dear_mun | (no subject)

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(no subject)

What is this, lady?

I've been off the air for five years. Five bloomin' years, and don't you talk to me about that charade with the scarcely clad psychology graduate. That's after my 'canon point', as you would put it. See? I speak your language. No wonder, as you've moved me into your head.

Don't know what I'm doing here. 's full of goody-two-shoes and bits of skirts I'm not allowed to look at 'cos they'll take my head off with their Japanese friggin' swords. Is there anyone in here I can have a drink with? Apart from the vampire? He's wearing lace and drinking something even I can't identify. Heretic.

Anyway. You've put me in here, now you've got me. Don't come crying to me if you realize you don't like it. To put it in words you might understand: you want a guarantee, buy a toaster.

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Former. [Hrm. Last he checked, you don't get promoted from commodore to captain. Well, if you're not going to elaborate, he's not going to ask.]

Gene Hunt. [He's going to hold out a hand; shake?] DCI with Manchester CID.

[Former. As in no longer. The introduction is more or less incomprehensible, and James weighs Gene for a moment before taking the proffered hand in a firm shake. Feel those calluses; he r a man of action.]

Mr. Hunt. [With a little nod, as he releases his hand.] I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate; CID? I find that I often seem to be... rather out of date, here.

[Yeah, but even if you were a retired commodore, you'd still call yourself commodore. But as he said, no prying. A man's business is a man's business, and if you don't want to share, he's not going to ask.]

[Have a manly handshake back. He's sorry, he can't feel your callouses because of his own callouses. Or maybe he can. Those are a lot of callouses. But he's going to pretend he can't.]

[And that . . . well, that'll make him a little more wary again. Last time someone said to Gene they were having trouble adjusting to the time they were in, it ended with Gene getting saddled with one of the most challenging employees he's had the misfortune to have to deal with.]

CID. Criminal Investigation Department. Manchester police. I'm a Detective Chief Inspector. [If he sounds a little patronizing, he doesn't mean to.]

Ahh, well, that will get something a little more like a genuine smile, albeit a very small one. James will always have an appreciation and respect for those in law enforcement. Or at the very least, will default to that unless presented with a reason he shouldn't.]

[The patronising he will ignore, because he is a bigger man than that.]

Well, then. A pleasure, Inspector Hunt. [He can also appreciate the importance of giving a man his due title] You're... new to this arrangement, I take it.

[Arrangement here being the delicate euphemism for those in the position of being characters in a writer's head.]

[Well, look at that, it's a smile. He wasn't sure your face did that. Being a manly semi-military man himself, he knows to appreciate the gesture, no matter how small it is. It'll make the corner of his mouth twitch in a satisfied non-smirk.]

Arrangement, is it? [He shoves his hands in his trouser pockets and rocks forward on the balls of his feet, once. It's a way to release tension that he'd usually release by taking a swig from his flask, but as he's in the presence of a military man right now, that's not an option.] Can't say you're wrong. 's only been about a day; and it doesn't seem to come with a pamphlet.

For a lack of any better word.

['Arrangement' usually implies an agreement of more or less equal parts, which this is certainly not, but his writer at least tends not to torture him too horribly. ... Most of the time. He will have his illusions of agency, at any rate.]

And has yours any plans for you? Or is it merely an exercise in playing God because she had nothing else to do?

Plans? [He wasn't aware this kind of "arrangement" came with the prospect of possible "plans".] If you're talking about one of those so-called games, well, she can forget that. I'm not a bleedin' drama student. Or a guinea pig.

[He shrugs.] Besides, I hear that last time she tried that, it didn't turn out so well. Looks like I caught the anti-social magpie kind of bird.

[smirk]

Fortunate.

[Oh, that's very enigmatic. Twit.]

Is it. From what I can see in here, she loves 'em and leaves 'em. Sometimes she even skips the loving part. And then you're stuck in here, and there isn't even any paint you could watch dry. In fact, this one bloke I talked to earlier-- [But no. He's not going to go into what the sheer boredom of two years' inactivity has driven the tall lanky bloke to allow to happen. It's not the kind of thing he'd want to drop into a conversation he's having with a former naval officer.]

Anyway. Don't know if this is actually preferable to getting out now and again.

Ah, yes, mine does rather have that particular bad habit as well, save for the few of us who've managed to be particularly enduring. There certainly are... a multiplicity of residents up here. Several versions of myself, which is-- odd. To say the least. And I believe your, ah, colleague, Mr. Tyler. But as I say, I don't make a habit of socialising.

[A pause, wherein he eyes Gene thoughtfully.]

If you've a mind to get out now and again, as you put it, I should recommend finding a-- 'canonmate,' I believe is the term. I don't know whether I would have lasted as long as I have without my own-- ah, the... gentleman with the hair.

[James eyes him, and Gene just stares back at him, eyes narrowed. Staring matches, he's good at those. And you look like you're having thoughts that you're not sharing. Or, wait. Maybe you are.]

You know-- [He gestures, finger pointing over his shoulder.] Bloke with the hair and the rum that tastes like it's the second time someone's drinking it? Well. [Straightening up and shoving his hands into his pockets, regarding James.] Wouldn't have thought that. What, he ex-Navy, too?

[He was going to ask you about knowing Sam, but that just now has thoroughly distracted him.]

[That gets a tiny smirk, pocketed in the corner of his mouth, if only for the thought of how Jack would bridle at having his rum referred to in such a fashion. Dryly:]

Adamantly not. And yes; he's a-- friend.

Friend. [Raising an eyebrow.] Didn't seem like the type to have many friends.

[By which he means that Jack looked, smelled and generally acted like a hobo. Hobos make good drinking companions, and usually little else. Somehow he thinks you're not so much the type to be looking for a drinking companion.]

Oh no?

[Said ever so delicately. It's not as if there's any need for him to defend Jack; certainly he's well aware of how purposefully galling the man can be if he has a mind; nor is he going to expound on the nature of their friendship for Gene. Just a slight, deftly dubious inflection on the words. Because really, it's just rude to speak ill of a man's friends in front of him.]

He's an old friend, yes.

[Maybe he wasn't speaking ill. Maybe he was pointing out that if the man had any friends, those friends should be making sure that he gets himself sorted. This is, of course, based on Gene's single encounter with your friend, but DCI Hunt is not a man to hold back with judgment when there's an opportunity to hand some out.]

Is he. [Alright, you don't seem to want to elaborate.] If he is, then perhaps I could inconvenience you to tell me his name. He seemed disinclined to share.

Did he?

[Tiiiiiny, amused, private smile. Mostly invisible, really, unless you know how to look for it. Because oh, Jack. He'll keep your secrets for you, but that's just silly.]

Captain Jack Sparrow.

[He says the name in a tone like the offspring of an inside joke and an introduction upon his entrance at a ball. Gene can do with that what he will, though James doubts the name will mean anything to him.]

Sparrow. [Have a dry eyebrow-raise.] Nothing you can say, the name fits.

[Considering the man did act a lot like a bird. Which is what he just so manages to not say. All that secret smirking and playing with intonation is making Gene feel like he's the butt of a joke he missed the punchline of. He doesn't like that feeling.]

[Dryly:] Mm, name of legend.

[He promises, the amusement is not at Gene's expense. But there's no-one here who will get it, so it's either that, or polite blandness.]

What, in the tranny bars?

[Polite blandness may have been better. Now all there is to hope for is that James doesn't know what a tranny is.]

[Nope, no idea. But he's canny enough to pick up on the tone.]

I beg your pardon?

Don't know about you, but he's not the straightest sparrow on the street, is he, your friend.

[No denying that one. At least not if you come from Gene Hunt's social background.]

[The term 'straight' existed in slang in the 1700's, but not meaning what Gene means by it. So James will still hear a slight on Jack's character, but not quite the right one. He lifts an eyebrow.]

Certainly no-one could accuse him of being a paragon of integrity and uprightness.

A paragon of integrity and uprightness. [Snort.] 's one way of putting it.

[But now's the thought taken hold. You and that pirate; it would actually make a lot of sense. The pirate's definitely a shirtlifter, and you're not the straightest knife in the drawer, either, with your fancy words and your little pony tail.]

What kind of friend did you say he is? Just a casual acquaintance? Or perhaps a little bit closer than that, hm?

[Years with Jack have ensured that James knows innuendo when he hears it, and both eyebrows go up at that. Well. He wasn't expecting that. When he was younger, still in the Navy, that kind of suggestion would have got indignant spluttering, or else a frosty, unamused denial, very aware of what that kind of thing could get him, hugely offended should anyone even suggest that he might be a sodomite. Now, he just lifts his chin, tone acquiring just the faintest of sharp edges. This may not be Shipwreck Cove, but nor is it England; there are no laws here, and James is more than capable of defending himself should Gene take objection.]

Why do you ask?

[He doesn't really have many deep thoughts about this. He doesn't even care all that much. He really just wants to get a rise out of you, and this seems to be working just fine, judging by the sudden tension in your stance.]

Why d'you think?