londoncallingrpg | Entries tagged with jag

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))

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.

hollow_moon

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.)

old_man_gavril

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.

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!)

prince_of_nymphs

It had taken quite a bit of time, but Fin was slowly learning how to focus his magic to make his vision clearer. It was odd, he'd spent so much time using massive amounts of energy and focus in an attempt to make it work- And yet, in the end, it had been his calm that aided him best. The more relaxed he was, the more at ease he became with his magic, the better his vision became.

So he'd taken a new approach to it all, practicing his magic alone in a quiet space. He spent hours just feeling it out, learning to flex it like a muscle and curl it like a finger. It had been remarkably simple once he'd learned to treat it like any other limb, and while he was no master yet, today he was out without his cane or sunglasses. His eyes still slightly milky, but focused. It wasn't perfect, a bit like seeing under water, to be honest, but it was <i>something</i>, and it was empowering to have his sight back and under his control.

He'd been all over town this morning, but for lunch he'd settled down outside a favourite pub, a pint by his elbow and a plate of chips in front of him for his lunch. At first he'd just been people watching, but after a few minutes a rather plump, and easily recognizable budgie landed on his table, chatting at him and hopping a bit.

"Hello Philip," he said, breaking one of his chips in half and offering it to the bird. The budgie peeped in approval, and Fin grinned as he watched the tiny animal devour the salty nibble. Such a simple sight, and yet it was wonderful to be able to enjoy it. "You'll explode one of these days," he tutted at the bird, pressing his fingers together and using his magic to construct a tiny little crown. It was light and thin, but it looked like gold.

"There you are, King Philip, slayer of worms," he said softly, placing the tiny crown on Winter's beloved bird's head. Philip clearly approved, and preened a little- Before looking annoyed when the crown slipped off his head and turned into little more than gold dust.

jageskro

Sundays were good days to be out working the passers by, especially when it wasn't raining. The sun wasn't out, but that didn't bother Jag; cloudy fit his state of mind much better. Not that he let that show as he performed, of course; anyone who didn't know him well enough would think nothing of it, although his smiles weren't quite genuine as he played with fire, drawing ooohs and aaahs from a rapidly milling crowd.

He still had no idea how to be himself, felt like skin didn't fit right, but going through the motions sounded like a plan. His only plan. Fake it 'til you make it.

So after work, he headed over to a nearby pub to treat himself to a pint, settling on a bar stool with his bag of gear by his feet. Going through the motions. He fiddled with his mobile for a while, then texted Val with a simple, 'I'm so sorry.' He debated whether to add more, but nothing seemed quite right, so he sent it before he might change his mind. He didn't expect an answer, but Val deserved an apology, and who knew. Maybe it would even help Jag.

On the other hand, maybe Val would be better off never hearing from him again. Should he really have sent that text? Ah, fuck it. It wasn't as if he could take it back, and he'd been going back and forth about it ever since his mind had cleared.

"Shot of whisky," he ordered from the bartender, on the tone of someone who direly needed a shot of something strong.

jageskro

Sometimes, bar fights just didn't happen the way you wanted them to. As in, they were cut short before you got much more than a bruise and a cut on your cheekbone. Jag was pissed off as he stumbled away from the bar, holding a kleenex to his cheek. With his other hand, he was fishing his mobile out of his pocket. Who knew, maybe Coby would be in the mood for a little mutual pain tonight. Or even just a blowjob, Jag wasn't going to be picky.

He threw the kleenex in the gutter and scrolled through his contact list, but before he could find Coby, he found himself shoved up against a wall in the deserted street. By a woman. A really fucking strong woman, who licked his bleeding cheek before telling him, "You're delicious."

"And you've got weird kinks," he muttered, eyes flicking away from her and at the nervous-looking girl behind her.

"Are you sure you should be doing this?" the girl asked, switching from foot to foot. "The sheriff -"

"The sheriff isn't here," the woman cut her off, then grinned at Jag, baring bloody fangs.

Before he could think anything of it, pain lanced from his neck as she buried them there. "Fuck," he muttered, not exactly sounding as if he disliked getting his blood sucked out of him. Not as long as the pain of those fangs didn't go anywhere, anyway.

"Just, maybe don't kill him?"

The vampire pulled back from him with a roll of her eyes, still holding Jag against the wall. His neck was still hurting beautifully. "Of course I'm going to kill him. I'm tired of being on a leash. Do you want a drink, or not?"

Right, okay. Wonderful pain was one thing. Being drained dry, another. "No one's killing me," Jag muttered.

"Oh yeah?" The woman snorted. "The food thinks it's got a say in..."

She never finished her sentence, as Jag's fire washed over her. Jag expected it to hurt the fuck out of her, and make her back off. But apparently vampires were extremely flammable, because she caught on fire properly and was reduced to ashes within seconds.

"Fuck," Jag said again. He looked up at the girl vampire, who screamed and then ran off, faster than his eye could track. "Fuck," he repeated, and began to sag to the ground now that no one was holding him up against the wall.

lcrpg_npc

It was about to be quite a long stretch of rainy days in London, with only a few cloudy days sprinkled in between. Still, it took more than a little rain to slow down London, and the city was as busy and alive as ever.

Rain also wouldn't stop most of the events happening that coming weekend. From the pubs to the parks, from food festivals to public Wimbledon viewings, there was something happening on every corner.

jageskro

Jag had all but forgotten about the box. When they'd got back from the countryside, Val had been mostly out of it, and they hadn't stopped by the museum to drop it off. It had ended up in the pocket of Jag's jacket, and he'd only noticed once he was back at the squat. He'd taken it out and put in his room, meaning to bring it back whenever, but he'd never got around to it. At first, he'd been oddly reluctant, and then he'd forgotten about it.

For some reason, today, his gaze landed on it, and he reached out to pick it up. He was supposed to meet Val in an hour, and had only just come back from busking. He sat on the edge of his bed, fingertips tracing the carvings on its wooden sides. Cursed, Val had said, but there would be no harm in taking a look? Whatever was inside, Jag wouldn't put it on or even touch it. He only wanted a peek. No harm there, surely.

The small lock popped open before he realised he'd been toying with it, hoping to open it. His breath caught in his throat, and he lifted the lid, frowning slightly at the small, ornate mirror that lay inside. Jag caught his reflection in it, and his frown deepened. For a beat, he didn't move, just stared.

Then he shut the lid down with a small snap, and shook his head. This was all bullshit, wasn't it? A cursed mirror. What next? The truth was, he needed a pint, and some time to himself. He was so fucking tired of being in caretaking mode. Maybe he'd still swing by Val's later, he'd see. But for now, he left the box on his bed, grabbed his light jacket, today's earnings, and headed out of the squat.

He found a pub still showing football, and ordered a whisky. It didn't take long to rile up English supporters still upset over the Iceland match, but the bartender was too on top of things and Jag was thrown out before he could start a fight.

He sighed, and pulled a cigarette out of his pack, lighting it up with a thought. "Better luck next pub," he hoped, and got walking.

Find him in that pub, in the next one, in the street, whatever!

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 Ride, Secret Soho Saucy Tours, and dozens of other events and fun times.

Something for everyone, and not dull day in sight.

prince_of_nymphs

Less than three hours ago Tevaughn had come crashing into his life. He should have been reeling from it still, and yet- No, not so much. If anything, the world seemed a bit more stable now. Things that had seemed strange or unexplained now made sense. The troubles of his past had a new context, and Fin- Fin found himself feeling more like himself than he had ever had before.

He was no longer cold, and though his heart was still filigree and enchanted, it no longer beat at random- It was steady, rhythmic and calm. The hate in his gut had been destroyed, and all seemed well. ...Everything had a price though, and this time the price had been something he was supposed to have surrendered a long time ago. Finlay Flynn was no longer mortal, undead or otherwise. Finlay Flynn was fae. Had always been fae- Only lost, then damaged, then nearly destroyed.

His skin was warm to the touch now, though it was still ever so faintly blue in certain lights, as were the whites of his eyes. He seemed taller now too, as though his bones had been stretched out slightly, everything sharper, less delicate.

The strangest thing, however, was the buzzing feeling in his blood. Magic, Tevaughn had said. Too weak now to do anything, but something that would grow in time. It might take weeks, possibly years, to come through, but- It was there. It was there, and it felt- It felt wonderful. It was like having something returned to him that he'd never even known he'd lost.

He knew he ought to go directly to Will, to hunt him down and tell him everything he'd missed- But for the first time in years, everything in the world just felt right, and Fin found himself sitting outside a cafe instead. No cigarette in hand, no pills or poisons, just a cup of coffee and an understanding that the world as he knew it was about to change quite drastically.

winter_wisp

The past week had been an odd one. Apparently Fin had been filmed sharing a bed with a man- And apparently that was bad. Winter didn't fully understand why that was bad, but he had tried to. Honestly. He'd even assured Fin that he'd seen plenty of naked people making love online, and that it was very nice- But Fin had looked vaguely upset by that, and had simply begged Winter not to tell him any more about what he'd been watching online, or how much he'd enjoyed it.

...Ever again, actually.

Still, this problem had opened the door for Winter to ask more questions than he usually would, and by the time Saturday night rolled around, he was armed with more knowledge he had been the week before. ...He certainly understood why people were so often inviting him to the toilet when he was out clubbing- That made much more sense now.

He also found it had altered the way he viewed his dance partners. Were they just having fun, or did this person hope for more than just a dance? When people touched him, was it just a touch, or was there more to it? Sex was something Winter had always been very aware of, but he'd never applied the possibility of having it to anyone other than Phouka, and perhaps his pixie kin. The idea that sex could happen with anyone was- New.

And so Winter had spent the night toying with this new idea. Dancing a touch more provocative with some, avoiding others. He didn't think he wanted to have sex with any of the people he danced with, but kissing... Kissing might be nice. He liked kissing.

He'd kissed one girl right on the dance floor. She'd smelled of vanilla, and her lip gloss had been so shiny and pink... When she'd leaned in close as the music slowed down, he'd leaned in a bit more himself, pleased when she met him halfway and invited a long, slow kiss. She'd tasted like cake icing, but not long after she'd been dragged off by one of her friends, a taller girl with smudged mascara, and eyes that looked red from crying.

"Drama," his new kissing friend had said, rolling her eyes and scribbling her number on the back of his hand.

After that he'd danced alone for a while, before growing bored and moving onto the next club. This time most of his partners were men. They did not smell like vanilla, nor was there any lip gloss. Also, he noticed now how much more sexual it all was when he danced with other men. As though most of them only wanted to dance if they thought they might get something more as well.

When it was time to leave, his last partner followed him out into the cool night, smiling at him and then gently pushing him back against the wall. Winter had started to panic- But then... Then the man had simply kissed him. Slow and sensual... It was lovely, and when the man pulled away, he only smiled, telling Winter to have a good night.

His pixie heart was fluttering, and he was so gleeful he hadn't noticed another man approach- Not from inside the club, but from a bar down the street.

"That your boyfriend?" the man asked.

"No, just a friend," Winter said, still smiling as he shook his head.

"Yeah? You got a lot of friends?" the stranger asked.

It seemed like such an innocent question, but there was something about the way he asked it that made Winter uneasy.

"I do, yes," the pixie nodded, pushing away from the wall and deciding now was the time to leave.

"Hey now, where you heading? You don't want to be my friend?" the man laughed, catching the pixie's shoulder and shoving him back against the wall.

Things seemed to happen in an instant after that. Winter tried to pull free, and the man struck him hard across the face. Once, then again. The pixie tried again to get free, but the man was much larger, faster as well it seemed, and his fingers curled tightly into a fist as they slammed hard into the pixie's gut. Winter crumpled slightly, his brown curls going white as shock turned to upset- And then anger.

Before the man could strike him again, Winter's magic took over. He wasn't some weak creature in a cage any more, nor was he a child. His magic, just like the rest of him, had matured and grown since then. Though it wasn't until this moment he realized how much.

The man stood frozen- Quite literally. No longer a man, only a figure made of ice.

"Shit," Winter said quietly, still doubled over slightly as he stared at his creation.

lcrpg_npc

The Queen's official birthday celebrations might wait for the better, brighter weather of June, instead of the actual date just passed, but there was no lack of things to do in London this week, even if it was cooler and damper than the week before. St. George's day festivities were scattered throughout the city, competing with celebrations of the four hundredth anniversary of Shakespeare's death. Getting around the city could be even more difficult than usual on Sunday, with multiple streets closed off for the London marathon.

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

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

prince_of_nymphs

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

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

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

(OTA. It's Fin's party, but treat it as you would any GP! Also, feel free to assume your pup received an invitation somehow, either via a friend or from fin himself.)

just_hex

He'd gone traveling that day when The Doctor and Ace had turned up. It was The Doctor's way of saying he was sorry, taking Hex to Scutari to be useful during the Crimean war. He was there a month, knee deep in blood and a slave to time. He tried to help the soldiers but he didn't have the tools. It was hard even to get the rest of the medics to wash their bloody hands. He was there a month, a month into the siege, and up turned Florence Nightengale. His idol. It was a biography of her that had spurred him into nursing in the first place. And things went along until The Doctor turned up again and he and Ace brought everything to a head...and that was when Hex got shot. A musket ball pierced his chest and he knew he was dying. The technology and supplies of the time couldn't save him, but it was nothing for 2016 so The Doctor and Ace got him into the TARDIS and back to London. He was treated in his own A&E, given the best of care, and patched up in no time. When he was out of surgery he got his phone from Ace and sent off a text, a long one, just to let them know.

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

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

{One off and EP all in one.

londoncallingmods

As the city said goodbye to January, February rolled in quietly behind it. The weather remained mostly unchanged, though the streets seemed slightly emptier as the majority of tourists left.

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

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

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

jageskro

It was like an itch you knew you weren't supposed to scratch. A lot of things had become clearer to Jag, about himself, since he'd watched Hex's videos, and somehow, the closer it came to the time Val would be back, the more Jag wanted to give in to his 'old' habits and do something really stupid. Start a bar in a fight with an arsehole or two, and get hurt.

It was as far from healthy as he could get, he realised, and that was why he hadn't started a bar fight in over a month now. He was in a bar right now, having a pint and trying to resist the desire to walk over to the bastards in the booth right behind him. Their racist, homophobic conversation wasn't making it easy on him. He was waiting for the misogyny to make an appearance, really. He'd barely touched his pint in the last ten minutes and was gnawing on his thumb's nail, feet propped on his bar stool, one leg bouncing.

offthebeatenpath

Victoria's seat by the café's window gave her a good view not only of the café and its various exits, but also the pavement outside. Later, in reviewing what had happened - some habits never died, whether there was a debrief required or not - she would decide the combination of the weighty bag worn across the man's body and the way he held his head under a brimmed cap to minimize exposure to the cameras dotting much of London that first caught her attention. Victoria raised the mug to her lips as she gazed out the window, taking in the man in an instant as her eyes moved on to the traffic beyond him. The face she remembered. He'd been barely more than a boy then, working for some... Italians, secondary players with a connection to last official target for Six. She'd only seen him once, through a scope during some early recon, and their paths hadn't crossed beyond that. She didn't even know his name, but she knew his type, and Victoria had little enough going on after the holidays it was worth looking into herself.

~*~*~

The contract specified the kill be public and from a distance, but the file from Il Bisturi had implied the target was cagey. She spent most of her days in public spaces, but with no rhyme or reason to where she would be when. Even her more regular haunts were hard to predict accurately. And the file said nothing about where she lived, so Vargas wasn't able to trail her from there. There was a square popular with buskers not far from where the mercs sent earlier had found her - the file was light on details of that encounter, and when Vargas had asked, he was ordered again to keep his distance - and lacking better ideas, he'd kept the area under video surveillance for the past week and a half waiting for the girl to show up, and she finally had. He'd had plenty of time to work out the best rooftops and upper floor empty office spaces overlooking the square, so once the target had set up her tiny folding table and put up her sign, it was a simple matter of letting himself into the corresponding building and into position.

~*~*~

The tarot had shown Em in spots all over the city so far this year, often in places she'd never been before, and it was unusual enough she'd done multiple readings trying to find out why. The images the cards showed her hadn't been very forthcoming though, and it had left her unsettled, but not knowing what else to do to prepare for whatever was coming. Without any real information, she hadn't shared her concerns with anyone, because what would she tell? I've got a bad feeling about this wasn't helpful, even from a precog.

Two women from Florence stopped for a reading, and were so thrilled to discover Em spoke Italian they hung around chatting about places they'd visited for awhile after she was finished with the cards. When they were ready to leave, she recommended a nearby coffee shop with excellent espresso, and stood watching until they were out of sight to make sure they didn't miss the first turn. She was about to sit again, when there was a loud crack and a sudden searing pain in her hip that made her crumple to the pavement.

~*~*~

Victoria headed toward the back of the café as though going to the ladies', but instead slipped out the backdoor and down the block so she could catch sight of the younger assassin before he was too far to follow. The office building he entered was, unlike many in the area, fully occupied, leaving the roof most likely, and by the time she got to the top, he had his Nemesis unpacked, assembled, and aimed down at the street below. She quickly crossed the space between the roof access door and his position, swinging her weighted handbag, which was as much a weapon as the knife in it or the guns tucked into her coat, into his head, "None of that then," just as he exhaled before taking the shot. He managed to pull the trigger, but neither had time to see if the shot hit true, as they scrambled for control.

[[Joint EP. Help Victoria deal with the assassin, or come to Em's rescue down on the street. ST/LT are always welcome.]]

goodfellow

One month ago, one of Soho's trendiest and yet least profitable dance clubs closed its doors. There were rumors for a while that the space was going to be turned into an upscaled gym, or perhaps gutted and chopped up into boutique shopping. But not much of anything seemed to be happening until just after Christmas, when the trucks were constantly parked by the service entrance and there seemed to be a flurry of activity.

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

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

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

The bars were not open, but prices were much cheaper than they should have been, coupled by the occasional appearance of Robin in his (somewhat skimpy) toga and gold-cast laureal wreath crown to hand out shots, mead, or wine to random partygoers. The point of the party was clearly not to make money but to build buzz, and from the length of the line outside after a couple of hours it was clearly working.

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London Calling RPG

September 2017

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London Calling RPG

Entries tagged with jag

OTA

Christmas Party! (GP)

Fight Me IRL - OTA

Debut

Halloween GP

OTA (st/lt welcome)

OTA

OTA

Gathering Post 7/7 - 7/14

OTA

Gathering Post - London Pride 6/17 - 6/26

OTA - Good as New?

ota (TW for some violence and homophobia)

Gathering Post

Party Hard (Gathering Post OTA)

OTA St. Bart's Hospital

Gathering Post

OTA

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NYE Gathering Post: Saturnalia

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September 2017

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