( open ) bad news like a suckerpunch

[apolly]

A. JUSTICE LAW OFFICES

Maybe you dropped by because you know of the lawyer in charge, you have a question about school, you're lost and looking for directions, the possibilities are endless.

It's early morning and no one seems to be in the front lobby at the moment, even if the door's unlocked. But a door off to the left is open, someone coughing their lungs out, but the sound is stopped short whenever the front door bell goes off.

Apollo is sick with a cold. Apparently sick enough for a futon to be laid out on his office floor (thanks to employees), so Apollo peaks around his office's entrance to see who it is. ...From the floor. This isn't an exactly normal picture.

"Can I help you?" He sounds like a frog.

B. GROCERY SHOPPING

Evening time, Apollo only has rare instances where he can actually show up at a store and get some much needed stocking done.

He's got the goods: food, hygeine, some house supplies and of course coffee. Tons of it, because he's currently buying about four tubs of it and dropping it into his cart.

C. MISC go wild. brackets are a-ok.

Comments

a.

[damnyank]

A green jacketed arm pushes the door open, followed by two scuffed up leather boots. When Apollo finally gets a good view of Jackson's face, he's staring down at him, quizzically. Well, isn't someone comfy-- he's sorta jealous, Reid would never let him lounge around on the job like that.

Wait, wait... taking in the pallor of his skin, the irritated red of a cold-plagued nose. Oh gee, fantastic. He's sick.

Jackson takes a good step back, before addressing Apollo.

"I got some questions to ask you, about your neighbor-- three doors down, across the hallway," he says. "Work with me, and I'll keep this quick."

[apolly]

The second Reid walks in, Apollo is (unattractively) blowing his nose. He stares, listens to what this man has to say, before he awkwardly leans over just enough to drop the tissue into the trash can.

... There's no way this man was a potential client by the sounds of it. A visit well wasted.

"Questions?" Wait. "Are you a detective?"

[damnyank]

"Thankfully, no." A beat. "Forensics."

Jackson's taking it slow and easy with this business call, as he opens up his leather satchel and casually rifles through it like he doesn't have a murder to help solve. Eventually, he pulls something out-- a clear plastic zip-log bag that screams out EVIDENCEin red and yellow tape. Inside of the bag sits the crumpled up, saliva-stained, mucus-streaked remains of a business invoice in cardstock.

"Found this jammed halfway between our dead man's laryngopharynx and esophagus." Jackson lifts up the bag to read the invoice, though he already knows what it says. "Butler & Seymour, Travel Agency-- which, according to Reid's research, is located down the hall."

Jackson takes another step backwards, watching another tissue drop into the trashcan. Germs.

"Our body's neither Mr. Seymour nor Ms. Butler, but this invoice suggests that he was potentially in the vicinity of their business before bein' choked out." It was a good place to start looking, regardless. "Now, before I start forensicating, anything you can tell me about your neighbors down the hall?"

[apolly]

... Wow.

Apollo looks down the evidence and squints, and it visibly makes him a little nauseous as he stares at it. That was inside the body. He was used to gruesome details as a defense attorney who took on murder cases, but it was a different story actually looking at it in the face. This guy was made of iron.

He wonders why a forensics scientist is doing an investigator's work, but maybe he was just good in various fields? Alright then.

"I don't talk to them, they said hi to me a few times though." Apollo shrugs, then scratches the back of his head. "I only opened my office here months ago. They keep trying to pitch their business outside though. I see stands all the time."

[damnyank]

A doctor who cannot stand the sight of blood and gore is as useful as an attorney who cannot argue. In other words, it comes with the territory. Nevermind, that it's only a piece of paper. The stomach-twisting, bloody stuff was back in his dead room.

"According to my examination, the poor fella died two days ago, between the hours of 10 PM and 4 AM in the morning. Were you here 'round that time?"

As to why the forensic pathologist is moonlighting as an investigator-- let's just say that the inspector of his division is a little unorthodox when it comes to his cases. He prefers to work with a handful of people. Add in austere budget cuts, and well, Jackson's finding himself useful in several respects.

"I notice the walls here are a might thin." He raps his knuckles against the fake wood. "You hear any arguing of late?"