imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

imitation is the sincerest form of flattery 

[isabelle-asadi]

“I never watched much TV,” she admits. Her mother never let them. She claimed it rotted the brain and stifled development, and they really didn’t have any choice but to listen.  And afterwards – sometimes habits just follow you. Though, she can definitely understand the world-weary aspect of it all. “I bet there jobs aren’t nearly as interesting though.” 

“Three blocks from here,” she answers. “With a dog, a cat, and Ross.” She shakes her head, still not really sure how that happened, but it’s been over a year now, so it’s probably the most permanent thing in her life except for the job. “Can I buy you another?” She asks, motioning towards Sylvie’s glass. 

[sylviecomtois-blog]

“Yes, all police officers have to answer is ‘who did it.’ We have to answer ‘how’ and if someone actually did anything at all,” she commented. Damn, she felt a little tipsy now. She willed herself not to get too touchy--she was a flirty drunk, which had gotten her into trouble more than once. 

“You live with Ross?” she asked incredulously. “As in Hunter Ross? The one who works with us?” She couldn’t imagine living with any of these coworkers. She usually got fed up with their antics by lunch if she was lucky. (She had to admit, however, that Hunter wasn’t bad, especially compared to Jasper). “And yes, I’d love another. A vodka, this time?” She motioned to the bartender to grab his attention. 

[isabelle-asadi]

Isabelle frowns. If she was just trying to see what she could do, and obviously succeeded, who knows what she would try next. In normal circumstances, teenagers have trouble identifying their limits, but one that could survive such a fall… “I think I’d prefer a necromancer than an unbreakable teenager,” she says dryly, wondering momentarily what Kekoa was like as a teenager. 

She frowns, science seems to really let them down in that department. But, if there was a scientific explanation she’s not sure the government would let them keep their powers after being caught. This is probably best for them in the long run. “Were you a doctor?” She asks, realizing that she doesn’t actually know the answer to the question; though she supposes there are other reasons someone would spend time studying the human body. 

[sylviecomtois-blog]

“Me too,” Sylvie told her, hopping on the subway train that they’d ended up in front of. “Although I would like to meet a necromancer, ask them if they could bring back someone older. Like J.F. Kennedy or Charles de Gaulle.” She considered that Isabelle might not understand the cultural significance of Charles de Gaulle but decided she’d only explain it if she asked. She didn’t want to come off arrogant. 

“I’m not,” she corrected, grabbing onto one of the metal bars as she felt the subway car jolt. “I almost went to medical school, but....” But what? She got caught in a bad marriage and gave up her dreams to have children she’d eventually abandon? “Life got in the way. I’m currently almost finished with my undergraduate degree in biology.” The UCU had put a dent in her plans already. She wasn’t sure what to do anymore--medical school was no part-time endeavor. “But that is why I’m so fascinated with all this. I’d like to understand it. Why we’re like this. Why we’re here at all.” 

[micah-solarte]

She didn’t believe him, but he didn’t quite mind. Sylvie was a professional fraud, every cell was one part fabrication. She recognised his lies like one senses a connection with their own flesh and bone. They were made from the same matter. He considered, briefly, just changing the subject, moving to safer grounds where the ice wasn’t as thin. His curiosity got the better of him. 

    Down the rabbit hole. 

“Let’s say, for instance, that they are getting worse, but so incrementally that it hardly seems worth consideration. They are random and not linked to any particularly obvious external factors. What then? How concerned should they be?” He knew she couldn’t tell him anything he hadn’t already researched and learned, but it was reassuring to consolidate information. Perhaps he’d missed something. 

“Also, unrelated, do you know where I might be able to get a real human skull from? I want it to use one during my Shakespearean laments.”

[sylviecomtois-blog]

Sylvie paused. This was ludicrous. Jasper’s research probably exceeded hers by tenfold. She wasn’t used to being the less intelligent one in the room, but she knew what she was up against. This seemed almost like a trap, like he was pushing the limits of her knowledge for more proof that he was right. 

Plus, she didn’t trust him.

“What are you getting at, Jasper?” she asked. “I’m all too certain you have looked at every medical journal about epilepsy ever created, every study any colleague of mine could ever have tested. What is it? Are you trying to catch me in a lie? Trying to prove that you know more than I do? Because I can assure you, I know my limits.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh at the question. “I have a few in my apartment, actually. Leftovers from med school. I’ll give you one if you want.” 

[kekoawalker-blog]

Another case, another vast expanse of desert. But there was something different about this one, something… the word otherworldly had crossed his mind, albeit briefly. It was as though the earth itself was imbued with some sort of power, and the air felt tinged with a sense of the mysterious, the unknown. Looking out at the way the outback stretched on, seemingly into eternity, the earth burnt ochre under the blazing sun, you could really believe that this was the kind of land on which people disappeared without explanation.

After so long without a real case, Kekoa’s hands were itching from inactivity, his bones restless, eager to get into solving a real puzzle. He was glad to find Isabelle and Sylvie in one place, in the small lobby of the hotel that Interpol had so kindly chosen for them.

“You guys ready to go?” he queried, coming to a halt near them. “I made my feelings about this plenty clear in the briefing, I think we should start with the indigenous locals rather than the cops.” It was a statement that left some room for debate, but was nonetheless reasonably firm, bolstered by the fact that he knew Isabelle agreed with him about the fact that the police wouldn’t be especially useful.

[sylviecomtois-blog]

Sylvie wiped her hair away from her face, the sweat causing it to cling to her forehead in a distinctly unpleasant way. After Mexico she’d hoped they’d end up somewhere nicer, and......colder. Perhaps Germany, or Russia, or Belgium. Not another damn desert wasteland. 

But, she told herself, it was a case, and an interesting one, at that, and it was better than copying paperwork in the office all day. Bourke was a strange place. It had a population of around two thousand people and seemed to be a surreal oasis between the outback and.....more outback. “I agree,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m assuming we’re going to approach the people living in the desert? Jasper mentioned that the Aboriginal populations are most abundant there.” 

[isabelle-asadi]

She smiles just slightly at the sigh of Sylvie’s face as she swallows down the whiskey – she distracts herself by looking around the bar, thinking through how much time she actually spends here. Probably too much time, to be honest. In the very least, work drags her away to other bars on other sides of the world, or she’d probably just waste all her time here. With so much running in her life, she can’t decide if the comfort in the familiar is surprising or completely expected. “I just like this bar,” she admits. “It’s half way from work and home.” 

“I don’t like to drink at home,” she admits after a few seconds, not sure exactly why. She remembers her mother drinking, watching them as they studied, or sitting alone in her study. She stretches to find as many distinctions between the two of them as she can. “Do you live close?”

[sylviecomtois-blog]

Sylvie hummed in agreement. “Whenever I come to one of these bars after a long day at work, I feel like I’m in one of those television shows about world-weary police officers.” A particularly popular French show about two female cops who solved crimes together had started that trope in the French media. She’d loved it. Probably all the obvious underlying sexual tension between the main characters. 

“I don’t like to drink at home either. Too sad,” she told her. She’d done it for over twenty years, pouring too many glasses of wine to drink in her room, alone. “I live in the Village, actually. You?” 

[isabelle-asadi]

“The not running takes a lot of getting used to,” she comments, more to herself than Sylvie. She frowns as the man pushes by, pushing down the desire to tell him to stop and apologize. People here are always too rude or too polite, and there never seems to be an in-between. “It’s fine, I’m not cold,” she says, shouldering off the jacket and handing it to her.  

She hadn’t thought of that possibility - in her time here, she’s never encountered a necromancer, but she’s learned to never rule anything out. If you could speak to the dead, why couldn’t it go further than that? “Let’s just hope if we discover anything it’s benevolent,” she comments as she starts down the stairs of the subway stop. “A benevolent necromancer,” she repeats, shaking her head. 

[sylviecomtois-blog]

Sylvie took the jacket gratefully, putting her arms through it and thanking god her coworkers were this nice. “Honestly, I hope it’s more benevolent than a girl jumping off a building in broad daylight to see what she could do. We probably don’t want any more unpredictability in New York.”  

She followed Isabelle into the underground subway station, looking up at the different-colored signs. “I must say it’s impossible to imagine being able to bring back the dead, biologically speaking. It’d be easier to work this job if I hadn’t spent so much time studying all the ways the human body makes perfect sense. But these abilities? There is no explanation.” 

[isabelle-asadi]

Isabelle hesitates. She’s not unaffected by the words though her face remains neutral. Words are powerful things. She should know. And it’s probably more of a reason that she should start towards home. (That and the fact that Hunter waits up and pretends like he doesn’t.)  

She did want another drink though.   And, she is interested to see the lengths he would go to get them to leave.  She spares him a glance. His look is enough to make her laugh just lightly, shaking her head.  Her fingers play at the now empty glass, sliding it towards the bar. “Two more,” she calls over to him.  

[sylviecomtois-blog]

Sylvie sat back in her seat, relieved. She wasn’t sure if Isabelle had stayed behind to talk to her, or just to annoy the bartender, but she might as well make some conversation. She liked to think of herself as at least somewhat charming. 

“So,” she started, her face souring as the whiskey burned a little too harshly on the way down. “Are you usually at the bar on a Saturday night, or is this one just special? I promise, no judgments either way. My first thought when I get off work every Friday after seeing too many pictures of dead bodies is ‘I need a drink.’” A bar-hopper seemed like a stretch for Isabelle, but who knew? Seemed like Sylvie wasn’t as skilled at reading her as she thought. 

[isabelle-asadi]

It’s difficult when your words are weapons - because you can mean them, really mean them. But, you never actually want them to come to fruition, never mean for someone to actually walk off a roof, or to jump into a lake, or drop dead. She remembers each time and each time somewhere in her head she knew that it could happen, would happen – but she said it anyways. Because she let her emotions be one step in front of her. Something she won’t let happen again. “I guess I did at the time,” she says, frowning slightly into the sun. 

“Do you want my jacket?” She asks, noticing Sylvie’s discomfort. “I don’t really need it,” she admits, slightly distracted as she thinks through the possibility that the girl is actually dead and someone was able to clean up the scene that quickly. “Either way, there’s probably something of interest here.” 

[sylviecomtois-blog]

“I wish I could say I don’t have the urge to steal anything anymore,” Sylvie admitted, a grin pulling at her lips. She’d been tired of hiding it. Being a thief was easier. “But I like making an honest living here. Less running around and hiding from the police, and more helping people.” 

She’d wondered if Isabelle’s ability had anything to do with it. Was this why she was so reluctant to talk about it? About what she’d used it for? “That’s fine. I’d hate for you to freeze out here. Very nice of you to offer, though.” She was caught off-balance as a businessman rushed past her, knocking into her without a second thought. “Good god, New Yorkers never stop, do they?” 

She brushed her hands down the front of her wool pants, missing Alsace’s cleanliness. “Perhaps the culprit is someone who can bring back the dead. I wonder if there’s a necromancer running around the city right now, saving teenagers from their inevitable demise.” 

[bobbiebaumann-deactivated202006]

.sonny+sylvie {para:training;}

[bobbiebaumann-deactivated202006]

Sonny was prepared to see Castillo, knowing that even if it was Sylvie, she would of course make sure to hold Castillo’s appearance. He wasn’t certain to which degree Sylvie was capable of copying, how detailed and perfect it could be. He’s heard it’s impossible to tell the difference from others and surely the person in front of him looked like his chief, moved like her and called out on her staff’s bullshit the way Victoria Castillo would. 

Closing the door behind him but still standing on the other side of the room he threw a response the same way he had yesterday when he walked into the same office and was greeted with a similar reaction from Castillo, “Jasper won’t always obey orders but I believe he at least filled out the first page this time. It’s a progress, I guess?”

He waited for realization that it wasn’t Jasper in the room with her and knew he had to present a reason to be there. If it was Castillo and he told her he was just passing through she would know that wasn’t true and could even try to snoop in his head and lecture him for playing hide and seek with another agent inside their building.

“I’m not here for Jasper, though.” he continued, taking a few steps into the room, tilting his head to look around and see if he could sense any other presence with them, “Actually, it’s about my own paperwork. I know I said I would hand it to you today but I can’t find it.” he lied easily, his paperwork had already been handed to Victoria by himself a while ago. He has to know if she remembers that, though. “I hear we’re getting a new case soon, I’m just wondering if it would be okay for me to hand it over tomorrow? I’ll rewrite it all today.”

[sylviecomtois-blog]

Sylvie rolled her shoulders back as Jasper entered the door, knowing that at least the details of the illusion were impeccable. The difficult part would be her voice, and the way she moved, the way she responded. Did Castillo like Sonny? She had to like Sonny. He was likable, agreeable, and, quite frankly, cute. Like a puppy. “That is progress,” she agreed, smiling warmly at him and turning on her computer, taking a look at her fake forms as if she was about to input some information. 

She’d figured, at the very least, Sonny would try to test the waters, trick her into saying something that was wrong. Direct questions were difficult--Castillo sort of had a penchant for skirting around the truth, which was a plus on her side. 

She sighed. “Actually, yes, we are getting a new case soon.” She privately hoped that was true, but she suddenly wondered if Castillo had told Sonny differently. She doubted it. She wasn’t great at keeping any of them in the loop. “Which means I really can’t keep track of all this paperwork, Agent Peters. I have a lot on my plate right now, especially with all the extra paperwork the police station’s been sending me about the new case.” She paused. The best way to approach this was plausible deniability. “Just be more responsible about handing it in. I don’t want any more problems with the head of Interpol.” 

She looked up at him, one hand clicking the pen she’d used to fill out the forms. A disappointed lecture. Perfect. 

[isabelle-asadi]

“I have never wanted to accommodate men,” Isabelle says, slightly amused as she shakes her head, raising her glass to her lips. “And smiling is a lot of effort." 

She sets her glass down. Perhaps that should be enough for tonight. When she was young, she would have loved to sit and drink with a woman like Sylvie – clever and beautiful – Now, she avoids all situations where she could lose her inhibitions 

[sylviecomtois-blog]

Sylvie nearly choked on her whiskey. Never wanted to accommodate men? What did that mean? She stared at Isabelle for a moment, watching her set her glass down as if she wanted to leave. She briefly considered just letting her go and going to work the following morning, pretending nothing had ever happened. 

She quickly decided against it. 

“You don’t need to smile,” she said, quietly. “You look beautiful regardless.” Her cheeks burned a little as she downed the rest of her drink. How embarrassing. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for one more drink? We can wait and see what attempts the bartender makes to get us to leave.” The bar was still empty, all because of Isabelle, and the bartender looked ready to throw a couple of shot glasses at them. 

[isabelle-asadi]

“Attempted murder,” she says, shouldering on her jacket even though she can feel the warm from the street outside even this far below ground. It’s a comfort thing and she’s never really minded the heat. “They still like to think we made a choice – even if it was an ultimatum.” She hasn’t been asked this many questions about her ability since she first joined the unit, or rather, when she was first questioned by the unit. “It depends on the person, how much they don’t want to listen.” But, in honesty, she’s never experimented, always too appalled when she thinks about it. 

“You never have to walk far to find one,” she comments, as they make their way towards the elevator. “There’s one around the block, we’ll only have to transfer once.”

[sylviecomtois-blog]

“Attempted murder?” Sylvie asked, more than shocked at the severity of the charge and, even more, that Isabelle had admitted it. “I don’t mean to make assumptions but.....I have such a hard time believing you’d want to hurt anyone.” Sylvie usually refrained from making snap judgments, particularly about those in the UCU. Many of them had complex pasts, and sometimes had changed for the better. But Isabelle? “I am sorry for asking so many questions. I imagine you don’t like anyone prying into your personal life.” She didn’t, either, but she often just dodged questions rather than getting angry at them. 

She and Isabelle made their way outside, Sylvie wishing briefly that she could materialize some warmer clothes along with a new faces. “I hope that girl is not dead,” she told her, squinting into the harsh light of day. “That would be a pleasant surprise--not to have a dead body waiting at the end of the trail.” 

[kekoawalker-blog]

Kekoa nodded again, still evaluating the proposal she’d put to him. On the surface, it seemed like a fairly safe, unproblematic endeavour. He’d go in, find some mafia punks to interrogate, and report it back to Sylvie. It was unlikely he’d find anything, which meant that they could archive the case and forget about it, and if they did then it’d count as a good win for the team, something they desperately needed.

He mirrored her gesture, indicating the door. “Lead the way, then.” As they walked, he listened to her brief summary of the case, making no commentary and not reacting other than the subtle nods and frowns he gave at various instances to show that he was listening and absorbing Sylvie’s information. When she reached the part about the gang leader, however, he stopped abruptly in his tracks, and fixed Sylvie with a stare. “What, so you want to march in to the mafia, grab their leader and beat the crap out of him until he tells you that he killed a boy?” He chuckled, then, the sound wry and cutting, and shook his head, taking care to keep his voice low to prevent the rest of the team from overhearing. “That’s never gonna work, and you know it. Do that, and we’ll have the entire Sicilian Mafia coming after us. For me, that’s not a problem. For you… not so much. You wanna do this, you have to be smart about it, make sure that he can’t come after you when we’re done.” Satisfied he’d made his point clear, Kekoa resumed walking, assuming that Sylvie would catch up.

[sylviecomtois-blog]

“Of course not!” Sylvie said, insulted, rushing after him in order to keep up. Damn, he had long legs. “You just mentioned that your ability works if someone is trying to break through your defenses. Telepathy doesn’t work on you, yes? So, already, you have an advantage: he can’t see what you’re planning. That’ll probably make him wary, sure, but perhaps he’ll embrace you and your power. Add that to the fact that you look like you could hold your own in a gang, and you can buy yourself enough time to get him alone and get something out of him. I can talk to the rest of the members, but the head.....well, the head is tricky.” She paused. “And then maybe beat him up if he still won’t talk.” It was meant to be a joke, but it almost seemed like a plausible solution when she said it out loud.

She shook her head. He was right. It didn’t matter if the Sicilian Mafia came after him, but it certainly did if he came after Sylvie--she’d couldn’t defend herself if her life depended on it. The best she could do would be to change her face and find a new place to start over, but she sincerely did not want to do that. Not again, not when she was having such an interesting time in the UCU. “I’m not sure how I can make sure he won’t come after me, you’re right. Maybe if I avoid thinking about my name? Keep my head focused? If I don’t have to talk to him during this whole endeavor it might not be as much of an issue.” 

[micah-solarte]

For once, he didn’t know the specifics - the medical background, that he had figured out easily, but not her specialty. “Felix culpa,” he muttered under his breath in quick Latin. A ‘happy fault’ indeed. He may have let something significant about himself slip, but this new knowledge was invaluable. For months he’d been looking for a neurosurgeon he could trust, a near impossible feat considering he was unwilling to open up to anyone. 

      “I have a friend,” 

  (His first mistake, how was she to believe he had one of those.) 

                “an acquaintance, who suffered brain damage in an accident.” 

He hesitated, pulling the sheet back over the corpse’s unseeing eyes. His mind raced with the pros and cons of sharing this slither of himself he usually kept locked up. In the end it was simple: he wanted answers, he needed to solve the riddle. 

“There was damage to the parietal lobe, and now they suffer from focal seizures which are getting increasingly frequent. Can I tell them that there is nothing to worry about because they are beginning to annoy me now?”

   He muttered the last words with over-exaggerated nonchalance, arrogance.

[sylviecomtois-blog]

Sylvie’s lips quirked up into a smile. The way he’d paused after he’d said friend gave something away--Sylvie lied for a living, and she knew one when she saw one. Which meant this friend was either imaginary or a cover for another loved one: family member, lover. It even might even be a cover for himself. “I would ask this.....friend....” she almost considered drawing this obvious ridicule out longer, but figured the subject was much too serious to joke about. “Several questions. If the seizures are increasing in frequency, I must admit it’s a bad sign. I would have to ask if they are also increasing in length, or pain level. I.E, are these seizures getting worse?” she asked, her mind racing back to a particularly traumatized patient her mentor had. The patient had been rushed from Syria--she’d been there when a bomb had gone off in a mosque, and had schrapnel damage to the frontal lobe. Added on to the post-traumatic stress of one of the worst attacks she’d ever seen, the seizures had begun to control her life. 

“I would also ask this friend when these seizures occur. Are they random? Or are they tied with situations of stress and/or anxiety?” She knew that the epilepsy itself was often solved with medication, but the more severe the symptoms, the more neurosurgery became the best (and, usually, the only effective) option. 

[atlas-jespers-blog]

Sylvie’s abrupt intrusions were welcoming- Wren would much rather think about her questions than whatever was in those files. She’d discovered more useless information than she had the space for. The visions themselves weren’t frightening- it was the helplessness or not knowing. “They’d be a lot more enjoyable if they were a little more detailed, but I wouldn’t give them up, not if there’s some possibility of me doing some good.” 

Wren sighed, flipping the file closed. “I don’t know how worthwhile it is at the moment. I can’t even find a pertinent file in this abyss,” she said, waving the pen to gesture around the room. “Some detective I’m going to make.” Sylvie’s offer struck her- Wren probably would have sought her help regardless of her offer- but it was the first kind gesture she’d received since her employment began. Her power was versatile enough to dig up some clues, but- “I could use your help, but my idea’s never go too well, to be honest.”

[sylviecomtois-blog]

“That is...” Sylvie searched for the word. “Noble.” Admirable, more like, when the only person Sylvie had used her power to help was herself. It was almost inspiring. Was that not the reason she’d gone into medicine: to help others? She’d regretted a lot of things in her life, but she’d always imagined her passion and drive to save lives as one of the more favorable aspects of her personality. 

“It might not be worthwhile to look through files at all. Perhaps the real leads are out there, with the people who still know what happened.” She crossed her legs in front of her, cringing when she’d remembered she’d worn wool trousers to work today. A mistake if she’d ever seen one. “I am willing to try anything. They can’t be much worse than mine.” And she’d had a lot of bad ideas. 

[isabelle-asadi]

Perhaps it was just her overall demeanor and the words were just the extra push the patrons needed. She’s not sure what that says about her, but it does cause a half smile and a short laugh. “You like my standoffish personality?” She asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement - it must be the alcohol. She gives a short nod at the bartender as he sets their drinks in front of them 

[sylviecomtois-blog]

Sylvie pressed her lips together, telling herself to hold it together. Usually she had the common sense not to become too flirty with her coworkers--intentionally or not--but she’d already finished her second whiskey and was moving onto the third. What a terrible downside of alcohol: she lost all ability to control herself. 

“Oops,” she says quietly, by way of explanation. “But yes, I do. It is quite....intriguing. Often women feel forced to accommodate strangers, their coworkers, particularly men; they feel obligated to smile and be friendly. I like how you don’t take--how do you say?--shit from anyone.” She was bordering on the edge of rambling. The best she could do was grin and hope Isabelle understood what she meant. The alcohol was making her unfairly aware of how pretty Isabelle looked in the dark lights of the bar. It was time to pull herself together. 

[isabelle-asadi]

Thoughts of the subway and how annoyingly difficult the English language can be are lost, completely eclipsed by the following questions.  "There’d be no point,“ she admits after a second. "It wears off eventually and I’d just have to keep telling someone to stay who obviously doesn’t want to stay.”  She shrugs. “They’ve never asked me to either, think they prefer people want to be here.” Though they’ll take the definition of ‘want’ pretty loosely. She leaves Sylvie’s other question unanswered. Regardless of her own moral code, she’s only human, and there’s only so many words she can leave unsaid when she’s always surrounded by people of late. It’s not that she’s ever used it maliciously, but it’s impossible to pull words back after they’re said.

[sylviecomtois-blog]

Sylvie nodded, somewhat satisfied with the answer. Isabelle didn’t seem like she wanted to truly control anyone, regardless of the reason, and she did believe her. “That is rich, considering the only reason I’m here is to avoid grand larceny charges,” she commented, assuming Isabelle already knew. She’d been here a long time; word probably got around. “How long is the shelf life on some of your commands? Do they wear off when you’re not around?” 

She’d noticed Isabelle hadn’t answered her question about whether or not she’d used it on any of them. It was understandable. Those in the unit were frustrating at best, and she could see making a mistake from time to time. She finally opened the door and strode towards the basement’s exit. “So, where to? I don’t even know where the closest subway stop is.” 

[mai-sato-blog]

The other woman’s words confirmed Mai’s suspicion that this hadn’t been assigned as their case. She continued to raise an eyebrow at the rest of her defense, but took the newspaper into her hands regardless, so that she could read the article at a less awkward angle. Mai had to admit that Sylvie was right– if she hadn’t been in such a downtrodden and lazy mood since Mexico, this would have been the kind of news story that caught her eye in a second. “It is bizarre,” she conceded, although she knew her words to be the understatement that they were. Finally having finished the article, Mai returned it to the table in front of Sylvie, then stared at her coworker. “So…what are you looking to do exactly? Work it on the side? Or convince the director it should be ours next?”

[sylviecomtois-blog]

“Isn’t it?” Sylvie asked, trying to tone down her excitement. She forgot, sometimes, that others dreaded doing extra work--even cases, which seemed like a pleasant break from reality to her. She watched Mai flip through the pages and wondered if she had finally someone who wasn’t too tired to work it with her. “I’m going to need a few leads before I even approach Castillo with this so......I suppose I’ll work it on the side. Do you want to help?”