barrayar | (no subject)

Anderson keeps her senses tuned in even as she zip-ties wrists together, mindful that she is extremely vulnerable as the only officer surrounded by a group of burly bare-knuckles cage fighters. Fortunately, so far it seems like her gun is keeping them at bay; Judges are entitled to use lethal force when attacked, just about the only thing that gives them a prayer given the typical numbers of criminals they face. Her mild precognitive abilities and her gun combined tend to give her enough of an edge, but it's not perfect, and she still scans the minds around her as she works, efficiently lining up and reporting perps over her transmitter.

She falters and stops mid-word, then resumes her sentence, speaking into her shoulder mic. "All set, Control," she finishes. "Five for pick-up. I'll stay until transport gets here."

"Understood. Stay safe, Judge."

"Thanks," Anderson answers shortly, cutting the call. She turns at last to the final fighter, the second member of the third match-up, and the only person she hasn't cuffed in the wake of the hastily dispersing crowd. Anderson folds her arms, leveling a gaze at him. He's an intimidating figure, and if she hadn't felt his mind herself at the periphery of her attention, she'd never have guessed he was here for more than blood and guts and money.

"It's not too late to make that six. Tell me why you got caught up in all this, and maybe I won't haul you in." It's a sincere offer. She got a vague sense of him as a person, an unexpected depth of... integrity? Loneliness? Desperation? That last is felt as a keen edge. But she's a mind-reader, not a soothsayer. She doesn't know much more than that, and she can't afford to enforce the law on feelings alone. She needs justification if she's going to let him go.

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Majima recoils at her admission in spite of himself, as if snapping to attention and reeling back slightly will somehow keep an invisible hand from reaching into his brain.

Of course, he'd heard all the urban legends, all the horror stories, but Majima didn't see the point in ganging up on psychics. They were born that way, probably because of one of the million ways the environment had been completely fucked, and they were just as miserable as everyone else. However, that didn't mean he relished the thought of someone reading his mind. He simply didn't pay psychics any attention, and just sort of hoped they'd return the courtesy.

Just his luck that the first one he's really talked to is a Judge.]

Who's gotta be psychic to figure that out? Tryin' to goddamn auction me--

[Him, and a hundred other people who probably couldn't handle whatever that meant. Majima snorts smoke through his nostrils. She's taking advantage of his anger, and he knows it, but frankly, he doesn't give a shit. He nods to her other arrests with poorly disguised disdain; if she's booking them for something more than fighting for a buck, then good riddance.]

Send them packin', then. I ain't goin' anywhere.

[ Being a Judge hasn't taught her a lot of respect for mental privacy, that's for sure. Anderson is typically expected, if not demanded, to read the minds of perps and potential perps, never mind that they're citizens. But her own personal morals don't quite line up that way, and her abilities aren't as expansive as the Hall of Justice would like people to believe. Without intensive interrogation, she can't get much more than what someone's actively thinking about and a general sense of their character. It's not possible to lie with any of that, of course, but she's not all-seeing.

And she does try to let people keep their minds to themselves unless she has justification otherwise, which means, threat assessment complete, Anderson's senses simmer to a duller, broader awareness of potential threats than active mind-reading. ]

Good, [ she says decisively. ] The truck should be around soon. I'll meet you back here in thirty minutes, and if you're gone, I'm tracking you down and hauling you in.

[ Having a conscience and some empathy doesn't make her a moron. Anderson knows too well how good people can be at lying, and Majima might be as subtle as a brick to the head with his intentions lining up with his words, but in her estimation, that's a rare trait. Her learned caution is self-protective. ]

Majima only let himself sag against the wall once the other men were hauled off and the sound of the truck's engine faded away. He snorted out smoke once he reached the floor and ran both hands through his hair; the silence that had fallen over the arena buzzed just as hard as the flickering lights high up on the ceiling. Majima knocked his head mirthlessly against the concrete wall behind him.

"You're really in the shit now, Goro."

What the hell was he thinking? Who would ever want to talk to him again if they got wind he was a rat for a Judge? Then again, who would find him significant enough to give a shit? And who could say she wasn't going to just toss him in a cell anyway? Majima clambered to his feet and started to pace until he found an abandoned leather jacket to wrap around himself.

By the time the Judge returned, Majima had cracked into some concession beer cans and whittled his cigarette down to the butt.

It would be an incredible luxury for Anderson to remain ignorant of how Judges, and cooperating with Judges, are perceived by the general populace. Apart from being telepathic, she's a bit unique in how late she entered the academy; rather than being taken in as a young child, it was only after her parents died that she was screened, and allowed in on the weight of her psychic abilities. Those few years' difference living in the slums has echoed strongly for her over the years.

She comes back out of uniform, in simple jeans and a somewhat tattered black hoodie, her Lawgiver and badge hidden under the overlarge hem at the small of her back. The only thing left of her Judge's attire is the heavy black combat boots, unremarkable enough of her own. Anderson is running her hands through her hair, fluffing it out and tousling it to look messy, as she approaches.

She's pleasantly surprised he didn't run. Anderson really wants to take out these assholes. It's what gets her up in the morning -- putting away criminals who really deserve it.

"Come on, there's better beer than this a block away. I want your story before we go cracking heads." Not that she's going to drink -- she's serious enough about being a Judge, no matter how much she disagrees with the Hall of Justice sometimes, to follow the mandated rule to stay dry and celibate even off-duty -- but she knows how people work.

The Judge startles him all over again, but Majima relaxes slightly when he takes in her new outfit with a skeptical quirk of his eyebrow.

"Didn't think you could take all that shit off."

Not that she would want to in this neighborhood, but without a visible badge, she might pass.

"But if it ain't free, it ain't better." Regardless, Majima crushes the empty can in his hand and tosses it over his shoulder. "As long as it doesn't stink like junkies."

He doesn't bother to close his jacket or hide his tattoo-- a bar this deep in the slums wasn't going to have a dress code.

"You thinking we can't is to our benefit," she quips. Anderson doesn't mention the extremely secret undercover unit of Judges that works to topple large organized crime structures. That's not her gig. She's too direct for that sort of work.

She feels like she's lying enough as it is.

Shrugging a little, Anderson sets off to lead the way. The crime scene is cleaned up by now, nothing needing to be bagged or tagged with a Judge on the scene, sentencing complete, perps hauled away. It leaves an odd, empty, echoing atmosphere around the ring. "No promises. I've just 'overheard' a lot of people planning on going there."

Majima narrowed his eye at that implication, but trailed behind Anderson regardless.

Outside, the smell of ozone mixes with the chill in the air. Majima buries his hands in his pockets and slinks along the dirty sidewalk. He sticks to the right side of the street so he can keep his good eye on the alleys.

"Right. Just milk for you, huh?"

Neon lights splash different colors across them while car engines roar overhead. A squad car siren blends in among them, and Majima looks at Anderson with continued skepticism as they near the bar.

"They really okay with you doin' this?"

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WOW ALL THAT STYLE SWITCHING my bad

I figured you were VERY TIRED, hahaha

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WOW SORRY THAT TOOK FOREVER