|One Police Plaza|
|What: In New York City's war on crime, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the superheroes, who punch bank robbers and strange demonic creatures in the face, and the metacrimes division's detectives, who get stuck dealing with all of the paperwork. These are their stories.
So, kittens and weird demonic things make for very little sleep. The day after his kitten-rescue with Rain, Sam's right back in New York to speak to someone in the NYPD about the weird demon things they ran into. Once he finds a place to park--driving up from the south isn't so bad--he leaves a message for Rain to find out how the kittens are. Then he heads into 1 Police Plaza.
He's got to go straight to work after this, it's out of his way to go back to the Den. That means he's in his firefighter's uniform, and his EMT uniform for his part-time job is in the back of the truck. Ironically, that's one of the reasons that jeans and a T-shirt feels like his Outsiders uniform. It's what he wears to go hero-ing in. He pushes his sunglasses up as he heads into the building and checks to see if there's any messages for him on Twitter... well, there are dozens. Any *important* ones.
In amongst the usual faces at One Police Plaza, there is an oddity. Sitting patiently in the waiting room outside the metacrimes division's offices is Captain America himself, uniform and all, though his cowl has been pulled down to rest around his shoulders. The styrofoam cup of coffee cradled in his gloved hands would be a respectable size for anyone else, but he makes it look tiny, and it doesn't help that he's trying very hard to ignore the looks coming his way from the other people in the room, regardless of what side of the law they seem affiliated with.
Don't mind Cap. He just wants to drink his coffee, leave his statement, and... wave towards Sam, apparently, with a sudden smile splitting his features.
Transferring to Metacrimes might have been a bad idea. Might have. Sara doesn't mind the work in theory-- even if she knows practically nothing about the thing on her wrist that put her in the department. It's the way other cops are frequently all too happy to toss anything they can, no matter how mundane, into her department's collective hands the second it looks like a costume or 'something weird' is involved. She's chalking it up to new-department growing pains, thus far.
In any event, the detective puts in her appearance soon enough-- the department just isn't big enough, in her opinion-- the tail end of a bit of yelling over her shoulder coming with her. "...sure you still remember how to take a statement, Sarge!" Then she spots Sam, and Steve. Great. Firefighter AND Captain Freakin' America. She feels great about arguing now. Suck it up, Pezzini. She straightens her jacket, jugging on the hem, and clears her throat a little, the bracelet on her right wrist glittering with an unnatural lustre in the lights. She looks a little harried, and trying not to show it. "Gentlemen. I'm Detective Pezzini, Metacrimes. I'm told you came down to file reports?" She doesn't-- quite-- suggest they didn't need to be kept waiting for her.
"Steve, good to see you again!" Sam looks about as happy to see Steve as Steve is to see him, given his smile. It's like a golden retriever convention. He offers Steve a handshake, only taking in the uniform enough to note that Steve was at work just now. "You're the last person I expected to see..." And then Sara pops out to take their statements.
"Your guys asked me to swing by, Detective," Sam says. "Ran into some magical creatures in an alley in Brooklyn the other night. The officers came around to collect what was left." He pulls up a picture of the creepy baby-like creatures with claws and batwings and needle teeth and hands Sara the phone. "One of them took a piece out of my leg, wouldn't want them getting hold of a civilian."
The Captain's smile broadens when Sam addresses him simply as 'Steve,' and he rises to his feet before reaching out to return the handshake. "Good to see you too, Sam. Life's calmed down a little, I hope?" he asks, fully aware that if they're both standing /here/, to give statements..? Yeah. The answer is probably 'no.'
Captain America turns to offer the same smile towards Sara when she arrives, waving the unspoken apology off with his free hand. "Ma'am. I'm in no rush, I think they're still being booked downstairs." And that is when he actually inches over to try and peek at the picture on Sam's phone without invading anyone's space. Totally inconspicuous, Rogers, good job.
Sara nods gratefully at Steve, though the revalation that there's people to book does drag a comment out of her. "If they're... why did they insist I nneded to--" she cuts herself off and eyes the star-spangled costume, then just sighs. "Right." Of course, Sam's gotten her attention. This part. this part is definitely her area. "Oh, right. I remember that. Sorry-- there aren't a lot of us for the volume of work," she explains, interested in Sam's photo of the little... thing.
"I can't say I actually know much about these offhand, I'm still pretty new to-- Cut that out!" she interrupts herself, lightly >whanging< her wrist off a file cabinet. "It's a *photo*." Maybe it's a trick of the light, but the coils of the elaborate piece of jewelry seem to shift around briefly after the interjection. "Did you see any more of them?" she asks, fishing out her phone and a stylus. She's a modern lady, and actual notebooks just arent' as convenient as a good smartphone anymore.
"Eight of them just in that one alley. One was eating kittens under a dumpster. Managed to save two of them, poor little things." Sam wrinkles his nose at the memory of the mess but then he shrugs. It's the job, right?
"They fly, climb vertical surfaces, have a bit of language, hunt in a pack. I'd say they were at least fifteen pounds apiece and a lot stronger than they look. Not something you'd want to just take on, though I didn't have any trouble once I got the first one off my leg. Someone else was along about the same time, she said she was fairly sure they were magical--sounded like she'd been seeing a lot of odd stuff lately. I can ask her to get in touch with you when I check in with her about how the kittens are doing." Yes. Sam rescues kittens. And puppies. Hush.
Captain America's attention is successfully dragged from the photo to Sara's bracelet when she whangs it against the cabinet. He eyes it a moment, then her, before he shrugs to himself and sips his coffee. Nothin' to see here.
"Creepy little gremlins," the Captain asides to Sam, his tone one of distaste. "Where in Brooklyn'd you say this was?" He can't help being curious, even with the police obviously looking into it. It's his neighborhood.
Sara scrawls shorthand notes as Sam talks, nodding a little, and developing a bit of a scowl as she goes. There's a brief, soft scraping noise from her sleeve, but she ignores it this time, more intent on the job. She produces a business card with her name and information on it, and hands it to Sam. "If you can, have her call me when you do. It doesn't have to be on the record." Story of her life, lately. She nods agreement with Steve's question. "If you can be as specific as possible. I should probably go have a look to follow up, just in case."
"I'd just done a drop-off at Long Island College Hospital and went out for a walk while I waited on the nurse to finish the transfer. They can take hours. I can show you exactly where I was at the time." Sam refers to his phone again and pulls up a map. "Off Pierrepont between Hicks and Henry. Not far east of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. There you go." He hands Sara his phone again for her to look.
"Pretty decent area, though I like it better over at TBH, with the big park behind it and everything," he says to Steve. "Just LICH was the only one that had room in the NICU. Delivery complications and premature babies always put my teeth on edge. Rather run into a burning building than have a sick baby on my hands, it's the worst feeling."
Sara juggles both phones long enough to bring up the mapping on her own and pin the location for later reference. "I don't blame you," she murmurs sympathetically while she's at it, then passes him back the phone when finished. "Sam, right?" It was on the note, she's pretty sure. "I'm sorry but I have to ask-- are you... ah..." she nods somewhat significantly at the costumed Steve Rogers. One day, she'll work out a good way to ask that question. That day is not today.
Sam's baffled by the question and tilts his head to look at Sara puppy-wise as though it will make things more clear. There are so many possible answers... is he... the wrong answer here could be disastrous. Finally he works out what she is most likely to mean... doesn't really matter because the answer to most of the questions is yes.
"Yes. But. This is what I do." He gestures at the uniform he wears right now. He's not exactly a masked vigilante or an official hero like Steve. "Why?"
Sara winces a little. She's still really not used to the powered-hero world. Not at all. She holds up a hand. "Not for the report. I just wanted to know, if I need to contact you later, how safe it has to be to be safe." That... sounded incredibly lame. "Not that I expect it to. It's just one of those things i might need to consider." And that was no less lame. Mrm. "...sorry. I was working normal homicide up until a couple of weeks ago." Normal homicide. It's crazy she can say that and mean it.
"It takes a little getting used to," the Captain notes with a sympathetic smile. "You'll get the hang of it, Detective. If I could do it, I think just about anybody could." He brings his coffee up to finish it off, and absently gives Sam a brief, supportive pat on the shoulder while he does. "If you want company when you go out that way, it wouldn't be out of my way. I don't want to interfere, though."
"I'm... pretty indestructable," Sam says flatly. The collar of his long-sleeved navy undershirt doesn't entirely conceal the scar across his throat, especially where it rises up slightly under his ears. "Especially if I'm ready for it. So don't worry. You won't get me killed." That'd be a feat. In spite of the pat on the shoulder, he crosses his arms over his chest and shifts uncomfortably. "I'll see what Rain has to say about what she's seen, if she can help me out with a map of her sightings."
Sara nods gratefully at Steve, and apologetically at Sam. "I'd appreciate that." She's clearly not looking to get details our of him in regards to his status past a simple yes/no, and she doesn't note it down. "Any indications this was more widespread that you could see, or that someone... how to put it... unleashed them? Anyone hanging around, taking an odd interest, that sort of thing?"
"No, they looked pretty independent. Didn't see anyone around. I didn't look up too far, just around the immediate area. Everything else was calm. But, like I said, Rain didn't seem surprised to come across them. No signs of rifts, portals, summonings... no markings or writing in the area that I could see. Everything was pretty normal." Sam seems to be taking all if it completely in stride. All in a day's work.
Becoming eeriely standard life for the detective, too. What's the world coming to? Sara rubs her temple with the stylus, nodding. "At least there's that," she muses. "Alright, thanks for bringing this in, Sam. I'll go out and take a look. Anything you can do to get her in touch with me about this would be appreciated, but I'll understand if it doesn't work out that way. The NYPD hasn't really had what I'd call a great relationship with the capes and cowls segment, so to speak, so I'm not going to push it." She eyes Steve. "You busy today, Captain?" Captain America. Captain Freakin' America. And she's asking him if he's free to go poke around dumpsters looking for demons. What has her life become.
"Aside from giving you that statement?" Captain America asks, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a lopsided smile. "No ma'am. Not busy at all." As satisfying as patrolling the city with an eye out for trouble is, there is a /lot/ to be said for a specific destination with a specific goal in mind. He likes those.
"She seemed like a sweet girl, said she looked after the estate of some rich guy here in the city," Sam says. You'd have to be rich beyond Sam's understanding of it to have actual property in New York, much less enough to call an estate. "Like I said, I'll be seeing her again soon. I've got to take over some more kitten formula and all that. I'd offer to go with you two but I've only got an hour or so before I need to drive back out to New Jersey. Good luck finding anything, though. If you need people to keep an eye out, I can ask around." Twitter army, ho.
Sara nods her appreaciation. "Thanks, Sam. I don't think we need to keep you from it any further. This should be enough to go on." She gives Cap a wry grin. "Aside from that, yeah. Can do that part on the way."
"You've got better things to be doing today than digging around in the trash for gremlins," Captain America tells Sam, and he means every word. "But if we find any, I'll let you know." Just as soon as he remembers how to work his phone. He's still pretty sure he's gonna break the dumb thing if he looks at it wrong.
"I hope all I have to do today is check a few hoses and polish some chrome. Busy day for me is a bad day for someone else." Sam flashes Steve a smile. "But it's fireplace season and there's always some excitement when folks forget to clean the chimney. After that, it's lousy Christmas lights and dry trees. And, there's always the highway. So, I'll just cross my fingers." He offers Sara his hand. "I'll get out of your way now, Detective. Nice to meet you."
"It's no trouble, Sam. I'm never going to begrudge someone doing their civic duty. Don't get enough people like that as it is," Sara notes. "I'll hope for an incredibly dull day for you. Hopefully we can all enjoy one of those." The experienced cop in her can't quite keep the unspoken 'not damn likely' from being audible.
"I'm not sure I remember what dull days are like," Captain America admits, and although he's smiling, there's a degree of truth to the statement that he's trying not to think about too much. With a grin for Sam and a brief touch of fingers to his forehead in a casual salute, he turns to Sara instead, and gestures for her to preceed him so he can fall into step with her. He doesn't have a car, but he's sure she's got /something/ to get them from OPP to where they're going. "My turn, I suppose. After you?"