no_bodyseesme: (Training)
Well, we just discovered today that our workplace has finally filtered LJ (but not GJ or IJ. Of course, it's probably just a matter of time on those, once they come to their attention). So now I cannot read my flist, I cannot post, and worst of all, I cannot even tag by e-mail (I tested that today by trying to respond to a couple of you. It failed.)

This means that tags will now only happen on days I'm home, or after I get home from work. I'm so sorry, folks -- I know this is going to cause time issues with a few of you because of my hours vs. yours.

I'm so frustrated and annoyed by this. It also means that now I no longer have a reason to complain that I have to work during lunch or times when our personnel system is screwed up, because I just can't tag. ARGH.
no_bodyseesme: (Claunet)
OOC: Open to [livejournal.com profile] vote4nathan if he's willing. ETA: to avoid confusion, the Peter mentioned in this RP is [livejournal.com profile] youngerpetrelli.

Claude was worried. Bennet had said just enough to indicate he was concerned about his safety, but nothing to indicate what might be wrong. The dead painter wasn't much help, giving him the cryptic '8/8' which could mean any damned thing. A date, eighth in a series of eight, even those bloody emoticon things the kids were texting each other all the time. He had no idea what it meant.

There was still no sign of Peter, and no one had been able to give him a decent lead. He wandered the city searching for him; spent some time out at the big Petrelli estate only to find that while Angela was there, no one else was.

Finally, he steeled himself and returned to Peter's apartment. The door was locked, but that didn't stop him this time. At this point he didn't care. He needed an answer to at least one question. Bennet or Peter, either way, he wasn't going to let one bloody lock stand in his way. Invisible, he picked the lock and stepped into the apartment...

Lost

Sep. 22nd, 2007 09:38 am
no_bodyseesme: (Plaude 2)
Peter's out there, somewhere. They're after him, or they already have him. Bennet's tryin' ta help me, Parkman's tryin' ta help me, and we've got nothin' for the three of us. This is killin' me.

Shoulda known to never let him in. Shoulda known how much it'd hurt, how bad it'd be when he was ripped away...

I've gotta find him and save him. Goddamn it all, I need him...

Any of ya ever repeat that, I'll make ya suffer. Somehow, some way. Just... shut it.
no_bodyseesme: (Claunet)
OOC: I'm guessing he's staying at a hotel while in NYC -- if not, oops!

Hotel maids are very useful for getting into rooms when one doesn't have a way to hack a key-card reader. He slips into the room unnoticed and waits for them to finish their work. It doesn't surprise him at all to see the short cuts and just plain laziness, but he's glad this batch is honest enough not to rifle through any luggage or belongings while they clean up the room.

Once they leave, he takes one sheet of paper from the memo pad and writes on it, "Frank's, 7:30pm, tonight" and the address. He leaves it on the pillow, then slips out, making sure the door locks behind him.

He'll be there a bit ahead of time, watching and waiting.

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no_bodyseesme: (Default)
Claude Raines

January 2010

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