Jimmie Dimmick // Pulp Fiction (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
buysthegoodshit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
poly_chromatic2012-04-09 05:16 pm
buysthegoodshit) wrote in poly_chromatic2012-04-09 05:16 pm
Entry tags:
002 (accidental) video -- she's framed as fruitful as the free elements
[Jimmie's communicator clicks on by itself, giving a decent, if not great, view of a room. Nondescript, unexceptional. The room's unimportant, the location irrelevant; the subject matter is far more interesting anyway.
A shape in bed, tucked in with care. Tall, too solidly built to be a woman, though the identity of the subject matter is obscured by a pillow and long tresses peek out from underneath.
A minute passes, then a second. Ten, all told, long enough for the location to be traced and placed, identified as an apartment in building 11 with no current tenant, and then the feed shuts off.]
[For Police]
[Upon arrival, it will be evident whoever it is hasn't been dead long; no lingering smells of decay or putrefaction, though the body's already begun to cool. Closer inspection will show the deceased to be male, one James Dimmick if the owner of the communicator is the same as the body (which it is), though dressed in a nightdress centuries out of date and the aforementioned wig; it's clear for the purposes of the murderer he was meant to be a woman. A few hairs can be found on the body, though they're not his own; instead they can be traced to one Huey Freedman. Examination of the body itself will show the cause of death to be smothering.]
[SPAM/video for post-revival]
[Jimmie paces the room, one foot in front of the other. Back and forth, gaining in restlessness and agitation with each pass. He was dead, he KNOWS he was, he can pinpoint the moment, more or less, though foggy and unhelpful, but here he is, breathing, and he can't explain it. It doesn't make SENSE. So he paces until he can finally stand it no more, then heads outside.
He needs to clear his head, try to find the answers he doesn't have. Key among them being WHY. Why him?
...A cup of coffee wouldn't hurt either.]
[A/N: plotmakers, if I missed anything or made a misstep just let me know and I'll fix!]
A shape in bed, tucked in with care. Tall, too solidly built to be a woman, though the identity of the subject matter is obscured by a pillow and long tresses peek out from underneath.
A minute passes, then a second. Ten, all told, long enough for the location to be traced and placed, identified as an apartment in building 11 with no current tenant, and then the feed shuts off.]
[For Police]
[Upon arrival, it will be evident whoever it is hasn't been dead long; no lingering smells of decay or putrefaction, though the body's already begun to cool. Closer inspection will show the deceased to be male, one James Dimmick if the owner of the communicator is the same as the body (which it is), though dressed in a nightdress centuries out of date and the aforementioned wig; it's clear for the purposes of the murderer he was meant to be a woman. A few hairs can be found on the body, though they're not his own; instead they can be traced to one Huey Freedman. Examination of the body itself will show the cause of death to be smothering.]
[SPAM/video for post-revival]
[Jimmie paces the room, one foot in front of the other. Back and forth, gaining in restlessness and agitation with each pass. He was dead, he KNOWS he was, he can pinpoint the moment, more or less, though foggy and unhelpful, but here he is, breathing, and he can't explain it. It doesn't make SENSE. So he paces until he can finally stand it no more, then heads outside.
He needs to clear his head, try to find the answers he doesn't have. Key among them being WHY. Why him?
...A cup of coffee wouldn't hurt either.]
[A/N: plotmakers, if I missed anything or made a misstep just let me know and I'll fix!]
Police Action
Dressing someone up in a fucking dress... Shit.
Police Action
That wasn't exactly the worst crime committed here.
Police Action
[And one of those had been his kid.]
Hey, there's some hairs that don't look like wig shit over here.
Police Action
[He retrieves a tweezers and a plastic bag from a coat pocket.]
Where?
Police Action
[He points to some stands around the pillow.]
Here.
Police Action
[Justin carefully gathers the strands of hair.]
Thank you. I don't know how helpful this will be with the technology available to us, but it's something.
Police Action
Police Action
I don't remember whether or not we've been introduced. [This is where a normal person would offer a hand to shake. He does not.] I'm Justin.
Police Action
Isn't there some magic shit that can track down the hair to the source?
Police Action
I don't know any magic, but there are slightly more scientific ways to do that. [beat] Do you know someone on the force who could do that? With magic?
Police Action
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