✓ | 3. soldier, soldier, spy [STEVE HARRINGTON]

two.

CHAPTER TWO:
STANLEY MÜLLER, THE FIRST REBELLION

[ SUZIE, DO YOU COPY? ]

❖ ❖ ❖

          "Hop, that lady really doesn't like me, and to be honest — oh!" A pause. "Hello?"

Thomas Mirkwood couldn't fathom how he'd gotten the job as an intern at the sheriff's department, but at a pay of four dollars an hour he wasn't about to protest about the legality of the situation (though he had a feeling the high pay was due to Hopper's knowledge of Joyce's bad money situation, and understanding that Thomas would be contributing to rent now). He was shy, he didn't like talking to people he didn't know, and at a height of five-eleven and a weight of he-didn't-even-know, he wasn't an intimidating dude.

But he could move things with his mind. And he was a nice guy — wanted to do the right thing, that sort of crap.

           (Unfortunately the receptionist didn't know either of those, so tended to be a little moody when she had to let him in and clock his hours.)

So, dressed in the blue shirt and smart pants of the other deputy sheriffs, his fake police badge (Steve's gift the day prior) in his pocket as a good luck charm, belt empty of a firearm unlike the rest of his coworkers, he had headed into work that Monday morning. His third ever shift.

But Hopper's office was empty, and instead a kid sat in the desk, his back turned to Thomas. All he could see was a thin neck and a head of shaggy, black hair.

But, at the sound of the surprised, embarrassed, and somewhat disappointed Oh Thomas had breathed out, the head turned.

         "Hello," the boy replied.

He looked somewhat like a crow: with a narrow face; a large, hooked and pointed nose, though not unattractive or imposing; and dark eyes; a handsome jaw, and neat eyebrows though they were not at all tamed. "I'm guessing you're not the Sheriff." And a hint of a smile, though it seemed wistful.

         It took a moment for Thomas to find his voice. "I — I'm an intern," he said, adjusting his glasses nervously, and the boy's eyes that had seemed so innocent had lingered too long upon him now and had begun to burn. "You've waited long?"

        "Got woke up by cops at my door at two, got brought here, processed, been sat here ever since. So..."

          Thomas couldn't decide if that was a yes or a no, so instead he swallowed, edged around the desk and sat in Hopper's chair. The kid quirked an eyebrow at that, surprised by the display of authority; the sheriff's chair. Damn. Thomas himself was surprised, nervous. He felt like he'd broken a solemn law.