Jake: Okay, here it goes. Ames, I love you. I love how smart you are. I love how beautiful you are. I love your face, and I love your butt. I should’ve written this down first.
#b99reunionweek • day one: favorite cold open “Well, frankly, I pity the lot of you. You look out there and see a problem. I look out there and see an opportunity. I’m gonna slide on that slippery floor all the way from Holt’s office to the elevator. You’re going to do the FBP? That’s right, Rosa. I’m doing The Full Bullpen!”
Will: Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to answer an age-old question. The question is: who here does the best impression of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. You’ll be judged on voice, body language and overall lack of flair. Everyone will perform the same scenario: Dr. Lecter eating a marshmallow for the very first time. LET THE LECTER-OFF BEGIN!
Jack Crawford (impersonating Hannibal): What is this glutinous monstrosity before me?
Beverly (impersonating Hannibal): The sugar in this is quite sweet.
this one was requested by @faheysoz , go follow them rn they have amazing content !!!
Prompt: the crows commit a crime/ heist in New York but the B99 cops are actually good detectives and find them out. (this is part one out of three because the overall story is over 2.5k)
Inej Ghafa.
Inej hated the cold. Back in the cosy caravan, she used to call home, eight-year-old her would beg her father to let her play outside at the first chances of snow- for fear of missing those tumbling delicate snowflakes, a rare sight for Ravkan soil. And when he finally gave in, with a slight nod of his brown head, she’d run as fast as she could, her slight ankles rhythmically slapping the ground. But after the fateful heist last winter, the disbanded crows native Fjerdan was gone, leaving Inej to help heal her friend and the hole in her own heart. And so, like perfect clockwork, Inej’s hatred of winter’s unforgiving fingers had crept into her mind along with her lost friend’s look of frozen grief.
Inej was running now. But it wasn’t in glee.
As she heard the hunting calls behind her closing in, her hands slipped to her waist, where her daggers lay in their gleaming glory waiting to meet their targets.
She was too late. In the time taken for her hands to grasp Sankta Alina’s hilt, she felt a cold, alien hand grab her shoulders and the hard, cold metal barrel of a gun placed underneath her ribcage.
“Hands in the air, you’re under arrest, you have the right to remain silent, and anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law!”.
New York was really not living up to Inej’s expectations.
Rosa Diaz
Rosa may not have liked her ballet teachers, but running after perps all day long, she had wearily become grateful for her mandated posture. Sure, her chest might hurt and her toes may rub, but at least she was fast.
Whoever the girl running was, however, was much faster. As they weaved in and out of rat-infested dumpster alleys, Rosa was beginning to realize that she might have a hard time catching up.
Emphasis on might.
Though she preferred not to, Rosa could easily and efficiently stop perps in their tracks with a little tool Rosa liked to call ‘ Dorothy’, as it helped the perps get back where they belonged. The only issue with its use was having the guts to use it.
But then again, Rosa Diaz was no coward.
As Rosa continued the chase, she began to collate what she knew about the girl to see if it could explain or give way to a motive- but nothing prevailed. She seemed no older than eighteen, slender and slim limbed, but could scale walls and dumpsters faster than most cops. Yet surely someone would have ID’d her by now if she was a native Brooklyn resident.
It still didn’t explain the girl’s intimate knowledge of the surrounding streets, and her ability to smuggle and wear thousands of dollars worth of steel blades, without being found, nor how her shadow almost became one with the alley walls themselves.
No matter, she had been found red-handed after all and Rosa had to do what cops like her did best: arrest.
Just as she reached for her gun and badge, a sharp swoosh sound, like that of a knife cutting cream, passed through the air, knocking her out cold, the loaded gun dead and discarded on the paved street.
Inej Ghafa
Inej knew that voice. It was the voice of a different time, of dirt-paved roads, and bustling crowds, and of scurrying pickpockets and a commanding voice, raspy and loud.
Brekker.
She turned, half in expectance, half in disbelief. Near the soles of his crow-black shoes lay an outstretched, unconscious human body (the cop, she guessed) a harsh red welt already forming on the side of her neck and as for the gun- it had clattered to the floor mere metres away; a much-needed change from being inches away from her own heart. In his sole ungloved hand, he gripped his cane like one would grip his life-line, Inej reasoned, but then again hadn’t they, the crows been his lifeline until the crows had disbanded. She wondered if his knee was troubling him again; gone were the days where the baster of the barrel showed weakness.
The cane was a slightly different shade of grey, almost as if it was a metaphor for darkness itself, but still, Fabrikator made. And if it was Fabrikator made, then Jesper-
“Jesper’s here?”
Kaz nodded and Inej felt a surge of relief at the chance of seeing her old friend simultaneous to the guilt at losing contact.
“And you, are you here to stay, to be the better man you promised me, promised us or is a highly wealthy enemy of the Dregs currently a New York resident?”
“I suppose, I -"
But before he could speak a syllable more, they were surrounded.
And by the glare on Kaz’s face, New York wasn’t living up to his expectations either.
