03-27-2015, 10:36 PM
There was a rare day when Drayson considered himself not to be terribly busy. Most Chief Inspectors had ten years in age on him, and were quite married to their desks most of the time, siting the need to study reports or prepare public statements on cases as a reason to stay in their office. But modern technology made such excuses pointedly flimsy. His Wallet allowed him to do all of that while on the move.
His morning had been split between a visit to a hospital to check in on a shop clerk that had taken a bullet to the shoulder when he leapt between an armed robber and a coworker, to nearby police station where the shooter was being held, and an impromptu stop at the clerk's parents house. It was, at first glance, a decidedly mundane case for someone like the Chief Inspector to have taken interest in, but the shooter was believed linked to a gang that was the focus on an ongoing investigation.
In between each stop, he skimmed reports from throughout DI and its surrounding regions, signed off on requests for warrants or stamped for approval expense requests for equipment acquisition or training. He spoke with department heads, politicians, lawyers.
And then his Wallet made an unusual sound. There was a very tiny list of contacts that had a different beep then the usual work-related stuff that was constantly barraging the small communication device. His mother and brothers. A few old friends from past postings, most of whom were retired. A few numbers of women he had gone on a date with in the past and had never gotten around to deleting when it became obvious that a relationship wouldn't pan out. Victoria was somewhere between friend and failed relationship; how long ago had that dinner been?
He stared at her message for a long moment, ignoring the emotionless beep his Wallet made to announce the arrival of another work related message. He had eaten breakfast before leaving for work that morning, but that had easily been six hours ago. The restaurant wasn't far, and equally not far from the office either...scant minutes after Victoria had messaged him, he responded in the affirmative, and updated the officer tasked to drive him around that day.
He often used officers recovering from stress related illnesses to drive him around. It gave the a chance to feel useful, and at the same time gave him a chance to speak with and assess them. Knowing that their boss's boss took an interest in them often helped in their recovery.
It didn't take long for him to arrive at Chesterfields. He stepped out of the squad car after a brief conversation with the driver. He would take the metro back to the office after he was done lunch; another thing that set him well apart from other people who held his office.
He was dressed as he usually was; a nice albeit inexpensive suit, and wore a similarly matched trench coat to ward off the chill winter air, a scarf hanging unwrapped from his shoulders. A brief word of greeting with Sasha, the hostess, then he made his way into the restaurant proper. Despite the importance and power of his position, or the amount of time he spent speaking to reporters, his was not an immediately recognized face to most regular folk. Just another politician type on the television.
A brief scan of the room turned up a few interesting details. A familiar face in the form of a newly assigned police officer for the Domovoi task force; Moscow was not a small city, but coincidences happened. The man, Dorian Vega, had an interesting file. One of the few that knew how to deal with the weirder things an officer could run into, and how to doctor a report so he didn't end up being investigated for lunacy. Hence his transfer to Moscow and new assignment. Born of money, making his career in law enforcement (or anything in which one could break a sweat) unusual. The men and women that Drayson had gathered for Domovoi would fine-tune the unit, then be moved to help stand up similar ones in other cities throughout the CCD, should it prove to be a functional model.
The man sharing Dorian's table was Russian. Martial in appearance and stature. An old acquaintance, Drayson assumed. Such men were not exactly rare in the CCD, especially considering the man's age. Probably had served in the Russian military for a time before the reforms.
The man in biker's leathers was an odd one. The city's streets were kept perpetually clean of snow and ice; Moscow was the richest city in the world, after all, and as such there were always those crazy few who embraced those clear roads to run a motorcycle at any time of year. Or maybe it was just a fashion statement. Moscow was, again, the richest city in the world. Maybe the biker look was in.
Seated with the out-of-season biker was another man. One that was more sensibly dressed. Drayson had little trouble understanding the love of riding a motorcycle, but he was simply too practical a man for it to truly appeal to him. They were convenient for moving around in a city of course, but the city's metro and bus system were impressively efficient, and he had no trouble getting around without a vehicle at all, let alone one on which he could carry so little with him.
He opted to give Dorian his space, at least for the moment; the man had only recently arrived in the city after all. That very day, if Drayson remembered correctly, and wasn't due to report at the Domovoi offices for a few more days, allowing the man time to settle in. Besides, he had something far more interesting to occupy his attention.
He approached her table and smiled warmly in greeting; he had thought of contacting her to try for another date, but had always grown side-tracked by work. There was no shortage of things awaiting his attention, many of which were dangerously time sensitive, and he was not one to let personal pleasures distract him from that responsibility often. That he was so willing to 'drop everything' so to speak was a sure sign of how intriguing Victoria was. "Good afternoon, Victoria."
Edited by Drayson, Mar 27 2015, 10:49 PM.
His morning had been split between a visit to a hospital to check in on a shop clerk that had taken a bullet to the shoulder when he leapt between an armed robber and a coworker, to nearby police station where the shooter was being held, and an impromptu stop at the clerk's parents house. It was, at first glance, a decidedly mundane case for someone like the Chief Inspector to have taken interest in, but the shooter was believed linked to a gang that was the focus on an ongoing investigation.
In between each stop, he skimmed reports from throughout DI and its surrounding regions, signed off on requests for warrants or stamped for approval expense requests for equipment acquisition or training. He spoke with department heads, politicians, lawyers.
And then his Wallet made an unusual sound. There was a very tiny list of contacts that had a different beep then the usual work-related stuff that was constantly barraging the small communication device. His mother and brothers. A few old friends from past postings, most of whom were retired. A few numbers of women he had gone on a date with in the past and had never gotten around to deleting when it became obvious that a relationship wouldn't pan out. Victoria was somewhere between friend and failed relationship; how long ago had that dinner been?
He stared at her message for a long moment, ignoring the emotionless beep his Wallet made to announce the arrival of another work related message. He had eaten breakfast before leaving for work that morning, but that had easily been six hours ago. The restaurant wasn't far, and equally not far from the office either...scant minutes after Victoria had messaged him, he responded in the affirmative, and updated the officer tasked to drive him around that day.
He often used officers recovering from stress related illnesses to drive him around. It gave the a chance to feel useful, and at the same time gave him a chance to speak with and assess them. Knowing that their boss's boss took an interest in them often helped in their recovery.
It didn't take long for him to arrive at Chesterfields. He stepped out of the squad car after a brief conversation with the driver. He would take the metro back to the office after he was done lunch; another thing that set him well apart from other people who held his office.
He was dressed as he usually was; a nice albeit inexpensive suit, and wore a similarly matched trench coat to ward off the chill winter air, a scarf hanging unwrapped from his shoulders. A brief word of greeting with Sasha, the hostess, then he made his way into the restaurant proper. Despite the importance and power of his position, or the amount of time he spent speaking to reporters, his was not an immediately recognized face to most regular folk. Just another politician type on the television.
A brief scan of the room turned up a few interesting details. A familiar face in the form of a newly assigned police officer for the Domovoi task force; Moscow was not a small city, but coincidences happened. The man, Dorian Vega, had an interesting file. One of the few that knew how to deal with the weirder things an officer could run into, and how to doctor a report so he didn't end up being investigated for lunacy. Hence his transfer to Moscow and new assignment. Born of money, making his career in law enforcement (or anything in which one could break a sweat) unusual. The men and women that Drayson had gathered for Domovoi would fine-tune the unit, then be moved to help stand up similar ones in other cities throughout the CCD, should it prove to be a functional model.
The man sharing Dorian's table was Russian. Martial in appearance and stature. An old acquaintance, Drayson assumed. Such men were not exactly rare in the CCD, especially considering the man's age. Probably had served in the Russian military for a time before the reforms.
The man in biker's leathers was an odd one. The city's streets were kept perpetually clean of snow and ice; Moscow was the richest city in the world, after all, and as such there were always those crazy few who embraced those clear roads to run a motorcycle at any time of year. Or maybe it was just a fashion statement. Moscow was, again, the richest city in the world. Maybe the biker look was in.
Seated with the out-of-season biker was another man. One that was more sensibly dressed. Drayson had little trouble understanding the love of riding a motorcycle, but he was simply too practical a man for it to truly appeal to him. They were convenient for moving around in a city of course, but the city's metro and bus system were impressively efficient, and he had no trouble getting around without a vehicle at all, let alone one on which he could carry so little with him.
He opted to give Dorian his space, at least for the moment; the man had only recently arrived in the city after all. That very day, if Drayson remembered correctly, and wasn't due to report at the Domovoi offices for a few more days, allowing the man time to settle in. Besides, he had something far more interesting to occupy his attention.
He approached her table and smiled warmly in greeting; he had thought of contacting her to try for another date, but had always grown side-tracked by work. There was no shortage of things awaiting his attention, many of which were dangerously time sensitive, and he was not one to let personal pleasures distract him from that responsibility often. That he was so willing to 'drop everything' so to speak was a sure sign of how intriguing Victoria was. "Good afternoon, Victoria."
Edited by Drayson, Mar 27 2015, 10:49 PM.