Oxford Street Tube Station, London, Wednesday Afternoon

[bitten_notshy]

It was considerate of Portalocity to put the main port to and from London in a dimly lit alcove of a crowded underground station; no one was looking at anyone else, and, even if they were, there'd probably been stranger things to remark upon that morning than two (to all appearances) young men stepping out of a glowing blue doorway to nowhere. Certainly Jack was not going to break his stride to remark on how unusual it was.

He did, though, pause when they were out of the station. "Guidebook first, I think," he ventured. "Seeing as it's been some time since I was here."

[OOC: For Mitchell, unless someone else is in London today.]

Comments

Re: Next Morning, Whitehall

[chosehumanity]

"You did what you could," he said. There was no outward discomfort at the sentiment, but Herrick talking about all of his fellow soldiers out dying on hospital beds while he looked like this forever-- yeah.

He'd been young.

He scraped his throat. "So what's next? Got any major plans to make London more unsafe?"

Re: Next Morning, Whitehall

[bitten_notshy]

"Next, I think ... beer," Jack decided, leaving the uncomfortable topic where it was. "Then home before that phone of yours blows up. I think I can manage not to traumatize the city for at least that long."

Re: Next Morning, Whitehall

[chosehumanity]

"Beer and crisps," Mitchell said, approvingly. "I think we'll get you back to being a Brit yet. Or at least a teenage drunk."

Re: Next Morning, Whitehall

[bitten_notshy]

"Synonyms, as far as I could ever tell," Jack shrugged, having given up (except in a tiny, annoyed mental aside) on making people remember he wasn't British in anything but accent and name. He smiled for the first time since we got to the monument. "I think we have a plan."