the_chappy: (Chappy is thinking)
"Don't go too far," Ryan called after David, as he ran off into the woods. He watched the boy absently nod, not breaking pace and Ryan almost felt a little silly for bothering. David was smart enough to not go too far but Ryan still couldn't shake that sense of worry. It'd been over two months since he'd spoken to Jack about what was happening outside and he hadn't heard anything since.

Sometimes, he almost had himself convinced that no news must be good news. If something had gone wrong, somehow, he'd know it, he'd sense it. Most of the time, he knew that was complete bullshit and divided his time between worrying and wondering how he could find out for certain.

He looked down at his book again, trying to focus on the words on the page. After a minute, he gives up, closing the book and looking for David in the distance. Watching the boy investigate the trees and bushes around him, Ryan makes a mental note to talk to Elaine about getting him a dog.
the_chappy: (audrey...?)
With one last drag on his cigarette, Ryan drops it on a stone and snuffs it out under his foot. His hand immediately goes to the small pack of Camels beside him, reaching for another. But when he opens it, he finds it empty.


Sighing, he collects the small pile of cigarette butts at his feet, dumping them back into the carton. That done, he takes a long drink from his water bottle, his throat dry.

He could go back inside, he'd have to eventually, but he won't. Not after that incident with Chase.

Absently, Ryan pulls at the flared cuffs of his jeans. At least this time, he wasn't stuck in dresses and heels. The bar had given him jeans, a tank top with some sort of shelf bra-type thing sewn inside and a short-sleeved black shirt. Or blouse. His shoes were simple black slip-ons.

He hadn't had a chance to cut his hair again so Elaine had pulled it back into a ponytail. Something she probably found weirder than he did since he'd at least been through this before. He's been determined to hack the damn thing off but that was until he ran into Chase and now, Ryan would prefer to let him think it was Audrey he'd run into. Unfair, maybe, but so was the fact that he was a woman. Again.

The fact that he wasn't the only one should help but it didn't. Not really. His beautiful daughter was now his handsome son and that just made him curse Milliways a little more. Though Chris didn't care. She had mentioned that Jack had run into the same spell but Ryan hadn't had a chance to see him yet.

At least Elaine was still the right gender. Not that it made much difference right now.

OOC: Meme

May. 8th, 2007 05:29 pm
the_chappy: (Ryan thinks that's adorable.)
Surprise surprise.

I feel loved when...

The Five Love Languages

My Primary Love Language is Physical Touch

<th colspan="2">My Detailed Results:</th>
Physical Touch: 9
Quality Time: 8
Acts of Service: 8
Words of Affirmation: 4
Receiving Gifts: 1

About this quiz

Unhappiness in relationships is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. It can be helpful to know what language you speak and what language those around you speak.

Tag 3 people so they can find out what their love language is.

Take the Quiz!
Check out the Book

the_chappy: (worried! or angsty! chappy)
His daughter was thirty-one.

Sometimes, Ryan would have trouble remembering how old the kids were supposed to be. He never forgot but like he'd occasionally call one of them by the wrong name, he'd sometimes forget how old they were. That Ryan Jr. and Chris' birthdays were so close didn't help.

They just grew up so quickly.

It was easier then, and less embarrassing than asking, to remember that Chris had been born when he was twenty and go from there. She was twenty years younger than him, his son a year younger than that and Caitlin several years younger.

Except the math didn't work anymore. The clock had stopped for him at forty-eight. He was now seventeen years older than his daughter right now, not twenty.

The first time he'd realized this he'd been more than confused. Time had passed and even though he didn't miss his life as much as he once had, there was still that sense of loss as life had moved on without him. His youngest was now twenty-four. Ryan had a granddaughter that he'd never met who would be four in November.

Sometimes, Ryan wondered if he'd be here long enough and if enough time would pass outside that the day would come that his daughter was the same age he would be forever. Maybe even older.

It was easier then to try to keep up with what was happening outside so when the time came to remember little things, like how old his children were, it wouldn't be such a shock. He didn't follow the news as much as he once did but every once in a while he'd ask for a newspaper. Like today. Just something to make him feel more connected, though sometimes it only served to remind him of the gulf between his life and now.

Like now.

The bar had given Ryan a copy of the New York Times from July 6, 2012. The front page was dedicated to the same stories.

At least 33 people died and dozens were hurt in a suicide bombing in Houston on Wednesday. The blasts occurred at two supermarkets, Kroger's and Whole Foods Market, located near downtown Houston. Both attacks took place during the late afternoon when stores are busiest.

It was a bold attack. More low-tech than anything that had happened before (that he knew of) and more dangerous for that reason. It was easy to do, easier than hijacking a Soviet nuke or engineering a lethal virus and both of those had been done. Harder to detect when it could be anyone in a crowd of hundreds or thousands. When he'd been at CTU, this was always one of the scenarios they had discussed when trying to imagine future attacks and how to stop them.

Law enforcement officials have identified Derek Murphy and Ziyad al-Fawzaan as the men behind one of the attacks.

Unlike all the close calls before, all the almost-similar incidents, this wasn't an isolated event. The man they quoted, some idiot from the FBI who would surely get a dressing down from his boss if not a demotion for giving too much information, said they were investigating the possibility it was a copycat.

It's the third attack in as many days, with the attacks in Chicago and Boston claiming 164 lives.

This most certainly was not a copy cat attack. Ryan had combed through the papers (he'd ask the bar for two more, to compare the information) and was certain it was a coordinated effort. Might be Second Wave or al-Quaeda, both groups favored coordinated attacks. He'd have to get out encyclopedias, maybe ask for a laptop to find out the significance of the dates. The Fourth of July had it's obvious connotations but there might be something more. September 11th had been the anniversary of the Camp David Accords as well as the day when international forces left Beirut, among other anniversaries. Victor Drazen had chosen the two year anniversary of Nightfall for his strike. September 20th marked an attack on the MI-6 building in 2000 and the date of David Palmer's first speech in front of the Senate on the need to intervene in the former Yugoslavia. June 10th marked the end of the Six Day War and Syria's surrender.

Dates had meaning. Years could pass and the numbers could blur but there was always someone who remembered.

It was well into the afternoon, hours after he'd received the paper, that Ryan realized how useless his research was. Whatever he found, someone out there new already (he hoped) and even if they didn't, he had no way of telling anyone. There was nothing he could do here but wait and worry.

Much later, Ryan returns to the bar to ask for sleeping pills. When he finally falls asleep, he remembers twisted metal frames against a red sky, the constant sound of sirens in the background and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh.

He tells himself it's a dream, his worried mind playing over memories. Maybe it was really just a matter of time.
the_chappy: (Ryan thinks that's adorable.)
It's a slow Sunday afternoon, the kind Ryan thinks he might spend watching football if he were alive.

But he's not and David's starting to get stir crazy from being cooped up inside all this time. After a brief stop at the bar, where Ryan soon tired of fielding questions about all the puppets and how would puppets eat because David didn't accept the answer "That's Milliways", he decides it's warm enough to try ice-skating.

Borrowing skates from the bar, the two head outside.

It's been a while since Ryan's gone ice skating, though he gets into the swing of it easily enough. His first movements are wobbly (which David finds hilarious) but at least he's not skating on his ankles. David, on the other hand, takes to skating easily though he's a little wary at first of going very fast.

After a while of this, Ryan offers to go inside to get some hot drinks. When he returns, David has found a stick and a rock and is playing some rudimentary version of hockey.

"Loosen up your knees," Ryan calls, watching the boy chase after the rock.

He couldn't be more more proud of David.
the_chappy: (chappy says oy!)
After his chat with Chase (and a few shots of vodka), Ryan makes his way back to the flat. He's willing himself not to think about anything he just saw or discussed, hoping that eventually he'll convince himself that it never happened.

It's not working yet but he's going to keep believing. Unlocking the door, he steps into the flat. "Elaine?"
the_chappy: (ok!chappy)
Completely unsuspecting of any unusual Milliways going-ons is Ryan.

Sitting on the couch, he's engrossed in a book and working on a cup of coffee.

Totally unaware.
the_chappy: (Montgomery J. Burns!Chappy)
The White King
You scored 1 Power-Finesse, 3 Leader-Follower, 1 Unique-Ordinary, and 3 Offense-Defense!
You are ambitious and want to press any advantage that you have. By using others, not doing it yourself. Occasionally you are more cautious, barricading yourself into a corner and letting your followers slug it out in the middle-- but if things are looking pretty bleak you're not afraid to jump in and finish the job yourself.




My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:


free online dating free online dating
You scored higher than 99% on Power-Finesse

free online dating free online dating
You scored higher than 99% on Leader-Follower

free online dating free online dating
You scored higher than 99% on Unique-Ordinary

free online dating free online dating
You scored higher than 99% on Offense-Defense
Link: The What Chess Piece Are You Test written by Gundark27 on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test
the_chappy: (Chappy is thinking)
Placeholder

It's early in the day and Ryan got a small gift for Chris - two books, unwrapped. There are two other gifts nearby, just some thing he picked up for David (3-D puzzle) and Elaine (art supplies).

Feeling a lot calmer about this anniversary than the last. Sunrises no longer freak him out, yay! He's been pondering last year's journey though heaven and hell and everywhere in between and how this relates to his feelings on Tony's death.

Yeah. Placeholder.
the_chappy: (Lilies)
There were some things he never wanted to do and some things he never imagined himself doing.

Like preparing the body of a friend for a wake.

Elaine had decided that Tony's corpse needed to be prepared, his wounds dressed and that tarp removed. It might be more difficult to explain the shroud he was wrapped in now, the gauzy white cloth that covered his body, with just one thin layer over his face like a veil. This shroud raise more questions than just leaving him in the tarp, a fact that bothered Ryan, but that option didn't seem ... decent. It was distasteful on a visceral level, offending something that went beyond logic.

Visit the sick. Harbor the harborless. Ransom the captive. Bury the dead.

That didn't make this much easier though. It was out of respect, duty and even pride that he was here. He couldn't leave Elaine to do this alone, that was never an option. Still, it was hard to look at the ashen skin and the wounds and not be horrified, not wonder about what his own body had looked like. One bullet wound but the entry point was different and Ryan was grateful for that. The neat, small entry wound in Tony's forehead was easy to cover with bandages, still leaving his face visible. Intact. Lying over the body, on his chest, was a small bouquet of white lilies.

The only problem after the wake would be the burial. Something would have to be done soon. He knew the others were waiting to see if Michelle would arrive here or what the chatter on the mission...

But it couldn't wait any longer. They'd have to take care of the body and he had to be done soon. It didn't matter what condition the body was in, it just wasn't right to wait. It seemed disrespectful somehow. Not to mention the unspoken hope that he knew was shared by the others that if Tony was buried maybe he could come back to Milliways. It was insane and sounded almost like Milliways' own version of superstition but it also made a strange sort of sense. Tony would come back here if he could so what else could be keeping him but this?

The still sparsely decorated room has more furniture in it now. Along with the bed that the body lay on - a single, covered with a white sheet and pushed horizontal against the wall opposite the door - there were also a few folding chairs in case anyone needed to sit during the blessing.

Across the hall, in Room 515, there was none of the usual bedroom furniture, just chairs, tables and two couches. On one table there was food, plates and napkins. On the other table (and in the two coolers underneath) there are soft drinks, coffee, tea and a wide variety of liquors.

Ryan walks over to the doorway where Elaine is standing and waits for people to come by.
the_chappy: (worried! or angsty! chappy)
Depending on one's point of view, it's either very late or very early when Ryan returns to the flat. He stayed with Chris at the infirmary for a couple hours while Jack was being healed. It was a miracle she'd come out with only cuts and bruises, though he knows the most serious injuries weren't physical.

He had told her she could have a place to stay here but she chose to stay behind in the infirmary. He didn't like the idea, she needed rest not to be fussing over Jack, but he didn't argue with her either. At least she wouldn't be alone.

As quietly as he can, he opens the door, hoping not to disturb David and Elaine.
the_chappy: (worried! or angsty! chappy)
When they lived in Virginia they had a tree like this one, large with deep roots and low-slung branches. He had added a tire swing, the kids wanted one and it seemed to fit with the whole package ... two kids, a house in the suburbs with a backyard and a large tree. The kids wanted a treehouse too but the upper branches were too close together to make that possible. Besides, it was too high up and it made him nervous. Not that it ever stopped Chris or Ryan from racing as far up the tree as they could go.

He could hear someone laughing and was brought back to that backyard in Virginia where it was Chris' laugh and she was right near by. Safe at home and he'd never let anything bad happen to her.

His mind veered between the remembered past and the imagined present. Days of teaching her to play baseball, stargazing, soccer games and vacations mingled with memories of reports and his own knowledge of what happens during interrogations. It was no stretch to imagine what was happening to her now, what could happen, the horror bolstered by the truth.

Ryan took one breath, then another and found it hard to breathe deeply without concentrating. Everything he had of her was in the past. Every moment and memory were all relegated to the past tense and soon that would become the new normal. A future he never wanted unfolded before him.

Even then, it was cold comfort to the knowledge that she'd likely never see her family again, that if she were alive she'd spend decades as a hostage until her eventual "suicide". His only hope was that he might see her again here and even that was a slim chance. Beyond that, he had nothing.
the_chappy: (not amused)
With a frown, and too impatient to look for the pot holder, Ryan uses two paper napkins to lift the pot over to the sink.

Paper napkins, however, are poor protection from the heat. Something Ryan learns as it becomes more and more uncomfortable to hold the pot. Teeth clenched, he mutters, "Fucker."

The steam was not helping matters.

The spaghetti drained he, quickly returns the pot to the stove and, just as quickly, returns to the sink to run his hands under the cool water. No blisters or burns, just a slight sting.

Drying his hands, he wonders if he should call David in to wash up before dinner or if he should wait till Elaine got back. He hadn't seen her when he went into the bar but he hadn't looked for long.

He decides to give David a few more minutes outside and returns to the stove to get dinner ready.
the_chappy: (baby)
Previous questions from [livejournal.com profile] questionthepups. (I'm switiching off between him and [livejournal.com profile] geeky_agent so they each get every other week.)

Current questions (and answers) can be found here.

Read more... )
the_chappy: (Default)
I play [livejournal.com profile] _chappy_, [livejournal.com profile] geeky_agent and [livejournal.com profile] callmedavid. If you're familiar with any of their canons, please tell me if you think I'm doing anything wrong with them in terms of characterization, voice, development or anything else. Hell, tell me even if you're not familiar with their canon.

IP logging's off and anons are allowed.
the_chappy: (surprised! or curious!)
The words didn't change. He knew that no matter how long he stared at this note, it wouldn't give him any new information. It was all they had and it was better than nothing, only because it told them that Chloe was in danger.

Ryan set the note down and looked at what he had written in the notebook. Remember what Merriman said regarding the Truth Spell.

There was no logical reason for him to keep coming back to that thought, but he did. Ryan hadn't taken his advice at the time, preferring his method of avoiding people. Now, he wished he had if just to know whether it was possible to get around the effects of the Truth Spell.

"Find please no control."

He chewed on his thumb nail, dissecting the note again and wishing he had a cigarette on him. "Find please", Ryan mused, was easy enough to figure out. "...no control..." Over what? Don't let someone else control something? Someone? This person has no control? Chloe has no control?

"Woman. Like him." Like who? Who is this woman? Who did this?

Pulling his notebook closer he looked at his list, wondering if there was something overlooking.

- Ramon Salazar. Would hurt Chloe if she pissed him off enough. But what are the chances he'd keep quiet about it? Why kill her if no one would notice?
- Nina Myers. Assuming Chloe's killer was a woman. She only kills for her job and to protect her own ass.
- Stephen Saunders. Could do it and keep quiet but has no reason to go after Chloe.
- Mandy/Miranda. In cells. Like Nina - wouldn't kill Chloe except for job.
- Jasin Natael/Asmodean. Has threatened Chloe before, could kill her. "No control" Hasn't been in the bar? Ask Nita.
- Rhalen Lyngar/Ishamael. Would and could kill Chloe. "No control" could also apply here. Wouldn't know when he was in the bar. People who have met him, other than self, - Jack, Ramon, Behrooz and Nita.


Other Associates
- Bill. (Lastname?) Wizard, that's all that's known. Is/was friends with Chloe.
- Sawyer. Nothing known. Is/was friends with Chloe.


He lingered over Nina's name, though logically he knew there were more reasons for her not to be involved.

"Woman. Like him."

With a sigh, he pushes back from the desk. He needed to get some cigarettes and maybe a stiff drink.
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