MCU: The Trouble with Informants

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MCU: The Trouble with Informants

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Absenthia on Wed May 16, 2012 11:35 pm

To best understand the background of the content contained here in and the nature of the MCU [Mythical Crimes Unit] please visit Monogatari: The Unseen World.
This is a scene between myself (Izoi) and Mr._Crow. Please do not post if you are not a participant in the scene.

Sitting in the small cafe, Catherine couldn't help but think of a number of things she would rather be doing than this. It also didn't help that the man they were supposed to be meeting had said he had information that they'd been after for some time now. Flicking through various bits of paperwork she'd taken with her to complete while waiting, nothing terribly important or secretive. Just various intraoffice bullshit that she'd have to handle at the end of the week. "Informant.. nark..fink.. rat..." She mumbled to herself thinking that this was a bad idea in the end. Informants were and had been nothing but trouble. The last one had landed the whole agency in so much hot water it wasn't even mildly amusing now that she looked back at it.

To say that Catherine was in a good mood was the understatement of the year. She had just spent the night dealing with a dispute between the Bronson sisters, both of them MCU members. One had ended up arrested in the end, the other was too busy trying to figure out ways to aid in the former's escape Catherine suspected. They both served their uses, Molly more so than her "sister" Karato; Karato had been hot headed, impatient, and most of all angry at everything. This combined with the MCU's restrictions had more than likely lead to the arrest last night.

Taking a moment to check the time on her watch, she went back to her coffee and paperwork. If the informant was late that wouldn't be necessarily a first or even really surprise her. After all so many years in the business, certain things ceased to phase her. Most of it in the end was a mild, if not moderate annoyance that could be swiftly dealt with under proper circumstances.

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Re: MCU: The Trouble with Informants

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Mr. Crow on Fri May 18, 2012 1:01 am

The low rumble of a car engine echoed from down the street. It was a red taxi. The humdrum of a vehicle pulled up next to a leisurely cafe. Out stepped a tall, green troll, dressed in a droll, black suit, with a top hat that signalled his presence all the more. It was 4:37 in the afternoon, and a dreary storm was cast over Wing City. The clouds were moving quickly, thus the worst of the rain had already passed; the meddlesom denizens of this conglomerate city would probably never notice any one of the fat water drops, until the storm had taken its toll. However, one hefty Oli-troll dolloping about in the puddles, which swamped the side-walk, would notice. After all, he was in a rush, and the weather was no excuse! He'd be a meager seven minutes tardy for this meeting.

A soaked pair of Oxfords would shuffle their way into the cafe entrance. Oli began to rumble his hands over his sleeves, and shoulders, to wipe away the excess droplets of rain. He glared down at his shoes, and the wet bottoms of his trousers. He stomped, and waggled his feet, until he felt they were dry; one might've noticed his childish fit, due to the consistent beat of loud shoe-thumps. The weezing troll was finally at peace. "What bollocks, this's! Might's well debag m'self!"

As he shook off his pants leg one last time, Oli spotted Catherine at the table. He ran a calloused set of green fingers along the rim of his top-hat, before greeting her eyes with a nod. He made a gentlemanly saunter to the table, before seating himself, and crossing his legs; he slipped off his top-hat, and slapped it atop the small table. HIs hat, still being fairly dampened by the rain, might have sprinkled the lady's paper-work. Oli, of course, would not notice. The troll smiled, before he extended his hand over the small table to pride himself with a hand-shake from his soon-to-be acquaintance. He wondered if perhaps she would shake his hand, albeit they always seemed to be plastered with a grubbiness only Oli could stand. No, the dear creture didn't even think so much as to, at the least, wipe his hand off, first. Who knew what wedge it had picked, or booger it flicked?

"Name's Oliver Frye, miss!" he stated wholeheartedly. He teased her with a wink. "Sure you distinguished pack of bobbies might've already known 'dat, 'dough." He glanced down at himself. "Ye'll have to s'cuse my bein' slippy n' all. Promise I won't flatter'ya with'a bloody snog, 'dough." Oli bantered, as he chuckled a bit anxiously. Settling his hand atop the table, he began to drum his fingers. "Right then. And what am I 'ere for, exactly?"

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