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Post by bow on Feb 18, 2012 12:03:50 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i583.photobucket.com/albums/ss279/legendskseeker/fk5qwnjpg.png); padding: 30px; border: #273538 solid 30px; ]And I will hold on hope  OUTFIT: the suit in the picture TAGGED: imogen --- IT WAS GENERALLY ACCEPTED THAT FROM TIME TO TIME the Federal Bureau of Investigation would use offices and holding cells of local precincts to interrogate or control a suspect in a timely fashion, until transportation could be arranged for the nearest headquarters. Valkyrie was a fairly short drive away from Las Angeles where the nearest headquarters was but for the time being, many of the people they bring is for federal crimes, take a resting spot at the local precincts, or if there is only enough evidence to bring someone in for questioning. Of course, this practice, for the most part, is only used by the Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branches but mostly because the National Security Branch tended to be more covert and less involved with local authorities. The truth was the Criminal Investigation Division would be the most famous division of the FBI. It was portrayed the most on television and in films and complained about the most by local authorities who get frustrated by the FBI coming in and taking over what they see as their jurisdiction. It was the Criminal Investigation Division that dealt with federal crime and punishment. What many people did not understand was the crossover that occurred within the FBI.
Bowen Bennett was not a member of the Criminal Branch of the FBI. Technically he worked as a Science and Technology Branches, working with mostly the special agents of the National Security Branch. He also was a Professor in the Training Division. Working with Linguistic training of agents who were required to blend. He was a scientist, a professor and on incredibly rare occasions, an agent. But when I say incredibly rare, I mean once in an emergency. Bowen, or Bow as his friends call him, had been asking for more field action but the directors didn't see him as anything but a behind the scenes jockey. Bow liked his job as it was, he just very often, wished for something more. The way he saw it, he had more practice and skill with reinventing himself and taking on new persona than anyone else in the Bureau. And they knew that, it was why he would sometimes teach classes on the art of disguise and his linguistic classes. It was a strange thing for a man of only twenty-seven to have as much on his plate as Bow did but you see, Bow's mind was not an average one. He was one of those people that began as a three year old multiplying four digit numbers in his head. Math never posed a challenge for him. Science was common sense to him. Languages was something as natural as breathing. He was recruited by the FBI at fifteen years old, only allowed because Bowen had gotten himself emancipated. But he was educating future agents by 16. Professor Bennett. He liked the ring of it.
Was he well liked in the Bureau? By the people who got to know him, usually. He was not really disliked by anyone. More made fun of in the school yard bullying sort of way. Not so much that agents would give him a swirly or hang him by his underpants onto a wall sort of way. More so, they would call him Schitz or Blow. And laugh at his eccentricities. But even Bow, would admit that he was an eccentric character. They were okay when they needed him, and they needed him often. He practically was their linguistic expert, first called. They found strange technology they needed to know what it did, first called. They recorded a conversation in an unknown language, fist called. Autopsy with unexplainable results in terms of normal biological science? Maybe second called. Bow would run different experiments to try to figure out exactly what kind of weaponry was being used and then develop technology on how to help protect agents from that power. Bowen was a very multi-purposed employee. The FBI were happy to have him on their side. He could have easily gone CIA, NSA or Interpol if they hadn't gotten to him first. It was simply a pity they didn't seem to remember how lucky they were most of the time and walked on the professor a bit more than they should. But despite Bow's usual lack of involvement with the criminal branch of the FBI, when two agents brought in a young woman, Imogen Van Der Meer, for questioning as a suspect in a murder from an art deal gone wrong, Bow's curiosity made him check it out.
He had seen this woman around Valkyrie, where he lived, despite the commute to the FBI headquarters. He had every so often seen the woman around the city. He had never spoken to her. And he never followed her around or anything, he was far from a stalker. It was more, he noticed when she was around. He was invisible, like always, which was fine. He wouldn't know what to say to her anyways. She was beautiful and had this air around her that screamed intelligent, classy and too caught in her own head to really care much about the world around her, which he understood may seem like a bad quality to some but to him, the fact that she seemed so aloof must have meant the inside of her own mind was a fascinating place, unlike him who was so curious about everything and was so engaged with his surroundings at all time, he didn't much like his inner mind. Well I mean, he appreciated his mind... let's just say Bow and his mind had a complicated relationship.
Bowen had taken a look at the case file, including some DNA found at the scene and headed straight for where the special agents were holding her. Bowen lifted his FBI badge and was let to pass into the back workings of the precinct. He made his way towards the interrogation rooms. He was a distinct type of German, southern German who spoke the Bairisch dialect of German which is also a Bavarian dialect, almost like a merger. Obviously he was speaking English with the agents but his accent was that of a native Bairisch speaker. Bow's ability to mimic accents, dialects and languages to perfection had been called spooky by other Linguists. Bowen walked into the interrogation room where one agent was standing in the corner, and the other was sitting across the table from her. Bowen looked around after walking into the room so suddenly and stopped looking down at his hand where the case file was. He nodded, right, that's why he was here. He opened it as one of the agents walked forward, "Dr. Bennett what are--" The agent began before he took the file from Bow who had opened it up to the DNA. "I was looking at your case, the DNA is that of a man. I don't know why your forensic team didn't mark that." He said quickly, he glanced down at the girl who was at the table before taking a breath and looking at the other agent who stood up and walked towards him taking the file, there was a long pedicured nail found at the scene, it is possible for them to work as a team." He replied, clearly annoyed with the insinuation he was wrong.
Bow nodded and pointed down to the photo of the nail, "Yes, an index finger nail that if you compare to the hands of this particular woman," he said gesturing to Imogen's hands, "could not possibly fit, the nail is too wide in nature, plain sight can tell. Suggesting the nail came off of a man as well." Bow looked at the two agents who seemed to be looking a the photo of the nail that was blown up for detail but next to a penny for scale and looking at Imogen's hands. Before sighing, "FIne," the more arrogant conceded, "but you can sign her out schitz." The agent said tossing a key to Bow. Presumably for the handcuffs. The more polite of the two agents looked at Imogen, "My apologies, thank you Professor." He added to Bow, before they walked out of the room. Bow turned around and walked behind Imogen, unlocking the cuffs on her wrists, "I'm sorry about that, sometimes the agents are so stuck on an idea they forget to see the obvious." He said as the cuffs were released.
And I won't let you choke |
[/td][/tr][/table] TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY MUMFORD & SONS [/center] |
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Post by imogen on Feb 23, 2012 1:10:02 GMT -6
 ,SHE HADN'T GIVEN valkyrie, california quite enough credit. when imogen had exited the plane at the local airport, she had been quick to turn her nose. it had been a broken city at the time, colourless and depressed. the people were devastated. the structures annihilated. the brochures lied to her. glossy pages boasting of postcard-worthy beaches and everything any tourist could ever desire. people often stay, it said, too enthralled with the coastal city to return to their lives. so they would pick up, move and quickly learn a vacation to valkyrie is far from becoming a resident. it made her laugh, to be honest. people assuming a vacation spot and becoming local would be the same were sad representatives of humanity. and, too, at the fact she had almost believed those retched brochures. imogen van der meer was an intelligent individual, to say the least. she often preferred to decide for herself before making an opinion over any such subject. nothing in valkyrie, california was beautiful. it was a fractured city, lost without any sense of direction. it would look around at the disaster and have no idea where to begin. the citizens were helpless. for whichever reason, it had taken them months to react to the various tragedies of the earthquake. but, she supposed, it had happened eventually. it would be considered hypocritical - something she tried to avoided - to judge them based on the length of action. how long had it taken her to recover from her past hardships? it had been recently had she began to survey the town of valkyrie with more open set of eyes.
now, imogen would be the first to admit she often prejudged. if something was not deemed worthy almost immediately, she would rarely give it a second thought. a flaw, but a prominent characteristic all the same. but she had been in valkyrie for far longer than she had expected. so, she assumed, it was by osmosis did she observe more openly. now that repairs had begun, attempting to restore their apparent coastal gem, she could see the previous beauty. there was potential here, no doubt. there had been a number of impressive discoveries the self-proclaimed pirate had found along the way. if there were such treasures here, it had to be a matter of time before the shell was buffed back to perfection. and that was why there was a faint smile on her face. most days, imogen found herself wandering the endless streets of this town, an unpleasant gleam often dancing in her eyes. yet, today, she found herself in an uncommonly amiable mood. gripping the strap of her emerald bag loosely, the german female casually wove her way through the building crowds on the streets of downtown valkyrie. she enjoyed the hustle of the city's core during the day. it reminded her of berlin in the slightest of ways. the quiet of the suburbs had never particularly agreed with her; it was too tame. it seemed lifeless out there. how some people considered it a dream, she would never understand. regardless, she continued the maze toward the apartment she had recently taken to renting. one of the few buildings remaining untarnished, it had been the first she hadn't turned her nose up to. one day at a time to seeing the true beauty here. but she was trying. the smile remained on her lips as she quietly ducked through the front doors, offering the people looming in the lobby the same friendly gesture as she approached the elevator. the thoughts of the wrinkled map she's discovered that afternoon consumed her mind as she departed the elevator on the nineteenth floor. it was too bad her content thoughts and unusual smile flickered out by the time she reached her apartment's door.
now, imogen was giving valkyrie a chance. the residents, on the other hand, were an entirely different story. the diversity was impressive, no doubt. it was their poor representations of americans in general that caused her malevolence. and the photograph of two men dressed in cheap suites, impatiently knocking on the door, had yet to help. slowing her gait, beginning to raise her eyebrows unpleasantly, imogen cleared her throat softly. two pairs of dark eyes turned to see the german art thief returning home. these eyes spoke less than twenty words before they slapped the handcuffs on her fragile wrists. yet another murder had plagued the darkened town. and because no mafioso were suspected to be involved, it was worth investigating. she knew as well as anyone that the top members of both the italian and russian mafias, respectively, were untouchable. many of their obvious crimes went ignored. all the law enforcement would be rewarded with were hostile smiles and promises of full co-operation had they become suddenly useful and obtained such information. she had offered the same condolences before. which is exactly why she had no protests. a rather cruel smile had crossed her face as the two fbi agents escorted her from the building. they were only met with a few surprised looks. most of the residents in her towering apartment building knew exactly why the van der meer girl could afford the preposterous rents. the reason was because she came from a legacy. the truth was, as most suspected, she was circling the same illegal rings as most of the local youth. that was fine. as long as nothing could be proven, she was fine. most of the criminals around here knew that. it made making nest here in valkyrie that much easier. which was one of the only reasons she had lingered as long as she had. this city could prove beautiful. the people had yet to impress her, as she made quite obvious to the two lovely agents leading her to the local police precinct.
she offered several comments during the drive there about how dare they deem her worthless enough to question her at the local lock-up. she would have been fine with the two hour commute to the real agency headquarters. surely she was interesting enough for that? well, i suppose it was better this way. while the shallow part of her mind was mildly insulted, imogen knew it was better to be flying below the radar. as they apparently only assumed she might know something, polluting an interrogation room here was better for her entire situation. the art thievery ring she participated in was probably going to go another day unscathed. i guess that's a good thing. she was too preoccupied smiling grimly at the two officers, darkly thinking of how she could inspecting those maps instead of wasting her time here. that's what this was - a simple waste of an otherwise lovely afternoon. there was a number of things imogen could be doing, actually. her maps and assorted books on her personal treasure hunt. the number of storage locker auctions coming up this week in los angeles. even the initial investigations at the next museum her ring was considering. it had been several months since they had seamlessly taken priceless artifacts for themselves. the others attempting to do the same merely disgusted her. leave it to the professionals, if you don't terrible mind. well, there was always the coffee maker to provide the energy required to stay up into the early hours of the morning doing what she could be doing right now.
her answers were vague, uninterested. another art thievery gone awry. colour her sarcastically surprised. her group had yet to make a move, as already made obvious. how would she have any information regarding this "tragedy"? it was a relief, really, to her situation. the less impostors, the better chance she had to succeed. "all i have done in recent weeks is pursue a particular auction i have interest in attending. have you any opinion on the auctioneer?" sarcasm laced her otherwise polite words. turning her smile rather friendly, imogen looked up at the agent who had been glaring at her for the better part of an hour. all they did was ask the same questions. did she know them; where was she on this day at this time; why would she ever consider this person worthy? they had no doubt been studying her. everyone knew imogen van der meer and her polite superiority complex. it would have been clever, had she not been incredibly unimpressed already. careful not to let the handcuffs rub against her pale flesh, she boredly crossed one leg over the other and continued her staring contest. "this is a tragic situation. and i offer my condolences to anyone personally involved. but i haven't the faintest idea who you could be referring to." her accented voice was slightly raised this time. this was quickly growing tiresome. and while imogen van der meer, patient individual she was, could understand two underpaid federal agents attempting to do their job (albeit, poorly), their constant go-round with an unhelpful apparent suspect was inadequate on countless levels. uncharacteristically, she was beginning to open her mouth again when the door to the small interrogation room was opened.
she turned her head, the same dissatisfied expression on her face. this gentleman, she did not recognize. there was something different about him. obviously not as good an actor, as the tone in his voice was oddly genuine. the other two agents here, lovely as they are, had been spinning circles for an hour. they all knew they had nothing to go on, and were grabbing at the frail young lady may be of some help. perhaps she would break down in tears and confess everything she knew. and she may also break out in a vile rash and spread scabies. it could happen, but it was not going to. imogen grew quiet as the officials were conversing. she hadn't even bothered to look at the photographs they had been throwing at her. listening to the apparent doctor speaking, her light eyes quickly swept down to the surface of the table. ridiculously enough, it was more than obvious he was correct. continuing to behave, she continued to remain wordless. failing at stifling a bitter scoff as the two agents finally admitted defeat, one having the audacity to apologize, imogen looked back up at bowen. not speaking until the handcuffs fell onto the table, she raised, glanced at him and approached the door, one hand clutching the opposite wrist. "only sometimes?" speaking softly, imogen clutched the doorknob and opened it, walking out into the hallway. "you must be something of a cynic, then. to assume your own people are this inadequate on a regular basis." her voice was simple this time, as she finally turned to face bow again. "how do we go about getting me back to the day that has been wasted?" this was quickly grown tiresome, almost irritating. the number of things she could have achieved by now.
[/size][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- TAGGED, bowen !
LOCALE, local precinct.
LENGTH, 1821 words.
ATTIRE, hurr.
NOTES, woooooo.
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to poets of the fall - "change"
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Post by bow on Feb 25, 2012 15:33:50 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i583.photobucket.com/albums/ss279/legendskseeker/fk5qwnjpg.png); padding: 30px; border: #273538 solid 30px; ]And I will hold on hope OUTFIT: the suit in the picture TAGGED: imogen --- DR. BOWEN BENNETT HAD GIVEN UP ON MANY THINGS, he was one of them. He had been given up on so many times by others that it made sense. Bowen, like so many brilliant people, was hughly misunderstood. He had been adopted three different times and given back three different times and all before the age of twelve. When he ran back to the orphanage for that third time, he had just given up on the whole idea of family. The way he saw it was that obviously some people were not meant to have family. He refused to go to his meetings with potential parents. He just had had enough, like that kid in Meet the Robinsons. After being rejected so many times he began to simply focus on something else. And while the boy in Meet the Robinsons focused on building a memory retrieval machine in order to find his birth mother, Bow through himself into his studies even more rigorously. The studies for the brain that screwed him out a family would at least be able to pull him towards a great career, and hopefully, traveling the world, and adventure. Seeing the world was something Bow had an addiction to. He had been able to see a lot more of the world than the average person. He had been to parts of Germany, France, Spain, Italy, Russia, the USA, Egypt, India. But that was it! Bowen spoke more languages than countries he had been too, which is true shockingly. Bowen was intelligent in a lot of different ways. But his real passion was definitely languages. And he knew at a young age language skills would get him far if he wanted to work internationally.
Bowen was fluent in English, Spanish, both the central American dialect and the Spain dialect, French, German, Russian, Mandarin, Portuguese, Polish, some of the more common dialects of Arabic and Hindi. Those are the languages he is fluent in. He is conversational in at least ten more and can aurally recognize probably a hundred more languages and dialects. It was probably why, even though he did change his appearance often, it was never with as much variety or distinction as the accent and origin he adorned. Bow has a natural affinity for language that made this all possible. Eidetic memory didn't hurt either but more than that, people who had a larger left transverse temporal gyrus, which is a specific part of the brain, have an easier time picking up not just languages but the ability to morph their way of speaking and mimic the accents with incredible accuracy. Bowen was one of these people. He had never actually checked in on the size of his transverse temporal gyrus but he assumed that was the only logical reason for his more advanced capabilities. He was still learning languages and it was not that difficult for him which was also on the right side of odd since he was far past the age for premium language acquisition which usually lasts from birth to the age of ten.
He was far past that. He was almost thirty, although he felt older than that. After all, he did graduate grad school with two doctorates at fifteen years old. Things like that tended to make you feel older, it also made sure you were considered a freak by most everyone around you because the ones who were your age seemed so far behind, and the ones who were older... still seemed so far behind. People just seemed to move at a glacial pace to Bow, and he tried not to think like that, because he knew it would come off as arrogant which was not what he wanted to portray or become but it was hard to not think of himself as ahead of everyone else, except others like him of course. He just didn't act like he was ahead, he treated others as if they were both at the same point and level, he just happened to know something they didn't. He tried his best to keep everything equalized and in the end, people treated him as far behind them. Mostly because they were threatened by him and that was okay. Bow would just... he would keep going as always. He was who he was. He denied his past and his home, but while he was angry with his mind for being the cause of all his problems, his mind was also the answer to all of his curiosities, all of those languages he wished to master. all those people he wished to meet. all those places he needed to see.
Today he was from a region he had visited before. The Bairisch dialect from Southern Germany. He had enjoyed the people he met there. Southern Germany was a lot safer than Western Germany but not quite as safe as Eastern Germany. Either way, it was just one experience, since Bow got started early, he figured he had a lot of time to finish his world tour. Obviously he would not have enough time to go to every town, city, village and tribe like he would like to but he would have a chance to see a lot of different places. Bow stood up straight and dropped the hand cuffs on the table, noticing her hands on her wrists, hopefully she wasn't in too much pain. He knew hand cuffs hurt a bit to wear, more so on some than on others. "only sometimes?" Bow nodded with an amused smile, following as she exited the small interrogation room. He stopped walking abruptly as she turned to speak to him, "you must be something of a cynic, then. to assume your own people are this inadequate on a regular basis." He looked down at her and let out a small nervous chuckle before shaking his head slightly, not quite sure what to say when the first thing he could think of popped out, "Berlin. Steglitz-Zehlendorf or one of the other wealthier neighborhoods. Either that or you were surrounded by the more affluent regions." He said quickly and a bit nervously in his current bairisch southern german accent. It was a bad habit of his, sometimes if he didn't have a quick response he just analyzed the accents. He nodded before glancing down at the floor before looking back at her. "Sorry, bad habit." He said plainly. "how do we go about getting me back to the day that has been wasted?" Bow watched the girl as she spoke before looking around at the precinct. He stepped around her to walk next to her heading for the front desk, "Well I do know a few Russian scientists who are working on temporal causality and temporal paradox but to tell you the truth, I don't think they'll achieve much in our lifetime." He went to the front desk and grabbed a pen before handing a clipboard and the pen to Imogen, "They just need you sign out, sign no abuse took place. Unless it did and then we can go figure out a whole new approach of dismissal."
And I won't let you choke |
[/td][/tr][/table] TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY MUMFORD & SONS [/center] |
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Post by imogen on Mar 1, 2012 12:14:34 GMT -6
,HER LIFE, TO say the least, had turned out differently than originally imagined. enquire about the young van der meer girl twenty years earlier, and you never would have received "oh, she's an art thief" as an answer. she couldn't blame them. no one planned this. the van der meer legacy was just that: a legacy. generations of wealthy swedes, imported to germany some years before, who had an iron grip on the economy. her parents had been in "poor" jobs. much of her father's family tree had been business tycoons and steely-eyed lawyers. poor professor van der meer endured years of good-natured teasing. all in good fun, i suppose. was that fun? she had never really been taught what fun was. regardless, she came from a legacy. a family with deep european roots. a family with power, a reputation for only producing the best. well respected authors and tenured professors were as "low" as a van der meer got. and even then, they respected it. career was everything in her family. knowledge, poise, realizing potential and utilizing it to make a significant mark in the world. a fair bit of predictability came with her birth. every child was raised the same, with the same expectations and the same confidence. art historian, history professor, multi-book deal, tenureship, success, results, self-satisfaction. that's how her life should have gone; that was the plan. perhaps the addition of a family. a van der meer is an iron-fisted economist with a sharp tongue, eye for potential and as powerful a mind as any. art thief simply was not on the ballot.
however, the past years had not gone according to plan, either. this "plan". how many are born into a legacy and live to regret every moment? many of her peers had grown to despise their heritage. she could not ever seem to understand why. imogen had known nothing else. she learned of other paths, the lives lead by most. and honestly? she was proud. imogen van der meer was raised in a rare environment. only success and satisfaction were painted before her. there was little room for failure. and, really, who searches the ends of the earth only to meet failure? all that was expected was that…expectations. she knew her parents gave her freedom. as long as she utilized her potential, she could become the owner of a mcdonald's franchise if she so desired. all she had to do was honour her background, her family. she could imagine it would be difficult to understand. she knew it would be difficult to understand. but, well, her opinion of most others left little to be desired. all imogen had wanted was to live her life. continue her studies, carve a pathway for herself, find everything that had, for lack of a more appropriate term, been promised to her. but the plan never included the unexpected adoption of an empty-eyed finnish child, either. that is what threw all of their lives offtrack.
she had been perfectly content living this "life". a life where most is chosen before you, your future decided by your parents. to an extent, yes, that was her life. but she had a freedom few others could genuinely understand. it is complicated. or, it was complicated. the terms of her family's legacy were best left for another time. it was the adoption of ari that altered everything. the bitter part of her described him as ruining everything. childish, but real. no one expected them to adopt him. how many family dinners had aunts, uncles and the cousin that isn't really a cousin, but connected somewhere down the bloodline, whispering? part of her was ashamed. no one knew why ari was suddenly in the equation. he didn't fit the mould of a van der meer. he refused a name change, to regard himself with a family so lowly. once imogen had finally accepted this new addition to her life, any sense of the future had been erased. he was a new factor in her life. he had an odd effect on her, something she could never very well ignore. had he continued to exist in his own head, a mere shadow in their sizely estate, that would have been different. but it wasn't. he brought out a side of her she had never known existed. a certain ugliness that painted much of her family. no one had realized, or no one had apologized for it. she didn't know. she just…she didn't know. ari changed everything. he was the reason her parents were off-balance. he was the reason she questioned everything. and, most of all, he was the reason she was alone. after her parents had died in the fire, imogen had nothing. family? what family? once the line had been broken, she faded into the background. that ugliness presenting itself again, i suppose. he was the reasoning behind everything. why she fell into this criminal world, relying on the only thing that remained: her knowledge.
he…just…he ruined everything.
when she defined it in such immature terms, imogen found her breath stopping. childish, perhaps, but real. remember that? describing it so rawly was difficult for her. she had tried to justify it before, rationalize his reasoning. but he didn't have any. none. all her brother had done was look to salvage what had once been and destroyed her family along the way. what was stopping her doing the same thing? for a time, imogen had entertained the thought of tracking him down, punishing him in a way she had yet to decide. but that had faded with everything she had once been. life is complicated, no? her little thief ring had adopted her, allowing her some semblance of family again. she found herself simply wanting to move on. maybe forget everything that was, what could have been. she had accepted her parent's deaths long ago. she had even accepted the monster ari actually was. just a small part of her made her heart ache. she could only ever think of her past in short, sad bursts. it was thoughts like these that refreshed her as to why she had wished her brother dead. but that would involve falling through the ranks of society to its seedy underbelly, dancing the tango with the people like her brother. the people she found so repulsive. i suppose that was all she could do now, without succumbing to the monster he wished for her to be: honour her family. even in the smallest of ways, imogen van der meer was still a van der meer. an outcast with no hope for return, but her parents would have loved her regardless. all she could do was live the lives they never got to live.
she had to think of it that way, or she would self-destruct.
and their lives had been this - knowledge, history, a pirate on a treasure hunt. ari had influenced her enough. she had fallen into the world of the illegal. she wasn't going to allow him to infect her any farther. imogen even thought her father would be proud of her steel-eyed gaze and unwavering smile, distant but polite. he would have behaved had he been trapped in an fbi agent's interrogation as well. that was all she could do now. a small part of her wanted to impulsively reach for their gun and shoot them all before receiving a bullet herself. but that would be giving ari too much credit. he would be proud, not their father. that thought itself turned any ugly desire right off. use what you can, i suppose. the only uncommon pawn here was this sweet-faced man who she had to assume was a doctor. either too bored or too stupid to be getting involved. what did he care for the frail suspect in a murder case? sad to say, he was beginning to intrigue her. as he spoke, in an apparent response to her dislike of his "people", imogen had to raise her eyebrows. an awkward chuckle, an assessment of the person in front of him. something told her doctor bowen had little experience with people. or he was that good an actor. "something of that concern, yes." she watched him with dismissive eyes, taking her time to observe him. something about him rubbed her the wrong way. intelligent, no doubt. with a level of power and success she would probably approve of. and then he apologized. caught off guard, imogen had to laugh darkly. she didn't even know why. he amused her to a certain extent. "a habit you have no desire to break, doctor. so don't apologize for it." had she known he was playing this new part, she would have succumbed to what ari wanted, and spit on him. either out of disapproval or because he had fooled her so effortlessly.
imogen crossed her arms as they approached the front of the precinct. well, day officially wasted. every antique shop would have closed by the late hour. breathing an irritated sigh, the german female glanced over at bow again. pausing as he reached across the desk for the release papers, her eyebrows raised again. he was…she had yet to decide. hyper-intelligent. successful. able to deceive and involve himself when he so desired. every trait she approved of him people. but he was nervous, open to exercising his talent with linguistics. power hungry or simply that, a silly habit. he confused her, he almost amused her. he also made her suspicious. "something would tell me otherwise. i happen to be an expert in russian temporal studies." her voice was dry, good-natured. i think that was supposed to be a joke. a light smile crossing her face, she received the clipboard and pen from bow and looked at him over the paper, a slight twinkle in her eye. "your men wasted much of my afternoon. there were several things i did not accomplish. definitely a sign of abuse. and the permission for an apologetic cup of bad law enforcement coffee." scribbling her curly signature at the bottom of the page, she perched the pen behind her ear and rested the clipboard on her hip, watching him expectedly. this should never have been her life, but she had to work with it, right?
[/size][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- TAGGED, bowen !
LOCALE, local precinct.
LENGTH, 1719 words.
ATTIRE, hurr.
NOTES, love them.
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to poets of the fall - "change"
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Post by bow on Mar 8, 2012 2:14:35 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i583.photobucket.com/albums/ss279/legendskseeker/fk5qwnjpg.png); padding: 30px; border: #273538 solid 30px; ]And I will hold on hope OUTFIT: the suit in the picture TAGGED: imogen --- THE MOST SURPRISING FACT ABOUT BOWEN TO MOST PEOPLE who met him, was that he was NOT a virgin. It really did surprise a lot of people, despite the fact that he was in his late twenties. He was awkward by most people's standards but Bow had his charms in the eyes of certain women. Usually women who preferred intelligence over macho manly identity types. And while he was no George Clooney, there were a fair number of women who actually found him strangely attractive in the physical looks department. Usually got complemented on eyes and bone structures, although he was not sure what they meant by bone structure, he was happy with it anyways. But no, Bowen was not a virgin, he had been with a woman. Two in fact. Both were women he met from work who had come and gone. The first girl was named Diane. She was very pretty to Bow's eyes. Tall with brown hair, she was a bit heavier than the girl's around here but she was far from fat, or even chubby really. But honestly, it was her eyes. Big, beautiful brown eyes that could grab him from across the street. She was a therapist for agents after trauma. She was never his therapist but they had met because of the FBI connection. She would always smile when she saw him each morning and asked him where he was from.
One of the reasons, I think Bow liked her so much was that despite being a therapist, Diane never tried to be his shrink. She just accepted his quirks. She had asked him out. He was 22, she was a bit older. 30 to be exact. It was not conventional by most people's standards but Bow began at the FBI at sixteen. He was an old soul, whatever that means. Plus, no one would blink twice at a 30 year old man with a 22 year old woman so there was also that hypocrisy and at least Bow and Diane really cared about each other. They dated for a month before he finally was comfortable enough to admit he was still a virgin to her at the time. She had nodded as though it explained a lot, like why, for the first time, it seemed like the guy was trying to delay sleeping with her. She didn't care. They dated for almost a year when she got transferred to the DC head quarters.
The other girl was when he was twenty four. Her name was Samantha. She was the first girl he felt confident enough to ask out. She was a lab assistant. She was not very good at her job though. Bow didn't mind. She was nice to him. But after dating for about three months, her ex boyfriend came back and begged for her to come back to him. She did. Bow was hurt but he doesn't hold any resentment. And when her boyfriend proposed the two moved to Texas to start a family. So, Bow didn't really see her around much at all anymore. So see? Two girls, multiple times. Was that as much as the average twenty-seven year old male? No. Did Bow care about such averages? Not a damn bit. Besides, Bow was far from being as sex obsessed as many of the other men in the world. He was a bit more of a romantic and a scoundrel type. When he saw a pretty woman, sex was never the first thing in his mind. Take Imogen for an example. He had seen her around Valkyrie, and every time she was around, he wanted to know what she did for a living? Did she come from a happy family? Did she still know them? What was her favorite movie? band? color? Did she laugh easily or did a laugh take effort. And since he rarely saw her smile, or even looking particularly happy, he wanted to know if and why she was sad and if he could do something to brighten her day a bit more.
That was his reaction to being attracted to a woman. "something would tell me otherwise. i happen to be an expert in russian temporal studies." Bowen grinned, assuming it to be a joke but who knew. Of course, temporal paradox was a bit different from the conventional temporal studies. Temporal causality and temporal paradox was really... in simple terms, theories on time travel. A useless study in his opinion. From everything he had learned about the physical laws of the Universe, time travel was simply ridiculous, plus, the implications if some one succeeded would be horrendous. Changing history would become inevitable. "Well, if that's true and succeed, please remember to bring me back an authentic flagon of 13th century ale." Bowen was an incredible ear for language, that much was honest but non-verbal communication tended to throw him. He was good at catching a lie but in the social environment, it was hard fro him to read people otherwise. "your men wasted much of my afternoon. there were several things i did not accomplish. definitely a sign of abuse. and the permission for an apologetic cup of bad law enforcement coffee." Bowen raised an eyebrow as she spoke, watching her sign the page, he looked up, "Did you need coffee? I know where they keep the good stuff..." He offered to the girl
((crappy sorry, tired and sick))
And I won't let you choke |
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Post by imogen on Mar 24, 2012 23:44:17 GMT -6
,SEXUALITY. IT WAS a difficult topic. imogen had rarely thought about it. it hovered in the back of her mind, as natural as any other human being. but her mind had scarcely been curious. perhaps it had been her heritage, raised in such isolation, to simply value knowledge over…well, everything. or maybe it was her. her thoughts infrequently approached the topic. she simply was not interested. human contact, a powerful connection - it was a foreign territory she had little desire to experience. was she born that way? did it happen gradually, over the course of her childhood? or had imogen simply silently told herself to become this way? the odd times she had found herself thinking about her body and what it could do with someone else's, she scolded herself. it was an inappropriate subject; she was too young, no reason to go looking for ridiculous teenage conquests. imogen van der meer had not been raised in an environment with promises of girlish slumber parties, pinatas, or tantrums thrown over being too old to have a clown at her birthday. she never went to her first girl-boy party, awkwardly playing spin-the-bottle. she never had her first kiss. she never lost her virginity in the back of a broken-down pontiac. she didn't share sloppy makeout sessions behind the bleachers at a football game, or giggle down the hallway clutching sweaty hands. she never had any of that. imogen's preteen years were not lipgloss and wanting to snap her fingers to be sixteen, so she could drive and have dangerous boyfriends. her teenage years were not spent rolling her eyes, embarrassed at how silly she had once been. all of that was what sexuality was about. she would grow comfortable with herself, maybe find someone with strong hands and kind eyes, fall in love, dance in the rain. after awhile, it grew normal not to crave any sort of human connection. she had done one thing right: she grew out of the awkward stage.
perhaps she had been interested, once. a little. puzzled by these flighty giggles and blushing cheeks of the older students, the odd time she was on school grounds, she may have investigated. she remembered being uncomfortable for a time. unsure, awkward, disliking the dampness of this new body as she grew and matured. imogen was behind then, too. for years, she had been smaller than everyone else. she could credit her lack of teenage experience to that for a time. but once the clock struck midnight on her fifteenth birthday, the cruelness of the puberty fairy strapped her to a table and pulled all four corners until her limbs stretched from their sockets. she tripped over her new feet, unable to prance like a ballerina in her lengthy silhouette. it had passed. like all things in her life, her troublesome nights blurred to memory. her thoughts on sexuality and connection faded to sandpaper dust, pushed behind the firewood and rusted bicycles. they became foreign. when the sawdust rubbed together and alit against the wood, sparking the subject again, she would merely turn her nose up. once imogen van der meer discredits a topic, it becomes frighteningly simple to disregard it as nonsense. she had no time for this. her days were better spent in cool back rooms of antique shops, noting every perfection on the imperfect. she could spend a blizzarding night lost in the pages of a first volume, first edition, swedish encyclopedia. like every other undesirable factor in her life, imogen had merely gotten used to her lack of sexual experience, and the thoughts accompanied, and ignored it. it was inappropriate and uncomfortable. of course she had better things to do. perhaps she had been interested, once. a little. puzzled. confused. remember that? when imogen van der meer grows, it is all discarded with little care.
i do hope that has come across.
but once the topic did bring itself to light, imogen could feel a light flush coming to her cheeks. physicality was an odd thing. the thought of two bodies together repelled her. love, romance, caring…it was something she had never known. she wished. she scolded. and then she convinced herself to be repulsed by it. lowering your guard for another human being was a weakness. she had been peaked through the curtains once or twice, curious as to the patient smile on the other side of the door. she had almost fallen. not romance, per say, but the only emotional connection available: familial. ari had a strange effect on her. her brother was not a welcome addition to her family, definitely not her life. things would be different had he decided to behave and remain in…wherever he came from. but he had offered her the sort of affection her parents never did. there was love in her household, do not be mistaken. but no one ever congratulated her. no one supported her when she did wrong. when things grew too difficult, it had always been up to her to bring order back to her life. the few times imogen had cracked completely, allowing the tears to fall, she had been aware of his presence behind her, open to catching her had she chosen to fall. and look what happened. people often described their romances as that sort of familial love, often in overdrive. imogen could no longer find the strength to think of her family, the people she shared blood with. imagining that, with added layers of passion, tragedy and the chaos a sex life can bring, she would collapse of exhaustion. she had not gone through the teenage paces of young, balmy love and exploring her sexuality. now that she had reached the age where it grew genuine, with dependency, care and everything that terrified her, it had rendered itself invalid. she was uncomfortable, the same silly foal attempting to ice-skate. it did not work. it was the truth, imogen had no desire for a starstruck romance that tugged at her heartstrings. but even the simple act of coming together with someone else made her blush. after everything had happened, her walls had gone back up and the doors locked. real romance was off the table. but certainly there were numerous people, empty as she, who committed themselves to senseless sexual acts for a distraction? that was the part that made her slip on the ice. imogen didn't even know how to go about that.
she was much more imperfect than she wished to admit. now that her mind was racing, imogen was growing repulsed by herself. alright, fine, she had missed out on the girlish giggles of crushing on someone at school. plenty of people do. but her destroyed familial past had put to bed any potential for love. in was disgusting, really. she didn't want to think of loving someone and loving her family as similar factors. perhaps they were. that was all she had seen growing up. her parents could easily have been siblings, roommates even. the only affection shared, that she had witnessed, was the odd clutch of the hand when the other was particularly stressed. who knows. it was giving her a migraine, even beginning to attempt to sort through just how skewed her views on love were. love is love, regardless of where it comes from, or how those involved chose to portray it. so love was off the table. her family was gone. her body was just as humane as the rest of the world's. was this not some perfect, albeit twisted, equation for mindless sexual encounters? perhaps, if she hadn't grown to repel that even before her dislike for emotional connection. what the fuck. that was the one time she would allow herself to swear. if she was perfect, she would be allowed to love someone. if she was perfect, she would not allow her past familial infractions to destroy any potential of that. if she was perfect, she would naturally know how to interact physically with another. if she was perfect…she would not be so distressed over a single topic. even if she continued her path of isolation, if she were perfect, she never would have experimented with it in the first place.
her family put her in a vulnerable position. she'd been a teenager, still attempting to deal with the oddities going on in her body. the warm arms of the steel-eyed art historian had seemed almost appealing. as her clothing had dropped to the floor, imogen had found herself registering the flaws of the situation. she did not love him. she was not even remotely attracted to him. his breath was too smokey, and he desperately needed to whiten his teeth. she pulled back and allowed him to do what he wished. her sexuality was chaotic. the few times she had experimented with this fellow had only distorted it further. so the fact she was receiving an unsettling aura from the atypical doctor standing in front of her offset her in a very similar way.
imogen was having a difficult time reading bowen bennett. she picked up similarities between them with ease. a blind, deaf, limbless invalid could do so, really. he was an oddity to humanity, much like she was. the way the people around them even interacted with him, she knew he was a different flavour of human being. there was no force surrounding him. it caught her off guard. perhaps it even coloured shades of ari, only without the darkness and twisted thought processes. ari kostitsyn was an unstable individual, but imogen had trouble discrediting the effort he had put into certain aspects of his life. she was absolute that he loved her like a brother would love his little sister. a simple look had often softened imogen. she saw something similar in this doctor. it pissed her off, to be inappropriately blunt. her eyebrows furrowed at his words. he was just…she had no idea. as the moments passed, the lack of information was frustrating her. it was difficult to be dismissive when someone confused her so easily. that had only happened once before, and it had resulted in her incapable gaining revenge for the untimely deaths of her parents. her imperfections were really beginning to interfere with her being perfect. "i can offer no promises, doctor. if i fancy it, i may finish it myself." a light humour laced her words, not quite reaching her eyes. any sort of ale was hardly short of putrid, but she reserved no room to judge one based on their liquor preferences. the cheaper her tequila, the better. keep that a secret, however. running the edges of her fingertips along the side of the clipboard, pushing it harder onto her hipbone, imogen raised her eyebrows again. "department-level caffeine is hardly the 'good stuff', unfortunately. it will have to do, won't it? i make a better cup than anyone here. you can even have one while you answer some of my questions." placing the clipboard onto the counter, she eyed him expectedly again. "unless i'm leading the way."
[/size][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- TAGGED, bowen !
LOCALE, local precinct.
LENGTH, 1853 words. seriously, wtf.
ATTIRE, hurr.
NOTES, lame ending, sorry :[
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to poets of the fall - "change"
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