o17 . voice/action; Band Candy START!

[watchher]

[ The regain arrives while Giles is out. He returns home to a flurry of baking, cookies and brownies having taken over the kitchen, drone children chattering about a bake sale. He accepts a double-chocolate brownie absentmindedly, and doesn't notice the familiar wrappers on the counter until it is far, far too late. ]

[ voice, late afternoon ]

[ For those who know Rupert Giles or Nathan Wallace, this voice will be intensely familiar. The accent is wrong, though; still British, but not as crisp as Giles'. ]

Bleeding hell, there really is nothing to do around here, is there?

[ action, evening ]

[ Throughout the evening, you might find Giles on any street in Mayfield. His outfit is lacking the usual formality and unnecessary layers; he's in jeans and a white tee, short sleeves displaying the normally-hidden tattoo on his left forearm. If your character would be the type to recognize it as a demonic summoning rune... well, feel free.

You might find him lounging against a street light or at the mouth of an alleyway, glasses gone and a cigarette between his lips, making a hobby of looking surly and dangerous. He leers at pretty young women who pass; he gives appraising looks to men who seem like they might be fun to pick a fight with. If you look interesting enough, he'll probably fall into pace alongside you, moving more loosely than Giles does, grinning more manically. ]

Evening.

[[ For any who might have missed it, player plot info is here! Effects will have worn off fully by Sunday night at the latest. Replies may come from stevedore. ]]

Comments

[stevedore]

How? It's a damn stupid one.

[ He remains undaunted, arrogant irritation outweighing his fear. ]

I'm not some bleeding impostor.

[sir_hellsing]

You're Rupert Giles.

[Things aren't adding up here. Still disbelieving, she adds after a pause,]

How old are you?

[stevedore]

Rupert Edmund Giles. Too old.

[ He gives another shove, trying to push her off of him. ]

March third, W. Bush, are you going to ask me how many fingers you're holding up?

[sir_hellsing]

[Integra braces against the pushing, waiting until Giles has quit struggling to let him go and allow him some room.]

I very well should, with how you're acting. Do you know who I am?

[stevedore]

[ He makes a low noise of exasperation at her resistance, then straightens up and swipes water off his chin with the back of a hand. ]

Yeah, you're the mad one-eyed knight who drops by every now and again to leave flowers or shake a sword at me. If you wanted to get rough you could've just asked, love.

[ It's said dismissively, no real leer behind it, but is still so utterly un-Giles as to be startling. ]

Late post is so exceptionally late >>'

[sir_hellsing]

[It stings, surprisingly so coming from him, but outwardly she doesn't betray her thoughts. Her retort is low, polished,]

A pity for you I'm not interested.



[A thought occurs to her, even as she's salving the mark the barb left behind.] Does this have something to do with the sweets your children are pushing off onto people out front?

[stevedore]

[ He's properly sneering at her, now; condescending, losing fear and interest. ]

Why would I feel like talking to you?

[ He flicks holy water off his fingers for emphasis. ]