#avictimofthejazz

[timeguardiansarchive]

@avictimofthejazz Elsa Moodboard

[resolutevalor]

"I have a lot going for me, but humility is not one of them"--Tyler to Bucky @avictimofthejazz

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Keen eyes hone in on Tyler. "A lot, huh?" The former soldier bemusedly goads. "Starting where?" She playfully nudges his arm while biting back a laugh. "So what do you say we do about it?" The curious inquiry leaves her. "We going to go knock on the competition's door, set them straight?" Oh, now that she thinks about it, she does sort of miss the days of back street brawling, and saving Steve's behind from bullies.

[timeguardians]

@avictimofthejazz

Tyler Owens shifts his weight, mostly to give his sore leg a chance to rest. “I just figured it was something you shouldn’t have to worry about right now.” Actually, it was Cathy. Cathy Carter had told him not to tell Kate that high winds took out several buildings in Sapulpa while she was working a few hours away. Tyler saw the news article first and checked in with Kate’s mom, figuring that he would get an answer for Kate before she even knew she had something to worry about. Cathy and her farm were just fine—news he was happy to relate to Kate. However, Cathy told him that one of the churches in town and a feed store took heavy damage from the straight-line winds. If he could help it, Cathy wanted to keep that news from Kate for a bit. She claimed it was because there was nothing Kate could do, and she saw no point in worrying her daughter more. Now, Tyler has a feeling that he has stumbled into another one of Kate’s soft spots. Deciding that the best thing he can do is take the proverbial bull by the horns, he briefly touches Kate’s shoulder. “Since it didn’t involve your mom’s farm, I figured it would just be a news item for you. That’s all.”

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Kate's glassy-orbs reflect back at him, etched with betrayal. The stress marks on her forehead only amplify. "So you just let me find out through JAVI?" She reaches for the keys to her truck. "I have to get over there-" Impatience wars within her tone. She nearly shirks off his touch, but elects against it. She SIGHS. "I ----" Her voice catches perilously in her throat. "I still need to go. I grew up there, i know a lot of people who were in the wind's path." It's an anxiety twitch. She knows it's an anxiety twitch. But it is the FIRST time, in a long time, she wanted to run home.

It's not JUST another headline as he thought. Straight-line winds had killed her father.

"Wait? How did you know it didn't involve the farm?" She hoarsely asks, eyeing him more intently.

[iloveitxwhenaplanxcomestogether]

@avictimofthejazz based on this post X 

[smiletimeisrunningout]

@avictimofthejazz x Murphy

General Beckman had informed Emma she'd be partnered with Detective Michaels for this case, possibly long-term if it may help her department prove their suspect of corruption among several police departments and politicians. Of course the general hadn't given her any information that wasn't strictly pertinent to the mission, except for hinting that the man himself could be used to investigate locations in which her face was by this point well-known, and she could walk among cops just as easily with the connections she had formed working as a bailsbond woman. Of course that also depended on how well their newly formed team would work, and Emma had brought hot chocolates for both while he looked at the documents she had gotten; she had beaten some out of people, flirted the others, but she was glad to leave the detecting to him, well aware that she tended to get a little obsessive with what her friends called her murder-boards. "Here, take a break," she offered him a cup, "We should discuss what we want our... general cover to be anyway. We should know stuff about each other if we want to sell that we have decided to work together for a bit."

[witcheyedcrow]

@avictimofthejazz moving this starter to its own post

She was recovering after her rescue and trying so very hard not to be seen nor heard because she truly didn't want to bother anyone even if it meant that it was impossible to truly learn more about the real world, outside of the books she could borrow. But she was allowed to cook since for medical reasons her meals were at odd hours, and since that was something she did take pride in, she was quick to offer, her voice rough from lack of use. "Would you like a plate?"

Templeton usually kept irregular hours, and his friends had given up making him eat at normal times. When he could, he joined the rest of the household for dinner, but that was only one meal out of the day. He often forgot a few of his meals a day, too caught up in his various projects and espionage actions to worry about something as simple as eating.

He had been locked up in his study, encoding a few messages that he needed to carry onward toward York City. After he ate, he would sew them into the lining of his jacket. Then BA and he would be ready to start their journey in the morning.

He needed something to eat first, though.

Mrs. Baracus had given him limited reign in her kitchen after normal eating hours, but he knew where she kept the bread, and the cheese. He also knew where she kept the ale, and hid the occasional treats she would bake. A man could make a decent meal out of all these options.

However, as he made his way downstairs into the kitchen, Templeton smelled something amazing being cooked despite the late hour. Frowning curiously, he stepped into the area. He spotted Maggie’s newest guest after a moment. “Hello.” He greeted her politely, debating if he should start rummaging for food or see if she would share her own.

The young lady took the choice out of his hands, however, as she offered to share.

“If you do not mind, Miss.” He inclined his head politely. “It smells very good. What did you make?”

"Pot pie, chicken and vegetables, Mr. Templeton," she answered a bit proudly, because cooking had been the one approved distraction growing up, food never missing from their home, and so it was one skill she had perfected. It did help that if she needed something, she had a large sum of money on her side, since her paternal grandfather was trying to assuage his guilt over what his son had done.

Emma had to be careful, however, this wasn't Mrs. Sullivan, it was a man, and as such she should be careful not to accidentally set him off. So she quickly started preparing him a plate, although man or not she didn't mind his presence; she may not have wanted to bother anyone but she was eager to be a part of society again.

[unyieldingvalxr]

@avictimofthejazz

The least tactile and lady-like word graces dirtied and parched lips as Mena lifts and fixes cerulean orbs on a familiar face. "You should NOT be here." The words collapsed, hollow and without bite.

But now, her brother could behold her wretched state, and she TURNS her gaze away from the impending PITY and JUDGEMENT she expects to find reflected back at her. "Did that Sargent fetch you?" She rasps with bitterness ensnared in her voice.

[bonnie-barstow-of-flag]

Late Night Swims:

@avictimofthejazz Continued from X

Meaningless dribble all too easily transpires over the tongues of those who think Barstow's looks should be at the forefront more than her work. Cosimo Eichelberger, heir to both a steel and titanium fortune, seemed to consider that her efforts were wasted, tinkering away in Wilton's garage. He spoke to her of countless opportunities. Ones Bonnie gave a polite, but firm declining. Still, the insufferable and rather spirited man, couldn't seem to take no for an answer which, is when Michael interceded. Michael was good at injecting himself into things at just the right time with just the right excuses.

Bonnie had never been as refreshingly liberated as Michael. The conventions of polite society are well ingrained in her nature, to even consider departing from them gives her pause. Still, there is this side to her that yearns for a taste of that freedom. So when the opportunity presents itself, she seizes it with open arms even if she had to give a few wary glances back towards the glitzy party.

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Who knew that sneaking out of parties with Michael Knight could be so utterly intoxicating?!! How was it possible to get such a contact high from simply holding on to his arm? Bonnie muses, allowing her turquoise orbs to adoringly flit over Michael's form.

Debonair and dashing, he may appear tonight, but the imp still lingers beneath the black suited exterior. It is clearly evidenced in the animated way he's conversing. A fit of laughter rumbles past her lips at the new mental image of "stuffed turkeys" interposed over the patron's faces. God. And the mention of ovens?! It's something she can't UNSEE. Especially over Cosimo's -- Porcelain fingers abruptly move to mask the sheer levity of her spirits conjured up by his words. It is a feat that proves all too impossible as another roar of laughter quakes through her chest with the subtlety of a freight-train.

When he falls, he makes a loud splash one that sent a wave of chlorinated water into her opened toed shoes. Oh! Bonnie can't quite believe she did that! Devon's going to have a five-act lecture on the expense of the, probably ruined, suit waiting for her. Should he ever find out about this.

What was that for? For every unpunishable offense he had dealt her over the years, probably And in truth, the temptation had been far too difficult to pass up.

He was, however, very right about the party.

Damn. Heat singes her cheeks red. If Barstow thought Michael's statuesque features were alluring before, he was beyond the realms of pulchritudinously exquisite now; with his luscious curls sopping went and drooped over his forehead. She can't quite pry her eyes away. The dewy gleams of silver catch the pallor of the moonlight in a manner that causes him to appear more ethereal than human. Plus, she can't quite remember the last time he smiled a genuine form of that damnable grin; outside of a few quips here and there.

The brunette leans closer to the edge of the pool, with gleeful mirth swimming in even the deepest fathoms of her turquoise eyes as they peer down upon him. "You looked like you could use some cooling off. What with those ovens, the ones you were convinced would come on and fry all the stuffed turkeys." She teasingly remarks with her brows wriggling. "I didn't want to see your goose cooked too." It felt good. No, it felt natural to dish back what he served. "You're too--" Oh no. She better stop while she's ahead. Any complimentary line she employed could and probably would be used against her. "You're too...likeable to get back burnt--" She coyly tacks on after a moment or two.

Feeling another round of laughter sneaking up on her, Bonnie cheerfully prods. "How's the water?"