o5 ɂ voice + private

[mattersverymuch]

-- Oxford Circus. Join me.

[He starts without explanation, because the person he's addressing knows exactly who she is, and then laughs.]

Have you ever played with pigeons? Slower, messier. Rats are quicker and cleverer but have the disadvantage of short legs and no wings. Although I imagine they'd make things more interesting regardless. Rats generally do.

Would never have let that happen. That's why pigeons are second choice. You're welcome, by the way. Again. It was a lovely few days. Practically a holiday. Even though I nearly got injured.

[private: dean]

You deserved that, retroactively.

[private: castiel]

[pleasantly:] In the future, find an alternate solution.


( ooc; mornington crescent. and though he's inviting iris in specifically, he left it open so that a) people familiar could try to beat him and b) people unfamiliar could ask about it. fair warning: he knows a lot more stations than you do. )

Comments

[routemistress]

[Iris is grinning like a rat trap.]

And maybe a touch o' psittacosis, lovey, if you think I'm fallin' for a reverse shunt at my time o' life.

Finchley Central. You ever get them boots back?

[mattersverymuch]

[As she should be. This is the appropriate Iris face.]

Mm, well, the plague was always more interesting. And rats bite, which I should think you'd enjoy. Baker Street.

As it happens, I found better ones. Sharper.

[routemistress]

P'raps these ones are actual crocodile skin this time, eh? New Cross.

[This is an allusion to the pool hall where Iris kept her London base at the time. Also the location of a certain left luggage locker.]

...You know me too well, pet. And I must admit rats're better at stayin' where they're put.

[mattersverymuch]

Actual crocodiles. [No, sadly. But he grins like a snake at that - New Cross indeed - and answers with the location of sale. Which Iris may or may not know about, but.] Moorgate.

Only the ones with something to get out of the interaction.

[routemistress]

...Oh. Really. Tower Hill.

[Which alludes to Faction Paradox, their own alternate pocket-universe London, and the location of their gateway, a short walk from Moorgate.]

I 'ope you counted all your fingers twice afterwards, sweetheart. Them ravens'll nip off your bits sooner'n look at you.

[ Private : Video ]

[surfaceshine]

Now this I gotta hear. And you don't get a you're welcome until I'm satisfied.

[ Private : Video ]

[mattersverymuch]

I'm not sure what needs explaining.

[ Private : Video ]

[surfaceshine]

Let me refresh your delicate mind.

You are dying slowly, painfully, and pretty damn messily from an aggressive crazyvirus.

I save your ass.

You bite me on the neck.

[This all pretty casually, all things considered. Even a bit cheerful, because that's his going bluffing mode.]

[ Private : Video ]

[mattersverymuch]

You meddled.

Yes.

[Unmoved. Smiling. Pleasant. Clearly edgy.]

[ Private : Video ]

[surfaceshine]

Yeah, it's a problem. I can't seem to stop doing it.

Man, what do I get for punching you in the face?

[hunt4commonwealth]

I'm pretty sure I'm speaking for a lot of people when I say..."What?" I don't suppose you'd be willing to explain, would you?

[He's vaguely heard of Oxford, but what he remembers from history books is a university not a circus.]

Also, I'm going to go with pigeons. Rats remind me too much of Nightsiders.

[routemistress]

We're singin' you the song of our people, Dylan lovey. Listen close an' you'll 'ear the smell of the Fleet River an' see the chittering of the giant tubemice of the Northern Line.

[hunt4commonwealth]

In that case, I'm honored to be a part of this cultural exchange and someday I'll sing you the traditional Drinking Song of Jurlterra in return. My mother taught it to me on my graduation day.

[Someday meaning "when he is drunk." Because the chorus is belched and he's not feeling shameless enough right now to burp tunefully over the network, so-called "cultural exchange" or not.]

[mattersverymuch]

A common, if tasteless choice.

It's a game. Keep up or get swept away.

[hunt4commonwealth]

That's me, common and tasteless. [For Dylan, agreeableness is a shield.]

A game, huh. Well, I don't know the rules but what the hell.

Cambridge Fair.

[mattersverymuch]

The first step is admitting it, sir.

[There aren't any, which is why 'what the hell' makes him smile.] Ruislip Manor.

[hunt4commonwealth]

[He doesn't even know what Ruislip is.]

Vedran Palace.

private; video

[trenchcoatedly]

[With usual Castiel straightface.]

My apologies. I was under the impression that your psychotic attack suggested you weren't enjoying your illness. I'll note you prefer hallucinations for future reference.

private; video

[mattersverymuch]

On the contrary, I was enjoying it a great deal. But I must correct you - I'd prefer magic, not holy intervention.

Re: private; video

[trenchcoatedly]

I apologize for being unable to work with your preferences, but unfortunately I am an angel, not a mage.

Re: private; video

[mattersverymuch]

Then in future, deliver me unto those who can work with my preferences. I know how fond you and yours are of deliverance.

[lost_humanity]

And here I thought you were the master rather than the cat.

[mattersverymuch]

[Oh. Grinning.]

I am both. All. Everything.

Not many people connect those dots.

[lost_humanity]

Considering there's an actual Marquis de Sade, a Dracula, and a Merlin on board, it's surprising. But there are also men named for greater roles, rather than those that actually played them.

It's difficult to tell if they're one, the other, or both.

[mattersverymuch]

The line between story and reality is a blurry one, sometimes. That's why stories are told over and over again.

What do you think? Which are they?