Impressively Improvisational

Maya, 24, RPer, semi-selective A blog for any and all off the cuff and indie rps with any and all muses- abandoned, inactive, the loudest of the bunch or otherwise. Find me @ pixiedustrps

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

roguexwrites·:

“Me, an artist?” There was an incredulous tone to Edgar’s voice. “No, I’m much more an academic.” His mother, though… Daiyu had a way of converting all of the pain and heartbreak life had given her into something poignantly beautiful. Her medium of choice was charcoal and when she created, it was easy to forget that she spent 95% of her life strung up on something. For those handful of moments, she was talented and beautiful, a creator. A goddess of sorts. At least to her young son. As a child, Edgar had considered his mother among the greats. She’d even gone so far as to recreate one of Adolphe Appian’s landscapes. In that moment, Edgar had never felt prouder. 

But inevitably, those moments would end, and his mother would lose the spark in her eye. “If you’ll follow me.” He stepped out into the hallway, making the conscious effort to shorten his strides to better match hers. The Manor could be a confusing place for someone who hadn’t spent much time there. For better or for worse, though, Edgar was intimately acquainted with every inch of the building.

He led her down a series of twisting hallways before coming to stop in front of a door. “I come here to read sometimes. I suppose you can consider it our library,” he explained as he pushed open the door. The room was average size, large enough to house a collection of books, though each member of the family housed their own personal collections in their private quarters. Occupying a section on the wall directly ahead of them was a Monet. “That one. That’s my favorite.”

----------------

“What a shame,” Rose mused as she began to walk with him. “For a moment I thought you might have been good at it, if you gave it a try.” She had no idea whether she was simply blowing smoke as she said the words or if she actually believed them. But she couldn’t help but be curious about the possibilities her imagination drug up as she thought about it. Just what would someone like Edgar be capable of creating, if given the chance? Would it be more of what she expected, greys upon greys upon blacks and more greys on a monotonous empty landscape? Or would she perhaps find that given the opportunity someone like Edgar, like the Fortiers would make a world full of color, or love, or sorrow. If given the opportunity could any of them make something that was worth the time to stop and consider?

Her eyes were cast up at the bookshelves lining the walls as she entered, her chin tilting as if she could read all the titles from where she was standing. The last thing her eyes laid on was the painting Edgar had stopped in front of- the centerpiece of the room. She drew a small gasp in spite of herself, wondering if the man had heard the tiny intake of air. She recognized the piece immediately- anyone who knew a lick about art could recognize the painting sprawled out on the canvas before them. It was beautiful. And while she had said that landscapes couldn’t really capture her, even she had to admit it was still a sight to behold. “You have taste like a true artist too. Are you sure you’re not lying to me about being one?” 

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

—

Told to ignore the presence of her guard, Margot knew that she couldn’t. Not as long as they were anyone other than the one there off duty that would keep her secrets, because they had plenty of their own. “Me? Get up to anything? I think you have me mistaken for someone else,” she joked, trying to find the humor in it all as she glanced back towards him.

             “Mostly thinking about all the ways that I wish I could leave this room, but how I can’t.” He could walk in and out so easily, but she was held under too strict of a rule at the moment until her parents had a better idea of where her head was at. “But give it time, I’ll figure out a way.”

He scoffed a little note of laughter, shaking his head. “My bad.” But even he didn’t miss the glint in her eye as he raised his own to meet hers. Not even castle arrest could usher it away. “I’m sure you’ve got something up your sleeve. But... I mean... if you wanted to let me in on it I might be able to help you out.” 

God, if the Q that had lived before the Haze could see him now, offering to help his own charge escape- well, he really didn’t know what he might have had to say about it. But here he was, a fully changed man. 

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

—

“You do that and someone might suspect that you’re going soft when it comes to the princess,” she mused under her breath even as she shot him a grateful smile. “Then someone. with more power will change what little freedom I have left and take it.” Including him, again.

Well, to Margot’s credit, that wouldn’t be too far off from the truth. He raised his hands, surrendering before he took a moment to look around him, spotting a free chair. He glanced at it, a soft question in his face before he pulled it over to him to sit across from her. “What are you getting up to anyway while you’re all... cooped up?”  

Though it still didn’t sound right when he said it. Cooped up was far too kind of a term for what they were both going through, but he couldn’t say anything else in the presence of one of the guardsmen.

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

—

“As much as I wish that would work, I have a feeling it’s exactly why I have this guard rather than the one that I would want here. They’re not the easiest. I think they take it personally when I manage to escape them. And this.”

Quinton’s eyes briefly glanced over his shoulder at the grim guard standing duty at the door, laughing quietly as he turned back around. “I mean... I could leave. Though... technically I really could tell them to ease up a little. I’ve got that much power, apparently.” 

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

—

“Maybe. Or maybe I wish that we could swap places so I had nothing better to do— though it seems that my current guard doesn’t have the same temperament for my running off and avoiding such things. Not like my usual one.”

-------

“Hey, if I could you know I would. Honestly I don’t really know what to do with myself. Feels sort of weird to have a day to do nothing.”  

“Maybe if I put in a good word your guard might take it a little easier on you.” 

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

“I suppose that’s fair considering that you’re only ever seeing when I’m trying not to be on duty that it makes sense that you’d be here when I have no choice but to be― on.”

--------

“Would it make you feel any better if I told you I have nothing better to do?” 

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

           “You know you don’t have to be here tonight. I heard Daniel give you the night off.”

“Yeah... yeah he did. I don’t know, I guess I just haven’t seen you when I’m not on duty.” 

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

roguexwrites·:

A simple nod of the head was all Edgar gave in response to her request. It seemed unnecessary to him to explain that he’d hardly take action against the staff for something as simple as a door left open. The majority of the people who worked on staff had done so for decades; they were more family than his own father had been to him. He’d grown up mingling with their children, had learned the inner workings of the business from the ground up at their feet. Much of his childhood in this house had been spent envying the lives of the staff; they didn’t have fathers who expected perfection and exacted punishment for anything less, or mothers who were so consumed in the bleakness of their own existences that they neglected their children. Edgar had even gone so far as to pursue a relationship with a child of a cleaner. Naturally, Xavier had put an end to that, but for a while, Nicholas Kent had been a bright spot in Edgar’s dismal childhood.

It didn’t do to explain that to a stranger, though. He had an image to uphold – he’d left this place a child enraged by the things he’d experienced and returned a man ready to take his place as the family’s head – and with that came the perception of authority and control. Glimpses beneath the armor could prove fatal, especially since Henri waited on the sidelines like the perfect usurper. 

As she wandered around the room, his eyes tracked her movements. He settled back against the chair, hands folded lightly on the surface of the desk. “A portrait tells as much about the artist as the subject,” Edgar remarked. He couldn’t say that he was particular to them, but as a child, he’d spent hours staring up at them wondering the circumstance that had surrounded each one. Had that person been happy in that moment? Did they know the artist who’d chosen to commit them to the annals of time?  So many questions, so few answers. A few seconds passed as Edgar considered her answer to his question. He expelled a small breath as he pushed away from the desk and stood, decision made. “You’re in luck, seeing as I just so happened to grow up in this house. There’s a particular landscape I’m fond of, if you’re up for a walk.”

@pixiedustdoestheimprov··

The ease with which Edgar agreed to her request surprised her. Not that Henri had ever been less than perfectly agreeable, at least in not flat out saying no to her, but she had a feeling that if she were to ask for something as simple and as contemptible as to show a little compassion then she might actually hear the word from the man. Though she hadn’t spent much time in his company Edgar was already turning out more than she bargained for. She couldn’t predict him like she could his brother. Rose couldn’t pull his strings as easily. He wasn’t an instrument to be played or fiddled with. It both scared and excited her. At least she had the comfort of knowing her job wouldn’t be pointless and filled with endless empty wandering after all.  

Rose turned back to him as she heard the rustle of his expensive clothes as he shifted, a small smile curling at the side of her lip. “I’d say that’s strangely spoken like a true artist. You don’t happen to dabble in painting from time to time, do you?” 

She wasn’t too interested in the answer, but she couldn’t help but be a little curious. If she could say anything about the Fortier family from looks alone, she’d say none of them looked like they possessed the gentle touch- at least not to create something. It took something soft, like a semi-bruised peach to put something on a piece of paper worth looking at, or turn a couple of smears of pigment into a beautiful landscape. She knew it all too well. Most of her family were semi-bruised peaches. Rose didn’t think she’d ever turned out that way. She was a peach that was still firmly stuck to its branch, never to ripen or fall to the ground and become soft. 

Lips parting, a moment of genuine surprise coloring her face, Rose watched the man rise from his desk. If she knew it would have been this simple to get someone to show her around, she may have tried to get in good with Edgar ages ago. She was starting to have regrets about all the wasted hours she’d spent with Henri. 

“How could I refuse? I don’t mind a walk.” 

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

roguexwrites·:

Though they’d shared nothing but a few cursory glances and polite words, Edgar could tell that this conversation would be more chess match than platitude. She was sharper than he expected. Usually the woman who hung on his brother’s words were like him – vapid, wealth chasers. Frauds in this. 

“One of the staff must have left it open. I’ll have to speak to them about that.” Edgar’s chin lifted slightly. A dignified air hung around him. It came from knowing one’s place in the world, and regardless of how far he’d run, Edgar had never been able to shake it. In fact, he’d fallen back into this world rather easily like sliding into a worn and comfortable coat. He took the few steps which brought him into the room and settled himself behind the mahogany desk. 

“My father was quite the collector,” he explained. As with his love for dark wood furniture, he’d inherited his father’s appreciation for art. “He was particularly fond of Rembrandt. There are a few pieces throughout the manor. I’m told they’re authentic.” Edgar said the words lightly, almost jovially. As if Xavier would have settled for anything but an original. The man had been many things, but he’d never been the type of man who’d settled for less than best. “Have you found one that you like?”

@pixiedustrps· @pixiedustdoestheimprov·

Rose watched the way the man shifted, drawing himself up even taller than he already was. She liked the look of him before better. 

“Well, don’t give them too tough of a time over it,” she said. “It was my fault for wandering.” It was her fault for searching. The last thing Rose wanted to do was bring the people on her side of the fence down with her. There wasn’t any reason to subject someone like her, without the riches of the world at their fingertips, to unnecessary harshness. 

As he sat she began to make another circle of the room with light, careful footsteps, her chin tilted up towards the tallest of paintings, their frames almost touching the edge of the ceiling. “I’ve seen the Rembrandts.” It was one of the first things Henri had shown her when she’d asked and it was also one of the only things he’d shown her when she’d asked. He’d been quite proud of them. Now she could tell why. 

“They are quite impressive.” Her footsteps stopped her behind the couch once more. She set her hands on its back, leaning against it a little as she turned away from Edgar to give the paintings on the wall one last survey. “Though I can’t say portraiture was something that ever managed to keep my eye.” The room was chock full of them. Pointed, judgmental faces staring down at her. And at him. She had to wonder how he sat at his desk without ever once feeling self-conscious about the leering eyes. “I think I’m more fond of still-lifes than anything else. So... I haven’t yet. Found something I love. I guess that’s why I went off wandering.”

@roguexwrites· 

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

―

           “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Or anyone else when it came to how often that she was caught studying more than anything. It wasn’t that her grades were slipping, yet but that was because she didn’t let anything or anyone. get between her and her goals. Even one as handsome as the guy across from her that kept smiling every single time that she caught his eye. It was annoying to say the least.

Though he got even more annoying with his next comment as she lowered her pen that had been useless up to this point anyways and stared at him for a moment. “So then why did you even come if you didn’t need to study?” Or that he was already done. “I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason that people come to the library is to study, not sit there and act smug because they’re already done..”

“Eh, I’m not smart enough to trick you.” 

Which was why he didn’t lie to her. He hadn’t lied when he had said yes to her invitation to study. She just hadn’t asked him the right questions.

“Smug? No, no. Come on Mary, you of all people ask someone to give you their company and do you think they’re really going to say no to you? I’m not smart enough to trick you, but I’m no idiot.” 

He fixes her with another smile, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. If he could shake his head fondly at her he might have, but he thought better of it. 

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

―

             “Or you’re exceptionally loud today as a way to distract me from studying. You didn’t have to agree to come along if you weren’t interested,” she pointed out, though it had taken everything in her to not overthink why she had asked him to join her in the first place. It was an innocent study date, not even a date― studying. All they were doing was studying. Though it didn’t seem that way when her notebook was absent of any of her note taking when she couldn’t so much as remember a sentence too when she had focused too long on the one. crease on his forehead when he was staring at the book open before him. 

Nope. That line of thinking wasn’t good for her. Mary cleared her throat and tapped her pen against the notebook again, softly this time as she considered her options here in hopes that she’d be able to get through the study session without spending too much time trying not to look at him. “Some of us aren’t gifted enough to not need to study to make sure they pass their classes.”

“Oh yes, this was all an elaborate plot to get you to not study.” 

The thought brought a smile to his face that creased the corners of his eyes. If he really wanted to make sure she didn’t study, there were far more and far better ways to get that done rather than sitting quietly in his seat across a table from her. Maybe it would show in his eyes if she chose to look his way again. “But if you want the truth, I finished studying yesterday.” 

He lifted his shoulders in a simple, innocent shrug, gaze on her as she dropped her head back down to her books. “So I did actually study, if that makes things better. Are you proud of me now?”  

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

Looking up and across the table, Mary watched the other for a moment before she forced her eyes back down towards her own books that she was supposed to be studying. Isn’t that why they were there? Study. Yet every time that she tried to read a line in the books, they all blurred together into something that she was thinking about instead― namely, him. 

But that was a bad idea and not one that worked into her plan for college, which was to graduate with honors and follow it up with moving to NYC when it was all done. Jamie was― a distraction. And a good one at that as she tried once again to focus on her notes before she gave up. Nothing was sticking because all she could think about was him being right there, across the table, and Mary needed to put some distance between her thoughts and reality. “Do you always breathe that loudly or is it because it’s so quiet in here that it’s just more noticeable?” Yeah, that worked. Not.

Jamie couldn’t say that studying was the most interesting thing to him. It never had been. For all the talk of discipline and control he been given growing up, studying was usually one of the things that he couldn’t be bothered to force himself through. So it was bound to happen that after the fourth time (or was it the fifth?) that he caught Mary’s lashes flutter as she glanced at him, he was more interested in attempting to catch her eye rather than read whatever it was in the book in front of him. Maybe subtlety wasn’t exactly her thing.

Teasing smirk hidden behind the hand resting against his lips he shrugged, finally meeting her gaze with his own as he settled back in his seat. “I don’t know. It’s not something I’ve been told before. Maybe you just have exceptionally good hearing.” 

Or an exceptionally good attention span. Either one.

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

roguexwrites·:

It was strange being back. That wasthe thought rattling around the forefront of Edgar’s mind as he haunted thecorridors of the Fortier home. They were much too quiet, these halls that he hadn’tstepped foot in in over fifteen years. Despite how much he’d tried to distancehimself from the family and its name, even going so far as to take on hismother’s maiden name as his own, Edgar had come running at first word that Xavierhad taken gravely ill. It was then that he’d learned that the man at his father’sside, a man who was merely months younger than he, was none other than his half-brother.

That had been months ago, and Edgarhad yet to bring himself to get to know Henri Fortier, the man whom his father hadraised to take his place as the family’s head beyond the fact that he was vapidand mostly worthless. Edgar may have hated Xavier and everything he’d stoodfor, but he’d hardly allow a stranger to wear the Fortier name as if it werehis. That, though, was a task for another day. With a book tucked under his arm,Edgar took the few turns that would bring him to the room he’d converted into astudy, footfalls nearly silent against the floor. He stopped short when hefound that someone else was already occupying the space.

“You know,” he begun, tone lightand nonthreatening, as he leaned against the frame of the door. He was almost surethat he’d seen her around before, trailing after his brother, but in the monthshe’d known him Henri had had a gaggle of young women fawning over him. Thebyproduct of wealth, Edgar knew. “In some places, it’s considered poor mannersto enter someone else’s space with their permission.”

------------------

Rose didn’t jump. She was, she thought, too good to pretend to be spooked by the sudden appearance of a voice. But she did toss her head over her shoulder, eyes roaming carefully over the newcomer. She knew him. Perhaps not by appearance alone, but Henri talked enough about his half-brother for her to recognize the way the man carried himself at the doorway. The things Henri said weren’t the kindest, but the rigid line in the man’s shoulders belonged to a Fortier. Henri had it too- it was the mark of self-importance and over the little while she had spent in the family’s company Rose had to think it was hereditary. 

She tilted her head again, settling one of her crossed arms over the back of the couch. “And what about this place?” she asked. “The door was open.” And in some places, if you weren’t careful, that was permission enough. Still, she stood, pressing a kind and pleasant smile to her lips as she rounded the couch, her fingers trailing the fabric along its top. 

“I’m sorry if you wanted to read in peace, though. I just couldn’t help but be... fascinated by your artistic taste. You’ve got quite the collection here and I got a little curious.” 

She spared a look around the room once more, hoping to catch a hint of the one she was seeking but she had no such luck as her gaze rounded to the figure at the doorway again. But perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to have a guided tour around some of the many pieces littering the estate like discarded candy wrappers. Henri wasn’t one for answering her questions and frustratingly knew especially little about what made her so curious. Perhaps this one would be different. 

@roguexwrites​

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

Rose could have thanked every god in existence the moment Henri excused himself to take an ‘important’ call. While he wasn’t the worst company, she certainly didn’t mind being left to her own devices instead of having to hang off his arm at every waking moment, giggling and blushing at most comments he made. And, at the end of the day, he was merely a means to a very specific end. 

If she knew how hard it would have been to get rid of the man though she might have picked a different route rather than choose him to weasel her way into the Fortier estate. But now, left by herself, Rose was going to make the most of it. Even if the most of it happened to look like wandering’s twin. She took an unhurried pace down the main hall she’d been left in, scrutinizing the artwork and sculptures that lined the wall with an idle look, searching. Which became ever more tiring the more she did with no sign she was closer to finding what she was looking for. The estate was huge. It would take much more than the time it took to make a phone call to search the rest of it. Which meant that she would be stuck on Henri’s arm for a bit longer. 

Rose tried not to sigh as she turned into a room and, glancing over her shoulder, set herself down on one of the plush couches to study the grand painting set in front of it with a tilted head and arms hugging themselves.   

@roguexwrites​

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

—

Micah paused. Considering how easy it was for the other to slip into his head and read his thoughts, there had to be something that would get them to take a step back and stop. Or at least long enough that he could find a way to make it all the more difficult for them. “What kind of deal?” He managed to get out, though he didn’t fully believe they would have one that would actually make it so that they would leave him alone but he had to try.

When she put her hand to her heart though, Micah felt the slightest urge to chuckle even as he shook his head to keep the sound from slipping out then. 

Ten bucks and a whiskey for me! 

He hasn’t even said yes to it yet. Bet’s off. 

You’re just afraid of losing. Coward. 

Caity scooted herself forward on the ground a few inches closer to Micah, trying to ignore the way her brother had rained on her parade. She would celebrate whether or not he thought she had won yet. She was going to win. She was sure of it. 

“You’re the curious type, you know? And I like curious as much as the next girl, but it can’t help leave me with some... questions. 

You answer those questions for me and I’ll leave you alone to do whatever it is that you like doing so much. Deal?” 

You’ll leave him alone only until the next time.

Oh come on Liam. You know better than anyone a deal isn’t a deal without a loophole.

@prydewrites​ @lucamarinellii​

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

persephoneswrites​:

His deadpan expression remained as the investigator was startled to see him. He was more than used to such a reaction at this point when living people could actually see him. Marco could apologize for startling her but after over a decade of being a ghost, apologizing for your very state of being started to become old very fast. Instead, he just shrugged with an air of nonchalance that could only be acquired by years upon years of this powerful yet powerless existence and slipped his hands into the pockets of his black jacket.

The man simply waited for the shock to wear off and when Ms. Patel looked more composed he went ahead to pull out the chair before her desk and sit across from her. He didn’t wait for an invitation to sit down -though that would have been more polite of him, to actually wait for it- because he doubted he would even get one. Most ghosts didn’t stick around long enough to learn how to interact with the world around them as he had, albeit not by choice. But well, now he could make himself solid enough not to phase through the chair, a skill that took a ridiculous amount of time to master considering the simplicity of the action itself.

“Sure” he nodded, willing to get the ball rolling. “The files I sent beforehand have all the basic information you might need. Date and place of death, and all that”. He said as he tilted his chin towards the papers on the desk. It was weird how a person could detach somewhat from his own death, even more so after going through this similar process a few times already without any success. Dead since July 2005. The cause of death had been four shots to the torso, three of which punctured his lungs. Assailant, unknown. And to this day Marco could remember vividly how it all happened out of nowhere, how he didn’t see the person -or persons- shooting him just a block away from his home. “I figured it’d be better if you ask me anything you might need to know for the investigation, and I’ll- Well, I’ll answer what I can. I’m aware there’s some blank spaces of information there,” he said pointedly, since he wouldn’t be able to provide all the information. That was why he was here to begin with, so she could help him fill in those gaps.

xxxxxxxx

Meena’s eyes narrowed to scrutinize as she studied the ghost in front of her. She hoped that she might be able to pass it off as a pertinent wandering thought travelling through her head, even though the light in her eyes read more miffed than anything else. She didn’t like her job. But she came into contact with more phantoms than she could count. Each of them was different in their own way, but at least the majority of them had still had manners to the shells of people they were.

Then again, at least this one had half the mind about him to sit without being asked. It was a relief to be spared the embarrassment of humming and hawing around the question of whether she should have even invited him to do so. Of all the phantoms Meena had interviewed, none of them had had the guts to move freely as they would around her office as much as she thought they might. Maybe haunting objects, upturning rooms and causing a general ruckus was more superstition and hearsay than anything else. 

Finally dropping her gaze from him, Meena slid the file he had mentioned closer to her over her desk and made a show of flipping through the papers there as she read. It was a thin file. It was as bare bones as it came. Meena’s fingers came to touch her forehead as she read. This case was going to give her a headache, no two ways about it. She lifted her head again, giving him one final careful look before she spoke, sucking in a deliberate breath. “I’m just going to set the record straight here, at the start. If you want this solved, please don’t keep secrets.” 

It was a practiced speech she’d had to give many of her clients. Surprisingly, ghosts could still be embarrassed by the things they’d done while alive, as if anyone would shame the dead after they were gone. It had made Meena roll her eyes within the safe embrace of her apartment walls when she was done work too many times to count. 

“You died of multiple gunshot wounds. That takes a lot of anger for someone to do that. So let’s start there. Anyone you remember you could have pissed off, even just the slightest bit? Anything helps.” 

[pixiedustdoestheimprov]

prydewrites·:

“Fire fighter. No one wanted a deputy unfortunately. No one but moi,” she told him with a soft giggle to her words before she was resting against her desk once more. Truly this was one of her finer moments, seeing the way her children lit up at the sight of him entering the room despite his earlier confusion. He’d come running in thinking the worst and had no idea what he was getting into as she crossed her arms over her chest and watched him with renewed interest.

He continued to come when she called, something that left her wondering how many calls she had left in her reserve as he fidgeted underneath the small brush of magic that she’d called out to fix his collar. It wasn’t a lot, enough that she wouldn’t get in trouble for it, but she knew that before the day was through that she’d hear something about this from him.

“They want to hear all about the kitten rescuing you do on a daily basis. Not to mention how much fun you have sliding down those fire poles.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Firefighter. Of all things why did it have to be a firefighter. He really wished he had heard her wrong, running into the room like he had. But still, he always came running to her. No matter how many times he was burned he still came running at every unnecessary shout she made. As it turned out Ryder Prince was a glutton for punishment. He should really be talking to someone about that, he thought as he surveyed his audience. Maybe he could bother his captain about seeing if a therapist fit on their health plan.

“Uh... right,” he nodded. “Lots and lots of cats. Orange ones, stripe-y ones, spotted ones. All seem to have the same talent for getting stuck in trees.” 

Ryder could start to feel himself sweat underneath his collar. God, he wished one of those wide eyed seven year olds would interrupt him to ask him a question. Anything so he could bullshit whatever lie Gwen had concocted a little better. He was a bad liar on a good day. Maybe it was in his blood, he thought. He sent her a look, half wishing they were alone so he could say what he wanted to say next. He was a terrible liar, but at least in his terrible lies he knew he could make her laugh. That was the only reward he was going to get for it. That and having shown up at her beck and call. Again. 

“You know... pole sliding is a lot less fun than you would think. Lots of uh... rope burn.”    

Oh god, that was even worse than the first lie. His brows even furrowed in protest as he told it. But, if it was any consolation to Ryder and the precinct, at least he could knock down the damn fire station across the street down a peg with how bad he was selling it all.