"Detective Fox?" a head poked into her office, lit by the setting sunlight that streamed through the expanse of windows her office contained. She had met a lot of people just in her first few minutes of entering the building, but this was yet someone else she didn't know. But the detectives smile put her at ease as she turned around at the sound of her name.
"Yep?" she asked, eyebrows raised, trying to look unthreatening and friendly. She wanted to fit in here, if nothing else.
"We're putting on welcome drinks for you detective," the guy smiled. He stepped into the office and over to her, shoving the box further over onto the desk. "Come on," he urged. "You can unpack tomorrow."
He was so charming and persuasive that she left the box behind.
Later they entered the Latin Quarter, apparently the watering hole for all Melbourne d's. It was crowded and noisy, but the table that the Homicide crew sat at was the biggest and most exclusive table of them all, off to the side and almost away from view of the other punters. Ned, who had poked his head inside Amy's door just an hour earlier, led her over to this table, as if showing off the new first place getter. There she met and shook hands with not just those from Homicide, but also Armed Offenders, Rape Squad, Arson and Drug Squad.
Although the introductions left her feeling a little overwhelmed, she took particular note of every face she saw, trying to get back into the city method of working with large groups, rather than small like they did back in Mt Thomas. She was met with some friendly faces, and some drawn ones. Some regarded her with weary eyes, and others seemed enthusiastic at a new member added to the bursting team.
They all chattered the evening away, but the conversations didn't often include Amy. There was the usual 'So where were you stationed last?' and 'Do you know so and so?' but otherwise she was skillfully excluded from most conversations. She thought little of it though, putting it down to being the new kid on the block. She certainly felt out of her depth, and as she tried to listen in on what they talked about she realised she didn't have anything to contribute anyway. She was going to have to get back into the mode of thinking faster and talking faster now that she was back on bitumen roads.
She sat back and watched as they talked amongst themselves. Drinks flooded the table, constantly bought over - even if they weren't ordered - by the publican and assorted attractive, skinny young barmaids with blank faces. These glasses and bottles that packed the coppers table expertly hid the way the swarm of detectives seemed to speak behind their hands or with bowed heads. It was something Amy, and her first day jitters, failed to notice.