Sunday, 25 December 2011

free as air

Things have been quiet lately.

Aside from an office New Year's party that we're all preparing for, we've all been laying low since the last assignment. I have had a few visitors from day to day (including a particular David Banks, but that was before the hols), and aside from that, it's been rather uneventful.

I've taken to going on walks, blending in with the population. Sometimes London, sometimes New York, sometimes Brisbane, sometimes anywhere and everywhere in-between. It's... nicer where it isn't cold.

(I don't get paid a whole lot; the damage we do, the damage-control I arrange, it all comes out of my pay. And my pay has been... put into other things lately.)

And that's how I found myself walking down the frigid street, snow floating down from the cloudy, dark sky as if just to smite me and my worn coat, shabby slacks, and downright pathetic trainers, equally threadbare rucksack in tow.

... We never had a lot when I was a kid, but we had enough. Always got some candy and a book; even if it was second hand. Have you ever read a second hand book? Mystery scrawling in the margins, folded, soft pages, waterspots and sometimes ash and burnmarks. A new book may be crisp and fresh, but an old one tells a story unto itself.

I digress.

The streetposts acted like sunspots, almost blinding me whenever I walked under them, ice crackling underfoot almost like broken glass.

And who would I find but a rather... humorous fellow? Nice guy. Gave me... supplies. Coffee Beans, actually.

Incidentally, current residents of the Baker Street Cafe, this was the origin of your mysterious gag presents. Admit it, Nat, the book of relationship advice was funny. Fia, sometimes you could find some use of that chastity belt. Photo, I'm sure you can find some use of that lump of coal, and Ronin, that samurai helmet was downright impressive.

And I find myself in possession of a rather nice hat, which is nice considering my current lack of proper winter wear.

It's... we all have to look out for each other. The lot of us out here are, for the most part, just trying to survive.  We've got insane deadlines and assignments and psychotic superiors, but it's a job, and we'll all manage regardless if we all give each other a chance.

... And to all of you out there? Merry Christmas.

No harm in wishing you lot that.


  1. Believe the coal will find use as part of incendiary devices, or possibly lodged in a throat.

  2. That's right. It's just a job. Because that makes it so much better when we slit someone's throat and ruin their lives.

    Admit it. We're monsters programmed to follow a script, our outcomes determined from the start, nothing more.

  3. Photo, shut up and help me with these bloody sacks; they're heavy as the dickens and you know my shoulder hasn't been the same since...

    ... stop blogging and get inside.

    You know, Mr. Easton, considering you seem to be quite caustic, you're not very smart.

    In fact, I can break down the majority of your comments into a formula.

    First statement is perilous fact, meant to cement your point and usually incite anger within the author of the post. Contain hints of megalomania and ignorance.

    Second statement holds little to no significance, aside from the clear structure of engagement. You're not unique in that way, but you'll find that your questions aren't worth anything to me.

    Though if you'd like to make more polite conversation that doesn't involve accusation, you may find a more favourable response.

    Just a thought.

  4. You know what? You're right, Joe. I'm just an absolute idiot, following a script. Can you blame me, though? It's kind of what I've been taught from day one.

    I am, however, bored enough to try and have one of these "polite conversations" that everyone is raving about, and you're the first person to bother really talking to me so this seems like a good place.

    My Gmail's the same as my URL if you really are interested. If not, whatever.

  5. This visit from David Banks, I have to wonder, how did it go? You're still walking and talking, with seemingly no trauma.

    Was it a social call?