OTA

[codenameathos]

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!

Comments

[alcuin]

Once the man stopped, and looked at him, recognition registered more soundly. Alcuin didn't know the man's name, but he remembered him. Years ago, Anafiel had sent him to a party to "have a listen" and while he was there, he'd realized that there was someone else doing the same thing. He'd told Anafiel that he'd made another spy, described him, and... been told essentially, oh that guy, don't worry about him. And Alcuin had dropped it, because he did whatever Anafiel told him.

Clear recognition showed on Alcuin's face for a second as he looked at the man (whose name he did not actually know), but then he knelt to start picking up the broken pieces of glass that had spilled from the bag. "It's - okay," he said.

[codenameathos]

Oliver, for his own part, was still frowning at the mess on the ground. "No, it's -" not, nothing is okay, nothing will ever be okay again, "my fault," he finished. Probably. He was drunk, it likely was. And what did it matter? "Here," he patted his pockets for his wallet, pulled it out. "How much was it?"

[alcuin]

Alcuin meanwhile was thinking that this was the perfect sort of con, an accidental bumping into on the street, even pretending to be drunk. This man was a spy - was there some possibility that this wasn't an accident?

Alcuin put a hand on the man's wrist above where he held out his wallet, and looked him in the eyes. Determining if he really was drunk, or if he was lying. "If it was an accident I do not need your money, but thank you."

[codenameathos]

Oliver let a beat go by, then relented. "All right." He had offered, and he did not have the energy - or motivation - to insist. "I'm sorry," he said anyway, trying to appear less drunk than he was as he put away his wallet.

[alcuin]

"It's all right," Alcuin said again as he finished picking up the glass. The plastic bag now swished with liquid, he should just toss the whole thing.

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.

[codenameathos]

Oliver frowned; that last name, particularly, rang a bell. "Oliver," he answered, not bothering with a surname; he would have given a fake. He nearly blurted out, I know you, but held himself back; he was much too drunk to have that conversation intelligently. "And I didn't shatter on the ground." His nonchalant sarcasm was never far, even when he was drunk. Yes, he was all right.

As all right as one could be in these circumstances.

[alcuin]

Alcuin thought that he saw a glimmer of recognition then, but it also convinced him that the man hadn't bumped into him on purpose.

"No, but you seem as if you may need some help getting where you're going," he said gently.

[codenameathos]

"I've already had all the help I might need getting here," Oliver assured him, a drawl to his words that wasn't normally present in his usual perfect pronunciation. "Ghosts are real," he told him, quite serious, "and I've got to go and confront one."

[alcuin]

Given everything that Alcuin knew, he had no idea whether that was literal or figurative.

He hesitated.

"I... suppose I can only wish you luck then," he finally said.

[codenameathos]

"I think Fortune has nothing but scorn for me," Oliver answered, swaying a little again. "But thank you," he added, belated manners. He gestured at the bag of broken glass. "You should throw that away. It smells horrid."

[alcuin]

"Ah... yes," Alcuin sighed. He wasn't really sure what else to say.

[codenameathos]

Belatedly, Oliver remembered to apologise once more. "Sorry again," he added, then turned to go.

He had somewhere to be. A date to make.