Chapter Four
The café on Regent Street was called "The Sitting Room," which Taine suspected was meant to sound charmingly bohemian but instead made him think of dentist waiting areas and uncomfortable chairs. The actual chairs, however, were deep and worn and surprisingly comfortable—vintage velvet in faded jewel tones, arranged around mismatched tables that had probably cost a fortune to look this shabby.
Tyler had chosen a corner table near the window, two coffees already
Tarquin likes keeping Orel on a leash.
His control of Orel ensures he controls Oliver.
All part of Daddy dearest's plan. And rather Shakespearean in the scope of it's evil.
Yeah I make mistakes all the time with consistency. Problem of being on my own and beta reading an hour before posting a chapter. If you catch a mistake, let me know and I will correct it if I can.
The older Carter books are riddled with consistency errors (Nature of them being written out of order)
Tim.. Tim why are you stuffing my socks down your trousers?
Because, Justin, some of us don't have a giant pipe thing that's permanently set to burst out onto the stage at any moment!
"Was that a compliment?"
"Shut up Justin and give me the other sock!"
Coins, in this day and age?
"Is that a hard on in your pocket?"
"It's my debit card"
"That's... disappointing."
"You try getting a roll of quarters these days!"
There's also the small fact that the hotel room looks like a set-up. Neither of them are sure anything happened.
Which makes the situation cruel.
They *could* be completely innocent. Two straight lads forced to perform.
Me, I think it's Tim's rigidity, he's spinning and Justin hasn't recovered enough to be able to catch him.
Lots of candidates for the Archivist. Lots of candidates for other victims.
Chapter Three: The Performance
Justin leaned against the battered fender of his Ford pickup, two blocks from the main entrance of Hilcrest High. He nursed a bitter, lukewarm Tim Horton’s coffee in one hand and gripped his phone in the other. It was a cold, grey Monday morning, the kind of day where the air felt heavy and damp with pre-winter misery.
He hadn’t slept. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, beating out a world-class sense of doom. He was wearing his best—
That early, on a Sunday, in Leamington Spa? Bob's in bed, Bob refuses to get out of bed before noon on a Sunday. There's no busses running, and the shops are all shut... 'cept for the dorky coffee shop down the road. But, you know, it's full of :: shudders :: teenagers!
I came up with this one last summer while suffering through the vomit express from Birmingham to Warwick nightmare, and I feel for the poor engineers and guards that have to deal with the chaos
Ollie loves Orel very deeply. When he finds out, there isn't a hole deep enough to bury Tarquin.
Ollie is not a tough guy, his weapons are numbers, but he wields them with the ferocity of a sword.
just, give Ollie a chance to realize where he belongs, he's also a beaten dog and Tarquin holds his leash.