#colstarter

[jack-katz]

“Uh, excuse me,” Jack said, his voice barely audible over the music even on the “quieter” side of the night. After his set, he was thirsty and his first item of business was to get a drink at the bar, but naturally there was a crowd. He cleared his throat and raised his voice a little higher, but off-stage he always had a much softer and calmer tone than onstage. “Excuse me, have you been served yet?”

[andrew-eberhart]

Open

“Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it's ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon peel.” Andrew gave the bartender a quick smile, before turning back from the bar to face the crowd. It’d been a bigger party than he’d expected. The well-dressed gentleman leaned back against the dark mahogany counter, glancing towards the individual next to him who appeared to be getting a drink for themselves. “Having a good time? Seems like quite the gathering.”

[yourstruly-rachael]

“Thanks for meeting me here for lunch.’ Rachael finished setting down the glass she had just taken a sip of water from, and gestured to the seat across from her. “I honestly wasn’t expecting you to come.” 

[spencerberkeley]

It had taken him approximately six minutes to find the Veuve Clicquot tent once his sister had disappeared with his girls in search of food. That was the beauty of champagne, though, wasn’t it?—there was no time considered inappropriate for a casual bit of day drinking if you were at least pretending to be classy about it. If Elizabeth could knock back a glass, then he could sure as fuck get away with a couple once out of the eye of the press. Sue him.

Things were at least going well, thus far. Nobody had started picketing the PM or throwing fucking eggs. Spencer didn’t have much interest in engaging with the general public outside of work commitments, but he’d do just about anything for the sake of his party’s reputation, and today, that meant playing a good, charitable MP for the cameras. Alcohol helped in dealing with the cretins, at least. It was when he’d started on his third glass, he heard the distinct sound of someone stepping up behind him.

“Spencer Berkeley? Don’t know him,” he scoffed at the bartender, leaving him looking confused enough to earn a laugh from the politician. “I am but a humble civil servant, whose drinks for the day have all been alcohol-free.” Spencer turned to the person who’d arrived. “Joining us?”

[cassandra-acton]

Eerily empty had been the only way to describe how Parliament had looked today.

Every vacant spot on the benches was a reminder of an attack that still seemed impossibly fresh in the mind. Whilst most would return in time, they all knew that there were a few unlucky ones who wouldn’t. A member of the Conservative Party’s front bench included. They were never coming back and it hurt; enough that even Labour had gone a little easier during their attacks against her sister. Maybe they weren’t all total assholes after all.

It’d driven her right through the doors of Spin Room as soon as she’d finished working. It had to better than wasting away at home. Better than the office. Better than being fucking alone. Cassie hadn’t left the bar since. What was the point in being British if you couldn’t drink away your fucking problems, huh?

“I don’t mind you sitting there as long as you obey one of two conditions. Either you plan to get as drunk as I do, or you don’t fucking talk.” It probably wasn’t the nicest greeting to the poor sod that’d made their way to her table, but she was too tired to be nice. Cassie only looked up briefly before she knocked back another shot of gin. She placed the glass down on the table quietly when she was done. “So which is it?”

[lauriealessi]

Rubbing at his dry, sore eyes, he blinked down at the multiple papers strewn in front of him, trying to make sense of it all. Usually, one of his favorite parts of his job was the research. He loved learning the intricacies about a case, finding out information that he didn’t know before. After the party though, his heart just wasn’t in it. For the first time, it felt like his career choice might have been the wrong one. Who spent their days obsessing over murderers? The son of a murderer apparently. It must be hereditary. 

Sighing, he shoved the papers off to the side of the coffee bar, lucky enough that the seat next to him wasn’t unoccupied. He took of a sip of his coffee before burying his face in his hands and taking a few deep breaths. He needed to get it together. Slumps weren’t like him. The fight shook him up pretty badly, but he should be over it by now. 

When he returned to an upright position, he noticed that he was no longer alone, causing him to give the newcomer a feeble smile. “Oh, hi,” He mumbled. “Research. It’s making my eyes hurt.”

[elene-dadiani-blog]

Standing patiently in her queue at Costa Coffee, Lenny was lazily scrolling through the news. An article notifying Russian hooligans attacking British and French fans made her eyes roll to the point of almost falling out.

“Oh, wow. The world somehow decided it was a good idea to host World Cup championship in Russia and now they are surprised by the brutality of locals? Ignorant as always, so typical,” she muttered the last sentence. It seemed like everything even remotely related to Russia set Lenny off lately. The voting result was still a very painful punch in the gut, a decision that left her utterly disappointed.

[rory-mcdougal-rp]

Rory opened the note rereading the instruction of the small piece of paper. The night before The police sergeant had come home to his small flat a mess. “God, I really need to hire a housekeeper....Crap! Someone broke in!” While his home had been searched instead of taking the telivision or laptop the perpetrator had taken his pet . Someone has birdnapped his beloved parrot, Hercule. The note that had been left in the bird’s cage had asked the police officer to wait in a remote corner of Hyde corner to await further instruction, lest he wanted to see his feathered friend hurt.

‘Clearly I have an arch-nemesis, must be someone I put away who’s seeking revenge,’ he thought rather excitedly. ‘They’ll probably make me choose between saving the city and Hercule. But little do they know I can do both.’ 

 The next morning the sergeant had a couple of hours before he had to clock in at the station. Playing along he went to the place specified in the note. Rory had been at the bench for over an hour. In that hour the man had not seen another living soul. Finally at hearing the sound of footsteps he quickly took out his police badge. “Stop right there! Hand up!”