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Description
[1] Fluffy: We can do this the hard way... or the harder way. You give me any cute remarks and I get to have a field day with your face, ain't no good cops here to save you.
The individual is of fairly good height, with a slim, long-legged build. He appears to have been on his own for some time, from the well-worn condition of his clothes and what is obviously an improperly healed break in his longish nose. Despite the weather outside being fairly mild, he would appear to be wearing at least three layers— a yellow turtleneck underneath a black t-shirt that hangs, tentlike, on his scarecrow frame, all wrapped under a long gray overcoat. His hair is coppery red, and has been stuffed into a ponytail that reaches well past his shoulders, though several long strands have come free to hang around his rather elongate face. Rather than show any particular anxiety or distress at the situation, he sits with a look of vague bemusement, though there is altogether too much white showing in his wide gray eyes. At Fluffy's statement he looks in the direction of the voice, though he can see nothing, and gives a vague affirmative nod. In doing so, the officer is given an unparalleled view of the large clock face that dominates the left side of his head, seemingly sprouting from hair and flesh alike. The three black hands are bent and crooked, but nonetheless twitch across the yellowed face in never-ending diligence of each second. The ticking of this abnormal protrusion plays like some distant scrap of music in what is otherwise an eerie silence.

[2] Fluffy: Yeah. I've seen that look before. You're thinking that was the lamest thing you've ever heard, weren't you? Bet you think you're awful clever, huh? Think I'm stupid? Well we'll just see who the stupid one is when you're behind bars. How you like that, smartass?
He frowns, considering this, though his expression is still rather mild for one being threatened with imprisonment. After a moment, he raises his head— this time addressing the mirror at large, having lost track of where exactly the officer's voice issues from.

"Not really, no, I wouldn't like that."

His answer carries not even the tiniest undercurrent of wit; his face is a perfect plate of sincerity. Either this individual is capable of lying through his teeth with not even the slightest flicker of remorse, or he is entirely unaware that the question was intended as rhetorical.

[3] Fluffy: Let's start with the basics. Where were you last night 'tween ten an' eleven?
Now he begins to look concerned, his eyes flitting to the outside walls as if he half-expects some ghostly cue card to present itself with his pre-scripted response. At a loss for any such prompt, he faces the mirror again, and rubs the back of his head apologetically with a gloved hand, one that moves far more stiffly than its gloveless counterpart on the other side of his body, and consequently dragging the other appendage with it. "I… I think I was asleep. Somewhere. I might've been awake…" He offers a small smile, as if trying to excuse his inability to remember.

[4] Fluffy: Hah! You got the look of a killer, but nothin' happened last night 'tween ten an' eleven, but you knew that, didn' you? I saw that confused look in your eyes. Nah, we wanna know what you were doing at one in the morning last Wednesday.

The individual blinks at this new information, but acknowledges it with another nod. At the new question, his face shows a look that is almost universally identified as "oh crap" and rather than seeking counsel from the walls, this time he stares at a downward angle, his handcuffs clinking sheepishly as he regards the floor with something— guilt, perhaps?

"I…er… I don't remember," he confesses, though in reality he is wracking his brain for what day of the week it is currently; Wednesday, and any event that may have transpired there, are an entirely lost cause. He knows better than to probe his subconscious to surrender the information.

[5] Fluffy: Just digging yourself a deeper hole. You think you can get away with that? We already know what you did last Wednesday. All you criminal folk are the same, thinking you can look all innocent and avoid persecution. Not while I'm around. Since we already know what happened and all why don't you tell us the truth?

The head remains bowed, eyes blankly seeking out some great mystery that the floor has kept from him. He has pegged today as a Saturday, though there is not much of a vote of confidence behind that line of thinking. But if it was true… that would make Wednesday a matter three days gone, hopelessly lost into one of the many blank spaces in the back of his head.

It seemed like there were a lot of those, lately.

"There might have been… a park," he says, his voice at first faint enough to be drowned out by the ticking of his own clock, "w-with a fountain. And birds. I think…" he shakes his head. "Not sure about the birds. But the park, and the fountain, I remember that. I think."

[6] Fluffy: Gonna stick to the lies? Fine, fine, it'll make you look that much worse in court. Compulsive liar, adding it to the list. You've got quite the hefty file, did you know that?

Happily abandoning the issue of his failing memory, he looks up, his expression returning to its prior balance of sincerity and blankness. "I do?" He asks, sounding almost hopeful. He did, of course, understand that the police having a file on him carried very negative connotations, but it was fairly reassuring to know that someone, somewhere was keeping concrete records of the things that seemed to be getting harder to remember by the day.

[7] Fluffy: May not realize it, but everything piles up. Shoulda joined the police force before it was too late for you; the things we get away with! Hey, we could've been friends! [From the corner, Korc, there comes a low chuckle.] Yeah, probably not, I'd never be friends with scum like you. Speaking of scum, know who we got as a witness? No? C'mon, it'll be fun, just give it a guess.

He acknowledges the blatant insult by nodding, as he has with several of its fellows, but only really snaps to attention at the officer's mention of a witness. "You know someone?" He says, standing up so as to better lean forwards, his crooked nose almost brushing against the glass in his enthusiasm. One imagines that the officer might be preoccupied with the stranger's actions, but in the odd case that he was of the particularly observant type, he might have realized at this moment that one of the alleged suspect's feet produced a weighty 'clunk' as he stood, a sound not justified even considering that most of his weight went to this leg over the other. "You know someone who knows me?" For the first time, he appears fully present in the conversation, eyes bright and focused.

[8] Fluffy: Not that I thought you'd figure it out, but I thought a criminal mastermind would be smarter. You ever even go to school?

A weighty, overwhelming silence falls. His eyes lower to his hands, still pressed on the table as if to fling himself over it in search of the person on the other end. Slowly, he sits back down, though it seems more of a listless flop. With the angle of his head, his bangs fall forward like a rust-colored curtain, though beyond them his mouth seems to stir, shape out a sparse handful of words that are spoken too softly to carry beyond the glass.

"I thought so…"

He ignores the officer's question, lifting his ungloved hand to support his forehead. The other lies flat on the table, though after a moment it twitches, the fingers curling with meticulous slowness before he turns it over, the palm now upward. The shortness of the handcuff chain has brought it off the table surface, but not by much.

[9] Fluffy: I don't believe it. Oh, look, it says here you're a compulsive liar, I guess that fits, then. Well, it was easy enough catching you, no matter your education. Think you can learn from the experience? Think you could do better next time? Make it a little more interesting for us?

The individual doesn't reply. His head has come up a bit, and through his bangs, he studies the gloved appendage, as if not completely registering that it belongs to him. He closes his eyes, takes a steadying breath, and pushes himself back upright in his chair. "Sorry," he says, but there's a certain stiffness to his tone that wasn't there before.

[10] Fluffy: Yeah, yeah. Save it. Want some advice on how to do better next time?

He inclines his head, staring into the glass. His reflection stares back, but it gives him no view of the policeman.

[11] Fluffy: How about being less dense? I realize that's a lot to ask of you, but it might work out better if you really tried. What? Surprised? Thought I'd really help you out?

There is complete silence until Fluffy has finished speaking. It continues for a while, only interrupted by the quiet ticking of the clock.

Then, "No, not particularly." His face is, again, absolutely sincere. His eyes have regained their distant look, but they are locked on the point in the glass where Fluffy's voice issues from, and his eyebrows are set unhappily in place.

[12] Korc: State your name for the record.

He startles a bit at the other voice, a nearly imperceptible twitch, and turns his head to try and pinpoint it. "Lloyd," he answers truthfully, the surprise pushing him out of his temporary depression. "I don't remember the rest. There was something with a W."

[13] Fluffy: Really! This compulsive lying thing is really going too far, think you're cute, Vitamitamassimo? Think again.

He winces visibly at the name, though it is not the personal sort of wince of someone who's ruse has been seen through; rather, it is the look of someone who is watching another fall down a staircase and, while they cannot stop their companion from hitting the bottom, nonetheless empathize with almost every hit and fumble on the way down. "I don't think that was it," he says, weighing the lengthy word with his mind. "I think I'd remember if that was it…" Then again, his memory was pretty terrible.

[14] Fluffy: You don't... really look much like these mug shots from the past. But... it does say you're a master of disguise. You got a number I can call? Someone to contact? I'm so fired if you're actually a civvie.

Lloyd blinks. Was that what he was doing here? "I thought you knew someone," he pauses for a moment, working to keep the bitterness out of his tone. "You said you had a… 'witness'." He still wasn't clear on exactly what that meant, at least in relation to his current situation. Again, like the mention of the police file, it was not really good news, but if it meant that 'Vitamitamassimo' was not any part of his name, he'd take it. And he was under a roof, at least for the moment. It was raining outside, with enough energy that finding somewhere dry had proved futile. "I don't remember if I know anyone. I think I do, but I can't… remember…"

[Fluffy gets up to leave the room, pushing past Korc to investigate whatever information your character has given him, whether it be a phone number, address, identification or just their name. Below, write out the rest of the scenario using what you know of Fluffy, Korc, your OC and the environment. There may still be limitations on your character's powers and abilities, and any weapons they might have had on their person would have been taken away, but whatever was restraining them is now gone.]
It takes a while for Lloyd to realize he is alone. He looks around the small room, after a moment putting his ear to the glass to see if he could pick out any sound of the two officers.

Silence, only disrupted by the steady rhythm of the clock. He didn't mind the ticking so much anymore; it was such a constant that he barely identified it.

"…Okay, then," his voice was hushed in the empty room, for reasons he could not himself explain. "I guess… I just wait here."

He shifts in his seat. The silence is a little bit unnerving, but tolerable. And it could be that the police know him.

Suddenly, he sits up, turning to survey the part of the room that he can see on this side of the glass. He is unsure of why, but he has the unmistakable feeling that he is no longer alone.

FOOLISH CHILD! NO WONDER THEY CAPTURED YOU SO EASILY.

The voice's human qualities cannot be identified— the sound is almost lost in the clamor of gears and a slow, steady hissing sound that he cannot identify— and yet, the words are unmistakable.

Lloyd stands, sweeps the room again, but to no avail. "…Hello?" He is abnormally unruffled for someone who is being addressed by ghostly voices.

There is nothing but the quiet squeak of a hinge needing oil to greet him.

He turns— the door stands open, seemingly of its own accord.

Lloyd frowns, looks back at the glass one more time. He moves to the door, looking pensively at the view it offers.

Then he is gone.