[backdated] butterfly effect in full swing

[diagenesis]

who: james flint and john wick
what: john's on a temporal bender, oop.
when: backdated a touch
where: all through quarantine, most likely
warnings: potential for violence





[He keeps a quiet life. There is little here that sways him beyond it. He spends his days idly, not since early boyhood has he had so many pass him by without incident. It's not unwelcome, this strange peace. It's simply undeserved.

He is reading, when John finds him. John, looking angry and violent and bloody beyond all reckoning. It's a look Flint knows well, one he's worn.

A marker is placed between the pages of the book he's reading, something by Agatha Christie, as recommended to him by Peggy Carter, and he sets it aside.]

Is something the matter?

[Obviously, something is. But James isn't about to assume. He does, however, take mental stock of the weapons he has immediately on hand. It's entirely possible John is about to ask him for back-up, and he would not like to be caught unawares in such a case.]

Comments

[diagenesis]

[He touches the leather with deft fingers, tracing the lines of its lettering. The book and author are both unknown to him - much is, in this strange world - but he has some measure of trust in John's taste.

Books have always held special meaning for him. It's something he has shared with everyone he ever loved. Not just Thomas, or Miranda, but his mother and grandfather both, the former who learned letters in secret and the latter that overlooked it. It is a curious thing, to come to a world where nearly everyone can read, yet it's rare that anyone does.]

Hm.

[Almost a thank-you. He stands, the pads of his fingers lingering on the spine of the book before he stands away from the table and goes to the open kitchen. He has always known how to cook - it was a simple joy for him when he retired to the Hamilton estate - and though James Flint could not lower himself to a position of cooking for his men, James McGraw may not have minded.

He takes out the ingredients for a hearty stew - the sort that's good for building up expended energy - and begins slicing vegetables (the fucking variety of them still astounds him) for the pot. He'll use the open hearth for this rather than the stove. The smoke adds flavour to the food you can't get on a gas-top.]

So who's the poor bastard you're wearing? [Ha, ha, murderer humour.] No one I know, I assume.