PARABOLICAL, A PAN-FANDOM RPG

Who: Simon Templar, Roger Conway, it's a public place so it's OTA
Where: A park
When: Afternoon

This whole silence mess had at least had the positive effect of cutting down on the amount of inane chatter the general populace was wont to spout, but at the same time it was cutting down on the amount of inane chatter the Saint was wont to spout, and he was not at all certain this was a fair trade - particularly since, as remarkably clever as his method of stick-figure communication was, without proper words he was completely unable to record the poem that was forming in his head at the moment.

While the Saint had been off on his own, he'd trusted his favourite (not to say only, at least here in Los Angeles, because he would have been the favourite regardless) lieutenant with work of his own, with which he ought to be just about finished - which was why he was sitting on a bench in the park, where they'd agreed to meet at the conclusion of the job.

Simon was attempting to illustrate the concept of a bucket of martini on the back of someone else's business card,  in preparation for a post-park excursion to a bar.  He knew his Roger, and he knew the bar would be a necessary next step.

Silent night. Another silent night. In a city like Los Angeles, it was rare to have a night so quiet, even for the Gentlemen. Not that they were complaining. No, the Gentlemen and their pets were having a grand time. In a city so silent, they were never safer. Which was why they had waited so long to choose their targets. Seven lovely targets, seven lovely hearts, each one sweeter than the last. They were well protected, these lovelies, but patience indeed was a virtue, and one of their pets had discovered a crack in the defenses.

It was an hour past midnight when they flocked to the streets. Even the typical Los Angeles nightlife had quieted down, and so they were barely noticed. Seven men, in crisp black suits, with shoes polished to mirror-shine, gliding several inches off the ground, with over a dozen humanoid pets, each one wearing an unbound straight jacket and a full face mask. The Gentlemen glided down the street, their pets romping along beside them like obedient dogs. They drifted, one by one, wearing matching grins, into an old and condemned warehouse. The pets pulled apart the blockades, and the Gentlemen drifted purposefully into the sewers, moving unerringly under the city until they rose up again from the dank underground in the basement of their goal. The pets once again displayed their usefullness, pulling open the grates and the walls blocking the path, until they were, at last, within the walls that held their prizes.

The Hyperion Hotel. Home to seven lovely hearts, that would soon belong to them.

( [ooc] )