartment.
Because a giant stuffed pink dog that looked like some kind of carninval prize sitting in your living room was the last thing you wanted to come home to after spending almost a month with a bunch of nuns.
Or pretty much under any circumstances, really.
So Rosa, dropping her helmet and her suitcase, just took a moment to stare the thing down as if challenging it, daring it to do anything stupid and Fandom-esque, and, once she realized that it really was just a large stuffed very pink dog...
She reached down to pull out a knife, flicked it open, and headed straight for it, because there was no way she was going to just trust that giant stuffed pink dog in her living room wasn't at least somewhat bugged or tapped or something otherwise messed up.
Which was going to be a little awkward if it turned out to be, like, Miguel or Anna or something, because Jesus Christ, Fandom, she'd just gotten back, and already, you want her dealing with shit like that??
[[ open post is open, especially for certain tightpantsed people who live there! ]]
Of course, she'd noticed the compound on an island off the warehouse distract pretty much from the causeway, as she rode her bike across it and started to already wonder what the hell had been going on while she was away. But that wasn't nearly as disturbing or upsetting to her as what awaited her once she made it back to the apartment.
Because a giant stuffed pink dog that looked like some kind of carninval prize sitting in your living room was the last thing you wanted to come home to after spending almost a month with a bunch of nuns.
Or pretty much under any circumstances, really.
So Rosa, dropping her helmet and her suitcase, just took a moment to stare the thing down as if challenging it, daring it to do anything stupid and Fandom-esque, and, once she realized that it really was just a large stuffed very pink dog...
She reached down to pull out a knife, flicked it open, and headed straight for it, because there was no way she was going to just trust that giant stuffed pink dog in her living room wasn't at least somewhat bugged or tapped or something otherwise messed up.
Which was going to be a little awkward if it turned out to be, like, Miguel or Anna or something, because Jesus Christ, Fandom, she'd just gotten back, and already, you want her dealing with shit like that??
[[ open post is open, especially for certain tightpantsed people who live there! ]]
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He looked at Rosa. He glanced at the knife. "Wow, I knew the thing was hideous, but I didn't think it was that bad. Coffee?"
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Was that the slick, precise sound of Rosa's knife cutting through the fuzzy fabric answering Miguel before her words did, while she all the while stared daggers at him in the process?
Of course.
"You mean you knew this thing was here," she said, "and you didn't do anything about it?"
So, you know, hello to you too.
"And I'd kill for some coffee."
A statement made all the more effective with the given situation and the weapon already in her hand, no doubt.
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But he also handed her his own coffee and went to get more. That was love, Rosa!
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Which would be spared further stabbing and slicing...for now...while she just took a moment to enjoy the coffee and may have made a faint moan of appreciation.
Okay. Maybe it could be love after all.
But once that initial sip had passed, she considered the stuffed dog again.
"I don't think win is the word I'd use for it," she offered.
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He came back with his own coffee. "So how did the case go? I'm a little disappointed I didn't have to kidnap the pope."
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"Also," she added, with that grin dropping and her thumb hitched toward the pink monstrosity beside her, "if it took you more than one try to get this thing, you suck, and I hope you feel terrible."
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He sipped his coffee. "Last year you said Aruba. That still sounds good to me."
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She sipped her coffee while looking back at the dog. "Maybe you could sneak this into the Vatican," she suggested, reaching over to pull out some of the stuffing from the cut she'd made, "you could probably fit him in here."
A pause.
"Be a lot funnier if it was a bunny, though."
This is what happens, people, when you put a recovering Catholic in a nunnery for a month.
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Some of those nuns, man. Some of those nuns.
"So what game," she said, to get back to the giant freaking stuffed dog in the room, "did you waste your time for this guy?"
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A moment she ended by promptly draining the last of her coffee so she could set aside the cup, because she was going to need both hands to go ahead and lift up the stuffed dog.
"I'm moving this," she informed him, "to a better spot."
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He picked up her mug. "More coffee? Breakfast?"
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You brought this into her house, Tightpants; she was going to make sure you lived with it.
"Both!" she shouted back from the bedroom as she made one last adjustment.
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