#r: winlip

[winndeavor]

beach bumming || winlip

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

Hey. Phil was standing, now, Winston's same height, perhaps not as broad, and he faces James head on. It's something that, for a single moment, Winston can truly admire. He hadn't confronted James in years, himself, and by the time he'd left, disappearing while Winston was away at his parents' funeral, there'd been little he'd felt was left to fight over.

He'd felt sapped, drained, and most importantly, discarded. Those feelings had left, eventually, but they'd lingered for a long while. Once, James hadn't been so...unnecessarily cruel, not outwardly. A comment here or there would have sufficed, but his nastiness had only grown once he'd had his accident.

Winston no longer felt pity for him, didn't want to help him. He just wanted him gone.

Winston stands, too, his hands flat on the table top, eyes boring into James's face from where he can see it over Phil's shoulder. For his part, Phil seemed to be doing the trick ( someone not willing to back down or away from his comments usually did, Winston had discovered ), but there was still a look in his face Winston didn't like.

Before James could take the step closer, like Winston knew he would, he'd slid neatly between Phil and the other man, forcing James back by the mere fact that, if he didn't, they'd collide. It twinged his leg, that odd step, and he bares his teeth in a nasty grimace, starts calling him every name under the sun.

Winston just laughs, laughs in his face like he'd wanted to before after he'd stopped feeling like crying.

"Security can toss him out on his arse, I think." The words were hard, quiet, but spoken directly to James.

"You stupid cocksucking slag." A brow arches but Winston says nothing. "Absolute waste. You fuckin' owe me. I need my money you bi--"

"You don't get money, James. Not a single bloody dime." Looking closer now, his eyes were blown wide, bloodshot. It was no wonder he was being this way. "Come scrounging again, here or at the office, and I'll have you arrested." Again, he doesn't say, though he knows James thinks it by the draining of the color in his face.

“Hey —” Phillip stood up. He knew he was tall and had some height on most men, even if he wasn’t as broad as Tom or someone. But he knew how to handle fights, as someone who had been in a lot of them. 

If there was one thing his childhood training regime had instilled in him, it was how to hold his ground and not back down. 

“I don’t know who you are, but we’re just trying to have dinner.” Phillip ignored all of the slurs and insults, because frankly, he wasn’t even sure if he should be offended, or if Winston should be offended, or if they both should be offended — 

That wasn’t important. The important thing was that this man was an asshole, and Phillip had spent his entire life dealing with assholes just like this. 

“I suggest you leave quietly, before the restaurant forcibly escorts you out,” said Phillip. “Less embarrassing for you.” 

@winndeavor

[winndeavor]

on your birthday || winlip

@knightley--phillip

Right. So, Winston had a bit of a gift for Phil. And it wasn't a normal kind of gift. In fact, it had been the kind that had come to him on a whim, a few months back, and which he'd poked and prodded at for that length of time, probably just after the trip to Italy.

He's still at the Grove, fairly late, which is all well and good. It works out, you see. He's asked Phil to meet him, says he has something for him. Hopes it's well-received.

Winston finishes tidying the main shoppe floor and unlocks the back entrance once he knows Phil's shown up, offering a good-natured grin when he sees him.

"S'pose I should start with a happy birthday. I'll make it quick, since 'm sure you've better places to be."

[winndeavor]

dinner for two || winlip

closed starter for @knightley--phillip

Winston had been waiting at Remy's for a half hour. Usually, this would not phase him; he didn't mind waiting for a table, nor did he ever attempt to get ahead of those already waiting. That was rude, and he could feel the ghost of his mother looming behind him just at the thought, like she'd come back from the dead to smack him upside the head.

No, he was waiting outside because his client, one traveling from Brazil, was running late. They'd been in contact for many days, had planned this meeting down to the merest second, and she had been delayed at the airport in London. There was nothing to do for it.

Winston did not, however, want to cancel his reservation. He'd not mind eating alone, and said as much when Juliana apologized yet again. He hung up from the call and shoved his phone into his inner coat pocket, checking the time on his wristwatch. He still had time to eat, after all, and why not make the most of a Remy's reservation?

He was just going to head back into the building when someone bumped into him from behind. Winston turns, steadying himself against the wall, brow furrowing slightly, before the confusion and slight irritation falls away at the sight of a familiar face. "You've got two left feet, mate. Dunno where you're walking?" Winston huffs a laugh and shakes his head, before tilting it to look Phil over. "You have a reservation?"

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

Humming out his affirmative, Winston leans his head on his palm and waits, idling. He counts the pattern in the ceiling, scrolls through a handful of emails, most of which he'd already dealt with or would deal with later. The time passes, and Phil is back with his drink – what looks to be a piña colada, complete with lime, cherry, and a cute little green umbrella.

Take it off the top, Winston likes the coconut cream from the toothpick before flicking it at Phil, a small mischievous grin on his face.

He pulls the drink over a second or so later, nodding when he hears the concern. He'd had a handful of piñata colada drinks before, but this one, once he's gotten a taste of it, is different.

"'S good. Didn’t overpour the alcohol, which ruins the bloody thing. The mix of th' citrus an' coconut 's good."

Leaning back in his seat again, Winston considers Phil and the drink, idly stirring his strength around and around the glass. It was a bit weird to figure, particularly if you're trying make it a canned beverage.

"Could always achieve that with 7Up, lime, pineapple juice, and coconut milk. Non-dairy, so it'd have a decent shelf life. Could be your non-alcoholic option."

Take a Sip! || Winlip

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

That is so generous of you.

Phillip nearly chokes on his water, despite Winston's chagrin, and he flicks his eyes over to the other man - now busy with the lunch menu - before turning back to his mother.

He males a commiserating noise about her friend's late father, nodding in all the right places, before choosing his words quite carefully.

"When I've the time I work with homeless youth. There's a shelter, in NTO, and London as well. But anyone who have been....displaced are people I'm quite keen to help." He'd nearly been that himself, once, a very, very long time ago. "Though I also happen to enjoy the arts." When he had the chance, however, he chose other means of aiding people, towns, cities.

Not-Quite Green Thumb || Winlip

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

Looking at Phil, as he nods along, it's clear to Winston he is genuinely interested in what he's saying. It, honestly, throws him off a bit. Not many people knew about his work, just that it was an international company that worked with magicks. They didn't care about the details, just that he seemed to be doing 'good work,' whatever the hell that meant.

But Phil had asked, and Phil was interested, and it kind of made Winston like him even more for it.

As they rode along, Winston considers if he's ever worked with any other islands. Finally, he hums, and shakes his head, grinning a bit. "Nope. Can't say I have. Should be an adventure." And it would be. He had no.doubt about that.

Moat people believed that his business was all stuffy suits and boring business talk, and it was. But, only to a degree. The rest of the time it was flying across the world, shaking hands with people who want to do good, being 'boots on the ground' at a project he'd been making headway on for months.

It was as much part of the risk as it was the reward.

"The Italian law system is...contentious. Magick used to have a prominent foothold in the country, but the religion that'd taken root makes it--" How did he say this politely, without stepping on toes? -- "volatile. There are protests in the streets, in Rome," he clarifies, grin softening.

Winston speaks about this part of his job easily, naturally, but he knows there are some who don't understand that it can be dangerous. Somehow, he doesn't feel like he needs to sugar coat it, with Phil.

"Florence was my original foothold, as they're still the most Magick-friendly, and then I worked my way into Rome. Capri was the next step."

Winston realized, then, that he hadn't actually answered the question Phil had asked. He laughed, the sound warm and a bit embarrassed. If they'd been walking, he'd have a palm curling around the back of his neck. "But, ah, that's a bit more than you probably needed. No, Capri itself is not physically hard to get to. Legally, however? Yes, if it has anything to do with Magick." The laugh encompasses Samson, too, and the horse's 'interest.' Then, he turns to Phil, curious.

"Have you never been to Italy, Phil?" Somehow that was hard for him to think about, to wrap his head around. Winston, of course, knew that people didn't always travel. That, for some -- Winston himself among them for much of his life -- it wasn't in the cards. But Phil? He'd suspected otherwise.

winndeavor​:

@knightley–phillip

“Well, if he didn’t know, he certainly does now,” Winston quipped, laughing quietly as Samson gave a little wuff at them both.

While Samson was ked from his stall and tacked up, Winston made arrangements to take Socks out in a ride. He’d met the smaller horse previously when he’d come to see Billy, so it was easy to tack the animal up. He was familiar enough that Socks trusted his lead easily, despite his somewhat skittish behavior, and they were trotting easily beside Phil and his horse a few minutes later.

Despite only having been on the back of a horse a handful of times, Winston kept an easy seat while riding. Shifting the reins in the grip of his left hand, Winston met Phil’s eye and grinned, surprised he asked.

“An overseas client from Rome wants to put some stabilizing technology into parts of the old city ruins. They’re not necessarily susceptible to magical accidents, but gaining a foothold can be difficult sometimes. Once we’ve established ourselves more firmly there, the intention is to move to Capri,” he explains, free hand gesturing as he speaks. “As an island, we’d want a presence for sustainability purposes, in the event of an accident, natural erosion, etcetera.”

Phillip nodded along. He hadn’t expected to find the conversation as interesting as he did. But he thought about Rome, the old ruins, and how it made sense that they should be protected. There was a lot of art, a lot of history, that was just one bad accident away from disappearing. 

“That makes sense,” said Phillip. “Did you do any other islands before? Are they hard to get to?”

Phillip wasn’t going to share this, but he remembered this one time he’d been called on an Order mission to a small island off the coast of Scotland. That’d been when John and Tom were in the Navy, so Phillip had been with some lads he didn’t know as well. It’d been a bitch to get to — a creaky little boat that barely fit the whole team — and by the time they’d got there, the dragon in question had already destroyed half the small fishing village. 

As if to weigh in, Samson gave a little whinny and a snort.

“As you can tell, he has a lot of opinions about the matter.”

@winndeavor​

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

Phillip Knightley sat and listened to Winston talk about his mum, nodding his head and not saying a word, and Winston knew that he understood, without having to say anything at all.

There was a certain way about these things, you see, and it was always there. In the eyes, the way one carried oneself. The way they smiled thinly, eyes pinched (nervous, didn't know what to say) or didn't make eye contact (a guilt they didn't know how to place). It was all the same, and yet different.

Phil's understanding was kindred, if slightly different, and allowed himself to linger in that knowledge for a moment, waiting for Phil to fill the silence. He did, at that moment before the silence stretched on just a second too long, and Einston found himself grinning, that sadness of his memories dissipating.

Phillip Knightley seemed to have that effect on people, even when he was profoundly, inordinately, sad.

"Thank you." It was quiet, but the words were filled with as much sincerity and warmth that Winston could muster. He stood, careful and always cognizant of his body; Win didn't want to knock into Phil, or his little plant fellow. "Nothing. We've heaps of them, but I wouldn't make you pay for a bloody dropper anyway." He maneuvered himself to the end of the table, would wait until Phil moved, too. "But if you have any questions, or just want to chat, you know where to find me, yeah?"

Succs to Succ || Winlip

winndeavor​:

knightley–phillip​:

@knightley–phillip​

There was always that moment after that admission – that his mum had died when he was young and that he couldn’t always remember her sometimes, especially as he got older – that almost made Winston imagine that was the feeling of a pin dropping. The silence, an awkward sensation that tingled at the hairline because you didn’t quite know what to say but it sat heavy on your tongue anyway, in the back of your throat, and it was so hard to swallow. 

Always, always, it was a reminder. Winston didn’t always mind it. Sometimes he did, when it made his chest feel tight and like he couldn’t swallow right, but that kind of grief hadn’t overtaken him in a long while. Not since the last funeral, anyway, and the reason he’d come back.

Winston didn’t say anything when Phil raised his hand to touch at his arm, the rose tattoo he’d glimpsed beneath shirts and stretched out in the sun a handful of times sliding like an old habit beneath his fingertips. He didn’t say anything, but he knew it was there. It was just as heavy as Win’s own admission, but it was the unsaid kind, the still-painful kind. 

Another type of softness curled around his smile, then, a kind that spoke like it understood without having to say anything at all. It was not pity. There was nothing pitiful about this. Winston huffed a laugh, and his gaze lingered on Phil’s arm, his hand, for a moment before sliding back to his face. “Mm, I think so. She, uh, she liked roses. White ones. An’ tulips. Sunflowers, too. They all grew for her, but those were her favorite.” 

Different names and genus flitted across Winston’s mind, but he bit his tongue. Phil didn’t need to know that his mum had loved the Apricot Parrot tulips the most, the color reminding her of the fruit from the orchard where she’d met his da, sitting underneath a tree. (Phil didn’t need to know, either, that he’d seen the flower on his arm and thought it fit him well, that whoever he’d loved enough to place it on his body must be protection enough from the things that plagued him, even if he never believed it.) 

No, Winston thought, eyes still watching Phil’s face, Phil didn’t need to know that.

My mum likes roses, Phillip wanted to say. And my sister loved them. 

He did not say either of those things. He just nodded, because he wasn’t sure how to say anything that he wanted to say. That he understood what that ache felt like. That he wished he could grow the flowers that his sister loved, except he didn’t know how. But that’s where his mum had come in, growing the rose bushes on his family’s estate, which were the only ones she tended to by herself. 

And Phillip could never go back there.

He wasn’t sure how to say that, because Winston was talking about his dead mum and as much as Phillip rattled his mouth off, he wasn’t an idiot and he knew when he should shut up.

“Well,” said Phillip, because he also knew when silence should not linger, “I think you’re doing a splendid job.” He lifted up his succulent with one hand. “And I’ll do my damn best to keep this fellow alive now — how much for one of those glass dropper things?” 

@winndeavor​

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

I fucking love pancakes. An honest laugh broke free from Winston's chest as he grinned, nodding his head, pulling the pancake mix from the cupboard. It was one his mum had taught him to make when he eas a boy, and which he still used today. It was easy to make, and tasted better than store bought.

He started cracking eggs, adding milk, butter, and vanilla extract. As he worked, he listened to Phil talk about John and Tom, about the fact he was a pretty shite cook, and that he could make toast, of all things.

"Sure," he said agreeably, good humor curling crinkling his eyes. "Sounds like a good cure, in all honesty. But, I could teach you. To cook, if you'd like. Give you something else to make besides toast to pay me back with." There was a hint of teasing in the tone, though he didn't know if Phil would hear it, having had as much to drink as he had.

Winston turned, spatula in hand, and cocked a brow, an easy grin on his face as he leaned his hip into the counter. He'd placed fat dollops of batter onto the griddle, and they popped merrily behind him. Watching the side of Phil's face like he had before, when they were walking, Winston waited for him to speak again, turning to check the pancakes every so often.

"Well, you aren't an idiot, for starters. But...the best way I can describe it is...we take care of people. If there's a disaster, Magick or mundus, the company sends people out to help rebuild. The technology we use is meant to help repair the pieces that were damaged in buildings, towns. Provide a stronger core infrastructure so if it happens again people dont get hurt, buildings aren't irreparable. My primary clients are Magick-friendly, but I'm starting to campaign for footholds in hostile countries. My sister is our Chief Technology Officer. I just offer a face for the company."

Again, there was a joke laced into his words; Evelyn hadn't come onto the company until later, after Winston had built the foundation, garnered the funding and his backers. Together, it was what made them work: Winston was the smile, the heart. Evelyn was the head. It was, however, Winston's company. He held the majority of the shares and ensured they never strayed too far away from what his original vision had been.

winndeavor​:

knightley–phillip​:

@knightley–phillip

Winston nodded to himself, filing away the ‘yes’ on the food and water and the ‘no’ to the spare clothing, trotting into the back room to toss his suit jacket across a chair, toeing his shoes off by the door.

He came back a few minutes later in a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, snagging Felix’s food cannister as he came back. Felix was sniffing at Phil’s hand, his two front paws perched on one of the other man’s thighs, and Winston shook his head, a fond little smile curling around his mouth.

Felix was sweet. That cat had been the one good thing he’d had after leaving London.

Winston shook some dry food into Felix’s bowl before setting it at the edge of the floor between the living room and the kitchen, turning at the waist to answer Phil. “Just us, yeah. Didn’t used to be but, uh, ’s better. Last bloke wasn’t the…best person, near the end.” He didn’t know why he’d mentioned James. It was probably why Phil had tagged on what he had at the end of his own statement.

Turning back to the cupboards, Winston started pulling things down, searching for a whisk and a bowl, something for his hands to do. “You like pancakes, Phil? I haven’t eaten, wouldn’t mind making any.”

“I fucking love pancakes,” said Phil. He was petting the cat, though he couldn’t actually remember petting the cat. “John makes ‘em the best. I mean, not that either Tom and I can cook much, but even besides that.” He laughed a little. “I’m notoriously bad at anything involving a stove.” He paused, thinking about it for a bit — but also for dramatic affect, and then added, “But maybe one day I’ll pay you back with my famous toast. I can do toast. Toast and bacon and butter — great hangover cure.”

He had a feeling he was in for one of those bacon sarnies come morning. He’d sleep past noon, that was for certain, sleep through John yelling at him to wake up, sleep though Tom’s god-awful early alarm, sleep through Gilly and Fly barking up a storm. The only thing that ever did keep Phil asleep was being drunk, which was probably not a great thing, but it worked. 

He leaned his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, then decided to ask the question that had been on his mind since he met Winston — 

“Can I ask you something? What the hell does DevTech do? I read the site and I feel like an idiot ‘cuz I don’t get it.” 

@winndeavor​

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

Again, Winston waited, wanting to play off the other man's words like he had before. It was nice having a reading partner who actually knew what they were doing, and Phil certainly seemed like it. Winston-as-Harry would definitely have been a bit starstruck by Bill, would definitely have looked a second too long before realizing his mistake. Harry was a closet case, sure, but he could still look for a second, couldn't he?

As the ( presumed ) authority, Winston decreed that he could.

He was pulled out of his own thoughts about the character by the bloody awful American accent Phil was forcing himself to use. The chuckle from before was a full-bodied laugh, then, and Winston had to stifle it with his wrist to quiet himself down.

"That -- that was possibly the worst American accent I've ever heard." But seriously. What was that subject change? Shaking his head, Winston flipped to the next page, eyes roaming for his next line. "And I've had to work with people from the States. Not that they all sound so bloody awful. Must be a gift. Ah...our Sam continues for another ungodly long minute and then Harry's riveting 'Who?' Sam prattles on about Donna," he mumbled, reading through the line in his own rendition of an American. "--annnnd your go."

The Name of the Game || Winlip​

winndeavor​:

@knightley–phillip

Winston waited for Phil to read his line, watching as the other man played off the Harry persona expertly. There was a sort of Vibe here that worked really well, but it was certainly, eh, intriguing.

Looking at his next line, though, Winston couldn’t help the small snort he let out, breaking character for all of a second. Then, Harry was back, clearing his throat sheepishly and giving a little laugh. He even rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing at Phil from the corner of his eye.

“Travel-books are my passion. A distraction from the daily rigors of the London rush hour.”

╰⊱♥⊱╮╰⊱♥⊱╮╰⊱♥⊱╮╰⊱♥⊱╮ 

 Phillip wanted to riff here — this would be the perfect time to riff, wouldn’t it? Bill says something funny about how he hates being trapped on the subway, ‘cuz the view is horrible underground, but maybe say something about how if Harry was there it wouldn’t be so bad —

Wait — was that a pick up line? Would Bill be flirty? Bill would be flirty. With a bloke? Maybe? 

Phillip cleared his throat, turning the page.

“Uh it’s Sam’s line here — “ He cleared his throat, putting on a very bad American accent. “Do you want to hear something really interesting? Do you see this taverna? — Wow, way to interrupt the conversation, Sam.”

@winndeavor​

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

On the outside, yes. It did look like Winston was asking Phillip to leave. But, it wasn't Phil he was worried about.

James was coming closer, a knowing smile on his face. There was something cruel in it, something that lit up his eyes in that malicious way Winston remembers, the way he'd once believed had been humor, good will, but was now just dark, twisted, and nasty. There was another look there, too, that Winston remembered and he hated it.

Wanted him to leave, wanted him gone.

Then, he heard Phil, and his voice, asking what was wrong, if he was alright. Winston's gaze moves from over Phil's shoulder, shakes his head. "No. No I'm not. And I'm not...I wasn't asking you leave, though maybe you should. He -"

Winston's eyes stray back behind Phil, jaw still clenched tight, and breathes slowly through his nose.

"He isn't nice, Phil. I don't want him -"

"New little cockwhore, Winston?" A scoff, as James slouches up to the table, just off and to the right, teeth bared in a grin as he studies Phil. It makes Winston want to wring his neck. "Here I thought you were done with all that faggot nonsense after me."

"Not quite," Winston says, voice rough and posture rigid, anger burning in his face. "But he isn't any of your bloody business, James, and neither am I."

Phillip had never seen Winston like this.

One moment, he had been smiling and laughing, having a nice conversation. The next, the grin vanished from his face and his jaw clenched, his shoulders drawn back and tight. It was like a rope pulled taut, the difference, and it startled Phillip for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Phillip asked. Winston had just asked him to leave — well, ask was putting it nicely, but Phillip figured that whatever had happened would excuse any lack of decorum — but Phillip wasn’t going to leave. Not when Winston was clearly stressed. “Are you okay?” 

@winndeavor

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

A laugh escapes at Phil's face, the wide-eyed incredulity and coincidence of his most recent read. Tilting the phone a bit so Phil could see better was easy, and it makes his smile grow wider when Phil keeps talking.

"Oh, not as high as you'd think, and certainly not in a town like Swynlake," Winston says, still amused and, quite frankly, amazed at the connection and the happenstance of it all. It might have been a bit odd if it were someone he didn't really know, but Phil was an English major, first of all, so it wasn't really all that surprising that he'd read or enjoyed Simon's book.

"Hm? My favorite?" Well, no one had really ever asked him that before. He had to think about it. "Probably his...third, Dark Prey. It was a bit of a literary/thriller/fantastical fusion. Most people don't prefer it, but I'd watched him build it from the ground up, same as I did his first. That one's his favorite, I'd think."

That one had started his career, yes, but that one had been the first story he'd ever let anyone -- Winston and Andrew -- read. Had been the first he'd finished and queried with. The third had carried them through most of a friendship, part of a relationship, and their mutual breakup, but it held a far greater place for Winston, even still.

“Wait — I literally just finished Cry of the Devil.”

Phillip resisted the urge to snatch the phone away from Winsotn so that he could zoom in on the photo and make sure that this wasn’t totally photoshopped and that Winston wasn’t keeping track of his Goodreads. Now of course that was the more unlikely situation here, so Phillip just laughed and leaned back in his chair. 

“What are the odds? I mean, pretty high considering how much he’s written. I guess higher on your end that you’d meet someone who just read his second newest book than on my end meeting the best college mate of the author I have most recently gotten into.” 

This was still very weird. Phillip was kinda geeking out. Not that Phillip ever really geeked out. Well, his default state was being pretty enthusiastic about things, so it wasn’t much different from when he talked normally. Still, there was a spark in his eye.

“Do you have a favorite of his? What’s his favorite, actually?” 

@winndeavor

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

Phil's hands are shoved into his pockets. Winston can see, too, that he's looking around, examining all of the roses, the rows of white and red, pink and yellow, that spanned the length of the greenhouse. The air was sweet, too, and comforting. It always was.

Turning away from the row of pretty pink roses that had a few drooping leaves, paused to look at on the way, Winston grins widely when Phil points at the roses tucked away into the back row. Black and red, a mix that became darker as the petal grew out from the center, entirely black along its edges or vice versa, those were what Winston had brought him here to see.

"You haven't. They're new. Those are the roses I've been working on, a crossbreed between a German and a Turkish rose. Happened by accident, but they've not been seen in the genus before."

He pauses, glancing over at Phil, both excited and amused.

"I've been calling them Rosa militarie - the Knightly rose." Winston gestures toward the rest of the row, smile softening ever-so-slightly. "Happy birthday Phil."

Phillip stepped in front of Winston, hands in his pockets, looking around. It was all roses back here, rows and rows of them, all sorts of colors. Many reds, of course, but also white and pink and cream and all shades. Phillip inhaled, taking in the rich, sweet scent/

Was this what Winston had brought him back here to see? Phillip wondered. He had mentioned he liked roses, and the tattoo on his forearm certainly cemented that fact. He liked roses because they reminded him of his sister and his mother and he liked them because people wrote poems and poems about them and he liked them because everyone had some feeling about them, even if the feeling was ugh, what an overrated and cheesy flower.

Phillip didn’t think they were overrated. Phillip thought they were marvelous.

“Oi — what are these?” Phillip’s eye caught sight of a strange color, one he’d never seen before. He pointed to the roses tucked in one back row. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like this before.” 

@winndeavor

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

Winston is surprised, just a tad, when he hears Phil say that he doesn't have a lot planned for the day, that he was not, in fact, throwing some sort of enormous party for himself. Or, more likely, that his mates were. The only thing he could think that prevented it was, perhaps, a little one. Winston remembered, vaguely, that Phil had mentioned Tom having a son, that they shared (or almost shared) a birthday.

Still, he doesn't say any of that, just arches his brows, tilts his grin, and nods for Phil to walk past him so he could close and lock the back door. They'd leave through the front, he figured, since it left off right onto Main Street.

He snorts a bit at the option -- a disco nap or a Monster -- and shakes his head. "Well, I figure a nap'll not leave you wholly passed out after whatever plan you have. And it's less awful."

Truthfully, Monsters tasted like the bottom end of a shoe.

Gesturing for Phil to follow him, Winston starts walking further into the depths of the shoppe, paths familiar but not quick, since Phil wasn't used to all the ins and outs of the back office parts of the building. He leads them out into an outer area, still connected to the building, but situated for the greenhouses.

"So, you might know that we sell and buy flowers, succulents, etcetera," he begins, looking over his shoulder and slowing his pace a bit, hands falling into his trouser pockets so he doesn't wack the other man in the face while he speaks. "But what a lot of people dunno is that, if you've the proper licensing, you can grow things here, too. So, I did."

Winston grins, a bit then, and glances over at the other man.

"Wanted an opinion on them, before they're licensed and such."

Phillip didn’t actually have a lot planned for today. 

In the past, maybe he’d throw a rager at the house, but since there was now a small baby in the house (who’s first birthday was tomorrow!), Phillip could not do that. He’d made some plans to hit up Pixies with his friends — and he’d also gotten brunch with his mother, who’d stopped by in town — but for the most part, Phillip’s day was a beautiful blank canvas.

So, he got coffee. He read more of the book he was in the middle in. He hooked up with Lacey in her shower. He went rollerblading with Tigg. 

And now, he was meeting Winston at the Garden Grove, ‘cuz Winston said he had something for him.

Phillip smiled back at Winston.

“Thanks, mate! I don’t really have anything to do before tonight, though. ‘Cept taking a disco nap. Or chugging a Monster. Depends on what I’m feeling. So!” He clapped his hands together. “ What’s this big surprise of yours?”

@winndeavor

[winndeavor]

closed starter for @knightley--phillip

Winston almost felt like he'd rather have been playing as the needy, awkward closeted man from Mama Mia again. Almost.

Embracing oneself during pride? Sure, fine. That was one thing. He'd been doing thst pretty much his entire adult life. But bloody hell - Love Island? And Shakespeare?

Kudos for originality but did he have to wear the bloody necklace?

"I feel like a bloody chav," he mutters shaking his head as he walks into town hall, hangs a left, and heads to the back room he, Phil and probably a handful of other ensemble cast would be fucking about in for the afternoon while the actual cast ran their lines.

"Oi," he calls upon catching sight of a familiar figure, "what's she got us doin' today?"

Playing with a beach ball? Running through fake sand? Lord only knew.

[ outfit ]

beach bumming || winlip

[winndeavor]

@knightley--phillip

Phil was being serious. Winston knew that, just like he knew he was really trying. There was a difference, he'd noticed, between a Phil that was taking the piss and one that was not. And he wasn't here.

He wanted this to succeed, and Winsotn wanted him to, too.

So, he nods, still swirling his drink around in his glass. "Promise I won't be heavy handed, yeah? But they'll listen. An' if they don't, I don't mind investin'. I already told you that. Now, what's th' other one you've got for me?"

Take a Sip! || Winlip