realityshifted | (no subject)

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life on mars (d1) gene hunt

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[Gene appears, a sandwich stuffed into his mouth, a cig in his other hand. he may or may not have stolen said food from a suspect currently being held at CID. he'll never admit it if you ask, anyway. at any rate, he's grinning maniacally from behind his sammich] Gene Genie: 1. Scum: nicked.

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[his interest is piqued at the idea of space cowboys, but he's not about to show that] Cowboys don't exist in space, Gladys.

You should tell that to the crew of the Serenity. That entire series was Western-meets-Sci-fi.

[again, interest piqued] Well. I bet it's shite. I'd have to judge it myself.

Brilliant! We can watch one Star Wars film after the pub for three days, then an episode or two of Firefly every night.

You're way too excited about this, Dorothy. Keep your knickers on.

You don't know what it's like when no one knows a thing you're talking about, Guv.

That's because I'm not a loon, Sammy-boy.

[slams his hands down on the table] But I'm not insane! It's all real, all of it, and I can't talk with anyone about any of it!

[is caught off-guard by this and retaliates in kind, shoving Sam away with a heavy push] Get off me, Tyler! The hell's gotten into you?

Nothing.

[mask of professionalism: on]

I suppose we should get back to work. There's a pile of paperwork on my desk that I can't wait to forward to you.

Don't try and bullshit me. Not in here. And don't give me that, either. You said you do all that on that Astral Plane...thing, so you've got plenty of time.

What makes you happy, Guv?

...what?

You asked me. Now it's my turn. What makes you happy?

[huffs and grumbles something about it not being any of your damn business, Tyler, and puffs away on another cigarette, staring at the table in fascination] Seeing scum get what they deserve. A good shot of whisky. Having my team intact and whole. My wife and my mum. [glances up] Are we done with ladies' hour, then, Gladys?

If you like, Guv.

I don't like that, no. Where's your fire, Tyler? Where's your bloody fight?

Do you want me to nag you into telling me what brings joy into the great Gene Hunt's existence? I thought you said you only wanted nagging from your wife, Guv.

No. [hmphs and sits back again, arms crossed and a huffy expression on his face] And I don't want nagging from my wife, Dorothy. She nags me anyway. Doesn't mean I want you pussy-footing around like some shite-eating lackey who doesn't have the spine to tell me what he thinks to my face. If I wanted another Chris Skelton I'd go bother him.

I find it's best not to try communicating with particularly unintelligent brick walls.

Oi! My missus is not a brick wall, Gladys!

I wasn't talking about the woman of the Hunt household.

I'm not a brick wall, either. [pouts. in a manly fashion, of course]

You seem to share a lot of attributes with one, though.

[rubs his face] Like what? Sturdy, strong, does its job?