There's a wry humor in Murphy's response that actually makes Andy smile for a moment; it's a smile that emerges slowly, as though it doesn't quite belong and he's not sure what to do with it. For a guy that can march in and scare a whole room into submission, the detective's really not that bad a guy. "Just making sure."
The tension in his frame ebbs, just a bit, but it doesn't go away. It never does.
He'd be surprised if he knew just how easily Murphy tagged him, though: learning how to look casual is a trick Andy thought he'd mastered by now. Being unmemorable, inconspicuous, the kid no one bothers to look at twice. Attention's only good for getting into trouble, he's found, whether it's trouble you've earned or trouble you haven't. So when the detective swivels his head to face him – an ordinary motion made surreal by the way it's broken up into two distinct actions - his own response is automatic The pensive corners of his mouth soften; the lines on his brow relax into a blandly polite expression. Nothing to see here, officer.
It only lasts as long as he's in Murphy's immediate field of vision; once he's not, he's back to worrying again. Worrying and kicking himself. So what if the detective's not entirely convinced yet? Who would be? He's lucky Murphy's even bothering to investigate this at all.
Andy stays where he is as the elevator doors slide open, waiting for Murphy to take the lead before following him out, and when he does he can't help but blink in surprise. The hallway before them is worn and dilapidated, a far cry from the clean and relatively modern-looking lobby. He starts to move towards the nearest door, expecting they'll be doing this one at a time, but Murphy's got other ideas.
Geez, that's loud! Andy's head whips around as Murphy's suddenly announcing orders through a megaphone – or what sounds like a megaphone, anyway. He's expecting to see some hitherto-unused facemask when he looks up at the detective, but to his shock, Murphy's mouth remains completely exposed. No megaphone, no surprise gadget from his helmet, and yet he's suddenly loud enough for what sounds like the whole building to hear. How did he just do that?!
If he's waiting for answers, there sure aren't any forthcoming. Murphy rotates back around to him again, and to his relief, the detective's voice is back to normal again. That doesn't stop him from looking or feeling any less, well, blown away, but he does manage a meek nod.
"Right." Leave this to the professional? That's a welcome change of pace. Not that Andy expects it to last, but he's certainly not going to argue. No, he's sticking good and close as Murphy swings the first door open and ducks inside.
The room, like all the rooms on this floor, is a suite, and its occupants are both standing behind the requisite coffee table. They're an older woman and a boy who looks only a few years older than Andy, and both of them look like they got dressed in a hurry. Records identify the woman as Paula Massey, 58, a civil attorney recently excoriated in a social media scandal. Her companion is identified as Maxwell Zeigler, 23, not currently employed or in college.
"What is the meaning of this, Officer?!" Mrs. Massey's cheeks are red with indignation, and Andy ducks back behind Murphy quickly when he sees her. "I'm no criminal! I am a senior practitioner!"
For his part, Maxwell just looks down at his bare feet, wearing an almost sheepish expression. He looks like a kid who got caught trying to steal cookies from the cookie jar.
and here... we... go. sorry i was so slow on this one!
The tension in his frame ebbs, just a bit, but it doesn't go away. It never does.
He'd be surprised if he knew just how easily Murphy tagged him, though: learning how to look casual is a trick Andy thought he'd mastered by now. Being unmemorable, inconspicuous, the kid no one bothers to look at twice. Attention's only good for getting into trouble, he's found, whether it's trouble you've earned or trouble you haven't. So when the detective swivels his head to face him – an ordinary motion made surreal by the way it's broken up into two distinct actions - his own response is automatic The pensive corners of his mouth soften; the lines on his brow relax into a blandly polite expression. Nothing to see here, officer.
It only lasts as long as he's in Murphy's immediate field of vision; once he's not, he's back to worrying again. Worrying and kicking himself. So what if the detective's not entirely convinced yet? Who would be? He's lucky Murphy's even bothering to investigate this at all.
Andy stays where he is as the elevator doors slide open, waiting for Murphy to take the lead before following him out, and when he does he can't help but blink in surprise. The hallway before them is worn and dilapidated, a far cry from the clean and relatively modern-looking lobby. He starts to move towards the nearest door, expecting they'll be doing this one at a time, but Murphy's got other ideas.
Geez, that's loud! Andy's head whips around as Murphy's suddenly announcing orders through a megaphone – or what sounds like a megaphone, anyway. He's expecting to see some hitherto-unused facemask when he looks up at the detective, but to his shock, Murphy's mouth remains completely exposed. No megaphone, no surprise gadget from his helmet, and yet he's suddenly loud enough for what sounds like the whole building to hear. How did he just do that?!
If he's waiting for answers, there sure aren't any forthcoming. Murphy rotates back around to him again, and to his relief, the detective's voice is back to normal again. That doesn't stop him from looking or feeling any less, well, blown away, but he does manage a meek nod.
"Right." Leave this to the professional? That's a welcome change of pace. Not that Andy expects it to last, but he's certainly not going to argue. No, he's sticking good and close as Murphy swings the first door open and ducks inside.
The room, like all the rooms on this floor, is a suite, and its occupants are both standing behind the requisite coffee table. They're an older woman and a boy who looks only a few years older than Andy, and both of them look like they got dressed in a hurry. Records identify the woman as Paula Massey, 58, a civil attorney recently excoriated in a social media scandal. Her companion is identified as Maxwell Zeigler, 23, not currently employed or in college.
"What is the meaning of this, Officer?!" Mrs. Massey's cheeks are red with indignation, and Andy ducks back behind Murphy quickly when he sees her. "I'm no criminal! I am a senior practitioner!"
For his part, Maxwell just looks down at his bare feet, wearing an almost sheepish expression. He looks like a kid who got caught trying to steal cookies from the cookie jar.