#imjustanauthor

Escaping death, or resurrection to the point of near impossible odds of recovery was something that would naturally interest a man in Lorenzo's business. As it happens he was informed of a man in London who supposedly should have died after an unfortunate ambush and who coincidentally used to be a part of the Catholic Church until after his injury. Caution and experience told Lorenzo it was at least worth checking and so he had made his way to London to see the man, a returned detective as it turned out.

For that he decided his best course of action was to go about it in as informal a way as he could. Asking the detective to join him for a coffee. That seemed as inconspicuous as he could come up with and avoiding the job of stalking and cornering the man. So he managed to talk his way into the station to speak with Lazarus. Knocking on his office door and leaning inside.

They had arrived at thirteen about a fortnight ago. Most of them - including Basil himself - had spent some of that time in the infirmary, but by now everyone except for Peeta had been declared fit enough to be moved to their own quarters. In comparison to most of their party, he had been in good shape. On top of that, the artist was not considered important enough to warrant care beyond the bare minimum. His continued discomfort was not something they were going to take into consideration.

Given the somewhat limited space in thirteen, it appeared he also was not considered important enough for a room of his own. He had expected to be sharing quarters with Effie Trinket, given that they were the only Capitolites in the bunker. Perhaps they drew the line at mixed rooms. His appointed roommate was Charles Lazarus. One of the most famous victors the Games had ever seen. Even if his Games were decades ago, everyone in the Capitol - and he assumed in the districts as well - knew who he was.

Charlie's reputation had been established long before Basil ever got involved with victor representation and had been all but set in stone by then. He could not have tempered with it if he'd wanted to. For that reason, they had never really interacted much before. In any case, the artist was under no illusion that he was one of them - no matter how much they had portrayed him as such. He tried to leave him alone as much as he could.

However, if Charlie felt uncomfortable sharing quarters with someone from the Capitol, he had the courtesy not to complain about it in front of Basil. Something that appeared to be a rarity here - not that he wanted to appear ungrateful for his rescue. They hadn't hurt him here - even patched him up. He could live with a little contempt.

If they had ulterior motives for rescuing them, they hadn't made those known yet. The first few days, he had expected some sort of interrogation at any moment. By now, he was wondering if they even remembered he was there. Despite keeping his ears open, he had been able to gather very little information about what was going on inside of this bunker, let alone outside of it.

Having exhausted his own - somewhat limited - resources, he finally decided to attempt to communicate with Charlie. He took a small notebook out of his pocket, pencil scratching against the thin paper. Then, he quietly placed the opened notebook next to the other man - eyes meeting briefly.

Mulder has been an esteemed guest at Hannibal’s table lately. He found his presence enjoyable, one that held plenty of stories ranging from the absurd to the bizarre. The man has an extensive history and traveled to various places from his line of work, which prompted the topic of cannibalism.

Hannibal lifted his fork in a pause. “Did you know Cannibalism is legal in all forty-nine states?” Now the acquisition of such exotic meat was the true issue.

"It's pretty damn weird to eat people," @imjustanauthor says then.

Hannibal’s face contorts to a smile, his fork lowering to pierce the thin slab of meat on his plate. “As a psychiatrist, I can positively say that it is quite alright to be weird. I am perhaps far weirder than some of my patients.” Those patients may be inclined to agree. The “rich” have their quirks. Mulder had his own, Hannibal had picked up on a few. He’ll always enjoy saying his first name. Fox was far too unique to allow it to stay unspoken.

Undeterred and unaffected by Mulder's protestation, Scully lifted the coffee cup to her lips, sipping audibly while her blue eyes stayed fixed on him, defying him with every sip.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄 & 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐄 @imjustanauthor

Salomé studied Charlie with some amusement. "Well, I'm pretty mean myself, you know," she pointed out as she twirled a strand of black hair around her finger, "and it's never seemed to bother you."

It was true. Salomé was biting, her sweet lips delivering more poison than most people could take. Charlie could, though. He never seemed really fazed by her acidic tongue -and in return, he had somewhat tamed her.

She was nice to him now.

Things had been rather quiet lately. Thankfully, that was how John liked it. He relished the brief moments when he could at least attempt to live a normal life. However, it eventually also brought a sense of anxiety when things got quiet for too long, as that usually meant that something else was about to happen.

Even times of peace weren't spent in full relaxation. He would be constantly looking at news from across the state for unusual activity. Missing people, assault, attempted murders, unusual and suspicious deaths. Every one could be a potential victim of cult activity. Even reports of vandalism could be a lead when certain symbols appear repeatedly across the state. Cryptic runes marked up in blood. They were often a long shot, but they were most preferable. The earlier he could act on them, the more likely he could interrupt any rituals without anyone being lost to sacrifice.

But this time of year was when the cults became a little more desperate. Most families were beginning to gather together, making it more difficult for them to snatch people away unnoticed. Nothing had happened yet. At least, nothing that had reached him, and trying to balance his clerical duties with his personal crusade was only going to become more difficult from here.

There was something of an irony here, with an author who wrote science fiction novels about time travel and not realizing he was sitting next to an alien who traveled in time.

He smirked to himself as he sipped his lukewarm coffee, finding the situation amusing. It was his own little secret.

"These days, I'll read anything if it's good enough. I've-" He exhaled. "Let's say I've had a rough time of it recently. I could use a distraction. Something to keep away the bad memories."

The man was right about one thing though. Irving Braxiatel didn't just talk to anyone. He was bored. He was lonely. He had no idea where his Legion family was, if they were even still on Legion after the Epoch incident, or if Legion had become another casualty because of the War. As far as he knew, he was the last of his kind.

He had searched and searched. Going from one end of the universe to the other. He had even been out of sync with the universe in the hopes that Gallifrey might have survived the crossfire with Skaro and she was hiding just out of the way from the rest of the universe. He had even returned to the Constellation of Kasterborous, only to find nothing but empty space where Gallifrey should be. He sent out droids with telepathic messages for Time-Lords, hoping that anyone at all might respond.

But nobody did. His hearts cracked like glass.

He had been exiled before and had fallen through the cracks of another universe. But in the back of his mind, he knew that Gallifrey was out there somewhere. That if he had to, he would always be able to return home.

This time there was nothing but loneliness.

@imjustanauthor sent: ✒️ from Charlie, maybe something that'd fit during/after their date? from: Sent ✒️ for me to go through my own meme tag and select something to reply to, as if you had sent it yourself >> "Sorry, love. Gotta save the world."

Fish let out a little chuckle, stretching in the passenger's seat next to Charlie. Sure, it was kind of a shame, that their first date had to be cancelled because of a last minute assignment. But she also didn't mind that much. It took away the stress of a first date, right? No need to worry about dry and random conversation topics around a restaurant table. Now, they could spent their evening here, on their stakeout.

Fitting, for two FBI Agents.

She turned to look at him, smiling playfully. "Saving the world sounds like a great way to spend our first date, actually," she argued. It wasn't like they usually did things normally anyway. After all, he had asked her out in the middle of a hostage situation, right after she had shot his assailant in the head.