Morningstar Manor

Eurovision Song Contest!

There used to be some serious Gay Cred attached to that, but by now, it was just fun for all, a reason to party, not to be taken serious, but with a drink and some friends to mock the unluckier entrants, their fashion and musical gaffes; a chance to be thoroughly camp, whatever one's actual sexual orientation.

So Andras had gone to the Lamb, just as in the years before, persuadded Molly to find a satellite channel that carried it, and then settled down at the bar with a pint of cider and a bowl of peanuts to watch the silliness.


[[OOC: Party post! Jump in, take a drink, threadhop, relax!]]

Fin got into line, watching Joy serve the customers and wondering, as usual, why nobody socked her one. But then, he guessed she must have her problems like everyone else.

as long as he got his order he didn't care if it came with a side of snark.

The library was a good place to work. Better than the apartment in some ways because, while the librarian still gave him the willies, he knew the worse and since she seemed quite cheerful, he could live with it.

Today he was writing about the possibility of solving at least some of the country's problems by devaluing the dollar, recalling John Connally's "our currency but your problem" comment. He had a choice of two markets for the article and if he could finish it by three o'clock was contemplating having a nice little dutch auction for it.

Fin tapped away at the library computer keyboard and hummed as he tapped.

Fin swore as he left the elevator and stalked along the corridor towards his apartment. He knew DAMN well he had picked up the right files, because he had been reading them in the elevator on the way down, but half way across town he had had another look and the papers were a set of old research about axlotls, fercrysake.

so back he had come and he hoped to God he could find the right ones. He was not a happy Fin.

Fin had had a breakfast meeting with his agent. This was a regular thing and pissed him off mightily because he knew damn well the agent wasn't that busy and even when they did have breakfast the man only picked at the food because he was on a perpetual, and unsuccessful diet.

Consequently Fin had pigged out in protest and now needed a little lie down while he digested.

He contemplated the stairs, said, "naaaaah" and went to wait for an elevator.

• Urquhart was doing the laundry, but one of the washing machines had gone weird on him. He could try and fix it on his own, but it would be much more interesting to find himself some handyman or maid and that way meet more of the staff. So he went up to the first floor to stick his head into the staff corridor and mildly bleat for help.
• Cindy was in the lobby, waiting for Andras to return with the dog. She was reading a cooking magazine, occasionally looking up from it to still not see the two loping shapes come in through the front door.
• Ricky was in the conservatory, wondering whether some seedlings of his mum's illicit crop might be grown here, hidden beneath and behind the regular plants.
• Chandika was sitting in the Mocha, having a Mocha mocha with whipped cream, syrup and sprinkles. She was texting on her phone, and giggling as she was doing so.
• Andras was outside, just around the corner, taking pictures of Axminster who was busy meeting a small pink female poodle.
• Sibyl was in the garden, walking around and looking up at the sky, while obviously deep in thought.

Last night Fin had just been taking his leave of the editor, tucking a sheaf of photocopies of old articles in his folder, when he heard a hiss of excitement run round the office and saw men and girls getting out of their seats and crowding around one particular desk. Naturally he and the editor followed because one didn't become a journalist unless overly supplied with curiosity.

"How do you spell that?" the reporter was saying and scribbled on her pad. Fin read "Boquet" upside down and frowned because the name was vaguely familiar. The editor growled at her and she grinned and turned the loudspeaker on.

"An' I'm Carl, with a see," a male voice said. "So there it was an' we reckoned it's a girl because of the dress and the shoes, and she's all strung up there like a puppet with her arms and legs out like she's - dunno - riding an invisible horse or somethin' on'y there's no face because the birds been at her."

"So you're saying she didn't hang herself?" the reporter said.

"Don't see how," Carl said. "I reckon she was put up there. So do the police."

"Excuse me," the editor interrupted. "Do the police know you're calling us?"

"Er ... no," Carl admitted. "And they seemed worried but I reckon if some guy is hanging women the people gotta right to know."

Fin couldn't disagree with that and left them to discuss finances with Carl.

On the way home he remembered his conversation with Andras about how a nice gruesome murder can sell lots of papers and felt a little guilty. That feeling persisted the following day as he sat in the Mocha with his coffee and read the screaming headlines. Only now it was mixed with unease - he'd been asked to help on cases like this before. They gave him migraine for weeks.

Andras had slipped out of bed fairly early -- for him, and for a Sunday, at least -- and was now busying himself in Fin's kitchen with the usual breakfast things, plus a basket of this or that that he'd sneaked down from his own place upstairs.

As Fin had so nicely come along to the general 'do' last night, he deserved some proper attention now, Andras had decided, with some proper sumptuous birthday breakfast.

Andras hoped he hadn't included anything that Fin was allergic to. He was really allergic to some things, in addition to the old stuff telling him unwanted stories that he was 'allergic' to.

At the moment, Andras was making coffee, in a small metal espresso maker you put on the stove. That at least would work all right.

The line was long, but Fin didn't mind.

He just stood in it and thought beautiful thoughts - mostly about cookies.

Leo had tea and Jimmy had coffee.
Charlie chose a muffin,
Vanilla or banoffee.
Allan, all bruised,
And Vincenzo, off duty,
sighed as they glimpsed
Ms Vale's passing booty.
Nick scowled at Scruffy,
Scruffy wagged his tail.
Fin pieced together
some dog-spitty mail.
And finally Ruth, with her nose in a book,
didn't spare any of the above one look.
There in the Mocha, one girl and seven boys,
Trying to give Maru's pups a bit of choice.

Fin had had to get up early to take a call from a friend in Zurich - silly bastard could never remember whether to add or subtract the hours for the City's time zone - so he'd left Andras to sleep and took himself out for a calming walk while he chatted to Gunther.

Call done, he decided to have breakfast in the Mocha. Savoury muffins, a slice of apple and cinnamon cake and a large pot of coffee. He also had the Sunday paper. Just about perfect.

This wasn't Fin's idea of a fruitful morning but he supposed that sometimes one had to support one's SO. He had no idea what was in the boxes he was loading into the elevator, just that there was a lot of them and he had to handle them with care.

He set one down and went out to the alley to get another out of the back of the car. Charlie's Kia was a godsend.

Fin had no particular idea of where they were going, but Andras seemed to know his way and he was happy to follow along.

It had been a while since Fin had visited the UK and, as usual, he found it amusing and exasperating and just plain damn scary. There was just too much old stuff for his peace of mind and the new stuff was mostly shoddy and unloved.

"God," Fin said, looking at the battered fascia of a florists shop, "this is a ramshackle little country. You'd never see anything that shabby looking at home."

Fin liked a quiet life but was prepared to disrupt his routines in a good cause. He made a neat line of the socks he had selected to take with him then opened another drawer and contemplated his boxers.

"So one room ... no, en suite's essential I'm afraid. You have? Oh grand. Thank you. Yes, we'll be arriving quite late, probably, so we won't need dinner. Oh? That's good. Thanks. Right, see you then. Thanks. Goodbye."

He finished the call and put the phone on the kitchen counter and said, "Andras? Have i seasoned this gravy enough? Come and see."

The appointment had been easier to get than Fin had anticipated - perhaps telling Temminck's secretary part of the truth had been a good idea.

Said secretary, a real thoroughbred, uncrossed her legs in a slither of silk, answered her phone and smiled at him. "Mr Temminck apologises for keeping you waiting," she said, "and he can see you now."

"Thanks," Fin said and ambled across to the office door, which the lovely young thing had just opened for him.

At the appointed time Fin rapped on the door of Declan's apartment and shoved his hands in his pockets. "All set?" he said to Andras.

The photos were the important thing in this case, Fin's text merely acting as a show case for them. They would probably sell themselves.

Andras came hopping down the corridor after his phone calls, and knocked on Fin's door, which wasn't all that far from his own.

Better talk it all over while it was fresh, before considerations started piling up.

The farrago up at the pool house had driven all thought of Ms Reed out of his mind but once it was over it occurred to him to wonder if she had been involved and what she had made of it. Since she was still making herself pretty scarce he had a word with Frank, the big security guy.

"How's Mary-Ann's schedule these days?" he said. "Any chance of her fitting me in? No? Awww pity. Well, how about that new girl? What's her face? Pretty, long dark hair? Rachael? Edith? Susan! Yeah Susan, what about her? One morning a week would be fine. I don't make much mess."

Sometimes being vague got decent results as well.

Fin set the door ajar, made a fresh pot of coffee and waited.

[ooc: trying to catch up with plot but brain's still a bit slow, sorry]