Special Agent Cordelia DeLuca, 34, bibliophile, former dancer. I work for the Bureau of Investigations as a criminal psychologist and profiler. I've got a four year-old named, Lola. Two adopted sisters called, Arabella and Claire. An adopted brother...
You guys have been overly patient with me, and for that I anm extremely grateful. I just haven't been fair with my reply time and know I've over-stepped my stay here with the way I've been replying lately!
" Sure, about as appropriate as family dinners go. " Despite her semi flat delivery she was absolutely kidding, she watched with an amused smirk as Cordelia feigned innocence. She tipped her head to the side considering the thought of cannibal recipes. " I read once that people taste like pork so—- uhm substitution?" she inflected with a bit of a wince before shaking her head. " Family dinners should be a world of interesting at your place if you weren’t joking. honestly I can’t tell…”
"Pork?" Her eyebrows knitted inward. She'd read a few books on Issei Sagawa back when she was younger and highly interested in all-things-morbid. He'd made the same statement. While she had only been kidding by making her statement, her stomach churned in disgust - there were lines even she was unwilling to cross.
Letting a teasing grin illuminate along her lips, she tried to hold in some mock laughter. "Ah, yes. Because feeding my youngin, my own fresh of blood my mother seems to fall into the holiday spirit." She said this, then shook her head. "I am joking. As big as my ego may be sometimes, I wouldn't fall into the personality for which such a behavior would derive from. I mean...why eat my mom when I can have an actual turkey with homemade pumpkin pie?"
Angled brows furrowed together, small wrinkle forming in the crook of her nose. “A mop? Seriously?” She flicked her hair behind her shoulder before tucking it behind her ear, “If you want a new mop, go to Target. Or get one of those Swiffer things, they work pretty well, in my opinion.” Darcie brought a hand up to adjust the beanie positioned on the top of her head, “And I’m hardly an expert, just giving you my own humble opinion.”
"I don't need a mop. I only said that, because it seemed like a good idea. That way, when she's being a mean old lady, I can just lock her in the closet. But I gueeeess, I can just get her really drunk on champagne and hope she falls asleep before I serve dinner." Cordelia explain. She kept her hands in her coat pockets and enjoyed the outdoor breeze. "Sooo. What brings you out here? It's a bit late. Cold as hell, too. If anything, I'm only out here to pick up some last minute decorations."
"One week? More like, the day after Thanksgiving. Seriously, woman. Have you no Christmas spirit?" She scoffs, head shaking at the statement. "I already have my Christmas lights up, and I'll be damned if 'All I Want for Christmas is You', isn't blaring obnoxiously loud in my car on the way to the grocery store...One week? Seriously?"
"Are you insinuating she'd make a better mop?" Cordelia asked, one eyebrow perched. She was only playing silly buggers, really. She would never hurt San. Even if the wretched older woman did nothing but yammer on, the woman was her mother. Releasing a sigh, she smiled at the younger woman. "Because I could use a new mop. Or rather, I could use a Thanksgiving where I'm not judged for eating too much turkey." She shrugged a one shoulder shrug. "I'm mainly asking since you're the expert, signora."
Hello, I'm El! I've been busy doing Nano and school-related stuff for the past month, so I was not here...at all.. But I'm back and kicking. So there's that. I like meeting new people, so if you want to chat or whatever my skype is joanwhatson. Just know I am a bit spacey and have a habit of being off and on it.
These are my to-do lists. If you wish to drop a thread, that's fine. But please let me know. I hope everyone is safe, currently. The same with your families. <3
On Margot I owe:
Emmeline { I don't know if you're still here, but yes! Sorry for the late. }
Eliza { <3 The mom squad has made me fall and I can't get up. But uhm.. Sorry Ange for taking years.}
Maddy { Both Maddy and Stella's replies are Halloween themed. But shhh it's still Halloween. Shut up. xD }
Stella
On Cordelia:
Brenna { YIKES I AM SO SORRY MADDI this is so old. But I do like the para, so hopefully I didn't wait too long.}
Drew { this is almost done, but I got drowsy. }
Timmy { American Woman plays as Cordelia throws fire batons into the air. }
Haha. So it's almost five in the morning. Meaning if I recently posted a reply for you or starter and it doesn't make sense, please let me know. xD
You're all cool, amazing writers and I am merely a kindergartner allowed to use a keyboard!
'Aye, could be anyone. Most swear for the States after a few! See, that's a really bad sayin', 'cuz I just changed it from 'talk for England'? But you already took the sailor one, so I hadda change it,' Jasper joked, rolling his eyes and assuming a mock accusatory tone, jabbing a finger her way before bursting into cheery laughter.
’Man, I’m too hyper to work a graveyard! It’d, it’d be like a little puppy try’na be a copper dog, right? This is, like, the opposite of a funeral home. Everyone’s alive! Well, you see some people, they look kinda dead an’ empty inside, sometimes. You can pick who ain’t well by their eyes an’ how they move. It ain’t th’same… But at end of th’night, usually they look a little better! Unlike folk in funeral homes.’ He’d moved onto a different subject, one which made him sadder, and then just tacked his point on the end. He brushed it off, though, making the corners of his mouth twitch back up, and replacing the concern in his gaze with more energy, more spark. ‘Straight whiskey, huh? You pace yerself. I’m watchin’ ya,’ he joked as he poured out the glass and pushed it across the bar to her. He would juggle other drinks for those who weren’t sitting and staying with a conversation with her, in which he kept his job but managed to be sociable and not treat it like a funeral home as she had said. ‘So, miss. Any particular reason y’ended up here tonight? Usually, when its on recommendations, see, we get the one who recommended, too! I’m jus’ curious. An’ I talk a lot. Jus’, like, jus’ tell me if I get annoyin’, right? ‘Cuz I can do. I jus’ think, an’ then I talk. I don’t think quietly, ‘pparently.’
Surprisingly, once the bartender began talking, Cordelia was reminded of a never-ending broken record. She didn't mind it -- in actuality, it reminded her of her younger sister, Claire, and how she spoke without taking many breaths for air. Cordelia merely had no idea where to start talking. When he pointed at her, she assumed she was supposed to laugh. So she did. A well-practiced hearty-cool-girl laugh, too. "You're a wise-cracker, aren'tcha?" she asked, attempting to keep up with his strange sense of enthusiasm. It was she who was pointing in his direction now. "But all-the-same: where are you from? Where in England, I mean. Well, if you are from England? I mostly ask because I went to a hoity-toity boarding school down in East Sussex." She paused to crinkle her nose. "Hated it, really. No offense, or anything. I merely find I don't trust places where grilled cheeses are called cheese toasties." Mockingly, she screwed up her face in disgust.
"How do you know that? Maybe the dead need a little kick? Not the type of kick I'm asking for with the whiskey. But the kind of kick only an extremely energetic person could give a dodgy place like a funeral home or a graveyard." Cordelia explained, taking a note of what he had said about the look in some people's eyes. Her hands had been animated as she spoke, going every-which way. Even though she'd been in the place for around ten minutes, she spotted at least three zombie-looking customers who were probably mourning the loss of their youth or wives who had left them for the younger, hotter pool boy.
Snapping out of her thoughts, she watched as the young bartender poured her her whiskey. Her smile still there, even if it was starting to hurt. She eventually shrugged and took the liquid, the burn of the liquid going down her throat practically calling her name. "Strangely, I don't mind the talking. When other people talk, it means I don't have to. But since you are a bartender, and bartenders are considered the poor man's psychologist. I guess I can tell ya." She took a drink from the glass, after she spoke, shaking her head and quirking her lips to the side a moment after. As usual, the drink was repelling. But in a good way. "I wanted to come here to get away from everyone, I guess? I really just needed some time to myself. My work's got me all bogged down and a drink from a place that didn't feel like I was about to get embalmed sounded like a good idea."
“He's in the burn unit . I doubt he's going to remember hearing you throw a tantrum in a coffee shop, just because you stupidly thought it would be an exceptional idea for a psychology experiment.” Rachel said, dragging Cordelia along the nora rubber flooring. While Cordelia kicked and tried to find a grip on the floor, without dropping her flowers and cd, Rachel pulled her by her right leg in the direction of the room the nurses's assistant had pointed in.
Apparently, she had a younger brother and he and his daughter found themselves smack-dab in the middle of creeper-beeper's intricate game of cat and mouse. Not wanting to admit that she was wrong for not taking the private clues and threats seriously – because, really, who uses detective lit for their threatening puzzles nowadays, hm? – Cordelia tried her hardest to fight the gravitational pull Rachel had on her.
When she finally gave up, and the two were near the room, the brunette found herself pouting like a child. Her cheeks puffed out to release an exasperated breath.“I don't want to go in there, Rae.” She replied, determined to get her way. Without saying a word, Rachel looked to Cordelia, then opened the door to direct her inside.
Annoyed, the usually mature psychologist stood up and walked into the silent room. Her shoes silent, opposed to tap tap tapping away. Since she wasn't ready for the big reveal, she air kicked a trashcan; furious with her own selfishness and stupidity. Why couldn't this not be someone she'd pestered during one of her bad days? Why did 'Family-Guy' actually have to be an actual family member of hers? One with her biological father's blood running within his veins.
Staring at the man within the overly-clean hospital bed, Cordelia finally said, quickly, “Heeeeeeeeeey. This is going to sound completely insane, but here me out.” She paused to awkwardly wave her bouquet of flowers and cd in the air, in order to create more sound. “I'm your half-sister. On your father's side.” Quietly, she waited for him to say something, anything to show whether he remembered her voice or not. “I have papers...I would show you...but...since you technically can't see...” Cordelia shrugged, even though she knew he couldn't see her. “...That would be absolutely meaningless.” She found herself bumbling. Something she never did. And she hadn't even told him she was the reason he was here. All lime-watered up. Which, of course, she would get to. But only after she discovered whether or not he remembered her and whether or not he wanted to feed her to a pack of wolves. "Wouldn't it?"
"Apparently my mother's coming over for Thanksgiving. Would it be appropriate to cook her instead of a turkey? ...Thoughts? Opinions?" Cordelia paused, letting her green eyes shift to the right in mock innocence. "Recipes?"
I don’t remember….I don’t remember….I don’t remember…..I don’t remember….I don’t remember….I don’t….Why the hell can’t I remember?
Hands over her head, kneeling in the grass, it was evident Cordelia Deluca had finally lost all control. She didn’t remember….Why the fuck couldn’t she remember?
Rating: PG-13; mostly due to mentions of threats. But it's pretty close to PG to be honest.
NPCS: Rachel Temperance.
Location: Office upstairs.
Notes: I feel like this proves Cordelia is more Billy Bickle than Hannibal Lecter. xD But really, this is mostly about her trying to make sense of a puzzle that a five year old would understand. I've been trying to flex my writing muscles lately, so hopefully this isn't horrible.
The quiet within the house was probably a tell-tale sign she was up to something mischievous. Normally, the moment Rachel walked through the door, Cordelia would greet her and ramble on about what happened in the small moments the woman hadn’t been around. She’d rant about whatever it was she wanted to rant about (“Ingris told me she didn’t want me to cook for her potluck next week. I think she’s jealous, because Shiela liked my Broccoli and Cheese Casserole a lot better than hers.”). Or she’d express something mediocre ( “I finally caught up on Elementary, and I’m pretty sure if Natalie Dormer asked to own my soul, I’d give it to her.”). Never ever, was Rachel greeted by silence.
“What’s this mess?”
Directing her attention to her, Cordelia could tell by the v between Rachel’s forehead that her roommate was very much indeed perplexed by the mess around her. Not only was the entire office covered with papers ranging from crime scene photos to strange looking stick figure drawings, but their two pegboards (Cordelia’s side usually filled with drawings her daughter had given them, or post-cards from her siblings; Rachel’s with notes related to statistics and a random array of personality traits, plus a calendar) was covered with photos of various people, newspapers and magazine articles.
Cordelia tried to play stupid, her index finger pushing her glasses up her nose. “This?” she asked, jaw dropped, almost like there was nothing and Rachel was the one with a roomful of insanity.
Slowly, Rachel nodded. “Uh, yes. That.” The blond gestured around the room with her hands, having yet to try to step into the office to meet Cordelia at its center.
“It’s nothing. I was in a lot of thought and -”
Rachel interrupted her before she could bullshit any further, “Your lies have a way with starting with “It’s nothing,” Deluca. So, I’m more than a little positive it is indeed something.”
Cordelia squinted in Rachel’s direction.
“Plus, you’re painfully apathetic. And lately you’ve been smiling like you know something that everyone else doesn’t.”
“Which, I don’t.” Cordelia lied, rubbing her strained, make-upless eyes.
Rachel apparently wasn’t falling for it. “You do. I know this, because it’s the exact same way you acted the second time we met - Quantico, during Professor Harrison’s sex scandal.” Rachel leaned against the doorway, scanning the room, with her arms crossed over her chest. ”Only now, I feel you’ve become much better at hiding your thoughts.”
The brunette picked up her cell phone, then took a photo of one of the pictures with stick figures on it. “If this makes any sense to you, I will tell you everything…”
Rachel smirked at the sound of her phone receiving the text.
“Well, I’ll tell you everything, if you promise not to yell at me. Or tell anyone else.” She explained. “It will have to be our own personal version of ‘Fight Club’. Only, we’re going to be adults and call it ‘Chess Club’.” Confidently, Cordelia pursed her lips, then highlighted a nearby paper with yellow marker. “But no yelling.”
There was fifteen minutes of silence. Rachel was busy trying to make sense of the photo Cordelia sent her, while Cordelia was trying to make heads or tails of whether she was correct with the thoughts treading through her mind.
“No yelling. Promise.” Rachel said, finally, nearly making Cordelia jump.
“Could you make anything of it? It was a lot of gibberish to me when I got it a month ago.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Cordelia!”
“You said you wouldn’t yell at me, Rae!” Cordelia argued, watching as Rachel made her way to sit in the center of the room as well.
“Growing up, you said you read Sherlock Holmes -”
“Yes. So. What about it?”
“What you sent me, it uses the exact same madeup code Moriarty uses in one of the short stories. And before you say anything, I used this exact same code as a child to send messages to an old friend of mine, so our teachers couldn’t read our passed notes to the class.” Cordelia didn’t speak as Rachel did, her mind taking in all the information at top speed.
“…What’s it say?”
“The reason I yelled your name out, Cornelious, “ The blond hit Cordelia on the shoulder, “Is because, the message is a threat!”
Rubbing her shoulder, Cordelia avoided eye contact with Rae. “Oh, okay. A threat. We get threats all the time. I thought someone was in -“
Rachel smacked her upside the head, “-danger.”
Cordelia rubbed her head this time, “Alright, alright. I admit it, I should have looked into things sooner.”
Exasperated, Rachel frowned, stood up, and walked out the door; shaking her head in obvious disapproval.
The skin around Robert’s eyes tightened at the woman’s tasteless whistle. How dare she. Did she even understand what he had just insinuated? Images of violent retribution flickered through his mind, his jaw clenching ever so slightly as he snuffed his train of thought. Silly him, the woman hadn’t actually done anything to deserve such thoughts. Besides, violence wasn’t the answer, he was better than that, better than this woman before him who clearly thought otherwise. And saying anything would only be giving this woman exactly what she wanted: drama. It was plainly easy to see why her brother wouldn’t give her the time of day; this woman was the sort of piece of work best left to itself, lest you get sucked into their vortex of self-destruction.
The thing across from him continued wallowing in self-pity over her abysmal little life. Her whiney little voice caused the investigator to roll his eyes and turn his attention back to far more important and far more interesting people. The criminals across the shop were far more worthy of his attention than some spoiled, overgrown child with a nasty personality disorder. "Mhmmm…" He hummed, having no idea what she had just blabbered on about. Nothing she said mattered.
The piercing laugh yanked the man’s attention back to his tablemate. His brows furrowed at her reaction and even more so at her words. Of all things to assume, a Russian spy? Robert didn’t even have the typical features of Russian. What a complete dolt, this woman. Sitting back, Robert folded his arms across his chest, a single brow rising at the woman’s increasingly petulant behavior. What a desperate wreck of a creature. Again, he didn’t say a word, because he didn’t owe her an explanation, especially not with the way she was behaving.
"If it’s dry, it’s only because of your lackluster life.” Robert gave her a sickly sweet smile. "After all, we’ve mostly been talking about you.” His eyes followed the brat as she stood, flinching slightly as she showered him with coffee logged chunks of cake. Disgusting. He watched her leave without a word, the heavy judgmental eyes of his fellow patrons swiftly shifting from her to him. They stared at him in silence, eyes boring into Robert as he cursed the lunatic. Reluctantly, glanced in the direction of his day’s assignment, fully expecting the soon to be Mr. Wells and his mysterious companion to be gone. But they weren’t.
In fact, his icy blue gaze locked onto the hazel orbs of Ms. Sarah Wells herself, catching Robert by complete surprise. Annoying as his tablemate had been, it seemed she had just saved Robert hours of snooping around. He grinned, shaking his head as he stood from his seat, dropping several bills on to the table. "Sorry." He gave the staring eyes a small sheepish wave. "Sorry." He said again and left to wait outside. Outside where he would hide in plain sight, waiting to follow Ms. Wells back to her hiding spot, and finally close this damn case. All while thanking the sun and stars for making him an only child, unrelated to someone as unstable as Madam Soggycake.
"Yeah no problem. I’d be scared shitless if I was out here stranded. I just did what I thought I’d like someone to do for me, y’know?" Alex normally refrained from using profanity since it was unprofessional, but he was too tired to care. He rubbed his eyes in one last attempt to keep them from burning. “Forget about gas money and buy me a cup of coffee at the next gas station. Then you won’t owe me anything.” It was a nice gesture for her to offer to pay for gas, but he thought coffee would be better for the two of them. He’d get something to keep him going until he arrived home, and she’d feel better about taking his charity. Some people were like that; he was like that. He didn’t like receiving or asking for help, period.
Alex was almost certain the woman had dialed maybe two numbers, but she had defeatedly said that nobody was available. Did he have people to call if he was stranded? None of his brothers lived around him, and his relatives were a good 2 or 3 hour drive away… He shrugged to both her reply and his lonely thoughts. “Hotel? You mean a whore house…” He had thought he had only said that in his head, but he soon realized he had thought out loud. Fuck… “I—yeah, what I mean is… That’s probably not a good idea.” He cleared his throat to try and regain his composure. “I live in Alexandria, and I’m guessing that was the direction you were headed…” he broke off abruptly. He was going to suggest having her stay at his place, but he got the creeping feeling that it would come off, well, creepy…
Scared? In truth Cordelia was sure she wasn't scared. More than anything, being out in the middle of nowhere made her annoyed and tired. Scared was not an emotion she could afford, or something she felt for something as small as a little car trouble in the middle bumb-fuck nowhere. Either way, the brunette kept her act up and nodded in agreement. “Sounds like a fair bargain. I can drive, if you want me to. I promise not drive us off to Mexico or off a bridge. I also promise not to steal your car or spike your coffee. Promise.” There was a grin tugging upon her lips as she spoke. She wanted to look thankful. She didn't want to look like an ass.
“Whore house?” The Special agent repeated, her voice a little appalled and her head tilted. Maybe this guy was the type to kill women and leave them at the side of the road? Shaking off his statement, Dia looked back at her Ford Taurus and sighed. Not only was she doing this for herself, she was also doing it for the well-being of really nice car. “I don't see anything wrong with a hotel. I travel a lot for work, and I stay in them all the time. But … if you're trying to imply I have sex with you just because you're giving me a ride, you've obviously got the wrong girl.” Though she wasn't sure if that's what he meant. Dia merely wanted to get the statement out of the way. She was easy, she just wasn't...easy. His run off sentence and his action of clearing his throat made her think that's what he meant.
“I'm having sex with my daughter's ballet instructor anyway.” That's where her facade was broken, and the broken lily of a woman was replaced with Cordelia who just...well didn't care. “But if you're still willing to give me a ride homes or a place to stay the night, be my guest. Because that's exactly the direction I was heading.” There was a moment where her posture changed and she grinned, waiting for a response. A car drove by, but did not appear to slow down.
'Hey, hey, heeey! You’re new! Well, a lot of people are new. But, see, all the others around you are regulars, ‘cuz I’m pretty. Or they think my coworker’s pretty. Which is definitely true, he is, but I’m the one you’ve got so what can I do ya for?’
The man's words catch her ears quickly. His enthusiasm a surprise. Most bars she visits are full of bartenders with sullen expressions, dazed looks clearly reading 'When will my day end? Why do all these drunk bastards think I'm their fucking therapist?', when they won't dare express the words. "I am new, thanks!" Letting a vibrant fake smile paint itself on her lips, she nodded, attempting to mimic his enthusiasm. "A friend of mine recommended it -- blond hair, blue eyes, sailor's mouth." Cordelia explained, knowing she wasn't being exactly helpful with her description of her roommate, Rachel. "She said you people were friendly and didn't treat the place like a funeral home."
Then she remembered his question and replied like a deer in the headlights with, "A glass of straight whiskey would be grand." Or twelve glasses, she thought, the urge to place her cheek on the counter at an all-time high.
"You know, normally I’d judge you for drinking alone, but here I am and here you are and here we are…and I’m kind of torn between judging you and judging myself…but I guess most people wouldn’t and shouldn’t say that aloud. Except I just did, what brings you here, to a place like this, tonight?" Stella rambled, slightly drunk as the bartender slid her next shot over to her on the counter. Peering around the room, she wondered what she was doing at the dingy and slightly suspicious dive bar. It was certainly in a part of the city no respectable person should be that late at night, and yet— there she was. Turning her flickering gaze to the person next to her, her lips curved in a smile. "Real stand up place, isn’t it?
Really dingy dive bars were Cordelia's go-to spots on days when she wanted to drink without being spotted by someone she knew, or someone who knew her. She liked the sense of anonymity she got from walking into places where the bartenders had no idea who she was or what she planned on having for a drink. It left a lot of space for her to think and drink without any unwarranted interruptions. Well, unwarranted interruptions from guys who didn't look like lumberjacks or women who wore leather and could probably kill her with their thighs. But that wasn't going through her mind. No, not at all. She had better things to think about. Or rather, she should have other things to think about. Because playing sexual pokemon with some woman whose name is Veronica, but spells it Varonica is really...not what she should be thinking about.
Jotting down a few notes about her extremely tiring month in Colorado and Texas -- work related stuff -- Dia took a slow sip of her clear vodka. She could hear someone yammering on, but at first assumed the woman was talking to the bartender and not her. But at the woman's last statement, Dia's eyebrows rose and she smiled a very toothy smile in the brunette's general direction. "Not going to lie, I have been in dodgier places. One of the places was the equivalent of stepping into a scene from an old biker film or a violent scene in Fight Club. I enjoy drinking in places like this, because they have a way with serving the best stuff. I enjoy drinking alone, because no one can tell me when to stop or make dumb comments about me hating my liver." Cordelia explained with a confident nod of her head. "Plus, guys who look like Clint Eastwood walk in a lot, and I am totally here for that." She paused to look at the inside of her empty glass; one eye squinted closed, the other one open. "Actually, I am always here for that."
She then took the moment to rest her head in the palm of her hand and ask, "What about you, dollface? What's a girl like you doing in a place like this? You don't look like the type to date biker-dudes name Paul or women who throw drinks at ya' for saying hi." Her right eyebrow lifted. "So maybe you're here ta' mend a broken heart? Or are ya' more of a drowning your sorrows type of girl?"
