dresden_kink_mods (
dresden_kink_mods) wrote in
dresden_kink2011-04-01 08:53 pm
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Dressing Room
Ack! Close the door; people are changing in here!
This post is for RPG shenanigans. The rules stand. A short refresher: don't be an asshole.
This post-specifics: multiple characters are okay. Characters specific to alternate verses are okay. OCs are okay. Your journal coming in to hang too is okay. There isn't a formal scenario here; it's an open sandbox where all characters and community-watchers can come and play. If your thread is going adult-only, put up a notice in the subject line. If it's going into trigger territory, don't be an asshole: no noncon-noncon'ing anyone, watchers included. Don't start OOC shit.
And have a blast!
(Don't have a dreamwidth account for your character(s)? Go check out
dw_codesharing. If there's nothing on the first page, dig deep. Lots get missed, especially when new codes go out. Also, check out the code sharing post.)
This post is for RPG shenanigans. The rules stand. A short refresher: don't be an asshole.
This post-specifics: multiple characters are okay. Characters specific to alternate verses are okay. OCs are okay. Your journal coming in to hang too is okay. There isn't a formal scenario here; it's an open sandbox where all characters and community-watchers can come and play. If your thread is going adult-only, put up a notice in the subject line. If it's going into trigger territory, don't be an asshole: no noncon-noncon'ing anyone, watchers included. Don't start OOC shit.
And have a blast!
(Don't have a dreamwidth account for your character(s)? Go check out
![[site community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/comm_staff.png)
Invite codes
EZ3ARSSE2CP4DAAAGPSG
EV85BMH5K32JZAAAGPSH
N7HN2QQ4D6SWFAAAGPSJ
SJC9P93WEKEZVAAAGPSK
782SHFRGSD7AKAAAGPSL
RC3STWZBMM25CAAAGPSM
58FRTFVV4RNM4AAAH8ND
3C4YGMWYW4ZYWAAAH8NE
more codes!
CAZ4TSCS5JR7XAAAFTAG
6A67H9QKXEQCCAAALM87
KCPMYYD23Z767AAALM88
VAHK43DVMXFZCAAALM89
Re: more codes!
KCPMYYD23Z767AAALM88
RQGEFBP2E5H37AAAGPSF
(Anonymous) 2011-05-24 06:42 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
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And there's a familiar face he wasn't expecting to see.
...Crap, and he stopped walking. Now he has to say hi and it will be awkward but if he keeps going and Mr. Dresden sees him, it'll be rude and more awkward. Augh, social graces.]
"Er. Hey Mr. Dresden." Wave?
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He-- [He coughs, swallows the bite of his cupcake in his mouth, then tries again.] Hey, Daniel. What's going on, how's, uh, college?
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"Good! Um. Good."
...Seriously, Carpenter. That's all you can come up with?
"What are you reading?"
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Do you have a major or undecided? Or are you just there for the girls? [He winks, smirks, look he's cool Uncle Harry, right?]
[He holds up his book.] Grimm fairy tales. Or, as my people call it, research material. Dark stuff, but Jacob and Wilhelm did their best to get information out there for the mundanes.
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mun will be here only intermittently for a few hours
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Warm and sunny moods have hit Harry to, and a quiet ventas might send a gust of wind to Hendricks, making him lose his page.]
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The underside of his watch face starts to tingle, like when he was a kid adjusting the tv antenna and Mrs. Kovacks upstairs was vacuuming-- magic. He puts his fork down casually, leaves the chicken in the dirt, and opens his book again-- A Note on Canadian Poetry, this time. Not that he's reading it. He slides his phone onto the page, leans back, starts scanning the crowd in the reflective surface, stretches out one leg so he can get at the gun at his ankle if he needs to.
So much for a quiet lunch.
okay, gotta ask, who is that AMAZING PB?
Stars and stones, and people call Harry paranoid. He's got nothing on the Outfit's upper hierarchy.]
[Harry sighs, loud and dramatic, and trudges over Chicago's Lawn to Hendricks.] Hang fire, Cujo. There's kids around, let's not give 'em a show. [He pauses, then smirks.] It'd look bad if I kicked your ass in front of the entire city.
Lee Reherman, plus Photoshop
"Dresden." He doesn't bother to hide his sigh. No point in making the wizard wonder if he's glad to see him. Heh. Like he'd wonder. His eyes narrow despite himself. It's like being in middle school all the time. "You lost or something?"
Excellent selection. 8D
http://is.gd/XntAtW Sometimes. ...Some other times we never speak of. http://is.gd/jg5gHU
.... ohmigawd. :dying:
We can only assume there was copious amounts of alcohol involved. And possibly the fae.
He looks so *happy* about it.
His life outside of work is a wondrous thing? The question is really who ELSE has seen those pics...
Marcone threatens to show them to Gard. It's his trump card with Hendricks.
No one ever said the man doesn't play dirty.
IKR.
It's all right. I'm sure Hendricks has his own Marcone-motivators when need be.
All are nonverbal long stares of silent disapproval. Hendricks is good like that.
He has an entire repertoire of stares
I love that's canon. EH is the best thing Butcher's written. <3
John's determination to condition himself (he's a MONSTER) & Hendricks patient omg boss. <3
And Gard being a BAMF. I want to watch the John. Hendricks, and Gard Show.
Hell, I would just watch the Gard show. With Hendricks and John the occasional guest stars.
IT'D BE LIKE A GENDERSWAPPED THREE'S COMPANY. omg. want.
omg roommates. BEST ROOMMATES EVER.
WHO WILL SHE CHOOSE, the big teddy bear or the irritable control freak? Five seasons of UST.
In the end, control freak hooks up w. the surly neighbour. Best episodes are when her boss drops by.
Just so long as the boss has mad chemistry with everyone. Surly neighbor included.
It's generally agreed that all episodes he's in should really just end with an orgy?
Very much agreed. Oh Donar, how so awesome?
The surly neighbour lives in the basement suite? Donar just plucks him out when it's dinner time?
Donar as landlord? And Harry lives in the basement apt a whole season before they know he's there?
Omg. John looking out the back window before the reveal. His "...when did we get a DOG?"
Gard: "That is not a dog. That is a small dinosaur."
"Fine. Then when did we get a DINOSAUR?"
They try to call Animal Control and Harry comes out to yell at them for trying to take his dog.
He's lived here as long as they have! What do they mean they don't believe him!
GDI now I really want this AU. It'd be so cute and domestic.
haha, ditto. G, H, J logically conclude that H must have a drug lab down there?
until they get to know him and realize there aren't drugs in existence that make a man that weird.
Trying to figure out what he does becomes an ongoing gag through the next 4 seasons?
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... maybe a different job every week? "Aren't you a baker?" "No, I'm a violinist now." "Oh."
He knows a bit of everything &someone who does whatever odd job needed, bc of all the jobs he's had?
He can do it all, unless it involves computers. Yet he still barely makes rent, the poor thing.
And somehow manages to keep up his giant dog and cat. And show up at the strangest times.
For a while, John and Gard are convinced he's a contracted spy of some kind. A very unsubtle one.
It's a very cunning plan, they're sure.
And Hendricks is like "lol, you guys" and is the only sane one in the building.
He and Harry become midnight ice cream buddies?
So long as Hendricks is bringing the ice cream, yes.
He can manage that. He needs someone other than J & G to talk to. Not good when HD's sane company.
In every AU, Hendricks is doomed to being the only sane person.
(Alternate) Universal truth: he's probably the only sane one in the canon as well.
IDK, Kincaid is sane-ish. Just a massive troll.
But Kincaid is an occasional character & would probably develop his nervous ticks given screen time?
And there is the matter of the Teddy Glock... Sane!Kincaid comment withdrawn.
He & Ivy can be the wacky neighbours the next house over. Ivy the know-it-all kid. Literally.
She can help Hendricks with his homework, it'd be great.
And is the only one other than Harry who can keep track of his jobs.
He died in Winter. And Winter doesn't give its prizes away.
It's risky, being here. This side of the Nevernever. This city, maybe, particularly. But Winter's hold is strong in Chicago, is rooted deep with Maeve in Undertown and Dresden's homestead, and there's neutral ground just a few steps away. And the mortal world is tempting, all the more so since it's been lost to him. Too tempting to stay away from for long.
Morgan opens the door to MacAnally's, and disappears down the stairs.
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Mac looks up at the late arrival-- familiar, that face. It goes with a man the grapevine says is severely dead. Not that he's on the White Council mailing list, but news like Morgan gets around. He wasn't happy when he heard, didn't have Harry Dresden's antagonistic relationship with the warden. Harry, fond as he is of him, buys himself a lot of trouble. He may have just bought some and had it delivered to Mac. Bless his heart.
Most things with a dead man's face aren't friendly, but this one hasn't attacked yet. The shotgun's under the bar, with iron shot and salt shells if they're needed. Mac doesn't reach for it; polishes the counter, and keeps eyes on the visitor.
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But that one. The face he was expecting. Right where he always was. That one knows him. He smiles a little, lips twitching. It's been a long time. It's nice to be back. No matter how this goes.
He makes his way across the floor, the fan blades whirring above his head, around the solid, carved pillars. Takes a seat on a barstool. “McAnally.”
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This is a start. No murder. The man moves like he's expecting people to scatter in his wake, but when has he ever not? Up close he can see the lines carved into Morgan's face, whoever the wearer is. Dark and tired. Frozen.
There are a lot of questions and Mac's not going to be the one to ask them all. He'll just ask the important ones.
"Beer?" He reaches down and pulls up a bottle of ale, room temperature, golden and a little cloudy as the movement stirs up the sedative. It's good stuff. One of his recent batches he's particularly proud of. He doesn't want to descend into a maudlin spell, but it's a batch he'd've liked Morgan to have tried when he was alive, before he was gone so hard that the gossip got back to a bartender in Chicago.
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If. But he's made his body well. Or, it has made up around him, more honestly, has served him in Winter and so far, in Chicago.
And he really wants a damn drink.
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There are thirteen wooden tables, thirteen carved pillars, thirteen slow-spinning ceiling fans, thirteen high windows. There's a little plaque that says 'Accorded Neutral Territory.' There's a bartender, tall, bald, moderately muscular and moderately ageless, in a crisp white work shirt and apron.
There's the best microbrewed old world ale in Chicago; there's a damn fine menu, but don't expect to be served. You have legs; walk to the bar and get it.
Mac's is open.
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She makes it down the little set of stairs without tripping, her eyes adjusting slowly, and glances around, hoping for a familiar face. And something to eat-- wow, does it smell good in here. It's been a few hours since that latte before her plane ride, and her stomach is quite happy to remind her.
First things first, then. She walks up to the bar. "Hi!"
(This post still open? If it is or if it isn't, anyone else want to meet her at Mac's? The more the merrier!)
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He didn't recognize her, but the bar wasn't so insular and so hidden that they never got new faces. He took one of the heavy stock-card menus from the bar, the menu printed out, one side dedicated to the food, the other dedicated selection of beers (lots of those, and all local) and the wines (fewer, and either local or very very non-local.)
He offered the cardstock out questioningly, menu resting lightly enough in his grip to be taken without awkwardness; was she here to eat, drink, or ask directions to the nearest gas station?
[Mac's is open anytime. ;) ]
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She's really hoping she hasn't said something wrong-- the guys seems friendly, is tall but not using his size to claim the space around him. She's going to start babbling if she's not careful, though, because nature abhors a vacuum and her nerves adore an outlet.
"I've never been here before! What's your favourite?"
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He gestured at the soda tap, offering a drink while she thought.
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