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R.P.D. vs S.T.A.R.S. ANNUAL BASEBALL GAME - THURSDAY, 10/03: RACCOON FIELD, 1500 SHARP!
Typically, Leon wasn’t big on large group activities, or being overwhelmingly social in the first place, but he loved baseball. Hadn’t played it in a long time, but he enjoyed going down to the batting cages and practicing his swing when he wasn’t wrapped up in training. He was still known to those at the station as the rookie, despite being there for quite some time; everyone knew it wasn’t lack of skill - Irons simply did not care for Leon’s strong sense of justice and penchant for doing the right thing and therefore kept him heavy on the desk work. Still, he didn’t slack, frequenting the shooting range and working out in the yard after his shifts. Lieutenant Branagh did what he could for him, assigning Leon tasks that put him in frequent contact with where he thought Leon ought to be: with S.T.A.R.S.
Leon was certain that such a promotion would only happen over Irons’s dead body, but it didn’t stop Chris and Jill from urging him to apply, to which he’d always put up a hand or give a dismissive shake of his head and a shy grin. Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on it, he’d say. He didn’t let himself get his hopes up; the special forces unit being fine with Leon accompanying them on casual ops or running paperwork for them was one thing, but actually having what it took to join them was another thing entirely. It wasn’t that Leon didn’t know he was skilled; perfect marksmanship, high intelligence, and his good nature made him a great candidate, but he just never felt like he was enough. Like he truly had what it took.
“Here you go, Kennedy.” Chris came up to him in the locker room after work, handing him a box containing a uniform, embroidered with his last name on the back and R.P.D. on the front. He assumed they just used the measurements for his work clothes. “Your uniform for tomorrow. I hope you’re excited, this’s a big thing around here.” He nodded thoughtfully to himself, opening his locker and taking his motorcycle jacket out.
Leon’s brows raised. “Whoa,” he chuckled, “very… official.”
( Read more... )
Typically, Leon wasn’t big on large group activities, or being overwhelmingly social in the first place, but he loved baseball. Hadn’t played it in a long time, but he enjoyed going down to the batting cages and practicing his swing when he wasn’t wrapped up in training. He was still known to those at the station as the rookie, despite being there for quite some time; everyone knew it wasn’t lack of skill - Irons simply did not care for Leon’s strong sense of justice and penchant for doing the right thing and therefore kept him heavy on the desk work. Still, he didn’t slack, frequenting the shooting range and working out in the yard after his shifts. Lieutenant Branagh did what he could for him, assigning Leon tasks that put him in frequent contact with where he thought Leon ought to be: with S.T.A.R.S.
Leon was certain that such a promotion would only happen over Irons’s dead body, but it didn’t stop Chris and Jill from urging him to apply, to which he’d always put up a hand or give a dismissive shake of his head and a shy grin. Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on it, he’d say. He didn’t let himself get his hopes up; the special forces unit being fine with Leon accompanying them on casual ops or running paperwork for them was one thing, but actually having what it took to join them was another thing entirely. It wasn’t that Leon didn’t know he was skilled; perfect marksmanship, high intelligence, and his good nature made him a great candidate, but he just never felt like he was enough. Like he truly had what it took.
“Here you go, Kennedy.” Chris came up to him in the locker room after work, handing him a box containing a uniform, embroidered with his last name on the back and R.P.D. on the front. He assumed they just used the measurements for his work clothes. “Your uniform for tomorrow. I hope you’re excited, this’s a big thing around here.” He nodded thoughtfully to himself, opening his locker and taking his motorcycle jacket out.
Leon’s brows raised. “Whoa,” he chuckled, “very… official.”
( Read more... )
