goodfellow: (playful)
[personal profile] goodfellow
It was a good night at Saturnalia.

There was some b-list American rapper-slash-DJ who had shown up earlier in the day, and Robin was happy to throw someone on stage. It had gone over well right away, so he'd let him stay on. And now it was well into the evening and things were, as Robin understood the current vernacular to be, turnt.

In fact, at some point he'd thrown open all the windows so that the music blasted onto the street, and instructed the bouncers to let in whoever wanted in. He'd also instructed the bartenders to serve all the beer half price. The resulting crowd and frenzy was really something else.
londoncallingmods: (spoops)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
The press weren't talking about it, but there were whispers on Twitter- Chatter about strange events, odd happenings. Little pockets of London where seemingly impossible things were happening. ...Except no one seemed to be able to get photos of these 'strange occurrences', and as we all know, if there are no pictures, it didn't happen.

A girl near the Thames had tweeted about seeing what looked like tiny creatures dancing across the surface of the water. A man on the underground had reported his bag briefly floating a foot off the ground. A boy in Topshop had tweeted about his own reflection trying to have a chat with him. 

Those with magic in them could feel it. Little bubbles of playful power popping up all over the city, then vanishing again. Like a pot of water that never quite reached a boil. It was a gentle kind of magic though. Soft and playful- Not from the other side or any other part of the world, but right here in London. It was old and forgotten, and very keen to play with everyone- Magic and non-magic alike.

(Open all through next week and next weekend. Have the magic effect your character however you like, but keep in mind that this magic, whatever it is, is very pure and playful. It wouldn't cause harm- Though maybe inconvenience.)

Debut - OTA

Feb. 1st, 2017 09:24 pm
high_voltage_magic: (pic#11015433)
[personal profile] high_voltage_magic
Isaiah was getting settled in. He was already glad that his north-midwestern accent was getting him slightly confused for a Canadian from time-to-time. But he'd settled into his dorm at the start of the semester, and now, he'd finally gotten familiar enough with maps of the city and such that he was doing what he was meaning to do for awhile now, though he'd been buried in classwork.

Right now, though, he was on the lookout for anything and everything magical in nature. Some of his research suggested that some groups in Europe, especially England, were magically inclined and hoarded secrets. Granted, the boards he'd learned it from weren't particularly credible, but things on the internet weren't particularly credible about this sort of thing in the first place.

There wasn't any harm in looking, after all.

So it was on this particular afternoon that Isaiah, dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt, dark blue jeans, and black leather boots, was walking down the street, a silver thread (okay, it wasn't real silver, but surely silver colored thread was fine, too, right?) tied to his middle finger, suspending a small pendulum made of a chunk of what was probably authentic quartz. With the spell he'd cast before leaving his apartment, it should guide him to anything, or anyone, magical.

Granted, paying attention to the pendulum meant he wasn't paying attention to what was in front of him. So when he bumped into someone, he stumbled back a few steps, surprised, and raised his gaze. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't see you there."

OTA

Jan. 26th, 2017 08:28 pm
hollow_moon: (deep thought)
[personal profile] hollow_moon
A good life, the sort that was truly lived, was often more a roller coaster than a gentle cruise. There were ups and there were downs, hills that either offered an exciting flutter or pure dread. Val was fairly certain he was perched atop one of those hills now, but he couldn't see through the fog well enough to know if he was in for a flutter or a full on fall. ...Hell, for all he knew, he'd run out of track.

Still, it was exciting. Exciting was good. It had been too long since he'd had a good thrill.

The doors of the museum were wide open, with signs outside encouraging people to come in and see the items that would be going up for auction soon. Yes, part of this drop involved shutting the doors to what had once been his pride and joy, and while some things had been passed onto other museums or tucked back into his personal collection, some things were simply being sold for charity. By the end of February he'd be leasing the property out, and he would, it seemed, be working for Jack Harkness.

Jack had come crashing into his life on New Years, and somehow one night of idiocy and pleasure had turned into a promise of adventure. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a real job- One where he wasn't his own boss and doing whatever he liked, that was. ...And he'd certainly never been offered on on the spot before. It was all so strange and exciting, and Val found himself itching to start anew. 

The items for sale were in the main room, but some of the exhibits remained open in the back, where Val was currently sorting through some items and packing them away in large crates. He was bent over, wrapping a large vase when he heard someone enter behind him, and he spoke without looking up from what he was doing.

"I know it says no flash photography, but it's all going away for a while. Take as many selfies as you like."

ota 👏

Jan. 17th, 2017 09:21 pm
pixiesweat: (angle face)
[personal profile] pixiesweat
It was a regular day for Manuel. In other words, he had nowhere to be, nothing to do, and no motivation to do anything other than wander around aimlessly.

The anniversary of his sister’s death had come and gone. The emotional turmoil had faded away, but he felt curiously flat, like it had taken the rest of his emotions with it.

He’d had a quick breakfast before he left his flat, but hadn’t even thought about eating anything since then. He didn’t know how long it had been. He wasn’t keeping track of time. He barely felt hungry, and more importantly, he didn’t care.

He walked around, considered stealing something from a convenience store he passed, just because he could, but there wasn’t anything appealing enough to be stolen even for no reason. Eventually he came to a bench, sat, and watched traffic passing by until it was making him feel irritable instead of just empty.

He stood, and that was when the lack of food finally caught up with him. The sudden change in position made his head swim, and he staggered just enough to put himself in the path of someone who’d been about to walk by.

“Sorry,” he said, once his head had cleared enough for him to realise what had happened.

OTA

Jan. 12th, 2017 09:29 pm
quartermaster_q: (tappa tappa tappa)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
Q had managed to remain out of the field for a bit now, confined to his lab and Q branch, quite happily. In fact his world, as a whole, had been delightfully calm. He and Bond had spent the holiday abroad, doing things the office didn't need to know about... And he'd returned to London uncharacteristically chipper.

Today he was at a cafe not far from the office, hiding behind his laptop as usual- However, he seemed slightly less closed off than usual. Where he usually blended into the background, or made a point of not engaging with the world, today.... Today, however, he seemed interested, watching people pass by out the window, and even occasionally glancing up to see who was coming and going in the cafe.

In fact, he was so engaged with the world, that he didn't notice his laptop screen flicker strangely before returning to normal.
goodfellow: (Default)
[personal profile] goodfellow
It was exactly one year since the pre-opening of Saturnalia, and the club had become even more successful than its proprietor had anticipated. In celebration, he opened its doors again for a blow-out of a New Year's Eve party, bringing back the theme of Greek decadence from the year before. Now, mingled against the typical industrial decor of the club (smattered with graffiti style murals of Greek myths), there were decorations of white and gold and reproductions of famous artwork, including a replica of the David statue in the middle of the floor.

Many in London had received invitations, including anyone with even the most distant connection to Robin Goodfellow, along with extra invitations as well. There was also a line outside, and the bouncers had been instructed to allow people in with some amount of randomness. After all, what fun was there in a party only filled with the rich and beautiful?

Unlike last year there was no expectation of any particular dress code, though there were many dancers and employees in the crowd in the skimpiest of togas to admire.

Alcohol was for sale, bartenders were talented, and also those employees in skimpy togas made their way through the crowd with shots and glasses of champagne on a regular basis. There were many dark corners and private rooms, and the music even made for dancing was sexy. All in all, it was clear that the theme of the night was modern hedonism.
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.

Debut

Oct. 20th, 2016 03:01 am
callmevod: (Default)
[personal profile] callmevod
Even though Delilah had gone down, streaking through the night sky and falling well beyond where his emergency drop pod had landed him, Vod was certain that his water landing in this river was going to attract attention. And not necessarily the good kind. He was still shaken from the incessant shrieking the ship's AI was making as the ship went down, and not to mention the force of impact, as well.

Soaked through, Vod hauled himself out of the river, breathing deeply and getting his composure back from having to swim an appreciable distance and holding his breath for that time. He'd broken his rebreather while it had still been in his mouth, when the pod struck water. His front teeth still hurt like hell from biting through the hard polymer. He was going to demand a goddamn refund about that.

Standing to his full height, Vod scanned the street, scowling a bit as he took things in. Where the hell was this, anyway? It had looked like Terra Prime on the way down... He glanced at an elderly woman who was gaping at him.

"What, never seen a Kathaari before?" he griped. The woman seemed startled, and scurried off. "Yeah, screw you too," Vod growled, looking around to see if anyone else had anything to say about him being here.


(new player, new character! take a look at his wiki page page and feel free to jump in. I'm new to this format, so hopefully I won't bungle anything!)

willysilver: (Smile Blue)
[personal profile] willysilver
The Alpha boasted that it was the smallest bar in all of London, a point that was hotly contested by many other hole-in-the-wal bars around the city. It was a friendly rivalry and as with people's prefered football clubs, their pefered tiny bars caused some chaos from time to time.

Tonight wasn't that sort of night. Tonight Willy Silver, back from a long illness, took the stage with his guitar and a bassist and drummer and rocked the night. Of course his magic was back in full strength and the mortals had no knowledge that with the power of his music came the enchantment that made them joyful, free with tipping, and drinking more than they should.

In the crowd tonight there was a familiar face to some. Hex sat at the bar sipping a Coke on ice. He was Willy's to command for a year and a day and though he didn't know why he had been told to be here tonight...and so he was.

Crowley lurked outside, close enough to enjoy the music but just far eough out that he could chainsmoke and wile a bit. Not that his wiling did any good in the face of Willy's feel-good-abracadabra show. But it was worth trying.

And in the back corner, by the loo door, sat a hateful woman who glared at the fae prince the whole time. One day they'd have a conflict but for tonight Pippa just wanted to see what he was about. Her dark mood kept most as far away from her as they could get in the tiny bar.

"We're going to take a break, have a pint, get requests," Willy said from the stage, then the trio put their instruments down and joined the crowd.


[Gathering post to indulge my wanting to thread everyone. But don't just tag mine, tag each other!]

Debut

Oct. 6th, 2016 08:46 pm
nirav: (Default)
[personal profile] nirav
It was strange not to be travelling all the time. Strange to be settling in. However, London suited him. It felt like a good fit, and he was at ease in the city. He'd found a flat he liked, already had a favourite cafe, a favourite book store... He was comfortable, happy. His only complaint, really, was the lack of inspiration in the scenery.

Honestly, the people of London were, to him, the most interesting thing about it. There was nothing else here that hadn't been photographed a million times before. A few seedy clubs were fun backgrounds, the occasional quirky boutique, but the people? They were the real stars. From the most normal or natural beauties, to the willfully odd and unusual.

They were his subjects, they were the focus of his work lately. Most he snapped from a distance, but now and then there was someone who just stood out too much to be admired from a distance. Not because of their beauty or look- Though that didn't hurt. No, more just because there was something about them that called to his camera. Right now was one of those moments, and this was one of those people.

"Pardon me, but do you mind if I take your photo?" he asked.

(New pup! Nirav wants to take your photo! Check his wiki and then tag right in. XD)

OTA

Oct. 3rd, 2016 10:41 pm
quartermaster_q: (shades)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
How many times had he been abducted since becoming Quartermaster? Surely more than any before him. Perhaps he'd get some sort of plaque for that. 

He would sulk, but on some level he knew this was his fault. He was far too involved with the field work. Far too eager to get involved in things. He should have been safe in his office, but he kept putting himself in danger. He kept getting involved in things he had no reason to get involved in. Sure, this time that hadn't been the case, Jack had grabbed him because he needed help, but still.

He was free now though, and his time with Jack had been- Well, alright, it had been lonely, but Jack had kept him fed and hadn't harmed him. He was okay. He was fine.

So why was his hand shaking?

Well, that was a bit not good, wasn't it? Certainly not something he could allow Six to see. There would be talk of trauma, psych evaluations... All the things Q liked to avoid. 

So he was out, at the club, quite drunk, if he was honest. Remarkably drunk, actually. Drunker than he'd ever been before, possibly. His glasses kept threatening to slide off his face completely, and he was dancing. ...Well, if you could call it dancing. Q wasn't exactly graceful really. Slight and awkward, twisting with the music and dancing with anyone brave enough to take him on as a partner. ...and when he wasn't dancing, he was outside, chain smoking. Anything to keep himself calm.

(OTA, find Q on the dance floor or outside.)
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. 29th, 2016 04:10 pm
codenamemilady: (murderous)
[personal profile] codenamemilady
Milady had seen no reason to include Oliver's 'visit' in her weekly reports. It was personal matter, to her mind, and the DGSE needn't be involved. Unfortunately, Desrochers had found out about the encounter and didn't agree with her assessment. So Milady had been called back to Paris for two days of explaining herself and convincing those over Desrochers that her usefulness as Clarice Winters was in no way threatened by Oliver knowing she lived. She'd succeeded, of course.

After two days, she was sent back to London with orders to resume her life as Clarice, but with all long term missions on hold until she, Desrochers - ugh - and Paris were confident she could return to work. Milady didn't reach out to any of her, mostly unwitting, contacts, but accepted readily when they reached out to her, not wanting to raise suspicions. There were luncheons, of course, and invitations for drinks or dancing. And when she had no other plans, Milady went shopping or spent hours in a coffee shop with a book. Largely public, going about Clarice's life, and inwardly alternating between bored and seething.

Today was more of the same. Anita had insisted she come to lunch with some of 'their' friends. The food and wine had been excellent. The company meant when Milady begged off the rest of the afternoon with a headache, it wasn't a lie. Amazing how much better she felt once she was rid of them. Better enough for some shopping, wandering in and out of boutiques, picking up this or that on a whim, and always, keeping a discreet eye out for unwanted surveillance. The ubiquitous cameras, if anything, suited her purposes in being out.

Display buckets of cut flowers outside a florist shop caught her eye as she passed. Well, not exactly. It was the so faint scent of the forget-me-nots filling one of those buckets that made her stop. They were gathered in small posies, and Milady had picked one up, lifting it to inhale deeply before she realized what she was doing.

Don't be ridiculous, was her first thought.

Followed by, There's bound to be a camera. Which meant, if Oliver cared to look, he could see. Likely Desrochers as well.

Milady dropped the flowers back in the bucket and smoothed her hands over her dress as she turned to go. Two steps, and her heel caught in a crack on the pavement. She reached out, catching herself before she could fall, but the Louboutin wasn't as lucky, the heel twisting off the rest of the shoe with a crack. "Bloody-!"

[Afternoon, early evening – whatever works for you and yours. She's in a Mood, but it's not a bad time to meet her anyway.]

OTA

Jul. 30th, 2016 10:24 pm
quartermaster_q: (tappa tappa tappa)
[personal profile] quartermaster_q
It had started China, a simple enough mission. It should have stayed there too, but how was Q to know that they'd been followed home? He couldn't have, but as Q hitched his bag up higher onto his shoulder and continued running he couldn't help but wish they'd been more cautious. 

He ducked into the first alley he passed, pressing himself against the wall in the shadows, praying his pursuer hadn't seen him slip away. With his back against the wall, he could feel his heart pounding. He wasn't equipped to fight anyone right now, and contacting Bond would be a challenge- Since he'd shattered his phone when he'd first started running. Hiding was his best option, but just as he'd started to feel sure that he'd lost the other man a hand seemed to come out of nowhere, pulling him forward, then slamming him hard against the wall.

The fight was not a thrilling one. Q took quite a beating, and it was only the mace in his pocket that saved him in the end. 

Limping and beaten, he hobbled along the street, trying not to draw too much attention as he pulled his hood up to hide his bruised face.

OTA

Jul. 21st, 2016 02:25 pm
just_hex: (Default)
[personal profile] just_hex
Hex was Drunk. He'd been drunk for all of yesterday and the day before. He'd called off sick to work, claiming he had picked up norovirus- not unheard of for a medic. That allowed him time to make himself well and truly ill. He had started with pints, then pints and shots, and today he was on vodka neat. Doubles, now. He didn't sip, he gulped them down, then sipped water to help stay hydrated. He hadn't been to the gym, had barely even eaten. All he wanted to do was to be blind drunk and not think of what a selfish, awful, evil man he had been making that wish.

He had hurt his best friend in the world, a man he loved truly and deeply. How could he be so selfish? How could he be so low? He questioned himself over and over and when the questions stopped the inner accusations began. You're evil. You're filth. You'll never have anything more than lovers and they don't even care about you.

"Another," he said to the bartender.

"One more, then you go home, mate," the man replied as he poured another double for Hex.

He picked up the glass and wated how the vodka licked up the edge and clung like syrup. Then he downed it all at once. In a moment of clarity, drunken as it may be, he wrote a text to Q, then promply deleted it. The man would be so disappointed in him and he couldn't take another mate thinking he was rubbish.
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?

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.)

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London Calling RPG

May 2017

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