Appointments

[thatmadbastard]

Comments

[ november 26th; continued from event log ]

[herotypical]

[ continued from here.

her eyes remain averted; she smiles, slowly. ]

Kinda, yeah. Kinda wonderful. Kinda very wonderful. [ but she needs to cover up her joy with some jokey sarcasm: ] So keep your hands off him, Burgess.

[thatmadbastard]

[He chuckles, as he knows it's a tease enough... though the little bastard is curious enough about the who.]

And how am I to know who not to keep my hands on if I haven't the name of the fellow? Don't tell me he's that willing, darling, or you'll tempt me.

[His own form of needling.]

[herotypical]

[ a snort. she knows where jack's tastes lie; willing wouldn't be the right word. but she likes the play. she likes the teasing and the games.

so: ] You're the one who works for British Intelligence. Intellect your way to the answer. Guess.

[thatmadbastard]

[Guy hops down from the fountain ledge with a small thud and sits on it to put on his socks and hand-cobbled leather shoes. Shoes are one place this man with throw money. Not that he won't throw it other places.]

You seem a very particular lady. I would think perhaps an utterly docile and boyish sort except something says you rather enjoy the spar.

[He's noticed her amusement at his tease.]

[pugilistinpink.livejournal.com]

Christmas Eve, late afternoon:

(Christmas-related things!)

January 10 | action

[burns_so_brightly]

[Julian did not sleep well. Not for a long time. It took some time for him to get to sleep, although he was pretending to be asleep long before. Something about Guy staying up to watch over him actually had an effect opposite to what it should have had. Julian would rather have been left alone. Being gawped at by Guy, who was already acting differently from what Julian remembered, was anything but soothing or reassuring. As tired as he was, his brain didn't slow down until well into the night, and it was a fitful sleep at best. The wrong movements sent sharp aches through his sensitive wings and woke him up. As a result of it all, he didn't wake up for good until late in the morning, having finally gotten about five or six uninterrupted hours since the last time he woke.

Guy was still sitting by him, but was now dead asleep, bent forward, one arm slack and the other bent with a cigarette over an ash tray. Julian lay on the couch for a while still, breathing, trying to process the fact that he was still here and that yesterday's events were not the result of sleeping after a bad meal. He was really here, in a completely new world, alive again. Asleep, eight extra years' worth of careworn lines were more evident on Guy's face. What had it been like, surviving a friend after parting on such awful terms? Guy did not bear guilt gracefully, and this...this hadn't even been anyone's fault, Julian realized. Guy had had to preserve his persona and Julian had had to defend his beliefs. It had been choosing the greater good over a single friendship.

The greater good. Is that what a double agent was? For Guy, it most likely was. He just happened to be loyal to two countries instead of one. I love this country. This wonderful, foolish England. Guy had been naked when he said that, and not just in the sense of having his clothes off.

After taking some time to decide he really was awake, Julian sat up and placed his feet on the floor sigh a soft, cranky sigh. He should leave and find his own place to move into, but leaving without telling Guy would likely send the man into a state. Maybe there's a way he can leave a note. Doing his best to finger-comb his bed-hair into submission, he stand and quietly searches for pen and paper.]

[thatmadbastard]

[Guy has long since been a lighter sleeper, for a double life makes a man paranoid and paranoia disturbs the mind, even in unconscious states. It's not the footsteps but the quiet rustle of things as Julian peruses the room for pen and paper, gently reaching his ears and waking him. His cigarette drops first, his hand achy and stiff from such an odd positioning for so long. Then he raises his head, blinking blearily at the morning light he'd not seen before sleep claimed him.]

Julian?

[His voice is groggy as he tries to understand what's going on.]

[burns_so_brightly]

[He hadn't been doing anything wrong, but he still feels suddenly awkward when Guy catches him pawing around his house. Sheepishly sticking his hands into his pockets, Julian looks suitably embarrassed.]

Sorry, I...didn't mean to wake you.

[thatmadbastard]

If you need something, I can show you where it is.

[Guy doesn't suspect a thing. Mostly because he has a hard time seeing Julian as anything less than an angel.

That goes figuratively as much as literally.

He rakes a hand through his hair and his wings droop awkwardly as he stands from stiff positioning. His whole body is bloody stiff.]

january 30th; good spirits; action

[herotypical]

So. Apparently? It was Monday. Somehow, the weekend had been eaten up -- and her money was on an experiment -- and now the village was left with two days missing. Such a situation had encouraged many a person to seek refuge in the local pub. Throughout the late-afternoon, Buffy was kept on her feet.

But people soon started to remember that it was a Monday and that Mondays were generally not the best days for drinking. Very untoward and yadda yadda yadda and so eventually there is a strange silent moment in the evening. The bartender is alone with one patron: Guy Burgess.

"I can always count on you to keep me company in the slow hours, Guy." This was said as she topped up his glass.

[thatmadbastard]

Guy tried not to take too much notice of the fact that several days were gone. He could blame it on the fact that his Friday had been spent mulling through the conflicting sentiments that surrounded the adjustment period of Julian Bell, graced with wings and walking amongst the Lucetians.

Friends. They had reconciled as friends. Guy would give anything to be just that close again, but that did not stop him from wanting so much more. To miss one star terribly all day.

He sought the bar because it was a constant and a familiarity and he sought it because it was a place different than where Julian would go. Or so he surmised. He didn't mind the lack of people because it gave him space for mindless things, and the only thing he seemed to have a care for was talking to Buffy. She was a most pleasant company and consistently so.

"A home away from home, your bar." He wraps his fingers around the glass, a casual tip in his head as he leans back a bit. "You're also very good company, so keeping it comes easily."

[herotypical]

"Oh. Sure. I make great company for the sloshed and the rabble-rousing. What does that really say about me, huh?"

She poured herself a very liberal glass of what was probably just cranberry juice. Maybe a bit of soda for sparkle; yet she still dressed it up with a slice of lemon and a pretty little cocktail sword with skewered cherries.

[thatmadbastard]

"It seems you are in luck as I am neither at the moment." He takes a good sized drink. "Though only time will tell just how interesting this shift of yours will be."

He watches her pour herself something with a trained eye to notice such details. "Not a drinker yourself, or one more for rules than I thought?"

Part of him is surprised he's never noticed before, or hasn't asked. He's been a bit lax recently with noting such details.

February 19th | Evening | Filtered 15%

[burns_so_brightly]

Guy, would you like to come to my place for a bit? I've got something you might be interested in.

[Cool as a cucumber.]

voice | Filtered 15% ---> action!

[thatmadbastard]

[You just said the magic words, Julian.]

You don't even need to ask. I'll be there shortly.

[He is, as promised, soon knocking on Julian's fourth floor flat.]

action

[burns_so_brightly]

Come in!

[When Guy opens the door, he'll find the lights turned down. The room is lit with candles and dimmed floor lamps instead, and a very delicious-looking spread is on the dining table. Courtesy of Seventh Heaven: a lobster bisque soup, with lightly toasted baguettes as an appetizer. The main course has yet to be revealed. On a record player, Billie Holiday croons softly. Julian is doing this right.

Julian himself is dressed nicely, but not formally--typical date night fare, suit and tie with his hair slicked and his breath freshened. There is a secret stash of mints in one pocket, but Guy does not need to know this.]

[thatmadbastard]

[Guy suddenly feels terribly dressed down for the occasion, though his habits still have him in a suit and tie as always. His fedora comes off of his head immediately, his face sweeping into a wide smile.]

Julian...

[Guy had felt terribly guilty about the shift, and had resumed the thoughts he had been tossing about from earlier that week... but this was absolutely something else.

His mouth moves to say something, but there's no sound. He's just so very stunned, his heart swelling so much he can't put words to its quickening.]

February 26th | Evening Post-Malnosso announcement | Written

[hisdarkmark]

Care to meet me somewhere this evening? Perhaps a bar? I've some things I'd like to discuss with you.

[written]

[thatmadbastard]

It's all very well that you should write, dear Draco. I thought of you this afternoon.

Your choice of locale, though the bar is preferable. Five o'clock?

--Guy

[written]

[hisdarkmark]

I'm not sure if I should be flattered, or worried.

Five o'clock, Good Spirits. Don't be late.

[action]

[thatmadbastard]

Guy wasn't late, perhaps because he found all this important, and perhaps because he was already in Good Spirits when the writing had taken place. He is a shadow that often lingers on the furthermost stool up at the bar, becoming so very much a part of the scenery that those about him hardly take notice anymore. Except for the bartender, that is.

Guy waits with three empty glasses, like tombstones, empty and lined along the countertop while his hand swirls the only tumbler that still, bearing the slosh of tinted liquid, seems to have any life at all. It isn't for the smell, but because he's bored and it gives his hand something to when it isn't occupied with holding a lit cigarette.

March 28, evening, voice

[burns_so_brightly]

I'm back. From my mission. At home. You know, in case you'd like to jump me. Or something.

[OOC: Yeah, I know it's lame, but I was kinda wanting to do one more thread with him.]

[thatmadbastard]

[The relief in Guy's voice will be so very obvious to the poet, though Guy can hardly resist holding a cocky bit of happiness in how he talks.]

Your presumption is quite astute, dear Julian. Care to come over to the flat? I've been missing you terribly.

[burns_so_brightly]

I'll be right down.

[And he is, a few minutes later. It's not a long walk. He knocks at the door twice before letting himself in.]

[thatmadbastard]

[Guy swings open the door, a wide smile on his face.]

Julian!

[He bounces on his heels, very much the Cambridge boy who rocked back and forth, lighting up in the presence of this very man. Even years later, standing before Julian Bell wipes years away from Guy's face.]

You've been all right? Nothing has happened, nothing terrible?