Wednesday, January 11
Love me or leave me and let me be lonely
You won't believe me but I love you only
I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else
Michonne found herself humming along to Nina, her constant late night companion as of late, as she moved around the gallery space sketching the layout in her notebook. Once she noticed what she was doing, she stopped herself out of habit, trying to respect the quiet space, but she was alone and there was no one else to bother...so she carried on, though at a lower volume just in case.
You might find the night time the right time for kissing
Night time is my time for just reminiscing
Regretting instead of forgetting with somebody else
She shifted positions and looked up from her notebook to consider the space from another angle only to see the man in the brown uniform passing by, showing no signs of slowing. She couldn't help feeling it was because of their awkward interaction the night before, and while she was probably overthinking it, a small part of her felt still felt bad about it, so she pulled her earbuds out and took a few steps toward the center of the gallery.
"Hey!" Her voice echoed throughout the hollow hall, and before it had faded into silence he stepped back into her view at the end of the hall. "You know hardly anyone actually patrols the museum after their first night on, right?"
"They told me to try for three," he explained as he walked into the space she was working in.
"Our guys don't even do three," she said of the museum's own full time security guards as she walked toward the center of the gallery space.
"What do they do then?"
"No clue," she shrugged. "I do my thing and they do theirs."
"Huh."
She smiled inwardly at his stumped look; one foot turned out, one hand on his hip with his thumb hooked into his gunbelt, and the other hand tracing over his graying scruff and the bemused grin that played on his lips as he stared off at a spot on the wall for a moment. She usually didn't put any effort into getting to know these off duty officers since it was a constant rotation of new faces every night, but tonight was the third night this particular officer had been here, and the first night she had really paid him any mind. It turned out he had a rather nice face and seemed like an equally nice guy.
"Just letting you know…"
"Appreciate it," he said with a nod of his head and self-conscious grin.
She grinned back, and held his gaze for a moment. The uniform was completely wrong, all drab beige and brown and offensive to her discerning eye, but that face...
"I'm Michonne, by the way," she said, breaking the lapse in conversation, as she shifted her notebook to the other arm and extended her hand to him.
"Rick," he said with a smile as he shook her hand. "If you don't mind me askin'...what are you doin' here?" he asked, starting to laugh quietly.
She began to laugh, as well, realizing that she probably looked more out of place here than he did with her jeans and sweatshirt at this late hour.
"I'm a curator," she explained. "I've been staying late to work on a new exhibit I'm staging."
"Ah," he said with a knowing nod as all of the pieces came together.
"Yeah, I don't usually make a habit of hanging out in museums by myself at night…"
"I didn't figure as much," he said, grinning at her self-deprecating quip. They fell into a lull again, understandably so since there really wasn't much else to say. "Well, I'll let you get back to it then."
"Yeah, alright," she nodded as she shifted the notebook in her hands again.
"I'll see you around," he said as he took a step back.
"See you around," she confirmed with a slight wave of her hand before turning to immerse herself in her work again.
Thursday, January 12
She sat cross-legged on the floor of the gallery, back against the wall and laptop balanced on her folded legs. Her notebook and color copies of the paintings and sculptures she was planning on featuring were scattered on the floor around her. Tonight was for writing, for making her case for this exhibit with dossiers on every artist and their work. She was trying to strike that perfect balance between adoring fan and discriminating curator, producing something that she hoped would appeal to the hearts and minds of her fellow curators and the board of directors she would be presenting to in just 2 weeks time. There was no music tonight, just her thoughts and the sound of her fingers tapping against the keys of her laptop, that is until she heard the steady rhythm of footsteps pounding down the main corridor. She looked up from the screen and grinned as she shook her head.
"Couldn't sit still, could you?" she asked just as the sound of the footsteps reached a crescendo as they neared the entrance of the gallery.
But the figure that had appeared was not who she was expecting. Instead a stout, middle-aged balding man in a black A.P.D. uniform, the kind of person who didn't inspire a great deal of confidence that he could actually protect you should shit go down, appeared and looked her way as he slipped his headphones off, the muffled sound of some classic rock song filling the air as he looked at her curiously.
"Huh?"
"Sorry," she stammered as she pulled out her badge and flashed it at him.
He barely even gave it a once over; just slipped his headphones back on and kept shuffling down the hall. She took a cue from him and put her head down, getting back to work again.
Friday, January 13
"Sir Richard Grimes the Third, ladies and gentlemen."
Hardly anyone batted an eye, immune to the red headed officer's antics after all these years, as Rick walked through the room of his fellow officers awaiting morning report.
"Good morning, Deputy Ford."
His partner eyed him up and down, then stepped uncomfortably close to him and took a sniff.
"You smell like champagne wishes and caviar dreams," he assessed with an attempt at a highbrow accent that sounded vaguely British. His words sounded familiar, like something from that 80's TV show about rich people he remembered seeing as he flipped through the channels as a kid.
"It ain't even like that," Rick said with a grimace as he batted him away and took a seat on the edge of an empty desk next to his partner.
"It is," Abraham corrected. "You had a good thing going with your after hours gig at the pawn shop. Now you're working six days straight of nights and weekends? Hope the high life is worth it because you're gonna burn out..."
"But now I get a week off to spend with Carl and Judith. I'm makin' city wages plus a night time differential at the museum," he explained yet again. "When you have to pay alimony and child support every month, then you can come talk to me about it."
"No, sir," Abe protested quickly and adamantly. "Not me. I double up. I ain't trying to hitch my wagon to anyone or thing."
"Yeah, alright," Rick nodded, knowing that for all the talk about being a man about town, he seemed to spend an awful lot of one-on-one time with Rosie from dispatch. "So what's it looking like for today?"
"We're patrollin' the good side of the tracks today, so you should feel right at home."
"Shut up," Rick groaned with a roll of his eyes.
She looked up from her laptop at the sound of footsteps, a small hopeful feeling stirring within her only to be dashed within seconds when a man in the same black uniform as the night before, but with a new face, passed by without even looking her way. It reminded her why she didn't bother learning their names or making small talk, they were just there to make an extra buck, and she was just there to get work done. Remembering why she had chosen the quiet late nights in the first place, she got back to it, unbothered by the string of new faces that appeared night after night after night...
