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Post by Mary-Lou White on Jun 26, 2010 22:46:21 GMT -5
Well, thought the blonde as she shrugged at the mobster, indictating with a curt nod to the window behind him that she would still like some coffee. At least he used his manners. The pleasant manners he had employed during the first small portion of their interaction had long since vanished and she was sorry for it; it certainly made her job a bit more fun, after all. But, he was polite at least (for now) and she was willing to take that. It was more than her useless co-workers often offered her.
“Suit yourself,” she told him, crossing her legs under the table and folding her hands neatly in her lap. Old habits died hard, really, and for all her training and recent disillusionment at the hands of Gotham City she was all in all still a backwater girl with backwater ways, for the most part. The clock on the wall (excellent for timing good-cop/bad-cop routines) ticked loudly. The room was stark and seemed like a tomb now that the conversation, such as it was, had died down. Mary-Lou, taught that the art of conversation was one well worth indulging in no matter the situation, racked her brain for something to say but couldn’t find anything suitable.
Much looking forward to her coffee and the arrival of Falcone’s lawyer, if only so she could get things moving, Mary-Lou shifted after a few moments of silence. Her blue eyes were anywhere but the mobster, who was starting to make her feel likeshe was an animal in a zoo even though his interest in her had apparently waned. Feeling the need to fidget with something she sat forward in her chair, making herself more comfortable for the wait. With one arm laid across the desk in front of her and her other balanced on its elbow, Mary-Lou began to twirl one little goldy-lock with her fingers idly.
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Post by Mario Falcone on Jul 5, 2010 1:02:54 GMT -5
Mario did suit himself. In every particular, in every instant, he never suited anyone else's needs, except if doing so got him something, too. His father, he knew, wasn't quite so ruthless. He would give loans to his employees if needed. He would protect his people when necessary, even if it wasn't exactly the most efficient or inexpensive method. After all, most of them were family, even if distant relations, and he seemed to understand that happy employees do the best work. His son wasn't the same. His son measured people and their usefulness with unrelenting balances, and in the end even if you were the most useful person in the world it might all end with one eccentric, selfish whim. One day it would be his undoing, this impersonal approach to business, but not today. Today he simply did exactly as the young woman ordered him, and suited his damn self.
His long, smooth fingers drummed boredly on the steel tabletop as he waited for his lawyer. Because she was the only thing in the room even remotely entertaining, he trained his dark eyes on the blonde in front of him, and though he had dropped any pretense of winning her over to his side that didn't mean she wasn't still entertaining to him. She seemed uninterested, and he saw little point in 'turning' people when there were already so many people available who already had criminal leanings. But she was still cute, he was still bored, and he found it oddly satisfying that despite her best efforts he could still do whatever he wanted to her within the confines of his demented and delinquent mind.
So his ebony gaze, thick and unwholesome like dirty oil, slicked across her chest as she sat forward against the table. It followed her fingers as she toyed with her pure-spun golden hair, and lingered suffocatingly across her perfectly pink-glossed lips. When their gazes met, he was not in the least chagrined. A lewd, twisted smirk quirked one corner of his mouth and glittered dangerously in the inky depths of his eyes.
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Post by Mary-Lou White on Jul 5, 2010 20:44:21 GMT -5
She didn’t know how long he had been watching her when she looked up and straight into the unfathomable darkness of his stare. For a moment she simply looked back, at a loss as to what to say or do in such a situation as this. Eventually her sense of self-preservation kicked in and she looked away, the blush that raced across her cheeks betraying her embarrassment. Mary-Lou might have been a naive girl from a backwater town, but she knew what a look like that meant. If she were just a little more aggressive in her make-up she might have thrown an insult or a witty retort his way, but as it was Detective White was neither sarcastic nor sassy enough to come up with anything suitably scathing for a man such as this.
Knowing full well that the person set to transcribe their interview had gone to fetch her a coffee (it would have been a rookie anyway) she bit her lip before she forced herself to look back at the intimidating mobster. The pink tinge on her cheeks which had previously been humiliation no became peevishness. Her blue eyes flashed at him and she pursed her lips primly before crossing both of her arms protectively over her uniformed chest. He really was a piece of work, she decided. The arrogant set of his jaw was fashioned, she knew, from years of getting just exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. Needless to say it then followed that he would discard his must-haves as soon as they bored him. She wasn’t about to be his play-thing.
“You shouldn’t be looking at me like that,” she warned him.
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Post by Mario Falcone on Jul 5, 2010 21:36:50 GMT -5
He really needed no greater reward than the subtle playing of emotions across her features to tell him his studying had hit the mark. He didn't know how like he was to another man who had sat in a similar room and told another deputy just how much he liked watching a person's face as he killed them. The Joker, however, could claim insanity for his depravity. Mario had no excuse except a loose upbringing and a penchant for mischief, at least none that had yet been diagnosed. Nevertheless, he was equally as fascinated, and he was as aroused by her blush of embarrassment as by her look of piqued anger. The soft way her jaw clenched and the very corner of her eyelids twitched caught his attention, and he couldn't stop the smirk that painted itself across his features like a Salvador Dali masterpiece: recognizable, but somehow wrong.
"I shouldn't do a lot of things," he responded mechanically, keeping his eyes trained on her, albeit with less obvious purpose than before. "It's true for everyone, I'm afraid." Even while people shouted about how wrong it was to do a certain laundry list of things, they usually did things equally dangerous or depraved, things that they overlooked when they passed judgment on others. "You shouldn't watch that cable channel you get in your apartment that you don't pay for. And you shouldn't go just a mile or two over the speed limit when you're late for work. You shouldn't skip that man in line at the coffee shop when he offers it to you, even when you're running late, when you know he's only offering because he's pictured you naked."
He then leaned forward and rested his arms across the table, threading his fingers together idly. "And you really shouldn't be alone with me without backup." He let his eyes fall down to her neck and then rose again. "But you are." He shrugged his shoulders lightly. "Sometimes, Miss White, the temptation is greater than the risk of getting caught with our pants down. So we do what we shouldn't."
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Post by Mary-Lou White on Jul 6, 2010 2:58:55 GMT -5
It was times like these that Mary-Lou let her imagination take over. She was usually the sort of girl who gave herself in to daydreams at the best of times, often doodling with a pen and paper while she drank coffee at her desk in the office or smiling to herself as she imagined any number of things during her daily run in Robinson Park. It wasn’t very often that such ruminations lead to a darker place in her mind, but she supposed that Mario Falcone really was just the kind of man that made good girls turn bad; in their minds, in the very least, if not in person.
She imagined, for example, slapping his arrogantly handsome face for him. She hated when men spoke so uncouthly about sex, because it ruined all of her conceptions about how love – and more importantly about how making love – ought to be. She really didn’t like it when they disrespected her by making assumptions about what sort of person she was, because she didn’t do that to people on account of knowing how it felt to be on the receiving end. In fact, until Mr Falcone had shown himself to be exactly the worst type of man, Mary-Lou had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when it came to the question of manners.
Her eyes narrowed uncharacteristically as she took in his little speech word for word, looking for all the world like a young girl listening to the devil perched on her shoulder. She considered what he said, weighing it all and storing it away in some section of her subconsciousness where it wouldn’t bother her as much as it probably should. Mary-Lou knew she was a good person. She gave to charity, in both time and money. As an officer of the law she worked tirelessly to try and clean up this cesspool of a city. She had left her parents, who had already lost one child in such a way, back home and petrified that they’d never see their daughter again. And she’d be darned if she was going to let his seductive words hold any kind of weight with her.
Blinking, she looked down at the table before she stood up. Her hands planted themselves halfway across the table, fingers splayed as she leaned over to peer down at Falcone the way a teacher might look down their nose at a naughty child. “That’s right,” she said, her eyes having lost any remaining trace of the good-girl she really was. She hadn’t gotten this far without learning when to harden up her act. “Here I am. Because you’re the kind of pathetic scumbag who can't resist the temptation to get caught defiling someone’s final resting place.” Her voice was flat as she looked him straight in the eye in a way that had 'Susanna' stamped all over it.
“You make me sick.”
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Post by Mario Falcone on Jul 6, 2010 3:15:41 GMT -5
A jaded, jagged smile broke the criminal's face as she leaned over him, looking for all the world like the teacher about to give a good spanking to an unruly student. He might even let her, but he'd prefer the roles were switched. At any rate, he found it incredibly ironic that she hated him so much already, when hate was where this entire thing had really started. Not his own hatred, really. He didn't hate Ruby Ryder, except in odd moments when she got the better of him. No, but she hated him, and that hatred was so tantalizing to him that he couldn't help himself but to court it at every opportunity. Detective White had no idea how dangerous she was letting this interview become, just by letting herself hate him so fully. It was the kind of emotion he could become entirely intoxicated with; there was no greater power to be had over another, that he had yet learned to wield anyway.
"Not that I would know from personal experience," he told her, looking happily up into her irate face. "But if I were going to..." he pretended to use her words, lest he implicate himself, "defile a final resting place, I imagine that's exactly the kind of sentiment that might inspire me to do it." He leaned back in his chair, looking particularly pleased with himself. He did so like to bring others down to his level. It meant her never had to lift a finger to rise above his enemies.
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Post by Mary-Lou White on Jul 6, 2010 22:42:29 GMT -5
His happy smile and retort were enough to rein Mary-Lou in. It was exceptionally rare for her to let her temper to get the better of her, and the way in which he reminded her that they were still in an interview room and he was still only suspected of the crime and not convicted of it managed to calm her down considerably. Her blue eyes clashed with his impossibly dark stare and for a moment the God-fearing young woman was convinced that he was the Devil himself sent here to plague her. If not, then he was surely something disturbingly close to the real deal. She saw nothing in his look that promised redemption, and it suddenly scared the hell out of her.
There was no question about it. When it came to dealing with this kind of criminal, Mary-Lou was still a small fish in a big pond. She knew within herself that Falcone had won this round, and instead of being annoyed that she was not only going to have to wait until his lawyer arrived by also probably hand this over to someone more experienced she found herself suddenly worried. His words sounded like a threat of some kind, and she knew that by the end of the day his over-paid attorney would find a loophole and he’d be back on the streets. Back out in Gotham, where he could do any number of dirty deeds. Any of which could quite easily concern her.
“I see,” was all the reply she offered. It sounded hollow and defeated when compared to the heated comment she had just flung his way moments before. “I suppose there’s nothing else to do not except wait for your lawyer to arrive. I’ll be back when he does,” she added, scooping up the police file from the desk and making for the door. But she’d lied. Mary-Lou wouldn’t be back that day, and Jackson was going to be sorry he’d pulled that joke on her.
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