flightless

Kester "Kit" Montgomery 32 | Ex-RAF | Escort [This is an RP journal part of The Apartments group.]

[theformerflyboy]

[dalton-chivers-deactivated20150]

[The diverse accents were still something she was growing accustomed to in all her years in London. Back home there were varying degrees of Southern accents but abroad it had been different. She often found herself staring when others spoke and this moment was no different. She laughed and shook the hair from her face.] 

Would you be referring to you or me? [There was a sweetness to his face, what she could see of his face. She settled into her corner of the elevator, content to ride along and assist him in any way possible, even if it meant, simply holding open the door. When the glasses left his face, she tilted her head. She’d seen him before and while she couldn’t place him, she’d done enough staring for one day. ]

I didn’t know it was frightful to be helpful. Actually, it’s a job requirement. — I am definitely not the Madame. I am not second in command. Particularly knowledgeable assistant would be an appropriate description. [She accepted his hand. Giving it a firm shake before releasing.] Pleasure to meet you Kit. I’m Dalton, personal assistant. It’s my job to make life easier for the residents of this building. That includes you. [The elevator chimed and she held the door open, finger pressing the button] Lead the way, I’ll follow. If you have your key, I’ll open the door for you. More frightful assistance.  

[theformerflyboy]

There's only one beauty standing here, and it's certainly not me, love. [Kit laughed, leaning a shoulder against the elevator wall to take some of the weight off his knee. He hadn't had much to move into his new rooms--three boxes, and his cello, to be precise--but he'd insisted on taking the stairs to carry up the boxes and now his knee was starting to show its displeasure.

He nodded at Dalton's clarification, though truth be told, he was mostly just relieved that taking off his sunglasses hadn't resulted in recognition. He'd seen her stare a bit, so either she didn't know, or just wasn't fussed. Either was acceptable.]

Very frightful indeed. [His words were drawled, amused, accompanied by a flicker of a grin, grateful for the help.] So you're personal assistant to everyone around here? Christ, you must be busy. [The grin gave way to a faint frown, concerned.] I'm not distracting you from more important shite, am I?

[tate-sawyer]

[His laugh is a bit raucous, magnified by the small space of the elevator, bouncing off the walls and coming back to him.] We fight a war of independence, and this is the shit we get. "Oh you’re all Brits anyway."

[He shakes his head slowly and tsks. He finds it easy to be deadpan, though his smiles come easily they slide off his face just as soon, leaving him neutral, leaving him free to paste on whatever other expression he might like. But the other man’s face is lively, life in his eyes and a smile quirking his lips.

And it feels more easily familiar, shifting to shop-talk instead of what had, to this point at least, been Tate’s private life, kept behind closed doors, blown wide open when he decided to move here. And just the mention of his service has his spine tugging up straighter, unconscious reaction as he slouches against the elevator wall, a kind of ease he’s practiced at and relearned. He’d embraced civilian life, much more than Andrew or Jonathan had, but he knows he can’t shed all his learned instincts so easily, he wouldn’t want to.]

U.S. Marines. [He doesn’t chafe at being recognized for what he is, tips his head towards him with a small sardonic smile.] Oorah.

[He pushes off the wall, extends a hand.] Tate Sawyer. Gonna tell me about yourself?

[theformerflyboy]

[Kit couldn't help but quirk a quick grin when he saw the automatic straightening of Tate's posture, the instinct clearly drilled into him. Then again, it's not like Kit can point fingers--four months out and he's still yet to learn how to relax his posture.] Jarhead, huh?

[He tilted his head, studying Tate, and yeah, he could see it. It'd been a while, obviously, long enough for his hair to grow out and the rigid Marine stance to soften. Kit was tempted to make a joke: after all, the Army mocked the Marines, the Navy mocked the Army, and the Air Force just mocked... well, everyone. Instead, he just clasped Tate's hand in greeting.]

Flight Lieutenant Kest-- [Damn it, he kept forgetting that he was going by his nickname here.] Kit. Royal Air Force, No. 2 Squadron. [Kit paused, then gave a self-deprecating smirk.] Ex Air Force, I should say. Sorry, I've only been back in the world for four months, I keep forgetting nobody out here gives a shit about rank and unit.

[The elevator doors opened on floor two, and Kit dragged his cello case out, stopping the doors from closing by holding a hand over the side.] And in the spirit of telling you about myself: I'm new here, and may have trouble navigating my new rooms. [Kit tilted his sunglasses down just enough to give Tate a dose of the good old puppy eyes; though he was laughing as he said it, aware that it was a bad line simply for the sake of wanting to talk to Tate more.] I do have beer, though, and I hear it's better with company.

[lili-bowen]

[Perhaps predictably, Lili wasn’t in a great mood, aggravated by the fact that there was a chance that this could be her sister’s last Christmas, and Lili wasn’t going to be there. Things were tight financially for her family— forget Ciara’s treatments, with all the time her mother was taking off to take care of her, the damn house payment was close to not getting paid. It just didn’t make sense for Lili to take time off and miss chances at making more money, and then pay for a train home. Her holiday spirit was at an all time low, and when she heard some corny version of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” playing in the lounge, she couldn’t help but grumble.] 

I am so bloody sick of Christmas music.

[theformerflyboy]

It's dead heinous, isn't it?

[Despite his words, Kit had replied with a cheery grin. He'd actually always been a fan of Christmas, the one time of the year he'd gotten a few days of leave from base and the chance to see his family. There'd been a few exceptions, a couple of years that he'd been overseas for a tour--Operation TELIC had been none-too-fondly renamed Operation Tell Everyone Leave Is Cancelled. But this was the first year he was actively avoiding his family. So maybe Christmas misery called to similar Christmas misery.

But still, bundled up in a scarf and gloves, sunglasses and a heavy coat, Kit grinned at her.] You hear about that food market a few blocks away? I'm going, you should join me. [Belatedly, he introduced himself:] Kit. New escort. Come with me, I'll buy us awful festive drinks and we can bitterly mutter bah humbug at everybody. 

[jamesmcbender]

[tate-sawyer]

[His laugh comes out as something of a bark, stopping him short for a moment before the elevator doors start to slide close, forcing him to get his ass in gear and step inside, absentmindedly pressing the button for his floor as he pushes sweaty hair back out of his eyes, a gesture that’s become habitual now after years of having it grown out.]

Points for effort. [He says, grinning too. His accent comes thick, with its slow syrupy drawl. He’d never bothered to learn to be ashamed of it, to learn to clip his syllables into something more indistinct, less likely to be written off as “redneck” in the circles he ran in back home. Andrew did, but Andrew always cared too much about how people thought about him.]

But I’m not sure if my patriotism will allow it. Stars and stripes all the way, baby. [His grin ticks upward at one corner, crooked in his overblown patriotism. He’d served his country for want of better options. True patriotism was just yet another thing that had never taken root in him, left him looking around, observing it and aping it, wondering what he was missing.]

[theformerflyboy]

[That smooth drawl of an accent took Kit back. For a moment he could almost feel the sand of Iraq blowing into his face, the smell of gunpowder and stone dust, the good old American army lads making jokes about the Queen and putting on overly posh attempts at English accents. But it was a good memory--one of a few, from his second tour over there--and it was nice to have a good trip down memory lane for once.]

You lot are all Brit descended anyway, mate. You just lost all of your culture when you fucked off over to America. [Kit's tone was lightly teasing, a mischievous glint in his eye. He hit the elevator button for the second floor after a moment of actually having to think about it. He'd been moving shit into his new place all day, and there he was, getting distracted by handsome Americans.

As the elevator began to head up, Kit propped his chin on the top of his cello case, watching the bloke.] So, are you gonna tell me which branch of the military you were in? [The corner of his lips tipped upward in a curious smirk.] I can always spot an ex-army bloke. Call it my secret power.

[dalton-chivers-deactivated20150]

[His face was familiar and she wanted to snatch the glasses from his face and get a good luck of the features hidden from the shades shielding his eyes from view. She rubbed her hands together instead, slowly rocking back and forth on her feet. She bit her lip to stifle the laugh that came in response to his request.]

The press has been put on No Trespass I’m afraid. A few of our residents value their privacy and money does indeed talk. I think you’ll be fine but if you’d like me to check, I will. [She did allow her gaze to drift over her shoulders, hoping some rogue paparazzi wouldn’t make her a liar.]

Now that I can do. [The doors parted and she held her hand out to still the doors.] After you, ladies don’t always have to go first.

[theformerflyboy]

[Now that was nice to hear, though Kit supposed it should have been obvious. Of course there was a no trespass rule for the press: there were people here much more well known to the media than he was, people that actually wanted to be known worldwide.]

Age before beauty? Aye, fair enough. [He laughed, and hauled his cello case into the elevator, peering at the buttons for a moment before he hit the one for the second floor. And only when she stepped in and the door closed did he feel far enough away from prying eyes to tug his sunglasses off, rubbing at his temple as his eyes adjusted.]

So, you seem to be frightfully helpful. I've met the Madame, so I know you're not her, but I'm going to hazard a guess of... second in command? Particularly knowledgeable assistant? [Kit gave her a crooked grin, and held out a gloved hand, offering a handshake.] I'm Kit. New, moving in, soon to be escort. If you hadn't already guessed.

[theformerflyboy]

Visit Original Link

[tate-sawyer]

[It’s impossible not to notice the man wrestling a cello case across the lobby, cursing up a storm as he does so. Tate’s waiting by the elevator, sweating after a morning run.

He figures a routine will help him settle in here, something comforting among everything else that’s so strange. And besides, he doesn’t want to hear from Andrew the next him he goes home that he’s allowed himself to get “paunchy.”

The accent’s lilting and thick, much more musical when it’s throwing an endearment his way instead of cursing a cello, and as the doors slide open he grins, gestures for the man to proceed him into the elevator.] That I won’t say no to. Hit me with your best shot.

[theformerflyboy]

[It wasn't that Kit didn't like tall people. Tall people were just fine, and no more likely to pull a gun than any other person, really. But Kit, standing at a whopping 5'7", would admit to getting more wary of them than average-sized people. It was the potential combat advantage of superior height and reach.

So, normally, he'd clam right up. But there was something familiar about the way this guy held himself, something that said ex-soldier in a big way. And sure, soldiers could be shitheads too, but Kit wound up relaxing anyway, shooting a grateful grin at the bloke as he hauled his cello case into the elevator.]

Alright. [He paused momentarily, mentally searching for a good one.] How about I call you Britain, yeah? That way I can really serve my country.

[theformerflyboy]

[brandonmathers-blog]

[ Returning the firm grasp, a shake, and easy release, Brandon gave the man an easy nod ] nice to meet you, Kit, and you can call me Brandon if you prefer. Let’s keep things casual, shall we ? [ His eyes followed back up to the television as news that three hostages had either been released or had escaped. That brought a touch of relief to his mind; he had no relatives or loved ones in Australia, but they were still people and deserved to be treated with dignity. ]

Actually no, front line infantry isn’t exactly my calling, [ he responded with a slight smile — - no, his forte could have been biological warfare, but his work wasn’t to be used for that, it was purely for preemptive purposes. ] Though if I did have the skills to do so, I would certainly wish that.

[theformerflyboy]

['Let's keep things casual'. Kit almost laughed at that; it was endearingly peculiar to just straight-up outline the rules for the current social situation. Nice, though, to have things be clear like that. Kit had only been back in the world for a few months, now, and he was starting to find a whole new appreciation for bluntness, for people that didn't have time for bullshit and confusion. Clear-cut, like things in the RAF had been.]

[He laughed lowly, lifting his coffee to sip at it.] I meant in terms of doctorly aftercare, not running in with guns blazing. You don't sound the type to do the latter. [He made a show of peering at Brandon's hands, thankful that his own were encased in gloves, hidden.] Or I'm wrong, and you're a scientist, not a medical doctor. [Kit grinned.] No gun callouses in sight, at least. What kind of scientist, if you don't mind me asking?

[brandonmathers-blog]

[ He turned his head at the response of a male onlooker, and wiped the coffee from his bottom lip with a swipe of his thumb, before he flicked his eyes up to the TV again, then back to the unfamiliar face. ]  Oh, I know, underestimating those Australian’s would be foolish. Perhaps if they hadn’t had a string of thick-headed leaders of their country, they’d be somewhat better off.

[ Catching himself, Brandon set his cup down, ] not to say that this is their governments fault of course — - extremist and violent terrorist groups are, sadly, everywhere. [ Thinking on his words for a moment, he wondered why the stranger had chosen the military phrase for innocents; civilians; in favour of the more common word; people. Perhaps he was being overly critical. ] I’m sure they will be take care of. [ He extended his hand over to the man, ] by the way, Dr. Brandon Mathers — - pleasure to meet you, sir.

[theformerflyboy]

[Kit barely managed to stop himself from grimacing at the mention of government. The only thing he knew of any government were that they were the assholes who were either ineffective or over-bearing, so he tended to avoid the subject if at all possible.

Instead, he chose to focus on the man. Discreetly, he checked him over; hip, waist, ankle. No weapons on him. When Kit deemed him tentatively nonthreatening, only then did he regard him like he was talking to an actual person. He grinned, clasping his hand firmly.] Doctor, huh? Kit, no title. Pleasure's all mine. [He eyed the TV again, then looked back at Brandon, his grin fading to a small, knowing smile.] Let me guess. You're wishing we'd invented faster planes, so you could go over and help, yeah?

[theformerflyboy]

Visit Original Link

[brandonmathers-blog]

I am genuinely concerned by the situation in Australia right now. Those poor people, terrorism touches every corner of the globe, and this is just a reminder of that. [ He sighed and sipped his coffee, turning away from the live coverage ] I cannot imagine what those people are experiencing right now.

[brandonmathers-blog]

[theformerflyboy]

[Kit had been watching in silence, too, clutching his own coffee between gloved hands, seated in the corner so that he could be well away from the people who were murmuring in concern or muttering about terrorists. But hearing one bloke talk, he wound up responding.]

They'll be fine. [He knew it sounded callous. Maybe it was. So he offered a bit of a smile.] Australian forces are some of the most tenacious bloody bastards I've ever met. They'll make sure those civilians get away without a scratch.

[dalton-chivers-deactivated20150]

[A strange man hauling a cello across the lobby wasn’t a common sight in the building and that said a lot. Add to it the extremely colorful and blush inducing language that accompanied the grunts and hisses under the man’s breath.

Still there was something refreshing about the openness and the candid glimpse the man’s momentary struggle provided. Setting her things to the side, she made her way to the elevator, pressing the button as an offer of assistance.]

You should try sweet talk. I hear all the ladies like that kind of thing, even cellos named Bertha. Don’t apologize and I’d be a fool to turn down a pick up line from you sweetness. Now tell me, what can I do to help.

[theformerflyboy]

[It was soldier's instinct that made Kit give the woman a once-over, the movement of his eyes thankfully hidden by his sunglasses as he checked her hip, ankle, hands. Didn't matter if she looked like the perfectly genial, harmless type. He didn't spot any concealed weapons, though, so the tense line of his shoulders relaxed fractionally.]

No help needed, darling. Unless you want to take a wee look outside and make sure that nobody's hanging around with a camera. [Kit played it off as a joke, grinning to conceal the fact that he really did glance at the front door of the building, leather gloves creaking as he tightened his grip on his cello case.]

But some company on the elevator would be marvelous, because I'm new and shite at figuring out new places.

[theformerflyboy]

[It was probably a faux pas to wear giant sunglasses inside, Kit figured, but they helped, what with today being his first day and all. He knew he'd have to deal with being recognized eventually, but if he could just put it off for a day or two... that'd be nice.

Then again, hauling a cello case that was nearly bigger than he was through the lobby didn't do much to not draw attention to himself. Neither did cursing more colorfully than a sailor every time it banged against his legs.]

Fucking cello. Bertha, I'm gonnae toss you out on your fat fucking arse. Christ, fucking shite on a prick-ridden- [It appeared he had company as he arrived to wait for the elevator. Oops. Kit tried for a apologetic smile.] Sorry, darling. Can I offer you a terrible pick-up line to make up for having to hear all that?

[theapartmentsrp-blog]

Full name: Kester Montgomery Alias: Kit Age: 32 Date of Birth: 13 February Hometown: Glasgow, Scotland Apartment: 2B, Escort Section Sexuality: Pansexual, homoromantic.

Plus: Creative, engaging, disciplined. Minus: Fussy, distant, temperamental.

Personal Information:

For as long as anyone can remember, the Montgomery family have been a military family. Kit, wanting to make his family proud, never had any other aspirations in life. All through his childhood and all throughout his school days, he only ever focused on one idea of the future: joining the British Royal Air Force. His childhood in Glasgow was near idyllic, and though his parents were both military, they lived near enough to an army base to provide a stable, loving home. He hero-worshiped his family: his father who worked as an army doctor, his mother who worked in communications, and he would often spend time looking at the medals earned by the Montgomery family, dreaming of a day where he might earn his own accomplishments.

When he was 18, Kit enrolled. By 25, his disciplined and hard-working nature saw him placed exactly where he wanted to be, in the sky flying the best aircraft the RAF had to offer. Charming and gregarious, he made friends quickly, though he had to keep some of his short relationships a secret. While some of his fellow pilots seemed to chafe against the strict structure of the RAF, Kit thrived in it, because it had never occurred to him that he could do anything else with his life. He didn’t miss what he didn’t know. He flew mostly humanitarian missions, providing aid, but he also worked in surveillance, search and rescue, and tactical air transport.

On August 2014, he was hand-picked to take part in Operation Shader, Britain’s involvement in the fight against ISIS. Kit was deployed to fly over Northern Iraq to provide humanitarian aid airdrops to refugees and victims of the militants. The coast was supposed to be relatively clear, but on the way back, Kit and his Torando GR4 were shot down. He was held captive by militants for two weeks, during which his name and his photo were blasted all over international news. He was rescued in a raid, and though his recovery in hospital was just under two months, he was honorably discharged due to the long-term effects of those injuries.

Kit Montgomery was a changed man after he got out of hospital. He did his best to act like he was fine, but severe PTSD and being hounded by journalists led him to become reclusive and jumpy. He quit mandatory therapy as soon as he was able, convinced that the real cure lay in simply finding a new mission in life.

Reason For Coming to The Apartments:

After recovering, Kit moved to London, not being able to bear the idea of going home and facing his family, whom he thinks he failed. He had decent enough savings to be able to go jobless for a while - but his hands were scarred, the joints creaky, and his knee wasn’t much better, so he had no idea if he’d be able to find a decent job when he needed to.

He did manage to find part-time work, but talking to a former Apartment resident changed his goals. Kit had never had the opportunity to be so free about his sexual wants, and more importantly, had never had the time or self-allowance to find out exactly who he was, if he couldn’t be a pilot anymore. It took some convincing on his part to get a job as an escort there, but his engaging nature and his dedication to doing the best he can at his work got him the job.

Personality:

Kit can have a very two-sided personality at the best of times. He is charming and engaging, always willing to draw people into conversation. He has what seems to be an easy-going nature, but he can quickly become tense and reclusive with the wrong stimuli. He tries to show only the best of himself to people, using his wit and his bright grins to distract from the damage beneath.

He is a very single-minded, mission-oriented man. When he knows what he wants, he will stop at nothing to get it. Though he did go to a few therapy sessions for PTSD, Kit is far from over it, but he keeps up the appearance of being well-adjusted.

Likes: Quiet, playing the cello, flying, music, deep fried food, football, Scottish pride, forthright personalities. Dislikes: Clutter, crowds, action movies, laziness, politics, anti-army sentiment, indecision. Dominant/Submissive: Submissive Kinks: Toys, bondage, edging, being pushed to his limits, light rough play, biting, power-play, collars and leashes, being challenged. Anti-Kinks: Scat, humiliation, medical play, breath play, blood play, torture simulation.

Kester Montgomery  looks a lot like  James McAvoy  and is taken.