Tintin and Dirk Gently's holistic reporters agency

{{ HEY. HEY YOU. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND BLOODY FANTASTIC AND PHENOMENAL AS WELL.

{*SHRIEKS* Thankyou TinTin mun! that means so much coming from you }

{{ tintinreporter }}

               "You're not lost are ya, bud? See- I haven't got the foggiest idea of where I'm goin', but the last thing I need is directions from someone who's just as clueless as I am. "

random rp event

Rastapopoulos had had a nice sleep, or so he thought. All had been normal for the most part. He went to sleep at a normal time, he awoke at a normal time. For him, all was normal until he woke up. When he awoke, he awoke with no idea where he was and no memories of what had happened the past 40 some odd years. 

Frightened and confused, he yelled. He looked himself over to see if he was hurt. He was in good shape- well, he would have been perfectly normal if it weren't for the fact he had been reverted back to 2 years of age.

Rastapopoulos was a toddler.

Reports and Villainy (Gru and Tintin)

Wherever he was...it was certainly not the suburban neighborhood he was used to see everyday... The roads were incredibly narrowed and the houses stood in rows next to each other as if somebody pressed them together. The sun was behind some dark clouds that had wetted the streets and roofs with the muggy summer rain before he found himself in this weird city.  He felt so...so out of place in this region that he almost felt bashful.  But why? Normally, he didn't care about what others said or thought about him. Yet, here, in this foreign area...he felt insecure. Gru walked along the street in silence, eyeing every corner and every little thing that he could spot, but still he had no idea where he was and how he ended up here. The worst part was, that he left his phone at home, Margo needed it to text some friends of hers, and now he was somewhere in the nowhere and was, apparently, lost....

A Story You Can't Publish || Closed RP with tintinreporter

Anastasia briskly wiped the auburn strands of hair off to the side and out of her face, courtesy of the small breeze distracting her from the crime scene not too far away. With blue eyes, she observed as police men gently pushed back the nosy few people that quickly grew to a crowd as an ambulance with a gurney passed.

She huffed as she glanced away, annoyed, before quickly looking back. And why would she be annoyed on this particular summer day with perfect temperature and weather? The Russian redhead was rather vexed with the way the scene was shown to be.

Sloppy.

Unprofessional.

Shameful.

Anastasia could list the number of reasons why she was disgusted with this scene, other than the fact that an innocent life was wasted on a job that could have been done without a drop of blood spilled. Interesting enough the two bumbling, identical Interpol officers were here as well.

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards as she watched the pair, certainly amusing the two were. She knew of one particular winter spirit that liked to cause as much mischief to the two as possible but it was only because they didn't take it personally (not that they believe in Jack enough to know he was the culprit) but always seemed to take it into stride. It's arguable that many of the spirit world find them favorable and have a fondness for the two.

My, my, my. What is this?

She raised a brow at the sight of a young lad, probably close to her physical age, with a cowlick of red hair as he talked to the two officers with a small white dog by his side.

Ah, yes. This was the magnificent Tin-Tin she heard so much about. So he's interested in the case...from what she could tell from his body behavior, his own observance of the crime scene, and what she could catch from reading his lips--he certainly was.

Now wasn't this a dilemma? Mr. TinTin has an issue with keeping his nose out of certain things that don't need him in it. And this situation was one of those scenarios.

Clicking her tongue, she bowed her head as she kept her eyes trained on TinTin. This would be interesting indeed.

((Hnnnn....))

((It's 1:30 am over here and I'm going on a camping trip tomorrow so I gotta go to bed soon....

but I also haven't finished my replies, nor have I packed any clothes or anything. 

Alright, well, here's how it'll go: I'm going to log off for the night so I can get my stuff together so I'm ready to finish loading up tomorrow. If I have time I'll respond to whoever I still owe before I leave(I believe that would be Mel and Draco, but let me know if I'm wrong) and leave ya'll to it.

But if I don't manage to squeeze in enough time, I'd like to apologize for having you wait for a good 4 days for my reply, and thank you for the patience.

I'll miss you guys and I'll talk to you later after the trip :)

Sweet dreams everyone~*))

 It had been raining for days...and not the kind where the heavens open, but the kind that plummets onto everywhere from the cape of black clouds above. The kind that annoys or  pleases people, depending on their perspective, and the kind that seems to cover up the artificial coating of the city.

 Giuseppe Maréus sat on a rusty shape of a seat at a tram stop, watching a letter that had absorbed as much gutter water as it could, sail along. Destination: drain. Should I save it? He thought, what if it's important? He did the same that so many of us do in those situations and waited until he could conveniently do nothing more about it.

 As the letter was persuaded, pushed and pulled into the underground, Peppy looked up at his umbrella and shook it. A rusted joint of the frame came loose and ripped some of the fabric off. The rain raced through and bled into the laceration. His trousers were getting wet. Karma.

He'd been eyeing up the diner for a while now and his usual routine of second thoughts came to a sure and sturdy primary thought: "Let's just bloody go in there."

"A quick sketch I made at the docks."

First Aid

"And you only tell me this now?"

"I apologize, my lord, we had overlooked--"

"Nevermind. I will get them myself."

Elrond bit back an irritated sigh; out of all the opportunities to run out of athelas, why now? Why now, when he had three wounded warriors that lay on the brink of death?

He did not bother discarding his heavy robes and his silver circlet for more simpler clothes suited for riding, and immediately made his way to the stables. He only brought with him a small cloth pouch that had the faint minty scent of mixed herbs.

He galloped off as soon as he mounted horse and turned east, where tall and thick bushes alike lined the edge of the earthen path. He stopped and got off after a few kilometers, kneeling down at the plants the crept and sprang from the ground, then picked at them with deft hands and the keen eyes of a hardened healer.

A thud and a rustling could be heard in the bushes not far from him, but he paid no heed to it; there were more important things to be done.

Heheheheh, I've got him now! And no matter what Tintin does, it'll be too late!