George Milton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bindlestifflost) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
apocalypsehowcomm2022-04-14 11:19 pm
bindlestifflost) wrote in apocalypsehowcomm2022-04-14 11:19 pm
A handkerchief held all my gear (OPEN LOG Catch-all April)
Who: George Milton and ???
When: Most of April
Where: In ADI, on the grounds, and Gloucester proper
Summary: George is familiarizing himself with his new environment and is never content to be in one place for too long.
Warnings: Possibly some of the eye flower weirdness if anyone wants to do a fair/festival prompt, possibly drinking to excess, will update if needed and also warn in individual thread headers.
1. Home Sweet Home?
It's weird, having such a huge space just to himself and maybe two other folks. For now it seems like it's just Nick, and well, he could have done a whole lot worse. Settling in is always a little awkward. He didn't have much of anything to put away. That took no time at all.
So now he's sitting on the sofa in the common room fiddling with the phone, not because he likes it or particularly wants to but because it has been emphasized so much as important, he'd be a fool not to keep at it. He's less outwardly or visibly frustrated working on it alone, just grunting and muttering to himself off and on as he fat fingers his typing or has trouble making one of the apps do what it's supposed to.
He doesn't know how long he has been at it. Long enough for his butt to be sore and his legs to feel like they could use a good stretching when there's a knock at the door. Immediately, he tucks the phone in his jacket pocket as he stands and crosses to it.
"Who's there?" His voice is deep and sharp enough to carry through the wood just fine.
2. The Library
The short guy sitting at the computer terminal doesn't much look like he belongs there. He's staring very intently at the monitor, his typing a painfully slow hunt and peck style. He seems to be trying to research basic history of the region, currently on one of the local government pages of helpful links.
Every now and then he awkwardly moves or clicks the mouse, often followed by a low, "Dammit," or, "No, not you. I want...you." He's so engrossed in the work that he doesn't react at first to the person who comes in behind him. It's only when he hears a definitive noise that he jumps a little and whips his head around, looking almost guilty.
"Sorry. Did you need this?" He's not completely sure he ought to be here, and it shows.
3. The Grounds
At various locations around the grounds, a short, slight man in a brimmed work hat can be spotted wandering and familiarizing himself with the area. He has a fast, no-nonsense gait, like somebody used to being on his feet, and he's never in any one place for very long. When spoken to, he touches his hat brim and gives a nod. He's fine with stopping to chat, especially if he has already met you, but even if he hasn't, he won't brush off a friendly overture.
4. The General's Store
George's voice is increasingly strident as he argues with the beleaguered cashier behind the register. "An' I'm tellin' you 50 bucks for a plain ol' fishin' pole is highway robbery. Not to mention you ain't even including tackle or bait in that. I ain't gonna stand here and let you swindle me. You been swindlin' everybody who works at ADI? That it?"
"Sir, if you'd just..."
"Don't you sir me. Do I look like a sir? Jes' admit you're doing people dirty. I'll tell you what. You put all a' that mess back on the shelf. I don't want none of it. I wouldn't take it if you paid me." Without another word, he's storming for the door.
5. A Bar at the Docks
It took long enough to find the kind of place with the vibe he was looking for, nothing too fancy, just a hole in the wall with beat up barstools and an older woman behind the bar who seems happy enough not to ask too many questions. Like everything else in this damned town, the price of the drinks is sky high. By this point he doesn't care.
He's seated belly up at the far end of the bar pounding gin like there's a run on it, and he may have found the last bottle. There's a certain fixed quality to his thousand yard stare. Hard to tell if he recognizes you or not if you approach.
6. Wildcard!
((OOC: Bring your own prompt, or feel free to use some of the fair prompts from the TDM. George would be playing any number of games there. If you have any questions or want to run something by me, you can hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
velocinapper, PM, or Disco. Brackets are also fine!))
When: Most of April
Where: In ADI, on the grounds, and Gloucester proper
Summary: George is familiarizing himself with his new environment and is never content to be in one place for too long.
Warnings: Possibly some of the eye flower weirdness if anyone wants to do a fair/festival prompt, possibly drinking to excess, will update if needed and also warn in individual thread headers.
1. Home Sweet Home?
It's weird, having such a huge space just to himself and maybe two other folks. For now it seems like it's just Nick, and well, he could have done a whole lot worse. Settling in is always a little awkward. He didn't have much of anything to put away. That took no time at all.
So now he's sitting on the sofa in the common room fiddling with the phone, not because he likes it or particularly wants to but because it has been emphasized so much as important, he'd be a fool not to keep at it. He's less outwardly or visibly frustrated working on it alone, just grunting and muttering to himself off and on as he fat fingers his typing or has trouble making one of the apps do what it's supposed to.
He doesn't know how long he has been at it. Long enough for his butt to be sore and his legs to feel like they could use a good stretching when there's a knock at the door. Immediately, he tucks the phone in his jacket pocket as he stands and crosses to it.
"Who's there?" His voice is deep and sharp enough to carry through the wood just fine.
2. The Library
The short guy sitting at the computer terminal doesn't much look like he belongs there. He's staring very intently at the monitor, his typing a painfully slow hunt and peck style. He seems to be trying to research basic history of the region, currently on one of the local government pages of helpful links.
Every now and then he awkwardly moves or clicks the mouse, often followed by a low, "Dammit," or, "No, not you. I want...you." He's so engrossed in the work that he doesn't react at first to the person who comes in behind him. It's only when he hears a definitive noise that he jumps a little and whips his head around, looking almost guilty.
"Sorry. Did you need this?" He's not completely sure he ought to be here, and it shows.
3. The Grounds
At various locations around the grounds, a short, slight man in a brimmed work hat can be spotted wandering and familiarizing himself with the area. He has a fast, no-nonsense gait, like somebody used to being on his feet, and he's never in any one place for very long. When spoken to, he touches his hat brim and gives a nod. He's fine with stopping to chat, especially if he has already met you, but even if he hasn't, he won't brush off a friendly overture.
4. The General's Store
George's voice is increasingly strident as he argues with the beleaguered cashier behind the register. "An' I'm tellin' you 50 bucks for a plain ol' fishin' pole is highway robbery. Not to mention you ain't even including tackle or bait in that. I ain't gonna stand here and let you swindle me. You been swindlin' everybody who works at ADI? That it?"
"Sir, if you'd just..."
"Don't you sir me. Do I look like a sir? Jes' admit you're doing people dirty. I'll tell you what. You put all a' that mess back on the shelf. I don't want none of it. I wouldn't take it if you paid me." Without another word, he's storming for the door.
5. A Bar at the Docks
It took long enough to find the kind of place with the vibe he was looking for, nothing too fancy, just a hole in the wall with beat up barstools and an older woman behind the bar who seems happy enough not to ask too many questions. Like everything else in this damned town, the price of the drinks is sky high. By this point he doesn't care.
He's seated belly up at the far end of the bar pounding gin like there's a run on it, and he may have found the last bottle. There's a certain fixed quality to his thousand yard stare. Hard to tell if he recognizes you or not if you approach.
6. Wildcard!
((OOC: Bring your own prompt, or feel free to use some of the fair prompts from the TDM. George would be playing any number of games there. If you have any questions or want to run something by me, you can hit me up at
no subject
His eyes keep to the ground as he struts down the pathway. A gust of late-winter breeze nips under his nose. Owen would have remained that way if it weren’t for that booming voice that was bellowing in his general direction.
The callout breaks Owen’s concentration as stops in place and turns around. Only to be met with a quarter to the chest. His hand cups over the quarter before it drops to the ground.
“If it’s more money you want, then I haven’t any. You’re going to have to hit up those wankers in suits.”
no subject
"You think jes' 'cause you's dressed nicer and some other man ain't, he's looking for a handout? I ain't sure if you're cuckoo or jes' plain dumb, but where I'm from that's how a man picks a fight." He makes no move to go for him yet, but both fists are balled with knuckles standing out in white relief.
no subject
George makes his anger very clear with Owen. And Owen isn’t about to get sucked up into this one’s nonsensical tornado of fisticuffs.
“I’m not here to be a part of your little aggressive Howdy Doody tour. If you didn’t want the stupid quarter, then say so.”
no subject
"You wanna try sayin' that in English this time?" As far as the rest of it, he threw it back at him. He doesn't think he could be more clear than that.
no subject
“You like you’re playing a round of cowboys and bandits.”
no subject
He eyes him up and down with casual and deliberate insolence. "Cowboy'd have already cleaned your clock for the insult." He's still feeling like he just might yet. "Guess it's your lucky day."
no subject
He grounds his feet on the pavement, undeterred by the idle threat. Not even remotely close to being piss drunk and yet some wanker wants to have a go at him. His hand curls into half of a fist as he bites the side of his lip.
Perhaps a world record by Torchwood’s standards. But if Owen has to defend himself, then so be it.
“Then don’t be so bashful about it.”
no subject
no subject
George had clocked Owen square in the jaw, nearly sending the younger man on his ass. If he was pissed off then, he’s (rightfully) pissed off now, taking a few steps back while cupping a hand over his jawline. He’d try to slink his way out of a stupid fight and now this muppet is throwing fists at him.
Before George can go in for another hit, Owen attempts a clean swing at his face.
no subject
"Sum' bitch," he growls, tucking his head lower and popping off a right cross that pistons from the hip. It's all aimed at his face for now, neither of them having closed in close enough for him to go for ribs or kidneys, or to throw sharp knees for inner thighs.
no subject
“Oi!” He shouts as the sweat drops from under his brow. He throws another fist towards the temple.
no subject
He lunges for him straight out of that stagger with every intention of taking both of them to the ground, the kind of dustup that'd have some men back home cheering them on and taking bets, and other more sensible heads trying to pull them apart before somebody got really hurt. Too bad it doesn't look like there's any of the latter coming to the rescue.
Some people in the distance are starting to pull out phones and hold them up to film, though.