londoncallingrpg | Entries tagged with clint barton

Hunting down these sorts of men, the kind who bought and sold the innocent, seemed to be a pet project for Bond, and while Q wasn't totally sure what had inspired the man's mission, he respected it.

The first time they'd followed a lead like this, it hadn't gone as hoped. Though this time around at least Q was prepared to play the part. Currently he was alone in the bar, deliberately dressed a bit younger than usual, his glasses swapped out for contacts, and his hair styled in a way that made him look younger.

Q looked young anyway, but like this he truly looked too young to be a bloody quartermaster.

This was just reconnaissance though. They knew their target frequented the bars on this street, and Q's job tonight was to simply catch his interest. He had tanner in his ear, Eve on his phone sending texts, and he wouldn't have been surprised if Bond was listening or watching as well. Though he was sure they were all bored out of their mind right now. There was no sign of their mark, and he was yet to be approached by anyone who might be involved in the ring. ...Or anyone, for that matter.

(OTA! Q is kinda on the job right now, so expect him to play a part, even if you know him. Your pup can be mistaken for the target, an associate of the target, or just get have a nice chat. If you're in the mood your character can even mistake Q for an actual possible victim/target. The choice is yours.)

lcrpg_npc

WEATHER || LONDONIST || BBC NEWS

(Rather than write the same vague drivel, here is a pretty gif to inspire you, a link to the weather for the week, and a link to londonist, a great resource for all things London related. As always this post is open all week. Tag in, tag others, check back often!)

wandandawolf

Not for the first time in his life, Remus got up and looked at London. The Ministry had arranged for a stipend and an apartment in town: and with typical Ministry efficiency and precision had gotten him a flat in one of the new developments in Docklands, not far from Canary Wharf. It was the sort of thing that most people would be fighting over in an auction and the Ministry thought it wasn't 'too flash' because most of their maps of Muggle London dated from the 1860s.

So in the morning, Remus had a cup of tea, some fruit with yoghurt from the fridge, and simply sat on the couch in a dressing gown and enjoyed the view. The city spread out below into the distance: he could see grey city block after grey block, with the London Eye and Westminister tucked in behind the Eye, and the Thames winding through the landscape. It was all so different, and every morning, it was all so present. Sirius would have loved exploring it, until he got bored, and Lily and James would have taken Harry to all the museums, and - no.

Not for the first time of late, Remus felt a stranger in his own town. So after breakfast, he did his usual: he showered, slapped on some clothes, and prowled the streets a little with his wand tucked away safely. He had a notebook with him, and a pencil, with a list of all the shops and places he remembered from 1980, and he was slowly working through and crossing most of them off....

A wizard-friendly jewelers his father had liked to used was still trading, and the son-of-the-father who had served Remus' father remembered him. But all Remus could think about there was his mother's wedding ring, and the little locket he'd bought Lily and the spells he'd bound into it, and so he walked on.

In the other pocket of his tweed jacket, he had a battered copy of Milton. There wasn't much to do with his days other than park himself at a cafe and read, nursing a pot of cooling tea for hours. He had to decide something at some point, he knew he did. Just not yet.

It had been a bustling Friday, for all the sharpness of the wind: Londoners out and about, tourists thronging the pavement, a mix of scents and sounds to assault the senses. Easier to stick his nose in a book and shut it all out.

The evening crept up on him gradually, and Remus curled the thick scarf he had around his neck, jamming a flat cap on and tugging on some gloves. They only lasted until he found the nearest pub, a hive and dive of pretty young things doing what pretty young things did best. Standing at the bar, he perused the liquors on display, before selecting something that looked a vile yellow. He didn't easily get drunk thanks to a certain enhanced constitution, but trying to get absolutely wasted had more appeal these days than it used to.

"Augh," was his reaction: it was sickly-sweet and so, so strong. "That is absolutely vile, and I will definitely have another." He grinned at the person next to him, a little manic, a little too desperate to be joyous: "Would you like to join me?" Money was not a problem. Company was.

[Have a Remus. Feel free to meet him anywhere on his journey: bump into him on the street, find him at a cafe, or chat to him in a pub. Most supernatural types should tell he's a lycanthrope wizard a mile away.]

londoncallingmods

With cold weather rolling in and taking over, it seemed as though London was as eager as it could be to embrace the seasonal traditions of sharp blades on ice and food in faces.

Many ice rinks had opened this weekend, though Canary Wharf was by far the most impressive one. Large, beautiful, and not too busy if you came at the right time of day. Music played at a pleasant volume and the ice was littered with young and old, couples and singles, novices and show-offs... Anyone bold enough to strap on some skates.

Elsewhere in the city there was food to be found at the Foodies Festival. A place where you could find not just fine food, but also live-music, carollers, photo-booths and team quizzes.

It was a quiet way to start ringing in the holiday season- Or simply just enjoy the brisk weather that had crept in and was here to stay until spring.

(Gathering post! Set over the weekend, but open all week long to new top levels and tags. Tag in now and check back in often!)

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!)

prince_of_nymphs

His vision was only getting worse and worse, and after a morning at the doctors hearing nothing but bad news, he'd had to resist the temptation of just going home and hiding under the covers. Instead he'd gone to meet some American director at Stanley's urging. The man apparently wanted to make a film based on Reap, Fin's well received play, and though Fin wasn't sure how it would work, he'd agreed to have lunch and chat about it.

They'd lunched at The Ivy, and were now back at the man's hotel room, chatting about who Fin would most like to see play the lead role. In jest he told the man he'd only ever pictured himself in the role, causing the American to laugh and rest his hand on Fin's knee.

"I like your ambition," the director said, his hand creeping just a bit too high as he spoke.

"It's not ambition, it's just-"

But the man cut him off, kissing him- Much to Fin's surprise. The man wasn't aggressive, but he was certainly forward, and it took more effort than Fin was comfortable with to convince him to stop.

"Oh come on," the American laughed. "You ask for a lead role and then balk at a little heavy petting? I don't buy for a moment that you're that clueless- Or that innocent. You think I haven't been following your little media circus?"

Fin was on his feet, fixing his clothes, but he frowned at that. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Oh, please. Come on. You're letting them make some cheep TV flick about your abduction. One week you're blind, the next week you can see a bit. How much of that shit's even real? You even blind at all?" he laughed, reaching for Fin's sunglasses, then snatching him off his face with a chuckle.

"Please give them back," Fin said softly, holding out his hand and fighting to keep his calm.

"Take 'em, they're right here, sweetheart," the American replied.

Fin squinted, but the world was just shadows and blurred light today. He couldn't even be sure where the man was standing now. "Keep them," he muttered, turning away and unfolding his can as he let himself out the room and made his way back down to street level.

His breath hitched slightly as he started to walk, and though he was usually careful he was moving a bit too quickly. Even with his cane out, he wasn't very focused, and after nearly walking into traffic once, and a postbox, he managed to crash right into someone.

"Oi, wot-chit, yeah?" the man said, annoyed, but taking a moment to hand Fin his cane back.

"You watch it!" Fin snapped.

"Fucking celebrities think they own this fucking town," a woman muttered, and Fin's cheeks went red as he rushed to the corner and tried to hail a cab.

dr_spencer_reid

Spencer wasn't teaching any more, but he was still lecturing now and then, and doing recruitment pitches for the FBI. Spencer honestly didn't know why the FBI insisted on sending him out for those sorts of things, but he imagined it was based solely on his youth, not his ability to connect with other young people.

Honestly, he found it all a bit stressful. No one ever laughed at his jokes, and he was painfully aware of how odd students tended to find him.

As a result he was looking a bit low as he made his way off campus, ready to go home and hide beneath a stack of books.

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 me...do 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

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.

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!]]

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London Calling RPG

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London Calling RPG

Entries tagged with clint barton

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Gathering Post - 5/7-5/15

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Ice Skating and Noms, What More Could You Want? (GP!)

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