On a normal day Gail would despise desk duty. If she had wanted an office job, she would have become an accountant. Gail likes being on the streets, she enjoys being the first line of action, and desk duty means missing that action. However today Gail did not mind being tasked to booking. The steady stream of drunks and petty criminals that normally led her to roll her eyes and lower her expectations of the human race, today acts as a comfort. Gail reclines further in her chair, absently chewing a pen whilst observing the cells before her. These were people who needed alcohol to dull the pain of their lives, had beaten their spouses out of a rage they could not control, or that had acted out in search of attention. Next to this hodge-podge of social misfits, Gail had her shit together.
On this particular day, Gail really needs the ego boost. In reality, Gail feels far form together. Idly pretending to fill in paperwork, she allows her mind to wander. It wanders to the exact spot that it has for the past few days, the cloakroom. The room in which Holly had sat next to her, answered her silly questions, taken her playful banter, and completely knocked Gail off of her feet. Gail considers herself extremely apt at playing hard to get, in manipulating men to hunt her, and getting what she wanted. However, Gail had never been the one left awe struck on the floor. She was not entirely sure if Holly was consciously playing a game of seduction, but Goddamn was it effective. Ever since Holly's lips had touched her own, she could not get them out of her mind. Maybe more so than the lips were the eyes. The eyes that danced in laughter, and twinkled playfully when she looked at Gail.
Gail has to restrain herself from scoffing aloud. What the hell had happened to her? She was Gail fucking Peck. She was the queen of ice, the master of the judgemental glare. What was she doing sitting at a desk, dreaming of "twinkling" eyes. This causes Gail to grudgingly notice the effect that this woman had on her. Gail wondered silently, was she more offset by the fact that Holly is a woman, or is it that she makes Gail feel actual feelings. Holly had kissed her once, in a closet, when she was drunk. It wasn't exactly an invitation to jump on board the Lesbomobile. Yet here she was, dreaming of those eyes. Fucking hell. She wanted more of those eyes, she wanted them looking at her. She wanted to inspire that lopsided smile, to hear it grow into one of Holly's signature laughs. Gail sighed dejectedly, eyeing a drunk that she suspected might turn into a puker very shortly. Opting to ignore his misery, she retreats back to her own thoughts, thoughts of a certain forensic pathologist.