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AND I DON'T CARE WHERE I'M GOING[break]
HERE'S YOUR THIN RED LINE I'M STEPPING OVER

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In her line of work, it was always a little difficult to tell what made for a good day and what didn't. On the one hand, in most any other profession, a day of general inactivity was something to scorn. Hours with nothing to do that dragged on to be eternities all of their own were notorious for making a person contemplate punching out a co-worker or customer just to find a bit of action in an otherwise monotonous day. Just about everyone hated a slow day, and under normal circumstances, someone like Natalia should have felt the exact same. She was an ever-changing woman and liked it best when things around her were doing just the same, regardless of whether or not the desire change was for better or for worse. Nothing was worse than a tiresome routine, and in her book, any routine got pretty tiresome after the first handful of repeats. When it came to being an officer in the police force, however, it seemed a little too morbid to be hoping for action, particularly that which called for both the good and the mad. In most cases, “action” on her end came at the expense of someone else, whether there be a victim involved, some moronic law-breaker who'd end up being put away for a year or so, or even her own squad, called in for some menial task or because of an especially paranoid person's overactive imagination. Not that she could necessarily blame people who called in for things of “little importance”; what she found important and what other people found important were always different. Regardless of what her views may or may not have been on that, though, the reality was that all those things were good for was maybe a good chuckle afterward, but a general waste of time. And the others might have had the adrenaline pumping, but it was a little hard to feel good about oneself when watching someone else get their purse snatched or that arrogant junkie practically having to get pushed into the backseat of a police car. What would have been a mental tug-of-war between the safety of the citizens and the safety of her own sanity was, thankfully, usually taken care of for her, what with the lulls in between daily activity usually not making either event last too long to grow unbearable. Key word being usually. Every so often, there would come a day where one particularly big thing struck the city (whatever this group was, she'd pretty much had it up to her ears with their motive-less violence) or a landslide of smaller crimes would come tumbling down on her designated or nearby areas that demanded non-stop attention. Other times, it would be just the opposite, and twenty rounds of the same empty streets would drag her further and further into a sulky depression. Today was, unfortunately, one such day. Normally, she wouldn't even bother to turn up on the headquarter's break room, but by the time she'd decided to call it quits on what she was doing and swing in for a coffee break, she was almost certain that it was do this or risk permanent insanity.[break][break]

Coffee in one hand and cellphone grasped in the other, a tangle of elbows and a kicking open of the door was the only thing that would allow Nat entrance into what should have been the empty break room. In those first few moments, in fact, eyes drawn toward the luminescent screen of her electronic as she took her first steps in, she didn't even realize that the promise of solitude was an empty one. It was only upon taking a sip of her coffee and looking up to the back wall (specifically the map, decorated with pins and a long red string hanging on it) that she realized her mistake and, at the exact same moment, who it was that was her new company. Lowering the cup from her lips and flashing her redhead of a co-worker a hyena-like grin, she was pleased to say that Henry Wallace was one of few people she could stand to deal with right about then. He didn't always come off as the sharpest tool in the crayon box, but his theories about the recent string of city-wide crimes were always fun (read: hilarious) to listen to, and he seemed to be one of the few guys in the force who seemed to be able to take a joke. “Well, shit,” she said in mock surprise. “Guess ya' figured out the bad guys are into geometry. They can do math, Wallace – how're we s'posed to catch 'em now?” Geometry – the study of shapes, if she was remembering right. It... was a little uncanny how the points he'd struck into the map of the city made an (albeit a mildly lopsided) eight-pointed star, although a second glance revealed that not all of them were actual crime scenes, rendering the whole thing useless. Worse, still, was the error she was only able to catch upon taking a couple strides across the room (through his line of sight to the television). “Little problem ya' got here,” she said, pulling a pin out of its place and catching the affected part of the string with her index finger to keep the whole thing from falling out of place. “Emerson Street's been clean fer a while. Where you're wantin' to put this on McGraw Street.” Puncturing the map, along with the wall behind it once more with the pin over the designated street, one that had been the scene of one of the latest murders, she tried to reapply the string looping over its head. With the move, though, it couldn't be near as taut as it had been before, instead resting loosely on the even more misshapen star-shape. Despite the decrease in visual appeal, she allowed herself to step back and admire a ruin well done. Perfect.[break][break]

With Henry's map “fixed,” the policewoman spun on her heel to face him once more, moving herself so that she'd a better look at the television screen displaying some open world game that was supposed to be “all the rage” with the children of this generation. Personally, she'd never seen the appeal; a game of Pacman was all she needed to be appeased. “So,” she started again conversationally. “Think you've got these murders figured out -” And then, just to add a touch of a burn to the end, what with failed attempts at guessing who was behind them before on his record: “- this time?”

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