#uncommonstarter

[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.

[isabelle-asadi]

They come to Australia, a country where most of the population live within an hour from the ocean, and they end up land-locked, looking at nothing but outback (which really, is a lot like the deserts of Mexico in a lot of ways). She’s not really surprised by it, and she can’t really say that she’s disappointed, but it would have been nice for a view. Or, really anything to look at other than the wall of the next building. 

There wasn’t much choice when it came to hotels in Bourke. She’s not even sure if this is the nicest one, but it’s the one that the department chose. There isn’t really a bar, just a lobby where you can get coffee (who knew there was so many different ways to take your coffee) or a beer. She doesn’t really want either though, but settles on the coffee as she flips though the daily newspapers. 

“Coffee is nice,” she says distractedly as her colleague takes a seat. “Enjoying yourself?”

[isabelle-asadi]

The bar is mostly empty. Which is rare for a bar on a Saturday night, right in the heart of the city. Telling people to leave when they annoy her (or just speak to her in general) isn't a rare occurrence - it doesn't hurt anyone and it saves her from saying anything else that she might regret later. Telling most of the bar to leave though, that's unusual and she almost regrets it (almost being the key word.)

Before she joined the unit, she barely spoke at all - things were better then. Now, it's expected of her, and it's leaking into every corner of her life. Maybe he is looking more approachable now? Maybe that's something she'll have to work on.

The bartender gives her a suspicious look as he move towards the few of his customers that are left. It's probably obvious she's to blame, people walking straight out after they come within range of her. She just wants space and quiet, but with the convenience of someone else pouring her drinks. She doesn't think that's too much to ask for.  

She spots the familiar face after their halfway towards the bar, frowning as she follows them with her eyes. "Didn't know you came here," she says, looking from her colleague, down to her nearly empty whiskey. "You're going to get good service tonight at least."

[sylviecomtois-blog]

The newspaper in Sylvie’s hand wrinkled as she plopped herself down on the break room table, using one hand to open it to the sixth page. The competition for the front page of the New York Daily News was often steep, which must have explained why the news of a young girl disappearing under such suspicious circumstances hadn’t made the front headlines. 

She closed the paper again after scanning it briefly and turning to her coworker. She’d never been shy, even when she was young, and she was far too anxious and bored to mince words and offer small niceties at the moment. “You see?” she asked, gesturing vaguely towards the page in question. “A girl of fifteen falls off of a thirty-eight story building; several witnesses mention that they see her hit the pavement. Yet there is no body when the police arrive. The perfect case for us, no?” she asked, somewhat desperate for something to do. Perhaps just something to puzzle about again. 

[kekoawalker-blog]

What a waste of time. He’d gone to Mexico under the firm assurance, the overwhelming expectation, that three weeks spend lying in the middle of the Chihuahua Desert would bring with it the opportunity to hit something. That was his purpose, his primary role, and to be reduced to simply an observer had never sat well with him, made the wind in his bones rattle and creak, pushing him to always stay in motion. Perhaps the only saving grace had been the amusement that came with watching his other teammates wilt under the heat, and the indelible smugness he had felt as he sat unaffected, a legacy of a lifetime spend soaking in the Hawaiian sun.

Being back at headquarters meant a prolonging of the doldrums they were currently trapped in, a period of simply waiting for the next case to roll in. It could be days, weeks perhaps. In the meantime, he had to find a way to occupy himself. Any more time sitting idle would drive him insane. A flash of movement caught his eye, then, an inquisitive hand reaching out towards the organised chaos on his desk, and just as quickly he’d crossed the room in two swift steps, one eyebrow raised in barely concealed threat.

“Don’t you dare touch my shit.”