Dead Men Tell Tales

Who: December and Max
Where: Cornoner’s Office
When: Early Afternoon

In the back of the Echo, amid the stark black print of want ads peddling everything from apartment and tenement advertisements, the legitimate work to little fragments with illusions to the dark side of things, you’d find the bodies. With people who went missing every day in this city, it was hard to tell who was still around and who wasn’t, so there was a little list. Male, 30s-40s, brown hair, clover tattoo, forearm. Woman, 20s, blond hair, mole on cheek. It was never an overwhelming number, but it was a list of the unclaimed that had come in but lacked any sort of identification or reports filed.

Max that day was pleased to see Male, 40s, brown hair, large bm, front neck. Vinnie Schuester. Had no problems busting knee caps but when he was told that he needed to take out the double-crossing owner of the little cigar shop in Little Haven? “Morals,” Max muttered to himself as he headed through the non-descript entrance that led down to the city morgue. He had a part to play today. Gone were the nicely pressed black slacks and white shirt that he usually wore. It was a wrinkled blue shirt and creased pinstriped pants, and with the day old scruff on his face, blood shot eyes and messy hair, he looked like any other drunk wastrel who’d slept at the bar. He took a moment before heading into the anteroom to wrinkle his paper up, like he’d gotten it off the street before hurrying in, feigning worry and fear in his blue eyes. “Excuse me!” he panted to the young guy at the front desk. “I saw the paper today -- my friend. He’s been missing for a few days a-and,” he took a moment to lean against the counter to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he gulped and took his newspaper. “I need to, well, a buddy of mine might be here. I was hoping to identify him.”

December wasn't overjoyed to be working when the big burning ball of fucking merriment and sunshine was in the sky. She was a night person. She worked the fucking graveyard shift and she did that for a reason--she didn't like being conscious at this time of day. She liked to be asleep. But the other coroner had called in sick and she was on call, which meant she was there. Though, she guessed at the very least she wasn't bored, with a few stiffs on the tables in the morgue. She heard people talking outside there, and rolled her eyes. Great. Breathers. Fabulous. People were so much better when they were corpses.

She was sat down on the countertop of a stand of cabinets, the corpse she was working on laid out on the porcelain table a few feet away. She was just going through preliminary bullshit, writing down the necessary boring crap before she got to the good stuff. When the door properly opened, she looked over, sending a withering 'You're interrupting me' Look at the guy who entered. "Can I help you?" she asked in a tone that could only be read as really saying 'Make it quick, punkass, I have a bonesaw handy'.

This of course was the other reason she worked the night shift--she didn't have the people skills. She had the disposition of a mildly pissed off asp, most of the time. Her black hair was pulled up and held in place with two pencils at the moment, and the metal in her face caught the light as she drummed her black lacquered nails on the metal countertop. She really didn't look like she belonged there. And yet she also had a sort of commanding presence that said she was the one who was to be answered to. Promptly.

Max, still playing nervous, and well meaning friend of the deceased could hear the coroner’s voice drifting out and hurried over to see who it was that was taking care of his handywork. “I’m here to identify a - uhm - body,” Max called out, injecting enough hesitance on that last bit to show that he was harmless. He came up behind the desk guy and raised a hand in a a nervous gesture. “If it’s not too much trouble, ma’am.” He couldn’t make out much of her from where he was in the hallway but he could see black hair.

Hopping down, she walked over to peer out into the hall. December arched an eyebrow as she eyed the guy for a long moment, then she sighed and rolled her eyes. "Well, come back then." she said. "And take your pick. I've got like four. And hopefully it's not the faceless wonder over there." she said, making a vague gesture in the direction of a sheet covered corpse. That one was fun to figure out, sure, but for identification purposes, probably not so much. Plus he reeked. She'd had people come in to identify people and puke on the body. That was always a blast. Because rotting corpses weren't nearly bad enough smelling as it was. Nope, they totally needed bile on top of that. Though she had the windows open and the fans all blasting, plus the morgue was kept pretty cold in general. It cut down on the ick factor, but not entirely.

With the desk guy scurrying off, it was just Max, the bodies, and the unexpected woman. He knew that the night shift coroner was a woman named December Trent, so this must be her. Her people skills were as wonderful as they said, not to mention metal on the face that was an absolute foreign concept outside of the darker corners of life. “I’m sorry for interrupting your time, ma’am,” Max apologized with a duck of the head and followed her in. The smell wasn’t something that Max was a stranger to, but he allowed himself to stop short and take a moment to be ‘shocked’. “We just haven’t seen Vinnie in awhile and there was the paper.” Which he still held and Max held it up. “He’s in his forties and has a large birthmark on the front of his neck. One of those brown skin patches?” He looked over at the corpse under the sheet and his fingers itched to take a look. That was not his handy work, although he’d done the ‘procedure’ before.

"Do I look like a ma'am?" she asked him rhetorically. "It's December. Or Trent. Pick one. I answer to 'Mistress', too." Though her tone was deadpan. She did answer to mistress, but people didn't know that. Only an extremely select few. She listened to his description, though. Then she walked over to a covered corpse and yanked the sheet back. And okay, most people 'prepared' the viewer for the sudden look at a body, but she figured if they were there to look at a dead guy in the first place, they should already be the fuck prepared. "This your guy?" she asked.

Max looked down at the body, cold and stiff and bloodless there on the table. Not the bloody mess that he left. The ribcage was a mess from where he’d broken the bones and the fingernails were missing, as was the alcohol soaked wood that he’d replaced them with. It had been awhile since he’d come to look at a body and December’s lack of ‘bedside manner’ made it difficult for him to remember in the moment that he was supposed to be stricken and horrified, not just staring blankly down at the corpse. So the police had the wood -- splinters from a chair found in a back alley. “Yes,” he finally said and covered his mouth and nose, looking away as if he was suddenly brought back to reality and calm himself.

December was watching him the whole time. It was always interesting to her to see how people reacted to death. Hell, some people broke down all sobs and cries of anguish for people who had dropped dead of a heart attack and didn't look like anything but asleep. This guy though, he didn't have the sort of reaction one might expect--which suddenly made him much more interesting. "Well, ole Vinnie here had a bad night." she told him. "You got a last name on this sad sack, or should I recommend we bury him under the name 'Vinnie Splinterpants'?"

“Vinnie was a friend of mine and is leaving behind a chronically ill wife and two small children,” Max snapped, coming to the defense of the man he couldn’t care less about. “It’s a good thing Patricia asked me to come in. You’d have that poor woman in hysterics.” Oh look, he was doing a wonderful impression of his mother and that came with the mental image of Donna DiGiovanni standing in the middle of a morgue in all her high priced finery. He’d have to tell Arienne about that. “Vincent Schuester. Is there paperwork I can do on behalf of the family to give this man a proper burial?” he queried, pulling out a handkerchief to hold up to his mouth. He was curious to see if she’d repent or if she’d keep up this lack of feelings act.

"Honey, guys don't wind up down here with wood replacing their ribs because they lived healthy, spiritual lives full of good deeds, sunshine and fucking rainbows." she told him, though her tone wasn't actually snapping. "So, whatever, this guy was into shady shit, period. Besides. I already saw some old wounds on him, all fight-specific. He probably isn't lined up at the pearly gates around now. If you want to be all indignant and shit, you go for it." She gestured at herself, and her expression didn't alter. "This is my 'gee, I'm so sorry about that, sir' face." she deadpanned. "The paperwork is over here." she said, turning to head back towards a little office. The door was shut, and when she opened up said door, it was clear there were candles burning in there. There was a light little incense scent in there, something she did specifically. It drove the other coroner nuts. "Come in, shut the door."

Max followed her, processing everything she said and taking in the office, he could smell the sharp scent of candles and incense. He shut the door as instructed. The judgement she passed on the body of Vinnie wasn’t that far off. He was mob muscle and he liked beating people up, but for some reason, something kept him from killing. Perhaps because his own wife was so close to death. It’s why he worked for them after all. Oh well. Not his problem any more. “Just because someone may not have lived life on the straight and narrow doesn’t mean that there aren’t those who are left behind that deserve respect. They weren’t the ones committing the crime. They’re left with the clean-up.” Max tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket and his voice wasn’t biting like it had been before. It was more matter of fact. Some punk had yelled that at him before Max went in on his amateur dentistry. He’d always liked that. It seemed very touchy-feely.

"Get respect from other people, I don't owe you shit. I owe him a full detail of what happened to him, but that's where my loyalty ends. With Vinnie. Deal, Buttercup." she said, weirdly truthful with that. She did have a loyalty to the dead as far as she was concerned. And even if she'd just got done saying he was probably a shitty person, that didn't mean she was going to try any less hard to find out exactly what happened to him. That much was quite clear. She didn't care if he was a douchebag. He could be a saint or a mass murderer and she'd pay him the same amount of attention as anyone who wound up on her table. She sat down behind the desk, and dug through some drawers before she found the right folder, and she pulled out the paperwork he needed. Then she tossed a pen down with it.

He picked up the pen but didn’t move to start filling out information, instead looking at her on the other side of the desk. “You prefer the company of the dead and the secrets they tell then,” he said, a little smile playing on his face, making him look less of a yuppie with a sensitive stomach and more relaxed. That could be attributed to the completely different atmosphere of the office versus the morgue. “People are more interesting when they’re still?”

"They're far less annoying than people who come in, interrupt me, then get all sanctimonious on me." she pointed out. She noted the little smile, which again, upped his stock a little bit. He was more interesting than he was letting on, she was betting. But she wasn't quite sure how yet. "As for whether they're more interesting, honestly? Yes, a lot of the time. Not always, of course. But often. Especially on the graveyard shift, which is my usual shift, I'm just filling in today. Usually you'd be met by a man with some good gallows humor going on, but a lot nicer disposition."

In turn, Max figured there was more going on under the surface in December Trent. She was the wild card that they would have to be careful about. From her manner, her looks, and her clear preference for stiffs that she could pick apart. She didn’t fit into the picture, so she was hidden away in the dark. “Which would be why he’s on day,” Max pointed out in return and looked down at the paperwork. There was a story there. No young woman did that to her face and then work graveyard shift with a bunch of bodies without some reason, and that reason could lead to whether or not she was someone they were going to have to keep an eye on. “Means you don’t have to deal with some of those schmucks at the precinct too?” he asked, filling in Vincent’s information. “Gotta say that I don’t hold much love for them.”

"Exactly." She confirmed. "Can't have the mean creepy girl offending everyone's delicate sensibilities." she said with an eyeroll and a light smirk as she sat back in her chair. "Like you, 'princess he's got a family, respect me!'." At his bit about the cops, she got a wicked little look on her face. "Oh, they have to deal with me." she said. "And I actually think by this point I'm some sort of rite of passage--they send the rookies down to talk to me at three in the morning." She crossed her legs and kept her eyes on him. "What do you have against the boys in blue?" she asked, tone a little mocking when it came to talking about the cops. "You into the same kind of business our dear buddy Vinnie is?"

Max fell quiet, filling in the paperwork as he tried to remember which name to put down. “No, I can’t say that I am. I’m from his wife’s side of the family. Let’s just say a few of the cops out there don’t know that ‘no means no’.” As if anyone could believe that the full Eidolon City police force was as polished as their badges were to begin with. “I’m sure that’s a right of passage that sticks with them, although I don’t think it’s very fair to you.” He finally looked up at her. “Just because you work night shift doesn’t mean they should mock.”

"It's less mocking and more they do it to scare the shit out of the new guys." December said. "Though thanks for the attempt at defending my honor. You're just full of good will and intentions towards others, aren't you?" she asked. "They mess with you? What did they do when you said no?" she asked. Prying? Oh yes. But she didn't mind. She was interested by now. She wanted to know what was up.

“Sounds like mocking to me, using you as a scare tool,” Max pointed out and signed the form ‘Malcolm Hayes’ before putting it back on the desk. “Is there anything else that needs to be done?” The body would be picked up and buried. Schuester’s widow would mourn, the kids would cry, and that would be the end of it. It was a small enough sacrifice that Max didn’t mind making because he’d gotten what he needed.

"But it's so fun to see them all freaked out and asking each other if I'm really a vampire." December said, with a bright little glint in her eye. She propped her feet up on the desk, the candles wavering a little with the air current. She picked up the paperwork and glanced at it, but not all that thoroughly. "You didn't answer my question." she pointed out.

It was another mental note that Max made in regards to December, all the possible little outlets that he could look into. “And I have to get to work,” Max said, still not answering her question and he wasn’t going to. “You’re a smart woman, Miss Trent. I’m sure you can think of something much more interesting than my actual explanation.” He rose fluidly and glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. “Are you sure there’s nothing else that I need to take care of on behalf of the widow?”

She was disappointed, and there was a flash of that on her features, but she didn't really pout. Instead she shrugged, then stood up and brushed past him, to head back out to her work and the dead. "You're done." she told him.

He’d struck something and it was sorely obvious and Max hid his amusement by just following her out. “I hope we see each other again under pleasanter circumstances,” he said and there was an almost wistful tone to it. Like he really wished that he could tell her about the police and all his secrets. “Have a good day, December.” I’m positive we’ll be meeting again

"I doubt it, cupcake." she said, heading back over to the guy who's face wasn't really there anymore. "Go keep Vinnie's widow company. Leave out the part where he probably died screaming and was tortured for a few hours before that sweet embrace found him." She yanked the sheet back, and didn't look at Max, even if she was really aware of his presence in the room. More aware than she usually was of anyone invading the space of the morgue. The interesting ones always wandered off. But then she was pretty alone here in her little world of death and dissecting the fragments of time before they exhaled and expired. She'd just have to go back to that, and hope at least one of these guys provided her with enough to do to pass the time before she could finally leave.

Oh yes, definitely a nerve and it was definitely going to keep him checking up on her. Maybe more often than he intended, depending. Feeling properly dismissed by her, Max left the cold of the morgue and with a jaunty little wave to the guy still sitting at his desk, he headed out into the bright light of the city, a strange sensation after being surrounded by so much death.