Entries tagged with gavril blackburn

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OTA

Pippa worked when she saw fit. Not every case that came to her was one she took. Sometimes she needed the money so she'd take a jilted lover or a runaway teen, but mostly she kept her time free for cases that interested her. This week she'd gotten a juicy case. Vampires abducting young men and women. Of course anything with vampires intrigued her. She'd set about tracking down the nest that was central to the location of the abductions.

She also had her contacts. She'd touched base with a few of them to pump them for information. Something in the back of her mind told her she should contact Eric. He'd be of use. And she needed to use every resource available.

She hadn't made contact with him, though. She'd simply turned up at the Blood Diamond in a slinky amethyst dress and high heels, her hair done up so her neck was at its most tempting. She'd turned away a few offers. The vamps had been lovely, but not who she was trolling for. She spent most of the night at the bar, her fae blood singing to the creatures around her.

As the night dragged on she became disheartened she wasn't going to make contact. She left her wine on the bar and stepped outside for a cigarette. She pulled her black velvet shawl around her shoulders, the skin tight dress doing nothing to keep her warm on this chill spring night. Out here in the dark she let her magic waft off her gently, perfuming the air like bait. Pip took a drag and kept a watchful eye out for the vampires that met her description of the brood she was looking for. As the night dragged on past midnight she started to lose hope.

She pulled out anothe rcigarette, but this time she fumbled her lighter and it clattered to the ground.

"Bollocks," she sighed, her sweet perfume all around her like night blooming jasmine and wisteria.

She bent gracefully in her cocktail dress to pick it up and saw the shoes of a person before her.

"Clumsy me," she said lightly. Then she looked up to meet those eyes. "Oh, hello."

(find her in the Blood Diamond or outside smoking. Open to everyone forever)

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OTA - Monday

After weeks of agonizing about whether she was or wasn't pregnant with Akeem's baby, the relief of a definitive negative had done wonders for her. No longer was her skin stangely grey, no launger was she angular and gaunt.

Today Pippa was the picture of heath. Radiant with life and good cheer. She was dressed for shopping, a trim cut houndstooth single breasted coat with the hem of her red blouse peeking out from beneath the edge of the coat. Red leather gloves, black skin-tight leggings, and knee high black leather boots completed her look. Her hair was pinned up on each side and the luxurious weight of it tumbled down over her shoulders.

She paused as she exited Harrod's to check her phone. She had a few other places she simply must go, but for the most part she was simply shopping and finding joy in it. It had ben too long since she'd been able to empty her head and enjoy the banal.

"Oooh, I have enough stars for a free Grande. Starbucks next, it seems..."

She looked up and around, smiling at everyone around her. She desperately wanted to scream "I'M NOT PREGNANT!" to everyone, but she refrained. A smile would do.

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OTA - DATED 2/11/17

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind. Ever since he'd met Jack it was as though everything had changed, like he had changed. Val was giving up his museum, joining Jack's team. ...He had even opened his home to the other man, and things between them were moving fast. Insanely fast, if he was honest. So insane that anytime he slowed down to think about it, he found himself slightly shocked by his own behaviour.

It was good though, he felt good. Maybe a change was exactly what he'd needed. Maybe a bit of insanity wasn't such a bad thing.

A side effect of not having the museum to run meant he had more free nights, and though he often spent them with Jack, or at Torchwood, he was also back into a familiar habit of dropping by his favourite private club to spend time with the lads. Tonight was one of those nights, and he was nursing a few fingers of scotch while cousin Denton chatted his ear off about some bird he fancied and they watched Teddy and Kelly play the worst game of snooker ever.

"You know, it is good to see you here on a Saturday, Valentine. You never come 'round on a Saturday," Denton said cheerfully.

Val had been watching Teddy awkwardly stretch across the table on tiptoes, cue behind his back as he lined up a shot that would never sink a single ball. "It's Friday, Denton," Val replied, glancing over and raising a brow.

"No, it's definitely Saturday," Denton assured him seriously. "I know, because on a Friday I take Aunt Millie down to visit Uncle Randal's grave. I did that yesterday. So, today is Saturday. Can't pull one on me, Valentine," he grinned, tapping his nose and then pointing at Val.

Val, however, wasn't smiling. "Shit," he muttered, pulling out his phone and checking the time. How had he missed a whole bloody day? It wasn't like him to make such a huge error, and he downed his scotch in one go as he tried not to think too much on how he'd gotten so careless. "Sorry, Dent, must be off," he said, not waiting for a goodbye before headed for the door.

His car was parked just outside, but he knew there was no way he'd get home before he changed. It just wouldn't be possible, and the last thing he wanted was to turn while driving. No, best to risk it on foot- That's what he decided as he briskly took off towards his home. Again, he wouldn't be there before he turned, but if he was careful... Maybe he could make it home unseen.

...He barely made it halfway, ducking into an alley just as the wolf began to overpower him. He had more control now, could change at will, but this was happening now, tonight. He couldn't fight a full moon. The wolf was coming.

The last thing he remembered was a dark alley and loud voices. The wolf's memories were always blurry... But there had been a bang, and then pain, and when he'd opened his eyes again he could still see the moon above him. It was there now too, full and watching over him as he lay bare in the alley, his human form restored and blood swiftly exiting his body thanks to a bullet hole in his left side. This wasn't where he'd turned though, his clothes and phone were stashed a block away, where he'd hoped he might retrieve them tomorrow- But even if they'd been near, he wasn't sure he'd have had the strength to call for help. As it was, he could only just barely croak out a shout- A garbled word, desperate and breathless, lost to the cold air of the night.

(As noted in the title, this is actually timed to the night of the 11th, when the moon is full). I'm posting it early as I know a lot of people don't have time to tag during the weekend. OTA, LT/ST welcome.)

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OTA

Coby wasn't home, and hadn't left a note for him, so Anael was walking through the streets of London to get to Alcuin's home, enjoying the chill in the air, the way his breath fogged on the way out, the ebb and flow of love in the hearts around him. Hands in his jacket pockets, he paid no mind to the odd looks he occasionally received for wearing nothing but a denim jacket over a t-shirt in this weather.

It began as an itch in his back, a barely there scratch where his wings would be. He did not think much of it, only shifting his shoulders the way he normally did when the urge to let them out came over him. But then the itch burrowed deeper, and increasingly hotter, until it was more of a burn than anything else, and his lungs were alive with it.

He'd hurried into a side street with little foot traffic and leaned against a wall there, his breathing short and heavy. He tried to cloak himself, but he couldn't keep a hold on the miracle through the pain he was so unused to, and he collapsed to his knees as he heard words in a rough language that scraped against every fiber of his being, a language of Hell. His wings wouldn't come out and he folded to his side on the wet ground, seeing shadows on the other side of the street. They were all saying the words, out loud and right into his mind, and one of them came forward, a pair of boots stopping right in front of him. They pulled his t-shirt collar down and drew a symbol between his collarbones, their fingers red with - blood? The symbol felt like it was searing into his flesh. Anael cried out, physically as much as spiritually, praying out to God with all of his being.

The words ceased suddenly, pain abating slightly, and the dark figures dispersed as someone ran over to him.

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OTA

Putting a fist in someone’s face had no business feeling so good, but for Sunny it was sweeter than anything in this moment.

Catcalls were a part of life for a woman, and normally in the interest of getting the hell out of there as soon as possible her response would be something along the continuum of ignoring it to shouting something back. But she would keep moving. Moving away.

She couldn’t do that today. It wasn’t just some complete idiot stranger shouting what on the surface was a compliment on her ass. It was political bullshit, it was protest marches, it was school stress, it was winter blah, it was friends in terrible relationships, it was sexual frustration, it was feelings that were too big for the little container she was trying to keep them in, it was her father’s weird face when she’d finally told her parents she was seeing someone.

It was too much.

She’d roared and rounded, and then he was on the ground with a bloody nose and looking up at her with stunned terror in his eyes while she stood over him and yelled.

“Get the fuck up, bomboy!”

((Sunny can be anywhere that’s convenient for you. By the way, she basically called our nameless sleaze a manchild))

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ota 👏

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.

Entry tags:

OTA

He'd come into the new year clean, and intended to do his best to stay that way. More importantly, he was back on his medication and back to eating regular meals- Not that it seemed to be helping much. Some damage couldn't be undone easily though, and Danny was still painfully underweight. Worse still, he was a bit under the weather, and couldn't get in to see his doctor until the end of the month.

It was just a bug, that's what he kept telling himself- And only himself. He didn't want to worry Hex with this, the other man had already gone through so much because of him. Had put up with so much...

He'd pushed himself through a job interview that morning, and was supposed to stop off for groceries next, but a dizzy spell had nearly left him flat on the pavement. So instead he'd wandered into a small cafe, ordering a cup of tea and a sandwich before settling into the last booth in the corner. His hand trembled every time he lifted his mug, and he knew he looked a little pale.

"It's fine," he whispered to himself. "You're fine. It's fine..."

Taking a calming breath, he lifted his cup again, his hand shaking so hard this time that it fell from his fingers. It bounced off the table, rolling a little before smashing on the floor, coating the shoes of a person walking past.

"Sorry- Shit, I'm so sorry," he said, reaching for some napkins as he spoke.

Entry tags:

OTA

Curnen’s head felt tangled, and it almost seemed to her that her hair was all the harder to tame these days because of it. Ever since her disastrous phone call to Bliss where her elder sister had given her a blistering dressing down for the danger she could have brought to their people for her whimsical friendship of the Seelie prince. Curnen had assured her sister—and through her, Mandalay—that Willy meant her no harm, but by then a sister’s worry had overcome a regent’s duty and logic had left the conversation. There had been a lot of storm and stress that night.

And ever since then, Curnen had not known what to do with herself. She performed as she always had, but it rankled yet more and more that her few original songs remained lost to her, that her wings did not stir. So that day, after she finished her set she remained in the park for a long time, fiddling in the vain hope that perhaps something new might come to her fingers.

It wasn’t. It never was. She felt all too close to blowing away all over again.

And that was when she knew it was time to go see The Painting.

The Fairy Feller’s Master Stroke hung in the Tate Gallery, but Curnen knew that nobody else here knew it was but a copy of a copy, a shadow of a shadow, and the Tufa destiny in paint. It showed a man, his back to the viewer, holding an axe high over his head. Around him stood myriad fae in court finery, their faces stylized and a little frightening. The original painting, known to only a very few, lay in the small town of Cricket. In the basement of the Overbay house, in Bliss’s care, the original and mirror image of this existed in tapestry, showing Rockhouse’s face, his smug and prideful face in the moment before he’d ruined them all.

And through the stylization one might discern Curnen’s own face in the painted crowd. Might. She had not been there at this moment, she had not yet been born. And yet there she was.

She stared at it for a long time in contemplative silence, wondering what it meant. For her people. For herself.

((Run into Curnen in the park or in the museum, your choice.))

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Fight Me IRL - OTA

The night had started out so calm, so normal. ...Boring. After the super moon, everything felt boring. He'd been wound up enough post his little trip to Germany, where he'd spent weeks and weeks roaming the woods in his wolf form. Stalking prey, hunting wild things, and embracing his true self. This? This unnatural itch under his skin, this fire in his bones? That was just the icing on top.

The pub was quiet for a Saturday night, glasses draining at a steady pace while all eyes seemed fixed on the telly on the far wall. ...All but Val's, anyway.

Dark eyes scanned the bar, and the wolf snarled softly inside of him as he finished his drink and spoke up over the low hum of chatter.

"Turn this shit off, will you? My Nan can play better than any of those tossers, and she's been buried for a good thirteen years now," he said, that ever so slightly posh and crisp voice standing out like a sore thumb the dingy little pub. Several of the usuals glanced over in anger, but only one took the bait.

"Why don't you shut your gob, you toffee nosed prick?" the man growled

Valentine grinned, a smile that was all teeth as he got to his feet and held out his hands wide on either side. ...As though he was welcoming what he knew was about to come with open arms.

"Oh? And what if I don't, mate?" he asked. "What are you going to do? Do you fancy a go? Oh, I'm sure you do. Look at you, old, fat, scruffy. When was the last time anyone gave a shit about you, hmm? When was the last time you had eyes on you like this?" he asked, gesturing around them and grinning again.

The man got to his feet, and though he didn't quite match Valentine in height, he was broad and strong looking, despite an ample gut. "Keep running your mouth boy. Just keep at it," the man warned.

Flashing his teeth again, Val offered the man two fingers as he grinned even wider. "Or you'll what, dear?" he asked bluntly.

The man didn't answer though, he simply swung. Heavy knuckles hit his jaw, and though it hurt, Valentine's grin only grew as he swung back hard. Stools where knocked over, tables shoved back causing glasses to spill and bottles to hit the floor, shattering at their feet and crunching under Valentine's heavy leather boots as he fought back. swinging, grunting, taking his blows with as much grace as could be hoped for. He barely wavered, and he didn't stop until it all ended with a crunch as his forehead connected with the other man's nose, sending the large man to the floor.

"Anyone else?" he asked as the barman reached for the phone, stilling the man with a look as he pulled out his wallet and dropped an impressive wad of cash onto the bar. "Come on. I'm sure one of you wants a go. Do you even know who I am? I'm Valentine fucking Collingwood, and I'll take you all on. ...Every last one of you pox ridden, red faced twats."

(OTA Stop the fight, encourage the fight, join in the fight... Whatever you like.)

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Debut

It had felt good to clean the place up, he had to admit. His little excursion to Ireland had been, well, quite lovely. He thought of maybe adding a hint of Ireland to the menu, but he wasn't sure how to, yet. Serving up burgers, chips, steaks, potatoes, and fresh-baked rolls seemed to have him fairly satisfied. Maybe diversifying the taps would be a better touch...

To be fair, though, Gavril liked it simple. The pub itself was a rustic thing with a hint of Scandinavia; scrimshaw-covered wooden columns flanked the bar, carefully dusted off since his return. The wooden surfaces of the bar and the tables had been polished with love, the iconic, wooden wolf's head carving above the bar was dusted and cleaned as well.

It had been a few years since he'd stepped out to Ireland, traveling by foot from north to south, living off the land, the hospitality of others, and with what little money he'd taken with him. It had been, frankly, quite rejuvenating. And now he was ready to get back to business.

The friendly “We're Open” sign of carved oak and ash hung happily in the window, and the chalkboard outside announced Wolf's Head's reopening as well. The place wasn't bustling, and Gavril preferred to keep it low-key, especially since it was just him, for now, running things. But he was okay with that. And he was okay with being back in London.

With any luck, he'd be speaking to a few applicants as well; he'd placed an advertisement in the paper, and any visitors would see the black-and-orange plastic 'Help Wanted' sign that Gavril had picked up from a store and stuck in the corner of the door. He didn't want to run Wolf's Head on his own, but he could manage for now. It wasn't like the place was swarming, or anything.