goodfellow: (chair)
[personal profile] goodfellow
One month ago, one of Soho's trendiest and yet least profitable dance clubs closed its doors. There were rumors for a while that the space was going to be turned into an upscaled gym, or perhaps gutted and chopped up into boutique shopping. But not much of anything seemed to be happening until just after Christmas, when the trucks were constantly parked by the service entrance and there seemed to be a flurry of activity.

Meanwhile, anyone who was anyone received a VIP invitation to the "pre-opening" of SATURNALIA, soon to be London's newest hot spot, but in the meantime hosting a huge party to ring in the new year. Togas optional but encouraged. Also receiving these invitations was anyone who even remotely knew Robin Goodfellow (or Rob Fellows), though his name wasn't on them.

The doors were also open to anyone, a line and bouncer required only because the space could only fit so many. But Robin had instructed the bouncer to be creative if not random with who he let in. As far as he was concerned, pulling in a street urchin or two over the hot starlets would not only improve the atmosphere but be good for business in the long run.

The doors opened at 9pm, and the place filled steadily as midnight approached. Inside, the club was clearly not finished, and there were many trappings from the previous space still in place - a large dance floor, several bars, private rooms, a couple of small stages for performances, an impressive elevated DJ table. For tonight, the theme was clearly one of the decadence of ancient Greek - decorations in gold and white and stone, replications (one would assume) of famous artwork of the time, including a number of statues. A copy of "David" cast in stone was a centerpiece, set up in an area that encouraged partygoers to take selfies.

The bars were not open, but prices were much cheaper than they should have been, coupled by the occasional appearance of Robin in his (somewhat skimpy) toga and gold-cast laureal wreath crown to hand out shots, mead, or wine to random partygoers. The point of the party was clearly not to make money but to build buzz, and from the length of the line outside after a couple of hours it was clearly working.
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
Merry Christmas!
You are invited to celebrate the season with Finlay Flynn and Willy Silver.
When: Christmas Eve (5pm – Midnight)
RSVP: By Email ( Before 19/12
Upon entry you'll be given a ticket for one free drink. All drinks after that are 5 each. There will also be a free buffet in the dining area.
Dress code: Casual, but tidy please!
Raffle: Come wearing a festive sweater and you will automatically be entered into a raffle to win a 65 inch TV.
Donate: Bring three tins of canned food to be donated to the local food bank, and receive an extra drink ticket.

Look forward to:
A live DJ, live music, an appearance by Santa, gift bags with deluxe swag, and the company of old and new friends!

(OTA! Happy holidays! If you know Fin, Willy, Phouka, or Winter, feel free to assume they gave you an invite. If not, you can say your pup got an invite through a friend of a friend, someone who knows someone, ect. It IS invite over (no gate crashing pups please, Fin's a giver and would want everyone to feel included), but the pups hosting the party are pretty active and I believe they know almost everyone in the game. And the people they don't know surely know people who do. Even if you only met them once, you got an invite somehow! This gathering post is open all week, and beyond!)


Nov. 17th, 2015 12:57 pm
quartermaster_q: (working)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
He was a good boy these days. He did his work, came home to Bond, fed his cats... Went to bed early when he could, ate his vegetables... He was polite, polished... Professional. 
But he hadn't always been. 
His laptop offered a glimpse at who he'd once been- Not even the content, just the shell. The stickers and the obvious scuffs and marks. They showed a past Q tended to keep to himself. Though Bond knew some of it. More than most.
Sitting in a small cafe, watching a pair of business men tapping away on their iphones and talking loudly about acquisitions and stocks, Q found himself wishing he was a little less polished- That he wasn't obligated to keep out of trouble... And then one of them laughed so loudly that a passing server nearly dropped her tray, and Q suddenly didn't care about behaving, or what was proper for a Quartermaster.
Within moments he was into everything. Emails, social media, chat logs, stock portfolios. Everything.
One man, it turned out, was not the scum bag he presented himself as. He was pitiable, honestly. Recently divorced, attempting to re-mortgage his home for the third time. Bordering on broke, and on the verge of losing his job. ...He didn't deserve the Quartermaster's wrath. The other man, however- Well, he was a different story.
Married, for the third time. Lawyered up enough that he had somehow managed to wriggle out of paying child support for his two eldest children. His third wife was barely out of her teens, and he was cheating on her with at least three other women- No, two women- The third was little more than a girl still. Q didn't have to dig deep to find dirty secrets- Which was good, since he wasn't sure he could stomach digging any deeper.
Q had three options here. Social ruin, financial bankruptcy, or to rain down complete havoc on his career and future.
Or, perhaps it was four- He could do nothing. He could close his laptop and allow the man to continue on with his miserable cesspool of a life. That was an option too, he supposed.
(OTA! Find Q in a cafe, contemplating ruining a man's life. Feel free to influence him as you see fit. :D)


Nov. 13th, 2015 04:51 pm
goodfellow: (Default)
[personal profile] goodfellow
Robin was on a binge.

He'd had sex with a dozen or so different people in less than a week (some at the same time, of course). He'd been drinking like a fish. He'd spent an obscene amount of money on designer clothes, and a new watch. He'd even picked a few pockets just for the hell of it.

He'd known Prometheus was going to leave, of course. It was why he'd kept him at arm's length. It was why he'd ignored every sign that Prometheus had real feelings for him. Why he'd just pretended that things were like they always were, and it was fun and the sex was good and if there were feelings they weren't important. Including Robin's own. Which were certainly there.

And then he left, like Robin had known he would. At least he said goodbye this time, and he'd given Robin a way to contact him. And Robin had pretended that it was no big deal. And then he'd gone on a binge. He'd gone full puck.

Right this moment, he'd been kicked out of a bar. At least it wasn't one of his favorite bars. He stood outside, and brought a finger up to his lip, coming away with a smear of blood. Oh, the bloke who'd punched him had gotten in a good shot. Maybe Robin shouldn't have hit on his girlfriend right in front of him. He'd also said something about the man, but he couldn't remember exactly what.

He patted his pocket. He'd lost his keys. Or had he had them in the first place? Hmmmm. Maybe they were in other trousers. Had he left his trousers somewhere? Entirely possible.

In the meantime, his lip was bleeding and he should probably call a cab. Or wipe it off with a napkin in another bar, that was a lovely idea too.
londoncallingmods: (Default)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
Halloween was as spooky or dull as you needed it to be in London. From handing out treats to those who came knocking, to attending costume parties and concerts all over the city, there was something for everyone tonight.
Plenty of bars and clubs were offering discounts to anyone bold enough to turn up in costume, and even the underground was bursting with holiday cheer as costumed commuters came and went, breaking up the dull day to day routine one usually faced while making your way from point a to point b.
Even those who chose to skip the costume were indulging in treats or maybe a creepy film or two.
There was no excuse to be bored. Not tonight. Not on Halloween.
(General Halloween GP for those who aren't keen on the haunted house! Feel free to post your pup anywhere in the city, from fancy dress parties to street corners. Go wild (or, you know, stay tame. Your call) Also, because there are two GPs going up this week, both are open to new top levels for two whole weeks! And, of course, you can keep tagging long after that if you want. :D I'll post reminders daily on slack.) 
londoncallingmods: (Default)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
 The house doesn't exist, that's the first thing anyone who might find themselves inside it would want to know. Now, you might ask how one could find themselves inside something that doesn't exist, but you'd honestly be better off asking yourself how you could leave something that doesn't exist. After all, ideas and concepts can't be burnt or broken, and you can't breakdown a door that's not there- Or was there and then decided to be somewhere else for a while...
You wake in a house though, a house that doesn't exist. A house that defies the laws of reality. There are corridors that go on for days, rooms full of nightmares, and millions of doors that lead you anywhere but out. Trapped inside with you are dozens of other people, all searching for an exit, or an explanation.
Behind every door you'll find your darkest fears, maybe even memories you've tried to forget, or secrets you never wanted to share... 
(OTA! Here is your first of two Halloween gps! This one is, of course, set in the haunted house where your pup can run into anything you can dream up! Deadly traps! Spooky monsters! An existential crises! Top level your pups waking up or running into danger, and then go ahead and tag other players! Since this is all magic-y and spooky don't worry too much about time lines and who bumped into who first. Only rule is that your pup can't escape until November 1st! Have fun! Also, because there are two GPs going up this week, both are open to new top levels for two whole weeks! And, of course, you can keep tagging long after that if you want. :D I'll post reminders daily on slack.)
the_bad_brother: (sweet face)
[personal profile] the_bad_brother
Damon had claimed he wanted some time away to clear his head, to get a fresh start, and it was actually true, but he’d chosen London as his destination for a reason he hadn’t shared with anyone. The memories he had of a strange, isolated world, the world of Darrow, were clearly his and his alone. Stefan, Elena, Caroline, Ric, they’d all looked at him like he was crazy when he asked them about it, and to be honest, he was starting to wonder if they were right.

He’d heard rumors of Rebekah in London, and since that was an ocean away from everything that had happened in Mystic Falls, he’d chosen to pursue her over Elijah in New Orleans. (Also, if Elijah did remember Darrow, Damon would want to punch him for what had happened there, and that could likely end up him being minus one heart. Since he didn’t have one to spare, Barbie Klaus was a better option to pursue. Rebekah could be cruel and petty, but that was a language Damon was fluent in, and much preferred to Elijah’s ruthless efficiency, especially covered over as it was with a veneer of gentlemanliness.)

He’d called ahead to the cleaning service that maintained his house there and let them know he was coming, and the place had been aired and prepared for his arrival. Now that he was settled and rested, it was time to start his search in earnest. And if he did find Rebekah, and she too had no idea what he was talking about, well...maybe he could find a vampire therapist. Or just accept that he was losing his shit and drink until he didn’t care anymore. That had always worked for him in the past.

He knew Rebekah’s tastes, and so he started working his way through the types of pubs she knew she would favor, showing barkeeps and patrons her photo and urging them to think hard about whether they’d seen her. Either she was compelling people to forget her or he was on the wrong trail, but London was big, and he was stubborn. He’d keep trying and exhaust all of his options before he moved on to other parts of Europe in his search.

[Damon Salvatore has arrived in London! Feel free to catch him in any upscalish pub or restaurant, or just run into him on the street.]
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
Summer was coming to an end, and fall was slowly creeping in as the temperatures dropped and the store fronts down the high street started to change to muted and earthy colours.

Menus at restaurants were beginning to change, and school for many was already back in session. Though there were still people attempting to enjoy the last weeks of summer, despite the fact that the weather was already turning on them.

As always, there was plenty to do this weekend, and though tourist season was slowing down, the streets and the underground were as busy and bustling as ever.

(Though the GP takes place over the course of Sat & Sun, it is, as always, open for as long as people want to top level and tag in. Be sure to check back throughout the week to see who has tagged in!)


Aug. 25th, 2015 01:10 pm
hardertohide: (Default)
[personal profile] hardertohide
Dutch was more than a little drunk as she walked out of the club and smiled at the night. For no other reason than it was night, and gorgeous, and the night had been great. But any more fun and she might end up puking on herself; she'd pass. She walked off, a thin figure in black skinny jeans and a slashed-back tank top, and caught the attention of a lone predator. She was trying to type a text to Jade on her phone, while walking, and that required all of her focus, so that she didn't notice that she was being stalked.

She didn't have a clue, even when the stalker in question suddenly appeared by her side, and she smiled at the handsome man. It wasn't long before they were in a small street, snogging like there was no tomorrow. Until, suddenly, the sweet, hot, slightly ticklish sensations of his kisses down her throat switched to sharp pain and she cried out, and tried to push him off, but he was strong, hard, immovable, and he easily held her in place.

It took her drunk brain a few seconds to realise that the bastard was drinking her blood.
quartermaster_q: (stickers)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
It was very important to have a work laptop and a personal laptop when you were in Q's line of work. One that was strictly business, and one that was pleasure and built to be experimented on. More importantly, where work computers were built to reflect ones professional strengths and projected a certain level of professionalism, personal computers could be a bit more fun and laid back. 

Q's personal laptop was a true workhorse, one he'd actually built himself - And rebuilt often. It looked a touch beat up, the screen coming away from the case in the left hand corner, and the keyboard so worn that all the key letters had worn away, leaving only f1 through f8 visible, along with the alt key on the left, and the end key on the far right. The case was a dull grey, covered in stickers from various events he'd attended and music acts he liked, as well as a few generic 'nerdy' logos and things. It was not something he'd take to work unless he absolutely needed to. Everything about this machine was personal- From its looks, to the hard drive he'd selected and the wires he'd used. It ran his own personalized OS, and was, honestly, one of his prized possessions.

The laptop currently sat on the table in front of him, the specially designed screen making it so only Q could see what he was typing. To anyone not wearing special glasses, the text would look like gibberish or a foreign language. It was experimental tech, but Q loved that sort of thing. He was always happy to be a guinea pig when it came to his own work.

Case in point: His hand. 

After his and Bond's recent abduction, Q had found himself with a shattered hand. He'd been told it would heal, but that it would take time, and that it might not ever be completely functional again- And that simply hadn't been good enough for the young Quartermaster. Cybernetics were something he'd only ever dabbled in, but Q was a genius- And he was the youngest Quartermaster MI6 had ever had for a reason. ...He was brilliant, and his new hand was remarkable. A mixture of flesh, blood, and electronics. Bond had been snippy about it, and M had lectured him for nearly two hours- But both men had agreed it was a remarkable bit of tech.

Q couldn't help but be pleased as it easily tapped away at the keys of his laptop, roaming over them as gracefully as ever as he worked on one of his other unsanctioned projects. He was in his own little world at the moment, lost in the elegant coding on his screen, and the music that was piping out of his headphones. He didn't notice that his phone was buzzing on the table, dancing across the flat surface as it rang silently and vibrated hard.


Jul. 5th, 2015 09:48 am
quartermaster_q: (all in black)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
"Q could do it," Tanner had suggested, prompting the young Quartermaster to look up from what he was doing and frown deeply.
"He certainly could not," the fluffy haired boffin replied blandly, shooting Tanner a look, then returning his attention to his laptop. "Besides, I don't go into the field without double-o seven."
It wasn't even official work they were talking about. Q Branch had simply gotten wind that a certain soviet agent was in town, apparently not on business, and at some point had started talking about how useful it might be to bug his personal laptop before five worked out he was here and got to him first. It had started off as light banter, a joke even, but it had gotten more and more serious as the time passed. Serious enough that someone had opened the man's file and had started reading up on the agent in question.
"It's not the field, it's a bar," Hopper, a young tech, chimed in. "Besides, you're just his type. Go in, have a flirt, bug him, then get out."
Q scowled, but it was obvious that they weren't going to let up- And really, it wasn't a terrible idea. He didn't like going out on something like this without Bond, but Bond wasn't in the office right now. He'd have to do this alone.
"Fine," Q eventually agreed with a sigh. "I'll do it."
That was how he wound up in a dreadful bar, sitting at a filthy table beside a large man who was attempting to get him very drunk. 
"Oh, just one more, come on," the man insisted, putting another beer down in front of Q.
His head was already spinning, and he knew if he drank any more he wouldn't be sober enough to do what needed to be done. His fingers grazed over his ear, tapping the device that sat inside as he assured the man he couldn't have another drop, hoping to alert his team that he needed some help- Except there was nothing. No static, no sound at all.
"What's wrong?" the Russian asked, his tone calm as his arm snaked around Q. "Can your friends not hear you any more?"
Q's pulse fluttered, and he tensed as he felt a small blade press against his side.
"You're right, you've had enough to drink," the man whispered. "Let's get out of here, hmm?"
Getting to his feet, Q let the man guide him, though the young Quartermaster moved slowly, scanning the crowd for help. He'd known this was a dreadful idea, and the moment he got away from the bastard he was going to march right back to Q branch and tell them all what a bunch of idiots they were.
(OTA! Feel free to have your pup notice the hidden knife, or not notice and simply approach Q by chance.)


Jun. 18th, 2015 08:58 pm
quartermaster_q: (Default)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
Q could be, on occasion, just a touch moody and antisocial. He'd spent the morning locked in his office at Q branch, guiding twelve through the subterranean tunnels of Paris, but with his work done he'd quietly slipped out with his laptop in search of somewhere less... Well, less like Q branch. Sometimes the sterile desks and bright lights simply got to him. It was all so clean and tidy- Terribly dull.

Which was why he'd spent the day moving from location to location. An afternoon in the park, an evening in a cheep little cafe, part of his night at a bar, tucked away at a table in the back- and the end of the night at a very dark and dingy club, tapping away on his phone as he occupied an entire booth at the back.

None of these places were approved by Six as work spaces, but that just made them all the more enjoyable as he picked apart codes, crafted new viruses and key loggers, and went about his daily tasks.

(OTA! Find Q at any of these sorts of locations throughout the day! He'll likely be taking up entire tables and tapping away on either his laptop or his phone, but feel free to make up any excuse for your pup to say hello. :D)


Apr. 8th, 2015 12:27 pm
im_torchwood: (Soldier Blue Vortex)
[personal profile] im_torchwood
After John Hart, after Gray, Jack couldn't be in Cardiff. He was Torchwood now, not just what he did but who he was, and he had a small crisis and had to get away. Although he'd broken with London's Torchwood after the incidents at Canary Wharf (which it seemed the population had either forgotten or written off) Jack found himself in England's jewel. He was ready to make a new start. And, he reckoned, the Doctor would probably visit London before Cardiff if truth be told.

He'd settled into the subterranean Hub that Alice and Emily had worked in. It had been long forgotten in favor of the building of steel and glass that had been built atop it. Bloody Torchwood...they were supposed to be secret. He'd made his contacts and had put himself to work. But even Jack needed to eat.

He had all of the city to choose from and rather than just go to a pub Jack stood on the sidewalk looking at his mobile reading Yelp reviews. There was a place just down the block and around the corner. Yelp was good and all but he kind of wanted a real opinion so he looked up from his screen and he smiled at the first person whose eye he caught.

"Excuse you know if this place is any good?" he asked, showing the screen. His American accent immediately marked him as a tourist, even though he wasn't.
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
 The evening was crisp as people flooded the West End for a night of fun. Restaurants and cafe's were full early and late, catering to the theater crowds that came for supper before their shows and dessert after. The theaters had various plays and musicals, many with big name stars- others with up-and-comers. The lights were bright and the atmosphere festive.
People wandered up and down the sidewalks and the traffic was thick. In the dark there were pickpockets but for the most part the crowds were safe.
It promised to be a good run for most of the shows if the atmosphere was any indication.


Feb. 26th, 2015 08:13 pm
quartermaster_q: (undercover)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
 It was rare that Q worked with anyone but Bond now, and rarer still that he worked in the field without double-o seven. However, M had requested he be on site with one of their newer double-o's, and M's 'requests' weren't things any sensible person turned down.

New double-o's were wild cards though, and the mission had been completed- But not without it's fair share of complications.

The end result was Q riding home alone on the tube, his hand beneath his coat so he could apply pressure to the small knife wound in his side. ...Well, as small as any knife wound could really be. He was concealing the blood well enough, but anyone who looked his way would easily see the young man was clearly in pain.

(Late tags welcome!)
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
 It was a warmer night than one might expect in February, and there were plenty of people out and about, milling around at bars, shops, and cafes- All of which had signs offering deals and good times.

On street corners buskers posed as statues and played songs for change, filling the city with sound and life as people celebrated being a day closer to the weekend.

Tomorrow there might be rain, but tonight it was dry and pleasant enough, and it seemed as if everyone was taking advantage of the fair weather.


Jan. 28th, 2015 07:42 am
not_a_hero: (pic#2372730)
[personal profile] not_a_hero
It had all happened perhaps a bit faster than Sherlock had at first considered. He'd officially come back from the dead in November, then of course there had been the holidays and general social interactions compounded by most people's anger and mild disappointment with him to weather through, a few actual cases here and there but nothing like the ones he'd enjoyed in the past, and then of course there had been a wedding to plan, which meant now there was... what? His list of current clients was nill, Mrs. Hudson was the extent of his human interaction on days when it wasn't more interesting to feign being deaf and infirm in order to make her get him something without having to exchange pleasantries or profess gratitude, and he could honestly not remember the last time he felt... well, like himself. Like the person he'd had so much fun being before Moriarty's final strike years ago; the Sherlock who did what he wanted and almost always won and had John Watson on call 24/7 for even the simplest of needs. He was far too young to have 'good old days' but nostalgia seemed a prominent feature in his routine now with nothing but an empty chair blocking his path to the kitchen.

This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all.

There had to be something interesting to entertain himself with in London's underbelly. Cases, clues, a little something he normally wouldn't be able to get away with--it would be a statistical impossibility for there to be nothing out in his city to make being out and about an improvement over lying prone on the couch, watching crap telly.

Scarf yoked and coat buttoned, Sherlock checked the battery life on his mobile and hurried down the steps of his flat and onto Baker street. It was time to forget about what was and concentrate on the now. And right now, Sherlock Holmes was in dire need of something interesting to interrupt the humdrum of a normal life.

[Bump into Sherlock anywhere in the city or feel free to phone him.]


Jan. 13th, 2015 06:00 pm
quartermaster_q: (searching)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
Outside of work, outside of his relationship with James, and outside of the various naughty activities (both online and off) he got up to in his spare time, Q lived a fairly normal life. He rode the tube, picked up his shopping, took care of his beloved cat... Normal things. Boring things. ...Things that kept him grounded at least somewhat in the world all the normals and civilians called home. It was nice, usually- A tiny escape from the reality he knew.

Though it was also, on occasion, painfully dull- And living in said world meant dealing with normal inconveniences, like going to the bank- and having said bank held up when all you wanted to do was deposit a bloody check- Something you could have done online if their website hadn't been so bloody rubbish.

He was sitting on the floor, along with several other hostages, watching as four armed men shouted at the two cashiers and the bank manager. They wore masks, so Q didn't feel as though he was in any intimidate danger (more likely to just take the money and run than shoot), but he was feeling a touch inconvenienced. The sooner this was over, the better.

Slipping his hand casually into his pocket, he sent off three texts.

The first went to Bond:

If you're not terribly busy, perhaps you could come fetch me? 4m4g17hSparrow

The next went out to all of Q branch:

Activate LCCTV44670. Thank you. - Q

The last went out to a special list he'd compiled of local agents and officers. Not just five and six, but anyone he'd deemed competent and worthy of a small amount of trust:

If anyone would be so kind, I could use a little help. Code 8967-793Q

With any luck, this would all be sorted soon enough.

(Open to all! If you are police/agent/whatever feel free to assume you got Q's text (and that the code given lets you know who he is and why you should go get him). If you are none of those things, feel free to be a hostage as well, or simply passing by! I'd prefer if no one got hurt or anything (it's just meant to be a tiny bit of excitement), but if you really want your pup to get hurt, that's fine.)


Jan. 9th, 2015 09:32 pm
raisedbycarnies: (Default)
[personal profile] raisedbycarnies
Okay. This could be worse.

Sure he’s still favoring his right leg after crashing through a window and his left hearing aid is futzing up, but he can cope with those. He’s got two knives strapped to his right thigh and left calf, alongside a padded gym bag that’s slung over his shoulder like the bow and quiver they contain. Dressed in torn jeans and a wool coat, he’s given himself an underconfident slouch, playing up his bad leg. The result is the picture of a man pushing forty who works out like he’s in his prime and suffers an injured ACL for his troubles.

His target is three meters ahead of him, window shopping with no idea that she’s being followed.

She’s got to be twenty-three, tops, cute and sweet in a wholesome way. The type you’d never figure for a spy. Hell, you’d hardly figure she has more than cotton fluff up there.

It’s why she’s a good spy. Tasha would like her.

So now just has to keep walking too. Pretend to think about buying something here. Grab a can of soda there. Keep his head down but his eyes peeled and he’ll get her pinned down.

After half an hour, his target pulls something from her pocket and it looks like a wadded up receipt. For a second, Clint almost second guesses himself as she throws it in the trash but there’s no mistaking the white chalk mark on the trash can that wasn’t there before.

So she’s signaled her handler. Now I need to follow her and find her dead drop.

[[Find Clint in any part of the tracking process! OTA!]]


Jan. 5th, 2015 09:10 pm
quartermaster_q: (sunlight chatting)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
Q'd never admit it, but he quite liked riding on the tube. He liked the way strangers were forced together, each demanding their space and ignoring one another's existence- despite the fact that they were often practically in one another's lap. In fact, tonight's ride home was a fine example of that, as Q sat trapped between two fairly young men who ignore him, and one another, while riding along in silence.

On Q's left was a small man, pale as death with hair that couldn't possibly be that shade of silver blonde naturally. Small and waif-like, he seemed to tremble as the doors slid open at each stop- until finally he rose, skittering off the train like some sort of nervous dog that had spent most of its life in its master's purse.

On the right, however, sat a very different young man. Tall and lean, but fit and still a bit tan from sun he'd certainly not seen in London. He appeared to be American, and he sat with his legs slightly spread, as if he owned the whole bloody train. ...Yes, definitely American this one. This one got off only one stop before his own, and Q watched him go, finding himself curious as to who the men were and what their stories were.

...Though that was one of the perks of being Q. He could do just that as soon as he got home. he could pull up their faces on CCTV, retrace their whole day, unravel their life stories... Perhaps he would- Right after he stopped off at his favourite cafe for a piping hot cup of tea.

(OTA- Couldn't decide who to post, so catch Logan, Winter, or Q as they get off at their separate stops. Make sure to let me know who you're tagging! XD)


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