#gilesian

Workplace Sentences, Vol. 17

Well, that certainly seemed unlikely. Mycroft couldn't claim to be an expert on Giles' life, but from what he had observed so far (and, being him, he had observed a lot), the man hardly seemed to have hobbies or anything else to look forward to at the end of a long day.

"I don't believe you. I think your life is your work."

There wasn't any criticism in Mycroft's words. Why should he care whether Giles had a life? He didn't have a life outside of the office either, and he had no plans to change that. Really, when it came down to it, for men like them, what was a lack of personal life other than a dedication to something more important? Though, Mycroft did still find a little strange that the other man's 'more important' included running away with teenagers, chasing things that shouldn't exist.

L.A. had gotten hot, driving John into the suburbs. He'd like to pretend that the fact that it had a Hellmouth was a coincidence. John knew better. There was no such thing. What he didn't know was the shit storm he was stepping in, but all in good time.

Sunnydale was a small town, but managed to still have a a couple bars, one of them being a nightclub of all fucking things. When he'd gone in it had been swamped with teenagers, which just seemed like a terrible time. The other one was blessedly more subdued. He just wanted to sit a spell and think about his next move. John could say all he wanted that he was laying low, but then why hadn't he kept going to San Diego or played tourist in Oceanside? If there was no such thing as coincidences, there was always a meaning to be places.

Waiting at the bar, he startled when he heard a very cultured English accent nearby, a few stools down, and belonging to a wildly attractive man (despite being so blindingly, absurdly British it was unreal). If he wasn't in education, John would have to be revived from shock.

John paused when he heard the buzz of his phone against the cheap porcelain sink, loud as a cicada trapped in a too-small jar. He scowled, finished shaving, and checked his messages. His expression only deepened, now with more concern than ire.

'Don't come over' could mean so many things between the two of them. Because John tended to jump to the worst conclusions, he could perhaps be forgiven for being on edge.

† PAGING @gilesian. > ask meme / always accepting.

" giles."

tone of voice insisting, only to huff out a breath that carried both demand and a heavy restraint. she kicks herself off the mahogany table, heeled boots planting straight upon the linoleum floor with a solid thud, a grounding finality as she fixes a stray lock of wheat blonde hair. she doesn't speak yet, only lets sage hues flicker towards the concerned features of her watcher, tracing the lines of worry like ink on parchment. 

It’s an arduous labor not to roll her eyes.

" i’ve had worse chemistry tests. "

taut with certainty as such a simple truth only stretched before her. her gaze is fixed, an unblinking stubbornness that was held in her grip. " and it’s just a regular demon so i’m gonna go ahead and file it under ‘just fine’. " she let’s the pause linger, her purse now resting upon her leather clad shoulder. it’s a fleeting glance, her line of sight that passed upon the mythology books, their weathered spines cracked open as the soft hum of the library's air conditioning whirred in the background.

" besides, if this is the thing that gets me on a friday night? i’m demanding a full refund from little miss destiny herself. "

@gilesian [ ℒ ]

ㅤㅤ“ Au propre comme au figuré. ”  The words passing through the exaggeration of pouting lips may occur in the elevated form of a mother tongue, but the translation is transposed to the well dressed man, a soothing echo within the temples that could momentarily lull those who are uninitiated in such trickery—  A factor that Lestat doesn’t count on given how the scent of old parchment and tomes intermingles with the dregs of an apothecary, all clinging to the fine stitching of a blazer. Granted there are some other odours and stains present too, but he shan’t hold that against the other, the events of one hell of a night culminating within the confines of a crypt as their mutual goal… but for very different reasons respectively. The mere thought ekes the faintest twitch of a smile from the very corner of his lips, nigh imperceptible and yet it transforms his visage, an air of cunning present.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤA crack in the uppermost corner of the decrepit shelter’s ceiling allows for a searing stream of morning sunlight to penetrate the dingy space, an effective barrier created which splits it in half, luminosity inching across aged stone with each passing hour, forcing Lestat to adjust where he treads with a simulacra of calm in front of the present company.  “ Oh dear. Sides. What a queer conceit. ”  An undulating trickle of deep throated laughter, a sound grounded in genuine beguilement, light footed pacing commencing along the vibrant obstruction, an exit squarely placed behind the vampire continuing to be (un)intentionally guarded. Surrounding shadows create a dusky hue of violet about the blond’s eyes, ever watchful of the Watcher  (  quelle ironie  ).

He was tall, dark, and handsome. Just John's type. He looked familiar, too. Not in a way that John knew him, but in this scene, it wasn't unusual to see the same faces again and again. Mucous Membrane wasn't going to be radio-friendly any time soon, but they were popular enough in the clubs. The chaos that came with their shows was like catnip for a particularly feral sort of felines.

John settled onto a bar stool and ordered a drink. He wasn't particularly interested in the beer. Rather, he wanted to be still enough to be found. It was a silent dare. John knew damned well the noticing had been a mutual thing. Hopefully attraction was too.

"Bugger me, I'm glad I let you convince me to pack me coat instead of wearin' it on the flight," John groused, dragging his rolling suitcase behind him as he headed toward the smoking section. Usually he didn't care but American airports made him nervous, swarming as they were with security and gross consumerism. "Y'reckon we should drop in on Zee while we're at it? I don't think her residency in Vegas starts for another month or two."

"I'm crushed, Ripper. Last time I saw you, you said I was the absolute worst." Ethan drawled, a lazy insouciance radiating from every line of his body.

"In fact, I'd be even more hurt, if I didn't know that you like it. If I wasn't here to be the villain, you wouldn't have anything to measure your goodness against."