Setting
The Sheriff's Department doesn't really see a lot of action, Wichita Falls being what it is. The most exciting 'crimes' that ever happen here are petty theft and graffiti vandals, and those are rare.
Still the station is clean and relatively modern. Sheriff Fleetwood runs a tight ship and, though the days are long and there isn't much action, he wouldn't have it any other way.
Remember, if you see something suspicious, remember it is your civic duty to report it to the Sheriff's office! They'll appreciate the company.
Still the station is clean and relatively modern. Sheriff Fleetwood runs a tight ship and, though the days are long and there isn't much action, he wouldn't have it any other way.
Remember, if you see something suspicious, remember it is your civic duty to report it to the Sheriff's office! They'll appreciate the company.
Minimap
northwest |
north |
northeast |
west |
You are here. |
east |
southwest |
south |
southeast |
The Sheriff's Station is a part of 
Wichita Falls, Oklahoma.
1 Characters Here
Bill Fleetwood [2] The small town cop sworn to defend our titular small town
Start Character Here »
It was Sheriff Fleetwood's custom to arrive at work early, and he detested the feeling of being late. It was something impressed upon him when he was a deputy... Grimacing as he sipped from his mug of dishwater based coffee (the station didn't have the budget to upgrade appliances), he settled down at his desk and glanced sparingly over the front page of today's 'Gazette'.
"Hmph." he grunted dismissively. Just more news on the upcoming centennial celebrations. It was an improvement over yesterday's story, at least, which had reported on a tennis shoe found a few miles from the Refrigeration Plant. They'd made it sound like the freaking crime of the century...not that his deputies didn't treat it as such as well.
Speaking of which...the radio on his desk buzzed to life, crackled like a campfire for a good three minutes, and then emitted the distorted voice of Deputy Corville one of his more...eager associates.
"Sheriff! Sheriff Fleetwood! Are you there..."
"Yes, Jim, I'm here," said Bill into the radio, wishing he weren't, "What is it?"
"We've got reports of an incident down by the interstate."
"Oh?" He didn't see what problem that was of his department. Besides, he was almost certain the highway police made more in a month than he made in a year.
"Yeah, we got a few calls from drivers on the road. Said some car drove the width of the whole highway to get to our exit."
Bill raised his eyebrows, "Anyone hurt?"
"No, but apparently a bunch of people were late to work because of it."
Bill shifted tiredly in his seat, "Got a license plate?"
"Er..."
"No, then. Alright. They'll have to be ticketed."
"Of course, Sheriff, I'm right..."
"Never you mind, Jim, I'm on it." Bill was already getting up.
"But Sheriff..."
"It's fine, Jim." he tuned the radio out, put on his jacket, and got the keys to his truck. Better he go and confront the anonymous reckless driver than his upstart deputy. The exit ramp was dangerous enough already in the frosty season... It had to be some kind of lunatic who would do anything like that behind the wheel.
Uncomfortably he thought of his own past experiences on that ramp, but just as quickly shook the thought away. Self-consciously holding his hand to his bad leg, he limped steadily out of the station and toward his truck.
[OOC: Just a note to everyone: Deputy Corville is just some random one-shot character that any of you can control as you need. Just to avoid confusion.;) ]
"Hmph." he grunted dismissively. Just more news on the upcoming centennial celebrations. It was an improvement over yesterday's story, at least, which had reported on a tennis shoe found a few miles from the Refrigeration Plant. They'd made it sound like the freaking crime of the century...not that his deputies didn't treat it as such as well.
Speaking of which...the radio on his desk buzzed to life, crackled like a campfire for a good three minutes, and then emitted the distorted voice of Deputy Corville one of his more...eager associates.
"Sheriff! Sheriff Fleetwood! Are you there..."
"Yes, Jim, I'm here," said Bill into the radio, wishing he weren't, "What is it?"
"We've got reports of an incident down by the interstate."
"Oh?" He didn't see what problem that was of his department. Besides, he was almost certain the highway police made more in a month than he made in a year.
"Yeah, we got a few calls from drivers on the road. Said some car drove the width of the whole highway to get to our exit."
Bill raised his eyebrows, "Anyone hurt?"
"No, but apparently a bunch of people were late to work because of it."
Bill shifted tiredly in his seat, "Got a license plate?"
"Er..."
"No, then. Alright. They'll have to be ticketed."
"Of course, Sheriff, I'm right..."
"Never you mind, Jim, I'm on it." Bill was already getting up.
"But Sheriff..."
"It's fine, Jim." he tuned the radio out, put on his jacket, and got the keys to his truck. Better he go and confront the anonymous reckless driver than his upstart deputy. The exit ramp was dangerous enough already in the frosty season... It had to be some kind of lunatic who would do anything like that behind the wheel.
Uncomfortably he thought of his own past experiences on that ramp, but just as quickly shook the thought away. Self-consciously holding his hand to his bad leg, he limped steadily out of the station and toward his truck.
[OOC: Just a note to everyone: Deputy Corville is just some random one-shot character that any of you can control as you need. Just to avoid confusion.;) ]
The station was quiet when Bill arrived from his little meeting with the college students. There was a faint smell of burning coming from the kitchen, and Bill remembered with mild horror that he had forgotten to turn off the coffee machine.
"Aw, dammit." he muttered, crossing over to unplug the old, crippled pot, which was now smoking like Vesuvius. He'd have to wash it heavy duty in the sink...or get Jim, or one of the other eager-to-please deputies to do it.
He cast a cursory glance at the clock on the wall. 6:30, on the dot. So far it had been very eventful for a Monday morning which, according to Bill's years of small town police experience, meant the rest of the day would be as dull as dishwater.
"Sheriff Fleetwood!" Jim Corville, a big-eyed, boyish upstart who fancied himself the next Jack Bauer just because he had a badge, strode into the station like he owned the place, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, "Did you find out what the trouble was on the exit ramp..."
"It wasn't trouble at all, Jim." said Bill dismissively, "But thanks for telling me about it." That little acknowledgement of praise would keep Corville in a state of euphoria for a week, he knew.
"Is there anything else I can..."
"Yeah, actually there is," Bill stood up, gesturing to the coffee pot on the counter, "Clean that out, will ya? And watch the phone, see if there are any calls."
"Where are you going?"
"Out." Bill was out the door before Corville could do anything else about it.
As he got back into his truck and started it up, Bill reflected that he had probably not been the best sort of "superior officer" just now, but quickly silenced the reprimand.
His little adventure on the road had made him restless, and he didn't relish the idea of sitting absently at his desk all day, listening to that infernal clock ticking. So he pulled out of the driveway and started off down Main Street, not knowing where he intended to go, but knowing it was better than what he usually did at 6:30 Monday morning.
"Aw, dammit." he muttered, crossing over to unplug the old, crippled pot, which was now smoking like Vesuvius. He'd have to wash it heavy duty in the sink...or get Jim, or one of the other eager-to-please deputies to do it.
He cast a cursory glance at the clock on the wall. 6:30, on the dot. So far it had been very eventful for a Monday morning which, according to Bill's years of small town police experience, meant the rest of the day would be as dull as dishwater.
"Sheriff Fleetwood!" Jim Corville, a big-eyed, boyish upstart who fancied himself the next Jack Bauer just because he had a badge, strode into the station like he owned the place, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, "Did you find out what the trouble was on the exit ramp..."
"It wasn't trouble at all, Jim." said Bill dismissively, "But thanks for telling me about it." That little acknowledgement of praise would keep Corville in a state of euphoria for a week, he knew.
"Is there anything else I can..."
"Yeah, actually there is," Bill stood up, gesturing to the coffee pot on the counter, "Clean that out, will ya? And watch the phone, see if there are any calls."
"Where are you going?"
"Out." Bill was out the door before Corville could do anything else about it.
As he got back into his truck and started it up, Bill reflected that he had probably not been the best sort of "superior officer" just now, but quickly silenced the reprimand.
His little adventure on the road had made him restless, and he didn't relish the idea of sitting absently at his desk all day, listening to that infernal clock ticking. So he pulled out of the driveway and started off down Main Street, not knowing where he intended to go, but knowing it was better than what he usually did at 6:30 Monday morning.
- 2 posts here • Page 1 of 1