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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Sept 25, 2011 20:48:19 GMT -5
Gregory Lestrade leaned against the cold brick wall of a building. He held a cigarette between his fore and middle fingers and was watching as smoke drifted off the glowing orange end of the object and highlighted streams of white in the dark night sky. He was tired and the day had been hard; the first week in a new place was bound to be, though. Tomorrow he would start working, and then he would be able to focus on something; put his time to good use.
It was so much different from San Francisco here, and yet not at all. There were still the varying areas of poor and rich, but everything seemed much more defined and dramatic here, as if someone had stamped a label on everything. The lights seemed brighter, the cars louder...The traffic was definitely worse.
Lestrade sighed and pinched his dying cigarette out with his fingers, not really noticing the faint pain it sent through his fingers; he'd done is so many time before, it didn't hurt much anymore. He tossed the now cooling roll into a trashcan a few feet a way, narrowly making the throw. It didn't make much of a sound, and Lestrade couldn't hear it; though the building his figure was currently leaning on wasn't stationed on a particularly busy street, that really wasn't saying much, considering that in New York City, "not particularly busy" seemed to be "quite busy indeed."
He licked his lips and leaned his head back on the wall, thinking that he really should stop smoking so much; he well knew the dangers. But he also knew he wouldn't stop, at least, not any time soon. Drinking too; 'Bit of a hypocrite I am' he thought smugly. 'I arrest people for that every day, after all.'
"Well, used to," he accidentally thought aloud, and resumed his looking about the streets. There were so many different people. How could there be so many of them? All so the same and different and living their own little lives? It was so terribly confusing, and aggravating.
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Post by JAMES MORIARTY EDWARDS on Sept 27, 2011 17:41:22 GMT -5
perfection (pəˈfɛkʃən)
— n
1. the act of perfecting or the state or quality of being perfect
2. the highest degree of a quality, etc: the perfection of faithfulness
3. an embodiment of perfection
To reach such a state where he would exist without flaws...that would truly be sublime. It's completely unrealistic but it was a worthy goal to aim for. James had perfected certain abilities such as lock picking and breaking in, but there was one area that he desperately needed to improve on. James could break into any high security vault but was only able to truly con someone on a good day.
It became part of his routine to venture out every other week with a new name, a new background, and a new accent. It was tedious work but James deemed it necessary.
This week James slipped on Alfonso Corleone's identity. It was a stereotypical Italian man complete with bad clothing, a slightly orangish tan, and darkened hair in addition to a goatee. It wasn't anything spectacular, not by any means, but it was just different enough for James to feel like another person.
Which meant another person to live as and to feel as.
"'Allo," James said through a thick accent, Venician to be exact. There was a man lurking outside who had just extinguished a cigarette. "You...ah...you have another, yes?"
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Sept 28, 2011 16:09:23 GMT -5
Lestrade hadn't noticed that the slightly taller man was standing next to him until he spoke. He was surprised, but didn't jump; that was the sort of thing you lost when you were part of the police. Showing yourself scared. It was the sort of thing you lost very quickly. Getting stabbed tended to do that to you. Scanning the heavily accented man, he saw a bad tan and goatee dressed very distastefully. Perhaps poor, but despite being not overly handsome, he did look moderately well kept, so maybe not. Lestrade felt as if there were something...off though. But heshrugged the feeling away; obviously he was just being paranoid.
The long time police man frowned and didn't answer for a moment when the man asked if he had "another", at first thinking the Italian man meant "another person". He opened his mouth to answer with something snappy, before realizing that the man's line of sight had followed his cigarette. 'Oh, I'm getting so horrible dull' he thought to himself grimly.
"Oh!, yes," Lestrade finally answered, giving a thin smile, reaching into his pocket and gracelessly grabbing another. He held it out stiffly to the Italian; perhaps so easily accepting a stranger wasn't the best idea, but Lestrade didn't mind at the moment. Tonight, he didn't want to mind. He reached into his pocket once again, this time roughly pulling out a lighter, and held it out to the other. Lestrade wasn't sure if this stranger wanted him to light the cigarette or not, but he wouldn't care either way.
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Post by JAMES MORIARTY EDWARDS on Sept 29, 2011 16:01:02 GMT -5
James got the feeling that the man didn't quite buy his cover but that was alright. James had yet to meet an Italian he had thought was normal and not a farce. James took the cigarette and lit up using the man's lighter. He spat out an Italian thank you after the fact. James sucked the smoke into his lungs and then launched into Alfonso's backstory at 60 miles per hour in fluent Italian. James had studied so many languages over the years that spieling off in any other language wasn't a challenge.
James leaned his shoulder against the wall and made a show of looking the man over. He was shorter than James with graying hair. Nothing special.
"I'ma Alfonso," James practically purred, extending his hand palm down like one did when expecting the other person to kiss the back of their hand. If he was going to do something so boring and tedious he might as well try and find some fun in it. A gay Italian man wasn't that different from a straight Italian man. Sex was sex and a hole to fuck was as good as the next. "What's your name, bello?"
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Sept 29, 2011 18:28:57 GMT -5
Lestrade didn't visibly react to the man, Alfonoso's, overly affectionate term. Of course, he knew when he was being flirted with, he wasn't stupid, but at the moment, he wasn't exactly in the mood for flirting back. However Alfonso did have a very nice voice…
"Lestrade. Er, Gregory Lestrade," he answered Alfonso's question quietly. He reached into his pocket and lit himself another cigarette; the one he'd just thrown out was supposed to have been his last for tonight, but just watching Alfonso smoke made him hungry for more. He breathed in the smoke before blowing it out softly. Holding the smoke away from his body slightly, elbow still touching his chest, Lestrade looked up at Alfonso tiredly.
"So, what are you doing out here?" He asked, giving a weak but ernest smile towards Alfonso that simply made the edges of his mouth tighten. "If a handsome guy like you was looking to pick up an old man like me, I'd think you'd go to a club to do it, or something." Lestrade grimaced; he hadn't meant to sound so pathetic, so self-deprecating, but it had come out like so. He'd not meant to sound so offhand and open either, but he decided not to berate himself over it - sugar coating wasn't exactly a good option either.
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Post by JAMES MORIARTY EDWARDS on Oct 8, 2011 13:59:10 GMT -5
"If a handsome guy like you was looking to pick up an old man like me, I'd think you'd go to a club to do it, or something."
James let out an abrasive laugh. "I am old man..." He looked the man over and lightly traced his sleeve with a finger. James ran his finger over the man's hand as well, then pulled it back. "I have...ah...no interest in....amante bambino...the ones at the club." James waved his hand around flippantly and finished off the cigarette, tossing it to the floor and snubbing it out with the toe of his alligator skin boots.
Running a hand through his gelled hair, James leaned his head back and gave a sigh. A couple of years ago, James would have been in the clubs, preying on any young body that would spread their legs for him. Now though, he had a completely different view. He liked it when the person he was fucking had a bit more experience and experience that wasn't learned from illegal downloads or how to sites. It got old having to educate in the bedroom.
James looked over at the man and gave him Alfonso's best, 1000 watt smile. "I'm-a looking for...ah...company...talking...not bedroom,"
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Oct 8, 2011 23:22:05 GMT -5
“Hmm,” Lestrade hummed affirmatively, not stiffening, rather, relaxing into, the man’s touch. “Then, what are you looking for?” He asked, the question sounding more like a statement than a question, his eyes darting towards Alfonso’s boot crushing the burned out cigarette onto the ground. Lestrade’s eyes traveled back up as he watched Alfonso running fingers through his dark, slicked back hair.
"I'm-a looking for...ah...company...talking...not bedroom," Alfonso said, and Lestrade found himself staring at his surprisingly attractive smile.
“Company…” Lestrade mused quietly, the edges of his mouth twitching in small smile. “I’ve never met anybody who picks people up off the street just for company,” he said, his eyes half closed in a - for some odd reason - very calm happiness. His voice had become soft, yet rough; tired sounding. It’d been ages since Lestrade had let himself go so completely; let himself accept a stranger so easily, and yet he found himself replying, “But yes, company…If that’s what you want, I’d like to help you out.” He'd always thought it above himself than to accept a stranger so offer; shouldn't you get to know the person first? 'But no,' he thought lazily, 'You'll know them soon anyway, so what's the point in waiting anyway? You've got nothing to lose really.'
Lestrade gave a quick, silent little sigh of incredulously and enjoyment at himself through his nose. He leaned against the wall more heavily and closed his eyes, his smile growing wider. Tilting his head back, he muttered breathily, “Company…what in intriguing request that is.” After a moment he lifted his head back up and opened his eyes, looking directly at Alfonso. “So by company, do you mean that we should go out?” The words felt young and pedestrian in his mouth: ‘go out.’ Like a middle school romance, or a child’s game, or a badly written drama. And yet the phase had such an indescribably uplifting sort of presence to them, Lestrade didn’t even feel silly saying the words.
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Post by JAMES MORIARTY EDWARDS on Oct 25, 2011 18:14:40 GMT -5
“Company…I’ve never met anybody who picks people up off the street just for company. But yes, company…If that’s what you want, I’d like to help you out.”
James waved Alfonso's hands whimsically, seemingly searching for the words. The man was right, people didn't wander the streets to pick up someone to talk. They wandered to find someone to duck into an alley with and have a quick, messy joining then never see again. But James had gone out for an experiment, it was fitting for Alfonso to be doing the same.
James turned his head and gave Lestrade a slightly more contained smile that was just as charming at the first. "The most...interesting people are ah...out here. Away from..." Instead of finding the American, or Italian word for it, James waved his hand vaguely, referring to the typical nightlife and society all at once.
“Company…what in intriguing request that is. So by company, do you mean that we should go out?”
It took all of James considerable self restraint not to scoff at that. How banal that phrase. Go out? Please. He was far beyond 'going out'. He courted, wooed, seduced...but he never 'went out' with anyone, not even Sebastian. Instead of showing his incredulity, James simply gave a lopsided shrug.
"Coffee." was all he said.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Oct 31, 2011 19:30:25 GMT -5
"The most...interesting people are ah...out here. Away from..." Lestrade watched as Alfonso motioned towards the city in general. “Coffee.” It took a moment for realize what that meant. Lestrade had never been one for long conversations, and was assuming that this one was nearly finished. It was, albeit, somewhat of an odd one, but Lestrade had enjoyed it. He smiled again, before heaving forward, pushing himself off the wall with his elbows. “Sunday, 12:30 sound alright to you?” He asked calmly. He was considering leaving, when he realized Alfonso would have no way to call him. He contemplated a moment, before pulling on of his business cards out of his pocket and holding it out to Alfonso. Lestrade didn’t exactly like giving the cards out – thought them a bit self-centered – but his brother had had about one hundred made when he was practicing different layouts and fonts on his new computer, so he supposed he might use them because of that. “Ah – just ignore all that, on there,” he said quickly, moving his hand around in some over-active hand motion. “Just, text me the name of the place later, or something.” He grinned as he started walking away, moving two fingers in the air as some sort of odd good-bye gesture. “I’ll see you later.”
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Post by JAMES MORIARTY EDWARDS on Nov 3, 2011 14:18:00 GMT -5
James smiled at Gregory, charming and smooth and idly ran a finger over the man's collar. Hook, line, and sinker. It was lovely but oh so expected. Just for once, James would like to be surprised by a person not acting like they were supposed to. Just for once, James would like to get caught off guard and have to think on his feet to remedy a new situation. It hadn't happened in such a long time and he was suffering for it.
He feared that he was starting to stagnate. Him! The most brilliant mind of the century (or so he told himself) was starting to lose that thing that made him special, legendary. All because the people around him refused to grow or change. If anything, they were all moving in reverse. Every day the human race seemed to get more stupid and more predictable, surrendering themselves to the media driven mania that they seemed to exist in. No creativity, no individuality.
Given himself a firm, mental shake, James took the card from Gregory, memorizing every word on it. So he was a detective. Hmm, how lovely. Still smiling, James tucked the card in his pocket and leaned over to kiss the detective's cheek chastely.
"Sunday...coffee. I cannot wait." With a flirtatious wink, James turned on his heel and started to walk away, dropping the expression once his face wasn't seen.
So terribly boring.
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