realityshifted | (no subject)

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life on mars (d1) sam tyler

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[sets down various weapons as stolen from Minato's under-the-bed armory. It is worth noting that he's chosen to relax at the bar, and that there is an opened bottle of whisky on the counter]

House fire in Kingston upon Hull, six-year-old boy dead. It's considered an accident.

Ethics in altering the past you know as a fact while back in time: discuss.

[drinks from his glass of whisky]

Or don't.

[and another drink!]

A word, Guv.

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We shouldn't, but we do. We're responsibility for giving lawyers something they can work with.

I don't know if you're dead. You could still be alive. [a pause] I hope you're dead. [it's a very loving statement, really]

Maybe. Hasn't proved a problem yet, though. Not when I can get the bloody confession from 'em.

[...] The hell is that supposed to mean?

The city changes. Policing changes. The world changes. They'd tie you down in bureaucracy and political correctness. Maybe if you retired early from the force, or moved up to Super... But you'd hate that, wouldn't you?

Not being what I am? Don't see how I'd survive. [takes a drink, thoughtful] Don't see how you survive it. Seems like a load of piss to me.

It's not. It ensures police accountability. Human rights are respected, police brutality is treated harshly, and the law is actually followed by those who're supposed to be enforcing it. You have to know the law inside and out to get a proper handle on policing, but all officers do.

[a pause]

I hate the new uniforms, though.

Being a copper isn't about written laws or following any bloody rules. It's about your gut, and instinct, and wanting what's best for the people who can't protect themselves. 's not about accountability and brutality and ruddy paperwork.

[gives you a funny look, Sam] What d'ya mean, new uniforms?

I'll give you that it's about protecting people, but the rest... [shakes his head]

They... they changed uniform's uniforms. And I don't like them. I do like the standardized use of body armour we have now, but the high-visibility jackets... [sips from his drink]

The rest means nothing in the long run. That's all.

[snorts] So they gave your coppers protective gear and then made 'em as obvious as a nun in a whorehouse?

There are some brothels where that nun would fit in.

None you've ever visited.

[smirks slightly into his drink] 'course not, Guv. Straightlaced Sam Tyler'd never do anything like that, would he?

More like no bird would ever want you to. [he says it good naturedly, though, honest]

Prostitutes rarely, if ever, 'desire' their customers. ['You idiot.' Which is, of course, also meant good naturedly]

Point. Don't much desire them, myself. Then again, not all of us need to buy our skirts. [friendly jab to the side]

[he, dare I say it, giggles] What colour skirts do you buy, Guv? Pink and rainbow?

[...have a slap to the skull, Tyler] Don't get mouthy with me, Dorothy. [and then he laughs]

You leave yourself open for it, Guv.

And you knew what I meant, so don't try that, Gladys.

I could graph an equation depicting the relationship between what you called me and what mood you're directing at me. Actually, it'd have to be a program. Could probably do it in Turing.

If 'Gladys' then

...Actually, 's a bit complicated for Turing. Maybe C++?

...or you could make some bloody sense instead of spouting gibberish. This isn't 'Hyde,' Tyler. And even if it were, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't know what the hell you're talking about.

They're programming languages. For computers.

The hell does a computer need language for? 's just a stupid machine.

Which runs on a language.