Oliver Frears (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
codenameathos) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
londoncallingrpg2016-08-03 02:30 am
codenameathos) wrote in londoncallingrpg2016-08-03 02:30 am
Entry tags:
OTA
Oliver had waited until he had another day off to pour over the contents of the memory stick Victoria had given him. He had read every word of that file. Every mission she'd been on. Every death she was officially responsible for. Most of them aligned with British interests, but that wasn't the issue.
The issue was that this was Anne. His sweet, beautiful Anne, who had insisted that she had only been fighting off her brother. She was capable of these things, had probably always been capable of these things.
There was nothing on her recruitment, and he had no way of knowing when she had started for them. The file as it was started a little while after her 'death', but what did that mean?
He had waited until he had another day off, because after he was done reading, Oliver went out to the pub, a solitary figure huddling over ever-coming glasses of scotch at the counter. He only moved on when the bartender cut him off. A few pubs later, he was stumbling through the streets of London, until he found himself outside her house.
The address had been in her file, the house of late Lord Winter. He rang the bell and banged on her door, yelling for her to open - without ever using a name, what name was he supposed to use? - until he gave up hope and sagged against the wall beside her door, barely holding himself up in his drunkenness.
OOC: find him in the pub, on the streets, outside her door, as you prefer! From tipsy to next to blind drunk!
The issue was that this was Anne. His sweet, beautiful Anne, who had insisted that she had only been fighting off her brother. She was capable of these things, had probably always been capable of these things.
There was nothing on her recruitment, and he had no way of knowing when she had started for them. The file as it was started a little while after her 'death', but what did that mean?
He had waited until he had another day off, because after he was done reading, Oliver went out to the pub, a solitary figure huddling over ever-coming glasses of scotch at the counter. He only moved on when the bartender cut him off. A few pubs later, he was stumbling through the streets of London, until he found himself outside her house.
The address had been in her file, the house of late Lord Winter. He rang the bell and banged on her door, yelling for her to open - without ever using a name, what name was he supposed to use? - until he gave up hope and sagged against the wall beside her door, barely holding himself up in his drunkenness.
OOC: find him in the pub, on the streets, outside her door, as you prefer! From tipsy to next to blind drunk!
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He straightened up and looked at the man again. "Are you sure you're all right? I'm Alcuin Delaunay." And watched him to see if the name fostered a reaction. He was probably just being paranoid.
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As all right as one could be in these circumstances.
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"No, but you seem as if you may need some help getting where you're going," he said gently.
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He hesitated.
"I... suppose I can only wish you luck then," he finally said.
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He had somewhere to be. A date to make.