Fan
KLINGON
“If you don't come clean, miss, I'll put you in jail faster than you can blink!” The detective shouted at her, spitting everywhere. Eleanor might have found that funny, if she had not been scared out of her mind. The fact that she could reduce a man who obviously had a lot of practice in dealing with lying, squirmish people, to shout at her like a half-crazed psycho obviously said something about her.
Something she truly did not want to figure out. (She had the sneaking suspicion it wasn't good and by this point, Eleanor was quite fed up with things going downhill.)
Eleanor Prickett had been here for more than two hours already. Her wrists hurt, her butt started going numb and if someone could just scratch her nose she'd cry out of gratitude. Her stomach went past the growling stage into the eat-itself phase and she could only stand in front of the detective and watch as he completely ignored the shrieking sounds of death her body emitted as it ate itself out of violent starvation.
All the while the detective calmly ate a bagel in front of her. Not just any bagel, but a fresh, crunchy one, obviously just taken out of the oven.
Bastard.
“I.. no hablo, uh, inglés.”
The detective thinned his lips.
Her stomach growled again. She supposed her stomach finished eating itself and was now calmly eating through the rest of her organs.
“Can I have something to eat, please?”
The detective snorted. “What, no 'yo quiero Taco Bell'?” He asked sarcastically. He put his elbows on the table and started writing in a notepad set in front of him.
Eleanor frowned at him.
The detective frowned back.
Eleanor did not find this a good sign.
“Listen here, miss. For the last two hours you've been going through really bad French, Klingon and what a colleague of mine recognized as Elvish. Unfortunately, we do not have an expert to determine whether or not you really are a native speaker of that, but I guarantee you can speak English. Let's not not delve into Spanish, alright?” He growled, obviously drawing out the last of his patience. “Now,” he sighed, “you can start talking or I could just lock you up until you feel like talking. Feel me?” He finished, putting his elbows on the table and starting at her menacingly. Eleanor might have found him hot, but he scared her too much to allow herself to assess his attractiveness.
She supposed his promising physique, his darker skin courtesy of his Latino heritage, his whiskey eyes and his beautiful jawline, covered in the most badass beard she'd ever seen, were enough to make him hot to almost any female with a pulse.
“I can't.” Eleanor squeaked.
His eyebrows furrowed. “What?” He bit.
“I can't.” She squeaked again, wanting to draw herself into a small ball. “Feel you. I can't feel you. My hands are cuffed to this table and I have ankle chains.” Eleanor repeated a bit louder, rattling her chains to prove her point.
The detective frowned and thinned his lips even more.
Eleanor wondered, terrified, how he managed to do that. Any more thinning and his mouth would be obsolete.
“You shouldn't frown so much, you know. My grandmother says your face will stay that way.” Eleanor muttered, trying (and failing) to look the detective in the eyes. She did, however, catch his low growl. “Not that it's a bad thing. I mean, you're good-looking. It's okay if you don't know how to mold your mouth into anything but a frown. I'm pretty sure you could pull off frowning constantly.”
He growled even louder.
Eleanor really, really should learn to keep her mouth shut.
The detective got up from his seat, gave her the stink-eye (the second time that day, Eleanor bitterly remarked) and went out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.
It was at that moment Eleanor accepted that she'd probably (make that definitely) spend the night in jail.
Which is why she back-tracked as soon as she could.
“Sour is very in this year!” She hysterically shouted, praying he'd come back and set her free.
She could hear his growl even through the wall.
Figuring there's nothing more she could do, Eleanor set her head on her hands and started scratching a flower on the table. She supposed twenty was long enough of living without being pimped out.
Something she truly did not want to figure out. (She had the sneaking suspicion it wasn't good and by this point, Eleanor was quite fed up with things going downhill.)
Eleanor Prickett had been here for more than two hours already. Her wrists hurt, her butt started going numb and if someone could just scratch her nose she'd cry out of gratitude. Her stomach went past the growling stage into the eat-itself phase and she could only stand in front of the detective and watch as he completely ignored the shrieking sounds of death her body emitted as it ate itself out of violent starvation.
All the while the detective calmly ate a bagel in front of her. Not just any bagel, but a fresh, crunchy one, obviously just taken out of the oven.
Bastard.
“I.. no hablo, uh, inglés.”
The detective thinned his lips.
Her stomach growled again. She supposed her stomach finished eating itself and was now calmly eating through the rest of her organs.
“Can I have something to eat, please?”
The detective snorted. “What, no 'yo quiero Taco Bell'?” He asked sarcastically. He put his elbows on the table and started writing in a notepad set in front of him.
Eleanor frowned at him.
The detective frowned back.
Eleanor did not find this a good sign.
“Listen here, miss. For the last two hours you've been going through really bad French, Klingon and what a colleague of mine recognized as Elvish. Unfortunately, we do not have an expert to determine whether or not you really are a native speaker of that, but I guarantee you can speak English. Let's not not delve into Spanish, alright?” He growled, obviously drawing out the last of his patience. “Now,” he sighed, “you can start talking or I could just lock you up until you feel like talking. Feel me?” He finished, putting his elbows on the table and starting at her menacingly. Eleanor might have found him hot, but he scared her too much to allow herself to assess his attractiveness.
She supposed his promising physique, his darker skin courtesy of his Latino heritage, his whiskey eyes and his beautiful jawline, covered in the most badass beard she'd ever seen, were enough to make him hot to almost any female with a pulse.
“I can't.” Eleanor squeaked.
His eyebrows furrowed. “What?” He bit.
“I can't.” She squeaked again, wanting to draw herself into a small ball. “Feel you. I can't feel you. My hands are cuffed to this table and I have ankle chains.” Eleanor repeated a bit louder, rattling her chains to prove her point.
The detective frowned and thinned his lips even more.
Eleanor wondered, terrified, how he managed to do that. Any more thinning and his mouth would be obsolete.
“You shouldn't frown so much, you know. My grandmother says your face will stay that way.” Eleanor muttered, trying (and failing) to look the detective in the eyes. She did, however, catch his low growl. “Not that it's a bad thing. I mean, you're good-looking. It's okay if you don't know how to mold your mouth into anything but a frown. I'm pretty sure you could pull off frowning constantly.”
He growled even louder.
Eleanor really, really should learn to keep her mouth shut.
The detective got up from his seat, gave her the stink-eye (the second time that day, Eleanor bitterly remarked) and went out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.
It was at that moment Eleanor accepted that she'd probably (make that definitely) spend the night in jail.
Which is why she back-tracked as soon as she could.
“Sour is very in this year!” She hysterically shouted, praying he'd come back and set her free.
She could hear his growl even through the wall.
Figuring there's nothing more she could do, Eleanor set her head on her hands and started scratching a flower on the table. She supposed twenty was long enough of living without being pimped out.