SA Alyssa Higurashi

Con/Crit, Plottings, and Coconuts all go here! The usual anonymous courtesy offered to posters.

( Thread List Goes Here )

Valentine's Day. Took the plunge. Better than I thought. May have a new hobby.

Looks like tomorrow's D-Day.

...not sure how I feel about this.

I will never, even if I live to 108, understand bureaucrats.

( Phone Call to Karl Whedon )

( Private )

That could have been worse.

Karl, I need to

Going to the range.

Big shots requesting a debrief tomorrow. Just finished going through the case files, double checking everything. Turning in and waking up early. Nothing like a run in the freezing cold to prep you for dealing with the higher-ups.

They're talking about going to Times Square for New Year's Eve. I can't think of a situation guaranteed to drive me crazy faster. My family and a million people jammed into a four block radius. Peachy.

On the plus side, the brother's wife is pregnant again.

I need to shoot something. The nearest firing range shut down. I'm going to need to find someplace else.

New York, New York, it's a hell of a town.

Got my stitches out Wednesday, decided to drive up instead of fly. I might have to make a few more rest stops, but once I get home it'll be worth it. And you'd have to pay me double to get me in an airport today.

Stopping over for a cup of Joe in this little truck stop in Delaware. I figure, what, four more hours to go with traffic? Piece of cake.

( Left on the desk of Karl Whedon )

I can not wait to get these frakking stitches out. They itch.

This damn thing is starting to itch. Pain, I expected. Itching is bordering the line of frakking intolerable. Maybe I should just take the damn drugs and knock myself out.

On the plus side, Georgie was considerate enough to drop off the shit-ton of paperwork that I have to fill out due to a death on the field. "Be happy," he says. "It seems pretty cut-and-dry. At least there's no IA investigation."

No, no IA. Just 40 or so forms. In triplicate.

I guess there's a lovely lesson to be learned from all of this. You can't even escape paperwork if you're shot.

....Frak. Thanksgiving. Twelve messages about it.

The mission couldn't have lasted a week longer?

Oh hell.

I just finished filling out my discharge papers, thank frakking everything. I hate this place. Hospitals smell like -- stale air and disinfectant. The lighting sucks. The food sucks. And there are needles.

Not looking forward to the flight back home. Getting crammed onto one of those seats and feeling every bit of turbulance while sitting next to someone who takes up too much room and seems to think I need a frakking babysitter is not my idea of a good time.

Still haven't told my mom. Not looking forward to that either. Oh, hells, now typing is starting to hurt.

And FYI? Typing one-handed sucks.

[Posted via VERY SNEAKY TEXT]

Someone. Get him. The frak. Out of my hospital room. Before I finish what I interrupted.

( Phone Call to Karl Whedon )

[Private, written on a napkin and then shredded]
Feeling hungover without the booze sucks.

I thought I knew better than this.

Lock it down, Higurashi.

[Private, Written Then Burned]
He's in now. The background check held up. Thank God. Both covers would have been blown otherwise. Thug 2 is smirking at me too much now. Gotta be a way to use that. He comes back here, he goes to his own place - Grace needs her space, and she's not ready to commit to him yet. Matt wants her to quit, but... Little Miss Independent. Plus, now that he's working for the same outfit, they're getting good and stuck.

The boss likes that. I think this will work.

If I can keep it shut down and out. I've done this before, but never when the other person knew... never with a partner. And Karl...

Write it out.

I burn when he kisses me.

But he's not kissing me. And so I can't kiss him. Keep it divided. Play it smart.

But, God, I think I'm going to have to kill him after this.

[Private, written then deleted.]
Thug 2 likes blood. Likes it. He's unpredictable. If I don't find a way to use it, it could be a problem. Still haven't gotten a good read on Thug 3.

Taking them down is not my job. Get in, get the information, get out. But days like this make me want to. I'll have to find another way to get close. This place has seen enough 'accidents.'
[/Private]

[Encrypted message to Karl made of randomly circled letters on a Domino's Pizza menu]
Position secured. Standby. Next message 9/29.
[/Message]

[Private, written on a single sheet of paper and then burned]
Contact made. I sold it. Grace Kim. Walked into a door to get the bruise all nice and legit. No one would bruise this body. Not sure if they think I killed my former employer across state or if I just ran. I'll let them make up their own mind. At least they know I won't tolerate being hit.

Passed Audition. Thug 1 leads with his right. Thug 2 incapable of professional detachment. Can use that. Thug 3 impassive, stands by door, keeps his eyes moving. Target interested. Too much collateral to get close. Give it a day.

Need to arrange an 'accident.' Red seems to be his favorite - better to go after the dyed Purple? Something will open up.

The duffel search was thorough. Putting me up at a local Howard Johnson - 'credited to my account,' the bastards. Secure for now. Usual suspicions, no sign of paranoia - maybe Thug 3? Can turn that? Should do the drop test.
[/Private]

[Encrypted message to Karl, written on the back of a Kit-Kat wrapper and slipped into the drop-off point]
In position. Next contact 9-26-09.
[/message]

[Private]
Initial surveillance complete. Two infiltration possibilities - 'dancer' or mechanic. I don't have the hands for a mechanic. Fuck all. Why does it always come down to this?
[/Private]

[Encrypted message to Karl, written on the back of an M&Ms wrapper and slipped into the drop-off point]
Code C12. Initiate contact tomorrow. Standby for further information.
[/Message]

If it's not one thing, it's another.