Logs: Marie-Ange/Garrison, Sofia/Garrison

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Garrison drops by the Snow Valley Centre for a meeting with Sofia, and arrives early to see Marie-Ange. The casual meeting does not go as well as he'd hoped.



Garrison navigated the front desk with his customary wave from Mark and slightly dark look from Doug. He liked popping by on Friday mornings, because Mark always looked awful, having been at the club until after four in the morning only hours before. He sling his bag further over his shoulder and balanced the tray of coffee cups and doughnuts in one hand. He stepped by Marie-Ange's desk, plunking the cup beside her before she even noticed he was there.

"Good morning. It's very am all of a sudden." He flipped open the top of the box and sank into the chair next to her. "Doughnut?"

It was really unfair that he knew what kind of coffee she liked, Marie-Ange thought. "Good morning. I really should get a bell. People keep coming by my desk before I notice them." It was starting to be a regular occurrence. "Thank you, but not this morning.." She said, nodding towards the donuts.

"You could get several, but then people would accuse you of spending all your time playing with your bells." Garrison said, helping himself to a quick cake doughnut. He was supposed to meet with Sofia at ten, but had got there a little early to talk to Marie-Ange first.

God, the puns. Marie-Ange winced, but didn't respond to the joke. "You are here early. Usually you are not tormenting Mark for another hour..." she said, curious. "I think he was about to make a post-it just for you."

"Yeah, I know. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm flirting with him or something, so he'll simply bitch to you in futile yet fabulous anguish. I like Mark. He's like a pride parade every day." Kane paused and thought. "Without the leather."

It shouldn't have been so awkward to have the man she was dating in her office. And all the awkwardness was on Marie-Ange's part. "Yes, the leather is all you." She said sounding oddly subdued. For lack of anything else to say, she buried herself in the cup of coffee, falling silent.

"You know, my keen police senses tell me something is wrong, and since I'm pretty sure I didn't just bust you shoplifting or something, it's can't be a crime you're hiding." Kane said over the rim of his coffee. "What's up?"

"I am much better at hiding my illegal activities than your average shoplifter." Working every day with Amanda and Mark and Sarah had eroded her verbal restraint very badly. But cracking silly jokes was not helping at all. "I .. think I have not been very fair to you and, perhaps we should talk about it." Marie-Ange winced as she said it. He was going to know. That sentence had probably been loaded with relationship-ending-cliché already when language was first invented.

"Oh, why do I have a very bad feeling about where this is going?" Kane said, putting down his cup and leaning back in his chair.

"I am not sure how to explain..." Marie-Ange said, absently picking up a pencil and fidgeting with it. "I.. there is... " She stumbled over her words, shaking her head slowly. "There should be a book, how to have this conversation without sounding like a bad movie. I like seeing you, but I do not think that... "

"You don't think that we should keep seeing each other. I'm going to take a big jump here and assume that's where this awkward sentence is winding it's way towards?" Kane crossed his arms across his chest, regarding her levelly.

Marie-Ange nodded. "I think that... I think it would be unfair to you." She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "It is not
anything you did, it is not anything you did not do either. It is just.. " This was not working, at all, and the more she dragged it
out, the worse it would be. "I would rather do this now then in a month, or two, or three when I would have to tell you that not only am I not going to ever fall hopelessly in love with you, but that I think there is someone else."

"Huh. This was not exactly what I expected. Although, I should point out, whenever someone says 'its not you, its me', let's face it, it's you." It was a weak joke, but one nevertheless. "Well, I can't really say that I'm all that happy about this, but you're right. We haven't gotten to the picking out rings stage yet, so it's likely better now."

"It really was not anything you did." Marie-Ange responded. "Not even the tattoo. I would have said if it was." It would have been
easier if he had done something.

"No, I get that. Well," He scrubbed his hand through his hair. "I was going to just drop off coffee before my serial killer briefing, and now that's working out to be the high point of the day. Figures."

He caught the worried look. "Hey, relax. I'm going to be male and pissy about this for a couple of days, and then it'll be good. And because in, like, twenty minutes I will not say this with any honesty, I hope things do work out with whoever else."

She certainly wasn't going to tell him who it was. That would just be unfair. And she wasn't sure if it would even really happen or not. "I did not think I would ever think this, but I think the yelling and screaming breakups are easier. Then at least I could dislike the person I broke up with."

"Yes, but I'm too delicate for screaming, you know. Besides, it kills the chances of breakup sex."

Marie-Ange couldn't help but give Garrison a wry smile. "Yes, and you still have my spare keys.. " she said. She certainly was not going to turn that down if the offer was even slightly serious.

"That's true. I'll drop by after the office. Say, 9pm? Wear something that invokes closure. And is lacy. Lacy is like closure." He sighed, knowing that after that, it would be back to the mansion to wallow in depression. "And then I go home to listen to Air Supply, the music of love gone wrong." He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "And yes, we can still be friends, as long as you give me two weeks to be an asshole. It's been a trying month."

She smiled and nodding, knowing that he was being total honest about that and the final round in bed while 'dropping off the key'. Garrison picked up the box and the coffee tray and headed for the office. "Oh, and now I'm keeping the lemon filled one for myself." He called back over his shoulder.

After his sudden shock with Marie-Ange, Garrison goes immediately into a meeting with Sofia. The poor guy can't catch a break today, and now he's got the sharp-edged profiler to talk about a psychotic killer with.



Kane approached the door to Sofia's office with a slightly dazed look. Well, that was unexpected, he considered, as he knocked on the door. There was a long moment before the door opened, although the woman he was there to meet was still seated at her desk. Neat trick that. He walked in and put the tray down on the other side of the desk, carefully away from the computer.

"The one on the corner is yours, unless you take your coffee double-double."

"Do I get to fight you for it if I do?" she asked, not glancing up. Her black pen neatly printed notes in the margin of one of the pages of typed notes; long letters, with just a hint of curl when it was needed. Blowing on the damp ink as she picked up a highlighter, Sofia gave what could qualify as a greeting; if you were either a feline or Sofia, anyway. "Just adding the last of the epiphanies. I retyped it for the official document."

"If you want it to look official, spill the coffee on it. Duncan might as well use that as his signature on forms." Garrison took his coffee and sat down. He flipped open his pack and put a stack of forms down on the desk. "Here's the official FBI files, and I've added an incident report covering Kyle to it. All we need to do is unify it with your profile, do a little editing, and Duncan has his operations request paperwork done. Doughnut?"

There was a noncommittal hum and the papers rustled a moment, stirred by a breeze, before bringing themselves to face her, eyes now ahead. Sofia scanned them, taking notable pause on the report, before letting each piece slide neatly back into a pile. Her hand reached for her coffee like a blessing, and she took a sip before finally replying. "Made this morning?"

"Damned if I know. If it's not Tim Hortons, the production values are a mystery to me." Garrison shrugged as he tore into an apple fritter. "So, to steal a del Toro line, this guy looks to be a stone cold psycho. There anything that I'm missing on that?"

"Already? I was hoping you'd wait a whole ten minutes into this meeting before becoming a walking stereotype." Sofia poked cautiously at a cruller, before ripping off a piece and gently putting it into her mouth. Deciding it satisfactory, she took the rest of the (breakfast) dessert for her own. "Nope. He's nuts. You hope this guy will just fade away so you don't have to deal with him and you're pretty much fucked. You actually deal with him and you definitely are. Have fun with that."

"I should point out that technically, I'm a sitting stereotype. Even lounging, although that might be pushing it a little far." Kane said, taking a sip from his coffee. Nuts, that what the women who worked here were. Every single one of them. "As for Creed, while I'd like to see him just fade away, that's unlikely to happen. Especially when he's gutting students for shits and giggles. My operational profile recommends hitting him with something, like a truck. So is that what your profile really covers? He's just your run of the mill whackjob with mutant powers and bad 80s metal hair?"

Sofia paused to really look at the young man in front of her, with no embarrassment or curtain of disguise; anyone else would have at least pretended to glance at their notes or something similar, but she was quite content to inspect him as he watched. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if bringing something into focus. "I wouldn't go quite that far. My execution is far more superior and I found a few intricacies that will assist in finding and capturing him. His father being Senator and his time with the boy, shed some light, I think the saying is."

Garrison returned her look, a bit puzzled. "What, do I have boogers or something? Or are you giving me the eyeball? Because I should warn you, I've been eyeballed by experts, and next to getting an eyeballing from a Montreal politician, that's not even a look. More of a nostrilling, really. Maybe an eyelashing. I don't think it's legal yet to eyelash in the country, but I have the paddles and the lawn mower engine at home if you want to give it a try."

"I don't know what that means," Sofia replied, a faint frown turning her mouth; she fought against slipping against the easier, heavier version of her accent. "And you are not old enough to not be a quivering dog at the moment. I'll need access to your file before you go to make sure my assumption that you've been brought up in shady circumstances is correct."

"Shady? Well, there was a big maple tree in the front yard. I suppose that would make it shady. Except in winter. Then it's icy." Much like this office, he didn't bother to add. "As to my file, you'll need to talk to the Canadian government if you want a look at that. The formerly Honourable Robert Gordon MacDonald, Ministry of National Defense. It's in Ottawa." He added helpfully.

Sofia merely continued to look puzzled, chewing a piece of doughnut. "You don't feel like a sociopath. I've lost most of my Canadian contacts," she observed, still trying to figure him out. "Do you consider the sycamore maple a maple tree? Being from Canada. We had them at my school when I was younger."

"The sugar maple is the real maple tree, but yeah, the sycamore is too. I remember them in France and Germany. The rule, if it makes good syrup it's a maple." Garrison grinned. "And no, I'm not a sociopath. I'm worse."

He pulled out his badge and put it on the table. "I'm a Mountie."

"That explains it." Leaning back in her chair, Sofia might have almost smiled. "That hat... must wipe out all fear but for God himself."

"That and beavers. You know, the kinds with teeth?" Kane paused. "And the Chinese woman's curling team. They can't curl for shit, but they look like they eat the rocks after practice, you know?"

He pulled out a pen and a notebook, balancing it on his knee. "Besides, the hat is traditional."

"As opposed to the kind without. Senior beavers. And I do not watch curling. Sometimes I watch foot-soccer." Glancing to his lap and back, Sofia raised an eyebrow. "Are you hinting you would like to write something? I could inform you on why some traditions should not be kept."

"Well, I did come here to work your profile into the operational recommendation to Duncan. As much fun as delivering doughnuts and getting dumped are, I do have to pretend to be doing some work, or the FBI will yell at me. A lot. Using the mad voice. I can't take the mad voice."

"You also delivered papers. Twice, when you bring them back, with the additions," Sofia added helpfully. "I'm not entirely used to working with people, especially this close to profiling. But I suppose, since you did bring me coffee..."

"Uhuh." Kane said, looking slightly unimpressed. "Well, I've worked with profilers before, so I don't think I'll get in your way. However, it would be nice to get this started now, and not have to sleep at the office. Again."

"You slept?" Giving him a look to show exactly how much she cared if he liked her or not, Sofia caused the papers of her completed profile to shoot into the air, one by one, facing the young man. All in order, they lined up, eventually moving down to complete the next row. "I'll paraphrase it for you so you can have a nap. Disorganized-organized killer. Impulsive, opportunity killer, rarely disposes of the body after the kill or covers his tracks beyond basic evasion. Possible mental trauma. Takes pride in his killings and probably even follows them in the media. He's also hedonistic. That means he kills for the sheer pleasure of it, as opposed to hearing voices in his head, feeling he's justified or gaining power over his victims. He merely enjoys the hunt and the eventual kill. Am I going too fast for you?"

"I do have a degree in psychology you know. Which means I understood at least half of the bigger words you used." Kane said, unable to prevent himself from opening his mouth. Behind the bad jokes, he was filing every word she said away, locking it back. Two days with the material and she was this far? Nate had been right.

Sofia parted the papers in front of him like she was on a stage. "Sorry. I was a little busy. I didn't have time to look you up," she answered, before closing her notes on him again. "He's going to keep going for the Senator, and anyone around him, until it's finished. You miss him there, he'll take a break for a few months, think he's done, until he decides to take out the kid's family, and then the kid, just for fun. He needs the hunt, and baring another attempt at mutant execution, he's not going to be able to resist. With our luck, he'll decide he likes raping children after." Each paper fell back into place, revealing one more bit of skin, until she was plainly seated in front of him, hands folded in her lap.

"You're a very up person, you know that?" He had made several notes, but the profile had made things more simple. And more deadly. The Bureau wasn't going to pass on this one. "Look, according to his history, Creed's been trained somewhere. And we know he's been methodical in the past. Do you think the thrill of the hunt would be enough to make him abandon those cautions?"

Sofia presented him with a wry smile as she slipped everything into their proper folder. "I haven't slept for a good forty-eight hours and there's a young man who occasionally wears a uniform in my office who only wants to talk about some guy who gets off on making a persons insides, outside. I do believe I'm allowed to be a pessimist."

"This isn't about the thrill anymore. This is revenge, personal. This is something deeper. And that means, he's going to make a mistake. They always slip up when it's personal," she continued.

"Sounds like my sister. Alright." Garrison stood up and collected the folder from Sofia. "I really appreciate this, eh? I don't know how this normally works, if you bill the school or something, but if there's an issue, send a fax over to Duncan's office. It'll get covered."

Circling around the desk, Sofia passed Garrison, the door opening in front of her. She paused in the entry. "I'll just hold it as a favor instead," she said, pushing her hair back and suddenly very much looking the lack of sleep as moved to make her way down the hall. "My files are locked up, so just close the door behind you, please. Night."