ota~

Nov. 20th, 2016 12:15 pm
pixiesweat: (hair behind ear)
[personal profile] pixiesweat
The Blood Diamond was a familiar place to Manuel by now. He’d gone to see Eric again, quiet and obedient as ever. If anyone had asked, he’d have said he wasn’t scared, but every vampire in the building could hear how fast his heart was beating. He’d gotten used to the glances he got from the other vampires, and he knew exactly what they meant. They wanted to eat him, too, but as long as he was under the Sheriff’s protection, they couldn’t.

Being fed of off didn’t hurt too much. He’d had worse. He tried not to hold his breath as Eric’s fangs punched through his skin. He knew he’d only have to put up with the sting of the holes in his neck for a little while, until Eric finished drinking and healed him. When the time came to swallow that little drop of Eric’s blood, the pain suddenly didn’t seem so bad anymore. He didn’t want to take it. But he did what was expected of him, and he did it without complaining.

The vampire blood took effect instantly. The pain disappeared and the bite marks healed over, replaced with fresh, unbroken skin. His fear was gone just as quickly. His misery and loneliness melted away in a second. Eric’s blood was the only thing in nearly two years that had made him feel happy.

The world was brighter and softer all at the same time, and happy was too small a word.

Eric told him he could crash on the couch, like usual, but this time Manuel headed out of the office and back through the bar, for no reason other than he really, really wanted to. It was a really nice bar. He watched the customers drinking and dancing for a while, then headed back out onto the street. The lights and sounds of passing cars immediately caught his attention, and he stepped towards the road. They looked even better up close. He kept moving forward, over the edge of the pavement until he was standing in the road, just to the side of the flow of traffic. To any sober person it was clearly not safe, but Manuel was completely content and relaxed, convinced he’d be able to move out of the way in time if any cars got too close.

He stood there, watching the different coloured lights sailing past and disappearing into the distance.

((Come stop him from getting run over :D Oh yeah, and if you have a pup who’d be plugged into the local vampire talk, feel free for them to have heard that there’s a golden-haired changeling teenager who’s under the protection of London’s vampire Sheriff.))
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!)
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)
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.]
yves: (brella >_>)
[personal profile] yves
The fair haired sprite had been staring at him for nearly an hour now as Yves had made his way around the little shops. For all the creature had somehow enchanted itself to be of mortal height, there was no denying it was a pixie. Those pointy ears and sweet and spicy scent could be confused for nothing else.

Yves had ignored it at first, wandering through the early morning market and pretending not to notice the way it followed. Even allowing it to get close a few times before turning and staring directly into its pale blue eyes. Strange looking thing, all pale flesh and bone. Clearly underfed in its youth. Likely brittle boned, and unaware of it's poor immune system. Yves would have felt bad for it- If he was in the habit of feeling for lesser beings.

It had skittered off for a bit after that, but he'd spotted it once more when he'd stopped near the end of the market in a quieter area. They were practically alone, some grannies on a bench nearby so busy chatting that they hadn't even noticed they had company. The only people who might see them were those passing down the parallel street on the other side of the road- Though there view would be slightly obscured by the stalls and carts.

"The Unseelie Butcher," The pixie gasped, blue eyes going wide as they confirmed what he'd suspected all morning.

"Dreadful nickname, slanderous as well," Yves replied, sneering a little and removing the creature's charm with a wave of his hand.

Winter was so good at measuring and controlling his potion doses now that he rarely carried any with him, and the moment Yves waved his hand, the fair haired pixie knew he'd made a mistake. ...Perhaps several, if he was honest. Shrunk down to his normal size, Winter darted around in a panic, desperate not to be seen- Only to be snatched out of the air by Yves.

"Go home, pixie, and do not speak any of my names ever again," Yves warned, waiting until Winter nodded before letting him go and watching him zoom off as fast as his shimmering wings would take him.

(OTA- Tag Yves or Winter, only one or the other please! Catch Winter hiding and trying to make his way home, or Yves skulking off back home to his lab.)

OTA

Sep. 9th, 2016 06:34 pm
im_torchwood: (Default)
[personal profile] im_torchwood
Jack had been working on a very special project for the past year. He was going to figure out how to pull something through the rift in Cardiff if it killed him...again. He'd had some success with hooking his vortex manipulator to the Hub tech, but it wasn't enough. He needed the resources of Torchwood at Canary Wharf and so back to London he came.

And when he got here he'd made a command decision and had 'enlisted' some help. It had been easy. Easier than he'd dreamed. And now he had the help he needed for the small price of sharing tech.

Today found him taking a break and he took a stroll through the park at dusk, just as the lights were coming on and the temperature was dropping. He loved autumn. He loved the smell of dying leaves and the bite of rain in the air.

He needed to get back to the lab to see if there was any progress with the dimensional barrier, but for now he stopped at a cart to get himself a cup of chai to sip on the way back to his rig.

ota

Sep. 5th, 2016 09:52 pm
finlay_flynn: (pensive)
[personal profile] finlay_flynn
He wasn't terribly musical, if he was honest. He could sing, and he'd written lyrics for Will in the past, but when it came to instruments, he knew little. His piano was poor, his attempts at drumming when he was younger had been a failure, but he could play a bit on the guitar. It was a skill he was attempting to improve as he sat beneath a tree in the park, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he strummed to himself.

Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, and Keats lay nearby, keeping watch as much as he was keeping Fin company. A few stray chords settled into a familiar song, and Fin hummed a bit before removing the cigarette from his lips and starting to sing.

"The door slammed loud and rose up a cloud of dust on us. Footsteps follow, down through the hollow sound, torn up... And you will go to Mykonos, with a vision of a gentle coast, and a sun to maybe dissipate. Shadows of the mess you made..."

He fumbled a bit, swearing under his breath as he strummed a bit more, jumping ahead in the song.

"I remember how they took you down, as the winter turned the meadow brown. You go, wherever you go today..."

He made it through the rest of the verse before fumbling again and starting over, pausing to stub out his cigarette and give it a proper try this time.
winter_wisp: (coffee iz mine)
[personal profile] winter_wisp
Since deciding they needed their own place, it felt as though all Winter and Phouka had done was look at flats. Big flats, small flats, ugly flats, flashy flats... So many flats that Winter was fairly certain that if he never had to look at another 'recently renovated' bathroom again, he could die a happy pixie.

The worst part was that none of them, not one, felt right. They were all so boxy, so cold and dull. Even the ones with 'character' felt hollow and lifeless. No wonder fae Willy was wilting when he spent so long surrounded by mundane mortal aesthetics. 

It was a walk through Hyde Park that had changed everything. Winter had been thinking about his home back in the village, the mushroom he'd turned into a home with the help of his magic. ...If he could turn a mushroom into a home while he was small, surely he could make a tree a home while he was big. ...Especially now that he'd matured a bit more.

And so that was how they'd wound up here, a tree in Hyde park that was now their home. It was perfect, in Winter's opinion, and he and Phouka had taken their time decorating it and filling it with the things they loved. Getting it just right, and ready to be shown off.

The invites had been sent to everyone they could think of, written by hand in silver ink on black paper. 

You're Invited To Our Home!
Time: 8:00
Place: The Largest Tree behind The Serpentine Gallery
Please Bring Gifts
Food And Drink Will Be Provided.
 
Brown Meg had prepared mountains of food, and Winter had gone out and bought as much booze and pop as he could carry. Music filled the tree, but outside it was silent. Winter realised belatedly that he should have mentioned on the invite that to enter the tree you only need to push against the trunk and a door would be revealed to those who were expected or welcome. ...But he was sure people could figure it out.
 
 

(OTA, if you've ever met either of them, or are a friend of a friend, just assume you got an invite! Winter and Phouka will both have top levels, but use this post like any other GP.)

OTA

Aug. 14th, 2016 01:24 am
willysilver: (Default)
[personal profile] willysilver
It was a lovely night by all accounts. The weather was just cool enough for a jacket, the breeze making the leaves flutter and twitch. The moon hung bright in the sky, nearly full, and in the park there were people enjoying the night.

Willy was out busking tonight, though he had no heart for it. No joy, no enchantment. Tonight, as for the past nights, he sat on the edge of a fountain and he played sorrowful songs of lost love. He understood them now. He had never truly understood love, that much he had come to realise since Fin had departed. He knew desire and passion, he knew friendship, he knew possession, but he had never understood partnership or equality or even the necessity of respect. He knew now, though.

It was a hard learned lesson. His music wasn't the only thing lacking enchantment. His own visage was ashy grey, his luxurious hair drooped flat, the curls dull and limp. There was no light in his green eyes, they were flat and dull and dark.

His fingers strummed the strings mournfully.

I've stolen all the stars to make a wish we can fly
Away, away up high to that old place in time
Where our pictures never fade and our hearts don't lie
Won't you stay a while and watch our world go by
I'll keep holding on to you and your Saturday smile

Has our Autumn died
Help me find you again

I think it's love
I think it's love
That gets us through
All our goodbyes
So when we die
Think of love
I'll think of love
And thoughts of you
To lay me down
I think it's love
That keeps us new

If only it could be the very first time
Kiss me like it means something inside
I don't want to leave and I'm afraid to find
Our fate die in a dream and let me know you're not mine
Lie a little longer, my Saturday smile

Has our Autumn died
Help me find you again

I think it's love
I think it's love
That gets us through
All our goodbyes
So when we die
Think of love
I'll think of love
And thoughts of you
To lay me down
I think it's love
That keeps us new


The people who passed nearby were struck by the power of the fae's melancholy. He mourned not only his lost love, but the fact that he couldn't find him. He had visited the hotel many times but now the Phouka and Winter had gone off to make a home of their own and Fin did not come or go from the hotel anymore. And the longer he was gone the harder it became to feel him with any specificity in the city of millions. He knew he needed to find Fin to speak to him, do make what repairs he could, but he could hardly find the energy to even strum the stings tonight.
wispofathing: (Guitar)
[personal profile] wispofathing
Curnen couldn’t hear everything people were saying around her, but she could guess well enough what they were on about. Probably given her torn jeans and spaghetti-strap tank top, they were wondering who this ratty little girl was in the midst of a city that was all shine, polish, and culture. Probably wondering what she was, since she was pretty sure she heard someone say "gypsy." Maybe someone who knew a thing or two about music was pointing out that her guitar was on the cheap end of the spectrum.

Maybe it was just her hands. She saw more than a couple of people point at them.

She ignored them, and it didn’t take much to see that it wasn’t her ability to give no fucks that let her do this. Quite the opposite. If she started paying attention to the derision, she was going to crumble and flee the scene. Rather, she threw herself into the tuning of her guitar, doing her best imitation of Bliss, who wouldn’t’ve let any of them rattle her. Who probably really wouldn’t notice. Bliss would have shut them all up with a joke and a beatific smile or something. But...

She didn’t look at anybody, instead turning her face up to the sky and at first allowing her voice to come out in high, mournful keening. Bliss’s voice was low and rough, all grit and smoke on the water. Curnen... well. Her voice didn’t have that kind of obvious sex appeal. When she was little, her family had always said she had a voice like an angel, and that was what it sounded like. The effortless notes rising from her throat were clear and ethereal, the song something she’d picked up from the ren faire circuit.

Abroad as I was walking one evening in the spring
I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did sing
Her chains she rattled on her hands, and thus replied she
"I love my love because I know my love loves me."


The atmosphere changed at once, disdain changing to awe, admiration, and even tears, though Curnen paid no attention to that either. even as the money started making its way into her guitar case. It wasn’t until she took an instrumental break between verses that she allowed herself to look around her and offer a little smile from under her lashes as someone approached to drop a bank note into the pile.

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