oceancove

Who: Thomas Fraser and Hugh Cadigan
When: A few days after the attack on Amelia
Where: The streets of the The Cove; Hugh's office
What: A reunion to rival Luke and Laura albeit with about ten times less unresolved sexual tension.
Rating: PG-13 for language (it's Fraser, there will be a cuss word every once and a while)

The motorbike pushed its way through the thoroughfare. It was pointless to own a bike of this nature in The Cove, considering everyone else who was worth their salt had a car, a driver, and a fucking barista on speed dial, but Fraser wouldn't deal with that very well. For all his technological advances, he still got an animalistic joy out of straddling a large machine, drunk on horsepower and adrenaline.

That reminds me, gotta call Morta-della.

Fraser smirked. He had talked to her yesterday during a Miezvilki conference call. Actually, he hadn't really gotten on the line, since he was kind of on a hideout at the moment from the rest of the group. He infiltrated the call on his Bluetooth, privatized the line between he and Satia, and kept her...occupied. Not for too long, just a few minutes. Enough to get her thinking about him for the rest of the meeting. He then released her to the conference call again and smirked the rest of the day.

But this wasn't a sexual favor he was performing (although give him a second and it could be). Calling her again was to let her know about the involvement of the Sanguine Corporation in the dealings at the Cove. Fraser didn't look at this as betraying William...even if he was British, he was a friend. It's just a way of keeping tabs on how big this thing was getting. He had told Baine about it too. And judging by the spate of attacks on lycans lately, this situation seemed to be getting very big. The Sanguine Corporation and the Order of the Eventide didn't get their hands dirty unless the level of concern was reaching unheard of defcons.

And since he had talked to the Goddess herself, might as well talk to her Hermes.

The bike whirred to a stop in front of the office building and Fraser leaped off his ride with a glee he only reserved for special occasions. He strode to the intercom and pressed the buzzer. "Council Office," came the clipped, crackling voice. Fraser bellowed into the phone, "I'm looking for Hugh Cadigan."

"Who shall I say is here for him?"

"Tell him it's Fraser."

A brief moment, then the door buzzed, allowing him entry. Fraser practically sashayed to the door of Hugh's office once he was inside, looking around him briefly and noting the onlooker's faces. "Never seen a Scotsman with good dental care?" he snarked, and knocked on the door. Summoning his best Britney Spears impersonation, he loudly proclaimed what he'd always wanted to say at someone's office door.

"It's Fraser, bitch."

Who: Thomas Fraser, Sir William Harwood III
When: Evening.
Where: The tarmac at the airport; William's office
What: An arrival and a phone call.
Rating: Pg
Status: Ongoing.

The plane ride had been a bit uneventful in spite of a little bout of turbulence over the Chicago area. That wind tunnel gets you every single time, Fraser knew, and it shouldn't have been a surprise considering all the flights he'd taken over the US, but this time the jolt snapped him out of a very satisfying daydream about his phone call with the Queen of the Wolves. At least, that's what she'd like him to call her. It was enough to make Fraser roll his eyes, until she'd made them actually roll back in his head.

He sighed, checking his seatbelt as the stewardess announced their descent. Just what was going on in The Cove? It was slowly spreading all over the cyber networks. Fraser had to field all the phone calls William couldn't get while his phone was on radio silence. Munlochy was notorious for dropping cell phone signals and Fraser had simply given up after the seventieth time he'd tried to text Baine his location. And now of course his phone was turned off. He didn't fuck with plane rules. Everything was turned off in the takeoff.

He shifted in his seat as the plane began its descent onto the West Coast. He looked outside. The sun was quickly disappearing behind the horizon. What the fuck time was it? He looked everywhere for his phone before remembering it was turned off, and finally managed to squint at the watch of the man in the seat across the aisle. 8:15 PM? Not too bad.

He twisted around in his seat and searched the plane until he found the black tresses of his triath's wife. He snapped his fingers, motioning to her windowshade. Lyneth looked up from her magazine and gave him an 'Are you fucking kidding me' face, before pulling down the shade even more. Better safe than sorry he Spoke to her. She looked up again, nodded, and kind of smiled at him. Fraser turned back around in his seat, already dreading the nights where he'd have to stake out her position. Like a leering, supernatural version of To Catch A Predator.

When they deplaned the sun was completely set, giving Lyneth a safer exit than they had thought. After putting her securely into a cab, Thomas reached for his phone, and scrolled down. He'd call Hugh, but he was probably up to his eyeballs with work for Maniel. Or he was asleep.

There was one guy, he knew, that would just be getting up.

His finger spun the navigation ball on his Torch until he reached the H's and a slow grin came over his face. Time to start reconnecting. Better late than never.

He pressed "Call."