fandomtownies | The Park, Tuesday Night

The Park, Tuesday Night

The cold in Fandom is biting, as it becomes more and more obvious that the place is a lawless nightmare. No police, no mayor, no law other than that of force.

It is no place to be for any normal person or any trained fighter.

Much less the old man who is walking through park late at night. He draws his coat further around him and shivers, putting a hand up on his hat to keep it on. He looks very frail and helpless out in the cold

That's exactly what he is. A frail, graying, helpless old man. Yep. That's exactly what you see here. You definintely do not see an ex-British Intelligence Officer who has caught some of his employer's knack for do gooderism and is well armed enough to take out an army division by himself.

Yep, that's definitely what you don't see. Totally. You can go ahead and attack this old man without worry that anything bad will happen to you. At all. You won't end up in an Intensive Care Ward. Why would that happen?

[[OOC: Open to anyone who is ~~dumb~~ brave enough to wander around the park at night for their own means, anyone who wants to chat with Alfred, or anyone who has a death wish and wants to attack him.]]

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He saunters to the duck pond, only to find no bench. No bench makes him cranky. With a wave of his hand he manifests one and sits, making tschktschk noises to the ducks. He has a bowl of livers too, and everyonce in a while he chucks one into the water for the poppet below the surface.

He lights a cigarette and kicks back, enjoying the waves of fear and tension wafting through town tonight.

Alfred glances over at the new arrival. "You must be the demon," he says.

"Quite. Aren't you a bright one. You, I've not met yet. You can call me Crowley, pet. Have a sit?"

"I think I will, thank you," Alfred responds, sitting down next to Crowley. "Pennyworth is my name. Alfred Pennyworth. You know, I was warned about you. Something about not shaking hands."

"Ah, word gets round, I see. Well, I am a very bad fellow, you know. Most likely corrupt you and steal your sould and get you to enjoy Arsenal and all that. Biscuit?" Along with his crmbled bits, he offers an intact Jaffa cake. "I could get us some tea as well if you'd like to be civilised."

"Well, I've had tea with an angel, why not have tea with a demon? Lord knows I've done actions befitting both in my life. And thank you for the biscut," He says, taking one.

With a wave of his hand, and proper steaming cup on a saucer appears, lemon and sugar on the side. He hands it over gingerly and takes another drag before bringing forth one for himself. "So what brings a fine fellow like you to this quaint little wound of a town, Mr. Pennyworth?"

Cigarette held firmly in his mouth, he tosses another nit to the hungry ducks who scamper for every crumb.

"It's a rather long story, I'm afraid," Alfred says. "But the long and short of it is that I currently find myself with little to do until my charge gets back, so I decided to get out into the world and open up a little restaurant. The grand opening celebration is on Friday. You're welcome to attend, of course." He takes a sip of his tea.

"Why thank you, my good man. I may just take you up on that. I have a restaurant as well, as part of my hotel. Not much business generally, but enough functions to keep a fellow in the black, what?" He grins as he takes a sip. "You're not from Manchester, I'll forgive you that. Where'd you come from, old bean?"

"London, my dear chap. London, England. Though most recently from Gotham City. I think I can take a fair guess where you came from."

"Ah, I'd wager you'd be right, too. No secret, me. However, I did come here direct from London myself. Miss it, really. So much more to see and do. Good food, a decent pint every now and again..." he becomes lost in thought for a moment, until a duck comes right up and bites at his trousers, demanding more food.

"Oh really? Did you come here with Azriphale then? He mentioned that he was from the area as well," Alfred asks as he sips at his tea. "I assume that you two at least knew each other there?"

"Aziraphale. Yes. I've known him for quite some time. Co-workers, you might say." He smirks, and then drops his cigarette , crushing it beneath his shoe and banishing it away. "What did you think of my angel?"

Alfred winced at getting the name wrong. That was unconsionable ~~even if it is bloody impossible to spell~~. "He seemed like a pleasent enough type. Seemed quite impressed by my abillity to discern that he was an angel despite not being told and not being witness to any miracles." He sipped at his tea.

Alfred winced at getting the name wrong. That was unconscionable ~~even if it is bloody impossible to spell~~. "He seemed like a pleasant enough type. Seemed quite impressed by my abilityto discern that he was an angel despite not being told and not being witness to any miracles." He sipped at his tea.

"Always impressed by men, he is. Soft spot for you all." He nods softly and smiles at the thought of the angel's face. The smile becomes a rasping hissy laugh, and he claps Alfred on the shoulder. "Good show! I wish I'd been there to see his face."

[[through clothes his touch doesn't do anything. Feel free to freak out though.]]

Alfred shrugs. If he's concerned about Crowley's touch, he doesn't show it. "It really wasn't that difficult," he says. "People often give away much more than they think they do. It's really a matter of paying attention. In his case, he made the mistake of pouring two different kinds of tea from the same tea cup."

[[Thanks. I'm trying to establish that Alfred is more or less completely unflappable. I mean, he has to work with Batman, after all What does his touch do on skin?.]]

"Yes, he does that. He'll also pour tea and hand you cocoa with those little marshmallows from time to time. And me? You saw my little trick with the bench I assume?"

[[Crowley's touch imparts one of the seven deadly sins to the extent you want to play them. he's big on lust and pride, but for thanksgiving he gave everyone gluttony for a laugh. his touch is also warm, and gets hotter the longer the contact is held. but it's always up to you...he's all about choice.]]

"Well, that was part of it. Demons and angels are the only things that could cause the trick with the bench," Alfred responds.

[[Cool. The only exposed skin Alfred currently has is his face. Plus, he's on hyper ultra alert mode tonight, so any attempts to touch him that he deems dangerous will be stopped damn quickly. But later? Sounds lots o' fun.Yay for Crowley and Azriphale!]]

"Not around here, we aren't. Witches, lots of bloody witches. Crawling all over, trust me on that one, mate."

He drains his cup and looks to Alfred's. "Would you like more?"

"So I hear. And I mispoke, I'm afraid I meant to say "aren't" the only things that could do the trick with the bench," Alfred says. "And I would quite like some more, please. What type of tea is it?"

[[OOC: *kicks typo-ing sleepy self]]

"Evil." he snickers as Alfred's cup fills with a wave of his hand. "You like it?"

He devolves into laughter at his own joke, and takes a while to right himself. "It's a proper darjeeling from Abner and Scotes in Devon. It's one I like best. Never mind about the slip of the tongue, old boy, I've been known to do it a time or two myself."

"Exquisite," Alfred says. "And definitely not evil. I've had evil tea. Has a sort of orangey taste, I thought." He sips at his tea.

[[OOC: Mun go all crash and fall down sleepy now. We can continue in slowplay or you can arrage to have it end somehow. Night.]]

"It was American, no doubt. America's teas have been evil since the Revolution I hear." he nods with all seriousness, and takes a sip. "Not to mention dreadfully weak."

He kicks back, legs splaying out in front of him as he reaches in the plastic bowl. Pulling out a quivering hunk of bloody liver, he tosses it out into the pond and then reseals the lid.

[[sleep sleep. We can sp tomorrow, or wrap when you get back on.]]

"I think I will, thank you," Alfred responds, sitting down next to Crowley. "Pennyworth is my name. Alfred Pennyworth. You know, I was warned about you. Something about not shaking hands."

[[OOC: What are you talking 'bout? Batman could beat anyone. Well known fact of the universe. Like gravity. 'Sides, I couldn't think of anything else that didn't sound stupid.]]

"Well," JOhn said, clearly not in the middle of a conversation nor in media res, "before we head on into town proper, I need to get something. Follow?"

John leads off the beaten path, along a rabbit run.

Keeping to the bushes, John excavates something along the border between the school and the town proper.

This particular ammo case holds a nice pair of automatics and a pair of revolvers along with appropriate ammo and holsters.

"Fancy a pair?"

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"Oh, I'm sure that what I consider safe and what he considers safe is vastly different." He straps one of the six guns on his thigh. "I'd love to get my new one out, but these'll do. 'Mind me to visit Tex, see if I can get some special orders." He handed her a holster.

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"Well, I was thinking of hitting a few stores, get some food. Still haven't priced the lumber for the lofts yet. Get a bite to eat?" He moved off, paralleling the main path but far into the underbrush, following that same rabbit path. "I've heard there's some bad juju going on here. I'd prefer to stay off the path, if ya don't mind."

His eyes scanned ahead, not resting on anything for too long.

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"Been listening to people talking in the halls. No mayor. No police. Looking to make a few contacts, see who's still here." John turned around. "Hey, keep your hands out of your pockets. You might trip and fall wrong." His eyes scan the surroundings.

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"Better." He started walking again, obviously edgy.

"I'm not sure. This isn't a good thing. It's like Lawlessville."

He peers around, not sure if he should enter the town proper.

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"Yeah, I think you're right. Tomorrow?" He starts heading back to his stash ~~which he'll totally move tomorrow~~ to secure his belongings.

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He replaces it ~~and totally doesn't palm a survival knife into his boot~~ and replaces it. He covers it with native debris so that it's not obvious.

He pecks her on the cheek before heading up towards school again.

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The Park, Tuesday Night

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