EYE OF THE TIGER

Cmdr Ender Alparslan. MPS Specialist Ops, Protection Command.

[enderali]

{Çağatay Ulusoy, male, he/him, 40.}  We just saw ENDER ALPARSLAN entering 10 DOWNING STREET. I heard through the grapevine that he leads THE MET POLICE’S PROTECTION COMMAND. Although he is PART OF THE GOVERNMENT/LAW ENFORCEMENT, he can sometimes be JUDGEMENTAL, STUBBORN, or even OVERPROTECTIVE, but I’ve also heard some people say that he was LOYAL, STEADY, and quite COURAGEOUS. — {K, she/her, 31, EST, no triggers.}

MOBILE NAVIGATION MORE ABOUT ENDER HEADCANONS PLOTS & CONNECTIONS AESTHETIC ASKBOX LONDON FALLING

note: enderali is a sideblog to shadowdavutoglu.

[fuckyeahcagatayulusoy]

[enderali]

WHO: Anyone! WHERE: The snack table at the Liddell Hippodrome WHEN: Before things go Absolutely Wild

It wasn't that a masquerade party was really that much more dangerous than any other formal event--from a security perspective, people's hands were more telling than their faces--but considering everything else that was going on, Ender didn't like being surrounded by so much anonymity. And even though Hector could have had a bit of privacy, too, the Prime Minister had refused to wear a mask. So now everyone knew who he was without having to reveal their own faces, and Ender didn't like that at all.

Ender wasn't wearing a mask, either, which meant anyone familiar with Hector's public appearances could have recognized him, but in a plain dark suit at least he wasn’t dressed like a cop. He hoped that would help him figure out what was going on. All of today’s complications—the protest, every fiasco at the racetrack—seemed like more than just coincidence…and yet, his team hadn’t been able to draw any conclusions. So, after leaving Hector in the care of a few trusted officers, Ender had decided to take a short break from his post. If he had any luck, he’d find some clues about what was happening—and at the very least, he wouldn’t be starving anymore.

The buffet table was filled with hors d’oeuvres and desserts of every kind, and as he chose a selection, Ender turned to the person behind him. “It’s crazy out there, isn’t it?” Every time the music stopped or conversation lulled, the protestors’ muffled chanting would fill the silence. “Did you have a hard time getting inside?”

[fuckyeahcagatayulusoy]

[xmadeoflightningx]

who: Ender @enderali

where: her home

when: sometime in the past few years?

Sofie smirked faintly as she turned the corner, the steady rhythm of her own running shoes against pavement no longer echoed by the heavier set that had been following her since she stepped out of her home. Even when hired by her own company she hardly wanted someone shadowing her every move, much less a member of Scotland Yard. She could handle herself and whatever unsettled individual who thought threatening her husband was a bright idea.

Rolling her eyes faintly as she stepped inside the house making her way toward the kitchen for a water. "Darling, if you're going to have someone follow me on a run, they are going to need to learn to keep up or atleast be prepared to wander off the path." As she turned expecting her husband, her eyebrow raised finding someone who was decidedly not him. "Sorry, what was your name again?"

[enderali]

At this point, Ender had been working in close protection for close to twenty years, and he'd been assigned to more principals than he could count. Some jobs had been easy, like working for a former-SAS general who could've survived on his own, and some had been harder, like when the royal family's protocol rules and public image made everything complicated. But the hardest jobs were always the people who didn't want to be protected. And unfortunately, this assignment was one of them.

Ender wasn't even supposed to be on duty right now, but Morrison had radioed when he'd started to lose ground and Ms. Fortier hadn't responded to his warnings to stay with him. And as the senior officer, it was Ender's job to handle all the unpleasant details. He'd seen her arrival on the security cameras, getting to the kitchen just after she did, and while her casual use of darling made more sense once she seemed to be surprised it was him, that didn't mean he wasn't still annoyed about the rest of it.

But he tried to remain civil: "Ma'am, you do realize there's a threat on your life. You need to stay with your escort and stay on paths where we can reach you." He'd outlined all of this in their security meeting, their written instructions, and he was sure Morrison had reminded her, too. But she couldn't even remember his name. "Ender Alparslan," he said, just as a radio call and the sound of the front door opening announced that Morrison had made it back. "If you continue to disregard instructions, we have the authority to restrict your activities."

[masterzmei]

"A natural, he says. Look again. The Kremlin trained her for years to try and kill me," Zmei rolled his eyes, half laughing and half wincing as the impact and the stiffness set in. He gripped Ender's wrist, starting to pull himself up and right into Bridget's nose before his smile was fully back. He managed to get a quick scratch in behind her ears, not that he should be encouraging this behavior but Bridget's just so good, before she obediently backed off and ran to catch up.

He lets Ender pull him up, snagging his cane on the way up and doing his best to shift and his support his weight again before gritting his teeth against the pain, ready to turn back to ender appreciatively- Only to have to stop and fix him with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed look at the offer. "... Skip arms this week, commander? There are easier, more practical feats of strength."

[enderali]

"Well, her cover's good, then. Didn't expect them to use a bulldog." Ender grins, first at the idea of Mishka in government training, and then, in spite of himself, at the way Zmei spoils Bridget. When she runs off, he watches for a moment to make sure the dogs aren't in immediate danger of knocking anyone else down, then turns his attention back to Zmei.

And he doesn't miss the grimace that precedes the sarcasm. "Can you walk that far?" he shoots back. "It's easier to move a bench than to carry you."

[chained-by-secrets]

"That's part of the problem," Samuel replied, catching the tone that Ender had provided him with in lieu of an actual explanation; he didn't get to where he was by not being able to interpret tone or read body language. He'd learned those traits from his father, obsessively studying the man at every trial he had been to. Piecing together information, sometimes with such a level of absurdity that his own claims were thought of as obtuse.

For now though, if Samuel had to guess, he was willing to wager that Ender was also never questioned about the information in his reports - or lack thereof. "There's a shocking amount of stuff that's... simply not there." He gestured to the papers in a motion that suggested he was baffled, eyebrows raising and pulling a breath in through one side of his mouth as though he had to deliver bad news to someone but he wasn't sure how to best go about doing so.

This was all performative, of course. "So tell me, has the information that's been omitted from the reports you submit missing because it's not true... or because it is?"

[enderali]

Ender frowned--how could the truth be a problem?--but as the commissioner went on, he started to understand. Well, shit. He glanced at the paperwork Samuel indicated--it all looked like standard stuff, the same kind of reports he'd been submitting ever since he got this position--and took advantage of a moment to think over his answer.

"If I don't have relevant information, I leave the space blank," he said finally. That was true, and maybe even standard for some of the spaces. After all, anyone on a solo assignment would leave "additional officers" blank, right? So it was the same thing to not fill in "warrant number" if he hadn't had a warrant. But that couldn't explain away everything--he just needed to speak carefully. "...Sir, we're dealing with active threats. We don't always have time to complete every step of every procedure. But everything I put down can be traced and proven. If you want me to back something up, I will." In fact, that was why he left so much off the reports--if he made something up, or included something that was done in the wrong way, the truth could come out. It was better not to give anyone that starting point.

[enderali]

Ender's daily driver, a 1969 Camaro 😎

(image source)

[masterzmei]

With: Open!! Where: A dog park When: Afternoon

Mishka, for her big, soft eyes and stubby, plodding little body is deceptively conniving. Zmei fears he's been a bad example, bringing her along sometimes when he coaches, because now she's decided she likes a clean takedown as much as the best fighters, always gleefully standing on his chest for the pin and licking his face victoriously whenever she can successfully take him to the ground. She knows to go for the knees, or has been known to walk off with his cane like incapacitating him is a game to her, and now it seems that Mishka must have also told her new, bigger friends from the dogpark to exploit his weaknesses as well.

But no matter how heelish or unsportsmanlike his dog might be, Zmei still finds himself laughing as his back hits the soft grass, sitting up as best he can before he can get trampled and throwing the ball she'd dutifully brought back and dropped amongst the chaos.

He watches the pack run after it, and finally takes a second to assess. Everything seems fine if a little muddy, but his knee is none too happy about bending enough to get his feet back under him. He reaches for his cane just in time to hear footsteps approaching, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, no worries but, ah... Could I have a hand? I think my knee's had it for now..."

[enderali]

At first, Ender thinks the dogs are just chasing the ball--which, at the moment, is in Mishka's mouth as she gallops back toward her owner. But when they don't even start to slow down, he orders, "Bridget! Gel!," and she peels off from the pack to come back to him just before they crash into Zmei.

Well, Ender thinks, at least that's one less dog trampling him.

Bridget lopes by his side as he jogs across the field, wagging her tail as they approach Zmei. "Mishka's a natural," Ender tells him, reaching down to grip his hand. "I had to train Bridget to take people down." Right now, though, it looks like his dog is just curious about what Zmei's doing on the ground. Shoving her cold nose into Zmei's face, she gives him a thorough inspection. "Tamam, tamam," Ender tells her, "go get 'em."

As she streaks off to rejoin the pack, Ender hauls Zmei to his feet. "You wanna sit down?" he asks. "I could bring a bench over."

[enderali]

🌴 PALM TREE — do you have a green thumb? do you enjoy gardening?

🍎 RED APPLE — where were you born? do you still live in/around your place of birth or do you live somewhere else? how do you feel about your birthplace?

🌴 PALM TREE — do you have a green thumb? do you enjoy gardening?

"I wouldn't call it a green thumb, but I like working in the garden. I don't plant a bunch of flowers and know how to keep pests away and grow all my own vegetables and stuff like that, but I can buy a planter at the market and keep it alive. I'd mow the grass every night if I could--it's relaxing. Same with raking leaves, or shoveling. I don't like weeding, but I like when the house and garden look nice."

🍎 RED APPLE — where were you born? do you still live in/around your place of birth or do you live somewhere else? how do you feel about your birthplace?

"I was born in Brent, which is about 30 minutes northwest of the city. We had a few different flats while I was growing up, but once I joined the Army and started getting a regular paycheck, my mum and I went in together on a house. We all wanted to get out of renting, and I wanted to know she and my sibling would have a stable place while I was gone. I still live there. It's a bit of a drive to work, but I don't mind driving, and I've got a place I can stay over in the city if I need to. Bridget loves having the garden, and I've got a garage so I can work on my cars all year."

[enderali]

If you could change anything about your life what would it be and why?

"Bring back my mum."

[enderali]

What’s a minor thing that you hate?

"Combos. I ordered a bunch of American snacks one time, and they were by FAR the worst. Like, pretzels and real cheese are fine. Those cheese dipping snacks are classic primary-school packed lunch. But Cheddar Cheese* *Flavored Filling (made with Real Cheese) baked into a too-perfectly-rounded pretzel? ABSOLUTELY NOT.

There are other flavors, too, but I'm not trying them. You will NOT find them in the snack drawer."

[jack-seo]

Cooperating with other departments on cases is by far the thing Jack hates the most. It’s a fucking pain, rarely worth the outcome, and it opens his team up to all sorts of invasive and tricky questions. Sure, Ender’s name is a big one both at Scotland Yard and Downing Street, and his shoulder patch bears a fair few stripes more than Jack’s, but Jack wrote that report himself; it’s solid. It leaves no questions unanswered, for this very reason.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” he begins, playing dumb even if only to figure out what it is he’s just walked into. “Are you asking me to clarify report details, or are you fishing for information on a case on the PM’s behalf? I’m not sure there’s much I can give you.”

[enderali]

Ender tries to get along with everybody in MPS--everybody in general, actually, unless they're a threat to what he protects. But some people make that harder than others, and Jack Seo is one of them. It's all Ender can do not to roll his eyes at the answer--it's a simple question, how much clearer could he have been?!--and the implication that he's not being straightforward. This is straightforward...at least, compared to some of his other cases. "The Prime Minister's got nothing to do with this," he tells him. "I read your report, I know the results. I want to know what led up to it, specifically in the library. Did you just pass through, did you have to move things around for cover, that kind of thing. Anything that might have affected the room."

[chained-by-secrets]

Oh right, his birthday was recently. How old had he turned? Samuel had lost track a few years ago but that didn't matter. "It was fine." He reciprocated the short response with his own, though it was accompanied by a small, upwards curve tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The sponge you picked up was good."

But the light conversation was short-lived, as he probably should've expected from the commander. Samuel's small half-smile faltered and he nodded, maintaining steady eye contact with the man. "I'd like to discuss methodology with you, if I can be frank.

"I wanted to know how much information in this--" He held up the dossier briefly. "Is fact and how much is speculation or alleged." A pause. "And before you grow concerned, I didn't pull you in here to sack you or place you on leave. I'm just trying to gather enough information for a big picture, then we go from there."

[enderali]

Ender nodded--in his opinion, "fine" was a perfectly adequate response--but when the commissioner complimented the cake, he returned his little smile with a grin of his own. "Good," he said, "yeah, I thought so too. It's from that place on the corner."

But when talk turned to business, and Samuel prefaced it with if I can be frank--never a good sign, especially coming from someone Ender already thought of as straightforward--he frowned, even as he gave a nod for the commissioner to go ahead.

And whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this. For a moment, Ender just looked at him, not sure he'd even heard correctly--what was he on about, that being fired or placed on leave should even be a possibility? For what?! "I don't lie," he said flatly. "Sir, if it's in my reports, it's true." Even in the Army, when others had suggested it might be easier to falsify information, he'd never done it--liars always got caught. But there were plenty of things Ender didn't put into his reports in the first place. And if the sections where he was supposed to fill in warrant information or permissions or precedent were sometimes left blank, or deleted entirely...well, nobody had ever asked questions before. Going through all that paperwork took long enough even if he'd abridged it a little. "Are you looking at a certain incident?"

[cassandranarvaez]

OPEN STARTER for everyone. WHERE | WHEN: Portobello Road Market, afternoon.

“Oi, babes, I don’t mean to bother you—” Except she absolutely does. “But, do you think this smells good?” she asks while holding out a candle with a variety of notes to it, complex yet fresh. “I can’t make up my mind on whether or not I should get it, so my fate is in your hands now.” A lot of pressure to put on some innocent shopper.

[enderali]

It's not bothering him, it's just pulling him out of his thoughts about whether to make karnıyarık or kebap with the tomatoes and peppers he'd bought a few minutes before meeting up with her. Taking the candle, he smells it as requested. "Yeah," he says, shrugging. But when he reads its label, his brow furrows, and he takes another sniff to see if he can identity any of the several ingredients he's never heard of. "What's 'cyclamen, orris, and petitgrain'?"

Handing the candle back to her, he asks, "Will your cats eat it?" Bridget probably would--it's been a long time since he's left out anything that might smell like food to a curious dog.

[enderali]

[chained-by-secrets]

In a way, this was one of the things he was least looking forward to.

He took little pleasure in needing to reprimand subordinates and all things considered, it could've been much worse but as it stood (or rather, as he sat behind the organized chaos that was previously known as "the commissioner's expensive mahogany desk"), Samuel had gotten the feeling that too many of these officers had slid through the cracks, under the radar and some of them weren't even that subtle about it, having grown complacent in their behaviours.

Samuel Knight was many things, observant being among the most important of his traits. And it was telling that a handful of officers he'd spoken to seemed legitimately taken aback during the conduct reports he'd been issuing. This time, among the byzantine sea he'd created on his desk, he viewed the records of Ender Ali Alperslan, the prestigious head of the MET's Potection Command.

This wasn't a standard constable, to say the least.

The man heard the knock at the door and he glanced up from the file to regard it. "Ah, Commander Alparslan. Yes, I did." He set the file down and placed his hands atop the strewn mess, blue eyes keenly looking over it at the other man as the latter entered. "How's your day going? Are you well?" He asked first.

[enderali]

Well, despite Ender's dislike for office work, at least his desk had never looked like a tornado hit it.

He tried to ignore the piles of paperwork, though, figuring some, if not all, must be classified, and instead kept his focus on the commissioner. "Fine," he said. "How was your birthday?" Ender wasn't above a little small talk--in fact, he liked getting to know his coworkers--but he had a feeling his superior officer hadn't called him down to headquarters just to exchange pleasantries. "What can I do for you, sir?"