Dominick "Sonny" Carisi, Jr. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ottimismo) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-12-15 05:12 pm
ottimismo) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-12-15 05:12 pm
001 ✝ there's an angel with a hand on my head
WHO: Sonny Carisi
WHERE: The fountain and the inn
WHEN: 12/14
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Nooothing? Will update as needed.
STATUS: Open
THE FOUNTAIN
At first, Sonny thinks he's dreaming.
There was a place their parents would take him and his sisters on vacation when they were little. As he got older, he learned that they were really just visiting his mother's family in Jersey, which really isn't much of a vacation at all when you live in New York. But they always got to swim in their auntie's pool while they were there, and Sonny would swim until his fingers were wrinkly and his eyes were red from the chlorine and his mother had to tell him three separate times that it was time for dinner.
He and his sisters got older. They did more sunbathing than swimming, and Sonny found he enjoyed helping his mom and aunt around the kitchen more than taking a dip in the pool.
Still, this reminds him of that, at first. The water's around him, warm to the touch, and it takes him a moment to realize he's not, in fact, dreaming, but that the burning in his lungs is real. He's drowning.
It's all instinct after that. The water presses around him, pushing him upwards, and Sonny kicks his feet, straining towards the lighter part of the water. He doesn't think about how he got in the water, or what body of water he could possibly be in. He only thinks about getting out, about breathing, about breaking the surface. And when he manages that, it's with a dramatic gasp of air, his lungs expanding painfully as he pulls in a much needed breath. One hand gropes blindly until he finds stone, gripping the edge of the fountain.
A fountain. He's in a fountain. He blinks water out of his eyes, pushing his sopping hair back with one hand. It occurs to him quite suddenly that the water wasn't warm, but that he was numb. It's sleeting, and it stabs at his exposed arms painfully. He's aware that there's a backpack strapped to his back, but more important, where the hell is he?
"Hello?" he calls out, and he can't even be bothered by how silly it feels.
THE INN
Eventually, he gets some answers, though not very many. And in the process of that, he manages his way to the inn, where he changes into dry clothes that are apparently his and sits down beside the fire to warm up. His hair's an unkempt mess and his bones still feel cold, his eyes tired. He's hungry, too. But he's too busy thinking for anything like food or sleep.
He tugs his backpack into his lap, digging through it a second time to review what's inside. Like maybe it'll hold more answers than it did before. This is what he does, though. Review, and review again, and again, until something looks different, until you notice something new.
After all, he is a cop.
WHERE: The fountain and the inn
WHEN: 12/14
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Nooothing? Will update as needed.
STATUS: Open
THE FOUNTAIN
At first, Sonny thinks he's dreaming.
There was a place their parents would take him and his sisters on vacation when they were little. As he got older, he learned that they were really just visiting his mother's family in Jersey, which really isn't much of a vacation at all when you live in New York. But they always got to swim in their auntie's pool while they were there, and Sonny would swim until his fingers were wrinkly and his eyes were red from the chlorine and his mother had to tell him three separate times that it was time for dinner.
He and his sisters got older. They did more sunbathing than swimming, and Sonny found he enjoyed helping his mom and aunt around the kitchen more than taking a dip in the pool.
Still, this reminds him of that, at first. The water's around him, warm to the touch, and it takes him a moment to realize he's not, in fact, dreaming, but that the burning in his lungs is real. He's drowning.
It's all instinct after that. The water presses around him, pushing him upwards, and Sonny kicks his feet, straining towards the lighter part of the water. He doesn't think about how he got in the water, or what body of water he could possibly be in. He only thinks about getting out, about breathing, about breaking the surface. And when he manages that, it's with a dramatic gasp of air, his lungs expanding painfully as he pulls in a much needed breath. One hand gropes blindly until he finds stone, gripping the edge of the fountain.
A fountain. He's in a fountain. He blinks water out of his eyes, pushing his sopping hair back with one hand. It occurs to him quite suddenly that the water wasn't warm, but that he was numb. It's sleeting, and it stabs at his exposed arms painfully. He's aware that there's a backpack strapped to his back, but more important, where the hell is he?
"Hello?" he calls out, and he can't even be bothered by how silly it feels.
THE INN
Eventually, he gets some answers, though not very many. And in the process of that, he manages his way to the inn, where he changes into dry clothes that are apparently his and sits down beside the fire to warm up. His hair's an unkempt mess and his bones still feel cold, his eyes tired. He's hungry, too. But he's too busy thinking for anything like food or sleep.
He tugs his backpack into his lap, digging through it a second time to review what's inside. Like maybe it'll hold more answers than it did before. This is what he does, though. Review, and review again, and again, until something looks different, until you notice something new.
After all, he is a cop.
no subject
Still, even as she says it, Stella knows something's not right. That's an awful lot of missing persons reports, and some of the people here — herself included — work in occupations where a disappearance would be noticed immediately.
She tries not to think about the panic that must be Operation Musicman right now, with its Senior Investigating Officer suddenly vanished into what must look like thin air. Someone would have taken over for her, she knows, but she still feels as if she's abandoned her post even though she rationally knows it's not her fault.
Stella looks over at Sonny, just weighing him for a second, and then a very, very slight smile crosses her expression. "You wouldn't happen to be a cop, would you?"
It's a guess, but there's something about his demeanor — it probably shows in hers, too.
no subject
Still, it's a long shot. The victimology is so far across the board, there's no pattern, they're all from different places. Not even going through ViCAP would be useful in a situation like this. That thing is enough of a rabbit hole as it is.
He glances up from where he'd be frowning into the fire, her question makign him smile back in response. She's sharp — he'd be surprised if she wasn't one, too.
"You too, huh?" He leans back in his seat, his smile morphing into a slight grin. "Detective Sonny Carisi, Manhattan SVU."
no subject
Stella isn't yet sure how she feels about Sonny personally, but it's strangely reassuring to encounter someone here who shares her profession, who might have been a colleague in other circumstances. She finds there's a specific perspective to being a police officer that isn't easily understood by other people who don't do the work. That's insular, perhaps, but it's also true.
"I'm afraid we're rather short on investigative tools," she says. "It's not simple to try to keep track of what's going on here when we've hardly any paper or writing instruments."
no subject
(That isn't to say that he's not aware that dirty cops exist. He's very aware of that fact. But generally speaking, he tends to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.)
"I never thought I was taking my pocket notebook for granted, but I guess I was," he says, and it's with a little chuckle, even if their lack of supplies isn't exactly funny. "Looks like we're gonna have to start thinking outside the box."