Time to Make the Donuts

[sockhopsolly]

THE ON-DUTY MEME



We're all used to playing our characters in special circumstances--sharing a bath, AUed into a robot, in the rain, lost in the ball pit (well that's one way to get your extra hour)...but how often do we get to actually play our characters doing their day jobs?

This meme is for just that.

INSTRUCTIONS
1. Write a starter about your character going about their day at work, wherever that may be.

If your character is a doctor, write them checking in on a patient, or having a meal in the hospital cafeteria. If they're a lawyer, write them at court. If they're a professional ghost-hunter? Yeah, that'd be a pretty neat starter too!

Be sure to include some sort of hook that allows other characters to join in the action, even if your character works alone. Maybe they brought their pile of research out to a cafe? Maybe they need help with something?

2. Respond to other characters' starters. Please tag out if you put a starter up. I know I can't enforce this, but no meme goes anywhere if people don't engage.

3. Thread. Have a good day at work, or perhaps an awful day at work.

Comments

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Well, the trouble with leshies is getting them to hold fucking still so I'm just throwing Yrden left and right and trying not to get caught in any of 'em and I'm bleeding all over the place and I've just wrecked my only pair of pants and this thing just won't go down." He fixes his trousers and throws himself onto the bed, head hanging off the side, as a boy might, while he tells his tale. So we're just going round and round. 'Cause I'd smashed all this thing's totem, so he knows once I've killed him, he's gone for good, so he's determined to get me first. Finally, I took a chance and tried Axii and I'll be damned if I didn't manage to stop him just long enough to get the silver through him." He exhales, arms flopped to his side. "Shoulda seen the skull on that fucker. Antlers like..." He spreads his arms.

[pricklywolf]

Lambert puts his sword away, then scoots closer to the bed, staring with rapt attention at his brother. He's trying to imagine what it looked like. Eskel's signs were amazing to watch when he was younger, and it's no different now. His eyes go wide when he sees how big the antler spread was.

"Gods, yeah, he must've been ancient. Axii really worked on him?"

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Barely. I could feel him fighting me the whole time. I think it confused him more than controlled him. How dare I, a mere man, crawl into his mind like that. The look in his eye before I took him down, I've never seen such rage." Eskel says, with something like admiration.

[pricklywolf]

"Well, yeah, he was as old as time itself, probably. And you come along and fuck his day up." Lambert chuckles. He's definitely proud of Eskel. "Did you get better pay for it?"

[wolfdogwitcher]

"I couldn't get more coin but the lord of the manor let me sleep in the house for a night until walking was a bit easier." Eskel laughed. "So I got a real mattress and a decent meal out of it. Almost worth losing my business, eh?" He says, gesturing to the spot on his thigh where the antler had come down frightfully close to his cock. "What about you?"

[pricklywolf]

Lambert winces again. "That would've been a travesty...I mean, you have a great dick. It'd be a real loss." He shifts to sprawl out on the floor so that his head is toward Eskel's, forcing him to look at the older witcher upside down.

"We didn't have anything so exciting. Got chased out of an inn, though. We asked for a room, innkeep said they only had a single bed, we said it was fine. Then he noticed our medallions were different." He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Stupid inbred whoreson...He said one witcher was bad enough, then started badmouthing Aiden. So I punched him."

[giusto]

The chefs here are not arrogant in their pride, but they take much care in their work. It would be a shame to waste it. Still, there is a plate of bruschetta and calamari on the way, if it pleases you.

( Bucciarati nods his head in demure agreement, before eyeing the waiter, giving him a signal that he is relieved.

Bucciarati looks the man over in the pause that pulses between this and his eventual explanation, and his first impressions are not the most suspect, but certainly curious. Noriaki Kakyoin speaks in carefully-assembled Italian, and Bruno doesn't initially settle on any suspicion about the man's familiarity with Italy as a whole. but he does think, if Signore Kakyoin is not a resident here...that this request, actively being laid out piece by piece before him like a meal of its own, is even more strange as a complete composition than the individual factors that comprise it.

this Frenchman was in this area, and there's an anchor point there. the cogs in Bucciarati's mind begin to churn, face flat and his features set in deeper with serious attention, but as his thoughts begin to queue, it's as is Signore Kakyoin can sense them — perceptive, either on whatever vaguest shifts occur in Bucciarati's face, or in himself and the story he is displaying.

he appreciates it, no matter the direction it's coming from. )

For being the authority to bound injustice, the police, in reality, often find their own hands shackled by policy. ( the words could advocate for the devil, but Bucciarati's tone is neutral to the point of sounding unimpressed with what he speaks on. ) You might have felt as though you had wasted your time attempting them, but you've saved me from having to ask that you do so.

( Bucciarati's eyes don't leave Signore Kakyoin's face yet, eyeing him as if weighing everything he's been given, like some dusty road merchant seeking trade. is that really not the case, though, inherently?

he seems to settle with a decision; his eyes relax and slip into a brief and musing closure as he looks away, taking his glass of wine and indulging briefly. what has been brought to him, what he has weighed, has at least begun to convince him of its validity. ) And I don't intend to waste more of your time. Tell me about your friend. Show me what you have.

[hierophany]

His given name is Jean-Pierre, though he tends to go exclusively by his family name - Polnareff.

[ He lays out a series of photographs on the table, all featuring a pale-silver-haired man, broad-shouldered and red and freckled where he's sun-touched and laughing more often than not. Kakyoin himself is in a few of the pictures, occasionally wrestled into the frame of them by the frenchman. ]

He's an itinerant sort. Likes to wander around Europe, chasing after whatever's caught his interest lately. He travels cheaply. I checked the hostels first, but his name wasn't in any of their guestbooks. He has a knack for exchanging favours, befriending people, doing errands in exchange for being permitted to stay in their homes as a guest, that sort of thing.

[ Which makes him difficult to track. He sighs, only a little overdramatically, and places a pair of earrings on the table next to the photographs. They're shaped like broken hearts, made from green glass. ]

He wears earrings in this style. Not these exact ones, of course, this is a pair he left behind when we last met. But the same shape.

Jesse Pinkman | Breaking Bad | OTA

[yeahmagnets]

((Side note: prose is fine if you don't like brackets. I'll match your style.))

[Jesse leaves his hazmat suit and respirator behind as he exits the underground meth lab hidden behind a giant commercial dryer. Nobody seems to notice him (or they just pretend not to) as he walks through the warehouse and heads toward the bay doors where the cars are parked. He's been itching for a cigarette for the past four hours and he finally has enough time to leave the industrial laundromat for a smoke.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and slides one from the pack, holding it between his lips as he puts his hand into the pocket of his black jacket and for the first time in hours his mildly bored expression changes.

His blue eyes grow wider and he's checking all of his pockets while muttering to himself until he let's out a defeated sigh, eyes closed and face towards the sky. He curses his shitty luck when he notices someone else in the dusty parking lot.]

Yo. You got a light? I'm dyin' here.

[He makes a gesture with his hand, miming the action of igniting a lighter.]