gingersnaps
actually viktoria >:)
12:46 PM.
Adrian tapped his digits on the wheel, eyes flickering between the road ahead of him and the numbers on the clock.
God, he was aching for a smoke.
If he cared less about punctuality, he'd gladly stop his old Mustang here, in the middle of nowhere, and go through his last pack of Marlboro. Perhaps then he'd even feel slightly less miserable about this job. But alas, he was himself, and Adrian Murphy would not be embarrassed on his very first day on the job by being late because of this damn itch for nicotine. He cared about it, even if the people in Springhaven, Maine probably did not.
He'd turned off the radio about an hour ago, the music had somehow become worse than being left alone with his thoughts. At least in the silence, he could think about the case that was waiting for him, just a few minutes away.
The situation was straight-forward enough, nothing that hadn't been heard of before: a group of young rascals decided to get wasted in the woods, one of them vanished while the others got hammered and turned up dead a week later. In his opinion, there was a pretty obvious explanation for the tragedy, but the bureau still requested that someone go check things out.
Get Murphy on it, he thinks he's hot shit after the Johnson case.
How fucking dreadful, to be known as the man to call when a kid turns up dead.
He made it to the police station 2 minutes before the agreed upon time. This made him smile. Now, all he had to do was wait for Detective Deaton, whoever he might be. Adrian finally got a cigarette between his lips, lit it, and looked around, waiting and looking around this seemingly idylic town.
Adrian tapped his digits on the wheel, eyes flickering between the road ahead of him and the numbers on the clock.
God, he was aching for a smoke.
If he cared less about punctuality, he'd gladly stop his old Mustang here, in the middle of nowhere, and go through his last pack of Marlboro. Perhaps then he'd even feel slightly less miserable about this job. But alas, he was himself, and Adrian Murphy would not be embarrassed on his very first day on the job by being late because of this damn itch for nicotine. He cared about it, even if the people in Springhaven, Maine probably did not.
He'd turned off the radio about an hour ago, the music had somehow become worse than being left alone with his thoughts. At least in the silence, he could think about the case that was waiting for him, just a few minutes away.
The situation was straight-forward enough, nothing that hadn't been heard of before: a group of young rascals decided to get wasted in the woods, one of them vanished while the others got hammered and turned up dead a week later. In his opinion, there was a pretty obvious explanation for the tragedy, but the bureau still requested that someone go check things out.
Get Murphy on it, he thinks he's hot shit after the Johnson case.
How fucking dreadful, to be known as the man to call when a kid turns up dead.
He made it to the police station 2 minutes before the agreed upon time. This made him smile. Now, all he had to do was wait for Detective Deaton, whoever he might be. Adrian finally got a cigarette between his lips, lit it, and looked around, waiting and looking around this seemingly idylic town.