[november catchall - closed-ish]

[etiquette]

Who: harry hart etiquette & various
What: november catch-all for event stuff!
When: early november
Where: wyver mostly, little bit of olympia probs
Warning(s): def some nsfw jungle heat threads in here, beware!


[this is a catch-all for late october/early november threads! if anyone else would like to plot something or needs a starter feel free to hit me up by pm or on plurk over at obscurial. i'm def up for more during the new plot! c:]

Comments

byerly vorrutyer;

[etiquette]

[picking up and having to relocate all over again really wasn't harry's first choice. it's not as if it were really that difficult--he didn't have all the trinkets from his real home in london that would have made it tedious. and after a life jumping from place to place on moment's notice from a threat the relocating itself isn't really anything different for him either. maybe it's simply the factor of so much still unknown--between these two areas, the terrorist attack, worrying for eggsy's safety.

he decides the best thing to do to find at least a bit of a constant and make some spare money is to do as he always has: maintain his cover. it takes a bit of searching and a whole lot of charm to find a small clothing shop and convince the owner to take him on for some extra assistance doing alternations and custom tailoring. believe it or not he is actually trained in the art of it--not his first choice of course, and he rarely ever had to make use of it back at kingsman's shop in london, but it's not like anyone here is raring for ballroom dancing instructors, piano players, or any other of the luxurious past-times his wealthier covers have taken on in the past. and seeing as a tailor has no business remembering much of his military combat from his youth, teaching someone how to fight is out as well.

he hadn't been expecting anyone to take him up on it, least of all the man he'd shared drinks with at the illicit fight club and been less than subtle spending the evening flirting back and forth over the rims of their glasses. but he's happy to help, and when byerly arrives he'll find harry alone bent over a pattern on the counter, staring at it thoughtfully and making a few notes. when he hears the click of the door he'll look up, a pleasant and not at all insincere close-lipped smile.]

Good to see you again, Mr. Vorrutyer. Come in and let's have a look.

[at his poor mangled piece from an unlucky trek in the jungle. harry's had several of those in the past few days alone, and he's never been so grateful for temperature-regulated, kevlar-lined and reinforced material on his kingsman suit as he is now.

Can I get you something, in the meanwhile?

[given the way their conversation had ended last time, maybe there's the barest bit of flirtation there, even if he's only being polite offering a refreshment.]

rosalind lutece;

[etiquette]

[he hasn't forgotten their first conversation here--the end of october is the anniversary--would one call it that?--of rosalind's death. he still doesn't know all the circumstances and it isn't like he wants to pry, but he knows firsthand that on certain dates (the death of lee unwin, for example), it's better to get a stiff drink or try not to go it alone. so maybe he doesn't outright mention it when he asks her, but there is an ulterior motive for the invitation he extends.

he's fairly certain he won't be staying in wyver much longer, preferring olympia even if he hasn't necessarily put his trust in one or the other at this point. but for now it's more convenient to stay here until he and eggsy can both take the trip back--god only knows if they'll manage to get the same flat again. but for now he's still in wyver, and it's easy enough to find a bar that doesn't look as if they'll immediately get robbed on sight again. he turns to her once they've gotten a seat, raising a brow.]

And what would Madam have to drink to start off?

[he's got his own complicated request on the backburner for now.]

dorian pavus;

[etiquette]

[harry can't necessarily say he's never seen anything like it--there are certain countries where friendliness and even a bit of touchiness isn't anything outside of the norm--pick a random day in the summer on mykonos or st. barth's for example, or christ even (god forbid) vegas. maybe it's relief that things are dying back down or something else in the air, but harry is definitely feeling a little lighter and chattier than usual while passing through the streets of wyver. and if he sees anything mildly indecent--he might take a longer glance than is strictly polite.

at least he isn't stuffed into tiny shorts and meant to faux-seduce anyone in the middle of a beautiful evening like this--the moon reflecting rather nicely in everyone's widened, excited eyes. he stops for a drink or two, content enough on his own until he spots a familiar face. maybe he won't recognize harry in his full bespoke kingsman suit, but harry would recognize that mustache for certain. (and maybe he hasn't forgotten about the memorable shirt--if you could call it that--dorian had donned that day on the beach either).

he makes his way through the crowd, slipping in beside him and clearing his throat to get the other man's attention. maybe dorian won't even remember him at all, but there's no time like the present to reintroduce himself.]

Thank heavens we won't have to worry about any misplaced tan lines tonight.

[he'll offer a lopsided smirk once dorian gives him his full attention.]

what's sadder than sad

[tailorable]

[ there's tension thick in the air, coiling around his throat, threatening to choke the words out. his lies and half-truths have tangled up for almost two months now, forming a tight vice on his heart. the topic arises too frequently because harry's cleverer than anyone else, pointing out the gaps in eggsy's story yet trusting him, anyway. innocently discussing the way the dead rise here, without knowing what it means for himself. he doesn't have enough information to indict eggsy, certainly, only omissions that prevent his protege from reaching full credibility. see, eggsy can't exactly tell harry about officially becoming galahad without admitting aloud, to harry himself, that he died on a sunny day in the american south, staggering forward with a sheen of dust and blood on his kingsman suit, a church-full of corpses behind him.

and eggsy watching from his office.

instead, he said, you were compromised. and in fucking kentucky, at that. there wasn't time. arthur was a traitor, and merlin didn't know to trust me until I killed him. it all happened so fucking fast. we saved the world. today, he tells harry we need to talk. ]

You've been trusting me, Harry, and I haven't been honest.

[ he perches on the edge of the coffee table, facing harry on the sofa. his hands fist in the fabric of his trackies, a tell of his anxiety. despite his fidgeting, his features have settled into a somber, if jagged, expression. his entire body, normally soft in the safety of their shared home, has gone rigid. ]

But you've got to hear me out, okay? This time, I'm telling you everything. Swear down. I've just been trying to do the right thing.

[ he pauses, already losing a fraction of his confidence. a sharp inhale. he can't help but search harry's face for signs of anger and disappointment. ]

eggsy unwin;

[etiquette]

[harry can't say he's going to miss much of wyver, limited amount of time he's spent here and all. the heat was enough to drive any sane englishman away, but throw in the general seediness and all the hubub about mysterious rituals and magic--he's quite confident olympia will do him just fine. that doesn't mean he's willing to pick sides just yet, not without more information as the last bits of panic have started to die down from this whole ordeal. but he can do it without having to worry about the temptations that the heat and something about the moonlight will bring and whatever other nonsense has overtaken the locals this month.

(look, the last time he was meant to come face-to-face with some sort of "magic ritual", meant to cure one of their compulsions, it was a gateway to an underground human trafficking ring equipped with enough scopolamine to enslave the entire bloody continent of australia. nothing otherworldly about that.)

maybe it's generational. god knows he's starting to feel the just off-footed enough and uncomfortable with the level of care and the instincts he has when eggsy pulls something mildly irresponsible. they're kingsman agents--their entire lives are surrounded with danger. granted, if the end of the world hadn't happen, harry would be needing to worry more about stray bullets and gunpowder as opposed to fire-breathing dragons and unfamiliar politics and surroundings. dirty bombs and underground spy rings were one thing, this was entirely another. perhaps it's that uncertainty and the painful illumination between their differences in age that has made this that much more difficult for harry to swallow at times.

but of course, it's eggsy who hears the rumours about an actual shaman bearing blessings and an opportunity for pairs to receive some sort of gift--an enhancement of skills. harry is skeptical how a necklace could help eggsy learn say one of over twelve languages harry speaks fluently, or for him to suddenly pick up the daunting notion of parkour in his spare time--but at this point it doesn't appear that it could actually harm them in any way, so what the hell? harry wouldn't call himself a non-believer he's just...a bit cynical, given the things he's seen over the years. he's wearing a double-breasted suit as usual, this one a rather pretty shade of dove gray he's fond of with a navy tie dotted with icy baby blue accents that look white from far away and it's been a few days since they were approached with a necklace looking like it was decorated with smaller versions of the teeth eggsy had pulled free from the dragon off the beach. they're just nearly to the foot of the mountain, and harry can vaguely make out a dais of some sort and a figure wearing something long and somber looking. before they can get within sight, harry puts a halting hand on eggsy's shoulder and leans in.]

Ah, we're nearly there. If this goes south, or is some sort of trap--I'll take the right side.

[what can he say--old habits die hard. if it sounds like a load of horse shit, it usually is.]