#thewhiirlwind

[whosxafraid]

@thewhirlwind | @rugini ↳  ship aesthetic      ↳ insp.

[fatherofmachine-a]

               Life is ... EMPTY without you  in it

                     SHIP ⇢ HAROLD FINCH  &  RENARD LACHLAN

                              for @thewhiirlwind,  just cause.

[fatherofmachine-a]

@thewhiirlwind​ | DOCTOR LACHLAN’S NUMBER’S UP !!

A nervous FLUTTERING sensation had been continuously sparking  within Harold’s chest since the moment  John had asked him to take Dr. Lachlan to the safe house.  He’d been SUCCESSFULLY evading  making contact,  the refusals slipping from his mouth with casual ease  &  they hadn’t been QUESTIONED.  This time,  however ... while he’d attempted  to argue (  albeit WEAKLY,  as Harold knew for certain that John was right  ),  it had been ultimately USELESS.  

Dr. Lachlan had been the one to do his most crucial  spinal surgery shortly after the ferry incident—–Harold had not only been PHYSICALLY wounded,  but quite severely emotionally  &  psychologically  wounded as well.  It had been a VULNERABLE time for Harold,  personal,   &  he was reluctant  to unintentionally reveal any of it ... NOR was he particularly  inclined to nurture the fondness he’d felt for his former Doctor,  either.

Once he’d arrived,  Harold took steadying,  careful  limping steps forward until he stood DIRECTLY in front of the apartment door.  It was  ... a little strange  to have to KNOCK,  given how much breaking  &  entering  was required for what he’d been doing for almost 2 YEARS now  (  &  a part of him  didn’t feel  particularly COMFORTABLE about that ).  

Knuckles lightly rapped upon the door—–&  when Dr. Lachlan slowly pulled it open,  the IMMEDIATE recognition  &  shock  sent a nervous PANG throughout Harold’s upper body  (  &  as he tilted his head back somewhat to LOOK UP,  he was once again  taken aback by how tall the man was ).

  ❛ Uh,  hi,  Mr. Wren, ❜

The Doctor began,  sounding mildly CONFUSED  &  Harold's brows lifted in reply ;  he was briefly SURPRISED that Dr. Lachlan remembered the alias so quickly,  without hesitation,  but ... remembering how incredibly ATTENTIVE  &  intuitive he was,  Harold supposed he shouldn’t have  been surprised at all.  Although,  his STANDING on the doorstep instead of being in a wheel chair  was likely QUITE the sight,  especially given his professional insight.

 ❝ Hello, ❞

His greeting was softer  than he’d INTENDED  &  while he’d intended to offer a polite  upward curve of lips,  Harold had to dampen it  slightly as it bloomed a bit BRIGHTER than he’d wanted  it to—–but thankfully,  Dr. Lachlan made the CONNECTION before Harold had to clarify anything.

  ❛ Wait.  Are you the friend I’m waiting on ? ❜  

 ❝ INDEED—–but,  I’m afraid  we’re on a bit of a clock. ❞

As Harold spoke,  his tone contained a slight  FRIENDLY lightness to it,  his expression still illustrating the DISTANCE at which he kept almost everyone,  but ... it was a great deal less severe now,  since Dr. Lachlan had seen him last.  Along with that controlled distance was,  perhaps,  the SLIGHTEST tinge of fondness,  of familiarity.   Harold held himself DIFFERENTLY,  too.  With a calm sense of poise,  elegance,  of CONFIDENCE,  but not without urgency.  Within the hospital,  he had LITTLE choice in appearance for the most part,  but now he was free to wear the expressive-looking,  but LOVINGLY crafted three piece suits that adorned his frame.  The silver,  rounded glasses he’d worn before were GONE in favor of a pair that was,  instead,   black  &  square-rimmed.

He held the air of someone who knew exactly  what he was doing  &  what he was GOING to do.  Someone who held more INSIGHT  than he was supposed  to have,  but he had meticulously COAXED it from the hands of authority anyway.   Underneath all of that,  however,  was a whisper of softness,  of sincerity ( DESPITE his apparent need to keep everyone at arms length ),  something underneath that was AUTHORITATIVE,  albeit,  with softer edges. 

When the Doctor stepped further inside,  INVITING him in,  Harold inclined his head before somewhat stiffly  following.  As the door closed behind them,  he turned to regard Dr. Lachlan with raised brows before he added,

 ❝ My SAFE HOUSE is where we’re headed —–if there’s anything you NEED,  now would be an appropriate time to retrieve it. ❞

[whosxafraid]

@thewhiirlwind | @whosxafraid ↳  ship aesthetic      ↳ insp.

[fatherofmachine-a]

@thewhiirlwind​ | PLOTTED STARTER FOR:  GABRIEL

The DARKNESS,  trickled  with the revived city lights,  blanketed the library,  creating a COMFORTABLE  &  quiet atmosphere.  Harold had attempted  sleep hours ago but to no avail,  the pain that ALWAYS resided within his lower back,  hip  &  left leg having dissolved  into disquieting pins  &  needles that made drifting off almost IMPOSSIBLE.  His upper body,  however,  was manageable ;  cold pain that SEEPED into damaged vertebrae  &  sent icy tendrils  throughout his chest  &  limbs,  sometimes even feeling as though they SUNK into the marrow of his bones.  Fingers GLIDED over keys as he made progress on the work from the job of his eldest  alias (  Harold Wren,  Insurance underwriter )—–MIND-NUMBING,  but it kept him busy.

He'd been about halfway through  the work when the sound of something COLLIDING once against one of the distant bookshelves in one of the other rooms  (  followed almost instantly  by the sound of a couple books crashing to the floor ) STARTLED him.  There was a long,  tense pause before Harold lifted his voice,  somewhat tentatively,

❝ ... Mr. Reese ? ❞

But there was NO ANSWER.  Closing his eyes tightly for a few seconds,  allowing PANIC to sweep  over him in waves before managing to regain some control,  Harold remained still.  Exhaling quietly,  SLOWLY,  he stood eventually,  the pins  &  needles within his leg immediately  beginning to thrum uncomfortably with every limping step.  NOTHING,  however,  could possibly prepare him for who—–or,  perhaps WHAT he would find.  In the dim light,  Harold could only see a PERSON standing there,  in-between the bookshelves,   attention seemingly focused  on placing books back upon one of the shelves.  The ones he'd heard DROP,  he could guess,  but it certainly  didn't ease his rising PANIC.

When the person TURNED,  the mild  light from one of the windows ILLUMINATING him,  he seemed to startle  somewhat as their eyes met.  He'd noticed the WINGS as they'd convulsed  slightly with the apparent startle  &  Harold had been almost certain  he was hallucinating.  The man ( being ?  he wondered distantly ) was INCREDIBLY TALL,  several heads  taller than Harold  &  suddenly,  he felt a terrifying wave of vulnerability,  of insignificance.  Brows TENSELY lifting whilst blue eyes narrowed  with unease,  he attempted to STIFLE the panic  that scraped against his nerves.  Harold managed to find his voice soon enough—–&  he sounded a great deal  more calm  &  stern than he FELT,  which was a relief.

❝  I SUPPOSE I should say thank you  for putting them back where they BELONG, ❞

He began,  his curiosity feebly  lifting beneath the almost SUFFOCATING panic,  but he was ... ignoring the fact that the man had WINGS,  for now.  One step at a time.

❝ What you're doing here,  whatever you're LOOKING for  &  how you got in here,  however ... THOSE are more pressing  matters,  I think. ❞

[whosxafraid]

Ours Began With A Bird...

plotted starter for @thewhiirlwind​

It’s...not late in the day but also not early. Rising from the grave as he is he can’t much be bothered to care which it really is. Only that the suns up and he needs a shower. Something in his stomach. A smoke and a drink. Though not in that particular order. Heavy bones that lift him, stick and shift into place as feet are gained. The strike of a match, burn of paper catching fire, the plume of smoke that lingers after him into the bathroom. The twitch of an ear, cock of a head as if something in the silent house caught his attention. But it’s dismissed just as quickly.

A shower found and overly enjoyed. Clean in so much as he can ever really be, and not a scrap of cloth upon his person as he shuffles back into the bedroom. Toweling at his hair with only so much disinterest. Jeans stepped into pulled up. A t-shirt pilfered from an overly modest amount of others hanging in the open closet. And from there its a trail of another cigarette across the open house. Brunch found in the shape the steak he’d picked up from the butcher on the way home a few days earlier. It’s not fresh but he’s devoured worse. And right now he doesn’t have the luxury to be overly picky. And there’s another twitch of an ear, jerk of a head as the meat sizzles in the pan. 

         Feck be d’at noise?

His meal is plated in the wake of the silence inquiry. The stove switched off. Fork snatched from the drawer and he’s going in search of it. Food, and whiskey laced caife in hand. The front door battled with for a second before he’s toeing the screen door open, that’s allowed to swing back shut with a snap. The plate and glass set neatly on the simple table on the porch. Green and yellow squinting in the late morning light, as they scan the front green. Nose twitching against the quiet air. Looking for whateve--

A flapping sound. A clearly distressed chirp and a red crown is tilting to one side. Yellow narrowing a little more because...there’s something in the bush near the drive way. Something overly unhappy and--a sniff--by what he can gauge of the feathered variety and hurt. And there’s a full bodied sigh that escapes as bare feet carry him down the short steps of the front porch. Over painfully smooth stone work and into the grass, where he’ comes up a little short of the greenery. Crouching down and craning his neck down a bit to see exactly what it is.

Flashes of white and what he guess must be a bright pink. Angry chirps and screeches that punctuate the flapping sounds. And there’s only so much time that he waits before he’s shifting forward. Hands quick but gently firm in caging around the panicking bird. Working it free of the tiny thick branches it had gotten itself entangled in and pulling it out into proper view. 

                “Shh shh shhh.”

Sound like wheat in the breeze. Meant to calm and sooth the wee creature. It’s not just any bird. A sort of Galah if he’s not mistaken--been a few dozen years since he last read up on birds after all. But definitely not something seen in this part of the world as a free lancer. Most likely escaped a pet store in town or actually someone’s pet that jail broke out an unfastened window. And again the immortal is looking about, towards the road a ways away. But there’s no one in sight. No scent on the air of anyone but himself and the bird. The deer in the woods to the left of his property. And green and yellow return to the perturbed feathered creature in his hold. 

           “Easy ye wee shoi’te. Ye goin’ ta be hurtin’ ye self more d’an ye already be.”

           “Feck ye be comin’ from anyway, Pinkie?”

[fatherofmachine-a]

[ IDENTIFIED AS: RICK DILLINGER ]:​​

( continued from a discord chat )

Dillinger watched him a moment, before nodding, disassembling the phone and tucking it into the glovebox before settling back, turned some in his seat to face Harold. It was no consequence to him to remove the battery—he’d only reached out to a couple of people, but not even on that phone, rather a pay phone a ways from the motel. That might’ve been how the operator had found him to begin with, but... 

Well. If it got him any answers, he could destroy the phone altogether if it came to it. 

But what Harold says gives him pause, and his mouth parts slightly as if to speak—no sound comes, and for a moment, if he had been a computer, he would’ve been giving an error message. Then he blinked, narrowed his eyes a little, then tilted his head. 

“You—you hired the guy from the CIA,” he said, disbelief rather obviously evident in his voice. Then, uncertain. “Was Shaw his partners name? You picked them both up?” 

He had never seen the face of the person who shot him in the park, leaving another ugly scar amongst his extensive collection of them—let alone their name, so the connection wasn’t there, instead turning to the obvious, in his mind; Reese’s partner.

“And I mean, I didn’t take him at his word, because I figured if he knew about you he must’ve found that kid somewhere and squeezed until he popped.”

 ❝ No—–Miss Stanton  was his partner  &  she’s .... gone. ❞ 

Dead,  after she’d KIDNAPPED both Mark Snow  &  John to strap bombs  to their chests.  AFTER she’d forced  them to upload a virus into The Machine ( a part of it being his own code,  albeit )  &  after Mark Snow had DETONATED the bomb—–but not  before climbing into Miss Stanton’s car with her first.  Dillinger knew NONE of this,  of course.  He also  had no idea that the laptop he’d stolen all those years ago,  when they’d worked together,  was what put those events into action,  but .... Harold hadn’t ANY intention of sharing that,  at least not yet.

Similarly,  he hadn’t  caught much of a glimpse of Miss Shaw’s face when she’d come to kill Dillinger  &  those he’d been ATTEMPTING to sell the laptop to,  but .... Harold had read her reports,  her files,  EVERYTHING.  He’d read her report after she’d been sent to retrieve the laptop  &  Harold knew  they were all CONNECTED.  Perhaps  he would share these things with Rick Dillinger someday,  but now was not  the time. 

 ❝ Had a feeling  you’d ASSUME something like that—–it was just the fastest  way to get to you first.  Figured it was worth a TRY. ❞

A pause followed  &  Harold’s gaze flickered downward  briefly before returning to the road ahead.  As he continued,  SOMETHING within his voice shifted  ;  a fond-sounding softness.  While it was merely a whisper  within the undercurrent of his words,  it wasn’t exactly EASY to conceal the depth  of his feelings for John.  He did his best. 

 ❝ Mr. Reese chose to let Daniel Casey go.   He’s in CANADA now,  somewhere. ❞

Harold presumed that Dillinger would ask for SPECIFICS,  but he also  assumed that he would UNDERSTAND the depth  of that choice.  John would’ve been unquestionably executed  for INTENTIONALLY allowing a traitor  to escape.  He’d done it ANYWAY,  albeit,  despite the fact that all he knew for certain  was that Casey hadn’t deserved to die.

[fatherofmachine-a]

V; & I REMAIN WORRIED﹐  ABOUT WHAT SOMEONE ELSE MIGHT BUILD. SOMEONE WHO WASN’T WORRIED. ( .exe AU )

THE HARD DETAILS about this verse are now written in the verses page !!

❝ Oh … sometimes I wonder  if we couldn’t have done SOMETHING more … meaningful. ❞

The REASON he’d been so buried in his own work,  DESPITE the fact that it was unnecessary,  lurked beneath the surface of those words.  With the PROSPECT of The Machine,  Harold could see just how much good  they could have done.  Of course,  the RISKS were overbearing  &  likely too heavy for one pair of shoulders to bear,  but … but … all they were doing  now was making MONEY.  Nothing more  &  nothing LESS  &  it was slowly  beginning to drive Harold DEEPER into a place of pointlessness.  They had built IFT to change the world …  &  yet,  when they had the opportunity,  they had backed out  &  opted for just making MONEY,  instead.

❛ … You mean the D. O. D  project. ❜

NATHAN turned to look  at him,  brows TENSING like he was about to move into a lecture.  They’d had these CONVERSATIONS before … Harold couldn’t seem  to STOP thinking about it  &  at this  point,  he couldn’t help but feel like Nathan was tired  of circling back to it.  Harold had almost gotten KILLED,  this he knew ….  &  this was likely why his friend’s tone had a tinge  of IRRITATION weaved throughout.

❛ Harold,  that’s ANCIENT history. ❜

Barely half a second  passed  &  Harold felt himself BRISTLING—–he pushed  the feeling ASIDE,  however,  in place of a light  enthusiasm.

❝ I know,  but I SOMETIMES think that maybe  if we’d have kept TRYING,  maybe  it would’ve worked.  Maybe we could’ve  STOPPED those other attacks. ❞

Thin lips were curling  UPWARD with a giddy excitement that expanded within his chest,  as it was something Harold had ALWAYS wanted  to build,  if he were HONEST—–

❛  —–or  the attacks would’ve happened REGARDLESS.  We made the choice  that was right for US.  &  you can bet  if the government wants a system like that,  they’ll GET IT someday,  if they don’t have it already. ❜

(  &  you can bet if the government wants a system like that,  they’ll get it someday,  if they don’t have it already. )

THAT statement was what brought Harold back to the beginning.  He found it DIFFICULT to believe  that if anyone were to build the government a system with that much  POWER,  with so many unprecedented capabilities … that they would give ENOUGH THOUGHT to the safety  of people,  the PROTECTION of people’s rights.  They WOULDN’T be careful enough.  That idea ALONE had settled a heavy,  STIFLING feeling of worry  &  ANXIETY within his chest.  Thus,  Harold couldn’t stop himself from giving it one … more … try.

It took several  hours  &  Harold had long since lost track of TIME.  Once the SYSTEM was again  brought online,  Harold was adjusting the camera,  to ensure it had EYES as well as ears.

❝ There we go.  Now … can you SEE me ?  ❞

The Machine took a few seconds to analyze him,  horizontal  &  then vertical lines sweeping over his face,  followed by dots mapping out his features.  Then,  the YELLOW BOX appeared.  Blue eyes flickered down to regard his image on the screen before he again spoke.

❝ EXCELLENT.  Next  question: WHO AM I ? ❞

There was barely  a HALF SECOND of delay before the word ADMIN appeared on the right side,  next to the yellow box that encompassed his features  &  again,  eyes flickered down to regard the screen.  Harold couldn’t stop  the JOYOUS smile that bloomed across thin lips—–PERHAPS he had done it  this time ?

If the government already  HAD a system,  however … what was he to do if he HAD succeeded ?