falcon_2: Sad Peter (need a tree stat!)
I never thought Inigo was an actual name until we went on a school trip in year 9.

"You killed my father, prepare to die," obviously; my mum had an old VHS copy and a silver-grey video player that opened slow and stately and sideways, like a cassette player. (It's probably retro, now, which makes me feel depressingly old in ways I choose not to think about.) She'd park me in front of The Princess Bride when I was still too young to wield a polishing cloth, which puts me pre-verbal if not precisely pre-toddle; hauling that behemoth to the offices she worked at must've broken her back but it beat leaving me to the whims of my dad. Also explains a lot about how early she got me reading.

Inigo, though, was the stuff of fantasy until I was 13.

Most of the girls had disappeared into the market in spite of the teacher's attempt to herd them, and the boys were - almost to a man - trying to impress Emi Dagogo, statuesque recent transfer, regal and Nigerian and a demon when she had a basketball in her hands. And much as I loved a tall and terrifying woman, my attention was definitely elsewhere.

Inigo Jones, Welsh boy with a flair for the dramatic, a fondness for the Italian, a design for the theatrical. Something about stepping into the square, something about the lines of the actor's church and the performers in front of it, the rapt expressions on people's faces as they stared at someone do a trick with three white hankies and an unfortunate dove... it was like the magic of theatre and the irreverence of panto and the nervous thrill of backstage at a school play, all at once.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't much of an actor, but I pored over the books in the library on London architecture, just as soon as I got back amongst the rickety metal shelves. I always wanted to know the workings, the plans behind things, even before it got tangled up in an unfortunate case of morals, and there was something about the lines of the square that spoke to me.

I guess Inigo was the stuff of fantasy a little longer than that.

He was the first one (aside from my dad) to break my heart, too. Turns out there's not much room in the architecture world if you can't actually draw.

All other heartbreaks have seemed sort of incidental, after that. Rashida Jones in year 10, the realisation I'll probably never marry Estelle, any time England have been in the world cup.

Being assigned to the Case Progression Unit.

Lesley, last night. It's like you don't see the world the way a copper needs to see the world - that one's going to stay with me. Like you're seeing stuff that isn't there.

So I guess it all makes sense, really. Poetic justice, or something. I wanted to be a thief taker, wanted to restore some sense of order to the world, but I end up seriously informing a superior officer that I'm ghost hunting while lurking in the Portico of Inigo Jones' Actors' Church. No escaping the Case Progression Unit now, if they even let me get that far.

It was all a bit of a fantasy, anyway.

falcon_2: facepalm! (Someone is wrong on the internet)
Nicholas Wallpenny
"Nicholas Wallpenny"
 Covent ghardedn grhosts
Covent Garden ghosts
who is richard jones
whats that stereophonics song
thousand trees +youtube
who is richard jones + "master of the macabre"
superhero name meme
superhero name meme, alittteration
what would my superhero name be quiz
cpu
cpu -computer
vase progression
case progression unit
case progression unit +useful
has anyone in the case progression unit eve r made avaluable cointtribution?

tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
falcon_2: Peter working (Starling)
Initial Witness Statement - officer on scene probationary police constable Peter Grant.

At 5:45 a.m. on Tuesday January 20th, 2015, I was dragged out of my warm bed dispatched to Covent Garden. At around 1:45 a.m. Martin Turner (DOB 15/7/1987) had reported that he had found a body; upon the forensic team's arrival and decision to extend the secure perimeter, additional personnel were requisitioned from Charing Cross.

My colleague probationary P.C. Lesley May was getting us a much needed coffee was otherwise occupied when I spotted the potential witness to the crime and - after ascertaining that I knew where my extendable baton was that there were no immediate threats to my safety - I proceeded to interview the witness.

Witness: Nicholas Wallpenny, street performer Date of Birth, unknown; Date of Death, 120 years ago or thereabouts. I can't bloody put this in, the higher-ups will have my head. Or worse, my badge.

Wallpenny saw the first man ("him that was murdered") entering the square from James Street. Describes him as having 'military bearing'.
Second man ("him what did the murdering") approached from Henrietta Street. Witness indicates that suspect and victim may have known each other, as both nodded as they came abreast. Can I use abreast? Someone's going to take the piss...
Witness suggested men knew each other as acquaintances rather than friends.
First man allegedly donned a cap and red jacket then produced a stick - witness unclear as to where this stick was obtained or carried - and knocked the victim's head off.
Suspect proceeded to New Row. Witness indicates that there was something 'uncanny' about the suspect. 'He didn't just
change his hat and coat, he changed his face.'

Witness literally vanished before further questioning could take place.

Fucking hell.

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Peter Grant

November 2015

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