ota

Jul. 3rd, 2017 04:15 pm
london_spy: (soft smiles)
[personal profile] london_spy
There was a point in Danny's life where he could easily draw a line and say that was the past, and this was the future. Or maybe it was more a matter of what kind of person he was, versus who he could be if he wanted to be something more. Either way, it all boiled down to pre Alex and post Alex. Danny had gone from a life of drugs, drink, and as much debauchery as any human could handle, to a life that was almost domestic and normal. ...Then, of course, there had been post-post Alex. A strange pocket of time spent unraveling mystery after mystery, all while swimming in uncertainty and terror- Like Nancy Drew trapped in some sort of conspiracy theory filled snuff porn.
 
Life in a post, post Alex world was just chaos, and a sinking feeling of dread that hung about just close enough to always be felt. It had left him an even bigger mess than he'd been before they'd met. Though he supposed it would be odd if he'd somehow come out of it all as a well adjusted, functioning member of society. You don't wade that deep in the government's bullshit and come out better for it. You just didn't.
 
What had happened with Jack the other week, and the confession from Hex that had followed soon after, had left him on edge all over again. Danny found himself fearing a repeat of everything that had happened with Alex- And though that should have meant he was more vigilant than ever, the hopelessness that had come after learning the truth about the death of last lover lingered on even now, and rather than fight or prepare for war, Danny did what Danny did best. ...He fucked off and got fucked up.
 
There were certain things you couldn't take when you were on HIV meds. Technically he shouldn't have been taking anything, but if you knew how to walk the tightrope, it wasn't so bad. The blues were fine, powder was alright, but the reds were right out. They'd make him crash hard, and getting your stomach pumped on a Sunday night wasn't anyone's idea of a party. He was buzzing though, two shots of vodka, one of the blues, two lines... Pulse was a bit quick but that was alright, that was fine. Everything was fine. 
 
Everything was great.
 
He didn't know who was dancing with, but they were warm and they moved just right. They moved exactly right, and Danny was so good at this. He didn't have a single life skill you could put on a bloody resume, but he could do this. He was king of the fucking club scene, darling. He was swagger and lust, and as the bpm got higher, so did he, never missing a single beat.
 
"You're bloody brilliant," he told his dance partner, leaning in and speaking right in their ear. "Buy me a drink?"
 
(OTA, late tags and slow time super welcome! Danny is stoned out of his skull, but in a good mood. ...Yay? Feel free to kill his buzz or encourage this wicked behaviour.)
willysilver: (Princely)
[personal profile] willysilver
The Solstice was upon them. When the sun went down the magic began to swell, the veil between this world and the Other Side thin as vapor. Mortals could sense it, even, though they may not have a name for it. They gathered together, not realizing the animal instinct of safety in numbers.

But all around the city, from the dark parts, fae began to come together as well. Unseelie filled the city- boggarts and Red Caps and things unseen for many a year with bright eyes and sharp teeth. But they were tricksy, dangerous and malicious but no worse than they ever were. The real threat, the ever present danger this year, were the Milesian that crawled out of the sewers and tube tunnels to prowl they city. They were hunting tonight. They had eyes black and soulless, eyes too wide for their white, gaunt faces. Larger than their eyes were their mouth. The smile of needle fangs glinted in the street lights. Long arms ending with spidery, spindly fingers reached and clawed at passers by from the shadows.

There was a war in the city tonight and the nature of the foe, the Milesian, meant no bound mortal needed to be near any battle. Death would come to one or the other if a killing blow came down.

But there was hope. Seelie fae prowled the city as well, fighting for Light and Air. Even the Queen had seen fit to step through with her sword and shield. Such was the threat to the Fae way of life that the Milesian presented.

The longest day of the year dawned but the sunlight did nothing to frighten off the dark forces. The longest day of the year simply meant the things that went bump in the night were attacking in the light.




(Tag in, tag around! Open all week so check back. Have fun with your adventures. If you don't want any Milesian, there are plenty of Unseelie, too. Day or night, whichever works for you.)
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
The weather this weekend wasn't worth getting excited over, but it was fair enough to justify some time out and about. Stores were packed with new stock, cafes were brimming with life, and as always, London herself was buzzing with activity.

In South London Pop Brixton was celebrating its second birthday, offering up DJs and live performances, along side plenty of food and drink vendors. Though if your mouth's watering and that's a tube trip too far, you could always head on over to Westfield Shepherd's Bush, where you'd find a fun food truck festival. For those looking to fill up with girl power rather than pudding, you could always head over to the Powerpuff Girls pop up shop. As always, there was no shortage of things to do this weekend.

The news was still packed with election chatter, and talk of the concert for Manchester, but if you took a peek at twitter, you might find a little conspiracy brewing all about one Finlay Flynn- Who's management was currently fighting rumors about his disappearance. Little theories kept popping up, showing how his twitter feed seemed slightly off, or how filming for his BBC 3 show had been suspiciously delayed. There were youtube videos discussing it, threads on various online forums, all chattering about how the actor who was so often spotted on the tube or in pubs was suddenly absent. A silly little bit of internet crazy for most- But an unsettling reminder of his absence to those in the know.

Still, London stopped for nobody, and the city was in full bloom, just as it was every weekend.

(OTA! As always the GP will be open for at least a week, so tag in, tag others, and check back often!)
quartermaster_q: (what?)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
Q's interest in one Finlay Alexander Flynn, actor, writer, and possible supernatural being, began and ended with one Thomas Hector Schofield. AKA, one of a handful of people Q considered a friend. However, despite not being a main focus of interest, Q did keep tabs on him- As he kept tabs on most people who came in and out of his life, and the lives of his friends. It wasn't an all consuming hobby or anything, but in quiet moments Q like to track them down, one by one, and just have a quick peek in to see who was up to what. Glances at browser histories, a glimpse of CCTV. Most of it was boring, but now and then something of note would catch his eye, urging him to watch a bit longer.

Often it was something too personal to get involved in, like a glimpse of Hex's boyfriend getting high behind a club, or one 'Captain' Jack Harkness very definitely keeping tabs on his current lover. However, tonight was less personal, and more unsettling. Most of his surveillance of Finlay Flynn was fairly mundane lately. He worked, he went home, or stopped off for a pint. It was nothing like it had been a year or so ago, when his presence had seemed to cause all sorts of interference with CCTV and various other bits of tech. So Q wasn't sure what it was that made him watch the actor for more than a few moments tonight. Something just seemed off.

Flicking between cameras, he watched the young celebrity do a fair job of avoiding the paps, before looking up the actor's usual route home and frowning at how off course he was tonight. A glance at his calendar and texts showed no evidence that he'd be headed anywhere but home this evening, and yet he seemed to be winding around London in the most impractical way. Not a scenic route either, really. Not unless you liked looking at skips.

He'd been watching for a solid ten minutes before the cameras finally caught a glimpse of something odd following behind him, a strange shimmer that seemed to warp and distort the camera image just a touch. Finlay wasn't just off course this evening, he appeared to be evading someone- Or, rather, something.

Frowning, Q pulled out his phone to text James, and perhaps his contacts at five- However, before he could even start to type, Finlay was simply gone. ...Vanished. Rewinding the footage, it was as if the man had simply blinked out of existence, and the young Quartermaster found himself reaching for his coat as he sent out a text to every contact he trusted and headed out to Finlay's last known location.

(OTA! Fin is missing, and will prolly be missing for about a week IG time. Feel free to assume Q texted your pup if they know one another well, or to simply spot him on the street searching for Fin. Late tags and slow tags are all very welcome, and if you want to be more involved with Fin's mini plot, feel free to nudge me in email or on slack. <3)
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
Lucky in love or not, London was a lovely place to find yourself on Valentine's Day. From romantic walks through various parks, to intimate dinners or shared deserts in the many restaurants and cafe's- There was something for everyone, because if wandering or dining wasn't for you, well, there were plenty of organised events to attend.

London couldn't claim to be the city of love, but it was certainly a city of possibilities.

OTA

Jan. 22nd, 2017 08:03 pm
kersen: (male: wet)
[personal profile] kersen
Kersen sometimes did this thing where when he was feeling his worst, he tried to look his best. Elaborate drag when he was the most down, for example. Like maybe he could force cheerfulness with sequins and lipstick.

This time, he couldn't seem to muster up the energy for drag, though. What "look" said 'I just found out a lover is a serial killer'? Particularly coupled with 'what does this say about my taste in men'? Finally, he'd just gone with the forced cheerfulness: dark purple leather pants and a shirt (gifted to him by an employee years ago) that read OF COURSE I'M PRO-GAY, DO YOU THINK I WORK THIS HARD TO BE AN AMATEUR GAY in bright rainbow colors.

... also he'd started smoking again. Which was a little ironic since he was pretty sure that any effect they had on him was purely psychosomatic.

However, at the moment he was having a smoke break outside his bar. It was fairly early yet, just past 9pm. The streets were still full, lively with people leaving restaurants and shops, heading into bars and theaters. He liked this time of night, where the world was still alive. Wished he could experience more of it.

Some asshole walking by threw a homophobic slur at him, and he was briefly, stupidly tempted to flash his fangs as a threat. Instead he said, "The most fabulous you'll ever see, honey," and flicked the cigarette to the ground. Luckily it was the cowardly sort of asshole, and he just stuck up his middle finger and kept walking.
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
Fin and Will had rented out the entirety of the theatre where Fin had gotten his big break, then brought in staff to deck the pace out in holiday cheer. The centrepiece was a grand looking tree that stood centre stage, with a DJ set up to the left, and Santa to the right, who was taking photos and handing out this year's goodie bags. Some of the seating had been removed to make room for dancing and food, but the balcony remained as it always was, for people to rest and get a good view of the celebrations below.

No expense had been spared, but it was, overall, a causal affair. Those who weren't competing in the ugly jumper contest were asked to dress tidy, but comfortably, so they could enjoy the festivities of the evening. From the music and food, to the affordable bar and little area set up to fill out cards and make donations for the local children's hospital.

Invites had been sent to their friends and loved ones, and inside each invite they'd tucked a few more so their friends could invite their friends also.

All and all, it was set to be a wonderful night.
lcrpg_npc: (night)
[personal profile] lcrpg_npc
The repurposed railway arches that housed Beagle's bar and restaurant were decked in shades of black: black christmas trees glittering with sparkly and satiny black ornaments, black wreaths with perfectly tied bows, black garlands draping along the walls and bar, ribbons edging the long banquet benches in the restaurant dining room. A gentle snow seemed to fall from the ceiling, a specially designed lighting effect much more pleasant than the cold and wet that would've accompanied real snow. Christmas music played over hidden speakers, setting the mood without interfering with conversation.

The Kraken Black Christmas feast was a different spin on the holiday than you'd find most places, and yet, a christmas feast all the same. All the flavors of the season were there, both in the bar's specialty cocktails and in the feast itself, served banquet-style to those fortunate enough to get tickets - mulled wine, egg nog, roasts and stuffing and puddings, and so much more. Yet the food and drinks all shared the same theme as the decor, shades of black augmented with squid ink, charcoal, or black sesame seeds.

Guests had been encouraged to continue the theme with black festive attire, but it wasn't required, and spots of color could be found here and there along the table or mingling in the bar. There was one thing everyone could agree on, though. No matter how black the theme, the mood was anything but dark.
londoncallingmods: (spoops)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
The weather today had been fairly pleasant, a mostly sunny day wedged between fairly grey ones. It wasn't warm, but the chill was minimal for this time of year, and there wasn't a drop of rain in sight. As night crept in, however, the streets slowly faded from sun kissed and painted in autumnal colours, to foggy and damp. An odd thing, really, since the forecast had predicted a clear and pleasant night.

It wasn't normal fog either, it was denser, thicker, and it carried an distinct scent, like cinnamon sugar and chestnuts. It was so thick it seemed to drain the streets of their colour, leaving the wold desaturated and grey. More importantly, anyone with a bit of magic in them would sense, quite quickly, that it wasn't of this world. It crackled quietly with power, dark and heavy. Unfriendly.

It was around nine pm that the local police stations began to receive calls, things they assumed were pranks at first, but soon began rolling in so quickly and frequently that it seemed something more was afoot. The evening news spoke of mass hysteria, warning people to stay indoors. Conspiracy blogs were lit up with chatter of chemical warfare, and some 'airborne drug'. There were reports of people seeing everything from long dead loved ones, to killer clowns.

Though despite the nervous chattering of talking heads and twitter addicts, most people were paying the supposed danger no mind. Clubs and bars on every block were blasting music and throwing costume parties, people were out with friends, wandering the streets and looking for a fun time. It may have been Monday, but that didn't seem to be stopping many people from enjoying the holiday.  

For the most part, everything seemed fine. ...The crowds and groups remained oblivious to the danger of the fog. ...It was only those who slipped off on their own, to have a quick smoke, to get some air or head home early. They were the ones in danger, they were the ones who's darkest fears seemed to emerge from the thick fog. 

Around 10pm, reports started to come in regarding a body found in Whitechapel, cut open wide and left to bleed out. No prints at the scene, no signs that anyone else had even been there. The CCTV footage had somehow been rendered useless, glitched out and blurred. A trouble echoed by every other security camera on the street. It was enough to set twitter and the internet off all over again, with talk of how the things seen in the fog might, somehow, be real.

(Happy Halloween! The fog is bringing fears and spoops to life! You can make the creatures and fabrications of the fog as personal or general as you like. Whatever works best to spook your pup. If, for any reason, you don't want your pup to see any spooks, that's totally fine too. It's not a required plot. Unlike last year, this time around the creepy things your pup might see can harm them and do real damage. Though they will vanish in the morning. If your pup is sensitive to magic in any way, they might sense that this magic is distinctly fae. If you have questions about what you can or can't do, just ask in slack! Though really, the only limit here is your imagination. Remember to check with other players before doing anything that might seriously hurt their pup, ect, ect, and have fun!)
prodigalflame: (shocked by the level of your stupid)
[personal profile] prodigalflame
The Tavern, as it was called, brought to mind images of faded Tudor quaintness: of whitewashed exterior, black beams, windows barred with cast iron, mulled mead and a fireplace in every room.

In truth, the pub was anything but. Located in one of the gentrifying suburbs, it was a modern bulwark of concrete, iron and glass. The first two stories were the pub proper, and the next ten were apartments. The owners had called it 'The Tavern' in a display of hipster pride, as if it was the only pub that mattered. Snaking through the two levels were a series of pipes, as small-scale brewing took place on site.

It was usually a lively sort of pub, populated mostly by the fussy, the well-off, the well-educated and those that aspired to be, although situated near a tube station meant it also got a lot of randoms peering in to grab a pint. The alcohol menu was diverse, the food menu was dominated by various pulled meats and a cheese board (if anyone cared) and there were probably far too many male graduate students with neckbeards who nodded enthusiastically at each other as they discussed Kant.

Still, on Saturday night it was even more bustling than usual. People stood on the stairs, beers in hand, and chatted. Every seat was taken. The wait staff had their hands full (literally), and moved with ease and grace through the throng to deliver food to tables, and collect numbers and plates.

Tonight there would be music. Tonight there would be bands. Tonight was Singles' Night, a guarantee of no sappy love songs, no heart break, no angst. Two local bands were playing: first there would be a set from The Flamethrowers, with a mix of classic rock and pop standards, and then after a break, there would be an electro-synth duo to allow for dancing well past midnight.

So at about 9pm, patrons were treated to the sight of the first band tuning up. There wasn't really a performance space, so much as a corner on the ground floor of the pub that was currently unoccupied by tables. It was a four-piece band: some shaggy-haired cross between hobo and hipster on rhythm guitar and vocals, a slightly older british caribbean guy in glasses with goatee on double bass, a short-haired woman in her mid-20s on percussion and vocals and a tendency to beat the ever-living fuck out of the drum set, and another woman, more long-haired and willowy, on keyboards and vocals. Mr Hobo-Hipster of the shaggy hair and blond tips sang lead most of the time, but he gave it up for each of the women through their eleven song set, and there were duets. The keyboard was set to produce a more honky-tonk piano sound, and combined with the double bass, most of the covers had a dirty feel to them, all loose chords and guitar slaps. Clearly they'd played together for long enough to have a good feel for each other, which just added to the looseness, the occasional digression or ad hoc solo.

And Mr Hobo-Hipster didn't so much as introduce the band members as say "Hey. We're the Flamethrowers" and then let his guitar speak for itself as they launched into a funked-up version of Money. His voice was a little rough, almost a growl, and his stage presence was contained but not muted. Even without posturing, John made it very clear that he was the driving force behind the band: he didn't preen or strut, he didn't need to, and only the hint of a smirk could be seen around his eyes. There was no grinning, not now: now he was controlled and contained and came off a little bit contemptuous of having to perform. He sang, sure, and he played, and played pretty well, but his focus were the frets of his guitar, the lyrics of the songs. That night, he was sleek and dangerous and full of pride. That night, he had no reasons to smile or grin or show how happy he was: he'd lost those along the way. He was pared back to his disdainful core. Overall, the band was good but not great, and with John being Intense, the performance probably came off somewhere between 'bluesy rock band' and 'satanic death cult'.

Grooving through the set-list for roughly 45 minutes, the Flamethrowers played a series of stripped-back, funked-up covers. Rock the Casbah. a slowed-down take on Time after Time. Versions of Dangerous and Sweet Dreams (are made of this) that were dominated by the keyboards and a sparse double bass. Everybody Wants to Rule the World. John's wry grin came out for a guitar driven, lazy run on Carole King's "It's Too Late", before he paused to finally introduce the band, have some water, and explain that the point was to avoid the melancholic and romantic: to not make anyone feel bad for being single.

Four more songs, and they then closed with Mama Told Me Not To Come, having meandered their way past some INXS, Living End and Lynyrd Skynyrd.

In the end, John thanked the band (again), thanked everyone for showing up, and hoped they passed the audition. As a nicety, he promised there would now be some 'music you can dance to' after a little break, and then disappeared to pack up his guitar and amp and find himself a drink and a quiet corner.

The night went on without him, and that was just fine.

[OOC: Saturday night at an upmarket pub and destination of note. Feel free to show up before, during or after the band. Complain about the noise, the locally brewed artisan beer, the hipster food, the even more hipster band, or just dance the night away.]

OTA

Aug. 31st, 2016 07:03 am
pippa_flynn: (Flower)
[personal profile] pippa_flynn
And so she had become the Forgotten Queen of the Trooping Fae. Her grandfather's passing had come at a price and now she was some sort of royalty she didn't quite understand and Fin had gone blind again. It was nearly too much to take but Pippa was carrying on. What else could she do? The facts were the facts and no amount of fuss would change it. And she'd tried. She had power coursing through her now, all the time she felt it, and she'd tried to restore Fin's sight. It didn't work. Of course not. Why would it?

And then the dumb twit had gone back to stay with his stupid boyfriend. Pippa was outraged about that and she'd told Fin so. And that didn't work, either. Of course not. And so on that front she bit her tongue. Fin knew how she felt. It had little to do with keeping him close and everything to do with keeping him out of the treacherous prince's arms.

Pippa sighed softly and looked at her mobile that had just chirped. He newest client wanting a progress report. She needed something more concrete and so she sat down at the cafe on one of the dwindling nice days of the London summer, and she texted her client back.

It was striking, just how much she looked like Fin. And, of course, she'd been all over the papers thanks to the paps hounding Fin about his drug use and his blindness. The gentleman at the next table actually had a copy of the daily rag and she smiled at the photo on the cover.

If only life could be as dramatic as the paper made it seem. If only being queen meant something...
finlay_flynn: (shaggy)
[personal profile] finlay_flynn
 
Fin knew he shouldn't be looking at social media right now, that nothing good could come of it, but he couldn't help himself. Seeing the cruel comments roll in was painful, and yet he couldn't look away. He let it claw at him, dragging him down until he was even more numb and broken than he had been.

Closing his laptop, he looked around the cafe, glad that no one seemed terribly interested in him. That was the nice thing about London. Most people were too cool to act like they knew you. It allowed for quiet moments, even out in public, with only a few selfie requests or nasty comments here and there. Today was no different, despite the press. A few extra glances his way, more whispers, but for now things seemed alright. Colder, but alright for now. Though he knew it would only get worse.

Packing up his things, he paid for his tea and headed out onto the street, brushing past a young man who looked him over and muttered something about 'nasty perverts'. A comment Fin chose to ignore as he exhaled softly and continued to walk.
goodfellow: (playful)
[personal profile] goodfellow
It was early in the evening for Saturnalia, London's hottest new nightclub. Early enough that most showing up at the door were getting in, and the music was only just loud enough to be heard through the open door guarded by an incredibly attractive, well-muscled bouncer wearing a toga. Yes, it was gimmicky. Robin didn't care; it worked. He was making money hand-over-fist in this place. Not that that was why he was doing it, but it was a nice metric for success, which was something that interested him. Also he was getting laid spectacularly and as often as he liked.

He'd just arrived for the evening, and was lingering outside first, watching the line of people, watching the reactions from passersby who looked but didn't stop.

He dangled a cigarette between his lips, not because he was smoking it, but because the appearance of smoking made him look less conspicuous just standing outside on the sidewalk.

"Come on in, the water's fine," he offered with a lascivious smirk to the next person to walk by, not even paying attention to who it was. What did it matter? He wanted all of London in his club.

OTA

Jul. 20th, 2016 08:53 pm
finlay_flynn: (tilted right)
[personal profile] finlay_flynn
He'd packed two suitcases, then prompted Winter to do the same. The promise of a pool and pizza for dinner had been enough to stop the pixie from sulking, at least for now. 

Two days later and the pair were very much settled into their two bedroom, penthouse suite at the Mandarin, and Fin was down in the bar, knocking back his third drink and ignoring the millions of texts that had his phone flashing at him almost constantly. Texts from his agent, texts from Hex, texts from Will as well, he imagined. ...He didn't want to deal with any of them, and when a woman discarded her glass of water beside him, he dropped his phone right into it.

Fuck them all.

"Can I get another?" he asked the barman, nodding at his empty glass. "This time make it a double, cheers."

At a table nearby a man was flipping through today's paper, and Fin could see his face on the front. It was a small photo, tucked into the corner, partnered with a headline that read, "Flynn Flies Off The Handle"

Yesterday hadn't been a good day. He'd begged Stanley to cancel his appearance on that bloody late night show, The man had refused, he always refused. Always pushed too hard. They'd cut to a break, and Stanley was telling him he had another show right after- And Fin... Fin had lost it. It hadn't aired, but he'd fired Stanley then and there, and walked right off the set, leaving the interviewer scrambling to fill time.

"Fuck them all," he muttered again.
drfeelbad: (pic#10341491)
[personal profile] drfeelbad
There were a lot of things that House missed about his old life, and especially his old job. And he never thought that one of those would be the clinic, but somehow this one was even worse. Or maybe the real problem was that he couldn't get out of it nearly as easily as he'd been able to with Cuddy. He'd always been good at avoiding working clinic duty on the weekends, but not so here, at least not today...

On the bright side, at least it wasn't a holiday here. Though he was tempted to wish everyone a happy Independence Day weekend anyway. Nyah nyah we beat you.

In any case, unable to entirely avoid clinic duty all together, today he sat in a chair in one of the examination rooms playing a game on his phone and hoping that maybe no one would come to him. He'd sent a woman with a UTI out ten minutes ago and given her incorrect directions for where to check out, in hopes that the nurses would think she was still in here.

But of course it wouldn't last. He heard the door open and looked up with a long-suffering expression on his face.
lcrpg_npc: (night)
[personal profile] lcrpg_npc
While every week is a good week to love yourself and be proud, no week was better time to shout that pride from the rooftops than, well, London Pride. 

From Pride Ride, an epic group cycle through London, to parades, lunches, parties, massive club nights, and even comedy shows and concerts, there was no way anyone could be bored this week. There were ample opportunities to dress up in flashy clothes, reach out and meet other members of the LGBT community, and even just blow off some steam.

Some events of note to look forward to were the Natural History Museum June Lates, the already mentioned Pride RideSecret Soho Saucy Tours, and dozens of other events and fun times.

Something for everyone, and not  dull day in sight.
drfeelbad: (Default)
[personal profile] drfeelbad
As a general rule, House tried very hard to ignore his birthday, and this year was no exception. Actually, he was even less inclined to celebrate considering that he was in a country that so far he hated along with most of the people in it. To be fair, it wasn't as if he'd liked the people in New Jersey either, but at least there were a handful that he tolerated. There were probably people to tolerate here, he just hadn't met them yet.

He also hadn't quite mastered the art of ordering delivery here. Chinese food he had managed (though it really wasn't the same). Prostitutes, that was something to be more cautious about. But it was his birthday, so he decided to window shop. Worst case, he'd get plastered and take a cab home, which also seemed like a reasonable way to spend the evening.

Thus, he was in a hotel bar. Drinking whiskey and water, and eating a bowl of pistachios. Looking very much alone, and pretty unapproachable, except for the sort of approaching he was hoping for. His cane was leaning against the bar by his stool, and when some asshole kicked it over he was almost relieved because one of the problems with this country was that there weren't enough assholes. Everyone was so damned polite.

But he still grumbled as he leaned over to grab it, and nearly fell off the stool in the process.

Debut - OTA

Jun. 6th, 2016 12:31 pm
he_she_we: (Default)
[personal profile] he_she_we
They'd fallen. That was the last thing either of them could recall. Their ship had been abandoned, and the pod they'd escaped in hadn't been built for this planet's atmosphere. It hit that inner layer, and simply began to dissolve. It had vanished, and they'd fallen.

No, it burned. There was heat, she thought. I was in here, and I still felt it. You should have let me out, I'm stronger.

He closed his eyes, too sore still to get up. It had taken all his energy just to pull himself out of the water- And she was right, he should have let her out, she absolutely was stronger than him, and a better swimmer as well. However, this had been his fault, he was the one who'd made a mistake during the repairs. It was only right he be the one to fall, landing like a stone in unclean waters.

You don't always have to be the strong one, he thought, and he could feel her disapproval.

They lay there a moment longer, but eventually opened their eyes. Reaching out, he used his psychic ability to read the unguarded thoughts of those passing by. Though he was mindful as always, never invasive, never aggressive.

London, that was where they had landed. He could hear it echoing the heads of locals and tourists, filtering in with all the other little tidbits of intel.

He winced in pain as he stood, and she sighed.

We should swap. I'm safe, you're hurt. Don't be foolish, She scolded.

He sighed, the stubborn part of him wanting to go on, the sensible part aware he should offer her control.

After a long moment of discussion, they emerged on street level, still damp, but otherwise composed and calm- If not a bit lost.

(OTA! New pup, you can see their wiki here. I left it open enough so you can decide if you want to meet him or her first, just let me know which you want to speak to in your tag.)
goodfellow: (dark)
[personal profile] goodfellow
It had taken considerably longer than Robin anticipated, thanks to some building code issues that had pushed back his renovations by months, but following the thrown together "preview" on New Year's Eve (that had gone very well if he did say so himself), Saturnalia was finally officially open for business.

The inside of the club looked somewhat different than it had in January: more polished now, better decorations, furniture, lighting. There was still Greek inspiration, particularly in the murals on the walls - modern, graffiti-inspired versions of Greek art and myths, bright colors splashed amidst chrome industrial decor. Most of the employees (bartenders, dancers) were wearing togas.

The grand opening was a hot ticket, but Robin had sent out invitations generously, and instructed the bouncers at the door to let in the beautiful people as usual, yes, but to be rather random about it as well. After all, what was the fun in only the rich and beautiful?

Alcohol was free flowing, and the music was hot, spun by a DJ on a stage who seemed to have the perfect sense of the crowd. He may have even had a little help by magic. Because why leave these things to chance?
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(Rather than write the same vague drivel, here is a pretty gif to inspire you, a link to the weather for the week, and a link to londonist, a great resource for all things London related. As always this post is open all week. Tag in, tag others, check back often!)

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London Calling RPG

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