Sep. 10th, 2017 07:42 pm
fantasticnewt: (trunk)
[personal profile] fantasticnewt
Newt sat on a bench in the park across from the building that housed the small flat that the Ministry had provided for him. He held his suitcase on his lap, still wary about having it out of his sight for even a moment. This was a step for him, being out in the world at all. Since he had arrived here a few weeks ago from 1927, everything was simply too much. Too much noise, too much crowd, too much that was unrecognizable, unexplainable...

Sometimes he'd felt as if the world was not all that welcoming to him at the best of times, and now he felt like even more of an outsider. He was an alien here. And not only this, but the shock of going to the Ministry for help and discovering that everyone knew who he was. There was a portrait of him there. A first edition of his book under glass.

He watched a squirrel scurry up a tree. Once safely on a branch, it paused and looked over at him. He offered a little wave.

The latch on his suitcase popped open.

"Quiet down, Dougal," he said gently as he closed the clasp again. "I am not letting you out, not here. If you thought New York was a different world, you've no idea what you might encounter in this place."

The latch popped open again, almost violently this time, and Newt practically flattened himself against the case to make sure it stayed closed, then glanced up and around him frantically, as if afraid he might be caught doing something bad.

[OOC: for the deets on brand new newt, here!">
londoncallingmods: (spoops)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
The press weren't talking about it, but there were whispers on Twitter- Chatter about strange events, odd happenings. Little pockets of London where seemingly impossible things were happening. ...Except no one seemed to be able to get photos of these 'strange occurrences', and as we all know, if there are no pictures, it didn't happen.

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

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

(Open all through next week and next weekend. Have the magic effect your character however you like, but keep in mind that this magic, whatever it is, is very pure and playful. It wouldn't cause harm- Though maybe inconvenience.)
goodfellow: (Default)
[personal profile] goodfellow
As much as Robin had enjoyed being in New York with Prometheus, he'd grown restless. And now that he was back in London, he realized how much this really did seem like his home now. He loved the city, he loved running the club. He even appreciated the friends that he had here, as much as he still attempted to keep them at arm's length.

Tonight, he made the rounds at Saturnalia dressed in an impeccable plum colored suit with a silver cashmere scarf hanging from his neck. He was already planning for a New Year's Eve party to celebrate the anniversary of that first "unofficial" opening of the club. Perhaps he could make it even better this time.

He was carrying a bottle of good champagne, still cold, and occasionally stopped those with empty glasses (of anything) and offered to refill them. Though now, he tipped his head back and poured some into his mouth before wiping it and looking pleased with himself.
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!)
goodfellow: (playful)
[personal profile] goodfellow
It was early in the evening for Saturnalia, London's hottest new nightclub. Early enough that most showing up at the door were getting in, and the music was only just loud enough to be heard through the open door guarded by an incredibly attractive, well-muscled bouncer wearing a toga. Yes, it was gimmicky. Robin didn't care; it worked. He was making money hand-over-fist in this place. Not that that was why he was doing it, but it was a nice metric for success, which was something that interested him. Also he was getting laid spectacularly and as often as he liked.

He'd just arrived for the evening, and was lingering outside first, watching the line of people, watching the reactions from passersby who looked but didn't stop.

He dangled a cigarette between his lips, not because he was smoking it, but because the appearance of smoking made him look less conspicuous just standing outside on the sidewalk.

"Come on in, the water's fine," he offered with a lascivious smirk to the next person to walk by, not even paying attention to who it was. What did it matter? He wanted all of London in his club.
goodfellow: (dark)
[personal profile] goodfellow
It had taken considerably longer than Robin anticipated, thanks to some building code issues that had pushed back his renovations by months, but following the thrown together "preview" on New Year's Eve (that had gone very well if he did say so himself), Saturnalia was finally officially open for business.

The inside of the club looked somewhat different than it had in January: more polished now, better decorations, furniture, lighting. There was still Greek inspiration, particularly in the murals on the walls - modern, graffiti-inspired versions of Greek art and myths, bright colors splashed amidst chrome industrial decor. Most of the employees (bartenders, dancers) were wearing togas.

The grand opening was a hot ticket, but Robin had sent out invitations generously, and instructed the bouncers at the door to let in the beautiful people as usual, yes, but to be rather random about it as well. After all, what was the fun in only the rich and beautiful?

Alcohol was free flowing, and the music was hot, spun by a DJ on a stage who seemed to have the perfect sense of the crowd. He may have even had a little help by magic. Because why leave these things to chance?
toujours_impur: (happy puppy)
[personal profile] toujours_impur
The past few days have been rather traumatic for Sirius, but he was doing his best not to dwell on it, because he had a whole new London to get on with getting used to, a new life to start. Thank God Remus had been here and had somehow been the one to find him, because he wasn't sure what would have happened otherwise. He likely would have been arrested by the muggle police and probably even been declared insane, for he would have insisted it was 1981, not 2016.

Instead, he'd been taken to Moony's flat and been taken care of as well as caught up on this new reality he found himself in. A trip to the Ministry had gotten him further sorted, and while there was one more meeting he would need to undertake soon, he wasn't quite ready to meet the adult version of the infant he'd seen just a few nights ago in Hagrid's arms.

But at least he now had money in his pocket, and he knew just where he wanted to spend it. He'd always enjoyed muggle toys (which reminded him, he'd have to find a way to get a new motorbike, as he had no idea where his old one might be by now, and at any rate it was decades old even if he could locate it), and from what he'd seen so far of Remus' mobile phone, he knew he absolutely had to get one of his own.

Finding a shop to purchase one hadn't been difficult; he'd simply asked the first person he saw peering at their little screen where they'd got it and gone there. The problem now was that there were an awful lot of models and varieties to choose from, and he had no bloody clue what he was looking for, what made one version more or less desirable than the next. He wandered around the shop peering at the little cards that announced each phone's features (which may as well have been in Bulgarian for all the sense he could make of them), fighting the urge to just buy the most expensive one in the shop and be done with it, as he no longer had unlimited funds available, at least for the moment. "Which one do you like?" he asked a nearby person with a flash of his charming smile, not bothering to check if they were an employee or if he was simply hassling a random customer.

[Welcome to modern-day London, Padfoot! If your pup wouldn't have a reason to be inside a mobile phone store, feel free to run into him outside trying to figure out how to work his shiny new smartphone. :D)
utterly_mysterious: (boy)
[personal profile] utterly_mysterious
Angelique hurried down the street, feeling like an alien in some low-budget production, played out in someone's dingy upper room -- one in which the wardrobe budget was particularly abysmal. Skinny blue jeans, a shirt (not even a blouse) that might have served as a cute short dress at any other time, and a loose dark cardigan over it all that covered up any shape Angelique might have had. Hair and makeup had been completely fired from the production, as well, affording only a messy queue of unruly black hair to frame a clean, not-quite-boyish face.

Angelique looked like a boy, and every step she took along the pavement felt just slightly wrong. Head down, eyes on the pavement, strangers seemed to jostle her at every turn, but she said nothing and avoided eye contact, no matter how often she stumbled.

The trouble with living one's life without labels and without limits was that even individuals who defied categorization had families, including a younger brother and sister who, at times, wanted to see the older sibling about whom their parents seemed to have forgotten. Supper in the city, perhaps every three or four months, was the most contact Angelique had with her siblings. And every time, she dressed like this, washed her face, and ignored her hair, just to keep them from asking any questions.

It wasn't long before she passed an organic makeup boutique, and came to a halt to stare in the window at the spring line of products. Surely just a lipstick would help erase this feeling of wrongness... but could she go inside, looking as she did now? Angelique watched the shop girls with their black outfits, perfect hair, and gorgeous faces, and envied how simple it all must be for them.

((OOC: Open post! Angelique looks much more masculine, and may or may not be easily recognized by people she already knows. Find her either being bumped around on the sidewalk, or staring in the window of the makeup shop, or anywhere else outdoors that makes sense!))
finlay_flynn: (pensive and beardy)
[personal profile] finlay_flynn
He'd been working on the book since just after he'd lost his vision, and after a few re-writes and a lot of changes in his life, it was finally finished, and there was finally a release date and cover art.  On May 17th Fin's book, The Rough Spark would be released, with a short book tour that would follow. 

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

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

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

ota c:

Jan. 2nd, 2016 01:08 pm
pixiesweat: (very angry)
[personal profile] pixiesweat
It was over a year now since his sister had died. Time had slowed right down and he had nothing to do but count the days as they dragged by. A year and one day, a year and two days, three, four... All the pain and anger that had settled a little over the last year was dredged back up, till he was filled with grief and rage so fierce he felt like he might choke on it.

He hadn’t been back to his flat for the past couple of days. Its warmth and tidiness had started to feel more and more wrong. There was plenty of space for him there, much more than he was used to, but he’d felt suddenly that he didn’t fit. Once it got to the point that he was about to start punching holes in the walls, he’d slammed the door behind himself and left.

People couldn’t stop celebrating. It had been Christmas, then the new year. Some of them couldn’t get over it and were still going. He couldn’t stand it. More than once he’d lost his cool and glared daggers at strangers who’d done nothing except be happy.

He ducked into an alleyway to hide when dawn came and killed his magic. He recast his human disguise as soon as he could, then fell asleep right there, slumped behind a dumpster that stank of rotting food. It was still day when he woke up. He didn’t know what time it was, and he didn’t care. His hair was tangled, he had dirt smudged on his face, and there was a tension in his shoulders and a blankness in his eyes that hadn’t been there a week ago. He stared into nothing for a moment, then got up and half walked, half staggered back onto the street. Quite possibly straight into somebody else’s path.
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
With cold weather rolling in and taking over, it seemed as though London was as eager as it could be to embrace the seasonal traditions of sharp blades on ice and food in faces.

Many ice rinks had opened this weekend, though Canary Wharf was by far the most impressive one. Large, beautiful, and not too busy if you came at the right time of day. Music played at a pleasant volume and the ice was littered with young and old, couples and singles, novices and show-offs... Anyone bold enough to strap on some skates.

Elsewhere in the city there was food to be found at the Foodies Festival. A place where you could find not just fine food, but also live-music, carollers, photo-booths and team quizzes.

It was a quiet way to start ringing in the holiday season- Or simply just enjoy the brisk weather that had crept in and was here to stay until spring.

(Gathering post! Set over the weekend, but open all week long to new top levels and tags. Tag in now and check back in often!)
prodigalflame: (quietly pleased)
[personal profile] prodigalflame
Another step. John found himself half-way out of yet another jewellery store, foot poised to meet the pavement. He checked his phone and made sure he'd taken all the photos he wanted, noted all the prices, and geo-located the freaking place. He had a list of ten stores to hit that day, and he was barely done with three of them.

And he wasn't even the guy who made lists: a man less of habit than of reaction. It was early afternoon on Friday; he'd been a good boy and done his marking and seen the few students who turned up to office hour and basically asked him to do their first assignment for him ("The answer is no. And also no.")

He was after all, a proper grown up. He had the mortgage and boyfriend and kitchen to prove it. He'd been in London more than a year; he knew it's rhythms better, felt its beat. And holding his phone up to get a better signal, he simply entered the throng heedless of its direction, casually going where he wanted regardless of the people around him. There had always been something of the shark about John, moving at his own pace and scenting blood in the water and having exactly no fucks to give.

As the sun started setting on London, he could be found enjoying the late night shopping, ever certain, ever comfortable, in jeans and leather jacket, hunting from shop to shop to find two engagement rings to symbolise the most ridiculous decision he'd ever made in his life.

And you know, if anyone said he was ridiculous or one of the jeweller's raised their eyebrow at the notion of an engagement ring for John's boyfriend, he was more than prepared to start a little burnination. Old shops had old wiring. Happened all the time. He could feel the sparks in the walls like tingles in his spine, and all he'd have to do was give things a little push. Jeez, it would be such a shame.

Finally, after his feet were sore and his calves ached, John found himself going back to the second shop on his list. It was a salutary lesson that his instincts were almost always right. Paying on credit, he picked up a matched set of men's engagement rings: crafted in white gold, with a symbol that almost could have been an 'X' etched on the band. Blue and white diamonds for Bobby; garnets and white diamonds for John. Then, feeling like a load had been lifted from his heart, he paused again on the threshold, but now there was a spring in his step, and a giddy sort of relief. I deserve a drink, he decided, and went to go find one.

[You can meet John pounding the pavement and looking at his phone; or taking a stop at a cafe in the evening to recharge with a coffee; or heading into or tumbling out of a jewellers. He will be somewhat intensely focussed on the search for the best wedding rings of all time, so feel free to bump into him or call out if your pup knows him. Your pup can also find him after he's been successful and is celebrating with a beer and a lot of blushing astonishment on his face. Your pup can also reference some fire that might have started in a shop at some point that evening. >.>]
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
Summer was coming to an end, and fall was slowly creeping in as the temperatures dropped and the store fronts down the high street started to change to muted and earthy colours.

Menus at restaurants were beginning to change, and school for many was already back in session. Though there were still people attempting to enjoy the last weeks of summer, despite the fact that the weather was already turning on them.

As always, there was plenty to do this weekend, and though tourist season was slowing down, the streets and the underground were as busy and bustling as ever.

(Though the GP takes place over the course of Sat & Sun, it is, as always, open for as long as people want to top level and tag in. Be sure to check back throughout the week to see who has tagged in!)
londoncallingmods: (calling)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
The best thing about London was that there was always something to do, no matter what your interests were. This weekend there was a jazz festival in Bloomsbury, an ale festival that would take you through a drunken train tour of the city, an African culture festival near Covent Garden, and several movie screenings, parties, and other pockets of fun.

Tourists were flooding in from all over, and many Londoners were slipping off to, or coming back from, their latest trips to Barcelona, Paris, or Ibiza. The weather was warm, and it had been fairly dry and sunny lately- Really, it was the perfect place to be right now. ...At least that's what anyone who wasn't heading off to some tropical wonderland would tell you at least.

As day faded into evening, bars came alive and shop windows lit up, inviting in tourists and locals alike. The city buzzed well into the night, calming only briefly in the morning, before bursting back into life again.

(Have your pup be anywhere in the city you like. This GP is intended to take place over the course of Sat and Sun, but will be open all week long! Remember to add your pup's tag after you tag in!)
harrowgate: (Default)
[personal profile] harrowgate

The news had broken early that morning, an exclusive in a single newspaper that quickly became front and center in dozens of newsagents around the city. As soon as the story posted on the paper's web site, it filtered out in blog posts and linkbacks, spreading to celebrity gossip rags and social media in a matter of minutes. In the wake of the horrific Whitfordshire murder the day before, covered in the slime of underage pornography, the story caught quickly with writers and commenters hungry for more of the salacious tale.

Beneath the enormous headline on the front page of the tabloid was a color photo of Felix Harrowgate, sometime companion of the younger brother of Stephen Teverius, the Home Secretary. In the photo, Felix looked particularly terrible, caught in the middle of what looked like some scathing remark -- a famous trait of his among the society reporters who most often witnessed him at his worst.

Behind the front page, the news story spilled Felix's darkest secret in lurid detail: photos and videos found at the scene of the Whitfordshire murder proved that Felix had been for sale and featured in underage pornography around twelve to fifteen years ago, and that the murdered man had been a regular client. The shocking truth had been "independently confirmed," the article claimed, that Felix Harrowgate's identity had been falsified, but nothing about the truth of his past seemed to exist. Not outside of the images found in Whitfordshire's collection.

When Felix arrived at the Mirador Agency for work that day, Thaddeus De Lalage, a colleague and friend, met him at the door. "You can't be here," Thaddeus told him, pushing a copy of the paper into his hands. "And the Curia suggests you don't return to the House for the time being, either." Behind him in the public lobby, the other wizards and apprentices arriving for work had stopped cold, staring, whispering, and keeping their distance. Only Robert Hermione considered approaching, suggesting to Thaddeus with his poisonous viper's smirk that he might not wish to extend any further contact with Felix, lest depravity -- and whatever else Felix might be carrying -- were catching.

Felix ensured that Robert knew exactly what he thought of him before turning on the heel of his Italian leather shoe and storming from the premises.

He needed only a few seconds to scan the article, and tear the newspaper in half before shoving it violently into the nearest trash can. Only a minute later did Felix realize he was stranded on the sidewalk in downtown London, with nothing but his wallet, phone, and work satchel, and nowhere to go.

That was when he realized that the passers-by were not actually passing by, were in fact starting to surround him, and carried cameras, microphones, and a cacophony of shouted questions. And that everywhere he went that day -- and perhaps for many days to come -- he would be unable to escape them.

(OOC: more here about this plot! Find Felix anywhere that's convenient, as he'll be hounded by reporters all day long. HMU with any questions on the aforementioned info post!
londoncallingmods: (Default)
[personal profile] londoncallingmods
The weather this weekend was cool and dry, perfect for the festivals that were going on outside the city, and the many events going on within the city itself. There were poetry readings and plays in the west end, an art crawl happing near one of the universities, and a free lecture series going on not far from that...

Bars had opened their outdoor seating areas, allowing people to smoke while they sipped a pint. Cafes overflowed with tourists and locals alike, sipping their teas and coffees as they enjoyed a lack of rain. snapping their selfies and texting their mates.

Shops were having side walk sales, from the high street to the small boutiques. Clothes and baubles hung on racks and displays, glittering in the sun and attracting the gaze of everyone who walked by.

There was life and colour everywhere, the grey of winter lifting and allowing London to shine for a little while.

(Gathering posts are open for several days, so be sure to check back often to see who else has tagged in. Set your top level anywhere in the city!)


May. 9th, 2015 07:50 pm
pixiesweat: (wispy hair)
[personal profile] pixiesweat
Days all felt much the same to Manuel. Thanks to Willy, he was living in a flat rather than on the streets, but he still spent the same amount of time doing nothing.

He was clean now. He had new clothes, his hair was brushed and tied back in a rough but relatively neat ponytail. He could easily be taken for a regular (if rather miserable) teenage boy rather than a street thug who was out of a job.

Technically, he wasn’t wanting for anything. He had enough money for food, but most of the time he didn’t feel hungry enough to bother eating. He’d lost a little weight--just enough that someone who knew him (or had met him before and had a good enough memory) might be able to notice. He’d noticed it himself, and he didn’t care.

He didn’t have anywhere to go, but he went out sometimes. Walking the streets felt different than it used to. The days he’d spent living in alleyways after his sister died seemed fuzzy and very far away.

Today, like usual, he wasn’t headed anywhere in particular. He’d walked in a big circle and was heading back to his flat when he came across a car, parked out of the way of immediate onlookers, with somebody’s phone and wallet left carelessly discarded on the front seat. Almost without thinking, he smashed its window, emptied the wallet of cash, grabbed the phone and shoved it all into his pocket.

He didn’t know why he was doing it. He didn’t need the money. He didn’t particularly enjoy breaking the law.

He didn’t care why he was doing it.

He didn’t take the same kind of precautions that he would have, once. He didn’t cast an illusion to hide himself from human eyes, and there were incriminating fragments of broken safety glass left clinging to his shirt.

He headed off down the street, at a brisk but not suspiciously fast pace, with more cash that he would probably never spend and a phone that would likely end up thrown away or lying in the bottom of a drawer in his flat, forgotten.

((So, here’s a Manuel :) Your pups are free to:

-notice the broken glass on his shirt and figure out that he’s been Up To Something;
-catch him in the act (though be warned, you’ll have to have a way to literally catch him, cause he’ll leg it);
-it can even be your pup’s car that he’s broken into, if you have a pup that’d be silly enough to leave their valuables unattended in plain sight :D
-or you can just run into him further down the street, and have a normal conversation not related to his petty criming :) whatever suits you and your pup best!))


Apr. 29th, 2015 11:37 pm
shannonteverius: (Sitting)
[personal profile] shannonteverius
Shannon had been spending more time out in the evenings and at night lately. He hated the sight of an empty bed and tried to avoid it until it was absolutely necessary. Because of this, he was also branching out from his usual haunts. Not too far from them but the places he spent his time were becoming slightly more eclectic.

Tonight he was in a local jazz club. He wasn't a fan of jazz per se but the place was nice and the music gave him an excuse to be there besides drinking. The clientele were a little more classy than a regular bar as well which he appreciated.

He accepted his glass of wine from the bartender and took a seat at a small table some ways back from the stage. He would rather someone join him to socialize than to listen to the music for the whole evening.


Apr. 8th, 2015 12:27 pm
im_torchwood: (Soldier Blue Vortex)
[personal profile] im_torchwood
After John Hart, after Gray, Jack couldn't be in Cardiff. He was Torchwood now, not just what he did but who he was, and he had a small crisis and had to get away. Although he'd broken with London's Torchwood after the incidents at Canary Wharf (which it seemed the population had either forgotten or written off) Jack found himself in England's jewel. He was ready to make a new start. And, he reckoned, the Doctor would probably visit London before Cardiff if truth be told.

He'd settled into the subterranean Hub that Alice and Emily had worked in. It had been long forgotten in favor of the building of steel and glass that had been built atop it. Bloody Torchwood...they were supposed to be secret. He'd made his contacts and had put himself to work. But even Jack needed to eat.

He had all of the city to choose from and rather than just go to a pub Jack stood on the sidewalk looking at his mobile reading Yelp reviews. There was a place just down the block and around the corner. Yelp was good and all but he kind of wanted a real opinion so he looked up from his screen and he smiled at the first person whose eye he caught.

"Excuse me...do you know if this place is any good?" he asked, showing the screen. His American accent immediately marked him as a tourist, even though he wasn't.

Link Drop

Feb. 2nd, 2015 08:46 pm
shannonteverius: (Wild Hair)
[personal profile] shannonteverius
January 20th, 2015 - Evening
Shannon comes home to find blackmail photos in his mailbox. With the hope that there is a mistake, he confronts Felix about the photos. Unfortunately, things quickly turn sour from there.

Warning: Allusions to child prostitution.


londoncallingrpg: (Default)
London Calling RPG

September 2017

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