the balances shifting
[I'M BACK. May not be tagging until I get home due to silly filter quota time here at work, but tags will happen tonight. I will still be a bit slow, but please bear with me. ♥? Also, feel free to catch Fletch while he's outside his building, should you be so inclined. I may need to do some pinging when I get home to hash out some unaddressed details. Just fyi. >_>]
Fletcher Hadley arrives back in Chicago via a flight from Logan International around 2 AM. He could have just as easily caught a late flight to Edinburgh, but didn’t; instead, he phoned everyone while waiting for flight 306 to O’Hare to board: Hannah, Maddock, Dunn, Sam-they all know, as they should. What he came here to do, he did. It’s over. Boston has a few more dead bodies on its streets tonight, but in his eyes, the gain is greater than the loss. Fletcher can sleep again, and he does, very briefly, in the taxi that takes him from the airport to the steps of his apartment building.
He lingers outside the building for a while, calmly glancing every so often toward the alley he nearly died in a few weeks ago. He smiles and drowsily greets whoever happens to pass by, hands some change over to a transient, and laughs quietly into the night air when he finally realizes that he can move on. He can go home. He can also stay here for a while, if he wants to-the Order is functioning perfectly fine without him being there, which he knew would happen, eventually. They’re a hell of a force to be reckoned with and he’s proud of them for proving that, especially in his absence. He even has permission from the militia’s Field Marshal to stay in the country for a while, with the promise that he’ll look for someone to start an American branch of the Order. Fletch isn’t sure that’s a good idea, but he said he’d “look,” not “find.”
Much as he’d like to deny it, this place has grown on him. He thinks maybe this is how it is with everyone.
There are some other things he has to take care of before he can really feel okay with his choice to stay, but they can wait until he’s not so completely drained. Just before dawn, he tiptoes into his apartment, careful not to wake Richard, and flops down in bed.
As the sun starts to rise, so does Keilidh, half-rolling out of bed and into a pair of slippers so she can trudge downstairs to the Kashtta’s cafeteria for some food. She hasn’t been around much lately, and with good reason-there’s a bandage covering most of her left forearm, the wrapping visible just past the sleeve of her nightshirt.
She thought she’d test her powers out on something mean-looking that fell through a rift the other day. As it turns out, she doesn’t have anything in her arsenal anymore, aside from the whole summoning thing. It took her a few minutes to realize that, and the result of those wasted minutes is hiding under her sleeve.
The mostly-girl-part-monster sighs, poking apathetically at a bowl of rapidly cooling oatmeal with a spoon.
By the time the sun is up and people are starting to move around the city, Maxwell Smart emerges from an office building. He’s been busy these past few weeks, saddled with the unexpected and fully welcome (though temporary) job of translating for a local diplomat. He was thrilled, he worked his ass off, he made some connections, and now he’s exhausted. All he wanted was something to keep him busy; now, all he wants is to get back to the Kashtta to see his friends, especially Aislin.
Unfortunately, a couch in the common room got in his way.
If anyone needs him, he’ll… probably be there for the rest of the day, dead to the world and drooling on the cushions.
Fletcher Hadley arrives back in Chicago via a flight from Logan International around 2 AM. He could have just as easily caught a late flight to Edinburgh, but didn’t; instead, he phoned everyone while waiting for flight 306 to O’Hare to board: Hannah, Maddock, Dunn, Sam-they all know, as they should. What he came here to do, he did. It’s over. Boston has a few more dead bodies on its streets tonight, but in his eyes, the gain is greater than the loss. Fletcher can sleep again, and he does, very briefly, in the taxi that takes him from the airport to the steps of his apartment building.
He lingers outside the building for a while, calmly glancing every so often toward the alley he nearly died in a few weeks ago. He smiles and drowsily greets whoever happens to pass by, hands some change over to a transient, and laughs quietly into the night air when he finally realizes that he can move on. He can go home. He can also stay here for a while, if he wants to-the Order is functioning perfectly fine without him being there, which he knew would happen, eventually. They’re a hell of a force to be reckoned with and he’s proud of them for proving that, especially in his absence. He even has permission from the militia’s Field Marshal to stay in the country for a while, with the promise that he’ll look for someone to start an American branch of the Order. Fletch isn’t sure that’s a good idea, but he said he’d “look,” not “find.”
Much as he’d like to deny it, this place has grown on him. He thinks maybe this is how it is with everyone.
There are some other things he has to take care of before he can really feel okay with his choice to stay, but they can wait until he’s not so completely drained. Just before dawn, he tiptoes into his apartment, careful not to wake Richard, and flops down in bed.
As the sun starts to rise, so does Keilidh, half-rolling out of bed and into a pair of slippers so she can trudge downstairs to the Kashtta’s cafeteria for some food. She hasn’t been around much lately, and with good reason-there’s a bandage covering most of her left forearm, the wrapping visible just past the sleeve of her nightshirt.
She thought she’d test her powers out on something mean-looking that fell through a rift the other day. As it turns out, she doesn’t have anything in her arsenal anymore, aside from the whole summoning thing. It took her a few minutes to realize that, and the result of those wasted minutes is hiding under her sleeve.
The mostly-girl-part-monster sighs, poking apathetically at a bowl of rapidly cooling oatmeal with a spoon.
By the time the sun is up and people are starting to move around the city, Maxwell Smart emerges from an office building. He’s been busy these past few weeks, saddled with the unexpected and fully welcome (though temporary) job of translating for a local diplomat. He was thrilled, he worked his ass off, he made some connections, and now he’s exhausted. All he wanted was something to keep him busy; now, all he wants is to get back to the Kashtta to see his friends, especially Aislin.
Unfortunately, a couch in the common room got in his way.
If anyone needs him, he’ll… probably be there for the rest of the day, dead to the world and drooling on the cushions.