ext_158887 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2011-08-01 01:33 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2011-08-01 01:33 pm
[August 1] [L.A. Noire] Catharsis, or a Lack Thereof
Title: Catharsis, or a Lack Thereof
Day/Theme: August 1, 2011 "the dying of a small god within you"
Series: L.A. Noire
Character/Pairing: Rusty Galloway & Cole Phelps
Rating: PG
Comments: Set immediately after the conclusion of the 5th homicide case. (I am currently just starting out in Arson.)
"So that's it!" Galloway banged his fist onto the hood of the car, spraying tiny droplets of rain water back into the air. "No key to the city, no medal, no commendation, not even a picture in the paper!"
Phelps shook his head. When they'd started out together, it seemed like he and Galloway would never see eye to eye. Now, despite the pain of justice that would never be revealed to the public eye, there was, at least, someone to share that feeling with. Phelps took off his hat and tipped his head back, staring into the black of the clouded night. It felt like the right thing to do. He couldn't see the moon or any stars. The rain splashed down onto his face and spattered his gray jacket, expanding into dark patches of moisture.
"Phelps," Galloway said, his voice as solid now as his form. He opened the car door. "Come on. It's late. You have a family waiting at home for you." It was interesting that Galloway would be the one to recover faster, and better, from the setback they had been dealt. Maybe it was just that he was better acquainted with disappointment. "Come on," he repeated. He put his hand on Phelps' shoulder and turned him toward the car. "Get in. I'm taking you home."
Cold and numb, Phelps shuffled into the familiar police vehicle. Galloway closed the door after him and waded out into the rain-filled street to climb in the other side. He yanked the door open and slammed it behind him, shaking a few dreary drops from the brim of his hat as he trembled- a single, definitive shiver.
For the first time in their partnership, Finbarr "Rusty" Galloway drove while Cole Phelps rode along. They traveled in relative silence, accompanied by the pit-pit-pit of the rain on the metal of the car and the swish of shallow water around the tires and a few brief flickers of static over the police radio.
When they reached Phelps' home, he didn't get out immediately. The two men just sat there in the greenish patrol car. It felt like a long time as Phelps stared out at his house. A single light stayed bright there for him. Phelps clutched at the brim of the fedora in his lap and Galloway gazed unscrutinized at him.
[to be continued.]
Day/Theme: August 1, 2011 "the dying of a small god within you"
Series: L.A. Noire
Character/Pairing: Rusty Galloway & Cole Phelps
Rating: PG
Comments: Set immediately after the conclusion of the 5th homicide case. (I am currently just starting out in Arson.)
"So that's it!" Galloway banged his fist onto the hood of the car, spraying tiny droplets of rain water back into the air. "No key to the city, no medal, no commendation, not even a picture in the paper!"
Phelps shook his head. When they'd started out together, it seemed like he and Galloway would never see eye to eye. Now, despite the pain of justice that would never be revealed to the public eye, there was, at least, someone to share that feeling with. Phelps took off his hat and tipped his head back, staring into the black of the clouded night. It felt like the right thing to do. He couldn't see the moon or any stars. The rain splashed down onto his face and spattered his gray jacket, expanding into dark patches of moisture.
"Phelps," Galloway said, his voice as solid now as his form. He opened the car door. "Come on. It's late. You have a family waiting at home for you." It was interesting that Galloway would be the one to recover faster, and better, from the setback they had been dealt. Maybe it was just that he was better acquainted with disappointment. "Come on," he repeated. He put his hand on Phelps' shoulder and turned him toward the car. "Get in. I'm taking you home."
Cold and numb, Phelps shuffled into the familiar police vehicle. Galloway closed the door after him and waded out into the rain-filled street to climb in the other side. He yanked the door open and slammed it behind him, shaking a few dreary drops from the brim of his hat as he trembled- a single, definitive shiver.
For the first time in their partnership, Finbarr "Rusty" Galloway drove while Cole Phelps rode along. They traveled in relative silence, accompanied by the pit-pit-pit of the rain on the metal of the car and the swish of shallow water around the tires and a few brief flickers of static over the police radio.
When they reached Phelps' home, he didn't get out immediately. The two men just sat there in the greenish patrol car. It felt like a long time as Phelps stared out at his house. A single light stayed bright there for him. Phelps clutched at the brim of the fedora in his lap and Galloway gazed unscrutinized at him.
[to be continued.]