This shit with Deb was startin' to get exhausting. Ryland exhaled a thick cloud of cigarette smoke from his dry lips with a sigh as he held the phone a few inches further away from his ear in an attempt to escape the grating sound of his ex-wife's voice. She'd already run off and married someone else with the damn alimony the judge forced him to cough up, got more than what was fair in child support, and took his daughter and best friend to live her new cute little life down by the beach in a house his money surely paid for--so why the hell did she keep calling like this?

What was she even complaining about now? Right, Logan was lazy as hell--well, Ryland could have told her that much-- she didn't have to fuck him behind his back to find that much out. In the past Ry, doc says let it go. He chastised himself when he felt the beginnings of irritation threatening to flare behind the grip on his cigarette and the eyes boring a hole into a puddle of rainwater a few feet in front of him.

With a rhythm of small beeps, his wristwatch made him aware that his break(if it could even be called that with Deb screamin' in his ear like this) was over--his boot grinding out the cigarette he'd been smoking with finality before he straightened his back. "Look- Deb. I can't keep doin' this shit with you. He was enough of a prick to-.." he caught himself, schooling a breath slowly as he released the fist clenched at his side. He'd always been itching for something after the divorce. "You picked 'em. I gotta get back to my shift. But if Rachel actually needs something don't hesitate to call. I'll be there to pick her up at 5pm on Friday." He finished, hitting end faster than his ex could protest before shoving his phone into his back pocket with a huff. Didn't get paid enough for this shit.

Finally clicking his radio on, the chatter immediately blasted across the open air, only faintly muffled by the rain coming down around the awning he was comfortably settled under.

All units this is dispatch. Got a repeat offender-- Marigold Towers, apartment 14C. Neighbors calling in excessive noise, any cars around that area?

Ryland couldn't help the mirthless chuckle that escaped him. I'll be damned. He remarked to himself, situated just across the street from the building in question as he reached for his radio. "Yeah- it's Armstrong. I'm already on scene I'll handle the call, Sally."

10-4 Corporal, radio back if you need anything.

Sweet girl. He mused to himself as he pushed up off of the wall with a grunt, headed into the rain with a shake of his jacket as he headed in the direction of the door. He was eager to get this call over and done with. While he'd never had the pleasure of meeting the woman who lived in 14C, he'd heard enough stories about her to know he wanted nothing to do with this call.

The old door to the building creaked in protest as it opened for him, Ryland showing his badge to the man at the desk before heading to the elevators. Wasn't gonna waste his time walking up 14 fuckin' flights of stairs. If she was going to cause so much trouble, she really should have taken a unit closer to ground level.

A short ride up and he was standing on the landing of the 14th floor's halls, old patterned carpet slightly sticking to his shoes with each step and reeking of old cigarette and piss that he hoped belonged to rats. Door stared him down for a long moment, and he could already hear the noise on the other side, sighing to himself. He'd hoped it might have quieted down by the time he got there, but--alas.

His fist pounded hard against the door, waiting for just a few moments before impatience got the better of him and he was slamming the bottom of his fist on the door again. "NYPD!" He called out loudly, moving to knock again before the door swung open and he finally got a look at the infamous resident of 14C. And goddammit-... his breath caught in his throat for a moment.

Fuck--she's a looker. Focus. He reminded himself, trying not to be distracted by the shape of her lips, the way her hair fell, those shapely legs as she stepped to the side to pull the door open a bit, looking out at him with that confused expression. None of the guys at the precinct mentioned the woman could turn your dick to steel if you weren't careful.

Right. Noise complaint. Work--not... whatever this is.

Ryland cleared his throat, adjusting his posture briefly before he trained himself back into his professional role, arms crossing across his broad chest as he looked at her. "Good evening. Nice to meet you, I'm corporal Armstrong-- and unfortunately you've caught me on a bad night. Somebody called in a noise complaint. Mind explaining what you're doing making a racket at this time of night?"