OTA

May. 26th, 2016 06:28 pm
yves: (pensive)
[personal profile] yves
For the most part, these days, Yves was less interested in what mortals labelled as 'the occult' and more what they called 'science'. Honestly, in his mind the two were somewhat interchangeable. Potions were just drugs dressed up in pretty bottles, with slightly more exotic ingredients. Operations were dark magic rituals preformed under bright lights, where swapping out and removing bits, while funnelling in fresh blood and carefully picking the right poison to keep the subject alive, was painted in a strangely pleasant light.

So he switched between the two without a care, even letting them overlap on occasion. Though mixing the dark arts mortals called medicine or progress with the more obscure potions and rituals of his own kind, could, on occasion, result in some odd occurrences.

It had been a lovely day today, not too hot, not terribly cold, with a zero chance of precipitation. ...So the sudden thunderclouds and vicious downpour that rolled over central London in the span of twenty minutes was, actually, a bit shocking. Yves had been working on something special, but was aware he'd made a misstep when he heard the crack of thunder outside.

Making his way up from his basement, he grabbed an umbrella before stepping outside and looking up.

"Curious," he said mildly. Apparently mixing olanzapine with a weather stone, and the essence of a freshly killed wraith, had interesting side effects.

OTA

May. 3rd, 2016 08:35 pm
finlay_flynn: (fluffy headed boy)
[personal profile] finlay_flynn
The 'sex tape' had turned out to not be much of a tape at all. It was only about five minutes long, and appeared to have been filmed on someone's camera phone. It was a bit kinky, yes, involving handcuffs and quite a bit of filthy talk, but... Honestly, Fin thought it was quite tame by his standards. 

Still, it was out, and every media outlet had seemed to have something to say about it. The reactions ranged from shock and moral outrage, to long think pieces about how refreshing it was to see a sex tape that seemed genuinely candid, to even longer think pieces about the death of privacy. Though Fin's favourites had been the ones that pretended to be outraged that the clip was so short, and the few who'd been bold enough to reach out and talk to him about it.

In the end, loathe though he was to admit it, Crowley had been right. Owning it, in this case, had worked in his favour. The press and public were, for the most part, taking it quite well, and other than a few jokes on morning radio and late night telly, he'd come out unscathed. ...In fact, it had even opened a few doors for him. Over the past few days a few scripts had landed on his desk that he was positive he'd have never seen a week ago. Racier roles, roles that, for a change, didn't only cast him as straight. 

Sure, he didn't want to fall into a pigeon hole of only playing gay men, but... Well, he couldn't say he wasn't eager to play a part where he'd be a bit more himself in some way.

It was all very freeing, and he was in a better mood than usual as he loitered outside his favourite club, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the cool night air.

(Find Fin outside any club. If you're feeling spicy, it can be a fetish club, if you're feeling tame, just a normal club. XD)
lcrpg_npc: (Default)
[personal profile] lcrpg_npc
The Queen's official birthday celebrations might wait for the better, brighter weather of June, instead of the actual date just passed, but there was no lack of things to do in London this week, even if it was cooler and damper than the week before. St. George's day festivities were scattered throughout the city, competing with celebrations of the four hundredth anniversary of Shakespeare's death. Getting around the city could be even more difficult than usual on Sunday, with multiple streets closed off for the London marathon.

There were exhibits - everything from graphic design to a survey of Sicilian history to the influence of underwear. And the same level of diversity could be found whether you were in the mood for music, theatre, good food, or late night fun. There was something for everyone, and no matter your plans - or lack of plans - you never quite knew what you were going to find, or who might find you.



[Week long gp! Tag in, tag others, and check in daily to see who's joined in.]

ota

Apr. 6th, 2016 02:26 am
quartermaster_q: (?)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
"What part of 'I want you in my office first thing' didn't you understand, Q?" M had asked, and Q had instantly known what sort of day it was going to be.

He'd arrived at work exactly six minutes late, which was bad enough. However, the fact that he'd gone right to his lab, rather than the main building, had only made matters that much worse. Having his lab in the old bunker was, in his opinion, for the best. It meant there was no need for sound proofing, and unlike the new office, it was safe from prying eyes. Security was his prime concern, but he also simply didn't like feeling as though he was in a glass box. The bunker was better. Old, sturdy, built to withstand mishaps and keep out anyone Q didn't want in.

However, when one was expected to be in the boss' office first thing and forgot, it meant that one would be even later than they otherwise might have been.

So his day had started with a scolding from an already irritated M, and had only gone downhill from there. Nine had managed to completely obliterate a perfectly good (and terribly expensive) boat, and ten, having nothing better to do with herself, had spent the majority of her day poking around the lab and attempting to pump information about Bond out of him. ...Only to follow up with an attempted seduction. To be fair, having ten practically pin him to his own desk while she purred in his ear hadn't been unpleasant. Truthfully it had been the highlight of his day. However, he had been in the middle of attempting to repair a new pair of video glasses at the time, and when he'd managed to find it in him to turn her down, they'd somehow wound up beneath the heel of her terribly attractive louboutins.

No doubt he'd be back in M's office the moment the older man received Q-branch's expense report that month.

Still, all of that paled in comparison to how his day had ended.

He'd taken the tube most of the way home, getting off a stop early to stop off at Tesco's. The cats were running low on food, and he was badly in need of some decent wine and overpriced cheese. 

It was a short walk, one so familiar that he didn't even bother to look up from his phone as he went- Which was, in retrospect, a mistake. He'd been in his own little world, so much so that it took him a beat longer than it should have to notice the knife against his side, and the man who was standing far too close behind him.

Well, wasn't that just perfect, he thought as the man shoved him against the wall. What a brilliant end to a brilliant day. He had mace in his bag, a knife as well, and as the man let the tip of the blade press against his neck, he tried to decide which to reach for. ...He certainly wasn't about to hand over his wallet after all. It had been a gift.

finlay_flynn: (pensive and beardy)
[personal profile] finlay_flynn
He'd been working on the book since just after he'd lost his vision, and after a few re-writes and a lot of changes in his life, it was finally finished, and there was finally a release date and cover art.  On May 17th Fin's book, The Rough Spark would be released, with a short book tour that would follow. 

Tonight, however, was just about celebrating its completion and the impending printing, and Finlay had rented a large hall and invited all his friends, and his friends friends, to come and celebrate- And hopefully get the word out.

A large poster hung on the back wall, displaying the cover art they'd finally settled on. It wasn't flashy, but Fin felt it was a good fit, a single shattered light bulb with one tiny ember still burning inside. The party had a dark industrial feel to it's décor, but like any celebration it was also full of food, music, and drink.

(OTA. It's Fin's party, but treat it as you would any GP! Also, feel free to assume your pup received an invitation somehow, either via a friend or from fin himself.)
just_hex: (Schofield Green)
[personal profile] just_hex
He'd gone traveling that day when The Doctor and Ace had turned up. It was The Doctor's way of saying he was sorry, taking Hex to Scutari to be useful during the Crimean war. He was there a month, knee deep in blood and a slave to time. He tried to help the soldiers but he didn't have the tools. It was hard even to get the rest of the medics to wash their bloody hands. He was there a month, a month into the siege, and up turned Florence Nightengale. His idol. It was a biography of her that had spurred him into nursing in the first place. And things went along until The Doctor turned up again and he and Ace brought everything to a head...and that was when Hex got shot. A musket ball pierced his chest and he knew he was dying. The technology and supplies of the time couldn't save him, but it was nothing for 2016 so The Doctor and Ace got him into the TARDIS and back to London. He was treated in his own A&E, given the best of care, and patched up in no time. When he was out of surgery he got his phone from Ace and sent off a text, a long one, just to let them know.

But he had to stay and stay in bed as much as he could stand it. He was bored as could be and sat up in bed, picking at his bread pudding and mashed potatoes. The telly was on and he saw the news about a bomb blast in Lahore and it reminded him too much of what he'd seen in the war. Blood and death.

He clicked the tv off just as the door opened. It was too soon for more medication so he sat up straighter and looked to see who it was.

{One off and EP all in one.

OTA

Mar. 3rd, 2016 07:18 pm
finlay_flynn: (yellow)
[personal profile] finlay_flynn
The music had been loud and thumping all night, booming and vibrating through the floor and into his bones. Words faded into synthetic chords, humming and buzzing, until it was less a song and more a sound. The music was constant and thrumming in a way that raised you up to euphoric heights and refused to let you back down. Was it good? Did it matter if it was? This wasn't Mozart, it wasn't about talent or leaving a lasting mark. It was a quick buzz, a long toke. It was a good night set to a heavy bass line, meant to be enjoyed only in the moment, not picked apart and analysed, or judged and critiqued. It was bubble gum, meant to be chewed up, and then spat out the moment it lost its flavour.

By the time the DJ's set wound down to something slow and soft, Fin was still as pale as ever, but he felt flushed and bright inside. There was glitter in his hair and caked to his skin, gold and shimmering as it clung to his cheeks and the exposed line of his collarbone where his shirt hung half open. With a cigarette between his lips he looked more like a rent boy than a well known star, and few seemed to recognize him as he loitered outside the club, smoking and letting the cool air help him come down.

He'd shaved recently, and without the beard he looked years younger again. It offered a hint of anonymity, something he was glad to take advantage of as he watched couples come and go. It was freeing, and it made him a touch bolder as he stopped the next person to pass him by.

"Got a light?" he asked, stubbing out his finished cigarette and pulling out another. "Mine's dead."

OTA

Feb. 18th, 2016 09:06 pm
winter_wisp: (moar kitty)
[personal profile] winter_wisp
Death was a thing Winter had learned to accept at a very young age. Pixies, like all living things, eventually met the end of their lives. Some long, some short. Pixies didn't really age, and their lifetimes were limited only by the fates they met with, but death was inevitable- If a bit unpredictable.

So when Winter received a note that morning, passed through the mirror and left neatly on his pillow, telling of the passing of his dear friend Bluebell, he wasn't sure what to do. Part of him was angry- Angry that another of his kin had been killed in yet another fae battle. Part of him sorrowful that he'd never dance with dear Bluebell again. And part of him... Part of him was troubled.

Troubled by the memory of his parents, who he'd watched suffer in flames. Troubled by the memory of Aspid's death. ...And, of course, troubled by the knowledge that death would one day come for him also. 

He'd spent the morning laying on the floor being sad, then lunch time hiding in his doll house, refusing to have his tea. By mid day he was in the park, sprawled out in the grass and surrounded by the stray cats he often fed and played with. ...The ones that weren't allowed in the flat any more.

"You're all going to die as well one day," he told them. "It'll probably be you first Mr. Nibbles, you're always diving in front of cars. They'll squish you, you know. Squish you flat."

The cat only meowed and swatted at his shoelace.
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
As the city said goodbye to January, February rolled in quietly behind it. The weather remained mostly unchanged, though the streets seemed slightly emptier as the majority of tourists left. 

Still, there was no shortage of things to do this week, from a rare book event, to swing dance classes. There were also a few art exhibitions opening, and the usual events at the museums. Plenty of concerts and shows to see... Not to mention up and coming pubs, restaurants, and new and old cafes that seemed to always be alive.

There was no excuse to be bored in a city like this. No reason at all.

(Week long gp! Tag in, tag others, and check in daily to see who's joined in.)
yves: (pensive)
[personal profile] yves
Yves was not a handsome man really, striking, perhaps, but not classically attractive. He was tall, with slightly sunken features and cheekbones that appeared sharp enough to slice open skin. His eyes were a mix of blue and green, like an artist's watercolours spilling over out of their pots, and his hair was- Well, his hair was curious indeed. Sometimes a soft dark brown, other times a shocking white. People asked him about it often, and Yves would only shrug.

"Does it matter?" he would ask. "Blonde, brunette, it's only hair..."

A little magic though, and anyone too curious would simply stop noticing it had changed.

Today it was brown, slightly slicked back as he stepped out of the hospital and pulled his coat tighter around himself before making his way down the street. He had a few things to do before he retired home for the evening, he intended to stop by the book store to pick up something new to read during his breaks, then his favourite take out for a meal, then the wine shop for, well, wine. Little luxuries, small treats to make the week less tedious.

He was just arriving at the bookshop when a beggar called out to him, small, slender- Old and yet ageless somehow. His shoulders hunching forward sharply as he pointed at Yves.

"I know you. I know you, butcher," he snarled.

Yves only raised a brow, pulling a five pound note from his pocket and enchanting it with a brush of his thumb.

"A butcher to some, a healer to most," he said as he pressed the charmed note into the beggar's palm. "I'm sorry, old friend, but I fear you know nothing."

The beggar looked frightened for a moment- then smiled as he looked at the note.

"A healer," the beggar agreed. "A hero."

"Not a hero, heroes live in myths, my friend. I exist right here."

He put his finger to his lips then, a silent gesture, then headed into the bookshop at last.

(OTA! Late tags and ST welcome! Check out the ooc post I put up here!)

OTA

Jan. 9th, 2016 04:11 pm
wandandawolf: (Default)
[personal profile] wandandawolf
Not for the first time in his life, Remus got up and looked at London. The Ministry had arranged for a stipend and an apartment in town: and with typical Ministry efficiency and precision had gotten him a flat in one of the new developments in Docklands, not far from Canary Wharf. It was the sort of thing that most people would be fighting over in an auction and the Ministry thought it wasn't 'too flash' because most of their maps of Muggle London dated from the 1860s.

So in the morning, Remus had a cup of tea, some fruit with yoghurt from the fridge, and simply sat on the couch in a dressing gown and enjoyed the view. The city spread out below into the distance: he could see grey city block after grey block, with the London Eye and Westminister tucked in behind the Eye, and the Thames winding through the landscape. It was all so different, and every morning, it was all so present. Sirius would have loved exploring it, until he got bored, and Lily and James would have taken Harry to all the museums, and - no.

Not for the first time of late, Remus felt a stranger in his own town. So after breakfast, he did his usual: he showered, slapped on some clothes, and prowled the streets a little with his wand tucked away safely. He had a notebook with him, and a pencil, with a list of all the shops and places he remembered from 1980, and he was slowly working through and crossing most of them off....

A wizard-friendly jewelers his father had liked to used was still trading, and the son-of-the-father who had served Remus' father remembered him. But all Remus could think about there was his mother's wedding ring, and the little locket he'd bought Lily and the spells he'd bound into it, and so he walked on.

In the other pocket of his tweed jacket, he had a battered copy of Milton. There wasn't much to do with his days other than park himself at a cafe and read, nursing a pot of cooling tea for hours. He had to decide something at some point, he knew he did. Just not yet.

It had been a bustling Friday, for all the sharpness of the wind: Londoners out and about, tourists thronging the pavement, a mix of scents and sounds to assault the senses. Easier to stick his nose in a book and shut it all out.

The evening crept up on him gradually, and Remus curled the thick scarf he had around his neck, jamming a flat cap on and tugging on some gloves. They only lasted until he found the nearest pub, a hive and dive of pretty young things doing what pretty young things did best. Standing at the bar, he perused the liquors on display, before selecting something that looked a vile yellow. He didn't easily get drunk thanks to a certain enhanced constitution, but trying to get absolutely wasted had more appeal these days than it used to.

"Augh," was his reaction: it was sickly-sweet and so, so strong. "That is absolutely vile, and I will definitely have another." He grinned at the person next to him, a little manic, a little too desperate to be joyous: "Would you like to join me?" Money was not a problem. Company was.

[Have a Remus. Feel free to meet him anywhere on his journey: bump into him on the street, find him at a cafe, or chat to him in a pub. Most supernatural types should tell he's a lycanthrope wizard a mile away.]

OTA

Jan. 6th, 2016 06:23 pm
winter_wisp: (sing)
[personal profile] winter_wisp
Being mortal was boring. B. O. R. I. N. G. He couldn't fly, couldn't be small, couldn't talk to Philip or the cats, couldn't play in the tiny house Fin and Will had bought him. ...But that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was he didn't feel like a pixie. Even in Aspid's cage, he'd been a pixie, he'd been himself. Now? Now he wasn't sure who he was.

His hair had gone white again, and though he'd spent his pocket money on hot chocolate with extra cream, he did not feel the familiar buzz. It was sweet and pleasant enough, but boring. ...The world was boring. The answer to that boredom, in his opinion, would be to buy a mortal game to play- But games cost money, and without his powers Winter had no way of convincing people to simply give it to him. ...He would have to work.

After a lot of thinking and sulking, he'd settled on busking as Fae Willy did, going home and finding his little keyboard. Fin had noticed what he was up to, and after eyeing the tiny cat shaped keyboard had offered to take him to buy a proper one- One Winter could pay him back for later. Not a gift, but a loan.

Armed with a proper keyboard and a microphone, Winter had spent the day practising. Music came quite naturally to the pixie, and with a fair amount of songs to play he'd set out to find a good spot near the park, where he'd quickly set up and started playing. An hour later and his jar was half full, and he was smiling as he played one of his favourite songs from Fin's magic little box of tiny singing mortals- The radio, Fin called it.

When he finished he was smiling, pleased that he'd made some money, and feeling a touch less miserable about the whole mortal thing. Enough so that he thought he might call it a night and go get a beer. ...Just one this time.
goodfellow: (chair)
[personal profile] goodfellow
One month ago, one of Soho's trendiest and yet least profitable dance clubs closed its doors. There were rumors for a while that the space was going to be turned into an upscaled gym, or perhaps gutted and chopped up into boutique shopping. But not much of anything seemed to be happening until just after Christmas, when the trucks were constantly parked by the service entrance and there seemed to be a flurry of activity.

Meanwhile, anyone who was anyone received a VIP invitation to the "pre-opening" of SATURNALIA, soon to be London's newest hot spot, but in the meantime hosting a huge party to ring in the new year. Togas optional but encouraged. Also receiving these invitations was anyone who even remotely knew Robin Goodfellow (or Rob Fellows), though his name wasn't on them.

The doors were also open to anyone, a line and bouncer required only because the space could only fit so many. But Robin had instructed the bouncer to be creative if not random with who he let in. As far as he was concerned, pulling in a street urchin or two over the hot starlets would not only improve the atmosphere but be good for business in the long run.

The doors opened at 9pm, and the place filled steadily as midnight approached. Inside, the club was clearly not finished, and there were many trappings from the previous space still in place - a large dance floor, several bars, private rooms, a couple of small stages for performances, an impressive elevated DJ table. For tonight, the theme was clearly one of the decadence of ancient Greek - decorations in gold and white and stone, replications (one would assume) of famous artwork of the time, including a number of statues. A copy of "David" cast in stone was a centerpiece, set up in an area that encouraged partygoers to take selfies.

The bars were not open, but prices were much cheaper than they should have been, coupled by the occasional appearance of Robin in his (somewhat skimpy) toga and gold-cast laureal wreath crown to hand out shots, mead, or wine to random partygoers. The point of the party was clearly not to make money but to build buzz, and from the length of the line outside after a couple of hours it was clearly working.
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
Merry Christmas!
You are invited to celebrate the season with Finlay Flynn and Willy Silver.
 
When: Christmas Eve (5pm – Midnight)
RSVP: By Email (SBMNGR@ldnmgmt893.co.uk) Before 19/12
 
Upon entry you'll be given a ticket for one free drink. All drinks after that are 5 each. There will also be a free buffet in the dining area.
 
Dress code: Casual, but tidy please!
 
Raffle: Come wearing a festive sweater and you will automatically be entered into a raffle to win a 65 inch TV.
 
Donate: Bring three tins of canned food to be donated to the local food bank, and receive an extra drink ticket.

Look forward to:
A live DJ, live music, an appearance by Santa, gift bags with deluxe swag, and the company of old and new friends!

 
(OTA! Happy holidays! If you know Fin, Willy, Phouka, or Winter, feel free to assume they gave you an invite. If not, you can say your pup got an invite through a friend of a friend, someone who knows someone, ect. It IS invite over (no gate crashing pups please, Fin's a giver and would want everyone to feel included), but the pups hosting the party are pretty active and I believe they know almost everyone in the game. And the people they don't know surely know people who do. Even if you only met them once, you got an invite somehow! This gathering post is open all week, and beyond!)

OTA

Dec. 15th, 2015 07:50 pm
finlay_flynn: (Default)
[personal profile] finlay_flynn
Since losing his sight, Fin's drug use had tapered off considerably. He still smoked a joint now and then, popped the occasional pill, but he'd learned he was better off having his wits about him. ...Since having it restored he'd done little more than drink, too busy to be high if he was honest. More importantly, he no longer felt the need to get high. He didn't crave the feeling of being numb or outside of himself anymore. He was content and happy...
 
So why did he take the pills he was offered after knocking back a round of shots with a co-star? Why was it so easy to give into old vices? Why did it still feel so good? After another shot of something strong, he knew he wasn't thinking straight any more. He had sense enough to pay his tab and head for the door- But somewhere between the exit and hailing a cab the young actor seemed to forget just where he was going or why he'd been in such a rush to get home.
 
Moving onto the next club he ordered another drink, and gladly accepted a line from a familiar face in the restroom. Someone he'd worked with once- His name forgotten, but supply good.
 
He was on the dance floor next, moving in time to music he didn't care for. Then outside on the curb, shaking hands struggling to light a smoke. Until eventually he was on a bench in the park, head pounding and eyes shut tight as he struggled to stay alert.
 
(OTA, Find Fin at any point during his night. In the club or out, your choice. This is timed to take place Thursday night, but I thought I'd toss it up early. Late tags and slow tags very welcome. <3)
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
With cold weather rolling in and taking over, it seemed as though London was as eager as it could be to embrace the seasonal traditions of sharp blades on ice and food in faces.

Many ice rinks had opened this weekend, though Canary Wharf was by far the most impressive one. Large, beautiful, and not too busy if you came at the right time of day. Music played at a pleasant volume and the ice was littered with young and old, couples and singles, novices and show-offs... Anyone bold enough to strap on some skates.

Elsewhere in the city there was food to be found at the Foodies Festival. A place where you could find not just fine food, but also live-music, carollers, photo-booths and team quizzes.

It was a quiet way to start ringing in the holiday season- Or simply just enjoy the brisk weather that had crept in and was here to stay until spring.

(Gathering post! Set over the weekend, but open all week long to new top levels and tags. Tag in now and check back in often!)

OTA

Aug. 14th, 2015 06:48 pm
dr_spencer_reid: (a lack of colour)
[personal profile] dr_spencer_reid
 It had started a week ago. Spencer wasn't completely sure what had triggered it, but he had a feeling it was something to do with the fact that he'd finally read the official report on Tobias Hankel. It was something he'd put off for over a year, but it was always on his mind... It was no surprise really that he'd found himself accessing the file at nearly three in the morning, his laptop not nearly as comfortable as a paper file as it rested on his knee.

Only a day later he was having nightmares. ...By the end of the week he was craving something he hadn't wanted in a very long time.

Getting over his addiction to dilaudid had been hard, and the temptation to return to it was constant even when Spencer was at his best. So when the itch started to become unbearable, he finally forced himself to return to his meetings, sitting near the back and taking comfort in the fact that he was surrounded by people who were struggling with the same things. ...It made him feel less alone. Less weak.

After the meeting he'd made his way to his favourite coffee shop, where he sat at his usual table, with his usual order, and his usual stack of books. His gaze was slightly sunken, and his face gaunt and tired as he sipped his coffee with one hand, and turned pages with the other.

OTA

Jun. 6th, 2015 01:55 pm
just_hex: (BW Profile)
[personal profile] just_hex
Hex had been working his bloody arse off for this competition. He'd been lifting and working on poses, he'd dieted and cut salt to make sure he was as vascular as possible to earn those extra points, and even though he knew it was terrible for his skin he'd been tanning enough to get a good color. His speedo was the same colour as his eyes. With butterflies in his stomach he took the stage with the other competitors.

The crowd was mad. Loud as hell, but with the stage lights Hex couldn't actually see anyone but the judges.

When he did his poses he could hear Caro and Mark hooting in the audience but he kept himself from smiling until he was done.

In the end he didn't win top prize, but he took second which wasn't bad. He got a trophy and the praise of one of the judges on the definition of his abs and back. He was puffed with pride and after a quick clean up and dressing he joined the crowd for the reception afterward in the lobby of the theater.

OTA

May. 15th, 2015 08:41 pm
finlay_flynn: (crouch)
[personal profile] finlay_flynn
It was in all the papers- His abduction, the fact that he'd been taken by a mad man and held for days... There was no avoiding it, no hiding. He'd been forced to do some press, but more and more, Fin found himself hiding from the world at large.

At the moment he had a very large pair of Prada sunglasses, the lenses dark enough to hide his eyes. The surgery he'd had a few months ago had done wonders for his vision, allowing him to see shapes and colours for the first time since he'd lost his sight. However, after being held in a cage and practically starved to death, it was very nearly as poor as it had been before the operation.

He sat at a table near the back of a cafe he used to visit when he wanted to get his thoughts down on paper. It was a much harder process now, but he was doing his best as he tapped away at the keys of his laptop, doing his best to ignore how his hands still trembled now and then.

He'd always been thin, but he was damn near skeletal now. A waitress paused to top up his tea, then lingered a moment longer.

"Are you sure you'd not like anything to eat, Fin?" she asked softly, careful not to draw any attention. "We've got lovely muffins..."

Fin shook his head a little, swallowing hard. "No, thank you," he said quietly. "I'm fine- Really."

She shrugged and walked away, and Fin clenched his fingers into a fist, hoping it would stop him from shaking.

(OTA! I know there are a lot of ST and backdated threads going on still/yet to be started for this plot, but I missed my twitchy little actor. :x)

OTA - Debut

May. 8th, 2015 06:14 pm
the_hastings_way: (coffee and chit chat)
[personal profile] the_hastings_way
"What about school? Melissa, I graduate in June!" Spencer snapped, still attempting to pack her things as she spoke.

"Mom talked to the school, they've arranged for you to take your classes online as part of a 'Study Abroad' program. You'll have to write a few extra papers, but you'll graduate this year- Likely early," Melissa replied, calm despite Spencer's panic.

Melissa was a good two inches taller than Spencer, and though they had similar brown hair and features, Melissa always looked colder somehow. Even in moments like this, when she was simply trying to protect her little sister, she was noticeably older, and her expression was guarded. Almost as if she was worried even the slightest crack in her walls would let all her secrets out- And boy, they both had a lot of secrets.

"One of my best friends is about to go on trial for murder, Melissa!" Spencer snapped, throwing her floral, Tory Burch pumps into her bag as she spoke. "Am I supposed to just not be there for her?"

Melissa seemed to bite something back, chewing her bottom lip, then pursing them tightly for a beat before speaking. "They've offered her a plea, Spence- All she has to do is name her accomplice, and she gets off with a few years in prison," the older Hastings said quietly.

It was only then that Spencer stopped what she was doing.

"You think she's going to name me? Melissa, I didn't kill Mona," Spencer said, her voice tight and unsteady.

Melissa held one hand up, making it clear she didn't need to hear whatever Spencer had to say. "But you did try and strangle her once in front of a room full of people- You're the police's favourite suspect, and we both know that if Ali goes down, she's going to take someone with her- Spencer, we both know she's always had an axe to grind with our family."

Hands trembling, Spencer sat down on the edge of the bed.

--- --- ---

That had been three months ago. Three months in London, and Spencer was starting to feel like herself again. Living with her sister wasn't ideal, but it had as many perks as it had problems. Sure, it was awkward now that Melissa had gotten back with Wren, the man who'd kissed Spencer the first time they'd nearly been wed- And It was a little strained since Spencer had hooked up with Melissa and Wren's room mate... Though Spencer felt certain Melissa had picked the gorgeous, well educated man to share a flat with to insure Spencer had no reason to pay any attention to Wren.

Spencer rolled her eyes at the thought, leaning back in her seat as she sipped her latte and continued to people watch. She'd finished school early, just as Melissa had predicted, and despite her panic that she'd never get into any University ever now, she had been offered a spot at King's College in the fall- Thank's to Wren, who had a friend there.

Honestly, everything seemed to be back on track. It was perfect, everything she'd ever wanted... So why was it she felt so hollow?

Perhaps it was because she'd abandoned her friends when they needed her the most. Or perhaps it was because she hadn't heard from Toby since she'd flown out here...

Her phone chirped, and she absently picked it up. Once upon a time she'd flinched every time she received a new message, but it had been over a month since her last A text. Maybe she was finally safe. Maybe this is what they all should have done from the start.

However, when she slid her thumb across the screen to unlock it, her latte fell from her grasp, hitting the tiled brick where she sat outside her favourite cafe. Coffee and ceramic scattered around her feet, but Spencer's eyes were on her phone.

Don't get too comfy Spencer. It's your turn next. --A

Below was a photo of the latest issue of the Rosewood gazette, featuring a photo of Alison being removed from the courtroom in handcuffs. The headline was large and bolded, and only one word. 

Guilty.

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London Calling RPG

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