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Darkly Dreaming
What you do in the dark, will be brought to the light. [Independent Dexter RP. May contain SPOILERS/MATURE content, see RP info]
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The more that Dexter seemed to bug the archer, the more he could tell. In a way, Dexter was having a bit of fun with it, wanting to see how far he could go, but had to be sure not to test him too far, or he'd get an arrow in the head himself. After finishing at the pump, Dexter knew he had to go inside to pay. He would usually just use his debit card, but those things can be traced of course, and if anything were to happen to anyone on this particular part of Florida, Dexter could be seen here at this gas station with a few clicks of a computer keyboard. So, he'd pay in cash. The only problem with him having to pay in cash, was leaving behind the archer that was just so close.
He didn't wear his thoughts on his face, only nodding to the archer's response to him, surprised he'd even continued the conversation and he tried his best to still seem friendly and interested in anything other than putting him under wraps for some questioning. He left the gas pump, having to be reminded by Harry that he could only just continue following him if he'd left the station, and it sort of helped Dexter not to rush while he was in there. Calm.
Paying for the little bit of gas he put into the tank, Dexter lifted a candy bar from the counter as well as a cup to get himself a drink, he was traveling after all, and he wouldn't mind having something for the drive of following the archer into Fort Lauderdale. Taking the extra change and a couple of bills out to pay for all of it, he then shoved the receipt into his pocket to be sure to rid of it later on.
To keep his cool, Harry just kept having to follow him through the store as Dexter filled his cup up and fetched a lid, pushing it onto the brim of the cup, and a straw to push through the middle. While nearing the exit, he took a sip of his drink, his mind turning with possible ways to run into this drifter on a motorcycle again in subtlety. He was trying to both listen to Harry speak beside him, and listen to the Passenger inside of him give him ideas. A good middle ground would work just fine. As long as he could keep an eye on him on the way into the city, he'd be hidden by more cars. Dexter would find a way, as he usually did.
Arrows in Miami || Morgan / Barton
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-offdutydex
Looking back on typos and wanting to strangle myself.
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Oh, god. Please don’t cry, it’s gonna be okay. Close your eyes, Dexter.
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While pulling his wallet from his back pocket, Dexter stood closer to the gas pump, figuring he could at least put a few dollars into the SUV to bring atmosphere to his little show. Now hearing the voice of his target, and being able to speak to him face to face, it started to set Dexter on edge a bit, and it was the best part. With his Southern drawl taking it's own, sort of hokey personality as he started to pipe up again. "I thought about gettin' me one, you know, savin' gas and all, but the girl at home don't approve." He made a face, rolling his eyes a bit with a scoff, the ol' ball and chain routine, of course, not mentioning any spouses, Dexter wasn't prepared with anything that would prove that.
"That's why we have this thing." Dexter reached a hand to pat at the SUV, which could be taken for a 'soccer mom' sort of car if you had the right imagination, although instead is really a 'killer dad' sort of vehicle in Dexter's eyes.
At this point, he wasn't sure how exactly to trap this guy, seeing as it was a quite public place and how he could see him putting up quite a bit of a fight, Dexter would just play it off for now, being a goofy Southerner, traveling for work, or what have you. "Does it travel pretty nice?" Seeming intrigued in the machine that couldn't be less uninteresting to Dexter in truth, could be his awkward ticket to a conversation with this master archer. He wouldn't mention the glove yet, or his obvious weapon of choice that he'd strapped to the cycle. For now. Looking again to the bike, pretending to seem entirely interested in owning one, he squinted a bit in the sun, just mostly doing it to have an excuse to look away from the bike to any other pieces of info that stood out to him.
Arrows in Miami || Morgan / Barton
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-offdutydex
well getting my poptarts stuck in the toaster to burn them completely black and almost burn down my apartment was not entirely desirable..... Cereal is safer I guess....
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Making himself purposefully scarce, Dexter had taken his seat just bit of a ways from the bar, and his father of course, sitting beside him. Do you have a plan? Dexter waited before responding to his father. In all actuality, he didn't have a necessary plan here. He was winging it in some form or another, hoping to mostly not get off on the wrong foot with the woman he was following. One bad first impression can ruin his show, James Doakes being a man to first pop into his head at the thought. He couldn't have that happen again. What are you going to do, wait all night? Another voice took the place of Harry's cautious one, and Dexter could almost feel a push to his shoulder. He would wait. While he always did give into his Dark Passenger, he would keep Harry's caution close, and would always wait for the right time to give in.
Continuing to watch the woman from his seat, he'd change his glances to others in the bar, always reverting it back to her just to check on her. He would watch her for a few more minutes, her behavior seeming rather docile compared to her record. Once a book was pulled from her bag, he knew this would be his chance to squeeze into conversation. The title struck his eye. A Psychology book. Dexter could admit to picking a few up from time to time, having already been aware he had an odd thought process, thought to seek solace in the science of the mind. Although it would have been easier to find a book titled, "So You Want To Kill Things." These informational tools did give him a better understanding.
Lifting himself out of his char, Dexter made his way to the bar, his hands pressing against the hard top of it while asking for a beer. The beer was mostly for show, Dexter wasn't a drinker and never wanted to have his mind altered too far from where he could control it and his Dark Passenger. While he waited for the bartender to set the glass down for him, he pulled a stool closer to take a seat, his face pushing a mask to it, his eyes moving into Brooke's direction as if he'd just now noticed her. The scars on her face were noticeable, and he couldn't help but wonder what they were from. The ones that lined the front of her neck looked like they made out something, but with the clothing covering partial pieces of them, it was hard to tell without looking as if he was gawking. "Psychology, huh?" He paused as he forced a smile. "You planing on being a shrink?" Tilting his head, he expressed interest in her, only glancing to the bartender to thank him for the drink and
Shadows Under Neon Lights...Brooke+Dexter rp
Brooke barely noticed the new face enter the bar as she reopened her eyes and was blissfully ignorant of his intentions as she reached into her jacket pocket for the map of the city, unfolding it and laying it out onto the bar counter as the bar tender returned with her drink. She gave the man a nod and a quick “Thank-you” before she returned her gaze back to the map and took a sip of her whiskey. After she examined the map for a few minutes, memorizing the route she would take in the morning towards the nearby shopping centers, hoping to grab some supplies before she left the city the day after. She then folded the map back up and slipped it back into her pocket before she took another sip of her drink.
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Information on this, rouge agent, wasn't hard to come by. The news was blasting her name as if she'd killed the president of the United States. It made Dexter wonder what kind of danger she really was. Having to go to the public with her name and her face seems like they have even run out of options to find her. A challenge Dexter would take. According to his father, it was a stupid idea. He just continued to pop into his thoughts, standing beside him to whisper to him that getting involved with a woman of this caliber could greatly jeopardize him. Dexter, and his Passenger, of course, wouldn't hear a word of it.
The worst part of this, would be his patience level. Someone like Jacie Bourne wouldn't be easy to find. She wasn't his normal pick of the litter, and in that very fact, it fueled his Passenger to be persistent in her case. Finding an on the run CIA agent is going to be like finding something after it escapes down the drain. Harry's words of encouragement, thought Dexter to himself as his father's figure stood in front of his desk to lecture him yet again of this danger.
He'd listen to his father for now, only because he was right. Harry was always right, even when Dexter wanted things to be his way, as of course is the way with a father and son, regardless of true blood relation. More information would surface, hopefully, and Dexter would have to keep a level head. Keep his eyes open, and his brain ready to calculate his run-in with this dangerous former CIA agent. The curiosity would of course eat at him the whole way, and it would poke at the Dark Passenger, just waiting in the cage.
Misinformation and Murderers || Dexter & Bourne
After a quick stop at a clothing store for a few basic purchases and a drug store to buy a cheap at-home hair dye kit, Bourne set about the process of transforming into another person entirely. Normally all that would require was a fake accent and a forged passport. However with her picture plastered all over the media, she would have to make a complete change this time.
Within an hour, she looked like a different person. Her normally long, russet locks were now shoulder length and black as night. A simple pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt would blend into a crowd like a drop of water in the ocean. If anyone asked, she was Paula Kay from Canada, traveling for her job as Head of Acquisitions at a lesser known art museum.
A finial look in the mirror and she turned her attention to the more technical side of the process. Pulling a blank Canadian passport from her back, the blanks were carefully filled in with the information that would become her new identity. Less than thirty minutes later, she was packing up the last of what little belongings she kept with her and wiping down her tiny apartment. If the CIA wanted to play like that, she’d play, but it would be on her terms and she couldn’t have them knowing that she was coming to the US yet. That would be a fun surprise.
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*gives you a hug* Would you send this to the first ten people on your dash to keep it going? PS: You don't HAVE to--but I just wanted to give you a hug because I can
Okay, I’m handing out, hugs, ‘because I can?’ I’ll give it a shot.
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Preparing for a trip back to Fort Lauderdale wasn't going to be tricky. Dexter had planned for a lot of trips, to and from various locations, usually to scope out target that his Dark Passenger would urge him to follow. While Harry seemed to be the one to try to at least, remind him of his code, and remind him of the things that could hinder his plans. The Passenger only had one thing on his mind. Riding along with him, as he normally did, Harry continued to prod Dexter with his motive of this case. "What are my normal reasons?" Dexter quipped to his father, and of course Harry already knew how to retort. You do it to kill. "I follow the code." That's not a 'why', Dex. Why was Harry even asking him this, he already knew, why was he trying to trap him in questions that were going nowhere. With that thought, Harry was soon out of the seat, and Dexter was alone. He liked it alone most of this time, just him and his Darkness along for the ride.
It was almost at a play of fate, or good luck, or, whatever you wanted to call it, Dexter took a glance to the right. It's puzzling; one glance to the right, being the glance that would change your plans completely. A gas station sit there, inconspicuously, and at any other time, Dexter would have hated to visit there, but now. Now, it was his holy grail. A man off to one side of the shoulder caught his gaze shortly after, and a tick in his head started to itch. Keep looking. A voice mumbled to Dexter, and it wasn't the voice of his father. Keep looking. Dexter know only how to feed into it, so, he kept looking. Eyes scanning the gas station, and the man that had caught his glance earlier.
An archer's glove. Him. The voice piped up again and Dexter was just as quickly hearing it, as he was pulling into the gas station parking lot. How, simple, he thought. How, lucky? That this archer would fall in his lap here at this gas station of all places. A man running does need his fuel. The voice in Dexter's thoughts again commented, and while he put up his wall, his, mask, he prepared himself to speak with this archer as nothing more than a stranger. Exiting his vehicle after shutting it off, he called to the man, using his best, tourist, and winging it with a Southern accent he'd used before, to top off his goofy and friendly appearance.
"I bet it's a nice bike when it's runnin'." Dexter called, his voice drawing out the Southern dialect in his sentence, being that, bold and yet friendly Southern man that would just, idly chit chat with this, 'stranger.'
Arrows in Miami || Morgan / Barton
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