Emancipated and Quite Capable

Jack never saw himself as a diamond thief, but there was something to be said for a job well done that had him distinctly self-satisfied as he got home from New York. He'd barely slept -- there had been too much adrenaline for that -- but it hardly mattered.

He tucked his take into a hidden corner of a dresser, planning to sell the diamonds and give the money to his sister during his next trip home. Then he sprawled on his bed to relax and idly checked his voicemail.

Well. It was good Mitchell was coming back, he supposed, but the whole thing made him frown a bit -- and not just because the messages were of limited coherence, or because he wasn't American. Things would be complicated. But then, they always were.

He picked up his phone to make a call of his own before settling in to write to Sebastien. It would, of necessity, be a rather more censored letter than his norm.

[OOC: Door is closed but knockable, or open to Andy. Aaaaaand let's call the specifics on his thread with Kate NFB.]

So there had been a conversation with Emma that brought up interesting possibilities, and one with George and Mitchell that left Jack surprisingly hopeful about those relationships.

And now it was time for dinner.

( Of course, his walk home wouldn't be *entirely* peaceful.... )

[OOC: NFI, NFB for sneakiness. Preplayed with and coded by the tres charmante blondecanary. ]

Jack had toured the aquarium and then gone back to his room with the vague intention of finding a swimsuit to finally get to the beach. (He knew that was where he should be, he just ... hadn't felt up to it. There was a lot of malaise in Jack this week, and he couldn't snap out of it despite a general urge to roll his eyes at himself. It wasn't exactly news that vampires were not fluffy puppies, after all.)

He wasn't showing any signs of making it this time, either. After a half-hearted search of his drawers, he'd opened yet another tiny bottle from the minibar and was nursing a scotch as he flipped through a book on criminal profiling. He was sure it would be very interesting, if he could actually focus on the pages.

[OOC: For anyone who might want to track him down.]

After his phone calls to Jack and Kate, George was practically scrambling to get down to the pub in time (although not scrambling enough that he couldn't pause, catch his breath, and opine on the stereotypical nature of said pub). He wasn't aware of anyone else doing the same. It was mainly terror driving him forward.

What if Mitchell bit someone? What if something was wrong? What if--

He was not necessarily watching where he was going as he wandered nervously onto the pavement.

( Meanwhile, a few blocks away... )

( Mitchell's walk just outside the pub was nervous... )

[OOC: NFB, NFI, OOC cherished. Preplayed with the stellar chose_humanity and vanillajello. Follows this.]

Jack had been dealing with the Mitchell situation through the immature but far easier means of ignoring it until something shoved it in his face again. It wasn't as if he had some kind of useful advice to give. Or if he trusted his temper to hold.

So: He wasn't thinking about any of that when his phone rang and he glanced up from his reading to answer it. He didn't recognize the number on the display.

"Hello?"

( That was a very firm 'Hi,' that greeted him. )

[OOC: Topic of phone call NFB. Preplayed with (and coded by) the splendid chose_humanity. Follows this, this and this.]

Jack was up half the night Thursday scrubbing pink dye out of his hair. After the fifth go at it with shampoo and a quick self-administered trim to a few scraggly bits that had absorbed more than their fair share of the dye, it was all but back to normal, with just a few blush-tinted strands around his ears.

This was, in his eyes, an essential first step.

After a call to Tony and a nap, he woke up and started to pack. Rationally, he knew he was not the first person to have something odd and embarrassing happen to him -- a love spell, or whatever it had been. He wasn't even the first person to waste time chasing after a straight guy. (And bless Mitchell and Kate for trying to talk sense into him, for all the good it had done.) But he still needed the brief escape of a respite with Sebastien to get him centered in his own head.

He packed quickly and neatly, door cracked open as usual so he could watch the motion in the hallway.

[OOC: Open if you need a Jack!]