#lf.starter

One of the absolute best parts of owning one's own gallery and — to the credit of her own background — already being wealthy was that you could decide when your day was over. You didn't absolutely need to stay until midnight or leave the doors open on the backside idea of making that one last sale; you had freedom.

That being said, Adeline wasn't one to close early anyway. She loved her job, and she loved that she could help her family out with it. She didn't dread waking up in the morning and having to go into work, she just... well, she'd gotten a little bored and wanted to go home, get ready, and go out for a drink, to be honest.

Her keys in the door of the glass front gallery — large floor to ceiling windows allowing a peek at the art inside and, though nary a sign of security was present, seeming almost foreboding if one dared to break in — locking it up tight and depositing them quietly into the front pocket of her peacoat. As she turned to hail down a cab, she almost ran headlong into someone.

A hand rose to brush her hair out of her face and before she could peer up she offered, "That was entirely my fault, I know. Sorry! I really should watch where I am and where I am going!" with a hint of wholesome self deprecation and genial amusement.

He was in a pub, sipping on a brewski, scrolling through his phone becoming a victim to the void.  This was how Boone Hannigan unwound after a day of hard work.

After a job was completed, the man often found himself too full of adrenaline just to go home. He needed something to take the edge off, a beer usually did the trick. If one didn’t then he tried a second. Then a third. Fourth. Fifth. So on and so forth. Sometimes, when he found himself in an establishment like this one, he’d be chatty. Despite the neck tattoo, Boone could be a friendly guy and strike up a conversation with anyone who’d bite. Sometimes, it was an old barfly, they’d shoot the shit and Boone would wonder if he was getting a glimpse into his future. Other times, it would be a pretty, little thing and Boone would wonder something similar. 

However, tonight was not one of those nights.

Boone was not looking to make friends of any kind. All he wanted was to sit at the bar, drink his beers, like a couple thirst traps on Instagram, chain smoke half a pack and then go the fuck home.

Just as easy as Boone could make a friend, he could make an enemy. When the empty seat beside him was claimed with eager hands, when the stool squeaked as it was being dragged away, Boone’s head shifted towards them. He barely looked at the fellow patron, in fact, he didn’t at all. His eyes were still glued to his phone, his fingers double tapping the screen, and a heart appeared  in between a pair of tits. 

Even so, Boone couldn’t help but be an asshole. 

“Yo,” he began, “You’re not gonna ask if its taken?”

He wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight. You’ll do it tomorrow, would have been what his supervisor said. But Colin felt like this was a waste of time. He’d go home and do what? Watch some stupid tv and go to bed? Nah, thanks but no thanks. The idea of some peace and quiet was enticing, but so was moving forward with his investigation. 

Needless to say that he wouldn’t get shit done while being the only cop on duty on a night like this. The thought of wearing a sign that read : I don’t know shit about this, had crossed his mind, but he knew from experience that this wouldn’t have stopped people from asking. Of course, with the power down, cellphones weren’t getting any signal either, and his quest for a land line had been unproductive for now. With his phone’s flashlight as his only light source, he made his way through the corridors now, hoping that he’d find one.

In some random room in the houses of parliament. How your character ended up here with August is up to you! I do feel a bit sorry for them tho <3

tw: bomb threat and august being august

“Not much of a safe room, is it?” August scoffed, as he watched the Thames flow just outside the window he was leant against. “Pop a sniper somewhere,” he gestured vaguely to the other side of the riverbank, “Over there, and BAM, they’d JFK me before the door was even closed and locked.” Seriously, he’d expected a bit more protection, considering he was the Prime Minister, and someone had called in a bomb threat on the houses of parliament. Cooped up here with a bunch of civilians was practically demeaning for someone of his stature. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Talk about inflation for the next few hours? 

The room was a stark, featureless space with one window and a single, flimsy door. A table and a few chairs had been haphazardly arranged in the center, and a small TV was mounted on the wall. The room was cramped with only three people in it. Himself, his one security detail who had accompanied him to the loo and then this poor civilian who probably hadn’t expected to end up locked up with the PM and the man dedicated to holding his cock while he pissed. 

     “What on Earth is going on?” The manager picked up his phone, and reading only the title on the Times’ notification he’d gotten, furrowed his eyebrows as he search through the room for the mayor’s table. A look around him and he found that there were many like him who did just that. “I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes right now,” he commented. Already, he was picking up his glass, finishing it, and walking back to the front door. Party’s over, was all he could think of. Any attempt at socializing would be tainted with gossip regarding politics he didn’t care for. Waiting in line to get his coat back,  Andrés realized many others having had the same idea as him.