Nothing But Bones

1: Aggie

Tiff Sheridan sits waiting in a room in Lake Wonder's police station. They brought her in on charges related to golf cart theft and property damage for wrecking said golf cart. Eye witnesses claim that "a large dog or perhaps a beaver" was driving the cart, but police waved that off as nonsense when they arrived at the scene and only found a teenager in a failed getaway.

An old clock mounted on a bare wall faithfully ticks away the minutes while she sits. It's a little shameful to admit that she isn't as familiar with the police station as she probably should be. They usually don't catch her when she's painting Bigfoot on the town's welcome sign. Unfortunately, you can't open a portal and skedaddle on out of the crime scene when you're in the middle of trying to untangle your bracelet from the plastic sheeting of a golf cart. It doesn't work like that.

There's no point in blaming this on Kepler, she knows. He's a rat. When your rat (who is legally a dog) commits a crime, it's on you. It's like when your kid has an illegal firearm. It's their fault, but you still have to pay the price.

They brought her in, booked her, and had her wait in a cell for all of two minutes before they asked her to follow the officer to a room where she was told to wait. After all of that, it takes an hour before Tiff hears the door behind her open quietly and the shuffle of feet entering the room.

She crosses her arm over her chest, annoyed and listening to the door close. Preoccupied with kicking her heels at the ground, doesn't look over her shoulder to see who's coming in. The bright lights over her head and the feeling of fingerprint powder clinging to her fingers and her jeans is more than enough distraction.

"Just so you know," she says, without looking, "I'm not talking to you without a lawyer."

With that, she shuts her trap and looks off at the corner of the room. She may have changed one of her majors, but she still took enough criminal justice classes to know that. The slight breeze of the room's newest occupant wafts past Tiff, leaving behind a lingering scent of a slightly-familiar cologne. It reeks of last Monday at the public park.

A man steps into view, with a manila envelope in one hand and a cup holder with two coffees in the other. He sets the coffee on the table, then the envelope, before settling himself down in the chair across from Tiff, a smile on his familiar face.

"Ah, Miss Sheridan!"

She rolls her eyes. Of course it's him. She's familiar with manila. She's familiar with this man's forgettable face.

He continues, "A lawyer shouldn't be necessary, I don't think. I'm just here to talk and see what two old friends can do for each other."

The agent from the Black Robes Division that she exchanged favors with last month pushes the cup holder closer to her. "But first! There's cream and sugar in the other the cup holes, so please help yourself!"

Not touching the coffee, she leans back in her chair and folds her arms more insistently. "Hey, Aggie. Bud. Long time, no see. You know I don't drink coffee."

Aggie, as Tiff affectionately calls him, waves his hand and the coffee slides across the table to the end, stopping before it goes over the edge. "Me neither."

"Then what was the point of the coffee?"

He leans forward, fingers tapping the envelope, and gives Tiff a curious look. "I just find it funny how local politicians, like Mr. Cunningham, are always the most vocal about any slight against them."

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain what the point of the coffee was."

"Stop talking about the coffee. The coffee doesn't matter," the agent snaps. "You did steal and destroy his property, yes, but I'm only half-joking when I say he'd probably see you executed for this. He's absolutely livid. Not to mention convinced you're an actual demon who controls demonic vermin. A real piece of work, that Ivan Cunningham. Still... you're in a fair bit of trouble. Trouble I could help with."