londoncallingrpg | Entries tagged with melehan pendragon

Today was the day Melehan considered the most important of the entire year: his birthday. It fell on a Sunday, saving him the trouble of wagging school to celebrate. It was only right that he spent every waking moment of the day having as much fun as possible, in honour of how great he was. After spending the earlier hours of the morning annoying his parents, he grabbed his most expensive, overpowered water pistol and set out into the city to find some sport.

His ‘sport’ was strangers walking past him on the street, innocently minding their own business.

His first victim was an old guy in a business suit, clearly a boring person if he was working on a Sunday. Or going anywhere on Sunday that required wearing a suit. Melehan chose the most boring-looking people as his victims, or the ones who looked most likely to get mad. Most of the reactions he got were disappointing, more confused than angry. When a guy finally lost it and started swearing at him, red-faced, Melehan sent another jet of water straight into his face and sauntered off, fast enough to avoid any potential violence, but slow enough to be able to deny he’d run from a fight.

It was a nice day. Hopefully the summer sun would draw more people out into the street, so he could shoot them.

He was standing on the pavement, looking utterly pleased with himself, holding his water pistol pointed towards the sky. It wasn’t long before another foolish person came within shooting range. He lowered his weapon, took a half-second to aim, and pulled the trigger.

(Your pup can be the one who gets shot, or merely a witness to a cruel unprovoked water pistol attack :D)

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.)

finlay_flynn

The music had been loud and thumping all night, booming and vibrating through the floor and into his bones. Words faded into synthetic chords, humming and buzzing, until it was less a song and more a sound. The music was constant and thrumming in a way that raised you up to euphoric heights and refused to let you back down. Was it good? Did it matter if it was? This wasn't Mozart, it wasn't about talent or leaving a lasting mark. It was a quick buzz, a long toke. It was a good night set to a heavy bass line, meant to be enjoyed only in the moment, not picked apart and analysed, or judged and critiqued. It was bubble gum, meant to be chewed up, and then spat out the moment it lost its flavour.

By the time the DJ's set wound down to something slow and soft, Fin was still as pale as ever, but he felt flushed and bright inside. There was glitter in his hair and caked to his skin, gold and shimmering as it clung to his cheeks and the exposed line of his collarbone where his shirt hung half open. With a cigarette between his lips he looked more like a rent boy than a well known star, and few seemed to recognize him as he loitered outside the club, smoking and letting the cool air help him come down.

He'd shaved recently, and without the beard he looked years younger again. It offered a hint of anonymity, something he was glad to take advantage of as he watched couples come and go. It was freeing, and it made him a touch bolder as he stopped the next person to pass him by.

"Got a light?" he asked, stubbing out his finished cigarette and pulling out another. "Mine's dead."

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.)

winter_wisp

It had taken some time for Winter to grow bold enough to leave the flat again, and even now he stayed quite near the flat, sitting in a cafe that Fin had taken him to a few times and sipping the largest latte they had. It was gingerbread, apparently. Winter thought it tasted like comfort.

The pixie had taken a seat near the window, lost in an oversized armchair and reading a book someone had left behind. A mortal tale about a detective who seemed to solve mysteries for 'dames'. Great dames, Winter assumed, since he was always talking about how long this one's legs were.

Great dames were, apparently, saucier than Winter had thought, and were also prone to having their husbands shot.

"Bad dog," Winter tutted, turning the page and then lowering his book to glance at his drink.

Fascinating as the story was, Winter found himself constantly glancing about- As if expecting someone to attack. His heart fluttered every time someone passed his table, and his drink was always supervised. ...That's how they got you, the bad mortals. That's what he'd learned. They poisoned your drink with potions to make your forget and to sleep. ...These monsters who looked just like all the other mortals, impossible to spot. They were sneaky and they were everywhere- And Winter was sure it was only a matter of time before another attacked.

yves

Yves was not a handsome man really, striking, perhaps, but not classically attractive. He was tall, with slightly sunken features and cheekbones that appeared sharp enough to slice open skin. His eyes were a mix of blue and green, like an artist's watercolours spilling over out of their pots, and his hair was- Well, his hair was curious indeed. Sometimes a soft dark brown, other times a shocking white. People asked him about it often, and Yves would only shrug.

"Does it matter?" he would ask. "Blonde, brunette, it's only hair..."

A little magic though, and anyone too curious would simply stop noticing it had changed.

Today it was brown, slightly slicked back as he stepped out of the hospital and pulled his coat tighter around himself before making his way down the street. He had a few things to do before he retired home for the evening, he intended to stop by the book store to pick up something new to read during his breaks, then his favourite take out for a meal, then the wine shop for, well, wine. Little luxuries, small treats to make the week less tedious.

He was just arriving at the bookshop when a beggar called out to him, small, slender- Old and yet ageless somehow. His shoulders hunching forward sharply as he pointed at Yves.

"I know you. I know you, butcher," he snarled.

Yves only raised a brow, pulling a five pound note from his pocket and enchanting it with a brush of his thumb.

"A butcher to some, a healer to most," he said as he pressed the charmed note into the beggar's palm. "I'm sorry, old friend, but I fear you know nothing."

The beggar looked frightened for a moment- then smiled as he looked at the note.

"A healer," the beggar agreed. "A hero."

"Not a hero, heroes live in myths, my friend. I exist right here."

He put his finger to his lips then, a silent gesture, then headed into the bookshop at last.

(OTA! Late tags and ST welcome! Check out the ooc post I put up here!)

dr_spencer_reid

Everything had been so quiet lately. His work life, his home life, even his mind seemed unusually still lately- And it was, honestly, making Spencer uneasy. It wasn't that he was hoping for a serial killer or anything like that- Even when he was desperate for some mental stimulation and a challenge, he never got quite that dark. But something, anything, had to happen.

...And then it did, and Spencer- Spencer's heart ached, the guilt he felt for daring to wish for more work to do spilling over and weighing him down. And oh, it was always harder when it was children. Always.

Three bodies in two weeks, all between the ages of six and eight. Girls, still in their school uniforms. Dumped, without any signs of remorse from their killer. It was, honestly, the worst case he'd been assigned to since coming to London, and as he stood at the police barrier, having just spoken to the woman who'd spotted the body, he realized that this wouldn't be like it was at home. The police wanted a profile from them, but they hadn't been invited to be a part of the investigation- Leaving Spencer with nothing but photos and paperwork, and the occasional update from the field.

Sitting in a cafe he read the report on the first body for the tenth time, wondering if this was really the best use of his talents. ...Wondering if maybe it was finally time to look at his other options.

winter_wisp

Being mortal was boring. B. O. R. I. N. G. He couldn't fly, couldn't be small, couldn't talk to Philip or the cats, couldn't play in the tiny house Fin and Will had bought him. ...But that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was he didn't feel like a pixie. Even in Aspid's cage, he'd been a pixie, he'd been himself. Now? Now he wasn't sure who he was.

His hair had gone white again, and though he'd spent his pocket money on hot chocolate with extra cream, he did not feel the familiar buzz. It was sweet and pleasant enough, but boring. ...The world was boring. The answer to that boredom, in his opinion, would be to buy a mortal game to play- But games cost money, and without his powers Winter had no way of convincing people to simply give it to him. ...He would have to work.

After a lot of thinking and sulking, he'd settled on busking as Fae Willy did, going home and finding his little keyboard. Fin had noticed what he was up to, and after eyeing the tiny cat shaped keyboard had offered to take him to buy a proper one- One Winter could pay him back for later. Not a gift, but a loan.

Armed with a proper keyboard and a microphone, Winter had spent the day practising. Music came quite naturally to the pixie, and with a fair amount of songs to play he'd set out to find a good spot near the park, where he'd quickly set up and started playing. An hour later and his jar was half full, and he was smiling as he played one of his favourite songs from Fin's magic little box of tiny singing mortals- The radio, Fin called it.

When he finished he was smiling, pleased that he'd made some money, and feeling a touch less miserable about the whole mortal thing. Enough so that he thought he might call it a night and go get a beer. ...Just one this time.

finlay_flynn

Last night his sister had tuned up at his door to drop several bombs on him, in that way only Kelly- Now Pippa- Could. She'd done it with style and a smile, and then flounced back out before any of it could really settle in.

Now in the aftermath, Fin sat outside The London Studios, having spent the afternoon doing a read through for a mini series based very loosely on the Ripper murders. It honestly hadn't appealed to Fin initially, but the director was someone he'd been itching to work with, and this seemed as good a way to get to know the man as any. Though his career wasn't what had him chain-smoking and frowning to himself.

He thought of his father, and how they'd never reconnect now. Angry as Fin still was when he thought of the other man, a small part of him had always hoped they'd work things out one day. That the man would tell him how sorry he was for vanishing, and that maybe, just maybe, Fin would find it in his heart to forgive him.

Then, of course, there was the matter of Pippa's bite marks and the new discovery of their family 'curse'. How Fin wasn't the first in the family to be changed, how he wasn't the only one with supernatural ties... Things Pippa had shared, but only right before leaving, offering him no facts and no place to start looking- Only a promise that they'd talk more when they went to clear out their father's home. ...Something Fin very much didn't want to do.

Scowling, he lit another smoke and sighed deeply. He really ought to have been heading home, but he felt too wound up and tense, restless even.

melehan

It was the holidays, and Melehan was almost ready for another day spent doing absolutely nothing sensible or useful. There was just one more thing he needed.

He was leaning against the front wall of a bakery with his phone in one hand, tapping and swiping at the screen, pretending it held his interest while he occasionally glanced up at the strangers passing him on the street. His pockets were stuffed full with outrageous amounts of cash. All he needed now was a kind, money-hungry soul with ID who could help him with a very serious problem.

He was only sixteen. The bakery was next door to a bottle shop, and he really, really needed some vodka.

A lot of people didn’t look like they would be much help. Some weren’t any older than he was; others had headphones in and either wouldn’t hear or wouldn’t care if he spoke to them. Some just didn’t seem like good candidates. As funny as it would be to try to convince somebody’s grandma to buy alcohol for him, it wasn’t very likely to work.

He was in a good mood, not at all concerned that he wouldn’t end up successful. He was rich enough to bribe even the most moral and upstanding citizens. And if that didn’t work, he could always whine at them until they gave in and did what he wanted.

Waiting was starting to get boring, though. Maybe an evil, law-breaking type would walk past soon. Or maybe he’d just pick somebody, no matter how unlikely they looked, and see how far he had to go to persuade them. It was good to challenge yourself sometimes, after all.

Either way, it would be more interesting than leaning against a brick wall.

All relevant info for this new pup can be found at his wiki page here and my post in the ooc comm here. I know people are likely to be a bit busy with holiday and new year stuff atm so late tags are quite welcome <3 Also, Melehan is a terrible brat and I'm not sorry >:D

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London Calling RPG

Entries tagged with melehan pendragon

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