Benton Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dogsled) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenace2014-08-08 06:57 pm
dogsled) wrote in maskormenace2014-08-08 06:57 pm
001; Video
[ The man that appears on screen is wearing red from head to waist--or at least so far as it went out of shot. He wore a leather Sam Browne, a white lanyard, and more gold buttons and badges than was probably necessary, but he smiled a genuine smile too - handsome; blue eyes, dark brown hair - exuding as much professional warmth as any man could hope to. No, there was no hat on his head--he was, believe it or not, trying to dress down. ]
Good afternoon. My name is Constable Benton Fraser. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers...except this isn't Chicago; it's not even Illinois, and I've never been much further south than the 42nd parallel in my life. [ And did he mention it is insanely hot? Not like a little hot. Not like summer in Chicago hot. Not even sitting two feet away from a campfire hot; but more like might spontaneously combust how does anyone survive in this climate hot. From just below his feet, out of view of the video feed, Diefenbaker whines urgently. If Fraser is suffering, the arctic wolf at his feet is finding the transition harder still. ]
Generally speaking, I serve the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Generally speaking. That's rather why I'm here. You see, in the absence of holding a commission, which I'm hoping to reobtain as swiftly as possible, the fact remains that I am presently a private citizen, and as such the uniform is... Well, it's unnecessary. [ And a lie, or at the very least unintentionally misleading. ] That and it itches.
I would be eternally grateful if there were anyone who might be able to spare me a change in clothes, at least until I have the opportunity to find my feet; in fact, I'd insist on returning them within a week--laundered and freshly ironed, of course.
[ He inhales slowly, and there's a fraction of emotion slips through that is hope and concern and fear, before his schooled mask is back in place. ] And if anyone has spoken to a Chicago PD Detective named Ray - Raymond Vecchio...
[ He trailed off, ducked his head, kneading his left eyebrow with his thumb and forefinger. He missed Ray; either of them. Both. He was supposed to be looking for the hand of Franklin, not dying of heatstroke in Florida, and the Northwest Territories: the Yukon, Nunavut; Canada--they all seemed so impossibly far away now. Whatever he was saying before didn't matter, he decided. If Ray were here he'd make himself known, and it was a superfluous waste of other people's patience. ] Thank you kindly for your time.
Good afternoon. My name is Constable Benton Fraser. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers...except this isn't Chicago; it's not even Illinois, and I've never been much further south than the 42nd parallel in my life. [ And did he mention it is insanely hot? Not like a little hot. Not like summer in Chicago hot. Not even sitting two feet away from a campfire hot; but more like might spontaneously combust how does anyone survive in this climate hot. From just below his feet, out of view of the video feed, Diefenbaker whines urgently. If Fraser is suffering, the arctic wolf at his feet is finding the transition harder still. ]
Generally speaking, I serve the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Generally speaking. That's rather why I'm here. You see, in the absence of holding a commission, which I'm hoping to reobtain as swiftly as possible, the fact remains that I am presently a private citizen, and as such the uniform is... Well, it's unnecessary. [ And a lie, or at the very least unintentionally misleading. ] That and it itches.
I would be eternally grateful if there were anyone who might be able to spare me a change in clothes, at least until I have the opportunity to find my feet; in fact, I'd insist on returning them within a week--laundered and freshly ironed, of course.
[ He inhales slowly, and there's a fraction of emotion slips through that is hope and concern and fear, before his schooled mask is back in place. ] And if anyone has spoken to a Chicago PD Detective named Ray - Raymond Vecchio...
[ He trailed off, ducked his head, kneading his left eyebrow with his thumb and forefinger. He missed Ray; either of them. Both. He was supposed to be looking for the hand of Franklin, not dying of heatstroke in Florida, and the Northwest Territories: the Yukon, Nunavut; Canada--they all seemed so impossibly far away now. Whatever he was saying before didn't matter, he decided. If Ray were here he'd make himself known, and it was a superfluous waste of other people's patience. ] Thank you kindly for your time.
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I'm not sure how citizenship works between the US and Canada in these circumstances. The imPort population isn't a stable one, after all.
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But I would be remiss in my duty not to try it; I made a pledge of allegiance to give my life in service to my country, and if at all possible I intend to keep my word.
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Loyalty dictates that I decline to comment. [ And then: ] If all Canadians fit that stereotype, I'm afraid I'd be out of a job.
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by your partner. ]audio
[ And she was often helping them out or vice-versa. ]
I'm afraid I don't know much about the Territories. Quiet place?
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Less so than it used to be. Investment in the area brought jobs, and with them people. It used to be that you could walk hundreds of kilometers without ever seeing another person, never mind a building. But there's pipelines now, airports and roads. But quiet? Only most of the time.
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