londoncallingmods: (Default)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods posting in [community profile] londoncallingrpg
London was a magic epicenter of sorts. Between doors to The Otherside, dormant and active portals, and an active wizarding community, it was a hub of energy, more so now than it had been for quite some time. The city was experiencing a magical renaissance of sorts- Which sounded lovely and made it a prime place to be for those exploring and studying magical energies, but wasn't so wonderful for London's more 'normal' sorts.

Magic didn't care if you were a dark lord or a banker, if it liked you, it liked you- And it was impossible to guess who it would like.

Today magic energy was at an all time high. Another blip in the usually somewhat steady stream of power that flowed through the streets. As a result, odd things were afoot- From mischievous inconveniences, to darker disruptions. Unlike the portals, these bothers were a touch more subtle, creeping up unseen on the unsuspecting.

Last time around the magic had seemed lighthearted and playful- And some of it still was, but... There was an intensity to some of it this time, harking back to the troubles that seemed to roll around every Halloween now. Something wicked was caught in the current, and while it wasn't out to harm everyone, it did seem keen to target a few.

(OTA. Just like the last time, the magic can affect your pup however you see fit. Unlike last time, however, some of the magic has taken a darker turn. It doesn't have to do something wicked to your pup, of course, but the option is there now. This post will be open from 7/18-7/28 or longer if needed. Tag in, tag others, and check back often.)

Date: 2017-07-18 08:34 pm (UTC)
winter_wisp: (floofy)
From: [personal profile] winter_wisp
Vacation with Phouka back with his kin had been grand. The grandest. The most grandy-grand anything could ever be. However, Winter was pleased to be back in London. He'd spent most of his time around his kin walking on eggshells, terrified he might infect them all with his new mortal sensibilities. They didn't need that, they had pure joy, and deserved to hold onto it forever and ever. Here among the mortals, however, Winter was free to have as many existential crises as a pixie could possibly have.

And gosh, had he ever been having them.

There was the matter of death and dying, which crept up on the pixie often, leaving him wide-eyed on the sofa in the middle of the night very quietly weeping over those he'd lost, and those he'd inevitably lose eventually. This was always followed by fear of his own death, where the pixie would pour over his phone looking up all the ways his body could fail him if it ever got too mortal- And all the ways it could be destroyed by mortals, many of whom seemed prone to that sort of thing.

The pixie worried about money, the pixie worried about abandonment. The pixie worried about the current political climate, and if a nuclear war could end him. He worried about his friends, he worried about Phouka. ...He worried until he felt sick, then did what any sensible pixie would do- He ate pizza and watched telly to make his brain shut up for a while. Still, pizza and cartoons could only do so much, and while he had considered living the rest of his life on the sofa, that nagging feeling of wasting precious time (that was constantly being taken away from him every time the clock ticked) was enough to nudge him out of the tree house for a bit.

He'd spent the morning busking (without charming anyone for a change), and was trying to decide if he should buy pizza or actual groceries when he felt a sudden chill. It was familiar, too familiar. That feeling of being watched- Watched in a way that made him want to curl up in a corner and wrap his wings around himself.

He felt eyes on him, and when he turned on the sidewalk to see who it was, it was as if his heart had stopped.

Aspid looked younger than Winter had ever known him to be, but the pixie knew those eyes. He'd know them anywhere. They haunted his dreams even now, after all this time. They were etched into his skull, where he knew they'd remain forever.

"You're not here," the pixie said softly. "You're not here, it's a trick- You're not here, Aspid."

Aspid said nothing, he only moved closer. Winter wanted to run, but he found himself stone still, taking in the short brown locks that he'd always known to be white and stringy, and the short cropped beard that was nothing like the wiry stubble the wizard had so often sported.

"I am though. I'm right here, Winter. Look at me- Touch me, if you like," the wizard offered. The suggestion alone made the pixie recoil.

Aspid moved closer, and Winter- Winter was lost. In that moment he was nothing more than a child. A tiny creature, helpless and lost, and when Aspid gently caught hold of his arm, the pixie whimpered.

"No, I don't want to go back. Please, don't make me go back," he whispered.

"I'm not making you do anything, Winter. You'll come back, because you want to come back," Aspid assured him, giving his arm a light tug, and smiling when the pixxie seemed to let himself be pulled closer.
Edited Date: 2017-07-18 08:37 pm (UTC)

Date: 2017-07-19 01:58 am (UTC)
sauntereddownward: (Default)
From: [personal profile] sauntereddownward
Crowley was all for widespread sin. The more people he could taint with a simple, small action pleased him greatly. Some demons were traditionalists, working on one soul for a whole lifetime. Crowley, on the other hand, preferred a patina of evil over the whole of the country. He'd orchestrated things like the inconvenience of spotty cell service, and he'd devised the Odegra formation of the M to breed unhappiness.

But today he'd come up with a truly diabolical plan. It was simple really, just a bit of backdoor coding and a bit of obfuscation so it couldn't be so easily undone.

Crowley had implemented autoplay on Facebook videos.

As people scrolled on their phones, every video they passed screamed at them. Cooking videos, politics, tear-jerking tales of survival, and all the drunk videos of people's mates last night. Every single one of them played, and played loudly. On the tube, on buses, at work, in cafes and on the street. People were so angry to be forced to listen rather than read captions. It destroyed privacy and the ire of the entire world went up ten notches.

Crowley was so very pleased with himself. His magic was truly diabolical today.

He sat at a cafe sipping a lovely red wine and watching the crowd go by. Magic was thick in the air today which was, frankly, a bit of a concern. But the demon was radiating Pride and no flittery bit of sparkle in the air was going to drag down his mood.

Date: 2017-07-19 03:02 am (UTC)
wispofathing: (Somber)
From: [personal profile] wispofathing
He was always just there at the edge of her perception.

It should be impossible. Rockhouse had turned Brushy to stone, and as far as she or anybody else was aware, he was quite literally stone dead. And yet...

And yet today as she played her set on the corner, she had seen him passing by across the street. She had seen him on the train, she'd seen him in the convenience store, she was watching him now as he ducked into an alley just as twilight was fading into dark. She knew what would come next and she stood and watched as a shape shot up toward the sky and flashed across the moon.

Her eyes blurred with tears. "Brushy, you get the fuck back here!"

timed to 7/25

Date: 2017-07-19 06:59 pm (UTC)
finlay_flynn: (b&w out and about)
From: [personal profile] finlay_flynn
Fin returned to London as quietly as he'd left. He'd shuffled off a plane, dragging his single bag, avoiding the paps and people's phones as best he could, leaving his return to be little more than whispers on Instagram, Twitter, and Snapchat. From the airport he'd Ubered home, back to the flat that was now empty. ...Will had left, and Fin wasn't sure how he felt about that. He thought he ought to be heartbroken, but he wasn't. After all, he'd left first.

He was looking thin again, a bit boney and a touch scruffy, and after scowling at his reflection for a while he'd slunk off to get a haircut and a proper shave. His hair had been creeping past his shoulders, but after a snip it was just below his ears and looking much tidier.

Cleaned up and settling back into his usual routine, Fin was making his way to his favourite pub when he felt it. ...Magic. Wild and intense. Though this time it didn't trigger a transformation into the fox. Instead it clung to him, fizzing quietly in the air around him and tugging at his fae sensibilities. It left him looking paler than usual, slightly less human, and he seemed deeply distracted as he came to a stop on the side of the pavement.

Date: 2017-07-20 05:41 pm (UTC)
harrowgate: (reading)
From: [personal profile] harrowgate
Felix Harrowgate was having a picnic.

He was stretched out comfortably on a blanket in a shady area of a park in a rather posh part of town, surrounded by various sizes of earthenware containers, some with lids and some without. Now and then he nibbled from a glass bowl or drank from a paper cup, and turned a page in the satisfyingly enormous book he had spread out over his lap. From a distance, he seemed to be having a grand time.

Felix Harrowgate was not -- of course -- actually having a picnic.

Beneath the natural cotton blanket, the ground had been carefully cleared of leaves, twigs, and the tiniest little pieces of wood or rock. The wizard had sketched a painstaking runic circle in the earth, and then set his concealing disguise over the top of it. The small ceramic containers held a variety of alchemical materials, grounded in their containers. Only the tea in his cup and the fruit in his glassware were not actually part of the magical experiment that Felix was conducting, all under the guise of a relaxing summer afternoon.

Date: 2017-07-21 12:12 am (UTC)
dr_spencer_reid: (clashing colours)
From: [personal profile] dr_spencer_reid
He'd been in London for 78 hours, ten minutes, and approximately 43 seconds as of right... Now. The decision to come had been impulsive, and maybe not well thought out, but with his mother back in full-time care and his badge and gun still locked away somewhere with no known timeline on when they'd been returned, it had seemed like a good idea.

It had been the only idea he'd had, actually, but Spencer stood by it. He needed to see Hotch, and while no one would tell him where the other man was, Spencer had narrowed it down to London. He probably should have narrowed it down a little more than that before hopping on a plane and finding an Air B&B to call home, but- Well, he was already here. No turning back now.

JJ had called, Emily had called, Garcia had called (maybe eight times), and he'd lied to them all. He'd insisted he was just on a much needed and overdue vacation, but he knew none of them believed him. ...He also knew none of them could just drop everything and come get him. ...Maybe Emily, but he wanted to believe she trusted him enough to let him do what he needed to do.

Honestly, right now he wasn't even sure what his next step should be, and he let himself get lost in thought as he cut through a park to avoid the temptation of a bookstore across the way. ...Though maybe that was a mistake since today the park seemed to be packed with distractions, starting with the group of people who were standing on a small bridge, watching tiny lights dance across the water. It was an illusion, it had to be, though at a glance Spencer couldn't see how it was being done.

"You know, a lot of British folklore talks about pixy-light or pixie lights. It comes from the idea that pixies would lead travellers away from the safer and well worn paths and into the bogs with soft glowing lights. In Cornish folklore, Pixy-Light also has associations with the Colt pixie, which is a pixie that's taken the shape of a horse so it can lead other horses astray..." he told the person next to him, before catching himself and looking sheepish. "Obviously this is just an illusion though. There are probably lights under the bridge and mirrors in the water."

Date: 2017-07-21 08:32 pm (UTC)
offthebeatenpath: (no words)
From: [personal profile] offthebeatenpath
There was a particular quality to the chill that came from ghosts, and when Em felt it curl along her spine to raise the hair at her nape, she turned, looking, not letting herself hope she'd see the walking chiaroscuro that was her cousin or any of the Soul Train. No Sabine, but the flickery blue glow of a spirit as its form resolved into something recognizable – a 70s era punk cussing out his mates for leaving him behind, then asking Em for a fag when he realized she could see and hear him.

A couple hours later, Em had the start of a headache from the ghosts surrounding her needing help or wanting attention or just to talk to someone, anyone after however long they'd been dead. The ends of her hair caught and flicked by the spectral wind raised by having so many ghosts around. "One at a time. Please!" she snapped in exasperation, beyond thinking what she must look like to anyone who couldn't see her phantasmal following.

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