Fic: Karma Police
E-mail: violet147@yahoo.com
Rating: PG.
Warnings: None, really.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairings: Davey standalone
Summary: Davey sees what's around him and decides to do something about it. Notes: In honor of not only the brilliance of Sing the Sorrow, but also Radiohead, who absolutely fucking rocks.



He doesn’t wear a gold badge. Nor does he wear a uniform to go along with it. He wears nothing to proclaim himself as any sort of authority, and he doesn’t carry anything that would one would associate with authority, traditionally. He doesn’t carry a knight stick, or a gun, or any sort of weapon at all. He has no authority.

He watches the people as he drives by, and tries to swallow the wave of nausea he feels looking at them. Disgusting, shameless, all of them. He sees everything, the man crawling down the streets looking for his next high, the woman walking down the streets looking for her next paycheck, the kids running down the streets looking for their next victim.

No. He has no authority, although it’s times like these that makes him wish he did.

No one would ever understand, so he keeps it to himself. He reserves it all for his notebooks. He gets ragged on all the time for being too good, too nice, too moral, but that is fine. He could care less, especially now.

He parks his car and walks inside, and yes, he is walking with a spring to his step. He is walking with confidence, he is walking with a purpose, he is a man with a mission. He has no badge, no uniform, nothing at all to declare that he has any TRUE authority. He carries no gun, no knife, no traditional weapon, but he has one alright. He has made his own weapon, and with this weapon, he has found a way to take care of the crimes he saw no more than ten minutes ago, on the very streets he lives on.

He sits down next to Jade and smiles, pushing his notebook in front of him. He says nothing and merely watches as Jade flips through the book, his eyes widening, his mouth falling open, and he cannot help the surge of triumph when Jade looks up at him in awe. “Oh my God,” he murmurs. “What is this?”

It is his weapon. It is the one thing he carries that gives him authority.

“The new album.”

A slight pause. "Any ideas on a title yet?"

This time, there's a smile. "Sing the Sorrow."


The high-rolling cats wanna pay for that ass
This ain't floating my boat!
Home, Jones!


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