[personal profile] setyoufree posting in [community profile] echo_wandered
anything you'd like to play? anyone you'd like to play with?

send me a prompt, a character, or a starter post, and we'll set this party in motion.

For Dawlish ♥

Date: 2013-07-03 08:53 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] acharmingsmile
Gilderoy entered his favorite wizard's clothes store, 'Fanciful Fantastic Fineries for the Fashionable Modern Wizard', with a look akin to childlike excitement in his forget-me-not blue eyes and a wonderfully charming and ever so slightly vacant smile on his face.

Why, they have absolutely everything a fashionable wizard could possibly want in this place! Dragon-leather shoes in every color, cravats from Paris(in every color as well!) and even a stand-by tailor for when one wants one's trousers to hug one's bottom just so. Everything! Even the puffy-sleeved shirts come in every pastel hue and this is where Gilderoy Lockhart found some of his most famous outfits, such as his lurid pink Valentine's Day robes or his favorite forget-me-not blue robes that are the exact shade of his eyes!

It's a good thing the nice shop assistant always hands Gilderoy a complimentary cup of tea and a biscuit or he would've fainted from all that excitement! And look, the new collection arrived just yesterday and the shades of pink, peach, pastel yellow and turquoise just beg Lockhart to try them on. He prances over and immediately bumps into the fellow standing there, who appears to be looking at a well-tailored pair of dark burgundy robes.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, my good man!" Gilderoy chuckles fondly at his own charming clumsiness. "I daresay all that excitement got the best of me... I just don't know what to try on first!" He even forgot to introduce himself and his cheeks are possibly glowing.
From: [personal profile] myflawless
What wizard of sound sense and keen ambition could ignore the call of fashionable dress? In order to garner any appreciable measure of respect (a key currency in social maneuvering), in order to best make a lasting impression, and in order to further solidify one's confidence, attention to dress is a must. Dawlish has long held this truth in his heart; indeed, if asked, he would be inclined to claim that he was born with a awareness of fashion. He knows without effort what suits and what smacks of trying too hard, what will draw the right amount of attention and what would clash with his own natural attributes.

One of fashion's many requirements calls for the timely renewal of one's wardrobe, and it is for this purpose that Dawlish has ventured into Fanciful Fantastic Fineries. Much of the store runs rather contrary to his tastes; Dawlish inclines toward more subdued colors and styles, with only the smallest and most finely detailed of embellishments. Indeed, it is the details that reveal a man, so far as Dawlish is concerned, and he has no particular love for the excesses that overwhelm. He can manage that with his personality alone, thank you very much.

The more flamboyant robes do have their entertainment value, however. Most wizards who attempt to carry them off falter miserably, and a trip to Fanciful Fantastic Fineries is sure to offer its share of laughable sights and failures of fashion. The entertainment and the quality of the shop's merchandise - difficult as it can be to locate his preferred robes amid the sea of color - mark it as a worthwhile port of call.

Today, he has been fortunate enough to come upon a set of robes precisely matching his desired specifications. Absorbed in examining these, he gives the newly arrived customer a cursory glance (excitable man but no sign of danger, something familiar about him but not immediately striking) but pays little mind until the minor collision pulls him away (a light tap, nothing hostile, presumably accidental or feigned as an accident in order to call attention).

Dawlish is smiling as he turns toward the man - best to play nice, after all, though there is a razor beneath his welcome - and quickly takes a full measure of him. And, yes, the face is familiar (something about the style, as well, the sheer audacity of it), recalled from years ago and from recent photographs...

"Gilderoy Lockhart, is it?" Extending a hand, Dawlish permits his smile to warm further. "How perfectly splendid!"

This could be interesting, after all.


((ooc: and again, again, you have my thousand apologies for disappearing. if you'd rather not continue this for whatever-any reason, is of course all good and understandable! if you're up for it, i really do dig the hell out of your mr. lockhart, and am curious to see how these two might get on. i can't promise to be ultra-quick in the future, but good lord, it won't be another month and a half space, and again, i am terribly sorry about that.))

Don't worry! <33333333 Thank you~~

Date: 2013-08-18 11:58 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] acharmingsmile
Indeed, a most excitable fellow... and recognizable, even before the fame, due to his swirly golden-blonde hair and all those wonderful expressive faces he's so fond of making. Extra confidence aside, he looks much the same as he did at Hogwarts, his hair is a little shorter and cut in a more modern style and he'd aged, gracefully mind you!, but otherwise he is very much the same Gilderoy Lockhart who received twenty-seven Valentine's Day cards at school(in only his second year!) and even made the papers because of it. It was his very first taste of fame but decidedly not his last.

Gilderoy Lockhart is Fanciful Fantastic Fineries's biggest customer and nearly his entire, flashy wardrobe comes from this store. It seems the other robes' stores just don't have the sort of thing Lockhart would be interested in, he knows his female fans like his snug trousers and high-cut vests and it wouldn't do to appear in public wearing poorly fitting garments or worse, the kind of loose-fitting, drab robes every other wizard wears! Why, he has a reputation to uphold when it comes to fashion.

In one hand, Gilderoy holds a set of cotton candy pink robes, while the other shakes Dawlish' hand. A nice, firm handshake with very soft hands that would betray that this smiling wizard couldn't have done a lot of hard work, let alone fight monsters and beasts like he claims to in his many best-selling books. "Why yes! Would you like my autograph? I'm rather busy deciding what to wear but I always make time for my beloved fans!" He winks cheekily, before searches his pockets for his peacock quill and handing the pink robes to the other male.

"Oh dear, I hope I haven't forgotten it!" Lockhart doesn't recognize Dawlish, even at school he only ever paid attention to himself.

Date: 2013-08-21 02:52 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] myflawless
Dawlish matches the strength of the absurd man's handshake, offering respectable rigidity with no attempt to dominate. He makes only a mild effort to hide the scrutiny in his own eyes, judging that Lockhart is too deeply self-involved to notice this impromptu investigation. He notices the hands, catches something like distance on Lockhart's face. And meanwhile, Dawlish offers a bright smile of his own.

Through the greater part of his life, Dawlish has made a point of recalling names and faces. There is no telling who might crop up again or climb their way to fame, after all, and it never hurts to be informed. Gilderoy had marked a particularly memorable place for himself at Hogwarts, and although Dawlish - younger and of a different house - had scarcely spoken to Lockhart, he can readily recall the man's absurd fan club (Dawlish had, on three or four occasions, used an autograph from Lockhart to work his way into a young lady's favor). And of course there have been the tales of daring exploits since, which can hardly have taught the man much of humility.

Jolly good for him, if that's the case. Dawlish has never seen much good in humility. The appearance of humility provides an apt tool, but its actuality consists of muting one's most useful traits, submitting the self to an absurd notion that any other being or idea can be more important than one's own.

The mention of an autograph brings a sharp moment of collision with the past. On more than one occasion, Dawlish had used autographs from Lockhart to work his way into a young woman's affections. Perhaps this autograph would prove useful, as well. Dawlish doubts the idea, but he certainly isn't about to argue. Let the man do as he likes, daft as he may be.

"Oh, that would be a shame, wouldn't it? Still, to have touched your hand... How lucky I must count myself!"

He has worked his expression into a picture of sheer pleasure touched with awe, the face of a man who can scarce believe his luck. Dawlish has cultivated a talent for covering the uproar of internal laughter with a deftly drawn facade.

Date: 2013-11-02 01:27 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] byanyname
The sun's starting to go down as Mickey Doyle crosses the street, a bouquet of peonies in hand (lightest purple, white, a little bit of pink; it hadn't been cheap, but he'd figured he ought to do this right), a grin set on his face. Who wouldn't be grinning? He's finally meeting the mysterious lady of the messages. Aramat. Huh... It's still an unusual name.

For nearly two weeks now, Mickey has been carrying around a token from the lady, displaying it with a flourish at every possible opportunity. The carefully-crafted handkerchief still smells of indiscernible scents, herbs, flowers, whatever it is they put in perfume; whatever it is, it's wonderful, a promise of secrets to come. Nucky Thompson had threatened to yank it away from him, but fuck Nucky; he was probably just cranky about losing his wife or his serving man or whatever. Anyway, this isn't any time for thinking about Nucky.

Mickey hasn't met the woman yet, and for all Mickey knows, she could be a real terror on the eyes. All right, so what? From what he's heard, she's got a sense of humor, and it sure doesn't sound like she's a prude. She might even be able to teach him a thing or two. And if she does turn out to be a regular gorgon, it never hurts to have someone to talk to. So there's entertainment one way or another, and no harm in it.

Unless she's an axe murderer, or something. Ha ha.

He's reached the address, and approaches the door without hesitation. A moment to straighten his necktie - time to take the plunge! - and then Mickey knocks on the door. Waits.

Date: 2013-11-02 01:58 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] scalpedsociety
The person that answers the door isn't Aramat, instead it's a fairly tall redhead with glasses and grey-blue eyes. Her accent is clear, crisp, English and very obviously disgusted a bit. "You must be The Shetland Pony Miss Aramat has been talking about." She wrinkles her nose at him, a clearly stuffy expression.

"She usually has better taste, come in. Ignore the business around you, she's got everyone curious about you."

It's been a while since a man has come into the black widows nest completely safe.

It's a fair sized apartment with women, full of women. Short, tall, skinny, pudgy doing things. Some are playing cards, others are cooking and cleaning, others are getting ready for their own nights out. Random chatter is everywhere, cigarette smoke billowing in places.

Date: 2013-11-02 02:27 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] byanyname
He counts it a lucky stroke that the redhead isn't Aramat; not that redheads are the root of all evil, or anything... just that they all look a little too much like Gillian Darmody. Her disapproval doesn't help any, though it's an expression Mickey's accustomed enough to seeing. And anyway, she isn't the reason he's here.

He blinks at what must be a nickname he's been given (a pony? what...?), giggles. "I don't know what she's been telling you, but sure, I guess I'm a pony."

Following after the redhead, Mickey takes in as much of the scene as he can, enjoying the sight of such various women and half wondering whether he'd seen any before. Although there's always a mild unease when walking among so many people - men or women, they all can scheme - he's largely at ease, simply allowing the scene to occur. Let fear start taking hold of you, and life'll lose all of its flavor.

"So, ah, youse all live together here?" Live. Work. Looks like a pretty typical cathouse, only there aren't any men around. Place like this, you'd think it'd be packed.

Date: 2013-11-02 03:00 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] scalpedsociety
If Mickey cares to look harder at the various ladies in the place, there's a particular... affection among them that you usually have to pay extra at a cathouse to get.

"You're a small and amusing sounding... it fits. I guess." She deadpans.

"For now... we tend to move about. Aramat doesn't really like staying in one place for too long. But she's been talking about this trip here for a time. I don't see the appeal, seagulls and tourists everywhere. Why don't you sit down, the girls won't stare at you too much. " She sighs loudly.

There's been no 'spending money' on this trip and it's bothering Isolde.

Date: 2013-11-02 03:36 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] byanyname
Uh... huh. He's not sure of what the woman's implying, so he shrugs, laughs, lets it go.

So it's a traveling whorehouse? That's new. Kinda like a high-class carnival. If that's what it is, at all; Mickey hasn't yet gotten a bead on this place. "Guess that explains why I've never seen any of youse before."

"They can stare all they like; it don't matter to me." He grins at the redhead and claims a chair, setting his hat on a nearby end table. Any books, trinkets, assorted objects on the table escape his notice, and Mickey returns his attention to the women crowding the room. Christ, some of 'em are lookers, and some of 'em...

All right. All right, those're some very public displays of affection. Mickey can get behind that. Mickey can very easily get behind that. This ain't a bad place to be, at all.

Date: 2013-11-02 04:16 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] scalpedsociety
To tell the truth, Isolde wants to rob and kill this disgusting little man, but she behaves to go see about Aramat. That woman has awful taste in men, for all the talents she has. After all, what better way to rob men than the promise of pretty lady on lady action with you in the middle?

Two ladies that were busy petting each other heavily soon come closer, a pale blonde and a dark brunette. "You bought Aramat flowers? How sweet of you." The brunette chirps.

"She's fond of them. You made the right choice, I hope you'll be wonderful to her. She doesn't talk to men that much... I almost thought she'd turn into Isolde." The blonde grimances at the leaving redhead.

They both just want their leader to be happy and not scary at all.

Date: 2013-11-02 04:49 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] byanyname
He smiles at them the way he usually smiles at women (and how could he not smile at a couple of ladies who were so free with their affections?), open and a little bit knowing, inviting engagement without really flirting. He isn't here for them, after all. He won't turn down their company - far from it - but tonight he's got full attention for one lady alone.

"If I'd-a known I'd be meeting all of youse, I would've brought flowers for everyone."

He follows the blonde's glance, smirks. "Her? She could charm an iceberg, ehhheh.

"Anyway, no worries about me: I'll behave myself. I can be a perfect gentleman, you come down to it. So who're you ladies? That is, if it ain't rude of me to ask."

Date: 2013-11-02 05:33 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] scalpedsociety
Isolde hears that laugh and tries her hardest to just go ahead to Aramat and reach for her gun and end this fuckers life right there. He's replaceable.

She isn't the only lady here packing heat.

The blonde giggles at Mickey's suggestion. "I'm Porcelina and she's Alma."

"We rarely get visitors like you around here, especially for Aramat. ...She scares away men sometimes." Alma replies.

"Maybe he's hard to scare..." Porcelina whispers out loud. "He does look like a tough morsel to eat... you know this place is rather rough." Alma whispers back.

Date: 2013-11-02 06:12 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] byanyname
Mickey probably ought to know better than to insult strange women in unknown territory (especially when the strange woman could be kin to Gillian), but sometimes he's a little bit lacking in common sense. It's all in good fun, right? He doesn't recognize his transgression, and hardly give Isolde another thought.

"Porcelina, Alma. Beautiful names. Nice to meet you ladies." It'd be nicer still to meet Aramat herself, but Mickey can be patient. Every time he hears her name, he feels a sting of delight, a moderate thrill at who this still-unknown woman might be. Every time he hears her name, the urge to see her grows. Maybe this is what she wants; some women like to build of anticipation.

"She doesn't sound all that scary to me. Then again, maybe she's waiting to get me in a dark room somewhere." Another laugh as he shifts the flowers in his hands, absently rolling the bouquet over and over. "I suppose all you girls are more dangerous than you look?" He's just playing, but the way the redhead talked, the way these two look at each other... He's not sure it's all just a jest.

Date: 2013-11-02 11:20 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] scalpedsociety
Thing is, being shot up isn't the worst thing to happen if you dare cross these ladies...

Aramat seems to like building up a sense of utter longing in her few male 'friends' she has. It takes a certain kind of man to take all that teasing and not cry foul. Mickey seems to know what he's getting into, and he seems to like it. It's basically BDSM before people recongized that sort of thing.

Both the ladies giggle at the joke. "Whatever makes you think that?" Alma jests. Because a traveling house filled with sexy ladies loving each other with their strange leader isn't suspicious at all.

Date: 2013-11-02 09:53 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] byanyname
As far as waiting goes, this situation is pretty ideal. A nice place to sit (Mickey can always appreciate a good chair, and this one really is an exceptionally comfortable example), a mysterious woman to look forward to meeting, and some lovely ladies to pass the time in the meanwhile. There might be a test in all of this, but he doesn't worry himself with thinking about it.

"Anything that looks this good, there's gotta be a twist. Ehhhehh. Not that I'm askin' for answers; I'll take whatever comes.

"Here, you wanna see something? Give me your hand, I'll tell your fortune."

Mickey doesn't know the first thing about palm-reading. It just seems like the thing to do.

Date: 2013-11-02 10:26 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] scalpedsociety
"Which one of us though?" Porcelina asks. Both girls are clearly giddy that they are talking to a male they don't have to rob or kill.

Then Isolde comes in looking livid as hell and her eyes have seemed to change color from grey blue to... burning orange.

"Mr. Doyle, Aramat requests your presence right this moment."

Alma pouts at this, but is cheerful and so is her girlfriend. "It's alright, maybe if she likes you you come for dinner. Biancabella and I can fix up some declcies you couldn't believe!" Some of which could be acutal man meat, but never mind.

"Good luck!" Porcelina cheers.

Date: 2013-11-02 10:52 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] byanyname
What the fuck...? Mickey could've sworn the redhead's eyes were a different color last time he saw her. Then again, maybe it's just the rage on her face somehow, eh, making her eyes look different? Skewing perception somehow. That doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but as it doesn't tell Mickey much that he can work with, he doesn't dwell on the problem. Maybe he'll find an answer sometime, maybe he won't. What's more important is making sure the women doesn't start venting her rage on him, and finding his way to Aramat. Aramat... Still a strange name.

"Some other time then, ladies." Scooping up his hat and dropping it on his head, Mickey stands, offers a smiling air kiss and half a bow toward Alma and Porcelina. "Until we meet again, adieu."

With that, Mickey turns to follow the very fiery redhead, hand still loosely wrapped around the flowers, still wondering vaguely what this place might be.

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prettttty much, heh.

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that made me ridiculously happy i don't even know.

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but it's wonderful, aheh.

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geez Aramat, settle down XD

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going to need to meet Warden sometime, hmhm.

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jesus... that's pretty amazing. XD

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about the porn or Warden? XD

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...both? both. >.>

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*eyebrow raise?*

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i hope you know that name's liable to stick.

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:D

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Date: 2014-01-10 05:16 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] intheicebox
It's enough he has to visit Atlantic City, but to be obliged to wait in this wretched hotel? Manny wonders what he's done to deserve such agony.

Already he has been kept waiting half an hour beyond the appointed time. It isn't precisely a problem - Manny left the shop in capable hands, and his driver has nowhere else to be - but an inconvenience? It is certainly that. It is something of an insult, as well. As if Thompson believes that the world runs only in accordance with Atlantic City. As if Manny has nothing better to do with his time.

This is business, and he is willing to give time and energy to it. To wait at Thompson's beck and call however, grates at him. That he should be confined to this too-bright room with its display of costly furniture, chatter drifting in from the hall, does nothing to ease his growing aggravation.

Still. If this is how Thompson does business, there is nothing to be done for it. Let the man run his city how he likes. There are arrangements that must be made with Thompson, and Manny will simply have to endure.

Date: 2014-01-10 05:27 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] recognize_an_opportunity
Meyer isn't fond of Atlantic City, he isn't fond of this hotel, and he particularly isn't fond of Nucky (and why should he be, really, when Nucky's only ever been dismissive of him at best, and downright dangerous to him at worst) but he recognizes the need for politeness, nevertheless. That means that as much as he might want to leave, considering it's been a half an hour and there's been no sign of the guy -- he has to consciously force himself not to refer to him as the asshole, even in his own brain -- he's determined to wait it out.

After wandering around in the lobby for a little while, trying to look nonchalant, like he has legitimate business here (as though anyone would believe that for a second) he finds himself getting fed up with watching the same gaudy people doing the same ridiculous things, and makes his way into the meeting room. Or rather, what's supposed to be the meeting room, except apparently he's the only one who's bothered to show up on time.

At least, that's what he thinks, until he sees Manny there. Interesting. At least someone else valued punctuality. There's really no appropriate greeting other than tipping his hat to him politely and saying, "Good afternoon."

Date: 2014-01-10 08:45 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] intheicebox
At the sound of the voice, Manny turns from the window, ready to believe that Thompson or one of his aides had finally arrived. The truth proves otherwise, of course - why should this trial of waiting end? - and the man who has appeared comes as something of a surprise.

Manny hadn't known that Thompson was doing business with children.

"Mr. Lansky." He takes a few moments to look the boy up and down. As in their previous encounters, Meyer presents a singularly indecipherable picture, young but carefully collected.

"I was told this would be a private engagement." It's certainly possible that Thompson had bent the truth or simply failed to illustrate the entire picture. The man runs his business like a chicken fresh from the chopping block; what else is to be expected?

Date: 2014-01-10 09:12 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] recognize_an_opportunity
"I was told the same."

He recognizes that look, of course. It's the same look everyone gives him when they see him in a business situation: unimpressed, a little incredulous, like he's too young or too stupid to be doing business with people like Thompson. The lack of respect occasionally grates on him, but he consoles himself with the fact that being young and unassuming makes people overlook him as a threat... And the fact that, if he plays his cards right, he'll outlive every single person who underestimates him.

He doesn't feel uncomfortable around Manny, necessarily, but he is wise enough to be on his guard. There's no reason not to be polite to him, but there's also no reason to be cowed by him. Not yet, at least.

"Although it seems to me like we're the only ones who're going to be attending this meeting."

It's late. Nucky's not here. He's more tempted to leave now than ever.

Date: 2014-01-11 01:54 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] intheicebox
"So it appears."

Manny assumes that Thompson is tied up in another meeting. It has happened before, and Thompson doesn't act as a man who would fully overlook a business engagement. The man may possess a poor sense of time and may disrespect the convenience of others, but he is careful to address all necessary matters. It has been one of his more tolerable qualities.

As for Lansky... Manny isn't pleased by the prospect of a joint meeting, nor does he know what to expect from it. There is no reason that his business should to coincide with this boy's. Or no reason of which he has been informed, and Manny isn't fond of such ambushes in business arrangements. He won't dismiss the boy entirely until he has heard whatever proposition may be set forth, but this additional element has done nothing to improve his mood.

And maybe the boy isn't here for the same meeting. It would be no surprise to find that Thompson had loused up his scheduling.

While Manny has little in particular against Lansky, the boy's involvement with Darmody left him cast him in a sour light. Still. At least this one keeps his head. Unlike the late Mister Darmody. Unlike this one's partner. And though Manny has heard nothing worth noting of Meyer's work, he has heard nothing appalling, either. At present, the boy is primarily a nonentity.

Well. There is nothing to do, there is time to spend. Perhaps this is the space to discover something.

"Your partner is not here?"

Date: 2014-01-11 02:18 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] recognize_an_opportunity
"He had other business."

A short answer. Not a particularly illuminating one. He doesn't make a habit of talking about anything personal, and for him, Charlie counts as something personal. It wouldn't surprise him if Manny didn't care for Charlie much, and while a direct insult to Charlie might make Meyer bristle, a question like that -- hopeful as Manny might be that Charlie isn't there -- really only requires a brief yes or no answer.

He checks his watch again. It's like a compulsion. Keep checking, because every second that ticks by is another mark against Nucky in his book. The list of reasons he doesn't like or trust Nucky is growing longer than the list of benefits of continuing to work with him. That doesn't spell good things for the future. He'd been content enough to wait, for now, but he's starting to chafe against the idea.

As far as he knows, Manny doesn't have a partner, so he can hardly pose the same question in return. Instead, he lights a cigarette, falls silent for a moment to take a long drag on it, calming his mind slightly.

"I wasn't aware that you and I were here to discuss the same thing."

What he might be here to discuss, he leaves purposefully vague. If they're not here to discuss the same thing, he really doesn't need to broadcast his business to the guy. If they are here to discuss the same thing, well, it's unexpected, but not necessarily negative. He'll have to wait and see.

Date: 2014-01-11 09:27 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] intheicebox
So much the better. Manny hasn't spent much time around Charlie, but he's seen enough to recognize a hot temper and a big mouth. The situation is bothersome enough without that one's petulant excitability.

In response to the second statement, he only shrugs, looking away as if to survey the room. There is nothing to say on the matter. Not until Thompson arrives, and Manny allows his silence to stand as his remark.

"You keep checking your watch, you'll make me nervous." Not actually. It's a hard task to shake Manny's nerves, if not an impossible one. But the watch, the cigarette... These are interesting details.

Icon keywords relevant

Date: 2014-01-11 09:34 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] recognize_an_opportunity
It's easy enough to lapse into silence. He doesn't see any need to respond directly to Manny's accusation of making him nervous, mostly because he doesn't actually believe that Manny's the type to get made nervous by much of anything. He seems to be completely unshakable. Meyer can admire that kind of stoicism.

A few more drags on the cigarette, and then the door opens again. He looks around, ready to behave with some sort of fake deference, but it isn't Thompson that comes through the doorway, it's one of his aides.

And, as Meyer had been suspecting all along, the aide has bad news for them. Mr. Thompson, regrettably, has been held up by business he can't neglect. They'll have to postpone the meeting until tomorrow. It's all very unfortunate, but there's nothing that can be done. The aide barely manages to get all of this out before he's leaving the room again in a hurry, obviously convinced that Meyer and Manny will have some sort of violent reaction to the news.

All it garners, from Meyer, at least, is an eye roll in Manny's direction as soon as the aide's gone.

"I hate to say I'm not surprised."

swa heo no wære

echo_wandered: (Default)
so spoke the wanderer

April 2014

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