bakerstreet | THE DENNY'S MEME

( There has never been a person more overdressed for the occasion. )

[ on record, mi-6 would not concede to have it written of its association with any private secret intelligence agency, let alone whisper any word of it's collaboration with one.

yet again, there was a whole lot more than what was written on paper. there always was, and even if m did not incessantly hint towards a so-dubbed 'group effort' with the effectively phantom kingsmen, bond might have just done so anyway.

call it a collaborative effort to ensure international security.

the place of meeting seemed - odd, to say the least. bordering on ridiculous to say the worst of it, though america was full of these things; generic and numerous; harder to trace, harder to pinpoint. he saw the logic in it, the clandestine effort of it. didn't change the amusing part to it, though. his suit, sharp and pressed, seems out of place, even if he had instinctively slipped his tie off.

he finds the other man easily enough - just as overdressed as he - and with a charmingly practiced smirk, informs the hostess his friend is waiting for him right over there, thank you.

it's 3 am, and the staff isn't exactly attentive at this time, so his arrival is noted with a tired nod of a face who just wants the shift to end; he approaches, slides into the booth. ] Finally, a face to a knightly name. [ a smirk and a move to diffuse the conversation, even as he offers a hand for a shake. ] Bond.

James Bond.

[ The coffee was stale, the food mediocre and the vinyl seating made squeaking noises beneath his ass whenever he moved a muscle, but Harry was rather charmed by Denny's and its lack of pomp and circumstance. It was the last place anyone would look for a British agent, and without a white-gloved waiter hovering at his elbow he could enjoy his novel in peace.

He respectfully closed his book and set it face down on the table as Bond approached and met his smirk and offered hand with a polite smile and a firm grip.

It wouldn't be the first time the Kingsmen had jumped into bed with MI5. Their unions were never permanent or recorded, like a casual dalliance. Select agents matched on blind dates that lead to one night stand-offs.

Results varied.

That being said, Harry was looking forward to this particular mission. ]

Mr. Bond, what a coincidence- I was just reading about you.

Could I persuade you for an autograph?

[ He flipped the book over. Moonraker by Ian Fleming. MI5 was quite clever with its propaganda, Harry had no idea if man created the myth or the myth had created the man. Not even the Kingsmen knew how much of history or literature had been censored or propagated by their public sector peers.

Either way, he quite enjoyed it. ]

Edited 2015-03-12 02:02 (UTC)

[ ah, of course, coffee. the quintessential american revolt to tea. he should order a cup when the waitress comes around.

though for now, his attention was anchored to the kingsman across from him. for spies, however, it was never a full attention, was it? he'd counted the waiters when he came in, and the customers along the way. a man with a cap and beard, slowly chewing on his pancakes. four red-eyed teens, stuffing down meals as though they were their first and last ones. a fellow in the corner, asleep or glassy-eyes, and only mildly suspicious.

the agent, however, was everything he assumed he would be - refined, composed, unreadable. a reflection of similar training. m was ever so vague on the details, though now he was assuming probably because she didn't have very accurate ones anyway.

it was that sort of 'partnership'.

at any rate, this was better than tying knots with the cia.

a snort, and he isn't sure if he is annoyed at mi6's elaborate, pain-in-ass theatrics. honestly, that whole thing read as m's idea of a terrible joke and what was worse was that people bought it. it goes to be said, then, that tricking readers to think they've copies from the 1950s must have been as easy as cutting butter.

though admittedly, this sort of nationalist fame was great fodder for his already too-large ego. it was an uncomfortable see-saw between irritation and amusement. ] Should I write God save the Queen? Or too obvious?

[ a beat, as the waitress sidles over, and pours a cup of coffee; he declines any offer of food, leans back against the crunch of the vinyl seat.] And you'll have to pardon me.

I seem to have forgotten my copy of King Arthur and his Knights. [ yes yes he'll get to business talking soon enough give him a minute. ]

[ He sipped almost delicately from the comically huge mug in his hand. Everything really was bigger in America. ]

Don't you mean Monty Python and the Holy Grail?

[ The typical MI5 agent regarded a Kingsman less seriously than they should, as if they were a quirky uncle rather than an estranged sibling. The last relative they would invite to a party and the first they went to for help. They were smaller in number, but their pockets went deeper than the government or Crown and as free agents they were beholden to no politician or bloodline. Neither their purse strings or hamstrings could be cut if they sniffed up trees otherwise protected by the broken, banal system.

Harry's tone remained unaffected and his expression genial, but there was a slyness in his gaze the bold frame of his glasses couldn't obscure. ]

You would know better, wouldn't you? [ well, he wasn't expecting tea and crumpets here, but the culture shock was silly. silly. not really a word 007 would use any other time.

though it would be supposed any spy that has done something with anything would appear skeptical towards another. but maybe, maybe in the smallest squint, bond could fancy himself jealous. oh, he was a patriot, had to be (just as much as he had to enjoy his job), but there was something enticing in the lack of political leash his counterpart had.

as far as first impressions go, at least this one wasn't boring.

a moment, and he's fishing out his phone from an inside pocket, sliding it across. it was a simple file, a summary, news articles pertaining to the threat. group of extremists, lead by big old villain #27, targeting individuals, and populations. surely there was a saying about the same old in new clothing?. ] I trust you're all caught up on recent events?

Of course.

[ He scanned the file anyway. There were bits and pieces he didn't know, but altogether the same shit in a different pile. He pulled a similar device from his own jacket and offering it in turn. More of the same, but with nods to where their uninspired target had been receiving support from minor names Bond may or may not recognize in British parliament. ]

As you can see, the rats are fleeing the sinking ship.

We haven't been able to confirm if there's a breach, or it's simply being scuttled.

[ It was too convenient that anyone who had anything to gain from the ordeal was cutting ties at the same time. More than likely what they were looking at was a cast off shell, the extremists abandoning their old posts and accounts to throw them off their trail and transferring everything to another network. ]

We needn't worry though, America's rodent problem has only gotten worse.

I heard there's a local infestation.

Edited 2015-03-12 04:00 (UTC)

[ This was the purpose, wasn't it? Dot the i's and cross the t's, even if it was just the paraphrasing of the same report. He skims along the names. ] Not fast enough.

[ He quirks a brow; ] Department of Health seems to have been neglecting some duties. And the Secretary's Assistant just quit the job.

[ It almost read too routine. Disappear, try and hide away from the prying eyes of a grid. Except most of them seemed to disregard just how widespread their grid was.

Fleeing to America? Transferring accounts, large sums of money exchanging hands?Newly imported stocks of weaponry going missing? Bond couldn't tell if this group was extremely confident, or worryingly idiotic. Either way, they were scrambling, panicking even within their certainty. Means there were bound to be plenty of mistakes.

He slides the device back to its owner. ]

Well, we'll just have to follow the breadcrumbs and the rat shit, won't we?

[ Harry would much rather be the fox than the hound, but orders were orders. If Bond was half as good at sniffing out rats as his literary doppelganger they should be done in time for tea. Tea sounded very good at that moment.

Harry was overcome with a sudden weariness that no amount of the weak, oily swill Denny's passed off as coffee could hope to cure. He only hoped he didn't look as tired as he felt. It was both a matter of pride and professionalism that his younger M15 ally saw the Kingsmen operating at their very best.

He nods in agreement and tucks the tablet away, invisibly stifling a yawn with a turn of his head. A gentleman never yawned in company. ]

Of course.

Glad I brought an extra pair of shoes.

[ He shut his eyes and opened them again, forcing himself to remain alert. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed until he could find the nearest espresso machine. Globe-trotting was an essential aspect of the Kingsman lifestyle and Harry enjoyed traveling. He couldn't even remember the last time he was jet-lagged.

Something was very wrong.

Suddenly he became aware of something, or more accurately a distinct lack of something. They were meeting in a breakfast diner, grease and the stink of breakfast food was unavoidable. The two of them would walk out in thousand dollar suits smelling like bacon instead of Burberry.

Except Harry didn't smell bacon. He didn't smell any food at all.

Likely because the kitchen staff were dead, and gas unrecognizable to the sensors in his glasses was being pumped in through the vents.

It would have been very helpful to articulate all of this to Bond through use of his tongue and lips, but his face was numb and uncooperative. Harry was exhibiting symptoms before Bond because he had arrived sooner, it was only a matter of minutes until Bond was also affected.

At every table in the restaurant people were slowly succumbing. Passed out face-first into pancakes or slowly suffocating in their scrambled eggs.

Rodents were disgusting creatures, it was easy to forget they were equally clever. The rats knew they couldn't fight the dogs head-on, so they would chew out their throats as they slept. ]

Shit.

[ Well at least he managed to say something. ]

Edited 2015-03-15 16:57 (UTC)

[ Tea sounded far better than the weak brand of over-brewed roast they poured him, and the drink was left only briefly tried.

Fox or hound, it didn't exactly matter to him; a job was a job and if he had to be the blunt instrument, he would be. Though for now, it would suffice to smoke out the biggest rat and squeeze specifics out of it. Colourful metaphors aside.

The unease doesn't so much settle as hit his gut the moment he latches onto a sliver of inarticulate expression on the other's face, the moment their conversation idles down and they don't move.

His throat is dry, and it's the first thing he notices, closely followed by fatigue that, as someone running on GMT time, he shouldn't even be having. ] Shit.

[ It isn't the coffee, he thinks, because no poison could take as quick an effect on someone who had a few sips as on someone who had more and he's pushing himself out of the booth, an action that takes effort even as he straightens, searches around the diner for some sort of hint against a quickly ticking clock and he draws the Walther PPK tucked beneath his suit. Sense addled, hard to breathe, actions running on instinct. A glance to Galahad, or Harry or whatever the hell he actually went by. ] Get up.

[ There's adrenaline pens in his car and that's outside and the exit seems a far walk. And whatever was going on, he was sure the rats were waiting out of this goddamn box.

Smoking them out before they could do the same to them.

(The air didn't feel like air; as though the oxygen was drained from it, replaced by something far more insidious). The windows, the bloody windows; he raises his pistol, and before he could waste breaths on thinking of something better, he shoots. Outside air, to counterbalance whatever shit they had been breathing. Perhaps it was lucky, marginally, that this diner resembled an aquarium. ]

I asked you to come to dinner, Harry. What did you think I meant?

_{[ Eggsy looked across the booth at the other man, a look somewhere between amusement and exasperation on his face. He could just barely imagine Harry in his sweater and slacks only because he had seen him in them before, but the suit was more him. Still, it made him look incredibly out of place in the Denny's, the smell of burnt coffee and delightfully greasy sausages wafting around them.

Eggsy had just gotten back from a solo mission, one that required him going undercover. Given his unique background, he had been a perfect fit for it, and still wore the street clothes required rather than his almost customary suit. He had almost missed wearing clothes like this - the striped shirt, loose jacket, jeans, white sneakers, a baseball cap. He could have changed before coming, but what could he say?

He liked thumbing his nose at Harry the tiniest bit. ]}

Dinner suggests the need for a dinner jacket.

Judging by the decor, a bib may have been more appropriate.

[ He slid out of his navy jacket and folded it neatly over one arm before setting it down on the chair beside him. Beneath it he wore an elegantly striped vest, contrasting silk tie and a fitted shirt that was both starched and presse, the collar standing neatly at attention.

Harry didn't hate how Eggsy dressed, but that windbreaker was both ugly and susceptible to bullets. He made an effort not to stare at the ribbed cuffs or the brightly coloured nylon stripes darting up and down both arms like landing strips for a child's toy plane.

This was his first time in an American dining establishment without golden arches and he couldn't say he was surprised or disappointed by the menu. Everything was quick, greasy and artificial. Not unlike American politics. ]

I'm quite hungry, Eggsy. What do you suggest?

Edited 2015-03-12 01:55 (UTC)

_{[ Well, he maybe had gotten it from the Kingsman. It had been a rather
unique request, but Merlin worked magic as usual and got it procured. There
were quite a few fun gadgets stuck inside of his seemingly normal street
clothes. He would start a new trend, but then none had ever been as chav as
him in the Kingsman either.}

He rolled his eyes seeing the rest of Harry's outfit. ]

Not everything has to be posh, Harry. It is possible to have a good time without a neck tie on.

_{[ He opened up the laminated menus and flipped it around, shoving it
at the older man. ]}

Get the All American Slam. Little bit of everything, can't go wrong.

All American Slam? [ His brow raised and his lips parted, his eyes flicking up from the menu to the boy across from him and back down again. He was more affronted that Eggsy thought of him in the same vein as Arthur and the other snobs of their order. Harry wasn't always posh and he did know how to have a good time, with or without a tie.

Where and how the tie was utilized, that was the important part.]

That sounds filthy. [ He wrinkled his nose, lifting his chin to gaze down his nose at the menu with an aristocratic air that came to him more easily than he would like to admit. ]

Someone should tell the Americans that a proper gentleman loves a thick, juicy banger.

Yeah, you tell that to some American bloke and you either be ready to drop your trousers or get your jaw socked depending on the bloke.

_{[ He smirked at Harry, slumping back into his seat. Really, he was
grateful for the assignment to be over. Under cover was fun and all, but it
was tiring too, and it was elongated times of stress. He had confidence in
his own abilities, but every now and then you had that jump, that worry you
had been discovered. It could happen, with that one little slip, and you
had to examine everything you did, everything you said, every little tick
and twitch and motion. He was glad just to sit in a diner and not
have to think. ]}

Or are you trying to tell me something, Harry? We could always get that thick, juicy banger to go.

_{[ He's grinning quite on purpose, arms crossed as he waited for the
waitress to come with their coffee and his juice. ]}

THE DENNY'S MEME

Harry Hart | Kingsman: The Secret Service | OTA

is this aright??

it is better than alright. it is perfect.

uvu this is great already

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Because we can't do anything without ruining everything.

their spin-off should be called 100 reasons why we can't have nice things

Harry Hart | Kingsman: The Secret Service | OTA

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