March of the Pigs

[Nightfall]

Nightfall checked his reflection in a parked car's mirror, and then skipped up the steps of the SPD precinct house. He'd been in one of these before, actually. His third ballet teacher hadn't seemed to mind the laws regarding minors. He hadn't either, actually, but another jealous student had snitched on the lovely Ms. Kevil.

He had an idea of what he wanted to do, but no real idea of how to go about it. Probably the smart thing to do would be to ask the lawyer, Kyle, to help, but... he just wasn't the sort to ask for help when he could screw things up on his own first.

Making his way in, he looked around for a duty officer's post.

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[Fractured]

The sergeant on duty spares a glance at the young man as he approaches. The scene within is a very typical day at the station, which means it's a madhouse of prostitutes, junkies, roughnecks, low-lifes, public defenders, meter maids, beat cops...

"Help you?" the old man grunts.

[Nightfall]

Nightfall wonders if he should have brought donuts. It's so cliche... but... everyone loves donuts. Or maybe just donut holes. Or kolaches. Maybe it's all the low-lifes making him nervous.

"Hi," he begins, holding out one of his cheap -- but serviceable -- business cards. "I'm not sure who I should talk to, maybe you can help. I own a, ummm, gym, and was wondering if you guys outsourced hand to hand training, or had a list of 'recommended' places for officers to go? That I could get on?"

It wasn't a great pitch, but it was a work in progress. Maybe by the time he got to a decision maker, he'd have it polished up.

Or maybe he'd go grab some donuts as props.

Cliches were cliches for a reason.

[Fractured]

The duty officer, Sergeant Bergmann, looks at Nightfall's face disbelievingly, then at the business card. Then he guffaws, dislodging some odd crumbs from his scruffy beard into his shirt. "I don't think none of our guys need to know how to Brazilian Dance-Dance fight, but good on you, kid. Everyone should have a hobby." He chuckles some more. This little guy teaching professionals how to fight is the best joke he's heard all day. So much so, he decides to share it. "Hey, Captain!" he calls out to a plain-clothed passerby, "Come here a second." The man stops and looks expectantly at Bergmann, who winks mischievously at the Captain, then looks back at Nightfall. "Tell him what you told me, kid," he says, fighting back another round of snickering at the little guy's expense.

Nightfall shoulda brought the donuts.

[Nightfall]

"Hi, Captain?" Nightfall looks at the indicated man seriously. Which, could be a mistake, if the duty officer was messing with him. He could be pitching a sale at the janitor, for all he knew.

He produced another card. By his count, he had 33 left.

"I own Glissade -- we had a little tournament a couple of weeks ago... there were some reporters, it may have been in the paper. Anyway, I wanted to know how I'd go about letting your men know they could train there, with a discount, of course."

Take a breath. He wasn't used to talking this much... it made his fingers twitchy.

"I've got an open hand specialist, and I teach weapons techniques... tonfas, sticks, even knives and long blades. I'm very good, and I specialize in disarming. With anything, even. Like," he looked at the duty officer's desk, "that stapler and tape dispenser."

OK, that was enough. He was babbling.

[Fractured]

The rather sharp-looking older man gives the young man a curious look. He's not so quick to dispense Nightfall's ability based on his appearance, but it's quite a claim he's just made. "You say you can disarm a man with that," he points it out, "stapler and that tape dispenser? This I have to see." He smiles threateningly at Bergmann. "You want to see it, too, don't you, Sergeant?" The duty officer nods 'yes,' rather anxiously.

"Good. Pat down Mr. Fields, Sergeant. Can't be too careful," the old man says, smiling at Nightfall briefly before turning back to Bergmann. "Then get Gunder up here on the desk to replace you, and tell anyone hangin around the break room to help you clear the meeting room. And don't forget your nightstick, Sergeant."

Bergmann stands up to pat Nightfall down as the Captain tells the Fairest, "You're able to disarm Bergmann with those two things, I'll recommend your establishment to the Chief. If you're blowing smoke out your ass, well...that's gonna be punishment, and entertainment, enough, I think." He grins as he holds his hand out to shake Neil's.

[Nightfall]

"Thanks, thank you, Captain," Nightfall smiles, shaking his hand. He had that Butterflies On Meth MMA'ing In His Stomach feeling. It was a good feeling.

He held out his arms to be patted down, and then picked up his stapler and tape measure to follow. Dexterous fingers spun each in his hands as he hefted them for weight and balance, defying the whispers in his ear to invoke useful Contracts and be done with it.

He also ignored the urge to try to staple a business card to the Sergeant's head during this soiree.

[Fractured]

"He's clean," Bergmann declares sourly. The Captain nods and runs his hand through his grey, thinning hair. "Good. Good. Off you go then, Sergeant." The first duty officer walks towards the back and the Captain's blue eyes continue to study Nightfall intently. "I'm Captain Wallace. Where did you get your training, Mr. Fields?" he asks.

As the Captain waits for Nightfall to reply, Sergeant Bridget Gunder walks up to the desk to assume duty. Bridget is in her late thirties, kind of attractive in a plain sort of way, and her thin, blonde hair falls squarely upon her shoulders. It certainly doesn't bounce. "Captain," she says with a nod as she takes her seat. She looks at Nightfall guardedly.

[Nightfall]

"Here and there," Nightfall answered, tracking Bridget with his eyes briefly before looking back at the Captain. "My father was a university fencer in Russia, and you know how that goes." At least he hoped he did. With his donut-less luck, the Captain's father ran off with a hooker and left his son pining away for a father figure during his childhood.

"Then I just kept working at it, branching out. I seem to have a knack for it, and it keeps me in shape," he added, absentmindedly spinning the stapler in his hand. "But I haven't had any formal training, like in the military or anything... but I have been taught the basics of the Army's techniques, and in-depth training of Russian Special Forces knife work, both by former clients that bartered training rather than paying."

Well, crap. Was barter illegal in California? He never could remember. That was something he should have asked Kyle before blurting out.

[Fractured]

Nightfall catches Sergeant Bridget looking for a wedding ring. She looks away quickly, furtively, like a mouse caught in your kitchen.

The Captain nods. Jailing occasional barterers isn't his beat. He lowers his voice to ask Neil, "You are aware that even if you pull this off, and I recommend you, you'll have to go through an extensive background check, as will your instructors, the county will want to have a look at your books, etcetera." He waves a hand dismissively. "You don't expect to have any problems?" He looks Neil in the eye, to better gauge the veracity of the Fairest's answer.