How To Be A Good Sport

[solutioning]

Regrettably, it was morning. Pale sunlight filtered through the blinds. Erwin tossed the file on his desk, set his mug (Number One Dad, though he was nobody's father) next to it, and sank heavily into his chair. The station coffee managed to be both watery and bitter-burnt, so it was really only bearable when it was still steaming. He had developed the trick of distracting himself while he drank so that he would notice as little of the scalding or the taste as possible.

Today's reading was the report Lieutenant Levi had put together after the nasty situation at the chemical plant a few weeks back. He leafed through the pages. A straightforward homicide case, disgruntled worker, two bodies, a co-worker and a supervisor, dumped into a vat of solvent in an attempt to hide the evidence. The suspect had been spotted on site and Levi had run him down on foot, apparently sprinting over a walkway and hauling his ass up a 15-meter scaffold to do so. The thought of it sent a familiar chill down Erwin's spine, not unpleasantly.

He'd see Levi soon enough. Probably he was cleaning up last night's paperwork, and waiting, in his cunning way, for Captain Smith to be awake enough to fully appreciate what was coming to him. And Captain Smith did wonder what it was going to be - ugly sweater? Silly hat? Levi's sense of humor was very strange and Erwin didn't put it past him to show up with some instrument of minor torture, like shoes in the wrong size.

But then, if he didn't want to be a good sport about losing a bet, he shouldn't have been betting with Levi in the first place.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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[freiflug]

Lieutenant Levi was in a good mood. This was not outwardly apparent, but only because few of his coworkers knew how to read either the sharpness in his eyes, or the presence of the slim box tucked under his arm as he traversed the hallway. It was a soft, unobtrusive cream colour, and devoid of any identifying information; it could have contained anything from chocolates to weaponry.

Discretion was, after all, the name of the game.

He wondered if Erwin suspected anything; probably not. It had been the kind of joke that developed in a seedy bar at a late hour -- sloppy, crude. Levi hated sloppy and so it had never been an option, but that didn't change the fact that his answer to the bet was somewhat... inordinately... delicate.

That was fine, as far as he was concerned. It was, after all, his choice to make, and Erwin knew well the general perils of losing to Levi. Still; he had never come up with something like this, and he had to admit that he was curious as to the Captain's reaction.

He didn't knock before entering the office, stepping inside, and pushing the door closed behind himself. For a moment, he observed Captain Smith, meticulously categorizing the little tells of morning fatigue: the drawn blinds, his nearly empty cup, the faint dark smudges under his eyes. There was an odd sort of pleasure in seeing these things -- perhaps because the rest of him was so immaculate, smooth and clean-shaven, tall, impressive. On anyone else, these little weaknesses would have been off-putting, but Erwin was simply too competent for that to be the case.

"Good morning." The little box was light and aerodynamic, which was why it had no trouble at all reaching Erwin's desk. It landed atop the report just as Levi advanced towards it. He didn't smile. He didn't have to.

"Your forfeit."