Multi-Sock and Open RP: The Gang's All Here! ... Minus One

[heymrcrowley.livejournal.com]

((Backdated to the day before the annullments. This is the conclusion of this plot which you may or may not remember. I'm officially back now, yay!))

Nearly a full month after they'd left Hogwarts, the weary refugees (seven in all, counting the wolf and the wolf-boy) clambored up the road from Hogsmeade, exhausted but grateful to be back. How the rescue plane had finally found them, no one was quite sure -- whether Crowley's powers had finally done some good besides the free housing, or whether Fraser's signal fire had actually paid off, or if it was just a total coincidence -- but no one was exactly going to question. Some of them had actually enjoyed their little tropical paradise, but not a one of them wasn't happy to be rid of it.

After all, what was life without soap operas, fancy cigarettes, Jell-O, tea packets, curling, steak, donuts, and the Ritz? (And just go ahead and guess which of those belonged to whom.)

They were all looking toned and tanned after their long ordeal, with two notable exceptions: Crowley was as pale as ever and looked, in fact, entirely unchanged, while Francis was sporting both a shiner and a sunburn that made his pink face clash distressingly with his mop of red hair. The both of them were wearing black and were neatly-shaven; the other three were scruffy and unkempt. The dogs (well, dog, or rather half-wolf, and Robb) were shedding and panting with the heat as they loped along.

"Thank God," someone groaned as the castle loomed into sight, and everyone murmured their own version of agreement. Finally, after all this time, it seemed like it was finally over.

Little did they know that one more Tragedy was yet to strike.

The moment they passed through the gate there was a 'whoosh' and then a little pop!, and suddenly there were only six. An empty space had opened up next to Francis. At his feet sat a single kernel of popcorn, pale yellow and smelling faintly of butter. The group all stopped and stared in horror. There was a crowded pause.

"Oh, dear," Fraser murmured.

More silence.

"I, ah..." Mohinder folded his hands and closed his eyes. "He will be missed."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, it's not as though he were dead," Francis snapped, rolling his eyes. "Come on. I want to take a shower. My fleas have fleas." The others looked at him expectantly. He took a step back. "What?"

Fraser, Cox, Mohinder and Jim all somehow exchanged a four-way look. "Do you want to...?" Jim asked uncertainly. "I mean, uh, you guys were kinda close." Despite the fact that Francis and Crowley had shacked up together almost immediately, they all knew this wasn't particularly true, but it still seemed like the appropriate question to ask. Francis gave Jim a long, sardonic look, then turned and headed up the hill for the main entrance. Jim let out a low whistle and shrugged. "Guess not." He picked Crowley up and held him out. "Anyone?"

"I'll take him," Fraser volunteered, like they all knew he would. Jim handed the ex-demon over, but Cox intercepted.

"Nah, don't worry about it. I gotta swing by the Popcorn Room on my way back to the Wing, anyway."

Mohinder blinked. "You're... going back to work? Right now?"

Cox snorted and grinned. "Well, other than catching up on La Lohan and the VMAs, there's not exactly a whole lot else to do in this dump. I'll see you fellas around." Tossing Crowley back and forth like a juggling ball, Cox hefted his bag over his shoulder and followed Francis up towards the castle. Or, rather, absolutely did not follow him, but just happened to walk in the same direction.

After a moment of hesitation, the others moved along after him. After all, what else were they going to do?

"Do you think we should have a-- a funeral of some sorts?" Fraser asked uncertainly. "I'm not sure of the protocol in this situation."

"I'm not sure either," Mohinder admitted, looking around. "But in the meantime, do you know what all these tents are for?"

"Huh," said Jim.

((Okay, so as you've probably figured out now, Crowley has sadly gone the way of the popcorn. But check his journal to see the first part of the island adventure! As for right now, all of my characters minus Geoffrey -- Dr. Cox, Francis, Fraser, Mohinder, Jim, and Robb (and Diefenbaker!) -- are currently around the front lawn/entrance area and are free for RP in this post. Have at them!))

Comments

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

"No," Camilla breathed, appalled. "Was he drunk or what? Honestly I'm surprised you would socialise with him, or any of them really," this last while looking askance at the spectacle that was Robb Stark. "Did the Hat make you do it? Oh, God, you're not married to them, are you?"

[fabernathy.livejournal.com]

"Oh, God, no," Francis replied, equally horrified, his jaw dropping open. The very idea of being married... again. Especially to any of those people. Crowley might not have been so bad, if he weren't dead or popcorned or whatever he was, but the rest? Francis wanted nothing to do with them.

"And I barely socialized with them," he added hurriedly, just to make that point clear. "The group was far beneath any normal standards. That gorilla of a man sucker-punched me." He scowled and patted his pockets. "Do you have a cigarette? I smoked my last on the tarmac."

Without actually waiting for the answer, he held his hand out and continued. "Anyway, all I did was ask him about the jellyfish that tried to tear my leg off. Honestly. You'd think he wasn't even a doctor. Isn't that supposed to be his job?"

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

"Oh thank God." She said it under her breath, though Francis probably could have heard it. "I was wondering what on earth we could serve a ... a wolf-boy for Sunday dinner. The menu would begin and end with steak tartare." She rummaged for a Lucky Strike and placed it in Francis's open palm without missing a beat, intoning a quick Incendio and holding up her wand so he could light the cigarette from the flicker of flame at the wand's tip. "You don't suppose he had to punch you to cover up not knowing anything about jellyfish, do you?" she mused.

[fabernathy.livejournal.com]

Francis gave a muffled, bitter laugh at Camilla's little wolf joke, cutting himself off with the cigarette that he hurriedly put to his lips. He leaned over to light it on her wand, his fingers trembling slightly. Thank goodness for cigarettes, anyway; he inhaled and immediately felt the slightly calming tide of the nicotine wash over him. It wasn't a great deal of help, but it was some. He thought he might like to drink.

"He might have," he muttered around the cigarette. "He certainly didn't help with the sting. I had to all but beg Dr. Suresh. It was really pretty despicable." He decided not to mention that this was because Mohinder had insisted that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. Doctors.

"Honestly. You don't have anything to drink, do you?" He inhaled again, sighing heavily. "How have things been here, anyway? Tell me everything."

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

"I don't bring a flask when I go birdwatching, no," Camilla said a bit tartly. She only just restrained herself from the explanation I'm not my brother. Francis had been through a great deal and allowances ought to be made. "Probably when the house elves show up with the cattle prods to hustle me back to the tent village we can cadge a drink off them. Francis, you just can't know how awful that place is. We hired a lawyer -- Henry and I did -- but he hasn't found a feasible loophole yet. And Richard got me this abysmal ring, I think it was intended originally as an engagement ring after -- well, you know -- but then this wedding thing happened and I agreed to wear it to keep the peace. I thought I could discreetly lose it. I didn't know he'd put some kind of spell on it so it'd keep coming back! No, it's not this," Camilla held up her left hand, wearing the plain tasteful band Henry had bought her as a placeholder at Ryder's suggestion (so that she wouldn't have to wear Susan's ring everywhere, because that was just too awkward). "I threw it in the lake yesterday. It'll probably come up out of the toilet or something tomorrow. Last time it came up out of the drain in the kitchen. It's like something from a monster movie, I swear. Or a really bad adventure movie. Because it looks like a bad prop. I mean, honestly, gold and this awful thing that can't possibly be a real diamond, and -- well, words just don't suffice to describe it."

Camilla lit a cigarette for herself and took a deep fortifying draw. "At least Henry's been here. I don't know what I'd do without him. Richard hasn't been a complete loss, either." He'd defended her against that demon Lori. (Oh, Camilla, if only you knew the full story of Richard's dealings with that demon.) "Charles -- he's in a state. He brought his wife over for me to meet her, I don't know what on earth he was thinking, maybe he just wanted sympathy? You should see the woman -- yes, she's a woman, I hadn't been sure from the name, but she's a woman named Dale Smither. Dale Macaulay now, I guess! And she looks just like life chewed her up and spit her out. She's frightfully old. Charles must feel right at home -- I imagine that woman he was living with in Texas would have been a lot like her."

[chameleonfaust.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank God. Francis. Richard honestly never would have imagined he'd be this grateful to see the man. Especially after...well, everything. But Francis, beyond being a good friend, was not Henry or Charles and therefore made him more than desirable company at the moment.

Walking over to the two, greeting Camilla with a subdued nod, Richard flashed a small grin at Francis. "Hello. I thought you must have gone missing. Thought about mounting a rescue operation."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Richard winced slightly. Yeah, probably not the best subject, considering how they'd all spent a few days after Bunny's death. Cheap coffee and dogs barking and scouring the woods where they knew the body wasn't. Unpleasant memories all round.

Best to change the subject.

"Dear God, what happened to your face?"

[fabernathy.livejournal.com]

The gossip spouting forth was like an oasis in the middle of the desert. He'd been tapped out for weeks and now suddenly he had all this stuff. The fact that some of it was about Charles and some vile awful old woman he was married to didn't particularly thrill him, but the rest was good stuff. He kind of really wanted to see this so-called ring, for one thing.

"Gosh, you'll have to show it to me when it turns up again like a bad penny. It sounds dreadful. Then again," he added, gesturing grandly with his smoke, "Richard has always been known to have pretty questionable taste." Some of the things the man wore knocked Francis for a loop. Those tacky, tacky jackets! It was one of the reasons he was so happy to give Richard his old cast-offs. He had to have something acceptable to wear.

He was about to phrase a question about Charles and this so-called 'Dale' when the devil himself -- Richard, that was, not Charles nor the evil wife -- came a-walking up. Francis broke into a genuine smile. Despite Richard's many failings, he really did like him, after all. "Richard! Hello. I'm back."

It was remarkable, how swiftly Richard could make one's goodwill vanish. Francis had forgotten that little trait of his. Almost immediately his smile faded and he shot Richard an absolutely vicious glare, taking a quick, sharp drag on his cigarette. Really, now, there was no call for that.

Or that. "Well, I'd say someone hit me," he replied coldly.

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

Richard's remark about the search party earned him a look of open undisguised horror from Camilla. Rallying, she quickly temporised, "Well, it's not just that, you've also got the most terrible sunburn, François. Really it looks like the most painful thing. You must be suffering dreadfully."

Sometimes, Camilla speculated, Richard seemed like some kind of inverse version of Bunny. Whereas Bunny had often managed to be thoroughly reprehensible yet weirdly likeable, Richard managed to put his foot in his mouth without even trying.

Magnanimously she offered him a cigarette. It was, of course, a Lucky Strike. She didn't even think about the possible psychological ramifications of that for him.

"You ought to come to our tent," she told Francis. "Richard and Henry and I have been playing house in it, you could say. Haven't we? It's like a wretched little one-bedroom apartment in the middle of a gulag. But we do have some good liquor."

[chameleonfaust.livejournal.com]

The thing of it was, Richard usually knew when he'd committed some unspeakable blunder. The situation just tended to come up far more often than one might have liked. His social graces were substantially lacking when it came to the world that the twins and their orbiting stars inhabited; try as he might, often his mouth got the best of him.

And then, of course, he felt the need to try and make up for it.

"Of course, it's not the same as, ah, the other at all," he said with an apologetic smile, accepting the cigarette gratefully without noticing the brand. "You're looking nicely," sunburned? "rosy with health, for one."

Somehow, Richard didn't feel that was much better. Internally grimacing, he plunged onward. "Anyway, it's very good to see you. Ah, yes, our tent." Taking an inhale of the cigarette, he frowned. Ah. Of course. Looking suddenly morose, he rubbed his forehead with one hand, very interested in studying the ground. "Not a bad place, really," he mumbled. "Like to go get a drink?" Please, God.

[fabernathy.livejournal.com]

Camilla was really very good at being diplomatic; it was something Francis had never particularly excelled at. Nor, apparently, did Richard. Francis's eyes widened in mute horror as the man continued to-- well, 'dig his own grave' was probably the wrong metaphor to use here, but that was pretty much the right idea. He pressed his lips together tight around his cigarette, his nostrils flaring slightly. "Well, Richard, that makes all the difference," he snorted, rolling his eyes towards Camilla.

"It's not that bad," he sighed, tenatively touching his fingers to his reddened cheek. "Is it? I've been living with it. The atmosphere down there was dreadful." The sunburn was his burden to bear, much like his frequent panic heart attacks and lupus.

He brightened up slightly at the mention of alcohol. Liquor cured many an ill, and made others much easier to bear, he found. "God, yes." He rubbed his face and sucked in on his cigarette, then smiled bravely at the both of them. "Come on, let's go see your tent. I'd been meaning to come by before my little trip."

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

"It really does look painful. You know your complexion's too delicate to tan. I hope there was at least aloe or something where you were. And where were you anyway? And who with, besides --" she pointed silently to the motley group which now seemed to be dispersing either for reunions of their own or for little squabbles. She lowered her voice. "It wasn't the Black Hole, was it?" Priscilla, god, Camilla couldn't imagine; and this was coming from a woman who'd been forced to share a bed with Marion. "Come on, we'll get you a nice drink and you can put your feet up. The 'village' is over this way."