Konan studied his new partner, his eyes taking in the woman known as Detective Katlyn Prescott. She stood a flat-footed 5’8 and in heels she stood near 6’0. Her red hair, styled in a pixie cut, meshed well with her blue-grey eyes. Katlyn was toned, at least from what Konan could observe, and she carried herself in such a manner that hinted at a well of inner strength as much as physical.
She felt his eyes upon her, and she turned and met his gaze. His frank appraisal didn’t seem to surprise her, and she boldly returned his stare.
“Do you like what you see?” She asked him, and Konan balked. “I don’t mean to…” he stammered. She waved her hand and said, “At least you haven’t asked about my nickname,” she sighed, but then continued, “and it’s not like we both weren’t going to assess the other.”
“If it’s any consolation Katlyn, I already know the story behind your nickname,” Konan said. “You seem well put together.”
“Oh? You know the story, do you? Please, enlighten me.”
“Well, I know the scuttlebutt,” Konan said. “Rumor is you worked as a doctor and studied serial killers. You were assessing Diamond Eyes Rivera, and he attacked you with a shank.”
“Is that it? Do you know why they call me Razor?”
Konan let out an exasperated sigh, and said, “Everyone said you took his shank and stabbed him to death.” Katlyn stared at Konan and tilted her head to get a better look at his features. She couldn’t tell if he believed the story or not, and she asked, “And do you think that’s true?”
“I don’t know,” Konan remarked. “Anything’s possible with enough adrenaline. If Diamond Eyes underestimated you, then yeah, I can see it happening exactly like that.”
Freeman's Front Porch Musings 
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