Aug. 29th, 2016


Aug. 29th, 2016 04:10 pm
codenamemilady: (murderous)
[personal profile] codenamemilady
Milady had seen no reason to include Oliver's 'visit' in her weekly reports. It was personal matter, to her mind, and the DGSE needn't be involved. Unfortunately, Desrochers had found out about the encounter and didn't agree with her assessment. So Milady had been called back to Paris for two days of explaining herself and convincing those over Desrochers that her usefulness as Clarice Winters was in no way threatened by Oliver knowing she lived. She'd succeeded, of course.

After two days, she was sent back to London with orders to resume her life as Clarice, but with all long term missions on hold until she, Desrochers - ugh - and Paris were confident she could return to work. Milady didn't reach out to any of her, mostly unwitting, contacts, but accepted readily when they reached out to her, not wanting to raise suspicions. There were luncheons, of course, and invitations for drinks or dancing. And when she had no other plans, Milady went shopping or spent hours in a coffee shop with a book. Largely public, going about Clarice's life, and inwardly alternating between bored and seething.

Today was more of the same. Anita had insisted she come to lunch with some of 'their' friends. The food and wine had been excellent. The company meant when Milady begged off the rest of the afternoon with a headache, it wasn't a lie. Amazing how much better she felt once she was rid of them. Better enough for some shopping, wandering in and out of boutiques, picking up this or that on a whim, and always, keeping a discreet eye out for unwanted surveillance. The ubiquitous cameras, if anything, suited her purposes in being out.

Display buckets of cut flowers outside a florist shop caught her eye as she passed. Well, not exactly. It was the so faint scent of the forget-me-nots filling one of those buckets that made her stop. They were gathered in small posies, and Milady had picked one up, lifting it to inhale deeply before she realized what she was doing.

Don't be ridiculous, was her first thought.

Followed by, There's bound to be a camera. Which meant, if Oliver cared to look, he could see. Likely Desrochers as well.

Milady dropped the flowers back in the bucket and smoothed her hands over her dress as she turned to go. Two steps, and her heel caught in a crack on the pavement. She reached out, catching herself before she could fall, but the Louboutin wasn't as lucky, the heel twisting off the rest of the shoe with a crack. "Bloody-!"

[Afternoon, early evening – whatever works for you and yours. She's in a Mood, but it's not a bad time to meet her anyway.]
pecked_by_birds: (out)
[personal profile] pecked_by_birds
Honestly, he couldn't say why, but sometimes it wasn't the madness or the pain that drove Prometheus to travel. It was just a itch, a need he had to fulfil. Lately it had been clawing at him again, and though he'd done his best to put it off... New York was calling to him. He needed to go. He'd return to London, of course, he always did after all. Though to ensure he returned sooner rather than later this time, he'd hung a 'Help Wanted' sign in the window of his shop. With any luck he'd find someone to run it in his absence.

Soft music filled the shop, and as usual the titan was behind one of his canvases. Paint tinted the tips of his fingers and was splattered all over his jeans as he neared completion on his latest piece. He'd taken a sharp turn back into realism lately, and dark hues and clear lines presented an image of a ratty looking bookshop on a corner in New York.

(OTA! This is Prometheus' last post until he returns next year, so if you need a chat, now's the time. <3)


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