( mostly closed )

[ettersberg]

Who: Thomas Nightingale (ettersberg) & various
What: dinner dates, accidentally stumbling about questers, a month in the life of one (1) thomas nightingale
When: january
Where: olympia
Warning(s): n/a (will warn in subject lines if anything comes up)

[ starters in comments. hit me up via pm or at abiosis if you'd like to do something! ]

Comments

∆ BYERLY

[ettersberg]

[ nightingale is still finding his footing with regard to the royal guard and his assignment in the red light district - a place that is not entirely without effect on him. not by any stretch of the imagination. still, he's comported himself in a way befitting his new station, he thinks.

right now, dressed as is customarily for the guard in all black - in his case: a well-tailored black suit, including a black dress shirt and shined black leather shoes - and his cane/staff under one arm, he's walking back to the guard offices to give his report, to make sure he hasn't missed any intel while out.

it's been a long day. tiring, too, to resist the urges the red light distract has inspired. when he spots a familiar face, he thinks at first it may be some illusion. but no, that is most decidedly byerly. ]

I'm surprised to see you here. [ nightingale says, head inclining in greeting. it's a more polite "what are you doing here?". ]

[vorrutyer]

[ Ah. Well. This is not...entirely ideal. By looks the part, looks like he belongs, dressed all in black and walking with confidence. Anyone who didn't know his face would probably hardly have given him a second glance. Just his luck, it seems - running into someone who does indeed recognize him.

Well.

By turns and fixes a broad, delighted smile on his face. ]

My dearest Nightingale!

[ He steps forward and grasps the fellow by the upper arm. ]

What a pleasure to see you again. You're looking handsome - not that you can help it, I think.

[ettersberg]

[ nightingale is not a man prone to shows of emotion - byerly, however, is. that's a little disconcerting to nightingale, or it would be if he didn't carry some fondness for the man who'd quite summarily seduced him in a bar in wyver once. ]

Mr Vorrutyer.

[ they may have slept together, but that does not put them on a first name basis, does it? not in nightingale's book of social etiquette. ] Thank you.

Black suits you. [ it does. but also: what are you doing here and why are you pretending to be a guard? ]

[vorrutyer]

Doesn't it? [ He looks down at himself fondly, appreciating his own handsome form. ] A bit funereal, perhaps, but it does make one feel distinguished.

[ Then back up at Nightingale, with a dazzling smile: ]

But please, do call me Byerly. I think we're close enough for that, no?

[ettersberg]

If you insist.

[ but nightingale says it with a small smile of his own, not entirely immune to byerly's dazzle and handsomeness even without the wyver moonlight to help matters along - but it seems a little over the top now, without the moonlight, a little exaggerated in a way that makes him wonder at its genuineness.

and still, his tone is warm when he adds: ] Byerly.

[vorrutyer]

[ And By's smile broadens at the sound of his name. Then, conspiratorially, he leans in and murmurs: ]

Tell me you're free right now. I have a terrible thirst.

[ It will mean breaking off the job, yes, and that's...not ideal. But there are things worse than that. By, at the end of the day, doesn't know much about Nightingale: the fellow can let loose (obviously), and he's handsome (obviously), but he's also intensely reserved in a way that Byerly hadn't been able to break through in their first encounter. Is he honest, or is he crooked? Is he flexible or rigid? What are his weaknesses, what handles does he have? Oh, he knows the man physically, but mentally he's a mystery.

Which is a dangerous prospect in the current circumstances. By thinks - Well. He thinks he might be able to pique his interest enough to lead him off so that Ocelot can continue on. Perhaps. Again, not the ideal outcome, but certainly better than the alarm being raised and both of them being hauled off to some little cell. ]

[ettersberg]

[ nightingale's eyebrows rise a little. there's interest in his body language, in the way he leans forward a little, in the hint of a smile that lingers at the corners of his mouth. the offer isn't unwelcome - but it is also increasingly suspect. ]

I doubt that's the reason why you're here, pretending to be a member of the guard.

[ nightingale says it calmly. quietly, even - quietly enough that a passing member of the guard would not be able to overhear. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ Well, fuck.

By can feel his heartbeat slow, his head clear, the surge of adrenaline making everything about him steadier and sharper. His features immediately shift into an expression of curious uncertainty. ]

Pretending to be...? What on earth do you mean?

[ettersberg]

[ the problem is, of course, that nightingale is quite certain of what he just said. ]

I thought my meaning was clear.

[ nightingale has fought fae and negotiated with gods and goddesses. local ones, admittedly, but nonetheless. he's interrogated a great many suspects, most of which had something to hide.

conversationally: ] Why don't you tell me what you're doing here, Byerly?

Dinner

[apricitous]

[ Clark had, the first time, looked presentable but plain when he'd come the first time. For one, because he was cooking, of course, and it didn't do to wear something nice if you'd be cooking. For another, because it'd just been a dinner with a friend.

After the holiday gala, Clark made an effort to dress up a little, in a dress shirt and tie and slacks. He did his hair and, after a moment's consideration, left his glasses in his shirt pocket.

When he knocks on Thomas's door, it's with a small, but hopeful, smile on. ]

[ettersberg]

[ it is perhaps more difficult to determine whether thomas has made any particular effort, given that his usual attire consists of bespoke suits and his idea of dressing down involves slacks and a polo shirt; thomas nightingale at his very most casual. admittedly: he's still building his wardrobe back up here in olympia. tonight, he's in a three-piece suit made from wool with a subtle fishbone pattern, his hair neatly parted to one side.

it barely takes a minute after clark's knock for thomas to open the door. he's been waiting for clark, anticipation building in his chest even though there's no outward indication of it. ]

Clark. [ he returns clark's smile with an equally small but no less genuine one of his own. ] Shall we?

[apricitous]

[ Clark wastes only a moment looking Thomas up and down, and to be fair, it's a rather nice view. Nothing prurient, just admiration, and a faint smile lights his face as he offers his arm.]

You'll have to show me the way.

[ettersberg]

Of course.

[ thomas does not fluster under the gaze; he is too old and too secure in his own self to do such a thing, but the way clark looks at him still makes warmth blossom in his chest. ]

I hope you'll enjoy the place I picked. [ with that, he closes the door to his place behind him and links his arm through clark's as though it is perfectly natural. as though he had not grown up in a time when his interest in other men was still criminalised. ]

[apricitous]

[ Clark gives his arm a very small squeeze as they start walking.]

I've got full faith in your taste.

[ He ducks his head a little, teasing. ]

Outside of the company, of course. I wouldn't want to come off as boasting.

[ettersberg]

I happen to think I have good taste in company, too.

[ for a moment, thomas finds himself smiling, something warm and firm, directed solely at clark. ]

[apricitous]

[ And Clark soaks it in with obvious delight, giving Thomas a faint squeeze to his arm in reply. ]

Who am I to argue with that?

[ He tips his head jauntily towards the path in front of them. ]

Tell me about where we're going?

[ettersberg]

It's a small place.

[ thomas is glad to indulge clark's request. gladder still to have made clark smile, to have made him look so delighted. there's something powerful in that, in a way that thomas hasn't felt — hasn't let himself feel — in a long time. ]

If I had to compare it to an Earth cuisine, I'd say Italian comes closest.

∆ JOHN

[ettersberg]

[ the evening is unseasonably warm and thomas is wearing only a wool suit and a scarf, no coat over it, when he meets john in front of the pub they'd gone to the last time as well.

it feels - almost familiar, already. it would feel comfortable, thomas thinks, if not for the fact that the line between anticipation and apprehension is a thin one. the sensation in his stomach is closer to anticipation than anything else, not quite excitement and certainly nothing so negative as apprehension, but it is not what he would term comfortable or relaxed, precisely.

that is not a complaint. ]

John. [ he says in greeting, nodding. there's a hint of a smile on his features. ]

[enarms]

[ Thomas isn't alone in the feeling. there's been a knot somewhere down in John's stomach for half the day - nothing huge, not unpleasant. just a small, tight thing hidden away in there somewhere which has been jolting at intervals: when John checks the time, when he put his coat on half an hour ago to head out the door. just to remind him it's there.

the situation isn't the same as it had been last time they did this, the gala realigning and ironing out some of the creases in whatever this is between them, and this time around John hasn't questioned himself over or denied himself the small pleasures of making a particular kind of effort. a light application of a smokier, woodier fragrance than he wears as a day to day: not too much, enough to compliment a new jacket, crisp shirt. it's not a transformation by any means, just himself slightly elevated, but it's nice to have a reason to bother.

and here they are again. John catches the trace of a smile, raises it an unguarded one of his own. ]

Evening Thomas. [ and he tips his head towards the door. ] Hungry?

[ettersberg]

[ john's put in an effort; thomas can tell. it's more difficult with him to see that he has, likely, since he's meticulous about how he dresses, about the side parting of his hair on any day - but john smiles back at him, unguarded, and thomas' own smile grows in fractions. ]

I could certainly eat.

[ that's a yes. and so he gets the door, holding it open for john. if his eyes linger as john passes him, he doesn't think it strange at all. john is a handsome man, and thomas remembers what it feels like to kiss him all too well and not well enough at all. ]

[enarms]

[ John passes through, casting Thomas a quick glance before his view - and the softer, uneven hitch of a pleased quirk to his smile - is obscured by the door.

being seen, properly looked at, by another man is relatively new territory for John— at least, being actively aware and inviting of it is. he finds it accompanied not just by the familiar, affirming strength of being noticed, but by a clutch in his chest: new. maybe that'll wear off over time, maybe catching the eye of a man and finding himself happy to be there won't always have this particular distinction from the way he's always felt under similar attention from a woman. maybe it won't. for now, he clocks it, and carries on.

the bar has its own separate section for sitting down for evening meals, but John's refined his taste for habit here even more than it had been at home (there habits enhanced the enjoyment of breaking them: here they function to stop the irregularity of everything else from taking too great a toll) and he makes a beeline for their previous table. it's still in the bar area but over in the corner, not too close, more than enough distance for privacy without losing any sense of the character of the place. a good spot for what is, if they're both sitting in the margins of the same page here (he thinks they might be - or will be, at least, by the time they part ways at the end of it), technically a first date. first and a half, possibly.

he stands aside as they reach the table, slipping out of his jacket and hooking it over his arm to wait and let Thomas choose where he'd rather sit. ]

Alright day?

[ it's small talk, but there's time for that now. it doesn't feel uncomfortable to pick at easy topics, a gentle companionable tapping at ice they've already broken. ]

[ettersberg]

Hm.

[ it's a brief hum, acknowledgement of the question, a little thoughtful on account of being distracted by taking off his own jacket, hanging it over the back of one chair and settling into said chair a moment later. it's only once thomas and john both are seated that thomas actually answers: ]

It was, yes. I recently started working for the Royal Guard and I'm settling into the job.

[ it doesn't feel uncomfortable to thomas, either - in fact, quite the opposite. it feels like john is interested in how his life is going and that feeling transforms the question from mere small talk into something else for him. ] And yours?

[enarms]

Oh yeah?

[ that's seems to get a pointed attention from John - he might've signed up to the Guard himself if he weren't a little wary about the idea of tying his sense of duty to an authority that hadn't yet proved itself to him. but Peggy's in the Guard, and it's good to know the ranks are filling out with fellow refugees. especially when those refugees are friends.

he almost asks if Thomas has bumped into her at work, Peggy, but remembers himself and catches back up with the conversation— ]

—Yeah. Yeah, fine, thanks. Spent half of it catching up on sleep, actually. It's been a busy week.

[ettersberg]

Yes.

[ thomas' sense of duty is not tied to his employment in any particular way. his sense of duty was to the folly and is to keeping the peace. not her majesty's peace, here, or at least not the same majesty - but peace nonetheless. he does not much care for the politics of it one way or another, though he knows far too well how much politics can matter in the end.

(politics can make the difference between bombing a place from altitude or sending boots on the ground - there are days when thomas has wished he was more inclined to politicking.)

but those thoughts are brushed aside when john continues. ] So busy you've not been sleeping?

[enarms]

[ John shakes his head, offers a little apologetic smile to go with his clarification. slight overstatement on his part. ]

I work nights. Usually try to be up in the mornings, but by the time I get to a day off I've usually got a bit of a hangover. [ sleep deficit. so he catches up on a few hours extra when he gets the chance. and, to be fair, ] It has been busier than usual this week - leftover excitement from all the festivities, I suppose.