#gregory collins

[gebo4482]

The Ningyo

[gebo4482]

The Ningyo

[tennesseewatchman-com-news-blog]

47 Bodies Left in the Wake of Hillary Clinton: Part 6 ***NEW PART COMING*** Image: a katz / Shutterstock.com Editor’s Note: I started this series in 2013, 47 Bodies in the Wake of Hillary Clinton, and the response has been overwhelming.

[rebecca-portman]

 

[metaroleplay]

[metaroleplay]

Accepted! Gregory Collins

Your Name: Robin Age: 20 Time Zone: UTC+1, Central European Time Personal URL: http://opiat3s.tumblr.com

Character: Greg Collins

Para Sample: 

Not even when he was a child. Not even that time when he was being chased down the street by an angry group of drug addicts wielding metal bats.  

Let is also be known that the aforementioned Greg Collins was currently panicking. 

He had been packing his suitcase, trying to get ready for some trip that Pritchard and Portman were dragging him on, kicking and screaming and completely against it. While he found all of his clothes, even his suits - freshly dry cleaned and pressed - were hanging behind his door, ready to go any time he needed them and everything was neat and tidy. But then he reached into the pocket of his khakis to fish out his cellphone and realized, with a slight shock, that it wasn't there. Never one to misplace anything, especially something as important as his phone, he felt a slight twinge of unease. He hadn't lost it, had he? That would just be fantastic. 

So, he began to look for it. Under the bed, no. In the closet, no. In his suits' pockets, no. In his shoes, no. He had no idea why it would be in his shoes but he thought he might as well look there anyway. In the bathroom, no. In his toiletries bag, no. In his suitcase, no. In his sheets, no. Oh god, he'd lost it. His new phone, he paid so much for it and now he'd lost it-- 

"Looking for something?" Someone questioned from just behind him and he pivoted on the balls of his feet to see Jace Pritchard standing a few paces behind him, leaning against he frame of his hotel room door. She dangled a phone from her fingers, grinning like the cat that got the cream. Only, it was the Pritchard that pissed off the Collins. 

"You're such a bitch," he growled, venom apparent behind his words as he snatched the phone from her hand. He stalked down the hallway, walking slow enough to hear the low, amused breath that she let out as he passed.

It was quickly becoming a favorite past time of his new - everyone called them his coaches, he was fond of calling them jailers and also occasionally the gestapo - colleagues; pissing him off, stressing him out, completely and utterly baffling him to the point where he couldn't even properly function. It was the second time that week that they had pushed him to near-blinding rage and it has only been a few weeks since he was assigned to them. It was like a game to the two women, see how far they could push him until he finally snapped. And they so desperately wanted to play. Well, he could play, too. And he was going to give them as much hell as they were going to give him, that was a promise. 

Your Interpretation of the Character:

Greg likes to think that he is all that and a bag of chips. And a cookie. And a juice box. Not those actual boxes, though, the Capri-sun pouches. What can he say, he has a huge ego. He has a long running streak of thinking that he knows exactly what he is talking about and will not accept that he is even slightly wrong ever even when he is completely and utterly so off the mark that's it's almost painful to watch him try to redeem himself. The fact that he stumbled on information that just happened to solve a homicide only cemented this faulty thought process. And it's really hard to break such an ingrained habit. 

But he is smart, he really is, just not street smart. He has a mind for figures and patterns and even as a young child, he could pick out the tells that a person showed when they lied and could understand systems of equations and complex senarios better than most children could. He could pick someone apart to the bare bones and see them for who they were and not who they were pretending to be before rebuilding them and, in the process, understanding them, and it's something that's helped him a lot in his life. He prided himself on it then, and even to this day, it is the thing that he is most proud of. 

He's also pretty aware that he is a pain in the ass and he's aware that he does need to change but, honestly, he doesn't know where to start, and putting him with Portman and Pritchard for some retraining? Bad idea, assholes. 

In short form; Greg is rude and conceited and gets off on pissing people off. 

[rebecca-portman-archive]

In the Study With the Candlestick || Gregory Collins & Rebecca Portman

Rebecca found herself spending more and more time in the Professor’s study. Mariah and the note Jeffrey had found wouldn’t leave her alone, poking at the sides of her consciousness insistently. She had to know more about Dara Regan. Asking Darcy was off the table for the time being; she was sweet, but no doubt she’d keep a closer watch on Becks if she knew where she was sticking her nose. Maybe when she had more specific questions to ask… “tell me about your father,” would raise anyone’s defenses. It would definitely raise mine.

Her mind wandered from Darcy to Jace to Collins… Collins. It was a topic she’d declared off-limits. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell Hannigan when she told him about ridiculousness of that night with the dinner party. He’d never let her hear the end of it and she wanted to… well that wasn’t exactly right. She didn’t want to forget, but she didn’t want to remember either. More than anything, she felt embarrassed; moreso than when he and Jace had walked in on her with Leo. She’d let him behind the wall for a minute and it made her itch. That wasn’t somewhere Collins was supposed to ever see. That’s not what their relationship was. She shivered and tried to physically shake the thoughts off of her – wasn’t this supposed to be off-limits?

She was crouched behind the desk, going through one of the lower drawers of the ornate wooden cabinet when she heard the door open. She froze. Was someone looking for her? Did they know she was in here? But no voice called out to her. Allowing herself to breathe again, she took a deep breath and stood, turning toward the door.

Shit.

“…Hi…” she breathed, forced smile crossing her lips, not quite making it to the rest of her face. “Just doing some digging,” she offered, gesturing to the cabinet dumbly. God, is this how she was going to be around him now? Stand up straight, Portman. Have a little self-respect. She squared her shoulders, but could think of nothing left to say. Just great.

[rebecca-portman-archive]

Night Moves | Greg Collins & Rebecca Portman

With an over-dramatic roll of her eyes, Becks drew herself back to full height, hands on her hips. Her glare went around the room, directed at everyone and no one. What a clusterfuck. She thought for a moment about intimidating Aiden some more and hope that he’d empty his pockets in his room before the police took him for questioning, but really, what was the point. Time to refocus, Portman. You’re here to find Ethan, not fucking play Clue. Who cares if it was Mariah in the dining room with the poison, or what anyone has hidden in their stuff? You're not a cop anymore. She swallowed and ran a hand through her hair as she thought that last bit, but maybe it was time to stop being touchy about that and stop trying to get back what she’d lost. Giving her head a small shake, she quietly made for the telephone in the back corner and called the police. Too caught up in their own shit, no one even noticed.

“Yeah hi, Dieterle still there?” It was late, he probably wasn’t, but even still she was glad she’d taken the time to make a connection before she’d left Philly. Dieterle wasn’t around, but Officer Moore spoke to her instead. She introduced herself and explained the situation, carefully omitting how exactly they’d determined what they’d been poisoned with. Better to fill in that detail after they got there. Purely out of spite, she cast as much suspicion as she could on Aiden as well, just to prove it wasn’t an empty threat. “So we’ll hang on to her until you guys get here. I doubt the other one’s going anywhere.” With a quick thanks and a promise they’d be on their way soon, Rebecca made it back to the table in time to witness Collins’ last attempt to work a confession out of Mariah. Enough.

“C’mon lady, let’s go.” Without any further warning, she twisted Mariah’s arm behind her back and turned her toward the door. “Maybe some time alone will change your mind. You’ve got until the cops get here. Confess and we’ll call them off,” she promised, no intention of doing anything of the sort. “The rest of you can go,” she spoke curtly to the room with a dismissive nod of her head. “You too,” she told Collins, her tone flat and tired. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”