((OOC NOTE: Title of this log taken from the lyrics of 'I Shot The Sheriff'))
Sheriff's Estate - The Vault
This room covers almost the entire ground floor of this house. The majority is taken up by a stylish reception area; three chunky, white leather couches places in a neat U-shape, with a low table in the centre. Another corner holds a modern, black table, six comfortable chairs placed around it as though for conference. The final feature is a bar, well-equipped behind it and with a pair of chunky fridge-freezers, containing a variety of synthetic blood. In one corner is a staircase, leading upstairs. On the same wall is a door through to the only area on this floor not part of this room, where sits a small bathroom and the route downstairs, a featureless door, metal constructed and lockable from one side only, though plated to fit with the design of the house.
Three walls are white, the fourth covered in ceramic panels to give some colour to the place. The floor is tiled, in a pleasant, neutral shade. Windows at regular intervals stretch from floor to ceiling, concealed blackout blinds above them. One wall bears a huge flatscreen television, and one aware of their surroundings will spot the speakers concealed at various points in the room. The general feel of this area is a clinical style, a blank, neutral canvas for whatever happens to be going on. Those who know Will generally refer to this area as The Vault, for the round pillars that stretch up to the roof.
The hour is late, close to midnight. A siren can be heard outside, swiftly getting louder until finally reaching a crescendo right outside the door. The blackout curtains in the room block the red and blue circulating light from flooding the room. Steady, cautious footsteps approach the door. A brief conversation taking place outside, which pauses as the phone inside begins to ring.
"Yeah, boss? We gots a Officer Rossum here to see ya."
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"Open it," comes the response. The door is opened by security, though at the moment there is nobody within the main room. Slowly stepping out from a doorway is William Grant, Sheriff of Dallas. He is dressed meticulously today, a dark suit with silvery pinstripes gracing his lithe form, shirt black and open at the collar.
Expression impassive, he begins walking over towards his kitchen area, those quiet measured steps carrying him easily. He does not bother looking to the door, to the visitors he no doubt has.
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Visitor. Singular. Officer Rossum is working alone, at least for the time being. She doesn't look very cop-like either, at the moment, wearing a snug tan colored leather jacket over her uniform. Her poise is relaxed, but grim.
"Mister Grant?" Until she gets proper verification, she's not about to step further into the house and trap herself, especially without backup.
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"You realise quite how tactless it is to drive up to my home, sirens blaring and lights flashing," says Will, pleasantly, as he draws forth a bottle of synthetic blood from one of the mighty fridges. "No Officer Sanders?" He still hasn't bothered to look around.
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"Tactless, but necessary," Leigh says, eyes narrowing upon the man. Necessary, and perhaps a tad for fun so she could race through the empty late night streets without any thoughts of repercussion.
Though a man in the know, he very likely doesn't concern himself too much with the affairs of humans. "Detective Sanders was promoted two weeks ago, and gunned down in the line of duty last Friday." There is a bit of a sad note to her voice as she relays the message.
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"I cannot see us building a good relationship if you do so every time," Will replies, before cutting across into, "Would you like a drink? I have many non-alcoholic beverages you may sample. Whilst emergencies are acceptable, it does so draw the attention of the neighbours."
He actually finally turns around at the last, impassive expression touched by a faint crease at the brow. "Please pass my condolences to the family. There is a fund for donations?"
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If he were only aware of how much she really doesn't want to be there at all, let alone building good a good relationship - never mind that she left the pack to forge out on her own for a while. It's still working with a vamp, and she still feels as though a reprimand will come at any time for it.
Officer Rossum allows a very small smile. "Thank you for the offer," she says, with a slight non-Texan accent, "but I'm fine." A little fidgety now, she begins to move out of the doorway to take a look around the dwelling. "College fund for the children, and another for a scholarship for those interested in studying law and law enforcement."
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"Thank you," replies Will, making a mental note — well, more of a mental order to Erica upstairs — to see some fiscal contribution makes its way there. He closes the fridge with a nudge of a foot, cracking the bottle of synthetic open as he does so, and turns to make his way towards the U-shape of couches. His free hand gestures as he does so, inviting Leigh to them as well.
"Now, Officer Rossum. How may I assist you today?" he asks, as he sinks into the couch in a catlike manner.
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Officer Rossum makes her way toward the couches with a shrug. "No problem. Detective Sanders was a good man." She may not have known him long, but he was a mentor to her.
"It may be more of how I can assist you." Frowning deep enough to furrow her brow, she sits herself down on the far couch. "There was an issue out at Glencoe park the other night. From the assessment of the scene, it would appear that someone staked a vampire. Only, we can't tell who it is, or rather was."
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If she was expecting a big reaction, sadly it is not forthcoming. Will's expression remains impassive as he takes a sip of the synthetic blood. "Sanders was a good man," he agrees, as he considers her words.
Slowly, he leans further back into the couch. "Any identifying possessions of the murdered individual left behind?" he asks, easily. "Even clothing or jewelry would likely mean I could identify the individual in question. Was the stake left behind?"
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"Nothing of the murdered individual. A mess of black goo, the stake, and two silver necklaces. Forensics is working on the necklaces now to see if we can find the responsible party." Officer Rossum's frown seems to deepen, if that is even possible. "Problem is, we don't have a VIU, and the boys down at the station aren't in favor of rushing the lab work."
Leigh reaches into the pocket of her coat, offering him a small white card with his own information on it. "Found this tucked into one of Sanders' case files on a V dealer." Doesn't specify that Will is a vampire or has any significance to vampires though. Funny how she found him then.
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"Unlikely to be a professional movement," Will tells her, "since they left evidence. I shall enquire of a few individuals if any vampire has gone missing - you realise it could take days." He takes another draught at the bottle.
He glances down to the small card, and clear blue eyes lift up to Leigh, the hint of friendliness, of openess melting away, replaced by utter impassiveness. "You are not acting as an unofficial liason? Why have you come to me, Officer?"
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"Days are better than it getting lost in all the red tape." Officer Rossum loves her department, and the people she works with, but knows that when it comes to something they can't understand - meaning the majority of the supernatural community - they tend to let it slide unless they can find some other way of explaining it.
"Because, Sheriff, I'm not a complete idiot." Crossing her left leg over her right, she leans forward slightly. "Word on the street is that you're the head honcho in the city for the vampire citizens. You had an unofficial setup with Detective Sanders, but I'm not Detective Sanders."
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"I will do so," replies Will. "The bane of the police force, beaurocracy." Idly, his fingers begin to tap against the bottle of blood.
"The word on the street is often an exaggeration," he continues, mildly. His gaze, so recently wandering over the walls, over the haunting painting of a ruined countryside, drift back and settle onto the police officer. "You should consider partaking in a similar relationship, officer. We could be of assistance to each other."
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"You'll have to forgive me for saying so," Officer Rossum replies, "but in this case it is doubtful that it's an exaggeration. I tend to like to check out the supernatural community where I live." A half shrug with her right shoulder. "I also prefer to do things officially and on the books. A similar relationship, perhaps, but I'd much prefer to get a vamp on the force or have an official vampire liaison without having to deal with the AVL."
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"As would any shape-shifting police officer," says Will, starting to develop something like a smile, but lacking emotion. He finished the bottle of synthetic blood in a final, long draught.
"Official liason is what the AVL is for," he continues, pleasantly. "I will not enter into an official relationship with any mortal authority, because it is not my way, nor is it fitting for there to be an official record that suggests there is a working and functional vampire hierarchy or organisation. Which, as we all know, is simply not the case. However, we may be able to assist each other."
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A small snarl, and Officer Rossum is on her feet. No advance made on the man, just a look. "Werewolf," she says, glaring at him. "I would never equate myself to something so impure as a shifter." The mood could have been averted had he asked rather than made an assumption.
"To be honest, Sheriff, I would much prefer to work with one of your lackeys than a suit from the AVL. As much good as they try to promote, they're a bit of an uppity bunch."
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"It has been a while since I have had such a pure-blooded werewolf in my home," replies Will, still impassive, unconcerned. "It is good to see that the lines still run true." He is still looking directly at her; it would seem that particular reaction may have been what he was aiming for.
"I am surprised that you think I have lackeys, though perhaps less so of your opinions of the AVL. They can be somewhat beaurocratic."
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Officer Rossum hehs, falling out of her aggressive stance to a more passive one. "Truer than any shifter you would meet," she states. So easily played by the other supernatural.
"Far too bureaucratic," she replies. "I have enough paper work, really can't waste time filling it out when there are criminals around."
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"Of course," Will responds, drawing to his feet as he finishes the bottle of synthetic. "So, we have an arrangement for this particular situation," he continues, as he begins taking quiet, measured steps towards the bar area again.
"What of the future, Officer Rossum? The AVL is the official source for all things vampiric. Information brokering is a costly business."
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"The AVL is hardly what I'd consider an official source, Sheriff." Officer Rossum furrows her brow a bit. "They're more of a public awareness group, spending the majority of their time pushing paper, and filming public service announcements. Are those the people you really want handling vampire affairs in an official capacity?"
Leigh doesn't move, she watches as he heads back toward the bar. "I am the future," she replies easily enough. "Like I said, I'd prefer to do things by the book. If you'd prefer a human officer be privy to your status, I can arrange it."
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"As soon as there is an official capacity, there is a perceived conspiracy," Will tells her, opening the mighty fridge again to take out another bottle of synthetic blood. "I will have no such thing."
"Furthermore, threats of attempting to out a non-existent vampire hierarchy will not be conducive to a healthy relationship. In this situation, there is no book, there is no established methodology. There is you, and there is me. I will not be a petty informant. These relationships need to function in both directions."
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"You are a very paranoid man, Sheriff." Officer Rossum gives her head a slight shake, sighing a little. "I'd rather not waste my time or yours with this nonsense." There is a reason she would prefer things to be official; it makes things neat and tidy in the write-ups. Trying to wade through Sanders' files and reading about the 'undisclosed' sources was tiresome.
"Hardly a threat, I was merely offering you an alternative. Someone who would be more to your liking."
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The impassive tone of the vampire shifts slightly, an edge developing that speaks of an emotion held in check. Fingers tightly grip the bottle in his hand, knuckles whitening. "I am a paranoid vampire attempting to ensure the safety of an entire species in a city rife with those who would do us harm," says he, turning to level a direct look on the police officer.
"I would rather there be no need for backroom dealings and unofficial meetings, however I have little choice. You speak your mind, which is good. You can come to me for assistance in matters vampiric. In the same vein, I expect a similar co-operation from you. Is that simple enough?"
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"Had there been harm intended, Sheriff, you wouldn't have realized I was here until it was too late." Officer Rossum is a werewolf after all, and she's more than aware of her abilities. "I may not be able to speak for the entire city, but you're going to be hard-pressed to find someone who'll stick to what you want these days." A mire of paperwork prevents the unofficial meetings, since it helps prevent dirty cops.
"To be honest, I didn't come here for assistance. Were the victim a human, I would have located their family to tell them the grim news. As there was no identifying features, I did the next best thing." She turns toward the door, "I will consider your offer, but I'll have you know I don't buy into the absolute secrecy. You yourself may be unable to liaise in an official capacity, but surely there's someone in your employ that could."
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"Another threat?" Will asks, mildly, a dark gleam of amusement touching his eyes. A feral touch, a vanity and arrogance born of centuries is common in his type. There's a challenge to his look, even an invitation.
"I appreciate the message," says he. "Remember, I do not speak for all vampires. They are free to do as they wish within the constraints of the law, as with any other citizen. You would be foolish not to consider my offer. You would be even more foolish to consider writing it up."
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"Actually, Sheriff, you implied that I was making a threat, I corrected you. You would do wise to not be so completely and utterly paranoid, it will be the death of you." Oh, wait, she knows. This will also be considered a threat. The challenge to his look is met with one of her own. She may be young by his standards, but she's no slouch in the fighting department.
"Foolish or not, it is my consideration to make, and it is MY decision. You may have been able to push around Detective Sanders due to his human status, but you'll find I'm not so easy to intimidate."
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Suddenly, the vampire's look flashes to amused. "So very young. So very sure of yourself. So very werewolf."
"Sanders never required intimidation," Will replies to the second. "He understood human nature, and the necessity of pragmatism. As I assume there is nothing else, as you seem to be lacking a warrant." He pauses, to flash eyes down to his drink and back up, impassive once more. "Begone from my home until you have either come to the correct decision, or learnt basic human decency and manners."
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"One doesn't need a warrant to provide the home owner with bad news," Officer Rossum states with a roll of her eyes. "Sanders had his ways, I have mine." Which he can either accept or deny, no skin off her back either way. Next time, she won't bother caring to inform him of the death of one of his own.
"I will go of my own accord, and not because you demand it." With that, she makes her way to the door, and lets herself out.
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Only a gentle 'tch' for the arrogancy of youth and the failure of the officer to spot veiled insult follows her out. Will goes back to his couch, placing himself on it with characteristic conservation of movement, and begins to drain the bottle of synthetic.
