Test Drive Meme: August 2015

[undergroundmods]

"" (Watch on YouTube)

Welcome to the Underground test drive meme! This is where you can try out the AU version of your character, start some potential CR and get a feel for the world of the game. Choose your character's species, read up on the available factions and you're ready to go. Put your character's name in your subject line when you post, tag out, and have fun!

Note to current players: Activity in this meme counts as game canon! So you can use it for activity check. If you end up playing anything that you can't or don't want to use as game canon, it's fine to ignore it. (In that case you shouldn't submit it for activity check.)

For prospective players: Thinking about bringing a character to the game? Feel free to comment to our Potential CR Planning meme for OOC planning and discussion.

Here are some prompts to inspire you:

1) BABY COME BACK. Is there someone you miss? Maybe you've come to visit for the first time in months. Maybe you'll even stay.

2) FULL MOON. (29th August) Uh oh, it's that time of the month. Werewolves, have you been feeling more aggressive lately? A little short of temper? Better start preparing for your monthly transformation and hope that you don't get interrupted. And then there's the morning after, which feels like a massive hangover. Wait, where are your clothes?

3) CARNIVAL. (30th-31st August) It's the August bank holiday weekend and that can only mean one thing: the Notting Hill Carnival! With the sun high in the sky, enjoy the parade, the music and of course the food. Jerk chicken, anyone?

4) SPECIAL EFFECTS. There's nothing like a touch of subtle magic to add to the occasion. Dress up and show off. Mind you, there could be other supernatural types around who see straight through your tricks.

5) PARTY ALL NIGHT. It's not over when the sun goes down. Get yourself to one of the bars or after-parties and keep on partying. Just don't drink too much. You know it makes it harder to control your powers... and your urges.

6) BRAWL. The police work hard to keep London's gangs away from Carnival. When you have supernatural gangs to contend with, their job gets a whole lot harder. Drunk and disorderly or simply looking for an excuse to cause trouble, encounters between rival factions can soon become hostile. Now are you here to cause a fight or to stop it?

7) NIGHT IN JAIL. Oops. What did you do? And who's that with you?

8) CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE. Anything goes.

Comments

Reno || Final Fantasy VII || Human/Hunter

[idkmybffpyramid]

{CARNIVAL}

Not really a festive type, this one, but you have to appreciate the work that goes into the costumes and the music. And the food's pretty fucking good too, he'll give it that.

He's supposed to be here to meet someone, but he's long since gotten the feeling he's been stood up, so Reno's just enjoying the carnival from a distance. A can of lager in one hand, cigarette in the other. Watching parades and dancers go by with some curiosity, but not enough to really do anything.



{JAIL}

So he has no idea if cops in England are harder to bribe or if he just hasn't found the right ones yet. Either way,what Reno does know is the guy who dragged him in wasn't exactly amused by the offer. Between that and the fact it's kinda tough to explain away why exactly it looks like you're in the middle of what looks like some serious arson. Well. Thank goodness it's just a night in a cell, huh?

Despite the indignity of the situation, Reno's pretty relaxed. He gets himself settled on the Met's sorry excuse for a bed and reclines with a sigh. It's only once he's comfortable that he even acknowledges his roommate for the night.

"Don't suppose you know any good ways to pass the time?" I-spy is sadly not going to cut it.



{WILDCARD}
w/e yo

Carnival

[detectiveofthewest]

"Pretty big shindig, huh?" Heiji didn't have a drink in his hand just yet, though he might plan on trying the chicken a bit later. Right now he was content to stay back a bit and listen to the steel band.

"Thought this place was crowded on a normal day."

jail. errbody party in the holding cell.

[stauncherhearted]

Nancy had had the worst fucking luck. When she wasn't babysitting a detoxing vampire, she was being cursed to only speak the truth. Can we say: awful? And now, to top it off, instead of just getting kicked out of a bar, she'd actually gotten herself arrested for soliciting.

This wasn't the first time she'd been arrested. Or the first time the police took down her name and ID and made a nice little folder for Fagin, Nancy complete with mugshots. She actually probably had quite a few back there. Here was the trick: there were no files on record.

A nifty little trick she'd learned.

And, come tomorrow, she'd be let out with a warning, same as everyone else.

That wasn't her trickery, though. But all it took was a phone-call, and she got her wish.

But in the meanwhile, she's stuck here, leaning against the back wall with her arms crossed over her chest. Garters and heels on, and a shirt that was closer to lingerie than an actual shirt, it was clear to all who walked by that yes, yes everyone, she was arrested for prostitution.

She watched her new cell-mate enter bemused, content to not talk, when she caught his question. "Twenty questions, cards if you have 'em, play categories or alphabet games."

DAVE STRIDER | HOMESTUCK | META HUMAN/HUNTER-IN-TRAINING

[phonophilia]

[ CARNIVAL ]

Only a Strider will understand what a Strider's line of thinking, reasoning, and bullshitting. A Strider is supposed to be inscrutable, confusing. To try and understand them is the first rookie mistake of anyone ever.

So anyone wondering why Dave has covered himself in enough bright orange feathers to shame some of the parade dancers' headdresses, as he sips from a bedazzled Storbucks cup that's bedazzled enough to weaponise the sun's rays, can only blame themselves for thinking they'll understand the mysteries of the Strider right off the bat. What's there to understand? It's the Notting Hill Carnival, one of the sickest events he looks forward to every year. (Not that he'll tell anyone that.)

He notices someone gawking at his attire before he raises a drink at them in faintly mocking fashion before downing it one go. He gives a burp, wipes his mouth the back of his hand, and then finally greets them with a deadpan, "hey. 'Sup man. Before you ask me - I made these bad boys. Original creation; do not steal."

[ BRAWL ]

He came in to have a good time and he feels so attacked right now.

'Course a couple of assholes had to try and ruin the fun by having the biggest dickus contest nearby. He was going to ignore it until he noticed a couple of people he knew looking uncomfortable and sigh. Someone had to step in and save the day, didn't they? He didn't have anything else to do but binge on the chicken.

"Ladies, ladies--" Bro taught him a lot of things but he's gotta admit flashstepping is a handy thing to have in situation like these. He steps in between the two pissed off dudes who look more like examples of swole gone wrong than real human beings. Werewolves? Fae who got into bodybuilding too much? Magic plastic surgery gone wrong? The options are endless but his drawl will always be the same, "I think we can agree that we all badly want Nic Cage to put his bunny in our box but think of the children here--"

Okay: Judging by the wild swipe they made at him, causing him to jump back to avoid the sloppy punch, they didn't like that opinion of his. Sorry Egbust but he's gotta admit the assholes here have an idea what taste is.

Even if it looks like the two arguing assholes look like they're going to tag team him to crush his head in a mean game of patty cake. At least he'll have the warm fuzzy knowledge he got them to stop shouting at each other by focusing their sweaty rage at him. Way to go. Gold star. "At least I get to die the way I lived: Getting beat on by a sweaty awkward thirty-year-old guy."

[ NIGHT IN JAIL ]

Welp. That could have gone worse.

After forcing himself to pester someone to bail him out and pay first and ask questions later, Dave finds himself forced to wait in the cramp jail cell with someone else. If he finds them staring at him and his awesome if tarnished attire weird or anything, Dave keeps his face blank and his tone cool as usual. Cool as a pickle in a fridge box in Antarctica during a blizzard, man. That's him.

"Got a polaroid camera or something? I'm ready for my close up." A ridiculous swing of the cape/boa he's wearing cements his 'too cool to care' aura he's keeping up despite looking like he got tossed down a flight of stares after being warned about them, bro. "I always wanted to be on 'Nottings Gone Wild.' Do you think my daddy will finally love me if he sees me here, all hot and bothered?"

BRAWL! \o/ also that username omg

[megidoomed]

It's been a while since Aradia's visited the Carnival. She used to go every year, but... well. Previous shenanigans, untimely death, etc. The narrative knows the score by now. But she needed a pick-me-up this year, and she had been getting better at the whole manifesting thing lately, so what's the harm?

Turns out the harm was barely dodging a street brawl. Oops.

Most people can't even see her, this she knows, and she can practically feel Will's disapproval over her breaking her word already but- but some poor idiot's in over their head and she doesn't stop to think. Just anchors herself to the nearest streetlight and reaches for something to throw, planning to start a steady barrage of rocks at the nearest thug to hopefully give the Dude an opening to fight back. Or run, if that's more his style.

Something about him looks familiar, though. It's hard to place and it'll bug her all night, but something keeps gnawing at her attention. Whatever, she'll pick at it later when New Dude isn't in danger of becoming a pretty chalk outline on the pavement.

MATTHEW BROWN | ORIGINAL CHARACTER | HUMAN

[unconned]

[ BABY COME BACK ]

It hasn't really been forever since he last saw this person but it was damn near close to it. Though tired and tuckered out from a long night at the Watering Hole, the family pub he ran with all his sweat and tears and then some, the patrons and the drinks actually listening to his announcement of it being final called helped soothed his nerves.

Meaning he didn't mind seeing this person's face walking in despite the fact it was almost closing time. He gave them a nod of greeting, already getting the needed ingredients to make their favourite drink. Least he could do for a friendly face he hasn't seen in these parks.

"Haven't seen you in a while!" Matthew smiles at them, exhausted but victorious after a profitable evening. "How have you been?"

[ CARNIVAL ]

He didn't really want to go at the time since he was tired and cranky and the idea of being around loud music and louder people wasn't all that people at his age but-- Someone told him as he was playing with his daughter and showed him a flyer of it. The way Margie's eyes lit up as she stared at the colours made him think they could use a day off to enjoy themselves.

Keeping a straight face despite having a neon pink baby carrier strapped to his chest, Matthew really couldn't give a damn about people's opinions as he cooed over Margaret and enjoyed the way she looked so excited by all the noise and colours and made it known with content gurgles and squeals. The two of them 'sang' along with the music and he clapped her hands in time of the beat during a song or piece she seemed to really enjoy, cherishing the moments he was building with her.

Even if being a parent was stressful at times, Matthew knows he wouldn't trade anything in the world now. Looks like coming here is a good idea after all.

[ CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE - FANCY MEETING YOU AGAIN ]

Never mind what he said. This was a terrible idea.

People passing by the busy sidewalks would probably hurry past the bickering couple - a redheaded man whose face was almost redder than his hair and a glamorous woman with eyes and hair dark as the frown she was sporting - but anyone who attempted to eavesdrop on them could probably grab snippets and bits of their conversation if they could hear past the music and the noise and the festivities in general. If they could, they'll quickly found out it isn't pretty to hear:

"… and I've been looking for you everywhere! I need to know--"

"No. You don't need to know; you're better off in the dark."

"Is that your reasoning for leaving her and me behind?"

"Matthew you make it sound like I don't have a heart--"

Despite the man's best attempts to cover his daughter's ears to shield her from the heated discussion, the little girl strapped to his chest looks stressed and confused as she makes whining sounds and wiggles in the baby carrier as the two adults continue to bicker like children between themselves. She looks ready to cry, actually, judging by her unhappy peeps and reddening face.

[ ooc; last option is not going to be considered game canon for plot reasoning so feel free to do whatever you want here! ]

barrrrrr

[stauncherhearted]

Almost closing time, sure, but Nancy still had quite some time left on her shift. Still, she, like anyone, needed to take a break from time to time, and she liked to take hers at pubs. Get some more blood generated, replace what was left with alcohol. Standard stuff, really.

Sliding into the barstool nearest to Matthew, Nancy hoped she just looked like a girl on her way to a club rather than a girl on her way to the streets. There was a delicate balance between the two, but with any luck, Matthew wouldn't know the difference. Besides, he saw her in jeans and t-shirts more often than not.

"I know- I haven't been able to get out of the house." She'd been cursed, and being a prostitute cursed to tell the truth was not good for business. "I've been bloody awful, truthfully, but-" she gestured at him. "I'm here now."

Rupert Giles | Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Daybreak witch

[watchher]

FULL MOON.
Brewing Wolfsbane is not Giles's specialty, but he can, with the right spellbooks, manage rather well and not kill anyone in the attempt. While he's not typically a friend to vampires, the cursed are a somewhat different story. He's got on well with a few werewolves. Possibly you're one of them.

Which is why someone might be coming to him, the night of the moon-- or waking up groggy and naked with Giles there to undo the shackles. Someone had to see that the potion had its proper effect, and it's not as though any of the other wolves were feeling attentive.

BRAWL.
When a commotion breaks out-- especially somewhere indiscreet, somewhere that isn't guaranteed safe from the eyes of the general population-- Giles has an unfortunate habit of dashing into it. So perhaps he's getting, with the calm exasperation of Daybreak types, between you and the guy who insulted your mother.

NIGHT IN JAIL.
When one attempts to break up a fight between supernatural factions, it helps to be a very effective liar when the police turn up.

Somehow, in four decades of life, Giles has never mastered this skill. Too much fumbling over his words-- it's not easy, explaining why someone's got bloody enormous clawmarks along with their broken nose. And he somehow gets pinned down as the one still nursing bruises and a terrible mood after the younger idiots have scattered.

Which is why there's a rumpled but otherwise respectable-looking middle-aged man in your cell, looking very long-suffering and less than thrilled to have company.

jail

[stauncherhearted]

She could tell there was magic in here the second she entered the building. Somewhere, another witch. As Nancy was hauled back into the cell, she kept her eyes open, only to have the source of the magic revealed to her. An older man. A beaten up older witch, actually, she assumed.

It was the start of a funny joke. A Midnight witch and a Daybreak witch are in jail. Though she had no way to tell that he was on the other side of Redbright, but she tended to assume everyone was Daybreak, until proven otherwise. Dark magic was illegal, after all.

"I suppose the other guy is in the hospital, then?" She quipped with the slight raise of an eyebrow as the cell closed behind her. "You look awful."

ANNIE CRESTA | The Hunger Games

[anniesgonemad]

Carnival The sun beat down on Annie's pale Irish skin, looking all the more ethereal in her white sundress. One would think that the woman would have wanted to avoid the crowds, but there was something about being amongst a bunch of people, none who know you, who won't judge you, where you could just be somebody instead of somebody. Besides, she'd been having a string of good days, lately, and the smell of Caribbean cooking always made her mouth water. She'd be alright, she was sure.

If she wasn't, well... Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. But until then, Annie's happy to wander around, looking at costumes, taking in everything, and nibbling at bits of food.

Party All Night Now, being out at night was something Annie probably shouldn't have been doing. She tried to remain indoors, whenever the sun went down, and had preferred it that way for some time. But she took precautions, on her wrists she always had silver bracelets, as well as around her neck which supported a witch's amulet she'd been given by her father, before she left for The Fourth District.

She wasn't going to drink, or even go to any bars, but somehow found herself swept up in a crowd pulling her into a party where, very quickly, she'd had a fruity drink of something shoved in her hand. That was two of these drinks ago, and now a very petite Annie was stumbling through the streets. At least she had the good sense to wear flats.

Choose Your Own Adventure
[make it up yo]

Carnival

[equite]

Carnivals were a good source of money: Esmeralda knew that from experience. And knowing that, she had packed up early, and set up her little stage at the end of a row of food stalls. Not that her stage was particularly fancy: smooth plyboard set on the ground served as her platform, and the open carry cases of some of her friends' instruments, lutes and flutes and a clarinet or two, were used as receptacles for the audiences' money.

All morning long, the outcasts had been playing their music, generating interest. But Esmeralda waited and waited to dance, holding out until the parades had passed, so that crowds would flock.

As she waited though, she noticed the pale woman with the long red hair, and grinned over at her.

"Enjoying the carnival? Have you had a dance yet?"

Lucifer | Supernatural | Outcast Fae?

[301pt81]

< CARNIVAL >

This was a bit too much noise for him. Not to mention the damn crowd. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

Beer in hand, Lucifer stayed on the outskirts and watched the party unfold around him with a slight scowl. This wasn't exactly his sort of scene. The only reason he was here at all was to people watch and even that was putting it mildly. If everyone decided to cluster here, then he was going to sit back and see why. Maybe he's not the best at socializing, but blending in is something he's good at.

He sipped at the beer, hoping to see a fight tonight at the least.


< Brawl >

Maybe he had one too many or maybe he just doesn't like to be touched or maybe his fuse is so short that it's actually a mental problem. Either way, whoever just shoved him in the back just got a fist to the face.


< Night In Jail >

Well, he saw a fight. It always winds up here, doesn't it?

Not that he could really be bothered with it or anything. The pigs said it would only be for a night - probably to just make sure they can't go back to the carnival - and he'd be out by morning. Which was lovely, honestly. There was a lot less noise in jail and he was surrounded by what could only be described as his people.

Not to mention he could probably get out at any point if he tried hard enough, so there was really no worries here. Especially with all that beer in his system.

"She's got a smile that it seems to me reminds me of childhood memories, where everything was as fresh as the ^{bright blue sky}! Everybody! Come on!" He clapped his hands, getting as loud as he can. It's nice when he's the one making noise for a change. "Now and then when I see her face, she takes me away to that special place-"

( JAIL ) please forgive how slow I'm definitely gonna be!

[vampiracy]

Drunks corralled in a meagre cage had been Killian's people, too, once upon a time. He'd been a rather notorious pirate, had spent time in a few prisons just to prove he could bust out in the end. This is far from the first time he's wound up behind bars for something or another, and he too could probably get out if he was willing to make a bit of a mess... but he'd need to feed and that'd likely be stupid when surrounded by drunks, albeit drunken ones.

So he was the only one currently in the drunk tank that didn't seem particularly drunk, more grumpily hungover, and that wasn't quite right either. Grumpy was pretty close though. He'd taken over an entire bench to lay down with an arm over his eyes, and didn't seem keen on sharing. Nobody had yet to be brave enough to try and ask him to.

"Would you bloody stow it?" he snapped toward the direction of whoever thought a bit of Guns n' Roses would make this dreary experience better. (It wasn't.)

Jo Martinez | Forever | Human

[detmartinez]

1) Jo had gone to Europe on little more than a whim. Or at least it felt like a whim. She had someone watching her apartment, had her mail forwarded to Hanson's, and her badge suspended before packing her bags and getting on a red eye to Paris.

Isaac had the whole trip planned out. Every minute. And while there was something comforting in knowing what they were going to do when they were going to do it, it was less comforting than having a every second dictated. Jo lost her patience somewhere between Caen and Portsmouth when Isaac told her what they'd be doing for the next week. She told him she couldn't do this anymore and she got on the next train to London where she sat at a cafe inside King's Cross with her luggage piled under her seat and a cup of coffee completely abandoned.

"What the hell was I thinking?" Jo groaned into her hands as she slumped forward onto her elbows. Isaac was probably already on a flight to New York. And she was stuck in a foreign country with no friends or family here.

7) This is what happens when you aren't an actual police officer and you try to intervene in a brawl. Jo couldn't flash her badge because well, she didn't have one. So she'd gotten dragged in with the rest of the group she was trying to break up.

"I'd say it can't get any worse, but -," Jo knocks on the wooden bench she's sitting on. She isn't superstitious by nature, but knowing how this trip is going - a little salt throwing and wood knocking couldn't hurt.

8) Whatever you want!

[chronobreak]

Ekko, for his age, is perhaps a little too involved in being around brawls. Though he generally doesn't tend to start them on his own. Still, it's certainly odd to see a person try to get involved in something they're not even part of.

"Better not." He's seen the future- or bits of it- many, many times and when things look bad they can always be worse, no matter what.

"What were you doing, anyway?"

karkat vantas | homestuck | meta-human in denial

[beleague_red]

01: carnival

[ All things considered, there isn't an overly compelling reason for Karkat to be hitting the confetti-littered streets at this particular time of day. As far as he's concerned this carnival is Nothing To Do With Him, and as the dancers spin and twirl across the pavements with their various bits shaking and their everything jangling obnoxiously through the samba of steel drums and whooping of idiots who think this is all just a pretty show, he doesn't exactly fit in what with his compelling state of monochrome and scowling indifference. His surroundings are a woozy whirlwind of colour and sound and the surrounding crowd are all gathered in close and personal – all things he'd much rather avoid – but he pushes forward with his limbs flailing and his voice a demanding shriek in the din. He might as well be throwing women and children into the road.

He's the last person anyone would expect to be out in a place like this willingly. What could possibly drag a lacklustre teen out of bed on a Sunday? The parade? Pfft, please. Dancing isn't his thing. No, his focus is on the tables lining the streets to the back of the parade, gilded with those familiar neon signs with scruffy sharpie lettering. Fuck yeah; he’s here for the food.

He goes straight for the meat, avoiding the rice and peas with an indignant and determined air. He came for food, not mush masquerading as food. If he wanted rice and peas he'd go buy some rice and stick it in a pan with some god-damn peas, why would he come all the way out here for food he could make at home?? Arguably, he could make curried goat at home too – the recipe is on the damn website, after all – but he's obviously not thinking about that as he shovels more goat into his mouth.

He's truly feeling the Mas as he stalks away from the street vendor with his little bowl of meat and spice, and he's feeling Mas even more when he buys and slurps loudly from a hollowed-out and prettified pineapple. He finds a seat on the stairway to some poor fuck's doorway, complete with a handy and already overflowing rubbish-bin standing close by. The surrounding smokers and antisocial patrons are his fellow wallflowers and he grunts at them as he stares drearily at the dancers covered in powder and paint. ] 'Be pretty shit if it rained, huh?

02: brawl + night in jail

[ He has literally every sappy movie in existence to remind him that a) good guys finish last, and b) every day heroes do not exist; and yet here he is nursing an impressive bruise, a nose gushing with blood and his own wounded pride. Stopping a fight, to him, had been a selfless and daring act that would give him both the pride of having done a good deed, and some fucking peace and quiet on a dull commute across central, but instead it's served him with nothing but trouble and a big-ass headache.

The fight in question broke out in front of the supermarket Karkat wanted to shop in, and his already paper-thin patience wouldn't allow him or any of the others stood around the tussling duo to wait until they’d tired out their testosterone. He took the initiative and surged forwards into the crowd to wrench one man away from the other with surprising strength for one so small and so pathetically untalented at anything remotely physical. He was doing a pretty good job of condescendingly scolding them with a dark frown and barked insults... or so he thought, at least, until the two wrestlers turned on him in retaliation. Without any palpable method of self defence, Karkat flailed and screamed madly until he was finally relinquished from the assault, but only after he'd kicked one of the police officers who'd been called to assist in the jewels, and had bitten the other. ]

Ooooh my god, shit. Shit, shit, shit. [ He's worried, as is pretty obvious from the way he keeps stalking behind the LITERAL IRON BARS like a caged animal. He thought iron bars were just a thing that happened in cartoons and is more than a little disturbed to find that of all things is a reality.. If that much is true, what other horror stories are likely? Is the soap thing true, too???? ] Oh my god, I’m gonna throw up. [ He's not liking this at all. He's as white as a sheet, as a ghost, as the police officer's face had been when Karkat kicked him square between the legs. He looks petrified of what's coming, and he keeps jumping whenever the heavy door leading back to the main desk opens and closes. ] Fucking shit god, my dad is gonna kill me.

03: choose your own adventure - empty tube carriages are my aesthetic

[ It isn't unusual to find empty carriages on certain strands of the tube line as the end of the day draws closer, and Karkat doesn't exactly look out of place as he’s rocked by the slow thudding of the tracks beneath... He chose this carriage on purpose (or rather he was led there on purpose) and chose this seat in favour of the figure sitting with him. Very few people disturb him and his quiet mumbling, but those who do sit far enough away that they can't hear him talking to apparently no-one – as most who innocently disturb him aren't able to see his companion.

He's working fast, and his voice gains speed and volume the longer his apparent conversation goes on. Above the din of the wheels and the rushing of the wind through the tunnels he sounds as if he's trying to secure a great deal of information with limited resources and time, until finally the tube line crosses a certain body of water and he swears loudly, suddenly truly alone.

Ghosts stuck in one place are usually the ones he prefers – at least they can't follow him home – but still he finds himself feeling for them. Being stuck on a tube line that continuously ran back and forth over a body of water you're incapable of crossing isn't the best state of affairs to be stuck in, after all, and if it got so bad that they were reaching out to a amateur like him then it had to be bad... Karkat sighs loudly, propping his feet up on the empty seats facing him, and ducks his head into his shoulders, shrouded by the collar of his jacket. Only then, without anything to focus on than his own sense of inadequacy, does he feel the presence behind him. He turns and makes eye contact with the other body in the carriage, squinting to quickly judge the breed of this particular stranger. Dead or Not Dead was an important judgement to make nowadays. ]

04: wildcard

go nuts! i'm up for plotting or being contacted either in a pm to this journal or on plurk at mirobug

also, as a note, if you prefer writing in paragraphs, i'm good with that and will reply in kind. i just find it easier to write starters in brackets, that's all. hope that's not too much trouble!

02 - You use your one phone call to summon this guy?

[twofoldterror]

[ It's late; much later than he'd usually be out but lucky for Karkat, he's riding a high right now and is downright jovial after his friends frantic call over an hour ago - he'd laughed for two minutes straight and needed to take five while his inhaler kicked in - but he's here, finally.

After signing in and a pat down - 'Keys, wallet, no sir you have to leave your headphones here too, thank you' - he's read the riot act and escorted to the enclosure they're keeping his best friend and Sollux is more than happy to greet him with a shit eating grin, forgoing the wave in favour of stuffing his hands into his pockets.]

Hey there, Thunshine~ 'JailBird'th' a good look on you, KK!

Nepeta Leijon | Homestuck | Hillingdon shapeshifter

[tacklepounce]

baby come back.
[ She's been away for a really long time! Nepeta has never really liked the city-- the lights and smog and smells kind of give her a headache, and she can't be a cat very much with people around-- but it's where her friends are. And it's good for exploring. So, with a cheerful disregard for things like faction boundaries and unfriendly territory, she's gone out looking for something to do.

And normal greetings are kind of boring, come on.

Which is why, even if you've never met the girl, she's watching you. From the shadows, or perched in a high-up and unlikely place, prowling along and seeing how long it takes to get noticed.

If you do know her, and you're particularly slow on the uptake-- ]

--she pounces!

[ Who doesn't like full-body flying hugs? She's small (a petite girl in a too-big men's jacket and cargo pants), but she will take you down and sit on you. ]

carnival.
[ With all the crazy outfits going around, she can wear her fur-- some kind of horrifying dead animal hat that was once a mountain lion-- in public and not get stopped by anyone! She mostly keeps to the fringes of the crowd, because she likes people a lot but not all in one place, until literally anything catches her eye: an interesting outfit, a familiar face, a stand selling something that smells good.

And then she weaves right on through, probably stepping on feet and ducking elbows without notice, to have a look. She tends to pick up and examine things that don't belong to her, or deliberate for a long time over food before losing interest. Vendors hate her. ]

jail.
[ There was a really good reason why she had to transform, okay, and no one saw it, so this is all a really annoying overreaction. It worked out fine! No one got hurt! She didn't even get to claw anybody!

And yet: here she is in a gross little room behind bars. It's so lame.

But apparently running around without clothing (she was trying to go back for her clothes, they just didn't listen to her) does not go as well in crowded London as the middle-of-nowhere, nature-y places she's used to. She's been given some spare clothes, which she is completely swimming in, while they wait for someone to pick her up. And they've taken away her pelt.

Cellmates will have to deal with her flopping onto the somewhat-questionable floor to squint at cracks in the walls, as though looking for mice, secret passageways, or anything less boring than this. You're welcome. ]

i'm so there for this, i'm sorry it took me so long to hit you up

[beleague_red]

[ Karkat isn't slow on the uptake, how dare you. It's just that Nepeta has been away for a fair while, and after so long you stop expecting the tackling and start to breathe easy as the streets finally feel safe again. That's why the screech that comes out of Karkat's mouth is as genuine and mortifying as it can possibly get.

He goes flying, because as small as Nepeta might be Karkat is not big enough to withstand that amount of speed and strength all at once without any warning, and ends up on his face on the side of the road, daaaangerously close to but not actually in a mucky puddle. How considerate. ]

Nep-hhhh--- [ Wheeeeze, his chest is pretty much caving in from where she's sprawled on him. He's so weak. ] I'm not- not a damn- plaything, will you-- I can't-- Get offfFFFF!!!

Ezio Auditore | Assassin's Creed | Vampire

[dominus]

[ Carnival ]

Broad daylight might seem the last place a vampire should want to be, but Ezio is all too happy to let himself get lost in the Carnival crowd. Festivals have been a regular feature of his life since he was a young man, in the time of feast days for every saint imaginable carried over from the middle ages, on into the modern day's habit of throwing a party to commemorate anything and everything under the sun.

It's hard not to get lost in the revelry, even as old as he is, surrounded by the life of heat and heartbeats. Some people aren't all they seem to be, worth a distant study, while others are 100% Grade A boring humans, Ezio's favorite. He's sampled the food, tucked into a few beers and is out to find a good spot to people-watch for a little while, moving through the throng.

[ Jail ]

It's been a crazy night, full of ups and downs, joys and sorrows, fisticuffs and a few parties stripping down to skins like revelers at a proper bacchanalia, never mind the amount of magic that was tossed around like beads at Mardi Gras. So what's Ezio doing in this district's jail?

Not behind bars, that's for sure. He's all-business the Monday morning after the parties are finished, here in the waiting room and looking for all the world like a Savile Row advertisement in his finely tailored suit, not a hair out of place. Not content to sit by his lonesome, he's up and leaning on the counter, talking quietly - and flirting until she blushes - with the charming officer at the front desk.

Ezio glances up when her gaze unwillingly draws aside, toward another approaching officer that's escorting a very familiar face. Look who posted your bail and is waiting to collect you, bro (or sis, should that be the case).

"Good morning," he chirps, obnoxiously pleasant for how early it is. There might be a touch of sarcasm to his voice; mornings are never pleasant for vampires, shiny magic rings or no. "Get it all out of your system?"

[ Choose Your Own! ]

What it says on the tin!

Jail!

[watchher]

Giles is not, as a rule, friendly with vampires. But one would have to be very stupid not to be friendly with Ezio, and he means to keep up with some news from the Nest, and it is frankly not the worst way to spend a night-- talking with him over drinks and observing a crowd with a sense of shared interest, if not quite the same tolerance for chaos.

Still: this is not who he called to pick him up. Damn him for getting here before, or instead of, whatever relatively insignificant apprentice his friends in Daybreak are sending to do their errands these days. Giles could have tolerated the embarrassment of that, and vanished home before anyone of note could have a chance to laugh.

Damn him as well for looking good while doing it. Giles is generally rumpled, and irritated about it, and there are bruises under his shirt. Evidently he should learn to better disregard a fight that goes too far, or to be a bit more callous with his use of magic in public, or to simply lie better when he is the last one remaining to deal with the police. Perhaps he'll even learn to be very clever and not still be present when they arrive.

"Oh, yes." He'll not even feign something besides exasperation as he takes in the scene of his rescuer, impossibly dry. "I do promise I'll be good."

He shrugs on his jacket, makes a brief attempt to straighten his appearance-- fairly useless, any loss of dignity is enough to doom him next to the vampire's neat suit and casual grace-- and slides his glasses back on. It will be a very long morning.

tavros nitram | homestuck | werewolf

[summit]

CARNIVAL

It's the sort of thing you don't talk about. There wasn't a decent support group for it, no way to really bring it up. It felt like every conversation was a bombshell waiting to be dropped, "I killed someone when I was sixteen." never found a way into daily conversations, but it also never seemed to leave the back of his mind.

Like a skeleton in the closet, only the skeleton wasn't quite there yet and there was just some sort of putrid smell that rolled out of the door. Something... dark, and morbid, and something that Tavros had ultimately decided that it could stay there while he put distance between himself and all his problems.

No skeletons in his closet. Not at all.

Only a missing father with a bigger secret then he ever anticipated, a lengthy court battle in progress over his guilt in an accident he didn't remember causing, and a hospital bill that came with a whole new slew of problems he didn't know how to handle. Great. Fantastic. The monthlies that came with it weren't great either, and Tavros had done what he'd done best:

He ran.

He ran, and ran, and kept running. They'd packed up and relocated to the countryside and tried to figure it out on their own.

It was easier not to talk about it. Move around. Shuffle his way hither and thither and pretend that he was just your average, everyday highschool dropout with an uncanny knack for dog wrangling. He liked doing what he did, just drifting from town to town, making friends and dropping connections, keeping a healthy distance to avoid repeating past mistakes.

Coming to the epicenter of it all wasn't really in the cards, but here he was none the less. Sipping a drink and drumming his fingers nervously against the table. All six foot five of him huddled over around a froofy drink that's more juice than vodka. It takes a lot to get him drunk... And he doesn't particularly want to be there, but a hotel is a hotel and his car needs some repairs. Might as well get it done cheap where he knows where to go.

"It's, uh, a pretty nice night, don't you think?"

BRAWL

Oh.

Crap.

"Could you not," Tavros tries to say, ducking a hearty swing at his head with an awkward stumble. His legs were never what they should've been. Not after the accident. "Do that, please? I would," another stagger, "really rather not, do this right now."

But it's useless. His upper lip curls into a snarl as he feigns off another hit, trying to avoid lashing out. It's just a sad little drunk thinking they're more than they are, nothing to lose and everything to prove. He's not aggressive by nature (not at this side of the full moon, at least) and stumbles back.

He turns at the closest passerby, shooting a pleading look. Help, please?

sneaks this in here

[beleague_red]

This guy's aura stinks. Like, really stinks. Karkat can actually smell something that smells like bad breath and damp-mould, and he's not certain if it's the aura or the bar they're sitting in, but... Either way, it's pretty worrying.

Usually he steers clear of auras like this one; nothing good has ever come from testing the water in this way, and he isn't experienced enough to know what to expect, but... Something is ebbing from the awkwardly hunched form that makes Karkat feel.... Feelings. Feelings that made following him here seem like a great idea, but uncertain feelings that he can't quite put a name to, that swirl and blur when he tries to focus in a little more. If he had even the slightest amount of training, he'd probably be much better at this. He'd probably be able to help.

He's just about to give up and leave when the guy speaks up, and Karkat looks at him with an owlish expression.

"Uh." He glances outside. "Not really. It's too humid."

Gaspard Laurent - OC - vampire

[politicsofwar]

1) Baby Come Back

England was never his home. After Napoleon, he'd visited. Once to attend the funeral of an old acquaintance he'd felt the need to make sure was dead. The reign of Victoria had been an interesting time to see the city, too. The repression and artistic movements and politics had been intriguing. Still, the little island was often dull. He had too much of a mind for war, his dominus had accused him of more than once.

It was too intoxicating. The lies and secrets and tension of war coupled with the physique of a well-trained soldier tied his passion to ages of violence.

His beloved France fed him well throughout many decades. America had tempted him away in the middle of the nineteenth century. Brother killing brother, a nation turned on itself. The whispers and secrets and sex could still rouse his interest even in memory. When the world wars came... Well, that had been an entirely new experience.

Still, he was in England.

His first point of business was to observe Respect. To present himself before those most influential in the city and ask for succor. Which was why he stood where he did, masking his impatience with roving eyes.


5) Party All Night

"What are you doing alone and without a drink? Allow me to remedy both, mon ami."

If there was one thing Gaspard Laurent knew, it was how to play the charming foreigner. It was one of the few reasons he ever left France. Besides, it was time for a century or two of a new setting.

And where there was a party, there he was. When alcohol flowed and people crammed together, he was at home. Secrets fluttered through the air, and sex permeated the atmosphere. Combining both and the prospect of a warm meal made him feel almost alive again.

Attractive men were never hard to find. Ones that might be interesting were a little more difficult. Ones that might be useful were rare. This one, at least, fit the first category and seemed to have potential for the second. For the third... He'd have to see.


8) Wildcard

Hit me with anything you want!

5

[emotioneater]

Cooper should know better than to let himself be taken in by a smooth talker. Let's face it. Most men interested in a scrawny seventeen year old dressed in motorcycle leathers and construction boots were looking for nothing good. He raised a skeptical eyebrow and looked Gaspard up and down. Nope. He will remain immune to the Frenchman...for now, at least.

"I'll take the drink. Not so sure 'bout the company. You look like the kind of man my mother warned me about." Indeed, Mam Cooper was probably rolling in her grave right now with what Cooper was even thinking about.

Vivienne | Dragon Age | Daybreak Witch

[ensorceleur]

[BRAWL]

Normally, she wouldn't bother intercepting a fight. It's not her business, and if people want to get injured in a pub over some perceived slight, who is she to stand in their way? Normally, however, when a bar brawl breaks out it's usually just fists flying, instead of the ill-restrained magic of disorderly supernaturals.

And she quite likes this place.

There's two instigators currently, but there's enough tension in the room for that to escalate rapidly, and she'll have none of that. There's an icy snap, and one of said instigators is frozen - both in surprise, and literally. Vivienne stands from her seat by the widow, wine in hand and seemingly unconcerned as she moves toward the other party. "I do suggest you take this elsewhere," she says, softly but not quiet, "this is no way to behave in such a lovely establishment."

[JAIL]

As if Vivienne de Fer of the Parisian Sorcières de l'Aube would spend a night in a musty cell in London.

An hour or two is indignity enough, until a phonecall has her released with incredible haste. She's currently sat in the waiting area, checking her handbag with an icy calm, making sure nothing has been damaged or even taken during this brief and humiliating situation. If the officers in the room seemed none to pleased to have her here in the first place, they look even less so now.

Perhaps it may be because of the conversation earlier, which Vivienne made no attempt to keep secret. It's not unlikely that one might've heard her making comments about "unlawful imprisonment," and "the brute who detained her." Or even her assurances that she wasn't going anywhere until her solicitor arrived.

Or maybe it just seems a little rude to imply that anyone would've taken her things.

I am so sorry about the Google Translate French

[politicsofwar]

"Je suis très désolé de vous avoir fait attendre," said a young man who arrived with the solicitor. He offered his hand to the imperial woman with a polite bow. "Madame?"

Witches and vampires were not often associated with one another, no, but Gaspard Laurent made a point of knowing anyone who mattered. And Madame de Fer? Was a woman who mattered. She was an individual around whom the world would change. Those were the people he associated himself with. The ones he kept in the presence of and whom he liked to keep the favour of. Besides, they often found a use for him, as well.

And now, he was quite content to breeze in with the solicitor and conduct her away with due pomp but without anything flashy that would suggest shame or scandal. That she had been involved in this at all was a slight to the name of England's police, and he'd make sure that was known. But at present, he played the valet perfectly.

John Childermass | Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell | Midnight Witch

[knowstheworld]

John Childermass is nothing if not his own person, for all that he is Norrell's on paper. While he would never outright refuse the man, not so long as the idea weren't entirely ridiculous, he'd made it known that to go out for a set of rare books on this particular day in this particular downpour was a fool's errand. But Norrell had wrung his hands at him and insisted that they would not be on hold for him forever and if someone else were to have their hands on them well, then...!! No doubt Norrell had three copies of the damned thing already, Childermass had grumbled to himself, but he set out in the rain regardless. The last thing he needs on his conscience is to cause the man a conniption.


[SPECIAL EFFECTS]
There are times when Childermass loves the city. When he loves the bustle around him, the sounds, the smells, the people. And there are times when he could do without it. This would be one of those latter times. Taking a deep breath, before gathering himself into the shadows. Literally into the shadows. Becoming one. In such a way, he can traverse the city in his own way. Without being hassled, harranged, or hit on. Or such is the idea.

Just because he's invisible to the everyday man doesn't mean he's invisible to everyone. As he is soon made all too aware of...


[BRAWL]
Childermass had only intended to stop by a bar to have a drink on the way home. Unfortunately for him, he had happened to choose this bar, of all places. And while Childermass himself had a comfortable seat in a corner, away from the main portion of the house, he could not help but feel that the longer he sat there, the more uncomfortable the atmosphere of the place. And the more he listened in, the more that he understood he had accidentally walked into a war between two factions. Neither of them the one he belonged to himself, thankfully. The last thing he needed to do was to wind up forced into the middle of something like that. Unfortunately, that didn't spare him from this.

After a glass is thrown and nearly hits Childermass himself, dousing the man himself in a healthy splashing of lager, he decides that enough is enough. Raising from his seat, he places his hands on the table in front of him and addresses the direction it came from. "You'd better think long and hard about what you want your next step to be," he growls out, in his own rough, northern sort of fashion, as he wipes alcohol out of his eyes and glares across the room. (At least, he thinks to himself, though god he must be spending too much time around Norrell for such a thought to come to him, it hasn't gotten on the book.) "I would not want you to regret your decisions..."


[NIGHT IN JAIL]
Childermass sighs as he leans back against the wall behind him in the jail cell, reaching up to press a hand against his nose. There's a cut across it, but at least it's stopped bleeding, and it doesn't seem to be broken. A fine mess he's gotten himself into. And for what? Because he'd found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had let his mouth get the better of him. Let the entire bar get the better of him, by the feel of it. Eventually, someone will come to bail him out, whether it's Davey or, god forbid, Norrell himself. Eventually the police will listen and understand that it wasn't his fault, that he hadn't even thrown a punch in any of it, he'd not even resisted arrest beyond pointing out that they shouldn't be arresting him in the first place. Eventually they would let him go, he was sure of it.

But eventually wasn't now. And the night is looking to be a long one. Shutting his eyes, he tips his head back to rest against the wall as well and sighs again. Heavily. A long night indeed.


[ANYTHING GOES]
Don't see anything you like here? Want something else with Childermass? Either create your own thread here or PM this account so that we can work something out! :)

A MENACE BEING BAILED OUT

[hurtfew]

Norrell sits with the tense, uneasy air of someone in the peak of discomfort. He seems quite sure that simply by being in a police station he might catch some sort of plague from a criminal, be assaulted or worse -- be assumed to be one!

Yet here he is, uncomfortably fidgeting and waiting for Childermass to be set free. To think! Him, of all people, reduced to this! To mixing with criminals and law enforcement! To having to pay --

He hopes nobody recognises him, and that the story can be covered up, for surely such a tale would bring him into disrepute! That, above all things, cannot happen -- for Gilbert Norrell has one goal. To be recognised as the finest practical magician in London.

Well. In truth, he has a great many goals. To stamp out the problem of the Seelie and Unseelie court, eradicate and call into question the teaching of any such summoning spells for one of their kind -- but all of these smaller victories are to the same point! All of them building blocks to his greater purpose!

It is a very great purpose for a very small and nervous man.

In the corner of the station his eyes catch upon Childermass being lead through and he immediately looks away and pretends to read a nearby flier advertising neighbourhood watch sessions.

Gilbert Norrell | Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell | Daybreak Witch

[hurtfew]

CARNIVAL:

Few people can manage to have as little fun at a carnival as Gilbert Norrell.

Unfortunately for him, however, he had forgotten that the thing was happening at all. Norrell (Greatest Witch of the Age, Coven Leader, Founder of and chief enthusiast of the 'Norrellite' approach to magic and owner of the greatest magical library in London¹) had been stuck in traffic for the last hour and was now stuck in a crowd.

He was dressed in a long, thick black coat which was not at all appropriate for the current weather and uncomfortably trying to push his way through barely clothed people who were loud, irritating and who quite frankly should be arrested for indecency! He has half a mind to do something about it himself!

Luckily for most people such thoughts rarely come to fruition with Gilbert Norrell. He slinks through another section of spectators and his brow furrows deeper. It is rare enough that he leaves the comfort of his home, but Childermass had been otherwise engaged and he had been so impatient to get this book. And now...!

He makes an impatient sound as someone jostles him and vows to never attempt such a thing again.

BRAWL:

Norrell is not a brave man in his heart. Yet, unfortunately for some, neither is he one who has the best grasp of social situations nor is he necessarily well liked. Gilbert Norrell has opinions and he is not one to hide them, nor is he one to express them gently. He is at best, patronising, at worst insufferably rude.

So it is that he finds himself recognised while trying to find a safe route back to where his driver is, book clutched to his chest and carefully wrapped in brown paper and a plastic bag. He presses his back to the wall, slinks along it as he is drunkenly sneered at.

"Circle Midnight are charlatans and give English Magic a bad name," he insists, all the while eyes flicking this way and that for an opening to bolt.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE:

Meet Norrell elsewhere: at a Daybreak Meeting, in the libraries of Redbright disapproving of the content, or somewhere else altogether!

Brawl? 8D

[tearmeanewone]

Fortunately for Norrell, Elizabeth took most of her cues from a man who might as well have his picture printed in a dictionary next to the entry for 'reckless'. Yes, she stays inside studying for the most part, but a wilting flower she is not.

At this point, being part of Daybreak as well, she can recognize Mr. Norrell from quite a distance. Astride her little motorscooter, Liz zips down the dark street, leaning on the horn. Whether they were unable to cast on such short notice, or they were just flummoxed by the young woman with enough gall to attempt to run down three witches on a glorified Vespa, the Circle Midnight witches scatter back and away from Norrell. Elizabeth does a doughnut around them, then stops in front of her fellow witch.

"Let's go, before they curse the paint off this thing!"

Elizabeth DeWitt | BioShock Infinite | Daybreak Witch

[tearmeanewone]

[Carnival]

[Whether it be because she spends most of her free time studying, or because she just doesn't have many friends in London yet, Elizabeth just doesn't get out very much. Which is criminal, considering she's a perfectly sociable, curious young woman who just wants to see the world.]

[It's probably the witch part that leaves her in a bit of an awkward place. She looks like any other chick on the street, but there's distance there that she can't shake. Even if it's completely one-sided.]

[But this is a good start. Lots of people, lots to see, nobody giving her a second glance in her dime-a-dozen retro-chic separates, snapping pictures of literally everything. Just an evening for her to be anonymous for a little bit and take in some outdoor life.]


[Party All Night]

[The downside to not being terribly socialized, to not having friends to go places with, is that Elizabeth is incredibly prone to saying yes when she should say no.]

[She'd been drawn into a group of probably-humans during the festivities. The girls of the group, two of them, a couple, started talking about vintage fashion with Elizabeth, and when she'd been able to carry on a conversation and join them in walking around, the feeling was almost addictive. Look at her, socializing with people! Meeting people! So of course when they insisted she join up with a couple of their guy friends at a pub, she'd enthusiastically said yes.]

[And then she'd had too much to drink-- or there was something in it when the black-haired guy had handed it to her. Either way, Elizabeth feels sick and panicked as she tries to remain standing against a wall while this black-haired man insists he help her home, demands her address, tries taking her bag from her so he can find her wallet. It's too much. Fog starts pouring out of her bag as he tries to take it from her. Too much fog to suggest Elizabeth has any control over what she's doing now.]


[Getting Home]

[And now she's running. Still in one piece, trying to get home from this nightmare of a mistake she's made. After tonight, Elizabeth thinks she'll be lucky if she goes out again in the next month.]

[The way she's going looks right, but after a moment through the haze of whatever she drank, she realizes she's gone the wrong way. Groaning in frustration, Elizabeth opens up her bag, pulls out her atlas, and starts trying to find where she is. One day, she'll be used to this, she tells herself. One day, she'll know exactly where she is at all times.]

[Elizabeth looks up from the book when she hears something. Is that someone coming near her? Or several someones...?]

Party All Night

[wolfmarked]

Back off, fucker.

[Someone has taken fierce hold of the black-haired young man's wrist. The redhead squeezes, her nails digging into his skin. She might or might not be bearing her (very human) teeth at him.

Because she knows him. Oh, yes.]

You know who I am? Good.

'Cause that means you'll listen when I say this--

Get the fuck away from her.

[When he starts to scurry away, Skip puts her hand under the girl's elbow.

She doesn't know what the fog is, but she knows what magic can look like.

Her voice lowers and softens.]

Hey. Hey, try t' focus. Jus' try t' focus on me.

Illya Kuryakin - The Man From UNCLE - werewolf

[fatherswatch]

Brawl

"I do not--"

"C'mon. Move it. You're in my way!"

"You can go around."

"Or you can fuckin' move!"

Then, it happened. The young man who had obviously had too much to drink took the cup in his hand and splashed it on the man who hadn't been quick enough to his liking.

Illya Kuryakin took a deep breath. His index finger tapped against his thigh as he tried to keep his temper in check.

"Get out of the way."

That was when he snapped. Two quick movements found the young man with his head slammed into a wall and slumped down on the side of the street. Of course, that couldn't happen without being seen. Which meant his friends were about to join the fray.


Night in Jail

Breaking a man's head and putting him into critical condition was, understandably, enough to put a man in jail for at least a night. Of course, his phone call had been to Waverly.

'You couldn't even keep out of trouble for a week?' had been the response.

Still, he would, hopefully, call the Night Council and get things worked out. After all, Illya was here as a sort of favor to them. A way to assess the situation and see if UNCLE needed to fully intervene with the Midnight and Fae situation being what it was.

Until any kind of bail was posted, though, he was stuck.


Blood Moon

On the night of the Blood Moon, Illya was exceptionally aware of his usual strength being gone. It had been a very, very long time since he had been simply human. In its own way, it was almost refreshing.

He wanted to keep the casualities as low as possible. And while the East End pack could take care of their own, there were others who weren't under their protection. Those who weren't harming others, he would try to keep an eye on himself.

Which led to him walking the streets of Redbright, Daybreak, Night Council, and even other territories, keeping an eye out for what might be trouble.


Settling In

"I'm sorry, sir." The girl at the counter of the furniture store looked... half terrified, actually. She pressed her lips together in a thin line. "Your... Your card declined."

"It-- what?"

Illya gave an exasperated sigh but waved his hand and gave another card.

"Here. This one."

A few moments later, the girl looked ready to cry. "I'm... I'm sorry, sir."

He swore in Russian and held up his hands, as if to persuade her away from calling security. While taking a few steps back and pulling out his phone. A few steps away from the cashier, he dialed it. Once someone answered, there were a great many harsh, loud words in Russian as his index finger tapped against his thigh. Then, he hung up the phone. The girl stared at him, white as a sheet.

All he said was, "I will get it later."


Wildcard

Pick your own!

1

[kleptofaeniac]

It wasn't like she owned the place or anything. But it was her favorite bar to hang out at and pinch a few credit cards from behind the bar when no one was paying attention to all the servers going back and forth.

What she didn't like, was people starting shit where she was trying to work. In this kind of enviroment, bar wide brawls were easily a real thing and one fight was enough to set off a chain reaction.

She wasn't going to do that tonight. So. Preventative measures.

"Hey!"

Kenzi threw the door closed with a loud 'bang' to get everyone's attention, which wouldn't have been intimidating if not for the fire swirling through the fingers of her other hand. It wasn't something to be weaponized, no - but it was intimidating looking. Which she was not.

"Take it down the block!"

Simon O'Neill || Original Character || Shapeshifter

[protagonized]

[Carnival]

Simon was a strict vegetarian, except when he wasn't.

It was the dog part of him, of course. He loved the crowds, and the sights, and oh god the smells and the stalls that lined Notting Hill had him salivating just a bit more than was strictly seemly. He finally gave in and bought himself a small ("small") chicken and started to scarf it down, loving it and hating himself all the while. He'd only meant to go down and watch the parade while drinking a pint, and now here he was. It took all his willpower not to gnaw the bones. At least not where anyone could see him.

[Party all night.]

"You should come out," they said. "You study too much," they said. "You don't even get drunk with us anymore!" they said.

Clubs were, in point of fact, immensely boring places. Simon stood off to the side, nursing a drink and looking bored. His friends had long since gone off without him; even the blind date he was supposed to be getting to know was currently sticking her tongue as far down his friend Joe's throat as humanly possible. It was actually kind of impressive.

"Fuck," he muttered to no one in particular, "just get me out of this shit club."

[Choose your own adventure! I guess!]

Party all night

[wolfmarked]

Someone else, however, was having a good time. Skip was, for her part, enjoying herself immensely. And she was drunk enough to be doing what she referred to as her 'wallflower charity.' After all, boy or girl, who would turn down a dance with a pretty girl? Even gay guys knew it was a good way to get attention. Or so her tipsy mind told her.

When she saw someone just outside a group? Well. That was like a flashing neon sign.

Skip sidled up with a smile just in time to hear him talk to himself.

"C'mon, it's not that bad." The Irish accent was even thicker from the alcohol. "You even danced once since y' got here?"

Matthew Jones || Original Character || Meta-Human

[paenumbra]

[Night in Jail]

Matt wasn't certain how it had happened.

One moment he had been walking down the street (albeit a bit tipsy) and the next he was in the middle of a jewelry store, the alarm blaring all around him. He couldn't remember exactly how he had managed to get in without breaking a single lock. He'd tried to talk his way out of it but for some reason he couldn't this time. Which was beyond bizarre as this wasn't Matt's first run in with the law. But here he was, behind bars, and with no one to call as he was a stranger in London. Out of all the possible situations he'd thought he'd get into in London, spending the night in jail wasn't one of them.

[fatherswatch]

Stories got around quickly enough. The boy was either a master thief (unlikely due to how easily he'd been caught, and it didn't sound right) or something far more dangerous. To himself and others, if the police had noticed him. Secrecy was paramount, and that was part of his job. The other part was finding young people with 'potential' and funnelling them into the right places.

"Right then, you," one of the officers said as he unlocked the jail cell early in the morning. "Bail's paid."

The man only a few steps behind him was tall and exceptionally broad with a cabby's cap pulled down just a bit over his face. He looked over at the sound of the cell door and nodded.

"Good," he said, his voice carrying a strong Russian accent. "Come with me."

Waver Velvet | Lord El-Melloi II Case Files | Witch, coven undecided

[gordianknots]

Carnival
Waver Velvet is several things, in no particular order: incredibly lanky with a height of five foot ten, inclined towards being a grouch first and cordial second, a chemistry professor, a massive player and collector of video games, and when occasion calls for it, a witch. The last one usually comes out before the video game player part, if only because Waver likes to see if anyone takes the first one seriously before revealing the other.

He also isn't quite exactly a fan of carnivals, but is a fan of food that he doesn't have to cook himself, It is, indeed, the sole reason he's decided to come out to the carnival rather than begin to gear up for a new semester of teaching, and perhaps begrudgingly admit that the weather is nice out and he should enjoy it.

To that end, he believes he's found a quiet enough place to curl up with his fried plantains and his 3DS console. The balancing act of food in one hand, game controller in the other is his favourite act to attempt and--

--ah, right. A few words and a protection spell, in case anyone knocks into him. Never hurts to be prepared.

Brawl
"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Not exactly the most elegant response to being punched in the nose, Waver realizes, but right now elegance is far less important than the right response to being punched.

Which is, naturally enough, to get the hell out of the brewing brawl. There's no point in retaliation, that's just begging for more trouble, and whoever it is that delivered the blow has since turned around to beat on someone else. Waver's eyes go left to right, drinking in the violence, and noticing that there's a little clear route available to him to get moving.

He wastes no time in doing so, not bothering to try and staunch the bleeding from his nose. There's little point, he'll fuss later, for now he just wants to move himself away from the scene before it gets even worse.

Choose your own adventure, Museum
Museums are, in all honesty, Waver's ideal place to meet anyone. The major ones are free meaning there's no barrier to entry, and they're along popular enough routes that the only problem is the sheer volume of people. The noises in those also provide excellent cover for meetings that shouldn't be overheard. Sometimes, it's actually worth looking at an item or two to get one's memory going, or to prompt research into the past. It's proven useful enough.

Waver sighs heavily, his eyes moving from the great sculpture in front of him to his phone screen, curious if he's gotten any alerts. There was a faint ding a few minutes ago.

Brawl

[broiling]

How did he always end up here. Out of all the places Zuko travelled, London was by the far the city most ready to put its fists up and throw one into your face. He hadn't been doing anything incriminating and yet he found some guy hauling him by the back of his shirt into a circle of people. One guy was already bleeding.

"Where you going, Freddy Krueger?" The drunk university student crowed. Zuko gritted his teeth knowing a jab at his scar when he heard one. He could feel his temper flaring, and his instinct to melt this assholes face off with a well times burst of fire.

"Get your hands off me!" Zuko snapped, pushing his assailant's hand away and giving him a shove for good measure. Unfortunately for Zuko, he didn't count on his opponent being able to turn around and shove him back as quickly as he does. He lost his balance and went flying. Suddenly that clear escape route for Waver is now filled with a Zuko body falling fast.

Zuko | Avatar: The Last Airbender | Outcast Fae

[broiling]

CARNIVAL

This is exactly the sort of event Zuko usually avoided. Large crows, noises, too many people trying to start conversation that were intrusive and made his hackles rise. But his boss had let him off early, saying someone so young should be out living a little, complete with a knowing wink. Zuko had awkwardly waved goodnight and headed towards Notting Hill, knowing he couldn't lie about whether he actually went or not. At least there was food.

Not bad food, he thought as he licked the pad of his finger, from handling the sticky sauce of some overly decadent meat. Street meat was either hit or miss but this stuff was actually good. He might go for seconds. First a serviette, which was unfortunately back at the stall he had just walked from. He squeezed his way awkwardly through the crowed towards the table and accidentally pushed against someone. He heard the tell-tale splat of whatever they were eating hit the ground. He cringed, nice going, Zuko.

"I can pay for that." He says, hoping this person isn't unreasonable.

PARTY ALL NIGHT

Walking home was a challenge. Everyone was always drunk, hollering, singing and sometimes even ready to duke it out. When it came to those types of confrontations he found it hard not to use fire for a quick easy win. But that wasn't an option, unless he wanted the Night Council around his head. And he had done a pretty good job so far, avoiding anyone who could detect his Fae attributes. He wanted it to stay that way.

He heard a large crowd rounding the corner, and he slipped into the mouth of an alleyway, hoping no one noticed him standing there, like some sort of weirdo. He wasn't in the mood to deal with elated drunken shenanigans so he'd risk it. The crowed past and no one was the wiser and he breathed a sigh of relief. Just then, however, he heard a retching noise behind him. He wasn't alone, and someone was bent over obviously miserably smashed and evacuating their stomachs like it was a race. Zuko considered just stepping out and ignoring this poor sucker, but images of them chocking on their own vomit stops him. He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. He was too good sometimes.

"Great, exactly how much have you had?"

TEA SHOP

Zuko stifles a yawn behind his hand, hoping no customers saw him. Unprofessional. He had been out late dealing with someone else's problem and hadn't crawled into bed until the early hours of the morning. But like a good employee he was here on time, done up in apron, with his underwhelming customer service smile on his face. Tray under his arm, he went around busing the tables, thanking anyone as they got up to leave. While wiping up a small spill he heared the bell on the door jangle, and he turned around to watch the person that just came in sit. He gave them a minute to settle before walking over.

"Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon. What can I get for you?"

WILDCARD

[ Anything at all. PM this journal if you want to run an idea past me. ]

Tea shop

[divinerighttorule]

"Uncle's speciality," Azula replies calmly.

Was she always the one sitting there? Well, there were glamors, and she did like them. Especially here in London. Still, there was no point in playing coy. Her brother was here, and, well. That made things rather interesting, now didn't it? Especially with the plans she was working on coming to fruition.

Her thin fingers with their long, sharp nails wove together as her elbows rested on the table. Her chin came to lean against the perch that created.

"I didn't expect to see you in London, Zuzu."

Lord Colin Coward : Sherlock Holmes (2010) : vampire

[occultdisciple]

Baby Come Back

Lord Colin Coward had little desire to leave England. Even if he did travel, it was always only for a season. Nothing more than a vacation. That meant, however, that he had to move about the country quite frequently, usually upon return from one of his vacations.

Old properties, both those belonging to the Coward line and others he'd acquired over the years, served as his various residences more often than not. He was always particularly fond of the estates willed to him by those who developed an attachment to him. Often, they were the elderly or infirm, those he could 'comfort' and 'help' with a bit of his blood. Never enough to leave in their systems should an untimely accident occur, though there had been one or two mistakes over the years.

Such things were bound to happen.

Now, though, he was finally back in London.

His name was an old one. An "ancestor" of his had even been Home Secretary during the reign of Victoria. The man had, unfortunately, lost his mind to a cult and been detained. While in prison awaiting trial, he had died.

Died, yes, though only to rise again, just as his master and sire had.

Lord Blackwood was fonder by far of travel. If Colin could recall correctly, his last letter had indicated he was spending some time in the Bahamas. They kept in touch frequently, more often than not with written letters. There were a few phone calls, but both preferred an older school method, if they didn't simply think it to one another. Over a great distance, though, that was often quite difficult.

Still, his name (which he was happy to use again) had put him into the House of Lords anew, assuming the hereditary barony of the Coward family. The false records of sons, daughters, marriages, family scandals, and other such matters were carefully maintained so he could take and discard the title as necessary. A further step in politics had made him Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis, a fitting way to return to London life.

Standing outside a coffee shop, watching the people mill about in the afternoon, he had to smile to himself. "Some things never really change. London is one of them."


Harvest Festival

The days of actually being a witch are centuries in the past, but Colin still enjoys the pageantry. He still performs the rituals, so the opportunity to buy incense, herbs, and stones is always welcome. Plus there were always one or two magical items he could use to replace what he had.

Besides, humans do wander into these sorts of things, so it's a wonderful hunting ground for the recruitment drive of Islington's. It wasn't until recently that he realized how much he had missed his nest, even without his sire present. He doesn't prey on his former kind, not unless they seem particularly willing, as he had been.

It looks good to drop a cheque into the donation box outside the memorial, so he does so, though he doesn't go in.

Instead, later in the night, he watches with particular interest as Redbright performs her ritual. The memories make him smile and drink a bit more of the cider he doesn't really care for. He most certainly knows better than to volunteer. After all, he played both Circles for too long and been a vampire for long enough to know just how much power blood contained.


Carnival

The sights and sounds and smells are almost as intoxicating as the number of humans massed together. They are like deer, grazing downwind from a predator lurking in the shadows. He samples all of the food and drink offered, though he remains a politician all the while -- put together, away from the more enthused of the revellers.

Still, he seems to be enjoying himself.


Party All Night

When the sun went down, the lord abandoned sipping wine in favour of hunting instead.

His appetite had been coaxed to nearly a frenzy during the day. Humans had been swirling about him, their hearts beating so loud he could almost taste the blood flowing through their veins. There would be a progeny or two made tonight, of course. He had no desire to disappoint Millicent, especially being so newly returned to the fold.

However, first, he had to satisfy himself.

He let it look like a garden variety scandal. The Commissioner in a back alley with a pretty girl. Her arm was around his neck, and he had one of his securely around her waist. To anyone who might pass by, it looked like a good time. But supernatural senses might well have picked up the unmistakable smell of blood.

Siobhan Aitken | OC | Witch or metahuman (OR BOTH???)

[growsowngoats]

Choose your own adventure, I'll roll with anything!

Or...

CARNIVAL

What is better than sunshine and happy people and lots of really unhealthy food?

If you ask Siobhan, absolutely nothing. She should probably be taking advantage of the crowds to maybe sell some of the trinkets she makes for fun, little things that could hardly be called enchanted but that may or may not have traces of magic clinging to them simply because that tends to happen when she starts messing with things.

Yes, she should be doing that, but she has decided to give herself a day off because... well, why not? Sure, she is now currently spending the last money she has on junk food but what else would she spend them on? She has a metabolism that seems determined to make everything she eats turn into nothing in record time always, so this is pretty much where her last money always goes.

A bag of donuts in hand and a ridiculously large cup of coffee to go with it, she finds herself a nice bench to sit down on and people watch while she munches on her snack, her ratty old canvas backpack lying next to her and her legs pulled up under her because she can't sit anywhere without turning herself into a knot or a ball or some other shape that isn't "seated human being".

[knightscode]

There's the low bark of a medium sized dog heralding Lancelot, then a fluffy white dog appears around the corner. He's half-leaning down to her, shushing her gently as her tail thrashes over her back excitedly and she bounds around by his feet. The carnival was a bit much for her, but here in the park it's quieter and she knows he has something for her in his hands. What could it be? Something good, she's sure! She bounds in another circle excitedly as he makes his way toward the bench, still talking quietly under his breath to her -- giving Siobhan an assessing glance before offering her a sheepish smile -- reaching out to hook fingers into Lily's collar to keep her close.

"Forgive me, do you mind...?"

After all, not everyone likes dogs. Even if Lily is a harmless fluffy thing.