( CLOSED )

[tailorable]

Who: Gary "Eggsy" Unwin (tailorable) & various others
What: Catch-all log for the October event and related shenanigans
When: October
Where: Olympia
Warning(s): n/a for now

( CLOSED in that I'd love to plot with anyone on the event post or at locution so we can sort starters! )

Comments

nightingale.

[tailorable]

[ Eggsy had recognised Nightingale's voice as one that spoke of magic on the network — immediately tinting his first impression with warmth. Magic is James showing him tricks and giving trinkets as good as any Kingsman gadget. Bloody brilliant. Chatting with Nightingale came easily after that, particularly given his status as a real Englishman instead of a faux, fantasy Brit. Proper Londoner, eh? Likely from the north bank, sure, but a shared city's not nothing (not to Eggsy, when he spent most of his life vaulting over steps at Waterloo and weaving through the uneven, twisting streets of his city). As it happens, they share an interest in tracking the criminals involved in yesterday's attack. Trained in the Royal Marines, Eggsy had assured him. Not just some kid, no, but rather someone competent. Keen as anything, certainly. Why deny his company?

Unfortunately, he arrives nearly ten minutes late, walking at a brisk pace. If he weren't carrying two open cups of coffee and clutching little paper bags between his fingers, he would be jogging. From a distance, Eggsy spots Nightingale at their meeting place: a tailor shop in the Market District, just around the corner from blast-site. At this early hour, only shopkeepers filter past in small numbers.

With his striped, bespoke suit and coiffed hair, Eggsy looks a far cry the boy in a snapback and trackies eagerly offering to accompany Nightingale yesterday. His only tie was sliced in two during his first mission, so he borrows a bright, emerald substitute from Harry (perhaps the most audacious colour in his mentor's wardrobe). He even wears his Kingsman glasses, if only to become more accustomed to the feel of the frames. They may be useless, but when Merlin wakes up, he'll sort them out, yeah? ]

Sorry 'bout that. [ The lateness. Very Galahad, he thinks, except he isn't Galahad 'cause Harry isn't dead, and he hasn't mentioned the whole dying part to him yet, so really not very Galahad at all. Right, anyway. With a sheepish smile, he holds out one of the open cups (black coffee, piping hot from Thesa Station) and a paper bag (with a croissant inside). ] Figured we shouldn't be running around without a spot of brekkie.

[ettersberg]

[ nightingale isn't quite certain what to make of the young man who'd introduced himself as eggsy. some of the brightness in his gaze, some of the eagerness and the rougher slant of his accent, those things remind him of peter, of running into peter the very first time and hearing him say he's hunting ghosts, a particular ghost —

but peter is still in stasis and for all that there are similarities, there are large differences as well. they most assuredly aren't the same person, and nightingale'd do well to remember that, he knows.

he still isn't quite sure why he's agreed, why he's said he'd investigate in the first place beyond the fact that it would have been his job, wouldn't it? if this had happened in london, he would have been called. and so he goes out now, too, and waits for eggsy. going through the motions, perhaps. he's done it before, and eventually, going through the motions had become carrying on, and then it had become something more than that again.

he's still here and still alive and still moving forward, against all odds. one day, that'll mean something again.

for now, he waits for eggsy and lifts an eyebrow — not disapprovingly — at the suit and the coiffed hair, the coffee and paper bag. ]

That's very thoughtful of you. [ he allows, and doesn't comment on the tardiness. ]

[tailorable]

[ there's something of harry in him, eggsy thinks, in the careful words and pleasant accent. he pushes the thought aside. best not to cloud his judgment. his winsome youth and exuberance (along with his half-true cover) allow him to forge connections quickly. few in el nysa have denied his golden boy appearance, despite his rough edges. he still doesn't know what to make of that, having never considered himself charming or particularly popular (he was guarded, loyal, and tough — like a dog on the streets). for whatever reason, people here are nicer.

yesterday, nightingale agreed to work with him despite his accent and winged trainers. today, nightingale pays him a mild compliment despite his tardiness. he nearly preens, mouth curving into a self-satisfied smile. ]

Not a bad second impression, then.

[ sipping his coffee with one hand, he gestures with his free hand in the direction of the blast-site. best use the early, empty hours to their advantage. ]

Ready, Thomas?

[ettersberg]

Hardly that.

[ he takes the coffee and smiles at the apparent pleasure in eggsy's posture and expression at the praise. ] Thank you. [ for the coffee, that is, and the breakfast. he takes a sip of the coffee. it isn't the way molly prepares it, but then, he'll have to get used to that. funny, how in london, he'd found excuses not to take all his meals at the folly at times, and now he rather misses molly's cooking.

and then eggsy says thomas and for a moment, surprise shows on nightingale's (thomas's) face. he isn't used to being addressed so informally. even peter doesn't call him thomas, and they, for all intents and purposes, live together. ]

Quite. Lead the way, then.

[tailorable]

[ he notes the surprise, though he can't guess the reasoning for it. eggsy's a casual creature by nature, using nicknames more commonly than anything else. hell, he refers to himself as eggsy. whatever the reason, he merely nods and continues on. his smile remains in place as he looks up to nightingale. ]

Have you dealt with anything like this before?

[ being an investigator and all. eggsy doesn't really know what he's looking for at the site of the incident. sure, he has basic ballistics knowledge, but kingsman only taught him so much. in situations like these, he would have a handler in his ear, recording footage for review and analysis through his glasses. ]

robb.

[tailorable]

[ Eggsy has researched all of his partners, having read old posts on the network in the wee hours of the morning. Sleepless eyes skimmed over discussions of murder to suss out the refugees to the best of his ability. Doesn’t provide the most illuminating intel, mind you (shit like birthday games seems as common as weighted conversations). All he knows is that Robb is a royal something or other. Got to do with that lot of faux Brits who don’t understand the technology.

Whatever. He seems like a solid bloke, being friends with Clary, among others in Eggsy's circle. Robb Stark makes a strong first impression, if only because of his distinctly out-of-place looks (for Eggsy’s times) and cadence (not just the accent — there’s a whole thing to it, like gravitas, if he were to use a proper A-level word for it).

For his part, Eggsy dresses for business. The sharp lines of his suit and round rims of glasses make him appear credible, particularly in the eyes of civilians. Perhaps he’ll even be intimidating, when they reach their destination. See, there’s a grey area in Olympia, where the buildings of the market and entertainment sectors fade into the red light district. It verges on seedy, with dimly lit pubs and sharp-eyed patrons. Eggsy proposes they begin their search in the grey.

As they walk, he adjusts his golden K cufflinks. ]

Should I call you something proper, by the by?

[ with a title, like Princess Tilde. ]

stiles. ca. the day of the explosion. afternoon.

[tailorable]

[ Eggsy elects to hold a private meeting with Stiles in his house, which is the only place in Olympia that he knows to be secure (well, secure as a halfway-to-shit flat can be). regardless of Stiles' opinion on tea, there are two mugs of the English Breakfast equivalent (Olympian Breakfast, maybe) on the coffee table. he sits cross-legged on the sofa, JB in his lap, as he recounts his version of events to Stiles. see, he was at work in the Market District. at a tailor shop, if Stiles can believe it, with his red sweatpants and snapback on; it's Henry's whole thing — he rolls his eyes, like he knows how absurd it seems — got me a job at a ritzy place in Savile Row, turned my life around, figured I should keep at it here.

anyway, some bloke came tumbling in, going on about a boom and gas. the next thing Eggsy knows, he and the shopkeep are seeing more people scatter and run for cover. no more explosions, of course. just the one. and then the announcement about the supposed traitors came on the network.

courtesy of Harry, today's paper is on the table, with an explosive headline in honour of yesterday's happenings. ]

And the woman they caught — she had an M tattoo on her wrist, yeah? [ he removes his hand from scratching JB to brush his fingers over his own wrist, feeling the quickened rhythm of his pulse, and wrinkles his nose. ] Bit stupid, innit?

[ he doesn't have a fucking K seared into his skin, does he? just on his cufflinks... and watch... harry's umbrella... their glasses... still, ain't half as bonkers as branding himself. ]

james. ca. the day of the explosion. evening.

[tailorable]

turn my back for five seconds and things go to shit. are you okay?

[ referring to the attack on the market while he was fucking on shift at the tailor shop. once he receives an affirmative from james, he follows up with — ]

you free later?
need some air

[ with work done for the day, he swings by james' house to pick him up, ever the gentleman. eggsy leans against the door frame, looking up expectantly. the events of the day have fixed the crease between his brows in place. eventually, he'll need to work on that 'cause it's a bloody obvious tell. maybe one day he'll smooth it out and craft a neutral expression, like the one harry wears so easily. for the time being, he allows himself to appear worn and unguarded, if only with james.

travelling straight from work leaves him in his kingsman attire, a suit that costs more than anything else he's ever owned and a striped, navy tie (borrowed from harry). seeing as they're absolutely useless, his glasses remain folded in his upper pocket, ruining the fold of his color-coordinated pocket square. he can't be arsed to straighten it out — not today. at least his hair's still intact: tight on the sides with a sharp left parting. nothing else is acceptable. quite right.

when james opens the door, it's easy to muster a boyish smile. ]

Evenin', bruv.

[ still the same eggsy, then, underneath the lush ensemble. ]

[heorot]

fine
mate was caught in it tho

[ which, retroactively, was probably the best thing that could happen. it got james out of the house. it got james moving to do something. it got james- well. being james. ]

i could go for a walk

[ even if he's not sure about leaving sirius behind. even if he's not sure about what the explosion has done and what it was all about. he should, probably, be more on guard and paranoid about explosions and wartime and affected members. but sirius is pushing him off (something james will not be happy about, later, once sirius' sickness catches up to him) and james is antsy. the buzz around the city has him unable to keep still. unwilling to hang around his now-empty home, once given the surge of energy to actually step outside of it.

so eggsy's offer comes and james is thankful, immediate with his response to join.

the day goes by slowly. james is trying to get more information, yes, but also trying to get sirius to sit still for long enough to actually make sure he's okay. their interactions are still stressed, james can tell that his own behavior is still a bit off, and it all ends with padfoot finally falling asleep back in the back room and james sneaking out the front, though sneaking isn't so much the right term as he knows padfoot can tell. knows he most likely hears the door opening. but james still slips out, grabs a jacket, and steps out onto the step.

upon seeing eggsy, though, james' brow shoots up - very much impressed. ]

Looking slick today. [ and james has a smile of his own, though it's still a bit heavy. the exhaustion on him is similar, but different enough. really, eggsy just seems to be catching james at his worsts, and that's not quite fair to him. in a way, james feels a bit guilty, so he breathes it in and tries to stand up a bit straighter, tapping his wand once on the handle of his door to lock it.

he'll need to tell eggsy about lily. he realizes this, almost a bit belatedly, and the thought makes him pause momentarily before stepping down to the sidewalk. ] Your shop's alright through all this, yeah? Heard most of it was down in the market area, but not much more than that.

[tailorable]

Thanks. [ which sounds more like fanks in his accent and precedes an exaggerated wink. ] All for you.

[ a cheeky and stupid joke, all thing's considered (bombs, war, illness — all in addition to their preexisting troubles). he dresses smart for the job at aan actual tailor shop. well, as a tailor's apprentice, so not quite what kingsman would have him claim. at least he found a suitable job with one, seeing as the whole thing is more complex than eggsy assumed and involves more detailed knowledge than the mere tips harry has imparted to him. best to receive proper instruction, for the sake of his cover.

he nods in confirmation. ]

S'alright. [ taking a few steps from the door. ] The boss is a bit shaken, but that's life, innit?

[ it goes on, with dangers of all sorts lurching around every corner. he slips his hands in his jacket pockets, waiting for james to fall into step beside him before strolling ahead. ]

Bomb hit the market area with all the vendors and stalls, so not near the posh shit. [ of course he looked into it already and found the exact site of the commotion, abandoning his boss (old man aevry, as he's taken to calling him behind his back) to charge into the crowds. his brows furrow with concern. ] How's your friend, anyway?

[heorot]

[ james snorts, shaking his head a bit at the comment. given another chance, he probably would have had a more biting response. something funny and eloquent and just. more james. but for now he just has the snort and the shake of his head. ] You shouldn’t have.

[ he knows eggsy works for a tailor, and the clothes he’d been in during their night of drinking hadn’t exactly been shabby either, and while james has owned a suit or two in his lifetime of a particular price and cut, he never thought himself comfortable enough in it. not in the way eggsy was, with all the air and confidence of a man born into the silk.

interesting. but james tucks that away as well - mystery and eggsy seem to go a bit hand in hand at this point. ]

Depends on what life you’re talking, but I can’t exactly argue. [ he does fall into step with eggsy, almost immediately, as they start off down the street. and really, a pair they must make - the dress and air of eggsy’s suit, shoes, and style, and james’ more tussled, almost lazy sense of style. comfortable, sure, and not at all cheap, but casual. still, james doesn’t feel awkward, taking a slow breath - almost a sigh - as their feet start to match in step. ]

He’s alright- starting to feel a bit ill, but I can’t tell if that’s the explosion or just. [ he doesn’t finish the sentence, but he thinks about it. just…everything. since lily’s disappearance, james hasn’t slept much himself, which means that sirius had been right there with him - either up in the pods or walking the streets. in a way, james almost feels guilty about it, wondering if the reason sirius got caught up in the blast had to do with james keeping him up, or if maybe that’s what the sickness came from. either way, sirius was curled up in the bedroom of james’ home, passed out (finally), and that allowed james the walk.

so instead of elaborating, he shrugs again. ] Kind of fucked, but we’re a bit used to explosions by this point with the war back home. Though I didn’t think that’d be something that’d follow us here too.

[ which was, really, a whole other can of worms. ]

[tailorable]

[ eggsy exhales a puff of air. hard not to be frustrated by the escalating chaos and his helplessness in the face of it. ]

Thought we'd catch a break, yeah.

[ instead of war following them, as james put it. before valentine started blowing up people's heads, britain endured explosions of all sorts — that's life. it ain't okay, but it's something you deal with, for as long as eggsy's known (even more so since harry informed him of the manner of his father's death; not unlike the boom in the market, really). figures that even the supposed safe haven at the end of the worlds would be plagued by trouble, too.

eggsy considers his options, from offering feigned reassurances to providing relevant, but disconcerting, information. he's already lying by omission to harry (injecting tension into their still uncertain relationship), so he decides to continue evenly. ]

Two of my mates were at the site of the blast, too, and they ain't feeling great either.

[ three people is too many to brush off, isn't it? far more dangerous than a cold spreading through the city. eggsy has heard rumours on the origin of the sickness, but the confirmation of knowing three patient zero's makes the link between a toxin in the air and the explosion concrete in his mind. ]

wink wink

[jettisons]

[Bellamy is near enough to the market to hear the explosion, and while he gets tied up trying to figure out a way to help, he does his best to contact everyone he knows in the city to check up on them. It's a few hours later, after Bellamy has led his fair share of sick people to the Sanctuary, that he grabs a second to text Eggsy.]

You're not at the Sanctuary, so I'm guessing you didn't catch whatever the hell that bomb's been spreading. You okay?

ooh mr blake ooh

[tailorable]

[ When the bomb went off, Eggsy was in the far end of the Market District, on shift at the tailor shop. Close enough to witness ensuing chaos but not enough to be of any use to the afflicted. By the time Bellamy texts, his boss has told everyone to call it a day. He investigated the blast site, checked on Harry (and Alan and James and Clary) but there are still more people and leads to pursue.

The message from Bellamy catches him on his walk home, flooding him with relief. Hard not to feel a little touched, too, by his gruff concern. ]

healthy as can be bruv
you too?

don't swoon too much eggsy

[jettisons]

Not sick yet.

[He's sticking to the point, because that's what he's always done in a crisis, but he's relieved that Eggsy is safe. Clary and Sansa certainly aren't.]

You have any idea what the hell happened?

[tailorable]

not yet

[ but he intends to find out. ]

[jettisons]

[Not yet, huh?]

Sounds like you've got a plan.

for great food and conversation call 'the good sir eggsy'

[lucubrare]

[ Eggsy invites her over for food and of course Cass accepts - food is food is food and food cooked by someone she considers a friend is even better. No one in her household can manage to cook a blessed thing, and she's taken to stealing food from David and Cassian's kitchen, and leaving coins in her wake.

It's not the best arrangement. She needs a real job, probably, at least for the cover of expected normalcy, but she hasn't figured out what that is yet. Besides, there's so much going on.

She and her father discuss these things over food, so there's absolutely no reason in her mind not to ask, suddenly: ]

What do you think of the Empress?

[ He's been here longer than her, after all. ]

[tailorable]

[ Lunch is chicken tikka masala, which Eggsy assures Cass is the other official British dish, along with fish and chips. Glaswegians claim they invented it, but he has his doubts.

Now, Eggsy and Harry normally discuss matters over coffee or post-coffee but pre Eggsy observing Harry to see if he seems in the mood to cook a posh breakfast for the both of them. As ever, Cass goes for the fucking jugular, leaving Eggsy glad for the food in his mouth which gives him time to think (all in the name of manners, eh). He speaks slowly, watching her reaction all the while. ]

Think she shoulda said something 'bout this disease business by now.

[ He knows the monarchy would have been all over this shit, so it strikes him as odd that the Empress remains silent. ]

[lucubrare]

[ The dish reminds her of something else, something for her nowhere near forgotten childhood - not the near decade of empty, aimless wandering but the time before, with her first father, and learning to fight.

Someone fed her something like this, and then trained her to taste poisons in the sauce.

What a happy memory. ]

She hasn't. Has she spoken at all? Since you woke up?

[ It's bad politics to say nothing when your people, and perfect strangers, suffer. So either she is ignorant, being held against her will, complicit, or a combination. ]

[tailorable]

[ Bad politics and suspicious as hell. He nudges his food around with his fork, absorbed in thought. ]

Nothing. [ arching his brows. ] You've been thinking about that, too, huh?

[ She brought it up, after all. ]

harry.

[tailorable]

[ they've only just settled into their flat when they have to move out again. it's not ideal, no, especially with jb whinging all the way out the door, but leaving isn’t so hard for eggsy. stability was never a given in his life, after all. it's worry over his friends, not his surroundings, that keeps him up at night — athena, missing for days now; clary and james, growing sicker. no doubt harry has noticed his late night trips to the kitchen, with sleep eluding him for the past week, if not longer.

after helping several people move their belongings (all in his kingsman suit and one of harry's ties, naturally), eggsy finally slides into a carriage with harry and finds himself exceptionally knackered. the thing is: even when they’re both on the sofa, eggsy has a tendency to spread himself across it. given the smaller amount of space here, eggsy settles in at the opposite end of the seat to play on his phone. 'course he doesn’t last long in that position, fidgeting for a few minutes until he's satisfied, closer to harry than before so he can lean back farther. for his part, jb cozies up on the carriage floor, falling asleep immediately. lucky bastard. at least eggsy doesn't move much. well, until an hour or so later, when he scoots closer to get more comfortable and take up as much of the bloody seat as he can without leaning against harry. it's only a matter of minutes, then, before he crashes, a few sudden drops of his head the only warning of his tiredness. after that, with the hand holding his phone now slack at his side, it’s a slow, steady tip towards harry.

he'll be down for a few hours' kip, sleeping like a log apart from the occasional sigh into harry's shoulder. wake him up when they're close to wyver, yeah? ]

[etiquette]

[it's not like harry isn't used to having to pick up and relocate on short notice--half his career has been spent jet-setting across the world with a bag or a few suitcases at his disposal, always half-packed and ready to be filled when arthur had snapped his fingers. and it's not really as if he had that many personal belongings at this stage in olympia--his flat with eggsy was only just beginning to feel lived in, but it's not like he's got to worry about relocating furniture or making a large move this time around. but it's just irritating enough that he makes a few off-handed grumbles in the privacy of his own flat--comfortable enough to do so in front of eggsy.

but after the first few nights when this had all gone tits up--he's not sleeping quite as well either. he's a trained spy, naturally even the smallest of noises will wake him too. he always sleeps light in a new environment and given the tiny proximity of their flat....it's easy to be disrupted. he's occasionally stepped down to try and reassure eggsy to at least attempt to go back to bed, teaching him the alexander technique as a last ditch resort.

he supposes he may have underestimated just how dedicated and selfless his young mentee can be towards his friends with the constant trips to help them move and the level of worry when anything about the virus is mentioned in passing.

eventually they take their own bags and jb into a carriage, finally leaving olympia for the forseeable future on their way to whatever is waiting for them in wyver. one thing he appreciates is a comfortable silence--not that he doesn't enjoy talking to eggsy of course, but it's a testament to their closeness that they can be sat beside one another without much energy for a conversation and it feels just fine. no awkwardness, no need to stilt the small talk.

harry hardly notices how much closer eggsy is until he feels the brush of his forehead against his shoulder, and when he looks over and tenses for a moment until he realizes what's happened...

he doesn't have the heart to wake him up. eggsy is exhausted, and he looks even younger in sleep. harry just awkwardly shuffles his arm so eggsy can tip more fully against him like a human pillow and lets it hang loosely wrapped around his side while he spends the rest of the trip one-handed on his phone. christ, even he's starting to feel like he might doze--but that's right around when he sees they're just outside the border of wyver finally.]

Eggsy?

[he gently dips his head down reaching across with his free hand to touch him lightly on the shoulder and give him a slight wiggle. not enough to startle, but hopefully coax him into groggy awareness.]

[tailorable]

[ the touch makes his features crinkle. it's that surreal thing — falling asleep somewhere new and waking up groggy, blearily trying to take in the world around you. at first, he presses himself more firmly against harry, resisting the pull to wake. ]

Hm. [ which might be the question huh? or who? if he was fully conscious. ]

[ after a moment, he cracks his eyes open. he doesn't normally stay over with dutch, seeing as cuddling would probably be as unwelcome as his pillow talk, so he registers the warm weight around his shoulders with some surprise. he turns his head to look to the side opposite harry, gaze flitting over the arm slung loosely around him and then down to jb curled on the floor. dimly, he realises that it's harry trying to rouse him. oh, right. reality starts to piece together again. he's on the journey to wyver in a bloody carriage. fantasy business as usual these days, innit? he tips his head up to look back at harry, hooded eyes widening as he drifts back to wakefulness. just in time for pink to stripe his cheeks, he brings a hand to scrub at his face. ]

Don't tell me I drooled on you. [ he accompanies his sleepy mumble with an embarrassed groan. he doesn't jerk away, at least, not wanting to elbow harry on his way upright again. and, y'know, it's not the worst thing — awaking tucked against harry after a few hours of blessedly undisturbed rest — besides, he and harry bloody live together now, as odd as it is to acknowledge. eggsy bumps into him in their narrow corridors, bangs on the door when he's primping in the loo for fucking ages, and lets harry nudge him back into his bedroom at three in the morning. sure, it's the most they've touched since the hug on the station (not counting holding hands on the beach in the interest of making a couple hundred quid off some perv, which is an experience best set on a high shelf and left to gather dust), but it ain't worth fussing over.

eggsy reluctantly eases himself off harry, leaning forward in an attempt to shake off the sleepiness. ]

[etiquette]

[he is half bracing himself for eggsy to hastily get up and smack him in the face or something of the like, but it's a risk he's willing to take, and when it doesn't come that's preferable obviously. his lips twitch, though he doubts eggsy can see he's trying to suppress an endeared smile. if he idly notes that flush on his cheeks before eggsy hides it with his hand, he doesn't remark or let himself think about the aesthetics of it.]

Not at all. I thought you could use the rest and I was afraid I'd wake you, otherwise.

[as if to explain why he'd indulged in what some might refer to as a cuddle, or substituting as a human body pillow. all those run-ins are starting to feel like par for the course, but that's to be expected in close living quarters like they have and will likely be moving into in wyver once again. and besides--harry knew that if eggsy had just...shot the dog and been given the title of lancelot, there would have been far worse missions for them to slog through. huddling for warmth in siberia, for example, wasn't just some made-up entertainment for the movie industry. neither was sharing the tiniest of tents in the jungles of the amazon, booking the same hotel rooms or living with another agent as a cover for a few months at a time.

(though, if they're ever going to think back on that excursion playing the old lech and the young sugar baby, that may as well have been something like a mission. one he doesn't care to repeat, even if the money was a welcome reward. still--he realizes it could have been a complete stranger. at least eggsy made it marginally enjoyable.)

he doesn't think eggsy is awake enough yet for that level of reassurance, so he just stays where he is and lets the boy maneuver himself into an upright position. eventually harry gently observes:]

I think that was the longest stretch you've had in days.