Thomas Nightingale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
signare) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-08-11 10:51 am
signare) wrote in undergrounds2016-08-11 10:51 am
OPEN
A. Brunch
It isn't that Nightingale doesn't enjoy the cooking provided for him at home. It's rather that if he doesn't get out of the Folly and away from it at least once a week he's afraid he might turn into one of Molly's sausages. His life has stayed relatively untouched for decades now, and as such, every now and again he needs a little variety to keep himself from going mad.
Even if such variety is simply taking himself out for his own meals every now and again. Not that that's quite how he had described things to Molly herself. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, after all. (Who knows what she might make for him to eat the next time if he did.)
And so he sits, in a modest but homey little cafe, with a plate of Eggs Benedict in front of him and a coffee to the side. Looking as much at home as he can, sitting there in a three-piece suit and tie, complete with handmade, hand-shined leather shoes. Beside him a silver-topped gentleman's cane leans as inconspicuously as it can against the corner of the table while to his other side lays the newspaper as Nightingale casually flips through it. He's looking for any sign of supernatural foul play written between the lines of the local news. A method that, until the newspaper itself goes out of print, has always proved itself worth the effort.
He pays no attention to the looks he is receiving from the next table over. He is certain if they want something from him then they can jolly well ask.
B. Office Hours - Redbright Institute
Nightingale's office is just about as impeccable as one might expect it to be. The desk is clean and neat, the bookshelves full but organized within an inch of their lives. The room is small and tight with the desk and the shelves but he's managed to squeeze in another chair for the odd student meeting that might occur. For the most part however Nightingale's extracurricular tutoring sessions happen outside of both the classroom and his office. Sometimes in a laboratory. Sometimes in a private area of the gymnasium. Sometimes out on the streets of London itself. (Sometimes if they're simply discussing theory, Nightingale's rather partial to doing so over coffee or lunch. He'll even pay, if the student is keen enough.)
Despite that, he makes himself available for office hours when he's got nothing scheduled, however. For the odd drop-in that might happen regardless. And for the fact that, given that his mobile is currently switched off where it sits in lapel pocket of his jacket, it's probably the easiest way for any of his colleagues to get a hold of him either. And don't even bother thinking of emailing. Aside from the mobile, the most technologically advanced equipment in Nightingale's office is possibly the ballpoint pen he's using to grade.
C. At the Scene of the Crime
To say that the current situation with the vampires represented a problem with the Redbright Institute's Outreach Group is rather an understatement. It is their mission to protect the city against supernatural threat, after all, not to mention keep the nature of the supernatural secret from the rest of the world as they knew it. Such things however are rather difficult when the vampires have essentially granted themselves free run of the city.
Nightingale stands silent by the scene of the crime. Or perhaps the scene of the dump. He can't be certain as of yet. He moves to crouch, carefully keeping his cream colored coat out of the worst of it and balancing his silver-topped cane across his knees as bends closer. Narrowing his eyes as he takes in the violence of the kill.
"Reprehensible," he mutters to himself.
It isn't that Nightingale doesn't enjoy the cooking provided for him at home. It's rather that if he doesn't get out of the Folly and away from it at least once a week he's afraid he might turn into one of Molly's sausages. His life has stayed relatively untouched for decades now, and as such, every now and again he needs a little variety to keep himself from going mad.
Even if such variety is simply taking himself out for his own meals every now and again. Not that that's quite how he had described things to Molly herself. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, after all. (Who knows what she might make for him to eat the next time if he did.)
And so he sits, in a modest but homey little cafe, with a plate of Eggs Benedict in front of him and a coffee to the side. Looking as much at home as he can, sitting there in a three-piece suit and tie, complete with handmade, hand-shined leather shoes. Beside him a silver-topped gentleman's cane leans as inconspicuously as it can against the corner of the table while to his other side lays the newspaper as Nightingale casually flips through it. He's looking for any sign of supernatural foul play written between the lines of the local news. A method that, until the newspaper itself goes out of print, has always proved itself worth the effort.
He pays no attention to the looks he is receiving from the next table over. He is certain if they want something from him then they can jolly well ask.
B. Office Hours - Redbright Institute
Nightingale's office is just about as impeccable as one might expect it to be. The desk is clean and neat, the bookshelves full but organized within an inch of their lives. The room is small and tight with the desk and the shelves but he's managed to squeeze in another chair for the odd student meeting that might occur. For the most part however Nightingale's extracurricular tutoring sessions happen outside of both the classroom and his office. Sometimes in a laboratory. Sometimes in a private area of the gymnasium. Sometimes out on the streets of London itself. (Sometimes if they're simply discussing theory, Nightingale's rather partial to doing so over coffee or lunch. He'll even pay, if the student is keen enough.)
Despite that, he makes himself available for office hours when he's got nothing scheduled, however. For the odd drop-in that might happen regardless. And for the fact that, given that his mobile is currently switched off where it sits in lapel pocket of his jacket, it's probably the easiest way for any of his colleagues to get a hold of him either. And don't even bother thinking of emailing. Aside from the mobile, the most technologically advanced equipment in Nightingale's office is possibly the ballpoint pen he's using to grade.
C. At the Scene of the Crime
To say that the current situation with the vampires represented a problem with the Redbright Institute's Outreach Group is rather an understatement. It is their mission to protect the city against supernatural threat, after all, not to mention keep the nature of the supernatural secret from the rest of the world as they knew it. Such things however are rather difficult when the vampires have essentially granted themselves free run of the city.
Nightingale stands silent by the scene of the crime. Or perhaps the scene of the dump. He can't be certain as of yet. He moves to crouch, carefully keeping his cream colored coat out of the worst of it and balancing his silver-topped cane across his knees as bends closer. Narrowing his eyes as he takes in the violence of the kill.
"Reprehensible," he mutters to himself.
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Especially because she doesn't have a specific reason to be here. Her goals today are more general.
"Help might not be the word I'd use," she says, her tone warmed by a faint smile. "It struck me the other day that we've never really spoke. Not more than in passing. I suppose I thought I'd come by for a real introduction."
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"Ah," he replies. "Yes, quite. I suppose I'd never considered that we hadn't been formally introduced." He'd rather just peripherally known most of the team, and generally kept himself to himself. It seemed to work for mostly everyone the best that way. Seemed being the paramount word there, of course. "Forgive me."
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He gestures at Natasha herself. "I suppose a congratulations is in order, then. How are you finding your new position treating you?"
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"It's nice to feel like I'm making progress. I wasn't sure that would happen at first."
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Don't worry, Natasha, he would never pry. He knows how hypocritical that would be of him, all things considered. He's all for polite conversation and to let that be that.