multipleoccupancy

[multipleoccupancy]

"Si, could be the dust," Lorenzo smiled as he handed over the tissues and saw her going for a spot on her neck, no doubt where a necklace must have been. "Something is missing?" He asked innocently enough, it could have been anything of course but given where they were, he assumed it was a cross necklace which would make sense to him and only really spurred on his idea of what he wanted to 'test' in any case. There was no point in trying to find it in that moment if he was correct, it would only get lost again.

He waited for her to answer him, he'd not missed the flush of red in her cheeks and assumed his voice was not the only one she was hearing but if this was a possession it was unusual. Demons did not usually allow their hosts to function in every day life, either the possession had occurred in the last few hours and had not taken hold or it was something new he'd not encountered before. She agreed to let him test something and his jovial nature remained as he pulled up the chair from behind the desk, patting it's back. "Come, sit." He instructed.

Lorenzo didn't wait for her to do so as he moved to his kit and began to pull things out, removing a section which held the key items to reveal a deeper compartment of things to apparently rummage around in. "Hold this," he then instructed, turning around just briefly as he slipped a silver crucifix into her hands. He wanted to see what would happen and he was sure to stand side on as his other hand seemingly continued to rummage in the unseen things in the other compartment. He assumed there would be some reaction, he had other tests but that one seemed easiest and at least subtle.

𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐎 & 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 @multipleoccupancy

Olive was surprised that Father Lorenzo seemed so concerned about her health, but pleasantly so. What a kind man, really. On the other hand, the Voice was clearly unhappy about it. It was being particularly vocal, hissing foul things into her mind -so foul, in fact, that her cheeks had turned red. She fell silent, trying to focus on Father Lorenzo instead. He had something to help? She supposed priests could have antihistamines into their bags, too. 

She sneezed, right on cue. Oblivious to the cause of her sneezing, Olive awkwardly rubbed her nose with another apology. "Must be somethin' in the air," she chuckled, but the sound lacked her usual panache. The Voice was relentless and exhausting, today. "His teachings are always welcome, of course," she then added, her hand reaching for the cross around her neck. It was, however, nowhere to be found. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, in vain. 

"Oh no-" she whispered, "I can't believe I've lost it again."

But Father Lorenzo was handing her a pack of tissues, interrupting her search. "Much obliged," she was sure to say as she took the tissues. It seemed he was not done surprising her, though. "Test somethin'? What kind of thing?" Did he know some sort of remedy for hay fever? From what she could see, his suitcase held nothing but your typical exorcist things -and some more unusual things, too. But nothing that could help with her sneezing, save for the tissues he had already handed her. 

ñÈVÈR †RÚ§† Ä þRÌȧ†! WHÖ KñÖW§ WHĆ HÈ'LL ÐÖ †Ö ¥ÖÚ, ÐÚMß GÌRL! Ì KñÖW WHĆ þRÌȧ†§ ÐÖ, ÄñÐ †RÚ§† MÈ ¥ÖÚ ÐÖñ'† WÄñ† †HĆ.

Olive managed a wobbly smile. "Of course, Father. You can try anythin' you want." She had never listened to the Voice before, and she was certainly not going to start now! "I really appreciate it. I'm sure you've got more important things to do."

[multipleoccupancy]

Gatsby chuckled at the talk of bears tumbling into her garden and then grimaced as she reminded him of the wildlife in the city. "Quite, though I have seen a fair few seals land on my private beach during the winter," he tried not to down play the city but did a double take at her sympathies for his dead family and then his shoulders dropped at the reveal of her own apparently genuine loss. Well now he felt bad.

"Thank you, I am sorry for your loss as well," he said back politely but was glad when the topic moved on, "I own a chain of drug stores across the country," Gatsby explained of the business side of his wealth, "I shouldn't like for my celebrations to one day have to stop so a reliable income is necessary," he cracked a smiled and nodded back out of the window to the noise of the people below. Of course he would say nothing of his bootlegging businesses, drug handling nor bond fraud, no one needed to know who didn't already have access to that information.

She reminisced about her small town in Oregon but he didn't have to look hard to see the sadness it seemed to hold too. He sympathised and took a moment to think of a way to comfort her. "Home is not always where we are happiest, but it remains the place we love." Not for him of course, after travelling the world and settling now on West Egg, he could think of plenty of places that he loved much more. She asked of San Francisco and he hesitated.

"Well, in truth, Ms Jacobs, I don't." Gatsby answered honestly, he'd never even been but had memorised maps and postcards of the landmarks. "It's built on quite the steep hill, I should think it will take a great deal of alteration to allow for motorcars to navigate the hills and not to mention the infrastructure and the governance of the city is different from other cities. Up until recently it was essentially run by a ruthless brothel owner and I see she has been causing quite the stir amongst the officials in place and the spread of law and order has made it quite a different city to the one I knew as a boy." Gatsby rambled, almost like a dictated paragraph from a textbook.

"Between you and I, perhaps I am more glad not to be there as my legs are thankful for the move away to more level grounds." He smiled charmingly, convincingly as he hid his lie with apparent experience and honesty that in fact did not exist. "I much prefer the culture of this coast, I am sure you might feel the same in time if you're intending to stay?" Was she staying? Has she moved to New York, surely not just to accidentally walk into his study one day but who knew in the modern era. Much like himself, there were opportunists everywhere. "Others have moved here most successfully, the city seems to be a welcoming cocktail of talents, skills, interests and opportunities. What is it that you do?"

𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐁𝐘 & 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐀 @multipleoccupancy

"Oh yes," she laughed happily, "bears are quite the sight. Trouble from up close, of course. But they sure are lovely to see them from afar. Especially the occasional cub tumbling into my garden." She shook her head. "Only rats and pigeons in New York, unfortunately. But the City's charm lies elsewhere."

San Francisco, California. Samantha took note of the information, so she could look for a Gatsby family in San Francisco if needed. Unaware that he was lying through his teeth, her smile faltered when he mentioned they were all dead. "I'm very sorry," she offered sincerely, "I know how it feels. I lost my mother when I was very young."

Samantha would learn to be less trusting with the passing years, but for now she saw no reason to try and see through him. What she was trying to figure out was whether or not he was a cultist, not if he was really from California -or if he had really lost his entire family. So, she had accepted his story as it came. 

"It's very generous of you," she hummed with a smile. "You inherited all your wealth from your family, then? I heard you were quite the businessman, too." Or a cultist, perhaps? Rituals could make one rich, after all. 

His question made her hesitate. Home was a complicated place, for Samantha. But she was to play the game if she wanted him to answer her questions. "I do," she admitted, "it is a small town, and it carries painful memories. But it was my home, and I love it." And then, with a twinkle in her eyes, she asked back: "Do you miss San Francisco?"

[multipleoccupancy]

Totally oblivious to all of Jeremiah's thoughts and only hearing the 'yeah, alright' in response, Lorenzo assumed that the man did not wish to speak any more and was perhaps turning a little aggressive. Lorenzo didn't mind though, he'd dealt with monsters and other creatures from Hell, an annoyed man was hardly a worry for him. He spent the time admiring the scenery instead or watching Dog trotting along beside them. It didn't take long to reach the graveyard and Lorenzo spent a moment at the gate in respect to the dead before entering with Jeremiah. A quick scan confirmed they were alone and Lorenzo laced his fingers together, tucked them neatly at the base of his ribs in a very priestly stance as he looked over the other man.

"Signore, I have heard you have seen a man who haunts you? That you went to a town that had a haunted house and you saw some terribile things?" Lorenzo went straight to the point, no point in beating around the bush with it, he'd said he wanted to talk about that and while he was a laid back man, he did have a job to do.

"Many people, they see and hear things," he gestured to his eyes and ears and then shook his head, "but they are sometimes in the mind, what I have been told though is that it is something more, something grande, that you have experienced. You or someone was hurt? I am not a priest you must watch what you say with," he smiled, "I have seen and done many things across the globo, I am very hard to scare off. So come, amico, explain." Lorenzo kept Jeremiah walking along the path in the graveyard, it was hardly far to go but the man had been silent on the second half of the walk, he was looking for somewhere to plant him down and make him talk.

"Tell me of this house? What happened?" He encouraged while he kept an eye out for a good stone bench like in Rome, only to see an old slightly rotten wooden one. Hmm, he assumed it would be safe and made a b-line for it.

Yes, there was a line between good and bad, but Jeremiah was certain that he had crossed it. In fact, he'd crossed it multiple times! He'd got no pleasure out of any of it, but it had still happened and he couldn't come back from that.

Still, Lorenzo's response at least reassured him that his pastor hadn't told the man anything too bad. If the situation with the child had come out, then a priest - one from the Vatican, at that - would surely hate him, right? And he'd be right to do so! What Jeremiah had done may have been necessary, but it was still unforgivable.

The lack of knowledge about his activities meant that the man's words help no water, though. Jeremiah smiled weakly and nodded anyway, but he didn't internalise the reassurance in any way. He was a bad person. If Lorenzo knew the truth, he would think that too. It was nice to pretend otherwise, though - and he certainly didn't want to admit to anything that wasn't already know, both for legal reasons and because he didn't want to risk anything truly dreadful being spread around the town.

Jeremiah didn't speak Italian, but he'd spoken to enough tourists in his career and had enough common sense that he could work out the context of Lorenzo's occasional foreign words. 'Diavolo' wasn't one he'd heard before, but it had to mean devil, right? They sounded similar-ish, and it'd make sense if the pastor had been telling stories. Really, of all the things that troubled him, that was the least of his worries. After all, he'd banished the Devil, hadn't he? It wasn't like Dogman or any of the other shadows in the woods that continued to haunt him. As unholy as those things were, though, Jeremiah doubted that a priest could do anything about them.

"Yeah, alright," he agreed. What else could he do? He'd already agreed to talk, and if he backed out now, it would be incredibly suspicious. So yes, Jeremiah would tell the other man whatever he wanted to know. He may not give the full details, but he would certainly talk to some extent.

With that - his explanation promised once they were somewhere more private - Jeremiah fell silent, happy to remain that way for the few minutes longer it'd take to walk to the graveyard.

[multipleoccupancy]

Open Starter - Moriarty

His lectures were his pride and joy, Moriarty might have enjoyed the challenge and thrill that came in undermining multiple international governments, militaries and societies for his own benefit and entertainment but Mathematics? That was his true joy. The Professor had just finished his latest talk on thermal dynamics and was taking the time to gather his belongings just as he spotted someone passing him by, something about them caught his interest and he was quick to intervene.

"Excuse me? Would you mind sparing a moment to assist me?" Moriarty called to them, putting on his best bumbling academic persona as he stepped out from the desk and seemingly accidentally knocked over the tray of chalk for the board. "Bloody hell," he cursed himself while internally praising as he went to start picking them up. "That's what I get for keeping my hands full," he laughed at the joke that had never manifested out loud.

[multipleoccupancy]

"I'd like that," Theo said of working there with her one day, they'd start at the same time so long as he had his funds in order and managed to get his grades he'd be there. He looked on for a long moment just at the building, drinking it in and imagining himself meeting Cassandra at the doors, ready to go in to start their day as graduating FBI agents.

Theo was pleased they seemed to attend a Careers Fair, nodding as he took in that information. "That's cool," he commented and noticed her blush before she explained, he cracked a smile and managed a little laugh. "I'd like to think I'd be brave enough to ask them things but man, I'd probably break and either ask every question that came to mind or forget my own name." He'd met FBI agents after they were robbed, he'd not realised how much he'd like to be one until after the agents had already left.

"Oh!" He could hardly refuse going now could he? "Sure, that would be really good, I will probably make a b-line right for their table," he laughed a little nervously, he'd have to check he could make it of course, he was picking up odd jobs outside of school hours to help pay for the rent for the trailer park. "I'll try to keep it free and we can come up with questions we want to ask, I'll channel some Queens energy to brave it." He flexed his arms playfully as if his home town energy might make him stronger, but really he supposed it was the case. Queens could certainly teach a boy how to handle most situations.

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍 & 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀 @multipleoccupancy

Cassandra knew the place, she'd been there plenty of times before. But she still felt amazed by it, and a little bit excited, too. Not only had she made a new friend, but he wanted to be an FBI agent, like her!

"Isn't it?" she replied with a big smile on her face. "We might work there, one day. Can you imagine?" They'd be colleagues, right? How fun!

She put down one foot, balancing her bike between her hands. "They come for the Career Fair, every year," she explained, "they have a table there, they hand out flyers and everything." And then, blushing: "I've taken so many flyers from them, but I've always been too shy to ask them questions." But maybe she wouldn't feel as shy with Theo!

"The fair's in a few weeks, we could go together if you wanted. It's in the school's gymnasium." The Career fair wasn't particularly thrilling, save for the two FBI employees who would certainly be there.

[multipleoccupancy]

Gatsby only smiled at the comment on most men thinking different, he'd missed the context as he assumed he was just being more polite than the others rather than how he claimed it was in some way an honour to meet the first and only woman agent so far.

"It's imported," Gatsby explained of the car, beaming as she complimented it. The garish yellow certainly made it very distinct in the city but that's how Gatsby liked it, it meant that those in the know of who he was tended to let him go about his business undisturbed. He didn't doubt that once Agent Monet got to know him through the same channels, she would leave him be too. All the same, he had his proper address and he smiled, "thank you for clarifying." And with that he politely closed her door and walked around the front of the car (so he would stay in sight) and into the drivers side.

"Agent Monet," he said warmly as he started to set up the car ready to go. "I have not had the pleasure of the company of many FBI agents as it is," he confessed, "those I have met have usually been revellers at a party," a very useful interaction he'd found for obtaining information on people and learning just what they were investigating. "Forgive me, they get so popular and are so frequent I am sorry to say I might have missed you if you have attended in the past, have you been before?" He asked curiously, really wanting to know if he should be asking his staff about her when he got home later.

The engine started up, Gatsby paused for just a moment, a single and very measly check before he put his foot flat down on the pedal and off the car started. It got worse very quickly too as the car gained more and more speed and Gatsby was starting to swerve in and out of traffic. He was calm though as he spoke to her so casually while he adjusted the gears and even glanced her away as if he were not speeding through the city. "How is it that you came into your role, Agent Monet? It's a rare feat and I had not expected to ever encounter a woman quite like yourself."

𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐁𝐘 & 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 @multipleoccupancy

"None taken," she assured him with a casual smile, waving her hand dismissively. His enthusiasm dragged a burst of laughter out of her. He really shouldn't be so honoured, she thought to herself. An FBI agent wanting to talk to you was usually bad news, woman or not. "Most men feel quite differently," she pointed out playfully.

"Yours, then," she agreed, thinking that yes, she supposed he must have been called a good salesman before. But what kind of salesman was he, exactly? "It is much nicer than mine, I must say."

She sat down in the passenger seat, thanking him as he offered her his hand -which she took. The car was really much nicer than hers, but then again she was living on an agent's salary. It was clear Jay Gatsby had money, and a lot of it.

"Please, just treat me as you would any other federal agent," she asked, though she was rarely given such a treatment. People usually treated her as an absurdity, something to either mock or be horrified at. Gatsby was, at least, politely intrigued and actually trying. "Call me Agent Monet."

[multipleoccupancy]

Arthur had been awake in Avalon, but he had not seen how the world had changed beyond the veil. While some whispers of what lay beyond had managed to make it through now and again from the spirits of the old world, their access to it had eventually faded and he and the others that resided there almost forgot that there was another world they had shut themselves off from. His summons back through had been the reminder for them all. It was still a vastly different world to what he was used to.

He again noticed that Mycroft dodged his question and Arthur's eyes did narrow just a fraction for a moment. There was no malice in the look but there was certainly worry, Mycroft had kept things from him before that was nothing new but that was two questions on the trot where he had dodged answering which did not bode well at all for what Arthur perceived the world beyond to look like. Lacking magic, ritual or anything sacred from what he was getting.

Ever the King though, Arthur let Mycroft explain how things that appeared magic were not, baffled at the thought of flying people and crossing oceans in hours. His eyebrows raised, impressed and a little in wonder at what lay beyond, excitement even but he knew he could not just go along with not getting answers. "You have avoided two questions of mine as artfully as ever, Mycroft," Arthur pointed out, he'd helped him make counsel at the round table, he had to have seen it was coming.

"I have always expected honesty from you and dodging the questions does not count as such. I am a grown man, I can take the truth." He reassured him. "No more dodging my questions, old friend, I am already wary of this whole situation, I need to know you will not hide things from me any longer?" A serious request as he put his hands together in front of him, still getting used to the feel of the strange modern clothing. "I am a King of Old, remember that." When times were different but certainly much more demanding of a monarch. Arthur was a leader, a warrior and well connected to the land itself. "I have my flaws just as much as the next man, but I am better knowing the full picture even when incomprehensible. Do I have your word and your trust?" He smiled as he added on the last part, they'd been through so much together before, surely he had not lost all hope in Arthur's abilities.

It was good to see that despite his absence, Arthur remained the same. That wasn't really surprising though, was it? For him, time hadn't passed. He had been in one period one moment, then another the next. Or, at least, that was how Mycroft assumed it to be. Truth be told, he didn't fully understand the mechanics behind what had happened, nor had it been a priority of his to find out. For a long time, he'd simply assumed that Arthur was never actually return.

Not that Mycroft was ever going to admit to any of this, of course. Despite the many years that had passed, nothing had reduced his need to be constantly seen as the smartest man in the room.

The topic of magic was not one he particularly wanted to discuss. In the past, he'd gone along with the assumption that he was some kind of wizard - to a degree, he had even cultivated it - but the majority of his 'magic' had really been tricks he had picked up over his many years of life. Some of it had been real, though - but he wanted to talk about that even less. In the modern world, there was no room for such things.

"You are going to encounter many things that you will assume are magic," Mycroft instead warned. "They are not. There have been countless developments that will amaze you. Aeroplanes, for example. Man can fly across oceans in a matter of mere hours now."

It was amazing. With how he'd experienced the slow crawl of time, it was easy for Mycroft to lack any kind of wonder at modernity, but when he stopped to think about it, he couldn't deny how extraordinary these things really were.

[multipleoccupancy]

Open Starter - Arthur

It was common to find Arthur walking about in the streets along side his people, some tended to greet him, others did not immediately recognise him or were too busy in their own lives to even notice him. It was how the King preferred it. Which made it all the more easy to walk into his path. "Careful, friend," Arthur was sure to warn, his hands out ready to catch an off balanced person.

"It would not do either of us well to end up covered in mud, I dare say the laundrette might be pleased of our business but it is quite the walk back home to change." Arthur joked with a smile, "Are you alright?" A second to double check, he'd never want to hurt one of his own.

[multipleoccupancy]

@hvbris Crime Lord and Fashion Icon don't watch The Games

Gatsby had never enjoyed The Games, while they were mandatory watching he couldn't think of a time he had actually found himself sat down and staring at the screen. He might have had his own questionable interests and opportunities he took advantage of but forcing starving children to fight to the death in an arena was not one of them.

He often used the mandatory viewings as an excuse not to throw his parties, when The Games came on, Gatsby's enormous mansion went dark and silent. While Gatsby still spent many of his evenings at the end of his dock, pining over Daisy on the other side of the bay, he did not just wallow alone in the mansion. After discovering by frightening accident that there were others in high society who did not enjoy The Games, he'd extended an invitation that year to Tigris. A refuge for them both. While the broadcast would indeed be on in the room given he still had staff attending him, having someone with him who also didn't want to watch what was happening would make for a much easier distraction.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Ms. Snow," Gatsby greeted warmly on the steps up to his front door. "I have some cocktails set up in the Green Room if you would care to join me?" Polite and careful, Gatsby still had staff around and he didn't doubt that some of them were spies for Snow. He offered her his hand to help her up the final few steps and of course he would kiss the back of her hand as he always did. "I've opened the patio doors as well so we might enjoy a fine breeze." He managed a smile but it was a grim time of year for both of them.

[multipleoccupancy]

Arthur nodded his agreement to her decision, that was no issue to him. Camelot was a place of opportunity and fairness and Fish was more than capable of being a knight amongst his other knights. "Perhaps you will, I expect there will be plenty of young ladies who will be keen to meet you and talk to you about this." He mused with half a smile, proud and a little knowing of how his people would behave. If he had more knights then he would happily accept the worthy amongst them.

He at least had to trust that she would indeed ask him if she had a need to borrow one of the artifacts and he did trust her. She wouldn't betray him but his gaze lingered on her, he had thought that about people he truly cared about before. He could not shut himself off from believing in people though, Arthur managed a small smile. "I am glad you tried and I believe you," he said honestly for her not stealing from him again. "We can still sword fight over them though," he just had to tease.

He smiled a little happier at her comments and after looking off to the armour still on the alter, Arthur decided his best option was to stand up. He wanted to touch her, to show his affections and any excuse would do, so he offered his hand to help her to rise from the pew too. "You should try on your armour, make sure it is a good fit. I doubt it will need alterations, however we should be sure." Arthur rambled, but his eyes were on his own hand, waiting for hers to grip it.

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 & 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 @multipleoccupancy

"As much as I would enjoy that, I think I should be called Lady Fish. Being the First Lady-Knight requires me to honour my gender." Even though she would have loved confusing historians! "Who knows, I might inspire a young girl to strive for more than what she believes she can do."

She smiled. Yes, she was not in it for the titles. The armour, however, was an exciting perk! Her eyes drifted to the beautifully crafted armour -and enchanted, too. Oh, how she was impatient to wear it!

A burst of laughter left her lips, echoing against the heavy walls of the Church. "I won't steal holy artefacts again, I promise," she assured him with a playful smile. "And if I need to borrow them, I will ask you first. You have my word." A mischievous grin curved her lips. "But you have to admit that if I had not tried to steal the Holy Grail, we would have never met."

Her smile softened. "Thank you, Arthur. I'm very pleased to be here, too." This was a holy place, and so she refrained from putting a hand on his shoulder -while she was a wild little thing, she could still learn a thing or two. "And I am very honoured to be part of the Knighthood of Camelot."

[multipleoccupancy]

Killian was not having an affair with Samantha and in suggesting it out loud, Dallas would make an enemy of him. He would never betray his wife but he would make no revelations to Dallas just how much he adored Andrea and the close near sibling relationship he had with Samantha and their own history. But the insult about his loyalties and professional conduct would be visceral and he would struggle to claw back respect and patience from Killian, the man beside him insisting on the proper behavioural procedures for a working environment. Luckily for both of their sakes, that had not been said out loud.

He was at least pleased he did get an answer to his own blunt question and it was Killian's turn to raise an eyebrow at Dallas for his reasons on being difficult with Samantha. "That's your excuse?" Killian nearly scolded, another quick glance his way before returning his gaze to the road. "You're upset that you have to fill in a little paper work? That you have to behave in a respectable way to your fellow agents? Your peers?"

In Killian's mind that was not a worthy complaint to be upset about. He'd have understood the strain of not having time for family or a life outside of Delta Green to maintain a job and stable income for supporting said family or just himself in whatever he was doing in Texas. Delta Green was demanding of all its agents in so very many ways and it certainly took a great deal from those on the field in both time, energy and other aspects of their lives. To be upset about it changing to try and make agents lives a little easier was in short, baffling and frustrating for him.

"I'm sorry Lone Star, but I don't think you will have my sympathy on this one, pining for being able to behave however you want and not face any consequences or to have to share what you've learned with other agents in a safe but useful way isn't going to cut it as a reason to be this disrespectful to another agent. Especially one who is trying her best to make the lives of agents at least a little better when they're out on the field" No it was not going to be an easy journey after all. Maybe he should turn on the radio?

As Dallas glanced towards Killian, one eyebrow slightly raised in question at his firm belief that he wasn't about to get screwed over by HR department, he couldn't help but wonder if he was screwing it instead. That'd explain a lot, wouldn't it? The trust, the defence of her... And hey, Samantha was in no way Dallas' type, but he wasn't going to judge anyone for liking something different!

It did occur to him that there could be an alternative solution, too. Dallas doubted that Killian's confidence could be driven by his love of bureaucracy alone - after all, a man like him was undoubtedly aware of the trouble within the hen house of illicit deals and covered up misplays - but it could be that he and Samantha had worked together closely for some time. Considering that Killian was one of the old guard, perhaps they'd been in the same cell together...

But then, an affair was a much more entertaining solution - and anyway, cell members could sleep together too, right?

He couldn't help but chuckle at Killian's own blunt question. Over the years, Dallas had known many people who he knew were just itching to ask him what his problem was, so good for him for actually voicing it. It was a boldness he could definitely appreciate.

"It just ain't what I signed up for - all this paperwork and trainin' seminars, y'know? I was lookin' excitement, and brotherhood, and the chance the save the world."

At the end of the day, it was as simple as that. Now, the brotherhood was certainly got, and while the excitement and heroism remained, it felt restrained in a way it never had before.

Of course, there was also the fact that what with what his cell was doing, Dallas had known there was a job in it that'd finally get his mother off his back about his future career prospects - but he was hardly going to admit that little fact!

[multipleoccupancy]

Open Starter - Lorenzo

True to his nature in completing another mission, Lorenzo had made a point to treat himself to a suitable coffee from whatever local café he could find, he wanted to sit, drink, watch the people go by and hope that his horribly bruised ribs from being thrown about the room would settle and the painkillers would kick in before he had to get to the airport to fly home.

He stiffly walked in, ordered himself a Cappuccino and carefully sat himself down at an outside table with a loud noise of complaint, almost deflating once he was sat down and he wondered if he would be forgiven for just staying right there for a few hours to recover.

As he sat though, he could smell the distinct stench of sulphur, to him it was a dead give away and Lorenzo let out a loud sigh and ran a hand down his face. Another possession or just someone who worked around a lot of sulphur? He'd be remiss in his duty if he didn't check. He cast a quick look around and spotted who it was he thought was the cause.

Lorenzo seemingly dropped his wallet on the floor under him and he let out a short huff of surprise before looking to the person he wanted to investigate again and put on his best priestly demeanour as he reached out just to get their attention, "Perdonami, I wonder if you would help?" He asked, his Italian accent clear from the first syllable, "I have dropped my wallet," he gestured rather obviously to the old and rather thin looking wallet under the chair. "Would you?"

[multipleoccupancy]

Time was different in Avalon, while it still passed and each day was different from the last, King Arthur and the beings he was protected by did not age nor could they explain how long they had slept, sang, danced nor dined hours or centuries, either could be true. He was aware of that constant trickle of progression, of movement and change in the Earth itself. Not quite a purgatory with the life he had in Avalon but it was not quite living either.

Rhyme and whisper of the world he had temporarily left behind occasionally made it to his ears, trusted friends and ancient beings of magic coming to share their news, their canards and assumptions but even Arthur had noticed that they were becoming less frequent and tales told of a different world from the one he was born in as the magic retreated, lay in hollow stones and buried sites, long forgotten or turned to myth. It hurt his heart and troubled his mind for what it meant for his eventual return, if that was still even a possibility.

Then one starlit night, Arthur felt the weight of someone else's burden, a paternal worry, a grief beyond measure? Familiar to his old heart and an icy reminder of his fallen kingdom. The raw emotion from this other being rattled through Avalon, unspoken, unclear as if distorted by the ripples of the veil but a draw for the old king nonetheless, a plea of something or someone who was passing too close to one of the remaining gateways to Avalon. It was rare the old king would make himself known but the draw of that night felt as if it were important and for better or worse, the stars aligned as a figure appeared before him in turn.

So Arthur stood himself imposingly tall but his stance was not that of intimidation. A warrior and king he may have been but even centuries later and long parted from his beloved Camelot, humility, kindness and a love for those in need remained his core principles as he gazed ahead. He could recognise the ancient magic of the other man, he was no mortal, something about him held the wisdom of age and the tiredness of immortality. He cracked a patient smile at the wary question in 'Saesneg' and took a step forward, a warmth to his presence that dissolved some of the mist, revealing him in full. Older, grey but tidy and regal, sporting the long lost colours of Camelot in his robes, a gleaming chainmail under them betrayed his age even if the lines on his face did not.

"No," he answered with gentle ease, Brythonic was his preference and mother tongue but he would be in a lot of trouble had he not learned the base dialect of Old English and in his time in Avalon, modern English. "These are not your lands, but they are connected in their own way," he cast just a quick look around them, drinking it in anew rather than looking to conspire. "And they always will be."

Arthur's gaze returned to the other, patient and peaceful despite the curiosity and that ever fateful temptress that was adventure! "I felt your sorrow, friend. You have called me to you through the pain in your heart," Arthur's right hand rested against his own chest, "I am Arthur," he introduced himself without his title as he always did, "share your name with me and let us find a resolution to your woes together?"

@multipleoccupancy: At the Edge of Avalon, Albion Weeps.

Somerset, 1782.

As the sun withdrew and dusk enfolded the land, Arthur rode westward beneath a sky grown heavy with mourning, his horse’s tread dull upon the softened earth. England felt bruised, exhausted beyond flesh and bone, shaken by a loss so profound it seeped into every corner of the country. The war across the sea sapped him in ways that no century before had managed. It was true that he had weathered worse defeats, but none had struck him with such an intimate force as this. He had reared that boy with patience, hope, and the presumption that need would bind them always. And yet, that bond was severed. Arthur's grief cut deeper than the bayonet through his chest, and no Parliamentary speech could mask the devastation that he carried. And though the empire yet endured, moved forward by sheer momentum, a quiet dread gnawed at him—what might that wayward son become, left to shape a future without him?

Glastonbury Tor loomed before him, a dark tooth against the fading sky, its tower half-swallowed by ivy and lichen. They called it the gate to Avalon, where legend said King Arthur rested beyond time, and where the veil ‘twixt myth and memory grows thin as breath. Beneath the shadow of his legendary namesake, he came to gather scattered thoughts and confront the burden of legacy. Oft did the world mistake one for the other, casting him as the living echo of that ancient legend, yet Arthur knew their truths diverged sharply. Still, the anxiety that Alfred, lost to revolution, might one day tread the path of Mordred—the son in legend who turned his father’s blood to betrayal, whose hand struck down the king and shattered a realm built on loyalty and love—bore down on him with relentless heaviness.

Arthur eased the reins and slid down from his horse, his boots sinking into the yielding earth. The wind had dropped to a whisper, carrying the faint scent of wild thyme and damp moss. He lingered awhile, shoulders heavy, his gaze drifting across the distant fields as he sought some small reprieve from the turmoil of his thoughts. Time lost its measure as he wandered the empty mound’s gentle curve, until at last he reached out, fingers brushing the cold, rough stone of the ruin—anchoring himself in its medieval silence.

Gradually an old unwelcome sensation crept over him—the feeling of slipping beyond the solid ground of reality, into something fragile and unstable. Colors drained from the landscape until everything shifted into a pale, indistinct haze. His heart beat unevenly as his eyes began to flutter, then slowly rolled upward. Upon opening again, they had turned stark white, fixed wide in an eerie gaze that pierced the twilight border between realms.

On the ridge before him stood a man. His face was partly veiled in mist, and though something in Arthur’s heart stirred with recognition, he dared not name it aloud. The figure bore the solemn gravity of a king familiar yet impossible, leaving Arthur torn between belief and doubt as the dreaded vision held him fast.

His voice emerged hoarse and uncertain, scarcely more than a whisper. “Are these still my lands…” he asked, unsteadily, “Or somewhere else?”

[multipleoccupancy]

Glad she had absorbed his suggestion about simply being careful, Killian smiled a little more to himself from behind his own coffee cup and nodded his agreement that it really, very really, could be the difference between life and death. He huffed a small laugh to himself at the question that followed, that was his life now, going between teams of strangers all over the place in a wild mix of skills. He missed Samantha and as much as he hated to ever acknowledge it, Sloane too.

"Sorry," he was quick to say for his small laugh, setting his cup down, "I didn't mean to laugh, it's not dismissive. I am just- well I've been through that exact thought pattern too." He cracked a smile. "It's something that's hard to get used to but it teaches you to keep yourself safe." She'd already had the lecture on what they were all doing wrong in The Scooby Gang and he wasn't going to put her through it again.

"You have to learn to trust in yourself, the mission is always paramount," his doctrine from when he was first snapped up all those years ago from the ward. "If you see someone jeopardising a mission outside of the allowed parameters such as a psychotic break, then report them to your handler." Killian didn't doubt he or other older agents like him would be sent to handle anyone proven to be a cultist or just working against Delta Green in other ways. "We'll take it from there."

He paused as he thought about it for a moment, debating on whether or not he should explain to her what happened when he thought someone was a cultist and would betray him or other agents. His fingers lightly drumming on the side of his cup once, twice, thrice before he realised what he was doing and retracted his hand. "Do you suspect anyone of potentially working against our interests?" He had an itch he couldn't quite shake, a small twinge in the back of his head that there was something he wasn't quite able to put together with the Scooby Gang, he just didn't know what.

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍 & 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀 @multipleoccupancy

While Cassandra knew she could rely on Mina, she was too focused on protecting her to see it that way -something Mina probably found very frustrating. But Cassandra was used to carrying things on her shoulders, she had been doing so for years now. Still, she had learn to trust Edgar in ways she didn't trust most people.

She said none of that to Killian, instead nodding pensively behind her cup of coffee. She did, however, raise an eyebrows as he continued to talk. It seemed trust didn't come easy to him. But then again, Cassandra had found it harder and harder to trust people, these days. There were times when she couldn't help but worry anyone might betray her. Maybe it came with the job.

"I imagine you're right," she conceded. He had more experience than her, after all. "Being careful can make a difference between life and death."

Her eyes fell to the content of her cup. "What if I can't bring whoever I trust on missions? If I understand correctly, I have no power over who I will work with in the future. I might eventually end up with perfect strangers again... Right?"

[multipleoccupancy]

He was pleased when Fish backed down and declared that she must have dreamed Lucy Gray. Snow was taking a great deal of satisfaction in forcing her to pretend not to see Lucy Gray too. While the concept that Lucy Gray was somehow real and not part of his imagination, he could never show a means in which either she or Fish could have some sort of power over him.

"Maybe you did doze off," Snow agreed, more than happy to give her an out in the conversation. He ignored Lucy Gray as she scolded him and sat disrespectfully on his desk. As she told him he needed a better hobby he was sure to speak over her, far too used to pretending she wasn't there not to use it this time to belittle Lucy Gray. "Sometimes those who are tired or troubled have been known to see things," he reassured Fish, encouraging her dozing off excuse. "What is it that's making you so tired?" As if it wasn't his actions doing just that.

He could keep dangling her job as co-host over her but he wanted her to feel rewarded for pretending Lucy Gray wasn't there. He knew now that it was of course a threat to keep her compliant over such things and he would naturally keep using it and maybe one day follow through just to prove he was not so easily manipulated as both women in the room seemed to believe he was. Treacherous snakes thinking he was some sort of weak and pathetic fool. He hoped in making them both suffer they knew otherwise. "You can tell me, I'd like us to be honest with each other."

𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒 & 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘 & 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 @multipleoccupancy

With the President turning his back to her, Fish couldn't help but glance at the door, hoping she could simply run out of there. If she ran fast and far enough, would she find the sea again? No, of course not. There was no escaping this life. And wasn't she ungrateful to even think of it? The President had given her so much. He could take it all back in an instant.

"No- no, I'm fine," she assured him with a wobbly voice, "it was just... I must have dreamed it, that's all." Fish didn't want to see doctors, and she certainly didn't want to lose her spot as co-host. Just as she feared, her life in the Capitol constantly hung in the balance.

"I can't see anything anymore." A bold faced lie. The young woman was right there, scowling at the President. "Maybe I simply dozed off for a moment."

The young woman shook her head in a wave of brown curls. "What pleasure do you even derive from this, Coriolanus? You're a busy man, surely you have better things to do than this..." With a loud sigh, she sat down on the President's desk, dangling her legs. "I reckon you need a better hobby."

Her familiarity with the President was troubling, but Fish was making a conscious effort to look anywhere but where she was. She had to pretend as if the girl was not there. Maybe she was going insane. Or maybe ghosts were real? If they were, why wasn't she haunted by all the tributes she had killed?

[multipleoccupancy]

There was no judgement as Mycroft grimaced and the noises that escaped in all the pain. His leg did look bad and the rest of him had clearly not been cared for in the months he had been held there. Edgar was quietly seething nothing was done sooner but he supposed that it helped him that his kidnappers had their guard down by the time he arrived.

At least the praise seemed to have landed well, oh yes Edgar could see that Mycroft had more than just his leg to recover from. Though he did think it was unlikely Mycroft would remain in the field, he seemed to be really struggling with his leg and Edgar was sure to try and take as much of his weight as he could.

"Oh, well then something literal. Bring Holmes Home." He tried to tease as he helped Mycroft over another body and the exit was finally in sight. He wondered how Mycroft would react to being actually outside and Edgar hoped once in the car and safe he might rest rather than break but either were perfectly possible in his experience. At least Edgar was a professional and wouldn't actually bring up any moment of human weakness with him.

Regardless even with the exit in sight that offer to go right ahead and let off one of his explosives cheered Edgar right up. In fact it was almost all over his face as he smiled ahead. "Well thank you," a treat! He did so enjoy essentially making a mess at the end of his missions, it was almost a trademark now and really Q-branch could use some confirmation on how powerful the grenades were. "It will destroy a hub they have been using, kind of like a strong hold. The fewer places they have to run to hide, the easier they are to follow in my experience." Edgar justified as he peered back at the body strewn stairwell.

"I'll put you in the car first, that way you will be secure." And if he needed to leave without him, which would sincerely piss him off if he did, Mycroft at least had that option after the hell he'd clearly been through. "You need a hospital, I'll take you there and we can work out what to do after." Siger had to be informed of course but that could wait until Mycroft was secure, the building was sufficiently on fire and he himself was back on the road safe and sound.

With the path cleared and permission to give up on silence, with the knowledge that Edgar wasn't actually supposed to be helping him still floating around in the back of his mind, Mycroft gave up on the pretence of strength. Of course, this didn't mean he allowed himself to break down completely, but rather that he didn't continue to hold his tongue or steel his expressions, resulting in a host of small, pathetic noises as he was helped down the stairs, being careful not to trip on any of the bodies.

The small amount of praise helped a little, at least. It drew a little brief smile out of Mycroft, thought he expression did vanish in a flash as he took another step and jolt of pain was sent up his leg. Walking wasn't getting any easier, and Mycroft was starting to worry that the pain may be a little more permanent than he'd like. He wasn't an idiot; he knew that there was a bullet wound to his leg that should have received attention months ago. Even ignoring everything else, what was the chance he'd fully recover from that? He didn't need a doctor to tell him it was low.

The promise to get him out helped too. Mycroft believed Edgar's word on it - or, more accurately, he believed he'd try his best, and that if something were to occur to force him to break his word, it would not be a malicious change of plans. Considering the situation he was in - and what he had just found out about the unofficial nature of his rescue - that meant a lot.

"You know I'm too fond of being literal to come up with a good name for an operation." And to be quite honest, Mycroft didn't care what it was called. It wasn't a real mission, so what did it matter? When they got home, nobody wasn't going to use a made up title for the operation no matter what they called it.

"Once we're out, you could set off one of your explosives in the stairwell, if you'd like," Mycroft then suggested, going back to the discussion of a cover up for a second. "I don't know what excuse you'll use for such a thing occurring there, but it could at least conceal your expert shooting somewhat."

[multipleoccupancy]

Open Starter - Butcher

Sometimes a day was for lack of a better term, shit. Billy Butcher had managed to escape death, again if only barely and was still trying to brush off the dust of a collapsed tunnel from his hair and coat. Clumsily smacking away the worst of it and forming a cloud of dirt and dust at his feet. "Fuck me, this ever gonna come out?" He grumbled to himself as he shook his head to free even more dust.

In that moment he caught sight of a figure off to his left and he paused in his poor attempt of getting clean. "Enjoyin' the show? If you're plannin' on stickin' round to see the end, I'mma need some dosh for motivation." Butcher brazenly teased as he held out his hand as if begging for money, still having to spare his other hand to try to quickly wipe the dust from his eyes, he could barely see who was next to him. "Help a bloke out? You got any wa'er?"