The first thing Norton notices as consciousness slowly creeps up on him is that this bed he's in is much more comfortable than the sagging thing in his two-up-two-down in the slums of Waterloo. The room smells better, too. No mould, mothballs, or musty smell of stale pipe smoke from owners past. Ergo, Norton thinks, in the simple logic of the barely awake, he must be in someone else's bed. The hypothesis is strengthened by the sense that there's another warm body near him, not quite touching. This in itself is not an unusual occurrence, but he doesn't remember going home with anyone last night or drinking nearly enough cocktails that he wouldn't remember if he did.
He cracks open his eyes to learn more, and finds himself face to face with an unknown woman. He starts violently, practically falling off the edge of the bed, eyes wide, and lets out a small, short squeak of surprise.
"Oh my God!" And again, for good measure, even louder: "Oh my God!"
II. Death of a Salesman
When the salesman barges in and starts his pitch, Norton nods along as he tries to think of a way to get rid of the man since merely saying "no thank you, not interested in a new vacuum, maybe try next door" didn't work the first time. Or second. Or third.
As the man leaves the room for a glass of water, Norton has a notion that maybe he can quickly sabotage the vacuum, point out how poorly it performs, start making a scene about how the salesman was clearly trying to scam him, and perhaps embarrass the man into going.
Before he can put that or any other plan into action, though, the man emerges and charges at them with a knife. Norton immediately flashes to his training--the Combato a former SOE operative had taught him when he'd become a Torchwood agent--grabs the man's wrist and uses his own momentum to twist his hand and arm back to disarm him, a swift upward jab to knock underneath the man's chin to force his head up, and then a slash deep and curved across the exposed throat, severing trachea, veins, and arteries alike.
Norton's no good at all in an extended hand-to-hand fight but he is good at killing people if he has the element of surprise on his side and he can get it done quickly.
The body drops and Norton blinks a few times, still holding the knife and covered in blood. Bugger. He'd liked this suit. Pinstripes. He looks over to his "wife," still stunned by what occurred. Adrenaline is rushing in now, making his hand shake slightly.
"I'd ask what the bloody hell just happened, but I think the more immediate question is...do you have any experience disposing of dead bodies, darling?"
IV. Home For The Holidays
Norton's rarely met a party he didn't like, but this comes close. He's too on edge after the bizarre last few weeks to enjoy the music and dancing. The space is a bit too public, even the hidden alcoves, for him to be comfortable finding a handsome man to snog, or more. But at least the cocktails are good. And he'll chat with anyone who approaches, his smile as bright as any of the townspeople. Must keep up appearances, at least until he can work out what's going on.
"Lovely weather we're having, don't you think? December's usually so gloomy, but the last few days have been marvellous. Mind you, I am still hoping for a white Christmas."
Norton Folgate | Torchwood Soho | OTA
The first thing Norton notices as consciousness slowly creeps up on him is that this bed he's in is much more comfortable than the sagging thing in his two-up-two-down in the slums of Waterloo. The room smells better, too. No mould, mothballs, or musty smell of stale pipe smoke from owners past. Ergo, Norton thinks, in the simple logic of the barely awake, he must be in someone else's bed. The hypothesis is strengthened by the sense that there's another warm body near him, not quite touching. This in itself is not an unusual occurrence, but he doesn't remember going home with anyone last night or drinking nearly enough cocktails that he wouldn't remember if he did.
He cracks open his eyes to learn more, and finds himself face to face with an unknown woman. He starts violently, practically falling off the edge of the bed, eyes wide, and lets out a small, short squeak of surprise.
"Oh my God!" And again, for good measure, even louder: "Oh my God!"
II. Death of a Salesman
When the salesman barges in and starts his pitch, Norton nods along as he tries to think of a way to get rid of the man since merely saying "no thank you, not interested in a new vacuum, maybe try next door" didn't work the first time. Or second. Or third.
As the man leaves the room for a glass of water, Norton has a notion that maybe he can quickly sabotage the vacuum, point out how poorly it performs, start making a scene about how the salesman was clearly trying to scam him, and perhaps embarrass the man into going.
Before he can put that or any other plan into action, though, the man emerges and charges at them with a knife. Norton immediately flashes to his training--the Combato a former SOE operative had taught him when he'd become a Torchwood agent--grabs the man's wrist and uses his own momentum to twist his hand and arm back to disarm him, a swift upward jab to knock underneath the man's chin to force his head up, and then a slash deep and curved across the exposed throat, severing trachea, veins, and arteries alike.
Norton's no good at all in an extended hand-to-hand fight but he is good at killing people if he has the element of surprise on his side and he can get it done quickly.
The body drops and Norton blinks a few times, still holding the knife and covered in blood. Bugger. He'd liked this suit. Pinstripes. He looks over to his "wife," still stunned by what occurred. Adrenaline is rushing in now, making his hand shake slightly.
"I'd ask what the bloody hell just happened, but I think the more immediate question is...do you have any experience disposing of dead bodies, darling?"
IV. Home For The Holidays
Norton's rarely met a party he didn't like, but this comes close. He's too on edge after the bizarre last few weeks to enjoy the music and dancing. The space is a bit too public, even the hidden alcoves, for him to be comfortable finding a handsome man to snog, or more. But at least the cocktails are good. And he'll chat with anyone who approaches, his smile as bright as any of the townspeople. Must keep up appearances, at least until he can work out what's going on.
"Lovely weather we're having, don't you think? December's usually so gloomy, but the last few days have been marvellous. Mind you, I am still hoping for a white Christmas."