Repose

[Locked to Reece E]
Hi.

[Main Street: Hannah & Rory]
[Main Street wasn't really big, and Hannah wasn't worried that Rory wouldn't be able to find her. He knew what she looked like, and she didn't think he'd forgotten. She'd visited him a lot when he was being held by Tethys, when she'd been trapped there too. It was after the death of Amy's husband, and Tethys had retrieved Hannah from the police station without any idea of what to do with her. Reprogramming seemed the most sensible thing, despite the monetary loss involved, but the government had been willing to pay top dollar for a year-long demonstration (without delays), and Tethys hadn't wanted to lose the opportunity. So, here she was, on loan to the government and with a limited timeline to find a solution. But tonight wasn't about solutions. Tonight, she just wanted to see a familiar face, and she walked along the sidewalk in a sweater and skirt, and her black boots tapped along concrete as she moved. She walked slowly; there wasn't really any reason to rush.]

[Right after this. The fuzziest of timelines.]

[Call: Sam M]
[Ring!]

ETA: [Locked to Lou D]
Dear Lou, you mind if we fatten you up, then rub your belly? Your brother-in-law, Cris

Who: Mary, Patrick and Dylan
Where: VADE MECUM
What: trying to jump into an old book
When: recently
Warnings: tame

( Happily Ever After )

Who: Cat and Leena
What: Eatin's
Where: Book shop cafe
When: Mid-morning, current
Warnings/Rating: Language.

( Truth and lies )

[Hannah S.]
[On her desk is a warm basket of focaccia and a bottle of balsamic vinegar that has somehow been aged 25 years even though it was clearly made in the lab.]

[Jack P.]

r u still at the B&B

[Atticus M.]

im quitting the B&B. ty for all the fish

[Public]

you know we probably should be worried about all the bioluminescense happening in town.

[Locked to Sasha J]
Are you going to try to run me off too?

[Locked to Damian W]
Little demon?

[Who:] Eames & Atticus.
[Where: ] A dive bar in the Capital.
Warnings:] TBD.

Eames had a variety of ways and means of letting off steam. They had nothing to do with the outrageously expensive glass box in woods, with the basin of a living room built for parties, or the studiously cool cocktail bars where piano music oozed between the orders. A performative monkey, yours truly, at those sorts of places and while Eames was built to look relaxed regardless of circumstance it didn't tickle his fancy. The clinic was about a forty five minute walk away from this place. Thirty minutes, Eames reckoned, was about the minimum before somebody gave up on a tail as a bad job. Half an hour wasn't 'close' but anything within it might have been. He gave the extra fifteen for luck. He wasn't wearing handmade shoes and an Italian suit on the way in, either. There was something jarring about a very broad, very tall man whose hair was cropped close to his scalp in handstitched wool who held himself like he could take a swing. Strip him of the wool and he looked like any other very large, very broad man made of muscle and thick-set meat in a bar. A thug, darling. Worn blue cotton, open at the neck, over denim that was agonizingly expensive but it was still denim and all denim looked the same under poor lighting.

Because it was a bar. The air smelled like cigarette smoke and soured beer, and the music was mindless and tinny, pouring out of a speaker somewhere. The people were loud and the bar was clogged thick and Eames leaned one elbow down in a knot of people and ordered his beer with a grin for the man closest who looked like he'd object. It was a filthy, salt of the earth, honest to god American bar, with a pool-table and a juke box and a list of what was on tap up behind the bar itself.

Eames swung the bottle between two fingers, and he picked up a cue from the side of the table and eyed the scraped-up green of the baize. Getting good and sauced was at least one way of unwinding and when he couldn't unreel the contents of his head neatly, whether into the hands of someone on the same team who'd stand at his back under gun-fire or onto paper, getting unwound by the five dollar bottle sounded about right.

[Locked to Caleb R]

Connie quit. You OK, or should I find additional help for the desk? Should be staffed fine for the cleaning and cooking.