OOC: Third Person Sample
Just in case anyone was interested.
Word count: 740ish thereabouts
From the 15th floor of the Los Angeles district Police Department you could look out the window and see the entire downtown area sprawled out beneath you. Damon Gant loved the sight. It not only made him feel the importance of his position, but he could feel the power it gave him. Every single person in that city, as far as he could see, was under his protection. His mercy. His rule.
A very good decision, not switching to stained glass, thought the Chief of Police, arms folded behind him as he observed the cars crawling by on the streets below. The window itself was rather ornate, which would have been complimented by panes of mismatched colors. Gant liked vibrant rainbows of color, but even a stunning collage could never replace this overwhelming feeling of almighty strength.
Sometimes he felt like God standing there, looking down from his office. It seemed he could pick anyone out on the street, anyone at all, just point in their direction and he could rain his judgment down upon them like a bolt of lightning. But Gant was merciful in his power. He would never put anyone under fire that did not deserve it. He saved that for law-breakers and uppity underlings.
Sighing, Gant remembered why he had returned to his office in the first place. Turning back to his desk, he checked the drawer again, relaxing visibly when he saw it still where he had left it--the second half of the evidence list for the SL-9 case. Not a day went by that he didn’t check to be sure it hadn’t been tampered with. It was a dangerous thing to keep, but certainly not the most incriminating piece of evidence he held. No, those he kept in his safe. And right now he felt safe, knowing that after today he wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore either. Today, as soon as Goodman was done with the transferal, he would have nothing left to sweat over. The SL-9 case would finally, finally be put to rest. For good.
No thanks to that badgering cowboy, Marshall, Gant thought grimly, sitting back in his office chair. He glanced across his office to the picture of himself, Neil and Lana from two years ago. Shaking his head, Gant smiled, a bit amused. But you, dear Neil, I have much to thank for. Sorry it didn’t work out too well for you, ol’ boy.
A sudden knock at the door startled the big man, who immediately shut the evidence list back in his drawer. He could just barely keep a wary stutter from entering his voice, “Who is it?”
“Chief Gant, can I speak with you?” The familiar voice was a bit of a surprise to Gant, who rose with suspicion.
“Brucey! Of course!” Gant fell back into his casual, friendly persona as easily as breathing, a pleasant smile coming to his face. “Come on in, Goodman.”
“Um, that’s the thing, sir,” the detective said, his voice muffled through the door. “I seem to have lost my ID. I swear I had it before I left for work, but I must have misplaced it. I normally would wait until tomorrow before worrying but today’s the evidence transferral and-”
“Say no more, Brucey, I get what you’re saying,” Gant said as he stood, making his way to the door. As he opened it, Goodman stepped back, looking a bit nervous. It always surprised Gant when people who had nothing to fear from him acted like he was dangerous. Goodman certainly wasn’t enough of a threat for Gant to want to hurt him.
“I’m really sorry, sir.”
“Don’t even start that now, Brucey, it’s nothing to worry about. In fact, why don’t I just let you into the evidence room personally,” Gant offered, his smile hiding his thoughts. That way, I can see you get rid of the evidence with my own eyes.
“Are you sure, sir? I don’t mean to be a bother…” The way he spoke was really too meek for someone of his age and experience. Gant enjoyed friendlier folks more than timid people, though they both had their uses.
“It’s no problem at all, Goodman. Really, not even a little one.”
The man smiled back at him, finally, and Gant laughed in return. Really, there was nothing Goodman could possibly do that would cause him to fear Gant’s wrath. What could the man have been thinking?
Note: If you have any comments or something just doesn't sit right with you about my writing, feel free to use my HMD or post a comment here. All comments are screened and IP logging has been disabled, btw. Anon allowed.
Word count: 740ish thereabouts
From the 15th floor of the Los Angeles district Police Department you could look out the window and see the entire downtown area sprawled out beneath you. Damon Gant loved the sight. It not only made him feel the importance of his position, but he could feel the power it gave him. Every single person in that city, as far as he could see, was under his protection. His mercy. His rule.
A very good decision, not switching to stained glass, thought the Chief of Police, arms folded behind him as he observed the cars crawling by on the streets below. The window itself was rather ornate, which would have been complimented by panes of mismatched colors. Gant liked vibrant rainbows of color, but even a stunning collage could never replace this overwhelming feeling of almighty strength.
Sometimes he felt like God standing there, looking down from his office. It seemed he could pick anyone out on the street, anyone at all, just point in their direction and he could rain his judgment down upon them like a bolt of lightning. But Gant was merciful in his power. He would never put anyone under fire that did not deserve it. He saved that for law-breakers and uppity underlings.
Sighing, Gant remembered why he had returned to his office in the first place. Turning back to his desk, he checked the drawer again, relaxing visibly when he saw it still where he had left it--the second half of the evidence list for the SL-9 case. Not a day went by that he didn’t check to be sure it hadn’t been tampered with. It was a dangerous thing to keep, but certainly not the most incriminating piece of evidence he held. No, those he kept in his safe. And right now he felt safe, knowing that after today he wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore either. Today, as soon as Goodman was done with the transferal, he would have nothing left to sweat over. The SL-9 case would finally, finally be put to rest. For good.
No thanks to that badgering cowboy, Marshall, Gant thought grimly, sitting back in his office chair. He glanced across his office to the picture of himself, Neil and Lana from two years ago. Shaking his head, Gant smiled, a bit amused. But you, dear Neil, I have much to thank for. Sorry it didn’t work out too well for you, ol’ boy.
A sudden knock at the door startled the big man, who immediately shut the evidence list back in his drawer. He could just barely keep a wary stutter from entering his voice, “Who is it?”
“Chief Gant, can I speak with you?” The familiar voice was a bit of a surprise to Gant, who rose with suspicion.
“Brucey! Of course!” Gant fell back into his casual, friendly persona as easily as breathing, a pleasant smile coming to his face. “Come on in, Goodman.”
“Um, that’s the thing, sir,” the detective said, his voice muffled through the door. “I seem to have lost my ID. I swear I had it before I left for work, but I must have misplaced it. I normally would wait until tomorrow before worrying but today’s the evidence transferral and-”
“Say no more, Brucey, I get what you’re saying,” Gant said as he stood, making his way to the door. As he opened it, Goodman stepped back, looking a bit nervous. It always surprised Gant when people who had nothing to fear from him acted like he was dangerous. Goodman certainly wasn’t enough of a threat for Gant to want to hurt him.
“I’m really sorry, sir.”
“Don’t even start that now, Brucey, it’s nothing to worry about. In fact, why don’t I just let you into the evidence room personally,” Gant offered, his smile hiding his thoughts. That way, I can see you get rid of the evidence with my own eyes.
“Are you sure, sir? I don’t mean to be a bother…” The way he spoke was really too meek for someone of his age and experience. Gant enjoyed friendlier folks more than timid people, though they both had their uses.
“It’s no problem at all, Goodman. Really, not even a little one.”
The man smiled back at him, finally, and Gant laughed in return. Really, there was nothing Goodman could possibly do that would cause him to fear Gant’s wrath. What could the man have been thinking?
Note: If you have any comments or something just doesn't sit right with you about my writing, feel free to use my HMD or post a comment here. All comments are screened and IP logging has been disabled, btw. Anon allowed.