| Movie Night |
[Jun. 28th, 2009|08:35 pm] |
Just watched Taken with the gang.
I've never heard Pete laugh so hard in my life. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 15th, 2008|11:52 pm] |
Well, that made for a change.
I had to carry Pete out of the theater, for once.
I've heard a rumor the boss is going to try to ban us from watching action films. I'm not surprised. Our livers can't take the drinking game, at this pace.
Pete's convinced someone stole his diary, but that might have been the rum talking... |
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| Not A Good Way To Start The Week... |
[Mar. 23rd, 2008|09:58 pm] |
What the fuck am I doing in Prague?
Again?
I'm in some dingy flat. I have a celphone, but it's not mine. I've got 400 Euros and about the same amount in koruna in a wallet that's otherwise distressingly empty - like no ID, no credit cards, not even a driver's license empty, And I'm armed to the teeth, for some reason.
More to the point, I seem to have lost the best part of three weeks. I repeat: what the fuck is going on?
At least there isn't a corpse in the bathtub, so I guess it's an improvement over last time... |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 12th, 2008|11:48 pm] |
"I don't know about you, Miss Kitty, but I'm feeling so much yummier."
Indeed. |
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| "That Terribly Slow Crashing Trick Which Arctic Ice-Floes Do So Spectacularly In The Spring." |
[Feb. 28th, 2008|01:44 am] |
I found somethiing hidden in my apartment. Pretty well hidden, in fact, but I've been having fits of paranoia, lately - ever since that Very Nasty Incident In Kosovo - and they're pretty rough. One minute, you're looking at the ceiling molding thinking it needs dusting, the next minute, you're pulling up the carpet and dissembling the light fixtures.
So, yeah, the thing I found... It's just a couple of pages of onionskin, covered in handwriting - my handwriting. At least, it looks like mine. But I don't remember writing it. To be honest, that's not all that surprising. But this still falls under the category of Definitely Not Good.
I can't afford to fuck around. I've called The Boss and told all. I'm hoping he can clear things up.
But, right now, I've got a stinking migraine. No doubt from decrypting my chickenscratch. I'm going to give myself a shot and go to bed for a few hours. With luck, everything will be clear by morning. |
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| Not Very Cryptic At All |
[Jan. 27th, 2008|11:50 pm] |
If it wasn't for risk inherent in carving a former boss into pieces small enough to hide - namely the risk of having ditto done to me by my current boss - there'd be a big ol' pile of CIA-flavored chum in the Firth of Forth right now.
I suppose I could have handled that meeting with "Munson" better than I did but, honestly? I'm just glad I didn't deck him in the middle of the pub. That would not have ended well. |
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| Checking In... |
[Sep. 16th, 2007|12:57 am] |
It seems to me that all the trouble in my life, of late, has been caused by a variety of men all named Jack.
Great. Just great. It could be worse, I suppose, but I'd rather not try to imagine how. |
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| Our Is Not To Reason Why |
[Jun. 28th, 2007|11:55 am] |
I've been ordered to take a holiday. I'd complain but The Boss has a way of being very persuasive. Mandatory relaxation it is, then.
And, oh yes, I did catch up with "Munson". More on that debacle when I feel up to it. Suffice to say it crossed over into sheer farce about thirty seconds in...
( (OOC) ) |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 12th, 2007|11:15 pm] |
I'm going off-page for a few hours. I have to go talk to one Mr. Munson.
And, Pete? I'm not the reincarnation of Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS. Geeze, you make one a few jokes about guys in dog collars and you never live it down...
( OOC Note ) |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 11th, 2007|06:46 am] |
Brilliant. He's not in Edinburgh. He's in Glasgow.
This is what happens when you have non-locals managing the intel. I'd have had more useful information from the goddamn white pages and the A-to-Z. |
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| An Open Letter To Circumstance |
[May. 6th, 2007|01:00 am] |
What the fuck?
Edinburgh?
What the fuck am I supposed to do in Edinburgh?
Crap. I know the answer to that question, damn it all.
I thought I was off the honeytrap circuit. What goddamn genius thought up this idea? It wasn't Marlena. She's too smart for this - and so's the target. My money's on him making me in 36 hours and running for the hills in 37. But mine is not to reason why - not in this case, apparently, as The Boss made abundantly clear.
At least I've got a decent cover this time: Yoga instructor with a sideline in self-defense for women. Not only can I do that, but I'm surprised that The Boss isn't worried about me enjoying the cover too much. I'm sure he looked at the police blotter for the city before lumping me with this assignment. I suspect that if I happen to cripple a few would-be rapists, I'd be as safe as houses.
At least I'll have an outlet for my irritation about this bullshit situation... If I didn't know any better, I'd suspect I"m being set up to fail. The target's already turned down the CIA and Mossad, for Christ's sake...
Stiff upper lip, woman. If not for queen and country - ha! - think of the shit you'd be in with The Boss if you didn't give it 100%... |
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| Patricia/Paul - Summary/Braindump |
[Mar. 6th, 2007|08:44 pm] |
Note: I meant to stitch this all together into a single narrative, but it's been languishing on my hard drive for months and I simply can't be bothered. So you're getting a series of asterisked vignettes, instead. As long as you've pad attention to the past Paul/Patricia encounters, you'll have no trouble here.
Go figure, this involves Yvette, in a peripheral way, and is set several months after she left Paul. See Departure for the circumstances behind that ugly little incident.
( Long ) |
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| Checking in. Again. |
[Jan. 19th, 2007|10:29 am] |
It's been a while. I've been busy.
To sum up:
Marlena talked me out of chopping up Mr. On Again, Off Again for stewing meat. In fact, Mr. On - oh, fuckit, his name is John - is, in fact, now working for Code Black, having been counter-poached when he was trying to poach me. I'd sent Blackheart a thank-you card (and a cut of the recruiting bonus) if it wasn't for the fact that one of the few rules I've kept in my life is to not fuck my coworkers. Go figure, they usually know better anyways. Geeze, you do one1 stint as a black widow and you can't get a date anymore.
Still in London, and I think I've finally gotten used to the place. Good thing it only took three years, huh? I suppose they'll want to rotate me out, now but, really, the city's (and the whole country) has grown on me. You can say what you like about Yankee manners, but the Brits have got this polite thing down, and that makes my life so much easier.
Oh yeah, I finished the latest dissertation and, like the last one, it's already been classified. I suppose I should have a party or something, but no-one's going to believe me when I tell them I've got a PhD, let alone two.
Jason identified a new and sorta interesting outfit - one that's got me wondering how we hadn't heard of them before. To be fair, it seems like the bosses have always been vaguely aware of Torchwood, but as their remit is so different from ours - bug-eyed aliens, by God - they were pretty much beneath the bosses' notice, I guess. Right up until something fell out of the sky and landed on our turf. Then it was suddenly "Let's go talk to our dear professional bretheren" - and hope the bloody thing wasn't going to make us grow two heads, I bet.
As Marlena's the diplomatic one, she did most of the talking. I just did what I know best, oh boy, did I ever.
I'll pull my tongue out of my head before I'll admit to anyone but this lovely diary that the frog-faced git knows what he's doing. Damn. I haven't been taken by surprise like that in a hell of a while.
However, the reputation of Torchwood seems a bit like the gang's. The failures are always more spectacular than the successes and only the bad stuff reaches the press. I can sympathize with that. I think the boss is still dealing with the fallout from Paris. Funny how it seems to have escaped everyone's notice that we rolled up significant chunk of a terrorist network about to blow up the Ministry De Defence.
Well, no time for complaints. I've got memos to write, or something. That and there's an email from this Tosh person answering a few questions about this retcon stuff. If I'm reading the chemistry right, it could save our bacon - but absolutely has to be kept out of the hands of someone like Pete. We'd have half of London amnesiac and psycho within a month...
1 - translated: 38 |
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| Berlin - 2A (Overtime - Paul's POV) |
[Aug. 12th, 2006|07:03 pm] |
I had been looking forward to meeting Patricia DeMontfort again. She showed an unusual strength – especially for one of her clan - when facing the Brandenburg Gate, and the hints made at her impulsive nature… well, it can be an entertaining mix. So I pursued an opportunity to see her again.
( again, a little long ) |
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| Berlin - Two (Overtime) |
[Aug. 12th, 2006|06:52 pm] |
The night after their first conversation, Patricia DeMontfort and Paul Viersan meet in an office building, overlooking the Pariser Platz in central Berlin. Paul’s façade is firmly back in place, the easygoing charismatic Ventrue entertaining a guest, making small talk as they find their way to a vacant office.
( longer than anticipated, so... ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 28th, 2006|06:13 pm] |
Back from a dirty weekend and all is nominally right with the world, although I'm starting to think there's something up with Mr. On-Again/Off-Again. I don't think he's married. Maybe he's just bored, or got someone else. No skin off my nose if he is/does. It's not like we have a very emotional relationship, is it? I don't think I'm going to be allowed one of those until I retire - ha ha.
Pete's got that dark-and-broody look about him. I'd better go get him drunk and find out what's on his mind... |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 24th, 2006|12:02 pm] |
The consensus seems to be that we're going to follow up on Blackheart's broad hints that the oppo are hoping I'll change sides - shake that tree and see what falls out.
It's going to take a couple of months, as Blackheart's particularly difficult to fool. Embarrassingly enough, the MO is "Wait until an operation goes up shit creek - a 'when', not an 'if' - and then scapegoat Andrea for it". Not what I'd call sophisticated, but it'll leave the right traces in the right places. Simply faking a few emails and spreading some rumors won't cut it in this case.
Give it a couple of weeks for the word of my so-called crucifixion to get around, and then I'll place that ad in the London Times.
I don't think this'll turn into a full-blown double-agent thing. Not with me in the lead, at least. Maybe Marlena will do a turn in my skin. It wouldn't be the first time.
Right now, I'm concerned with making time for Mr. On-Again/Off-Again, selfishly enough. Apparently we're on at the moment. Thank god for that. Dry spells have gone on for far too long when Pete starts looking good - although the real danger sign is Jason. In a body cast. If I ever reach that point, I'm calling an escort service. |
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