OPEN

[signare]

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.

Comments

C

[loveconquersdinosaurs]

It was night, and the smell of blood hit his nose hard. He knew he should stay away, and yet he found himself drawn to the source of the smell, finding himself making his way closer and closer until he could clearly see a man crouching over...

"Oh, shit."

That was...messy. Horrifying. Disturbing, even, and the fact that it made Thomas feel hungry, and he was barely able to keep his vampiric features under the surface, only disgusted him all the more. He shouldn't have come here.

B

[outstandingbalance]

Natasha knows of Nightingale. Not out of any particular intention to dig into him specifically, but she's come across information in her general investigations into the school and its role in London's supernatural politics. His name comes up here and there, unsurprisingly.

At first, she didn't realize he had come back from retirement, though. She couldn't be blamed for not connecting the two immediately. They haven't worked closely on the Outreach Team, and even for a witch, his situation is... odd. Natasha hasn't seen or heard of anything quite like it. Assuming family had made more sense, at first, than believing he was the same person.

She is a quick woman though. She figured it out eventually.

And she has to wonder a little what he thinks of her presence here, if he thinks of it at all.

Tonight, she wanders in during office hours because with recently becoming a senior team member, she felt more responsibility to touch base with other members. To know who they were, and what they brought to the table. There is something both odd and oddly gratifying about it, finding her place here expanding. And, from her perspective, growing relatively quickly.

She knocks at the door, regardless of whether or not it's open, pausing in the threshold to his office. "Hey," she says, words very faintly accented. "Mind if I come in?"

C

[dredefulchilde]

The smell of blood is overpowering. Joscelin is on the hunt, ready to find his next meal, but it seems he's not the only vampire in the area. The kill is messy. Brutally so. He immediately recognizes as the work of a newborn--one without skill or impulse control, it seems. A newborn without a sire, or at least one whose sire doesn't particularly care about teaching the correct way to go about the thing.

Joscelin moves closer to examine things when he realizes he's not alone. A human is crouched next to what remains of the body, his smell disguised by the stench of the carnage. Ah, dinner. The boy falters and steps back, looking for a suitable hiding place until he can do the ambush properly.