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"Vikki" Velaro

1Pulse Clinic

Vikki paced back and forth in the lobby of 1Pulse Clinic, the place was really a hole-in-the-wall, wedged between much bigger buildings like the poor step-child wedged between big-brothers in a small car. The girl twirling the white rose she had pilfered a few days prier, between her fingers like a pencil. Eventually moving toward the reception window and placing the vivid flower in the mug used for a gaggle of pens. Pulse-like beats of rain drumming down on the building, at least it drown out the incessant honking of horns and yelling between those outside going about their dreary lives.

"ow ow owow" Cried the bullet riddled sod Miss Tiffany had on a sterile table, and was working methodically to remove bullets from. The Mafioso's left shoulder, left hip and left thigh had been all been hit, he was quite a mess and lucky to have not bled-out. Which she had to tell him at least three times before he stopped his threats of bodily harm. His buddies had dumped him there and left a wad of cash as payment before taking off to whatever hole they chased the owner of said bullets into.

Vikki let out a bored sigh, and flipped on the radio, the newscaster was going on about the recent death of some-such Police Detective. The girl's eyes were drawn to the reflection of the Clinic's sign, clever how a Syringe was used for the '1' in "1Pulse Clinic".

20 more minutes of the thug's whimpering and Vikki could no longer stand to be there, she pulled on her coat and dashed out into the raining night, anywhere would be better than listening to a grown man whine.

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Tiffany White

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Tiffany White

House of the Fallen Detective

Afternoon

“Uh uh.” Calvin outstretched his palm toward the coroner’s face and looked away. “I’m going to get it directly from the horse’s mouth. Not an over-glorified nurse. Is Detective Gallagher still here?”

The coroner sighed. “Yes. He’s wandering the house, seeing if there aren’t any breadcrumbs anywhere else. I told him that it was a waste, but—.”

As the Detective disappeared to find the other, Cart wheels wailing like that of a hungry babe for it's mum's teat, pulled the Coroner from his thoughts. His Assistant Tiffany White appearing with the body bag and transport for the unfortunate late Mr. Smith. She was a red headed woman of some twenty-seven years. The ugliness of death had long become normal to the young woman since her time in the war as a Triage Nurse a few years prior.

"well he is quite the assho- I mean 'charming man' isn't he?" She chirped as she moved the cart close and struggled with a rusty hinge to get it to lower. Wonderful New York, it loved its glitter and shine to draw in foreign money, yet cared not about giving the Coroner's office efficient quality tools to work with. Tiffany looked around the macabre garden of brutality and let out a distasteful sigh.

Some minutes passed as she prepped the body, at least this one was in one piece and didn't require a limb scavenger hunt like her last. She moved about doing her best to disturb the scene as little as possible. Her movements practiced, if not labored by the awkward stiffness of her new prosthetic left leg. The large moderate sized house that should be so full of life and emotion, now an eerily barren thing, still except for the remaining investigative crew and mourning cries of the deceased's wife. Poor thing.

Tiffany craved a cigarette, the irony not lost on her, but what was one more bringer of death in her life?

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"Vikki" Velaro

2:00 AM Two nights prior. Boardwalk, Blocks from Carousel

It was a sea of coated bodies and she, caught in the flood. Good, just how she wanted it. She move among them melding into the waves, pushing by grunting and muttering shoulders. Heads capped by low fedoras as the sky seemed to cry for the retched city once more. Sound was washed out by the incessant drum of falling rain, a base beat that seemed to distort and twist all other sound, even car horns feet away seemed muddled and distant a whisper of passing life. The air burned her nostrils with the seemingly endless tendrils of smoke wisping from glowing cigarettes in the dark. Like groping hands clinging their funk to everything they touched.

Her fingers danced into their pockets with airy brush strokes, like a master artist painting the coy smile of a seductress immortalizing her for all time. A light bump into a man's chest followed by an apologetic smile under dark long wet locks. Ever calming grumbles of bothered irritation in the middle of drunken walk. Never to notice her fingers slipping into his jacket breast and availing him of a money clip.

Purses, pants pockets, jackets, all fair game to the thief. It was time to move on, even she could not predict when some keen eyed bystander or cautious victim might notice her actions. The neon poisoned sky shifted colors, reflecting in pools along the sidewalk. the concrete beaten and warn like a boxer after too many fights, she lost count and care after eight. A block father she wasn't sure why but she deftly slipped her had into one more pocket, they seemed to be in a hurry, a quickened stride moving against her favorite kind of sea. Features hidden like all the rest. Vikki wincing as she stuffed her plunder into her pocket, she quickly hurried away. zigzagging through the thick crowd, one thin body among shoulder to shoulder large forms, gone in moments. Once she dared, she scurried down into an alleyway like a rat wary of being pounced by a cat.

Crimson.

Vikki brought her fingertip to her lips sucking at the running prick on her finger. She leaned pressing her slender back against the cold wet bricks, the ever toxic neon of street lights and signs barely bled through here..bled less than her finger. Growing curious lowers her hand into her pocket, watches and money-clips shifting. There it is, feeling the villain that assaulted her poor innocent finger.

A White Rose.

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Victoria "Vikki" Velaro