07-03-2014, 08:03 PM
"It hasn't been all that long since I went on a date, Francis."
Drayson sipped a cup of coffee and looked over an anomalous expenditure report out of one of the local police stations that had caught his interest. It wasn't his job, technically; there was an entire Internal Affairs department to deal with such things, but he liked to poke his nose into things from time to time. It was the best way to keep track of the corruption that was so damnably prevalent in Dominance I.
Francis had called him twenty minutes ago, and had been badgering him ever since. Hadn't even tried to beat around the bush on the motive, just went straight to the point. And all the while, Drayson had payed him half a mind while widdling away at the stack of paperwork on his desk. Well, figurative paperwork; he didn't actually do everything the old fashioned way. There were only so many trees in the world, after all.
"Think about it Drayson. I'm betting the last one was the one I set up for you. And that was two years ago."
Francis was leaning on his own desk, peering into the screen, and more importantly, at the side of Drayson's head to observe for any sort of reaction to the statement.
"What? No. It was with..."
He paused, brows furrowed deeply as he mulled it over. Francis was right. Had it really been two years already? "...yes. Two years. Your point?"
"My point is that you're not getting any younger. And this woman, she's just like you! All work, no play. Hell, maybe it won't be you missing the second date this time!"
He sighed quietly; the numbers didn't add up. Someone at that station was dipping into the pot, and they were being sloppy about it. Corruption was the norm, but so long as it didn't get out of hand, didn't cause trouble, he could turn a blind eye to it. If not, then he would have had to try to arrest every rich-and-powerful in the damn city. But to find such sloppy work in his organization; and in his mind, it was his. His responsibility, at least, if not in actual ownership. Well, it was an insult to himself, and to the people of the CCD. They expected the police to protect them, not to steal their tax dollars. It was going to be rectified. Quickly.
He leaned back in his chair, flagging the expense report for further investigation, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "She isn't fresh out of university this time, is she? I am a bit old for that."
Francis laughed; the last date he had set Drayson up on, the girl in question had been 22 years old. The age gap hadn't proven to be a problem for her, but the fact that they had had to reschedule their second date four times in a month had been a deal breaker. "No. She's much closer to your age."
Nearly ten years his junior, but Francis wasn't about to admit it. Drayson was fishing for an excuse to call it off. "And she's eager to meet you, really! Already broke the idea with her, and she's all for it. Excited."
Also not entirely true, but that was besides the point.
Drayson sighed quietly and faced the image of Francis, "Alright, alright I'll do it. Might be nice to get out for a change."
"Exactly! So, where are you going to take her? Somewhere nice I hope! Ah! Do Cafe Pushkin again! It's a very inspiring place."
-----
The actual date was arranged for five days later; a Thursday, 1900hrs. It was the earliest Francis could arrange for the two to actually meet, and even then Drayson had had to rearrange his schedule. It hadn't been difficult for Drayson to get a reservation; he had been to the Cafe Pushkin before, and the owners enjoyed the presence of the city's more powerful individuals. While Drayson was rarely known to use his title for personal gain, he was known to them and an a table was found for him without any fuss. Honestly, he expected that they had his number on file, and knew who he was before even answering the phone.
Drayson arrived early of course, and was seen to their table with all the usual hollow fan-fare one expected of a high class restaurant. The maitre'd recognized him; likely a scanner hidden above the door imaged who ever was approaching, and pulled up their particulars for the man to peruse before they reached him.
He was decked out in his finest suit; a brown tweed number, well tailored and perfectly fitted, but not of the quality one might expect of a person seen in so prestigious a restaurant. Of course, Drayson never cared so much about such things. A light blue dress shirt contrasted nicely between his dark skin and a tie of a somewhat lighter shade of brown from his suit. Also tweed, of course. He liked the pattern of the fabric rather then the more plain solid appearance of more common, expensive suits. It had more personality to it. And, of course, they were durable, serviceable, and inexpensive.
At that hour of a week night, the restaurant wasn't teeming; the place never was. It was intentional that not all tables would ever be occupied, allowing for a buffer between guests. He was seated on the upper level of the Library Hall, in view of but far enough back to enjoy the musician duet, playing a harp and flute.
Drayson sipped a cup of coffee and looked over an anomalous expenditure report out of one of the local police stations that had caught his interest. It wasn't his job, technically; there was an entire Internal Affairs department to deal with such things, but he liked to poke his nose into things from time to time. It was the best way to keep track of the corruption that was so damnably prevalent in Dominance I.
Francis had called him twenty minutes ago, and had been badgering him ever since. Hadn't even tried to beat around the bush on the motive, just went straight to the point. And all the while, Drayson had payed him half a mind while widdling away at the stack of paperwork on his desk. Well, figurative paperwork; he didn't actually do everything the old fashioned way. There were only so many trees in the world, after all.
"Think about it Drayson. I'm betting the last one was the one I set up for you. And that was two years ago."
Francis was leaning on his own desk, peering into the screen, and more importantly, at the side of Drayson's head to observe for any sort of reaction to the statement.
"What? No. It was with..."
He paused, brows furrowed deeply as he mulled it over. Francis was right. Had it really been two years already? "...yes. Two years. Your point?"
"My point is that you're not getting any younger. And this woman, she's just like you! All work, no play. Hell, maybe it won't be you missing the second date this time!"
He sighed quietly; the numbers didn't add up. Someone at that station was dipping into the pot, and they were being sloppy about it. Corruption was the norm, but so long as it didn't get out of hand, didn't cause trouble, he could turn a blind eye to it. If not, then he would have had to try to arrest every rich-and-powerful in the damn city. But to find such sloppy work in his organization; and in his mind, it was his. His responsibility, at least, if not in actual ownership. Well, it was an insult to himself, and to the people of the CCD. They expected the police to protect them, not to steal their tax dollars. It was going to be rectified. Quickly.
He leaned back in his chair, flagging the expense report for further investigation, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "She isn't fresh out of university this time, is she? I am a bit old for that."
Francis laughed; the last date he had set Drayson up on, the girl in question had been 22 years old. The age gap hadn't proven to be a problem for her, but the fact that they had had to reschedule their second date four times in a month had been a deal breaker. "No. She's much closer to your age."
Nearly ten years his junior, but Francis wasn't about to admit it. Drayson was fishing for an excuse to call it off. "And she's eager to meet you, really! Already broke the idea with her, and she's all for it. Excited."
Also not entirely true, but that was besides the point.
Drayson sighed quietly and faced the image of Francis, "Alright, alright I'll do it. Might be nice to get out for a change."
"Exactly! So, where are you going to take her? Somewhere nice I hope! Ah! Do Cafe Pushkin again! It's a very inspiring place."
-----
The actual date was arranged for five days later; a Thursday, 1900hrs. It was the earliest Francis could arrange for the two to actually meet, and even then Drayson had had to rearrange his schedule. It hadn't been difficult for Drayson to get a reservation; he had been to the Cafe Pushkin before, and the owners enjoyed the presence of the city's more powerful individuals. While Drayson was rarely known to use his title for personal gain, he was known to them and an a table was found for him without any fuss. Honestly, he expected that they had his number on file, and knew who he was before even answering the phone.
Drayson arrived early of course, and was seen to their table with all the usual hollow fan-fare one expected of a high class restaurant. The maitre'd recognized him; likely a scanner hidden above the door imaged who ever was approaching, and pulled up their particulars for the man to peruse before they reached him.
He was decked out in his finest suit; a brown tweed number, well tailored and perfectly fitted, but not of the quality one might expect of a person seen in so prestigious a restaurant. Of course, Drayson never cared so much about such things. A light blue dress shirt contrasted nicely between his dark skin and a tie of a somewhat lighter shade of brown from his suit. Also tweed, of course. He liked the pattern of the fabric rather then the more plain solid appearance of more common, expensive suits. It had more personality to it. And, of course, they were durable, serviceable, and inexpensive.
At that hour of a week night, the restaurant wasn't teeming; the place never was. It was intentional that not all tables would ever be occupied, allowing for a buffer between guests. He was seated on the upper level of the Library Hall, in view of but far enough back to enjoy the musician duet, playing a harp and flute.