corduroy */ falto

[monumented]

CORDUROY (CORD) FALTO

Faltō (masc.), derived from the Roman meaning; 1. falcon

Based upon the Greek mythological God Helios

currently in london.

a study in; dedication, smiles reaching his eyes, scribbled notes on palms, persistence, loyalty, always following loose ends, choosing sunrises over sunsets, believing in fate, stubbornness, putting in effort, first to volunteer, friendly, choosing to believe in good, bright laughs, always having a pen in his pocket, hedonism of unapologetic simple joys

No Plan – Hozier 🎵

BASICS //

FC: Austin Butler Name: Corduroy Falto Age: 34 Gender: Cis-man Home: South Carolina Currently in: London, U.K. Occupation: Journalist Personality: Persistent, Resourceful, Reserved, Loyal, Bright, Friendly Aesthetic: Pinterest

[fcdcdmcmories-deactivated202504]

"OH, YOU ARE MOST WELCOME. IF WE ARE BEING HONEST.. IT IS ME WHO SHOULD BE THANKING YOU. IT'S NOT EVERY DAY THAT ONE GETS AN INVITATION SUCH AS THIS ONE." he knew that he was influential around town and that it was something that he had long ago gotten used to, because it was something that came with the PEDERSON NAME. wasn't it? and perhaps, indeed a small price to pay for everything else. wasn't it?

sitting down, he straightened his tie, all but smiling in the other's direction. "that would be most appreciated, yes. without any kind of sugar, if you'd be so kind?" and whatever was going to come out of this, it was good for the family name, yes? yes. / @monumented

[monumented]

It was definitely the Pederson name that had Corduroy interested. Some of these highly influential people had fascinating stories about the city and its inner workings. He liked having access to both sides of the coin — and right now he wondered if Phineas' shiny side had tarnished a little bit.

After Cord brought two cups of tea, only one of them sans sugar, he let his body language relax, taking a sip before he spoke again.

"I am sure you've been in rooms with some interesting people. It's not them I am fascinated by, but rather your own experience — I was wondering how it feels to be in the middle of something monumental happening. Do you know it, does it sink in ? Or is it only after that you are able to recognize the importance of such a moment."

[fcrafcrtnight-deactivated202505]

"THANK YOU. I APPRECIATE YOUR TIME." and he could say that he appreciated the patience, too, because.. not a lot of people would have cared enough to interview someone like him. he was, after all, someone that had fallen from grace - he had been the previous mayor and he had been blamed for.. yes, a lot of things.

things that he had not done, things that had not been his fault and yet, he had been blamed for them all the same. did he know how to make it back from that? no. not at all and right now, he didn't think that would be changing anytime soon. did he? but he was.. slowly attempting to make it happen and it was thanks to people like HIS WIFE that he could. as always, georgia miller was everything. wasn't she? yes. "tea would be good, yes. if you could? i'm slowly getting used to that habit now, i guess." @monumented

[monumented]

After tea was ordered, Cord took his seat again, unbuttoning his blazer and deciding it was a little too formal for the casual attitude he wanted to portray. Maybe he could pick up a few in houndstooth —

"I am trying to paint a genuine picture of the city. I think everyone has a voice and an opinion, even if it doesn't mesh well with the status quo — doesn't devaluate it."

Cord smiled politely. He knew that politicians faced an extreme level of scrutiny from the public, regardless of good or bad decisions. He didn't envy anyone in an authority role that answered to the masses — and this wasn't to imply he thought the public was always wrong, not the case, but no matter the move a mayor or governor made, there would always be a faction of people who loathed your decisions.

Besides, a previous mayor could be a treasure trove of information if Cord played his cards right. This wasn't about an expose, but instead trying to find the right angle to take.

"I don't envy your previous position. I tried out for government in high school and it didn't go too well. Quit, joined the journalism group instead." Cord said this with a chuckle.

[loomingdread]

Colin settled into the seat with a casual shrug, leaning back and looking around for a moment before turning his attention to Corduroy, sizing him up. "Tea? Sure, why not? Long as it's free and strong. Don't go gettin' fancy on my account."

"So, you wanna know about London, that's what this is about, right? You writin' a tour? 'Cause I ain't signing up for a bunch of loudmouth vacationers barkin' outside my boat before noon." He paused for a moment, smirking. "They'd hate it down there, anyways. River's busted. Smells like a damn rat. Just one big, giant, wet rat." looked the other over, waiting to gauge his reaction. "What's your angle, anyway? You get kicks outta this?"

@monumented

[monumented]

"Getting to know London, yeah, that's part of it," he said honestly, figuring the man in front of him would expect nothing less. Cord knew that a meal and some extra cash in someone's pocket could make his interviews go a lot easier, so he caught the barkeep's attention and got them both some tea and chips ( he had to resist his American urge to say fries ).

Cord took out his notebook and flipped it open, tapping his pen on one of the questions he had there, wondering if these would be useful at all.

"I've been hearing things about the waterways, funny you mention. Not just that the river is becoming extremely polluted, but that there seems to be a — governmental-avoidance behind it. Not to sound conspiratorial or anything, but it's just what I've been hearing. Funnelling funding away from our free water source."

[galindafication]

she smiled, shaking his hand politely. peoples reactions were kind of hit or miss when they got bumped into. some were down right rude, others were sympathetic. "it's nice to meet you. i'm galinda." @monumented

[monumented]

"Oh — is that Ga-linda, with a Guh ?"

He took a moment to glance at her wand, wondering what meaning it held for her and if it was a music theatre thing, or ' live action role playing ' he'd been hearing of lately. His curiosity held no judgement, only trying to paint a better picture of London, trying to understand the rhythm of the people who lived here — whether grown up here or transplanted like he had.

[loomingdread]

"You're right, I ain't real. I'm a figment of your imagination." Rocket sighed, rolling his eyes. This always happened to him. Why did this always happen to him? "And, given I'm from your imagination. That means my problems, are now your problems." He gestured again to the bars. "And right now, your problem is a big frickin' metal lock." He held his tongue, resisting the urge to explain that of course he could totally pick the lock with his claws, but he'd just filed them down to a nice length and key locks have such a way of making the edges rough..."Well, I ain't real, so I can't, y'know...alter your reality, or whatever. Will you just open the flarkin' thing, dude?"

@monumented

[monumented]

Cord wanted to laugh. Yes, this — new friend of his ( rodent would be insulting, right ? ) was humorous, and Cord wasn't completely against the idea of helping him out. It was probably the Aries in his Mars, or something, that created his sense of recklessness.

Turns out deciding to be a journalist was a great idea — if only he could get OFF the vacation column and onto a page that was reserved for true crime. But that would be a 10-15 page leap from the back of his current magazine to the front and he knew his boss preferred shorter, smaller leaps. Anyway, this was completely besides the point.

"Well, I suppose you owe me a favour since I am going out of my way," he said, pulling the lock picking kit from his pocket. He opened it, showing the tools to — the talking raccoon...

"A little information for a little freedom ?"

[tideoflament]

"It's complex when you wish to discuss business over dinner when the subject of business more often than not ruins someone's appetite." Morrigan mused before taking her time to chew her next bite. Eyes locked with the other as she swallowed, a subtle gleam of challenge pooling within the darkness of her orbs. "Luckily, I don't have that issue."

@walstarterblog

[monumented]

Cord smiled. He agreed that it was hard to maintain one's appetite when the discussion bled into business, but half the reason Corduroy invited Morrigan out to dinner was because of her business.

Something in him knew their hearts were different — not to imply any negativity here, but that his sunshine could not be bright without her shadows, and her darkness would not have its space without his sun-ray. He was fascinated by the differences he felt, but couldn't understand where these thoughts originated.

"I have to agree, and not because the conversation is off-putting, but I get so invested that I forget to eat. It might be an attention thing but," he said, sitting back in his seat, shrugging off the memory of Google searches he had made about it, "I think it's less a problem and more an asset. Shouldn't we be electrified by our work ?"

[monumented]

"Thank you for your time today, please, have a seat."

Corduroy greeted his guest with a wide smile, genuinely grateful for the time to interview a local Londoner. Since moving here, it had been his assignment ( at one of THE magazines in London — he had higher aspirations in changing that to newspaper ) to write a piece on the busy, bustling and bright lives of those inhabiting London. His editor had told him it was important to ' tell the 21st century story of the city ' so Cord didn't argue. He was paid not to argue, after all.

( He would do his own side investigations off hours )

"I don't have too many questions. Can I get you a tea or — ?"

Despite his southern drawl ( Cord recently moved to London from the banks of Georgia ) he heavily preferred tea to coffee and a full English breakfast over the oatmeal-and-peaches he was used to from home. Although he wasn't giving up his tap water habit. Why pay when it's free ?

@walstarterblog

[galindafication]

"sweet oz!" she muttered as she scrambled to catch the small wand she'd dropped. and of course she was in someone's way when it happened. as soon as she picked the wand up she stepped back, giving them an apologetic half smile. "sorry. i didn't mean to encroachify your personal bubble, i'm just a klutz." @walstarterblog

[monumented]

"No need to apologize, my mind's been in a million other places," he said kindly, his southern drawl always standing out amongst the usual Londoner tones. He had, after all, met a talking raccoon this week, so it was no surprise he wasn't paying too close attention to his pace.

Cord pulled his hand from his pocket, extending it to her, smiling.

"I'm Corduroy, more of a hot air balloon than a bubble myself."

[loomingdread]

Rocket clung to the metal bars of the cell, his sharp voice echoing through the otherwise quiet hallway. "Hey! You! Yeah, you with the unfortunate face!" he waved a paw through the bars, trying to get their attention. "Listen, the mayor's out stuffin' his face with whatever fancy crap these kindsa people stuff their face with, so, you've got a window here, pal." He smirked, the white fur of his brow raising. "You let me outta this tin can, and I promise not to rat you out for sneakin' around where you don't belong. Sound like a deal? C'mon, you look smart enough to know a golden opportunity when it slaps ya in the face." He paused, then muttered under his breath. "Or not. I dunno. But, if I'm still here when he gets back, I might feel a conversation comin' on. I'm seein' a lot of shady things right about now."

@walstarterblog

[monumented]

Corduroy saw the little raccoon paw wave itself through the bars, but he was certain it was an illusion. Lack of sleep, tired eyes, perhaps too much caffeine — the usual things a doctor would turn to should a patient say ' hey doc, i'm pretty sure i saw a talking, sentient raccoon '.

Alas, it was Cord's fault for sneaking down to the cells in hopes of finding a lead. He'd been avoiding his ' TOP TEN SUNNIEST VACATIONS ! ' assignment from the editor at his magazine in lieu of a trendier, more exciting lead — missing persons, all with connections to the cells underneath city hall. He wrongly assumed he would find old records, file folders ... not a talking raccoon.

"I'm pretty sure," he started to say, turning back towards the cell housing his newest friend, eyes squinted, "you're not real. But if you are real, wouldn't your little raccoon claws be able to pick the lock and set yourself free ?"

Cord stood in front of the cell trying to take in what his mind knew was real. All the while he slid a hand into his pocket to feel his lock-picking case — a good journalist never went anywhere without it.