Canon is George Gently. Voice testing this Geordie accent.

[nothalfasgently]

If you've got it in that pretty little head to order us around, you've got another thing comin'. You're not me guv, and you aren't me wife. The wife isn't even me wife anymore, is she? No then.

So. No need to play this hard. Let's have a pint and discuss these "travel arrangements". Because if you'd like to send us to London, me bags are packed. Otherwise, I don't much care for going anyplace.

And you've lost us too, pet. Now what's a Sam-Tyler-dad-face supposed to be?

Comments

[yfeltihtend]

[That gets a chuckle. See? He is totally just a harmless, genial, tweedy Scotsman. That is all he is.]

Wouldn't we all? But it's not a question of wanting; merely another one of the universe's peculiarities.

[One which, as a man who makes it his business to acquire knowledge of the arcane and obscure, he intends to learn more about-- or at least learn how he can bend it to his advantage.]

As I understand it, it can happen to anyone; I once met one of my own; uncanny resemblance. Although he was less-- [he twiddles a few fingers in the general direction of his face.]-- gingery.

[nothalfasgently]

That must've been a laugh. You two get on? It'd be a shame to have to knock your own teeth in.

[Which is to say that John could see John doing that, maybe.]

[yfeltihtend]

[Another chuckle.]

Oh, as well as any two people. He seemed a sharp sort, if nothing else; excellent taste in suits.

[nothalfasgently]

He have your name as well as your face?

[yfeltihtend]

Well, if that were the case, I would have just said I'd met myself. No; a different name, different accent, different... occupation. Different person entirely.

[nothalfasgently]

You keep in touch?

I might. Keep an eye on him, I suppose.

[yfeltihtend]

That's very suspicious of you.

[nothalfasgently]

I'm a copper.

And I wouldn't like someone else giving us a reputation. I do well enough on me own.

[yfeltihtend]

Ah, that would explain it.

[A reputation, mm? Goodness.]

The sort of man who easily acquires a reputation, are you, ah-- I don't believe you gave your name.

[nothalfasgently]

[You know: for smacking suspects around. For mouthing off. For getting people's daughters up the duff. The usual.]

Bacchus. Detective Sergeant. And yourself?

[yfeltihtend]

Niall Mortimer. Doctor. A pleasure, Sergeant Bacchus, I'm sure.

[That is, of course, not actually his name, but he doesn't go by his real name anywhere other than his native time and place, where it has significant influence.]

Where is it exactly your writer has designs on sending you, incidentally?

[nothalfasgently]

She's still poking around for someplace. Plays another copper at some boat or summat, so she can't send us there. There's no rehabilitatin' criminal sorts anyway.

They all sound like rubbish to me.

[Someone should tell John that there are sex islands out there. Not that I'm sending him to one; just to blow his mind a little.]

[yfeltihtend]

I don't generally make a habit of playing advertiser, but my writer is sending a criminal sort of her own to city_of_keys. Although I... can't say that I imagine such a place would be to your taste. Just a hunch.

But there certainly is a... wide variety of such places. I find them fascinating, if merely as an observer.

((OOC: Edited because I totally know the name of the comm I'm sending my own pup too. >_>))

[nothalfasgently]

And what's this criminal sort intend to do?

I just don't see why they've all got to be so mental. Here's a plan: I go to London; get a job with the Met. No sad Doctor Who cast-off sorts wandering around required.

[yfeltihtend]

She intends to survive, I expect, with a... friend of hers. And make herself as comfortable in that society as she can. Both admirable goals.

[And that will get a slow smile.]

I expect because when one has a puppet one can make dance, it's far better entertainment to have them put on a show than simply to sit idle. What else is the point of power? And it does make a far better story.

[nothalfasgently]

Depends how you go about it.

I'm nobody's puppet.

[yfeltihtend]

Merely metaphor, dear boy.