fandomtownies | Entries tagged with ray kowalski

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Yeah, Ray was not going to wait outside like a jittery bunny (and if he knew Fraser, he'd be early anyway) so once he got to the pizza place, he was gonna go inside the pizza place, and he was gonna find himself a Mountie.

And some pizza.

He was gonna go. Yep, this time he was going to walk out. ... Probably.

Yeah.

[[ ray's here for the mountie, but pizza planet is an open space... ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

So most of Ray's stuff was in boxes. Up to and including the paperwork (and one abandoned, petrified old bagel. Shut up) that he was gonna... well. Files. ... Listen, weird shit happened down here, you wanted to have something to remember you weren't totally crazy by. Or something.

Shut up. It was a perfectly good reason.

And so Ray stood in the sheriff's office, last day, last shift, looking lost at all of his junk. In boxes.

[[ open! last open post he'll have, kids ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

So, yeah, Ray was going through paperwork for the sake of talking down New Guy on what all the shit was all about. Not thinkin' about the fact that he was only going to be here for another week, was going to have to say goodbye to Fraser, might actually get a glimpse of Pepper if he was, uh. Lucky.

New York, man. It was no Chicago, but he was gonna be up and at them, no problem.

[[ open! ]]

gunandcoffee.livejournal.com

After the jog in the park and freshening up Reese walked to the station and true to form made a beeline to the coffee. Reese poured herself a cup and-- winced.

Reese ~~glared~~ looked at Ralph.

"Ralph, don't let the other guy make the coffee again, he sucks at it."

Ralph shrugged, it might be Reese was getting used to the troopers but the shrug looked apologetic. Reese sipped the anemic coffee before returning to her desk where a fresh batch of paperwork waited for her. There was no crime in Fandom, where the hell are all these paperwork coming from?

Current Mood: grumpy

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

It was moments like this Ray reaaaaally wished the brass up in NY would freaking phone him already.

"What is it with you people?!" he roared into the phone, "I did not order a hundred pizzas! How many cops do you think we have out here? Huh? Besides, you know what happened here Tuesday? Yeah, you do. You know these slices got marinara all over them? Huh? Punk?"

Ralph wisely made a turn and left before he could even come close to the office.

[[ open! ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

"Bananas."

"Uh-huh."

"Seriously."

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, come on," Ray groused, throwing a pencil at Ralph, "We already done bananas! I just got through my stash of fucking bagels, what now?"

Ralph shrugged, and held up a kumquat.

Ray banged his head against the desk. "Greaaat."

[[ open! ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Okay, so yeah, Ray was a little late. Just a bit. Nothing big. He'd just kinda--

"Oh, stop laughing," he told Ralph, peevishly. "I challenge you to find somebody in this room who hasn't run into a freaking rickshaw. This place needs cars."

Ralph just continued snickering, and completely failed to get Ray the coffee he'd been begging for.

[[ open... ish. back from vacation, whee ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

"Not on," Ray announced, when he walked into his office that morning.

"Not on," he repeated, sitting down.

"Seriously, Ralph," Ray said, glaring up at him, "Not on!"

Ralph rolled his eyes, turned around, and stalked out of the office. He wasn't in a mood to play 'what Ray was pissed about this time'.

"Not on," Ray muttered, sagging into his chair.

[[ open... ish. massive SP, see upcoming availability note ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

"No, we are not getting a dental plan."

Ray and Ralph were having their weekly battle of wills. It was a pretty impressive one, considering that one party was doing all of the talking, and he still seemed to be losing.

"No, seriously, Ralph. We do not have the budget-- ugh."

The Trooper Station was open. Ray was trying to decide between trying to call Pepper again for the umpteenth time in months, or throwing himself out the window.

[[ opeeen ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Ray was here. Bein' Ray. Workin' through paperwork. Poking at the possibility of another poker night.

Browsing the job offers in NY. No reason. Just kinda poking around--

Ralph shot him a look.

"Oh, fuck off," Ray groused, and gave him the finger.

[[ opeeen. ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Great. Picnic in town, stuff he needed to do paperwork-wise while it was, this was grand, Ray was totally up for this. Or, you know, not. He had his head buried in the stuff and he was this close to throwing a former bagel through a window or something. Seriously.

Ralph rolled his eyes at him.

"Oh, what are you looking at? You lookin' for a fight? Huh?"

Ralph turned around and clomped away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

[[ open! ]]

suit-of-awesome.livejournal.com

Barney was smart and had purposefully blocked all outgoing mail from Fandom to his New York City (sorry, no luck for you, Robin) and so could blissfully oversee the gathering of guests, students, teachers, and townies happening in the park. The day was bright and sunny, regardless of what any weather reports might claim.

The Student Council had done a nice job getting things together to greet the visitors. A wide variety of sumptuous food was spread out on long tables at one end of the park. In the center were plenty of comfortable blue and gold tables and chairs perfect for sitting, chatting, and eating. To the other end of he park was the registration table where visitors could sign in and pickup their name tags.

Just above the registration area was a gaudy banner announcing the start of a calm and relaxing weekend. Okay, a weekend where Barney got a lot of popcorn to listen to radio.
Welcome to Parents' Weekend 2009!

[ OOC: DONE! Registration | Security | Food & Drink | Mingling | OOC ]

Current Mood: thoughtful

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

You know, Ray was handling this Sheriff thing. He was handling it great. Totally. All he had to do was, uh, go through paperwork all day, and call the damn coffee machine company again about what the hold-up was, and, uh.

Figure out where the hell to dump all of these damn former bagels, because by now they were like rock. Seriously. Couldn't give it a damn bite, your teeth would fall out, blah blah.

So this was what Sheriff Ray was relegated to this morning. Bagel issues. "Meh."

[[ open! ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Okay. Ray had never felt sympathy for Frannie before, but this was it, this was definitely it, this was-- "We need a new coffee machine."

Sure, Cooper had probably socked one in way back when, but that didn't mean the new-hetherfor-somethingorother-to-be-named-old coffee machine was any better, especially not considering the cement Day had to be pouring into it day after day after day.

Heh. Day.

So he was on the phone. To, uh, Chicago.

He was quickly remembering why he didn't talk to Frannie much. "No, listen, I don't need cappuchino--"

[[ open! ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

"If I keep getting this much paperwork, I'm gonna start making paper planes," Ray bitched at Ralph. The trooper rolled his eyes. Seriously. The kinda disrespect Ray was getting here--

Okay, Ray knew he was a crap sheriff. Still. Respect, or something.

"You keep doing that," he started, "I'm gonna get the Mountie in, tell you some Inuit stories-- don't look at me like that, 'course I know what an Inuit-- no, it ain't an Eskimo."

[[ open, but with provisional SP warning ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

"I said I wanted two bagels," Ray told the guy over the phone. "Two. Can you count? One, two. It is not epic, uh, math. This should not be hard to get."

He glared across his desk. He dumped his feet on his desk.

"No, I did not order two hundred. What the hell am I going to do with two thousand bagels?"

Mainly because there was no other space left in his office.

[[ open, but some SP as I go across the country today ]]

gunandcoffee.livejournal.com

Another day at the station and still no calls and no cases. This keeps up and she might take-up whittling. She even had Crews' knife all she needs is wood to start for now there were papers to file and there was coffee to finish.

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Yeah. Work. Ray could do work. Sheriff work. Yep.

Ray was sitting in his chair in his office, staring at the mountain of paperwork and trying not to show off the fact he had lead in his shoes. "Right," he muttered, and took a sheet.

Then put it down on his desk.

Went over it. Filled it in. Signed it, stamped it. Done.

Only eleventymillion left to go.

[[ open! ]]

iguessiamaclone.livejournal.com

The last time Ben was at Three Minute Dates, he was one of the daters. Now he was the host. He was pretty sure this counted as a promotion somehow.

Caritas Presents
THREE MINUTE DATES
Hosted by Ben Reilly
Reject people and make it snappy!

When the event was just about ready to start, Ben took the stage. "Okay, everyone! Let's go over the rules quickly. We'll start in a minute when I read a pair of names. That pair finds each other, makes with the chit chat, and then after three minutes you'll hear this sound."

A zombie hit a gong. With his head. Whatever works... "And when you hear that, we'll move onto the next round and I'll read more names. We'll do this five times and then we'll be done. Oh, and don't forget, violence isn't allowed here but drink throwing is both possible and hilarious."

[OOC: Three minutes = ten comments total, five per person. You don't need to do your threads chronologically, but try not to Joss yourself.

~~Please wait for epic OCD!~~ Epic OCD is up! And if you saw me make or admit to a PHENOMINALLY egregious mistake in my planning, I've got cookies on the table and you didn't see anything. Got that?]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

"I hate this friggin' island, Ralph."

Ralph sighed, and shot Ray - and his boobs, Ray figured - another look. Yeah, so Ray had said that a couple of times that morning, but that didn't matter, right?

Hey, the troopers were recuperating from being toy-whatsits, now they were broads, that was just a move up in the world or something. Ray, though? Ray, yeah, that was different.

"Get me more coffee," he ordered, and sank back in Coop's chair. His chair. Whichever. Like the past couple of weeks hadn't been messed-up enough for starters.

(Do not think the word 'Malibu', Ray)

"I hate this friggin' island."

[[ open station! ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Yeah. So he was gonna be the Sheriff. Ray was gonna be the Sheriff, and Cooper was leaving. That was a-okay with him. Yep. Ray could handle this just fine.

Ray stared at the paperwork on his desk, and lifted a bit. "Gotta signature here--" he read, then put it back down again. Right. He could do this.

"Ralph," Ray called, "Get yourself a coffee on me, will you?" The trooper had been hovering, okay? Lookin' through Ray's stuff, getting an eye on, it was not right.

"What are you waiting for? Skedaddle! Shoo!"

Ralph rolled his eyes behind the helmet, and moved.

"Right."

Ray looked back at the paperwork. He could do this. He could do this.

... He was fucked. Cooper musta gone insane. Dammit.

[[ open, but for xtreme SP as I go on a mini-cation today! ]]

usedtotravel.livejournal.com

The good news was, a few people had woken up.

The bad news was, there were far, far more people still asleep, and it wasn't clear if they'd be waking up any time soon.

[OCD is up, thank you for waiting!]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

It was Friday and the whole damn office was full of irritating new kids. Well, one irritating new kid.

"Ralph," Ray called, putting his feet up on the desk, "You running patrol today?"

Ralph didn't react.

"Ralph!" Ray bellowed again. "Patrol!"

Ralph... blinked behind the helmet, and turned, staring at him in question.

"Yeah, you, you don't know your own name or something?" Beat. "Nevermind. Shoo shoo on patrol. I gotta go figure out how to make noseboy's life miserable."

Ralph was just not going to ask questions. He was finally off the hook.

[[ open! ]]

onyoursixboss.livejournal.com

Really, Tony should be taking care of some of the paper work from The Day People Sang And We Don't Talk About It, but he was procrastinating that for as long as possible. Okay, so he already had it done, he was just waiting for Agent Cooper to ask for the information like Gibbs did.

...which wasn't the most normal of approaches, but he was bored, damn it.

Crumpled up paper basketball was ranking high on the list of things to do today.

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Ray had... spent yesterday singin' to his turtle. Yeah.

Ray was not gonna talk about that. Instead, Ray was gonna sit right in this here trooper station, and make fun of last night's security footage from the barracks. Heh.

"Hey, Rick!" he called across the room, "You got some hot feet!"

Ralph flipped him the bird.

[[ open! ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Ray wasn't sleeping. Really.

He was just, uh, closing his eyes from time to time.

For protracted amounts of time.

It was totally working. Totally. "Turtles," he mumbled, curling into his chair. "Don't abuse the turtles, Fraser."

[[ open! ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Ray was workin' on a new paperwork-sorting system. Yeah, he was that bored. Had stuff tacked up to the walls and everything.

'Course, anyone else would've made the rookie mistake of setting up a system that improved, uh, writing on paperwork. That was not efficiency. Efficiency was something grander, bigger, and outta sight where you didn't have to think about it.

By the afternoon, Ray felt pretty damn pleased with himself.

What? It wasn't like anything ever happened or something.

[[ open! ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Yeah, okay, so there was only so much time you could spend doing nothing. Which is why Ray had been spending the past couple of days back in the office at last.

Only to find out that, hey, they were still doing nothing. Just in a different location.

He spent most of the day sipping coffee while philosophically staring at his stack of empty paperwork. "Rick," he said, "You ever get the feelin' this place is boring-crazy?"

Ralph just sighed.

[ open station, but I'll be gone in a few hours, so SP warning! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

New students, new students, new students were making Ray's poor head hurt with all the damn paperwork. "Seriously," he muttered, "I think they make some of these names up." Beat. "Hey, Rick!"

Ralph ignored him.

"You think they make some of these names up?"

Ralph continued to ignore him.

"I think they make some of these names up."

Ralph wandered off towards the water cooler.

"Yeah, whatever, buddy."

[ open! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

When Ray finally got to work after a week and a half of vacation, he had-- buckets of paperwork. And he was pretty sure Rick was laughing at him behind the stupid helmet. This might have been why Ray was spending his first day back on the job wadding up balls of the stupid stuff.

Just waiting. Waiting. Waiting for Rick to pass by and--

He was still snickering long after Rick stopped glaring.

[ open! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Between Pepper, his promotion, and a few days off? Ray was having a good couple of weeks. He was practically humming on his way to work.

Except not really. He wasn't that obnoxious.

He took his spot, eyed the paperwork, decided to ignore it (as usual), and got to work. Kinda.

[ open! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

You know, Ray had thought the first couple of commendations had been a wash.

Then Fraser happened, and whatever he got outta that was based in pure Canadian insanity or something.

On Friday morning, the newly minted Sergeant Ray Kowalski came in with some stuff from J,GoB and a thought: If these invasions were as near-regular as they seemed from the notes? He was gonna have a headache.

Still, he was awesome. Or something.

That lasted about two minutes. "What did I say about never wanting to see any more paperwork?!"

[ open! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

So as it turns out, you can't actually pull two all-nighters in a row. Still, Ray didn't wanna get up and go home with all of this crap flying around. He'd snagged about two hours of sleep in one of the cells (turns out it's hard to get racktime during a zombie invasion - who knew?) and came stomping out again in the morning.

He snagged a cup of coffee, tacked the Chomp List up to one of the walls, and hit his seat. "Okay, who'd we lose last night?"

A couple moments later, that statement was followed by, "You are not telling me Cooper was on radio!"

[ open! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

They were losing more people than they were saving.

Cooper was a fucking bunny.

Ray had not signed up for this. He was chained to his desk right now, sending as many troopers out into the streets to help as he could while he dealt with phone calls and tried to come up with a plan.

Driving motorcycles into zombie heads - not that effective, but it'd make him feel better right now.

[ open! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

So after yesterday? Yeah, okay, Ray was going to have to admit this was his first Big Fandom Fuckup or... something. Shoulda known from the reports there was a big snake beneath the grass of silence - shoulda taken that from Fraser.

Still. At least zombies weren't going to hit on him or something. Just smelled bad. He went through the phone calls and reports at lightening speed that morning, because sitting around on the office when shit was going down did not look good.

Unfortunately, 'kick 'em in the head' did not look to be a, uh, feasible strategy while dealing with fucking zombies.

[ open! I shall be slow for the next while ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Their prank war had kinda fallen by the wayside what with the harpies and everything. Ray thought this was just not on. A good prank would keep her on her toes.

But what?

In the end, he wound up buying a bag of chips on the way to work and left it sitting in front of Daisy's monitor, the word chips underlined with a big marker. And a fish doodled on.

Hey, it was simple, but it worked. Somehow.

[ open! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Ray was actually kinda in a good mood today.

This freaked Ralph the hell out, which just doubled things up in the good mood department. "Hey, Rick! Remember how to smile?"

Ralph gave him the finger.

"Score one to Kowalski," Ray sniggered.

[ open! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

He needed to go see Pepper. Hadn't had a date in a bit, there'd been the whole dogs thing, plus the whole failure... incident.

And the harpies, Wednesday. Dammit. Had not checked in on her yet.

The Trooper Station was open for business as always, but Ray was absolutely not doing any paperwork whatsoever. He was kinda staring at the phone.

[ open! ]

justice-beat.livejournal.com

It was a pretty bloody good thing that a patrol was on the agenda for the day, because it was looking pretty bloody needed. With more excrement in her hair than she would ever like to admit to and having heard some insults that bested some of the drunkest London party girls, Daisy was not even going to harp on Kowalski anymore about going on and just shooting that last one dead, not unless it was to complain about how the next one was so hers.

"What I wouldn't give," she muttered, desperately trying not to breathe through her nose as her back hit the wall and they rested a moment in a small alcove to catch their breath, regain their collectively insulted dignity, and reload their guns before taking care of the next one, "for a trooper's uniform right now. They've at least got those helmets. No poo in the hair and it's got to cut out some of that awful stench, wouldn't it?"

[[ partner-in-crime-fighting modded with permission, and the post is absolutely open to anyone who'll want to run into the patrol ]]

justice-beat.livejournal.com

Daisy typically didn't believe in cases of the Mondays, except in rare instances, so it was really no surprised that she was in a fairly good mood as she worked, an earbud plugged into one ear, at transcribing some of the weekend's broadcasts for the records, as she did every Monday, despite probably being the only one who ever used them, especially since it's not like they ever needed them to investigate much.

It was better than going and doing more of Kowalski's paperwork for him, though.

[[ open station is open! I might be fairly slowlish on occasion, though ]]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Okay, Ray had succesfully managed to avoid paperwork for three months now.

Which meant it was finally time to get started on the backlog.

After pouring a couple dozen cups of coffee down his trap and banging his head off the desk a couple of times (for good luck. metaphorically), he picked up a pen. Chewed on it. Stared at his paperwork. Chewed on it again.

Contemplated getting Day to do it.

And, finally, began.

He had enough stacks of it to block him almost completely from view.

[ open, but I am slowish today! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Okay, after five days, Ray had to admit, he was starting to get bit by the bug. The antsy, antsy bug. He shoved more chocolate in his coffee to make up for it, and went kinda Zen on it all.

Trying, anyway. Focus. Turtles after work. Turtles and Pepper. Yep, that'll do it.

He sat down with his coffee and spent the morning dealing with fifteen-gazillion reports about, uh, roofs caving in or whatever.

What the hell.

[ open! ]

pieandcoffee.livejournal.com

The troopers in the station were watching Dale carefully today. Instead of his usual chatty, cheerful, talk your ears off type of mood, Dale was quiet, reserved, and spending most of the time in his office.

But what really worried them?

Dale was drinking decaf.

Current Mood: frustrated

lots-of-olives.livejournal.com

After the events of the week prior, Pepper was doing some extra work making sure that her go-to databases were up-to-date, and updating her software.

It was a fascinating job, really.

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Ray's mood was kinda caught up between two things: 1) the bad guy got away yesterday, which sucked; 2) Pepper came over last night to check on him, which was definitely a Good Sign and did not suck.

So he was stuck in the middle. Not really in a pranking mood, but he wasn't moping, either.

Just drinking coffee and ticking off his damn paperwork. And statements from the whole Stark crew. Well, at least it was something.

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Limes. Bunches and bunches of limes.

Ray thought limes were totally +1 against peppers or something. Shut up, he'd never done D&D as a kid and he'd slug anybody who mentioned it. But. Limes.

Stuffing them in her locker wasn't enough. There was a lime by the bad coffee, there were two limes on her keyboard, and one even sat proudly in Daisy's seat, sliced half-open and grinning in all its limeyness.

Ha.

[ open! ]

headkickpoet.livejournal.com

Okay, Ray figured he was gonna start this one off slow. Real slow. Some of these things just required dedication and commitment and stuff like that. And patience.

Tea bags.

He'd gone in early and lined the edge of Day's keyboard with dried-out tea bags. Just four little tea bags. Earl Grey. Yep.

Then he took his seat and got to work. Yay, work.

[ open! ]

lots-of-olives.livejournal.com

Pepper, honestly, was kind of still waiting for the fallout from those flowers she'd sent. She hadn't exactly approved of it, and the last thing she needed was Tony getting in romantic trouble with someone who could do more than babble to the tabloids or throw the flowers at his head or something.

So, she was just a little anxious as she worked today, though she was keeping her mind off of it. It wasn't really her problem, anyway.

lots-of-olives.livejournal.com

Between the phone calls this weekend, which Pepper had finally figured out were misdirected calls (and was now wondering who had gotten hers), and the snow, which prevented her initial choice of outfit, Pepper was not having the very best day.

She was still wearing her coat inside at her desk, too. Malibu girl and all.

justice-beat.livejournal.com

There had been a great many strange calls received at the station that weekend; Daisy had been entering them into the computer for records' sake before going through and trying to encrypt where they had come from. It was the damnedest thing, really. She'd known by now that some calls were being redirected all day yesterday, which would explain a lot of the ones they received that would have constituted as pranks and therefor she wanted to track because that was illegal, but she discovered that she'd never seen phone calls so incredibly impossible to trace. Damnedest thing, and the attempts to break the code had her practically riveted to her computer most of her shift, even if, at this point, if she broke it, it wouldn't mean much.

[[ open station is open! ]]

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