(no subject)

[just_cant_lose]

 
Jim is sprawled sideways in a chair by the Window tonight, dressed in jeans and a loose top slashed halfway down his chest. He's experimented with the door and found it stable in the flat he's currently occupying, so he figured why not come back in for a bit? See who's around when he's not handcuffed to anyone. So he's gone all-out and had a spray tan, tinted his eyelashes, made sure he's moisturized, and chosen his wardrobe carefully.The jeans are trendy and artfully faded, finished off with brand-new white Adidas - the type made for fashion, not for any kind of physical activity. He looks tired, and a little pensive. There's a mobile phone sliding between his fingers, being turned end to end on his knee. On the table, a couple of bottles of blue WKD, with only the dregs remaining. 

He kind of looks like he's here as a prelude to going out and getting loaded and hey, it might just be the case. Whatever the premise for his visit, he looks harmless. And social. That too.



[OOC: Open through the weekend!

ETA: You are all amazing, thanks for tagging! Post remains open, but it's after 3am and I am doooone for the night. Back tomorrow to pick up. <3]

Comments

[tu_vas_triompher]

Oh! Oh, it's--um--what did Monmouth call him? Jim? Joe? Jack? Something very English, something that had clicked with the bit of Feuilly's brain that answers to Jeannot. No, now he's overthinking it and he can't remember. But anyway, the last time Feuilly saw him he was handcuffed to Harry Monmouth and Feuilly was handcuffed to Bahorel.

Which counts as an introduction, and reason enough to carry his bagel and coffee over and say hello. "No more handcuff trouble?"

[just_cant_lose]

'Mmm? Oh...no. No, none at all.'

His smile is sudden and awkward, and his eyes flick quickly over his guest before resting congenially on his face.

'You're, uh...sorry, I don't think I can pronounce it.'

Which implies he remembers it, or possibly that he's pretending he does while actually not having a clue.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly's smile was already awkward, and now it turns a little wry. "Feuilly," he says patiently. Monmouth hadn't exactly been pronouncing it right anyway. "I don't think I really said hello. And, um--I'm so sorry, I don't remember your name at all."

[onceaviking]

People looking like they are easy to go out and get loaded are some of Eric's favorite people.

Or not, really, but sometimes they're worth the bother.


Besides, he is still Bound.

He walks closer, all swagger and really tight, black jeans.

[just_cant_lose]

Ohhhhh, he remembers this one.

Which is obviously why he looks scared on noticing him, and then clearly tries to cover it up and look cool.

'Hi.'

[onceaviking]

"Hello, British boy," Eric replies, because names.
He's got other things to think about.

[buh_bye]

"You look ridiculous in that get up, James," said Death quietly. He had just appeared there.

[just_cant_lose]

...OK, people getting the jump on him is novel but really, on balance, he prefers it when he knows what's going on. So he scowls - and only partly because it's probably expected - and says,

'Can't you just walk over like a normal creature? When in Rome, and all that?'

But he drops the English accent for now, because there's no one nearby to hear it, and why bother keeping it up in this company?

'Hello.'

[buh_bye]

"I do what I like," says Death, "Now, back to that."

He indicates the outfit with distaste, "I should think that a suit looks better."

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin is yawning, he really would like it if Milliways would stop appearing when he would rather be sleeping.

This time the door stayed once he went to pull some jeans on to go with Pleasant Hills High School t-shirt and no disguise. He's hungry and searching for a place to sit when he walks by Jim and frowns at the blue bottles, "Alcohol is weird."

[just_cant_lose]

'...uh. Is it?'

He does a mental chemical breakdown of vodka, just for the hell of it, and smiles at the boy. Nice ears, kid.

'You don't drink?'

[heatherandsteel]

"Not from a bottle like that, its like the fast food of drinking,"

He tried some of those drinks in high school, they were gross, he likes his unusual colored drinks from kitchens he knows.

[i_am_your_host]

Oh, look who has come to sprawl in the chair opposite Jim.

The Master of Ceremonies is wearing a black pinstriped waistcoat, no shirt. Slim black trousers cut off just below the knee, revealing sock garters and worn-out combat boots. Kohl-lined eyes. Red lipstick. For all intents and purposes, he also looks as if he's about to go out and get loaded.

He draws a foot up on the edge of the seat, lacing his pale, slender fingers around his knee.

"Hallo," he says with a smoky Berlin accent.

"You're cute."

[just_cant_lose]

...yes, indeed, look at who's come to sprawl in that chair.

'Thanks?'

The Master of Ceremonies. You have got to be kidding.

This is nothing short of joyous, and Jim doesn't even like musicals.

'You're, uh...I mean, so are you?'

Oh look, he's all startled out of his depth and fumbling over his words a bit. What is a boy to do, et cetera.

[i_am_your_host]

"Oh, you're just saying that."

A dimpled smirk, and a cat-like slow blink.

"What's your name, darling?"

[have_no_mercy]

It's a very nicely put together presentation. One no one would question unless they had good reason to. Which Tess does not have. Mostly she feels sorry for him because what the hell is he drinking?

"You look like you need a real drink."

[just_cant_lose]

He would agree! This stuff tastes like mouthwash. But he just chuckles awkwardly, and glances at his array of empties.

'You're probably right. I don't want to go too strong though, y'know? Not this early.'

His accent is London, nondescript, quite nasal. Everything about him is just a little bit ungainly.

[have_no_mercy]

"There's too early for a stiff drink?" Tess orders herself a scotch from a passing waitrat. "Nonsense."

[the_cupbearer]

"Hello again, Jim," says Ganymede, ankles crossed at his own table; in front of him is a rocks glass a little less than half full of something saffron-yellow and un-iced, being turned in slow circles around a fingertip.

[just_cant_lose]

'Oh...hi! Ben, right?'

He has doubts about that, but whatever.

'Been a while.'

For the people here. He's aware that time has passed, but it's only been a day or so for him. No one needs to know that.

[the_cupbearer]

"Has it?" he asks, sitting with a little smile.

"It's Ben, yes." Or it was. Such things change.

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen, sword and staff both strapped to her back as she heads in from a walk in the forest, pauses.

Liranan, trotting cheerfully at her heels (and with some demon rabbit-fluff caught in his mouth), pauses, too.

"You're looking remarkably unencumbered just now. Can I ask what eventually got you free?"

[just_cant_lose]

'Oh - hi!'

He raises his wrist to prove it. Glorious freedom!

'The bar gave us some sweets that got rid of them. Maybe she took pity. I think Harry was getting fed up with me.'

Woe.

[cutting_edgex23]

A slim, dark-haired woman dressed in black is watching him from a nearby table.

She holds herself very still.

"You will be drinking? More."

It's not judgment, exactly. But it's close.

[just_cant_lose]

'Um. Maybe?'

He looks at the bottles as if they're not very much at all.

'I don't know, is it not allowed?'