The Bear and Barnacle

Rodolphus normally paid about as much attention to the weather as he did to the state of his fingernails. But now, finished with the young man snatched because of his resemblance to Harry Potter (he had dark hair and green eyes. Close enough), he realised it was stifling in the little shack on the beach he’d appropriated for his own. There weren’t any windows and the only door was shut and sealed so he wouldn’t be interrupted. Of course, there was a silencing charm on the place. It wouldn’t do for the screams of his victims to be heard. He surveyed the blood-soaked room, extremely pleased with himself. But Merlin it was hot! Normally, dismembering didn’t work up nearly this much of a sweat. He ran his arm across his forehead, leaving a red smear behind. He decided to go for a swim, just as soon as he put the crowning touch on the afternoon. Rodolphus picked up the skull at set it almost reverently on the shelf he’d prepared. It was the first of many he planned to decorate the shack with, and his only regret was that it wasn't the real thing. Rodolphus smiled into the green eyes he’d preserved in the skull, settling a pair of glasses procured for the occasion precariously on the face. It was hard to balance them properly as there wasn't any nose. “Don’t worry Harry,” he crooned, patting the bony, bloody cheek. “You won’t be alone for long.” Bugger all but this heat was murder! Rodolphus opened the door, squinting into the blazing sun. It was lower than he’d expected. He’d spent more time with Harry than he’d realised. He also realised that it was far hotter than it ought to be for January. Not his problem. He’d earned a respite and the water would cool him off as well as wash away all the blood. Amazing how far the stuff sprayed. Rodolphus stripped down and headed for the surf. He'd tidy up later. Maybe.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed and eyes watchful. A sleek black gun is holstered at his hip. A wayward woman with a briefcase turns the corner and comes to a full stop, eyes going wide as she takes in Zel and his weapon. She mumbles an apology and quickly turns around, scurrying out of sight.

Zel is doing his job.

It's certainly not the first time where a good portion of his job is to simply be imposing. But that's what he was hired for, this time to keep anyone from noticing or recognizing the politician and the actress secreted away in the hotel suite up the private lift behind him. Both careers would be in ruin and the woman would risk far worse from those of her homeland.

He rarely takes 24 hour positions, not wanting to be away from Jack and Val. Val can do a lot of damage in 24 hours and he didn't have any desire to return home to Jack duct taped to a chair while Val does whatever the hell he wants. Not that he doesn't risk that with shorter jobs, but he figures Val would need longer to actually manage to carry out such a plan that would compensate for his size enough to overpower Jack. But this job came with enough need and funding to make him accept it for three days.

It's the same sort of thing he'd take before he came to Margate with the same agreements: a flat fee based on time, plus a generous per diem for food with coffee separately billed. He rarely even touched the funds for food and those who hired him always laughed off the coffee provision, until they got their bill for Zel's caffeine consumption.

With a brief call upstairs, Zel ensures that the couple is occupied enough to not be leaving and he takes a dinner break. He collects his messages from the girl at the front desk who is brave or blind enough to be flirtatious then avails himself of the hotel's phone to first accept one morning job (he leaves the hotel to deal those he doesn't want) then to invite Jack- who is thankfully not taped to a chair or anything else- to meet him for dinner.

 
Used to walking everywhere no matter how long it takes, drawn into solitude by the grating of not-belonging in his gut, he arrives. He's seen it in the shiny, colored leaflets scattered about town, been there in the day more than once, and though he's more a creature of farmland, or even desert, he craves the relief of cool-aired silence and a place to just exist for a few moments.

( He slips through the closed, darkened shop. )

Holmes had been brooding, as he was wont to do after the holidays. He decided a change of scene would do him good and since he had a built-in occasion, why not make the most of it? So he phoned the Ritz in London for reservations and rented a Bentley for the drive. A little sight-seeing after luncheon would be interesting. No doubt the city had changed a good deal since he had last seen it. Odd how he hadn’t been out of Margate proper since he’d unexpectedly found himself here. So, promptly at 10.30 in the morning, the Bentley purred up to the curb outside Holmes’ house. Taking up his hat and stick, Holmes descended the steps and entered the elegant car. His driver (in quite proper chauffeur attire) shut the door and got in himself. They left the curb almost noiselessly, and Holmes sat back, enjoying the smell of the car's leather interior. This was a bit of an extravagant folly to be sure, but one doesn’t turn 156 every day. Five minutes later, the Bentley pulled up outside the pub and the horn blatted discreetly.

*long, long stare* You are still here.

This topic will be no good for some of you, I think. Tell us where else in Margate you are when you are not in my hair.

As I said. No good for some of you.

Inspired by the fact that several of the characters have mentioned other favorite restaurants/coffee shops/dark alleyways in their threads: For this topic, you'll be talking about/ficcing about/sketching/visiting/committing arson (whatever) in someplace other than the Pub (either in Margate or elsewhere for those who do travel). In other words, where does your character spend their free time? A tad self-defeating, mind you, but Ivonka's still in charge.

The tag is "not here," because, um, the last one caused an unfortunate accident with the condiment shakers. She says it's a pity we couldn't remember which one was salt but really our own fault.