disproof | [tfln/meme overflow]

Just escaped from the ER. Meet me at the bar in 20 minutes.

You'll read it in the report tomorrow. You'll hear it again when I do the debrief in the afternoon. I'll give you the short version. [And before he does, he knocks back the whiskey and tips the bartender for a refill.] It went exactly as you'd expect interviewing a burgeoning cult leader to go. Actually--

[Yeah, another beer too, why not.]

They seem like the sort who'd be happy to rant all day about their beliefs, if given the chance. [ As narcissists so often are. Q sips his own whiskey at a much more reserved pace and watches Strand down his without comment...just raised eyebrows. ]

He didn't try to get you to join, did he?

[That gets a low-set chuckle, still a little soaked from the whiskey.] I'm hardly acolyte material. I try to be transparent about that. Shock and awe, they aren't going for--transparency. Particularly not where law enforcement is concerned.

[Eyebrows raised in kind, he casts a sideways glance at Q.] I, ah--I might need your help with management.

So less proselytizing, more trying to downplay their involvement in illegal occult activities? One step below 'the goats drained of blood from rural farms last month certainly wasn't us, look elsewhere', I imagine?

[ Help with management. That, it turns out, is enough to get Q taking a second, deeper drink from his own whiskey. ] Thrilled to hear it.

I asked them for backup. I filled out the requisite paperwork, put in the mediation request for Patrice specifically, followed up and-- [He holds up most of his fingers, thumb and fore pinched around the shot glass.] --I did my diligence, is what I'm saying. And I'm a bit worried that personality will play a bigger role in my imminent future than I'd like.

I need a character witness. [Eyebrows up, glass cheered to Q.] And for someone to remind that it's not my fault I was alone, nor my fault that he had a fucking attack dog.

[ Luckily, Q's just barely started drinking, so he's got plenty of focus to listen to this story and put two and two together. He sighs, heavily. ]

You need someone to say it's not your fault that you caused an incident for the second time in as many weeks. [ It's not that Q doesn't believe that Strand didn't mean to get in a fight with cult leaders. It's just that Strand's personality means this is an issue they've had before. Q stares at him. It would probably look more like he was assessing his character if he didn't just look tired, aggravated, and like he's still already starting to swing towards indulgence.

He's getting soft, isn't he? Christ. Q finishes the whiskey and starts in on the beer, which he winces at after the first sip. ] What about someone to remind you that perhaps you could just go to the office-funded sensitivity training courses?

[He winds up a retort about not having caused incidents ever, but he bites down on it. Almost has another drink, except that Q's (apt) suggestion has him scowling and setting the glass back down.]

I have been to the damn sensitivity training-- [Not in the last two years, but who's counting?] --but you can't seriously expect that kind of tiptoeing tact to hold up against the truly delusional. He is a human trafficker, Q. He is a human retailer, Q.

[ An argument? Just in time, the evening was starting to look like it might be boring. Q listens with a disconnected patience up until the end, when he frowns and leans in closer - all the better to speak in a passionate whisper so no one overhears. ] Yes, and he was evidently a dangerous human trafficker. One that you're fortunate only had an attack dog today, and not something with more bullets involved.

I sympathize with your-- discomfort for playing nice with bad people. But that's how we get enough information to do something about it. [ Q leans back onto his own stool, sighing. ] ...I'll put in a word to make sure you're not sent on these alone again. [ Surely, with all their issues of being understaffed, that won't ever backfire in Q's direction or anything... ]

[Q leans in, and Strand ducks his head, jaw winding tight--I'm listening, but I don't have to be happy about it. He's been around the block enough that he knows this. He should know it. That he has to be reminded, even this way is embarrassing at best. It sits in the air as Q settles back in his seat, churning until Strand admits thinly:]

The trainings never fit in my schedule. I need--I need accommodations if I'm going to get them in the next month. I know that Sims has been meaning to make to them tpo, we could--schedule something.

I don't care about being shot. Or stitched.

Yes, but the employee health insurance cares about you being shot. [ Stiffly, like he's reprimanding-- well, an employee, and not a colleague he just bothered to face happy hour traffic to go join in sulking at a bar. Q abandons the beer and instead orders another shot of of whiskey.

At least the bartender remembers Strand's scowl from earlier, and again doesn't card Q before bringing the drink over. ] But alright. I'll see if I can get them to schedule a training on a day you're not being sent out for field research.

[tfln/meme overflow]

Q | commandline

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lmfAO

i am...loving your guy, okay

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