det_montoya: (Default)
"Believe those who are seeking the truth; doubt those who find it." - Andre Gide
det_montoya: (ooc2)

Some of it isn't relevant since this character has deviated from the canon character but still...

At least she now has a DOB.

Happy birthday, Renee.
det_montoya: (With Dee)

Nobody ever said it was going to be easy.  She knew it from the get go.  She walked in with both eyes open.  With no illusions.  Not a day does she look back and regret the decision.  There's been a fair share of rough spots along the way.  They happen.  Life happens.  She forces herself to learn.  It's the only way it'll work.  Regardless, there are aspects she'll never get used to.  Not knowing what to expect.  Not knowing when the night will end and the day will begin.  The never ending shifts in schedule.  The danger.  

She often wonders if they're living on borrowed time.

Daria wraps her arms around her legs and rests her chin.  If she has to sit on the couch for hours, she'll do it.  Tonight, she's waiting up. 

det_montoya: (side)
Saint James Cathedral should have fallen in the quake.  The centuries old building survived.  Some saw it as a feat of engineering.  Others spoke of luck.  The surrounding immigrant community knew the truth though.  God's grace was upon them.  Many a stain glass window had been replaced.  The original pews were gone.  Priests struggled and retired.  The alter moved from the head of the church to the center.  Despite the changes, it remained the heart and hope of its parishioners, a shining light amidst the darkness of life. 

Renee Montoya is stalled on the steps outside. 


It's been close to fifteen years since she's been inside.  She can't remember now why she came.  In a minute, she'll retreat.  She can't bring herself to do it just yet.  The church is a fixture of her childhood, a house of memories as well as worship.  The present and the past collide and inside her brews a storm of discordant feelings.  Belonging.  Disappointment.  Anger.  Resignation.

She shakes her head. 

Life and work are waiting elsewhere.  She turns her back on the house of God.  Not the first time in her life.  Definitely not the last.
det_montoya: (Default)
Take a man flowers? You do if he's your father. One of the many hazards of wearing a badge. Holidays don't mean shit. I'm scheduled through the weekend and into the better part of next week. Today's the only chance I'll get. Guess I could of had them delivered. Kinda want to do it myself though.

I oughta have my head examined.

What am I doing?

I've been in a couple times. Always to buy. Never to talk. We always end up talking about the same things. Fighting the same arguments. Swear to God he sounds like a broken record sometimes.

There's a customer going out as I'm comin' in. We pass each other in the doorway. Papi's still working the register. After a minute, he looks up.

We stare at each other from across the shop.

"Yah. I know. I'm early," I finally say. The only thing worse than the same old fight is the silence. I hold out the flowers. My peace offering.

He stares at me some more before rounding the counter. He leans into it and crosses his arms.

Oh shit, here it comes.

"Learn to use the phone," he says sharply.

Can I call it or what?

His posture relaxes entirely. "Or stop by more often. Your mother misses your sweet voice."

What - ?

He steps forward to take the flowers and opens up his arms for a hug.

The last time he hugged me was -

I can't remember.

I'm there. In a heartbeat.

"Happy Father's Day, Papi."
det_montoya: (dammit)
It is a killer that knows neither name nor nationality. It claims more victims than any other malady. It works like poison. Insignificant at onset, deadly over time. Just as effective as any bullet. Every cop faces this assassin. Some are better prepared to deal with it than others. Some fall. Some see it coming.

If they're lucky...

She runs a hand over her face as she steps into the bedroom. The lights are out, leaving her to maneuver by memory. She makes it to the bathroom without waking her partner. For once, she'd like to make it back before Dee hits the sack. Working opposite schedules is starting to take its toll.

Tomorrow she leaves for Bludhaven. The person that matters most to her won't know until she's already gone.


Mar. 27th, 2006 08:24 pm
det_montoya: (Default)
What is it with March? It's like we spend the entire month chomping our way through cake. Just when I think it's finally over, there's a new one waiting in the break room. I swear if I have to eat another piece... I'm gunna hurt somebody.

Which makes this funny. It's Dee's birthday. I got the day off. She didn't. So what am I doing? I'm baking her a cake. She's the cook! I'm lucky if I can boil water. The microwave is your friend. Use it often. Use it liberally.

I had to find a recipe. Do you have any idea how hard that was? She's got close to a hundred cookbooks. And they all said something different.

Shopping. No problem. Pappa hooked me up. Got out before the conversation turned sour. Still put me about half an hour behind.

So here I am. Cups and measuring spoons spread out on the counter. Gunna follow this thing step by step. Pouring the flour.

POOF! ...

And I'm wearing it.

Even from the kitchen, I can hear the front door open. My eyes go from the utensils to the bowl to the stove to the apron. Oh hell no. What a mess...

"Renee? Hey baby! I'm home!"

The icing on the cake? I'm not fast enough to hide it all. When she rounds the corner, I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

I stop. She stops.

"Happy birthday, Dee," I finally manage.

She smiles and starts to cry.
det_montoya: (Default)
Twenty-five yards. She's puttin' holes in a piece of paper. Tight group, center of mass. Requals are three days away. It's a necessary evil. Keeps 'um from falling into that nasty catch-22. They go out each day, hopin' and prayin' they don't walk into a situation that requires them to pull that trigger. If it sits in the holster though, unused and ignored... The skills are lacking when that moment finally comes.

She's finishing her second box. )
det_montoya: (With Dee)
Clearing her brain has never been a strong suit. The events of the trial are revolving in her head. She'd been one of the many hampered in the back of the courtroom. Far enough away to be useless. Close enough to observe. And what she saw scared the sh*t out of her. Not Kyle. Not Muns. Dent. Harvey Dent. Movin' fast. Lookin' mean. Like something out of the past.

She sits down on the couch in her apartment and picks up the remote. The television flashes to life. The scene depicts a crowd of pressing journalists. In the center is Dent.

"--did Eddie say to you during the tussle?" The question is followed by clicks and snaps from the surrounding cameras.

She shakes her head in disbelief.

"Nothing of any consequence, just like most everything else he says..."

A finger descends towards the power button.

"Mr. Dent, how does it feel to be a hero?"

She stops. A hero? This I gotta hear.

"Well, I'm not going to start prancing around in a cape, if that's what you mean."


The remote plops down on the cushions next to her. She sits for a minute longer, just staring. A shuffling sound comes from the rear. She looks up over her shoulder to see Daria, wiping at bleary eyes.

"Hey baby. It's late. You coming to bed?"

A pause hangs between them.

"Na... I got some things to work out, Dee."

It's not the words but the tone. Daria's heard it before. Can't still the body while the mind is at work. She shuffles back to a lonely bed.

Renee's still sitting on the couch when the sun rises in the morning.

WT App

Mar. 16th, 2006 03:55 am
det_montoya: (service weapon)
She's going on thirty-eight hours. Thirty-nine. Eyes are beginning to itch and ache. Her head's the weight of a bowling ball. A fire burns in her belly. Whether it's the sleep deprivation or the shots of Stoli, she's not sure. Doesn't really matter. It keeps her anger company. Right next to the lump of guilt.

From out of the bar, she stumbles. Snow hits her skin. That fuzzy warm feeling begins to fade. She remembers why she crawled into the bar in the first place. Her fatigue evaporates. Her rage mounts. As if with another person's ears, she hears herself scream his name in the echoing streets. "Corrigan. CORRIGAN!!!"

The trip to his apartment is a blur. She's suddenly in front of his door with no recollection of how she arrived. Next thing she knows... Her sidearm is in hand. The door splinters. Breaks. The flimsy chain snaps. She barrels through into Corrigan's place.

A detached voice registers in her mind. Breaking and Entering.

There's a woman rushing towards her. Butt of the gun to the temple. There's a spray of blood. A cry of pain. She slumps to the floor.

The voice returns. Assault with a deadly weapon.

Corrigan is retreating into the kitchen. He shakes with fear and fumbles for the nearest possible weapon. Into his hand, he pulls a carving knife from the butcher's block.

That's right. Make it worth my while.

"You gonna take it like a man, Jimmy? Or do I shoot you in the back, like you shot Cris?"

He cowers, slides onto the floor holding his head. The knife has dropped from his grasp. She steps forward and places the gun to his forehead. Her finger moves purposefully from the slide to the trigger.


Another voice replaces the monotone in her detached reality. "Don't. If he goes down, he'll take you with him. Don't go there, Renee."

Fuck you, Cris. Fuck you.

She stares down into Corrigan's pleading eyes.

She lowers the gun and walks away. In her wake, she leaves a sniveling man and a bloodied woman. They'll live to see another day.

Too late.

[Author's Note: Scenario is taken directly from "Gotham Central". All of Renee's quoted dialog is taken verbatim. Writer: Greg Rucka.]
det_montoya: (Default)
You get raised a certain way, in a certain environment, with certain values. Old school parents. Minority underdogs. I've got nothing but respect for them. They know how to fight. Scraping a life together out of nothing. Making it. Surviving. Doing every last damn thing to improve. They're role models. I'd be lying if I didn't say it. They taught all those things to me. You get knocked down? You get back up. And you sure as hell go back for more.

That's what I've gotta face. My life has taken a turn they don't like. My life's taken a couple turns they don't like. They come around though. Just gunna take time. Always does. Can't do anything else though. My life... My parents. I want 'um both.

Dee's here. She drove me over. "You want me to stay, Renee?"

Hell yeah.

"No. It's gunna take more than just a couple minutes." I get out of the car and walk across the street.

She's still waiting when I'm done.


Mar. 2nd, 2006 04:40 pm
det_montoya: (Default)
I don't care how tempting it is. Evidence does not belong on Gbay.

We have a system. It works. But it only works when we do our jobs. Corrigan ... *Shakes head.* What the hell were you thinking? If it's all about the money to you, do us a favor and find yourself a new profession. We don't need assholes like you making it any harder than it already is.

You gonna come clean? )
det_montoya: (Default)
"A year and a half and nothing's changed, Dee. Nothing's changed. Except me."

Same Issue, Three Pages Before )
det_montoya: (Default)
Background: The signal is coming down. Cris doesn't agree with Renee. He sees Batman as part of the problem. Renee wants him to understand things from her point of view. They're waiting together outside a courtroom.

"I've lost count of how many times he's saved my life, Cris. You don't understand, you didn't grow up here. I'm a cop because of that signal, you get it? I remember when they first switched it on. I was maybe seventeen, I was in my bedroom at my parents' apartment, it was late. I was trying to do homework, but I couldn't concentrate. There'd been this story in the news, how the water supply had been poisoned. Everyone in the city was scared. I looked out my window."
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 05:32 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios