Roland Baker
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The crimson-and-pearl-white confection landed at Roland's feet, his exposed hands refusing to lower for the freebie "Smokey" flung at Roland's arm. Smokey. Either somebody's parents were shitty at naming their kid, or that particular somebody just made false statements- a crime in and of itself. But arresting and charging this youth with a growing list of felonies was among the least urgent tasks on Roland's bucket list; he needed to leave NOW. At least that hideous switchblade was out of the picture for now. Now it was this punk's arrogant "Terrorized? 'Pops?' You have a lot of guts for assaulting a Federal agent, kid," Roland growled, glaring at the assailant feeling up his tac vest. That tattoo... I wonder which crime syndicate this punk belongs to? I do not recognize that swirl from any American organized crime groups.
"Sympathomimetic agents? I'm afraid you'll have to ask a toxicologist about them. But admitting to burgling a Federally-funded facility? For acquisition of controlled substances to sate your habit? Come on, really?" Roland could not believe Smokey's relative transparency: The ability to sublimate into smoke and evade arrest was no laughing matter, but even Roland's cockier arrestees typically knew to shut up from initial contact. Roland shook his head, hearing "Smokey" ask for his name; this day kept getting weirder, what with the casual conversation tone maintained by Smokey. "Senior citizen" took the cake for creativity of the year, the Agent had to admit though. "Baker. Agent Baker if you will." There was little use in revealing his full name if he could. A lingering feeling in Agent Baker's heart suggested Smokey had means of locating undesirables' domiciles; keeping things to a last name basis would work for now. All that mattered at this moment was waiting for the purple-head to linger too close within Combatives distance; one solid knee-kick, a quick drop-and-roll for the fallen pistol, and Agent Baker could start his escape.
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Mood: Irritated
Company: "Smokey," aka the punk kid who stole my pistol
Outfit: Black leather shoes & matching slacks, white tucked-in dress shirt, and an FBI-labeled tactical vest
Armaments: Standard-issue .22 semiautomatic handgun (Disarmed; on the ground)
Huntress Kitteh