fandomtownies | Freelance Police HQ, Sunday

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Freelance Police HQ, Sunday

Work. Working. Work. A job. Reno. Reno of the Turks, who had been sadly and sorely deprived of said Turks since the whole fiasco in Edge back in October. He had a job.

And not just any job. He was working for the slightly manic canine and lapine duo that had opened a Freelance Police HQ in town.

Reno, of all people, was working for the cops. He'd actually shown up for work a little on the early side. Got himself acquainted with the office. The dead plant. The noose on the coat-rack. The roadkill calendar. The tied-up guy in the closet who he was apparently supposed to feed now and then. Reno had taken a pickle off the sandwich he'd grabbed on his way to work, and amused himself by playing keep-away with it for a while before actually giving it to the guy.

Okay. So, the fish in the water cooler kinda had Reno a little paranoid, but Reno brushed that one off as the basic survival instinct of every Turk which led them to mistrust every Vice-President they came across.

Once his rounds of the office were complete, he made himself comfortable in the wheelie-chair and put his feet up on the desk, his stun baton at his hip. Kinda like back in Midgar. Back when there was a Midgar.

The Freelance Police HQ was open for business.

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If he's going to be a glorified receptionist, there had better be phone calls, after all.

Do not let his feet being up on the desk fool you. He is HARD AT WORK, here.

... Really.

Of course Sarah had noticed the new business in town; she would have had to turn in her badge immediately if she hadn't registered the big "freelance police" sign. Sunday was the first day it seemed to be open when she wasn't working on another project.

She smoothed her hair and went in, subtly sizing up the redhead at the counter. "Hey, are you open?"

[OOC: SP warning: on.]

Reno glanced over casually at the lady who had just come in, giving a nod of his head.

"Door's open, sign's up. Seems open to me," he replied, taking his feet off the desk and pulling himself to his feet. "You got some kinda business you need taken care of?"

Please oh please oh please?

[OOC: SP = Win. I'll be out for a couple of hours, apparently. And then at the mercy of family computer time. *facepalm*]

"I might," Sarah said coyly, eyes going big with fake naivete. "Can you tell me a little about it? I've never heard of freelance police."

The fake naievete earned a quirk of an eyebrow, and Reno pursed his lips for a moment.

"It's like police," Reno said. Carefully. Just in-case she missed this part. "Only freelance."

He was so very helpful.

"Apparently, our rates are better." Than free? Sure.

"I see," Sarah said, very dry, before she remembered to put sweetness back in her tone. "What kind of background do you have? There must be a lot of training, and you look so young."

"What, me, personally? I been doin' odd jobs for a lot longer than I been workin' here," came Reno's smooth reply. "Just got hired in this place Wednesday. That don't mean I don't have experience runnin' around doin' what's gotta get done."

By any means necessary, his tone seemed to imply, while one hand rested idly on his stun baton, still at his hip.

Sarah noticed the hand at his hip and bit back her curiosity about what he had there. "Oh, this isn't your shop? Who owns it?"

"A dog," Reno replied with another casual sort of shrug. "And a rabbit. Though I think the rabbit's secretly been cross-bred with some kinda mutant weasel and dosed with a huge mess of mako radiation or somethin'. Sam's the dog. Max is the freak."

He said 'freak' in a most loving sort of way. Really.

Sarah ... took a moment to process that. Yes. "Well, a frog works for me," she said, with false brightness. "Do you think they would be interested in providing retail security?"

She didn't need a security guard, but she wanted to keep Reno in her field of vision. She saw potential even in their brief conversation thus far.

Reno quirked an eyebrow at that one, considering.

"I can't see it bein' a problem. I dunno if they ever done anything kinda like security rounds, but I ain't no stranger to 'em." A pause, for consideration. "What kinda retail? We talkin' some kinda stock that people are gonna be shootin' one another over, or you just wanna make sure people don't vandalize the place after dark?"

Edited 2008-12-01 02:59 (UTC)

"It's the comic shop, Android's Dungeon," Sarah explained. "I've worked retail enough to know to expect the unexpected, and some fanboys can get a little freaky about their comics. But mostly, just a night patrol to look for break-ins, maybe drop in during the day once in a while to make sure the staff's doing okay."

"Patrollin' for fanboys," Reno echoed, licking his lips and trying not to smirk. "Piece of cake. The furry little boss-things'll probably be around sometime, I'm gonna have to run it by them to be sure, but hell, if they ain't up to it, I'll swing by there now an' then myself to make sure the doors are still shut and the windows ain't been busted in."

It would keep him busy. Sure, the comic shop was hardly an entire sector of monster-infested Midgar, but it was better than nothing.

"Great. I'll pay whatever it costs," Sarah promised, then remembered she wasn't supposed to blow through all of the CIA's money. "Within reason, of course."

"We can negotiate," Reno replied. "I ain't sure what kinda rates this sorta thing goes for in the American dollar, so I think we're both gonna have to agree on somethin' where we don't feel ripped off, yo." A pause. "Uh. Both of us, and Sam and Max."

Who probably knew the rates better than Reno did, here.

"I can tell you what my shop at home paid," Sarah offered, writing down a ~~handwavy~~ figure. "But pass the message along to your bosses and they can call me to negotiate."

She was negotiating with animals. Christ.

A pause. "You aren't American, then?"

Reno eyed the figure for a moment and then shrugged. Seemed fair to him, anyhow. Better than what he was making a couple of days ago.

"I'll pass it on," he promised. "And yeah, I ain't American. Guess I'm about as close as you're gonna get, on Gaia, though. It's this whole nexus thing. Buggers you right the hell up when it goes and puts you on a whole different planet or whatever. There's Fandom for you."

He'd kill to have someone explain something to him in kilometers, dammit, instead of miles. Or the gil instead of the dollar. Or or or.

"That's Fandom," Sarah echoed, a distinct trace of dubiousness in her voice. "I'm still getting used to it, but it sounds like it's not the kind of place you ever really get used to."

"And thanks for passing my message along."

"I don't think Fandom exists to get used to," Reno replied evenly. "I'm startin' to think it's here to make or break you. Either you figure it out and learn to live with it, or it drives you absolutely batshit and you go home in a straight jacket when your time here is through. If you can't adapt, it'll get the best of you, and that'll be that."

A pause.

"Or anyhow, that's just what I'm noticin', here."

"I'm not one to need to be carried out of anyplace in a straight jacket," Sarah vowed. "Sounds like you've had more time than I have to think it over, though."

"Been here almost a year," he agreed. "Never a dull moment, in Fandom. Stone angels, the lord of the underworld tryin' to take over, the island movin' all over the place. This kinda stuff is weird, even for people who come from weird places."

"One of my employees told me to just read the comics and assume anything in them could happen here," Sarah said, as if this gave her a migraine. Which it kind of did. "That's how I'm trying to approach this."

Reno shrugged and stuck the hand that wasn't resting on his stun baton into his pocket.

"A theory a friend of mine and I got is that people are only here on Fandom if they really need to be. People on the mainland are gonna read comic books too, right? At least if this place does start to freak you out, you can pack up your stock and go. Me, I think the weird kinda adds to it. Keeps you on your toes, yo."

Sarah gave a tiny smile laced with bitterness. She couldn't actually leave, but there was no way he would know it. "Good thing I work out," she joked. "I'm Sarah Walker, by the way. My number's on the paper for your bosses. It was nice to meet you...."

She paused, hoping he'd supply a name.

"Reno." He nearly added, 'of the Turks,' and then stopped himself. No, no he kind of wasn't 'Reno of the Turks,' anymore. Not with the rate the Turks were going. And 'Reno, Freelance Police' had a nice ring to it, but it really wasn't... him.

"Just Reno. We'll keep in touch."

If they show up, here's where to find 'em!

Max wandered into the room, yawned, and scratched his butt. Then he blinked at Reno.

You could tell the moment that his tiny brain registered Reno's presence, because it was less than three seconds from then until his gun was out and aimed at Reno's head. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?!?!" he demanded.

Reno raised an eyebrow at Max, gave his head a shake, patted his EMR (his stun baton was a security blanket, yes, but he was never going to admit it), and then replied, evenly.

"Your minion, yo."

Because sometimes, these things had to be clarified up-front.

Secretly, he was hoping this job meant he'd be shot at more often.

Max blinked at Reno again. "Ohhhhh yeaaaaaaah," he said, putting the gun away. "I thought maybe that was all a sugar-induced hallucination." He folded his arms behind his back and surveyed his minion, looking all presidential. "Well, carry on, then."

First day on the job, and already the President had attempted to kill him.

Reno was drowning in nostalgia, here.

"Carryin' on ain't my style. But we'll see what we can manage, yo." He grinned, flashed Max a thumbs-up, and then leaned back into the chair a little more. Hard at work. Totally.

Max nodded appreciatively. "Nice style. Very nice. You're a natural at this. Oh, hey, if a guy shows up with a thousand screaming monkeys? Tell him I changed my mind and want a pepperoni pizza instead."

"Swap the monkeys for pepperoni. Got it." Reno considered for a moment, and then gave his shoulders a shrug and wrote it down.

Hey. He wasn't getting paid embezzled government funds to ask questions, was he?

Sam walked into the office, nodded to the new employee, and frowned.

"Have you seen a tear-gas grenade launcher? I can't find mine."

Reno gave his head a bit of a shake.

"Nah, sorry," he replied with a shrug. "But I bet you could probably rig somethin' up with vinegar and bakin' soda, if you got desperate enough."

He'd been paying attention in chem class!

Uh.

Mostly!

"I'll have to remember that," Sam mused. "If I'm ever in need of a signal flare, or an oversized volcano. No, this is a salad shooter with a peeled onion in it. Our neighbor, Bosco, sold it to us."

Bosco hadn't revealed that it was a salad shooter with a peeled onion in it until after they'd forked up ten grand. Bastard.

"Max probably took it somewhere to harass unsuspecting pedestrians."

"You know, I'm willin' to bet that Turtle over at the T&C carries stuff like that, yo. All sorts of odds and ends in that place. And if you go on Tuesday, you can ask the unicorn about it." Reno shrugged. "Unicorns eat salad and stuff, right? He's probably a pro, zoto."

So very helpful.

"I thought about going in there," Sam frowned. "I wasn't too sure. It looked ... clean. There weren't any bars on the windows, either."

Bosco's Inconvenience had warped their perception of stores, to some degree.

"Yeah, and they got decent customer service, too," Reno noted with a shrug.

You got used to the dirty businesses when you came from under the plate.

"You get used to it, Boss." A pause. And then Reno reached for the piece of paper that Sarah had given him before. The one with the ~~handwavey~~ number written on it. "Lady came in here hearlier, by the way. Askin' if we did security patrols. Said this was the price she was willin' to pay to keep the comic place safe."

Sam stared at the piece of paper and nodded appreciatively.

"Patrols? Would they be like stake-outs? Can we shoot at any unsavory character who got to close to the lady's place of business? Or looked at the lady's place of business?"

He hadn't shot at anyone in days. Except Max.

"I don't see why not," Reno mused. "Keep the place from bein' busted into after hours, make sure the staff is doin' okay on their shifts. That's what the lady said, anyhow."

Shooting at people was fun. Reno wasn't going to deprive Sam of a good time, here.

"Then we're on the case," Sam said. He would've taken the job either way, but shooting people made for a nice perk. "We'll pull shifts. Standard stake-out procedure, patrol the perimeter, report in any malfeasance. Can we count on your assistance? You'd get overtime pay. And hazard pay, if anything shoots at you."

Edited 2008-12-01 05:56 (UTC)

While Reno wasn't terribly concerned about being shot at over the sake of a comic book store, he wasn't the sort to turn down a job.

"You can count on me, boss."

Get the job done.

"Fantastic." Sam beamed. "Let's dish out some justice to those would-be law-breakers."

Justice usually involved shooting at things. The life of a cop was pretty sweet.

The world could very well end, you know. Working for a harbinger of the apocalypse means it's totally a viable job risk.

Does Reno get danger pay?

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Freelance Police HQ, Sunday

Phone!

Talk To Reno!

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SAMANDMAX!

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OOC!