Doors

[After a long hiatus, the jagged zigzag of the Cat's so-called penmanship returns. The ink is thick and dark.]

The whispers do so deny me the pleasure of rapport, true as they are in their cruelty. Waxing and waning, saturnine, lunary and catamenial—quicksilver, the Moon changeth her nature. I must ask once and again. Twice and again. As it refers to preference, which is ideal, as a generalisation of the monstrous, generated of the putrefaction of the earth, the fork or the spoon?

[Comm to Preston R]
[Entirely oblivious to everything going on with Ian/Ella and Beth. Post-extraction, from Langley, secure line. Beep.]

[Public]

I do not like this new Gotham. Mine doesn't karaoke anymore. What's even the point of having a fictional character in my head if he won't sing Kenny Loggins songs for a drunk, mildly annoyed public?

[Private to Max M.]

Did you locate the D? If not, there's some old, rambling country music stars coming into the studio later. I told them you're pretty and know what an armadillo is.

Just what I needed - an unexpected development.

[Harry}
Where have you been? Guess who I just spoke with? I don't know if this is going to turn out very well.

[Still figuring Max is doing whatever "work thing" took her out of town, but needing to get this out somehow. After another unsuccessful try to get Ella off the couch, even to eat or shower.]

Really wish you were around right now. I've never had to be the big sister. Especially when something's gotten totally fucked up. I can't even get Ella to eat, no matter what things I try to bring home from the grocery store or restaurants. And I can't even be mad at her. Beth's been gone for too long, and the cops aren't giving her any sort of hope. I don't know what's going to happen if they come back with the worst.

I hope that wherever you are, things are going better.
I hope you come home back soon.

[Locked to Preston R]
[After a 13 hours of interrogation about the failed job, where they finally got around to misuse of a company asset that happened to end up dead during a certain kidnapping. Still locked away in a room in Langley, and with her comm noticeably non-functional.]

Why the fuck didn't you warn me?

[Locked to Jack C]
Reed have you on a leash yet?

[About 48 hours after his conversation with Lin, and multiple attempts to sober up before finally managing to make it stick.]

[locked to sam a.]

[...] Hi.

[locked to ella d.]

I didn't Are you I'm sorry, I don't know what to [The cursor blinks after the typed words are deleted, but nothing is sent.]

[Edited after James' suggestion to lock the post so that it's only viewable to Moony, Padfoot and Prongs]


So, I've heard that Moony, Padfoot and Prongs are present.

Mischief managed yet?

[Commlink to Reed & Corvus.]

We need to coordinate a debrief.

[Commlink to every other operative, individually.]

Check in, please.

[Secure call to Dylan M. In the assumption his CIA-issue commlink is off.]

[Ring.]