Owner	Pose
Scott Free	"Barda dear, is it a holiday?" Scott is looking out the blinds to the street beyond with a slightly pensive expression. For the ninth time in an hour he fishes matches out of his pocket and carefully re-lights his pot-belly pipe. He hasn't quite mastered the trick for keeping the tobacco smouldering. He looks Perfectly Ordinary in a bright yellow sweater worn over his dress shirt, paired with slightly color-deaf green trousers. He peeks through the blinds, because the blinds are labelled 'do not pull strings' after several incidents where they were ripped out of the wall in a careless moment. Red and blue lights flicker in the late evening from a house two doors down on the other side of the street. The fire engine and ambulance have already gone off to another call, leaving a couple police cars and a freezer truck that says 'Coroner' on the side. Happy Harbor's a *really* small town. "All those noises earlier, now these lights. Is this the sort of party we should complain about or the sort we need to go to?"
Big Barda	"Are the lights colorful, Scott Free? I have heard that colorful lights are for parties!" Today, Barda has decided to sport the 1950s housewife, with a pastel blue A-line and some oversized pearls. She moves to the window to look for herself, a wide grin crossing her face. "We will not know until we investigate! Clearly we should 'crash' the party, as I have also heard that is popular to do. I am not sure why they want their parties destroyed, but I am sure that will make us blend right in."
Scott Free	"Right! Crash it we'll do. I'll get the wine, you grab the Flamin' Hot Cheetos," Scott tells Barda, and gives her a high-five on his way to the kitchen. That part, they've got figured out. It looks pretty cool. And Barda only dislocated Scott's elbow a little that one time. Two minutes later, they're walking right through the crime scene with their party favors in hand. Scott had bought a box of cheap wine specifically to have on hand as a low-cost 'gift' for social events, after he'd read about it on a blog post. "Daniel Ketchum, I thought that was you! Howdy, neighbor!" Danny-- one of the four town cops-- turns and squints at Scott. Then goggles at Barda, because *everyone* goggles at Barda. "Uh... Hi Scott. Miz Barda," he says, with a courteously deferential little tug of his hat. Danny is in his mid-forties and growing very sedentary from policing a lazy little New England town. "You're not-- can you get behind the yellow tape, please?" he asks the Frees, and ushers them back along the sidewalk. He moves the little traffic cone over to more prominently obstruct their approach. "Oooh, I've seen this before," Scott tells Barda. "It's like that club we tried to go in, where you had to throw that one guy through the window. This means it's a very *exclusive* party." He turns back to Danny and juggles the wine to dig his Extremely Boring wallet out of his pocket. "Right, I've seen this on TV. It's a cover charge, right?" he inquires, and counts out several $20s before offering them to the cop. Danny's eyes narrow in confused suspicion, and then he just exhales a heavy sigh, shoulder slumping with weariness.
Big Barda	"Oh, or perhaps we are supposed to get frustrated and mention our friends are inside? I have seen that too!" Barda looks over at Scott, then promptly at Danny before she smiles widely. "Our friends are inside. We would like to join them!" She does, however seem a little concerned that they aren't using the correct tactic. "Scott Free, are we dressed properly? Perhaps that is why we cannot enter." Her low tone isn't much of a low tone, sounding more like a stage whisper... only she's not doing it for show. "Perhaps we should wear what they are?"
Scott Free	"No no, I got in trouble for dressing like a policeman once," Scott mutters back at Barda in that same sotto voce, still looking at Danny. "I thought it was a brilliant costume, but they really frown on that! I think it's a cultural thing." Danny's eyes screw shut and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, first, Scott, I'm not taking your money. Stop trying to tip me. I don't take tips. It makes it look like you're bribing me. The city pays my salary using *your* taxes." Scott blinks, then with a crestfallen motion tucks the money away. "Second," Danny says, with very strained but weary patience. "It's not a party." "Hey did she just say her friends are inside?" The county trooper barges into the conversation, giving Barda a very suspicious glare. Danny turns the younger cop around and nudges him away. "It's not what she meant, they're... foreign." It's the best explanation anyone's got for the Frees, thus far. "Second-- what? Oh. It's not a party, it's--" He looks around, looks Barda up and down. "Where did Scott go?" Scott is standing in the middle of the crime scene, with the two sheriff deputies handcuffing him. He's standing right next to the coroner's cart, wheeling out a heavy black rubber bag. "It's okay!" he calls back to Barda. "I'm sure this is about the cover charge. Danny, would you tell them?" "You're being arrested for trespassing," one of the sheriffs says. "And tampering with evidence. You have the right to remain silent. You--" he stops when Scott hands him back his handcuffs. Both deputies look at each other, then then cuff him again, roughly. This time one stands behind Scott and while the first reads him his rights again. He's halfway through when Scott starts twirling the loose handcuffs around one finger like a party favor. "Hey-- how the hell!" "I think that's a new personal best. Two and a half seconds," he beams. "Here, you can have these back." He offers them back to the sheriffs. The sheriffs then realize he'd cuffed their gun hands to their duty belts. Danny turns an imploring look on Barda. "Miss Barda, please tell your husband to stop contaminating my crime scene," he begs her. "If he just stays on this side of the yellow line-- right here--" he points at her feet. "He doesn't have to go to jail."
Big Barda	"Ah! Culture is very hard to understand at times, but I think we are learning quite well," Barda insists. "I think if I am paying you to be here, that would mean I am higher ranking than you for I pay your salary." She watches Scott behind the tape, tilting her head to the side at Danny's mention. If her being the boss doesn't let her in, Scott being there certainly would. "Oh! Now you see! A friend is /really/ inside." She pauses. "Well, Scott Free is a husband but also a friend. Many things." She waves at Scott from the outside before lifting the tape and merely striding in. "If this is not a party, then I am confused as to the purpose of the lights." She looks to Scott and waves at him again before using that stage whisper. "He says this is not a party! I do not think the crash will be necessary then."
Scott Free	"Oh for the love of--" Danny marches over, grips Scott's arm, and marches him back over to Barda. "Miz Barda, please *hold him there*," he requests of her. Scott *oofs* at the weight of a hand clapping on his relatively slender shoulders. Danny goes over to talk to the sheriffs. They look pissed-- but then again, Scott got the drop on them *twice* when he was just screwing around. Danny undoes their cuffs and sends them to pick up evidence inside and walks back to the Frees. He gives Scott a look like he's winding up a lecture-- but just deflates again, and abandons the reprimand. "Bill Taggart was killed last night," he explains, and gestures behind him at the house. "In his living room. We've got forensics coming up from the county but they're not gonna be here for... a day, at least. I'm not saying it's--" he glances around, then lowers his voice. "I'm not saying it's one thing or another, 'cause that's Chief Puller's job," he tells the Frees. "But I'm pretty sure we're looking at a case of m-- the M word."
Big Barda	Barda makes a face at the not-so-gentle handling of Scott, but proceeds to look at him. "Danny suggested we embrace. I am not sure why, but I believe we will fit in if we follow his suggestion. It seems reasonable." She does attempt to hug Scott, but it's not as tight as it coulid be. She's learning how to be gentle when it comes to people who might be slightly squishy. Her attention turns back to Danny, her arms returning to her sides before she lifts them in excitement. "Oh, are we trying to guess what it's a case of?" She squints, counting words on her fingers as she tries to come up with something that starts with M. "I am not sure I can think of--" She pauses. "Wait, are you saying you need help? I am certain Scott Free and I can easily handle your job. We are very good at..." She pauses again. "... handling things."
Scott Free	"Barda, Barda, darling just--" Scott reaches up and plucks Barda's fingers out of the air, bringing them down to his shoulder level and resting them there. His expression is grim, with none of his characteristic joi de virve. "You're saying that Bill did't die. He was mur--" "Killed. By... /possibly/, by, a person-- persons? unknown," Danny clarifies. "We aren't supposed to say murder, the city attorney gets real mad about it. Somethin' somethin' assuming intent. But--" he wiggles a finger over his thumb. "Someone caved in his skull and--" he glances at Barda, then grimaces at Scott. "...made a real mess of his grey matter." A hand flexes, like someone carelessly sopping water on the carpet. Scott looks back and up at Barda. "Who would kill Bill Taggart?" he asks her, with a perplexed and sorrowful tone. "He was a nice man. Always out mowing his lawn and yelling at the kids to get off his sidewalk."
Big Barda	Barda allows her hand to rest there, moving it to Scott's shoulder as she listens. "It does sound as if he was the M word. Most of our fellow citizens of Happy Harbor would have difficulty smashing a skull as such." She looks at her husband comfortingly. "He did seem nice. His lawn was the best lawn. But someone must have been very angry to do such a thing. Perhaps they wanted his sidewalk for themselves?" She does honestly look concerned, her expression looking more serious. "We should not let this go unpunished. It is an injustice."
Scott Free	"Nooooo, nonono," Danny says, trying to wave them off. "That would be--" He and Scott start immediately talking over each other. "A brilliant idea, darling," Scoot tells Barda. "We can--" "--get arrested for interfering in a criminal--" "investigation that would really impress the neighborhood. We'd--" "--go to jail for years, I'm not--" "--sure where to start, but I'm sure we can solve this case!" Scott says with a declarative wag of his finger, and swings his fist in a short arc to pop Barda gently on the bicep in his excitement. "Don't worry, Officer Danny," Scott tells the cop, and moves to stand side by side with his wife. "We'll make sure that whoever did this is brought to justice." Danny looks like he just dropped the last maple bar in a wet storm gutter. "...just.... don't..." he presses his lips together. "Just don't drag *me* into this," he begs them. "I got two years left until I retire an' I like you two. I don't wanna arrerst you, because I know you will escape," he tells Scott, "an' Miz Barda, you'll hit me *with* the jail." He turns and slouches off, despondent. Knowing full well that whatEVER the Frees are, they are not a force he can reckon with.
Big Barda	"I am pleased to have a brilliant idea," Barda says proudly, moving to return the bump but stopping halfway when she realizes that might be a bit painful. She very slowly moves, eventually bumping his arm with a tiny, tiny punch. She looks back to Danny with a bit of a compassionate look. "Do not worry, we will report to you only if we need assistance in storing the criminals in some location that is convenient to you." She looks over at her husband, energetic but trying not to overwhelm everyone with it. That and it /is/ a murder, which is depressing. "I think we can find justice, Scott Free. Justice and the gratitude of the neighborhood. Perhaps everyone will feel safer and we will have successfully found a place within it! I would like them to accept us as one of them very much."