Douglas FitzJames

[Douglas FitzJames]

OOC: Having read Kane's, I've also often pondered on what my character would be like if he lived today. So I'm going to run with it.

 

Ghost of Christmas yet to come

 

Technically it was only evening but being winter the sun had set a couple of hours ago and the night already had a firm hold on the world. It was Christmas Eve, a magical night to some, and the crescent moon gleamed off the snow drifts and the myriad of lights adorning the buildings twinkled like a million Tinkerbells on drugs. Neon reindeer stepped across roofs and Santa's arse could be seen hanging out of windows and chimneys all across London. The usual end of year lunacy had the city in it's grip.

 

The deep, throaty rumble of the big, black motorbike purred above the sound of tires on ice as it flew along a frozen stretch of road in central London, well over the speed limit, taking the corner so sharply that it's rider's knee was scarcely two inches from the road's surface. It was dangerous, and it was fun, and Douglas knew where the speed cameras were and where the boys liked to hide with the mobile speed guns. They all knew The Demon by sight and sound anyway, no one would stop him.

 

Heavy leather jacket zipped up against the cold, knee-high boots, glossy black bike helmet that matched the glossy black bike with it's chrome detailing and an attitude that said he owned the road, Douglas no doubt looked like some rebellious drop-kick coming in for his mandatory parole visit when he slowed down at the police station. That was until he took a card from his pocket, swiped it against a sensor on the wall and the boom gate to the staff car park opened. He didn't even wait, just ducked under it as soon as it was high enough not to scrape him off his bike and slotted The Demon into it's accustomed spot next to the patrol bikes. Everyone knew not to park in that spot, or they learned very quickly.

 

Hauling his helmet off, Douglas ran long fingers through shaggy black hair as he trudged inside. His hair touched his blue collar; too long to look neat, not long enough to tie back. Every time the superintendant looked at it a little vein in his forhead bulged; Douglas was waiting for him to have an aneurism.

 

There were Santa hats pinned to the lockers and had been for the last week. Someone had thought in a moment of insanity that it would be fun to get one for everyone. They were red with 'Merry Christmas' embroidered on the white, faux-fur trims; except Douglas's which was black and said 'Bah, Humbug' on it. He'd liked it so much that he'd worn it to the staff Christmas party, inducing near terminal shock in several of his colleagues.

 

Opening his locker he traded his civilian leather jacket for his police one, and his black bike helmet for the dorky white one which he carried through into the armoury where he signed out his pistol which he holstered at his left hip, then to the main room of the station. The skeleton day staff were finishing off reports and drinking caffeine in every form known to man like it was going out of fashion, preparing to hand over to the few poor unfortunate souls who'd drawn the 'Santa Shift'.

 

Setting his helmet down on the counter Douglas made himself a mug of instant coffee strong enough to dissolve the spoon; he didn't bother adulterating it with things like milk and sugar. Instead he just parked his rear on the edge of the shift desk, right next to the 'No Smoking' sign on the wall, and lit the cigarette that was his breakfast. Fag in one hand, caffeine overdose in the other, he listened to the run-down of the city's woes from the day shift.

 

They were on minimal staff, everyone who could possibly be spared had been, it being Christmas and all. The station would be manned by the few poor sods who had drawn the short straws; and Douglas who'd volunteered. It wasn't like he had anything better to do tonight. He could sit in the dingy little bedsit that he rented, or more likely he would take The Demon and go cruising the streets until he found some bar, got drunk, picked a fight and ended up getting hauled in by one of his colleagues. No, better that he took a patrol bike and kept others from doing stupid things, he was far less likely to disgrace the uniform if he was actually wearing it.

 

[Douglas FitzJames]

OOC: I have to make a confession. That is an Aussie cop above. English cops don't look nearly as cool: