Test Drive Meme: December 2016/January 2017

[undergroundmods]

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MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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.)

Here are some prompts to inspire you:

1) STAY ANOTHER DAY. Maybe it's just for the holidays, but if you've come to London to reconnect with friends and family, now is the time to make the most of it. And it turns out, someone is pretty keen for you to stick around. Your loved ones? Or perhaps you've been noticed by one of London's supernatural factions. Don't go just yet, friend. The city may need you.

2) CHRISTMAS DAY / BOXING DAY. (25th-26th December) Whatever you think of Christmas, it's everywhere in London. Christmas songs on the radio, Christmas lights in the streets, carol singers, and presents under the tree. Of course, in the supernatural world, the presents may just have a magical twist. What's that strange little gift from an unknown sender...?

3) NEW YEAR'S EVE FIREWORKS. (31st December) The New Year's Eve fireworks display is always spectacular. Count down to midnight with Big Ben, then watch the spectacle along with the crowds. Or you could stay at home and watch it on TV.

4) STRANDED. Your flight got cancelled. A storm delayed your train home. The hotel made a mistake with your booking and now you have nowhere to stay. Whatever the reason, you're stuck in London with nowhere to go and it is cold. Depending on where you've ended up, it might be dangerous as well. Are your kind welcome here?

5) DRINK YOUR SORROWS AWAY. Look, it's winter, it's dark, not everyone is having a good time. Might as well buy a drink... and another... and another...

6) NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION. Goodbye 2016, hello 2017. New year, new you. You've decided to make a change, maybe for yourself, maybe for the entire supernatural community. How are you getting on?

7) CALL A TRUCE. The holidays are a time of peace. Maybe just this once you can have a drink with an enemy and put aside any bad blood.

8) CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE. Anything goes.

Comments

Anya Jenkins | Buffy | Human

[newlyhuman]

Boxing Day (sort of. mostly retail hell)
This was a new thing for Anya. Okay, most things were. But this whole boxing day thing? It had nothing to do with sweaty men punching each other. Or boxes, except for the boxes of returns that were piling up at The Magic Box where she worked.

Amidst the returns, she's trying to get customers to put down expensive things or to buy the expensive things, and not return anything ever because she doesn't want to give them the money back. That's her money, now. Hers. she doesn't want to let go of it.

"You can't return that," she says, looking at the person that approaches her cash wrap. "I'm not doing any more returns. You cannot have your money back. Now go."


Stranded
"No- that's not possible. I said a two-day stay. Two days! Can't you fit me in? I paid a deposit. I put money down!" A small blonde woman was yelling at a poor desk clerk. "Check again. Anya Jenkins. American. Two day stay." She's already irritated, and the clerk seems eager to get rid of her.

"I'm sorry miss, we're out of rooms-" the clerk begins, but Anya continues on.

"This must be how that poor pregnant woman felt. When they put her in the stable." Which gives her an idea. "I wish to speak with your manager." That was the way things got done.

Choose Your Own

Boxing Day!

[reticence]

Faolan wouldn't really be out and about on such a day as this. But Lancelot had forgotten to pick something up that was required for the dessert he had planned for that evening, and he figured it was the least that he could do to offer to go out and pick it up for him. Since Lancelot was letting him stay at his place, cooking for him, and generally playing the perfect host, after all.

It's when he's passing by the store that the name gives him pause. 'The Magic Box', it's called, and so despite the errand he is on he finds himself stepping in the door. He's just browsing the random wares when he hears the commotion, stepping forward to get a better idea of the exchange as he does.

Boxing Day

[injectablefame]

Party's bargain shopping, which has mostly equaled window shopping on the kind of budget he's living on right now, but this store had looked interesting enough to stop into. He's looking at some sort of fancy rock when he hears Anya yelling about returns and waits until she's finished to walk up to her.

"Are you the owner or something?"

fun ghoul / danger days: blah blah killjoys / werewoof

[ghoulaid]

    MOVE IT OR LOSE IT
No one likes to travel. An almost eleven hour flight is, basically, the bossfight of travel.

Ghoul decided he was finished with the trip somewhere around the four-hour mark, but he couldn't very well hop out of the plane and swim his way to London, so he'd stuck it out. And simmered the whole way.

He was nearly crawling out of his own skin by the time he touched solid ground again, and even now, with an hour and a good number of miles between himself and the airport, he's not feeling much better. He's got a white-knuckled grip on the strap of the bag slung across his body as he moodily stomps his way along the sidewalk. Most people have the good sense to move aside or twist away at the last second, but his luck runs out at some point, and a shoulder catches him completely off guard.

It's enough to bring Ghoul to a stumbling stop. He stands there with a dumb, confused look on his face for a few seconds before his eyes narrow and he plows forward a step. "Try holding your fuckin' eyes open while you walk, chief."



    BLESS YOU (for vampires or vampire allies!)
Ghoul's got a train to catch. He gets lost a time or two, swept away by the sea of rush-hour bodies, but he gets himself back on track. He supposes.

At the last moment, he darts his way on to what is probably the right train car, just before the doors slide shut. He manages a quick sigh of relief before his nose is filled with an acrid smell. The reaction is almost instant- unavoidable and reflexive, like getting an unexpected whiff of black pepper. Ghoul barely has time to even think the word vampire before he's sneezing, loud and wet, all over the poor thing's back.

Or their front, if they're extremely unlucky.



    NO COMMITMENT TO SPARKLE MOTION
Having been in the area for only a few days, there's still a lot he doesn't know. What he does know is that he's accidentally stumbled across a cozy little shop that makes damn good pastries. The drinks aren't half bad either. It's Ghoul's second day in a row at the establishment, and he's keeping it simple today with an order of hot chocolate. The place isn't all that crowded, either, allowing him to happily slip in to place behind a tiny corner table.

He's all set to chill out and people-watch for a while when he figures out he's forgotten napkins.

Ghoul's gone for only a matter of seconds, but when he returns, he finds a small box resting innocently next to his mug. With a tilt of his head, he moves closer, eyeballing it warily. It's kind of cute. Designed like a gift box with the words 'nO pEeKiNg' printed cartoonishly on the lid. Ghoul looks around for any indication of who might have placed it there as he re-takes his seat, and after a moment of consideration, he reaches out to pick it up.

It's warning him not to peek, sure, but what else is he supposed to do with it?

He should've left well enough alone, apparently. As soon as he flips the lid off the box, there's a pop and then a merciless assault of glitter and confetti. And it's everywhere. Absolutely fucking everywhere. All over his jacket, in his hair, on his face. There's probably even some in his drink, but he can't bring himself to look.

Everything is officially awful.

YOU MOVE IT OR LOSE IT

[injectablefame]

Party's got a shopping bag full of colorful spray paint cans for his latest project and he's almost lost in thoughts of bats bleeding rainbows when he gets shoulder checked by what he'd expected to be some asshole tourist.

As he turns around, he's growling before his brain can even catch up to his nose. This guy is a werewolf and he isn't one Party's met before, which means he isn't Pack and he could easily be trouble, especially the way things have been going lately.

"Try walkin' like a fuckin' big person, kid." He bares his teeth and the cans jostle loudly in his bag.

2

[stauncherhearted]

Nancy is not a vampire. But she wakes up every day in a vampire's bed, works with vampires, is fed on by vampires, and generally smells like a vampire. So Ghoul's reaction could very easily be forgiven.

If he hadn't sneezed all over her.

Nancy makes a face, wincing. "Bloody 'ell," she mutters, her Cockney accent getting the best of her. "Cover your nose next time, will you? Learn some manners, yeah?"

Leia Organa | Star Wars | Metahuman(ish)

[honourablerebel]

Stranded

One of the perks of being royal - even as a member of a royal family from a tiny, obscure nation - is the private jet. Unfortunately, even those with private jets can't control the weather. Her Serene Highness Princess Leia of Alderaan is stuck in Heathrow like the rest of the world, waiting for the fog to lift so that she can go home for the traditional New Year's Eve celebrations. She's incognito today, or as incognito as it is possible to be when you have a personal bodyguard constantly at your elbow, sitting in a Starbucks with her hood up and earbuds in, when she hears a familiar shout through her music.

"Your Highness! Your Highness, look this way! Where are you going, Your Highness? C'mon Leia, give us a smile, eh?"

Apparently the paparazzi are stuck in Heathrow too.

Choose your own adventure - Gloomy Sunday

Leia is convinced that whoever said that April is the cruelest month has never been to London in mid-January. She's only twenty minutes into her daily run through Hyde Park, but she's already soaked through by rain and chilled to the bone. Why does London always feel so much colder than Aldera? It doesn't make sense. Alpine blizzards are far more pleasant than the constant damp. She rakes the wet hair out of her eyes and turns towards Kensington Gardens and the Alderaanian Embassy, her home away from home.

And then her day gets even worse.

A sudden downpour catches her off guard and semi-blinded. Leia stumbles in what she thinks is the right direction, hoping for a friendly tree where she can wait out the worst of it, when she collides with another person.

"Watch it!" she snaps in a very unprincesslike way.

[freelife]

Leia isn't the only one who enjoys long runs, but Evie doesn't quite mind the weather. With her hood up, she's been enjoying her own run, music playing through her ear buds. The rain is natural to her, having been born so near London, having spent so much time in it. So she doesn't mind the damp, or anything.

But that wasn't what brought her to the tree. What brought her to the tree was the flash of something caught up in the branches, even through the rain. Without a second thought, she'd started to climb the tree, hands gripping tight to the bark and branches. It doesn't take long to scale the tree, only to find out that the something or other was actually just a wet newspaper.

Hiding her disappointment, she puts the paper in her pocket, and prepares to execute a perfect jump from said tree down to the gardens below. And said jump is perfect. Except the wet ground has even Evie slipping slightly, sending her into another woman as she tries to recover from the jump.

She hears the woman speak, even above the rain, above the music, and she rips her earbuds out of her ears regardless.

"I beg your pardon," she apologizes immediately. "I didn't see you." Her hood is still up, before she seeks shelter under the very branches she'd just come from.

Charlie Greene | OC | Seelie Fae

[instagramfamous]

New Year's Fireworks

Charlotte Greene, better known as @charlieg on Instagram, has a lot to celebrate this year. Having appeared suddenly in 2015 as a YouTube makeup maven, her Instagram account now rivals the Kardashians for likes and her new eyeshadow palette sold out within twelve minutes of release. It's now going for upwards of £120 on eBay and was one of the top Christmas presents for 2016, according to Vogue UK.

Suck on that Kylie.

She stretches out in her expensively-furnished and impeccably decorated flat, having just finished a holiday Facebook Live video starring her French bulldog, Louise (whose own Instagram account has over three million followers), and decides to hit the town, selfie stick and all.

After all, feeding off the love and adulation of humans is kind of her thing.

Charlie's been playing the goddess game for a few centuries now. She picked it up from a family friend who'd taken on the role of various goddesses of beauty, love, and fertility over the last ten thousand years or so. Charlie's fairly young--only a couple of millennia old--but she'd grown up hearing those stories. And she'd loved them.

It had been a good couple of centuries, but then monotheism came to Northern Europe with a vengeance and she'd had to rethink her strategy a bit, constantly reinventing herself. Her newest incarnation has her feeling just fine. Thousands of likes, millions of followers--it's almost like the old days again. All she'd needed to do was buy an iPhone and learn how to contour.

She's waiting in the cold with all the rest (though perhaps a little more stylishly dressed) for the clock to strike midnight and the fireworks to start. What an amazing selfie that's going to be.

[newlyhuman]

Anya recognized her. It'd been hundreds of years, of course, since she'd seen the woman in front of her, hardly able to remember her name, but what matters is this: she knows her. A fae, she had to have been. Anya had, under her tenure as Anyankah, technically been part of the Unseelie Court. And this woman didn't look nearly familiar enough to have been one of them.

Still, the best way to get to the bottom of things was to get to the bottom of things.

"You!" She says, approaching the woman. "I know you!"

[falsify]

Did somebody say fae socialites? Because Kathryn is here at the behest of a couple of young witches who swore it'd be the place for someone like her to be tonight. She doesn't quite move in the same circles as Charlie, catering to a more magical crowd; something a little more niche, but there's enough overlap that she feels confident enough just saying hello.

Besides that, fae know fae. And whilst Kathryn doubts Charlie has the right talents to see who she really is, she'll see what she is, and it'd be terribly rude not to exchange a greeting on New Year's Eve.

"No Louise tonight?" She asks, sidling up to Charlie with a caramel mocha in her hands. What a shame. It is an exceptionally cute little thing.

Rogue | X-Men Films | Meta Human

[theycalledmeacurse]

DRINKING AWAY SORROWS
Bars felt like home to Rogue in a way that few places still did. She'd spent enough time in them herself to feel comfortable, but it was the added memories from other people that really cemented the connection. That she'd been in her fare share of bar fights didn't negate those warm, almost fuzzy feelings in the slightest.

So when she found herself feeling lonely in the sprawling city she was looking to call her new home, she went searching for just the right bar: decently clean, busy but not crowded, and one that didn't mind supernatural types. It wasn't all too difficult to find, and she was soon seated at the bar sipping at scotch, turning the glass in her bare hands as she contemplated again just what had made her decide to come to London of all places.

Hopefully the large suitcase at her feet didn't make her too much of a target for trouble, despite being a neon sign that she was new in town...


STRANDED
Lost hotel reservation? Check. All other nearby options full up? Also check. Freezing temperatures and no cabs in sight? Check and check.

After lugging her large suitcase down yet another street and trying every inn and hotel in sight, she slumped onto a bench and peered around at the dimly lit street. It was late and she'd taken far too much time getting to her hotel, assuming that her reservation would be just fine and not worrying about how busy the city was due to the holidays. Instead, she found herself shivering and cursing each and every soul who passed because they had somewhere to go, while she was going to die of exposure before the night was out.

So she was being a bit melodramatic. Rogue was a southern girl and did not do well with the cold, thanks very much. And boy wasn't London making a great first impression on her...

Stranded

[dirtyredneck]

"Should get yerself inside," a male voice with a distinctly Southern accent said as he approached from her left. He was bundled up for the cold, shoulders hiked to his ears despite this. He sniffed loudly as he started to walk pasted her and waved one hand that he quickly shoved back into a pocket, "Bus for this stop only comes between 9am and 2pm. You're better off on the tube."

Lan; Seelie

[nightflowering]

When looking to buy or sell an unusual item, Kunstkammer is a small, but well respected shop that specializes in ephemera and curiosities. The lights are dimmed to protect the colours of the more delicate pieces, but should one wind their way through the somewhat maze-like cabinets and cases, they will likely find their way to a desk, a few chairs, and a circle of warm lighting. The proprietor, Lan, is most often found here reading or cataloging some new, strange find. She is a petite fae woman with smooth pale pink skin pebbled over with small scales more like a ray than a snake.

Of course, there is a back-of-shop filled with items of a more usual, occasionally salacious or dangerous nature. Should anyone have an interest, Lan is just as happy to sell or trade any piece from her collection. She has a particular weakness for anything that she classifies as 'beautiful', but her definition may not match the standard.

[Of course, I am happy to start up a thread with her out and about anywhere else, or if you have questions, I will endeavour to provide answers!]

[instagramfamous]

New year, new you, right?

Charlie's been decluttering. Even with all of her yearly purges, the stuff she's accumulated over the centuries does tend to pile up (and her family in the Seelie Court have made it very clear that they are no longer to be used as a storage unit for her magical junk). So, after a carefully curated purge of clothes and knicknacks, she's finally gotten down to magical trinkets and cursed objects. And those she can't just dump in a bin for a charity shop.

"Hullo?" she calls our breezily. "Lan? Are you buying today?"

[falsify]

Ah, the best trinkets are out there if you know where to look. Eames wouldn't call himself a frequenter of this place, but you keep places like this locked tight in your memory when you're in his line-- lines of work. Never comes with the stolen stuff, if that trouble came to the door it might just run this place out of business, but when you come into something interesting or have a need, it's as good a place as any to start.

Plus, if memory serves, the proprieter is something of a breath of fresh air.

Eames comes in with just a shirt and jacket — no need to pretend, it's not a human he's dealing with — leaning against the counter while he waits patiently until Lan's free; assuming she's in the back dealing with some little curiosity or other.

Eponine | Les Miserables | Vampires

[melancolique]

2 Christmas Eve
Eponine lurks outside a church. Corpus Christi. She traces the guilder letters of the name with her finger. She's always liked churches, well, the music at least. The reading bit, and the priest doing his preachy bit- 'don't do this, don't do that' - was boring though. But the music, especially on Christmas, is lovely. She sings along to the ones she knows, 'Away in a Manger', 'Silent Night' and 'O Little Town of Bethlehem', from her seat on the steps of the church. It sounds funny to sing in English, but when in Rome… or London. It's not as beautiful as French, though.
As the mass ends, she retreats to a doorway a little way down the street. The people spill out. Her stomach growls.

She follows one pair, a couple with their arms around one another. They wander through the streets and Eponine follows them, stalking them in the shadows. She could kill them. She creeps closer. It's been ages since she's had a good meal.

4. Stranded

Eponine's never been to London. She's never actually been anywhere outside of France really. And now here she is, packed off, unwanted by her sire, for now. She clutches her map, trying to figure out where on earth she is. Is it dangerous? She has no idea. Montparnasse told her to find Jean-Claude, but she's not sure who to ask. Better not to, really. Vampires aren't exactly liked at home and she doesn't think that it'll be much different here.

Eventually, she finds the river. She can navigate from here, but she doesn't really know where she's going. To make matters worse, the sun is coming up, and Montparnasse took her daylight jewellery from her back in Paris. She needs somewhere to stay. Quickly, she makes a decision, hitches her battered rucksack back up to her shoulders and sets off across a bridge. Something will have to turn up. Right?

2 Christmas Eve

[dredefulchilde]

"You're not supposed to do that," Joscelin says, sidling up to the other vampire. He's been around long enough to know his own kind, and recognizes the hungry look on the girl's face for what it is. God knows he's worn it enough himself.

"There's no hunting in London anymore," he explains pedantically, as if to a small child. "Jean-Claude's got us using donors now."

Islington's leader is still far too new in his seat to risk damaging their delicate peace with the slaughter of innocents. Pity, though. He could do with a good hunt.

Glinda Upland | Wicked | Witch

[itwasrhetorical]

Stranded/Drink your Sorrows away

The petite blond huffed as she lugged a trunk behind her, wobbling in her heeled boots. Stuck in London. Overnight no less. Those tubes would be the death of her one day. Glinda scowled furiously. Her curls were topped with a bobbled hat to protect her from the snow. "Next time--" She huffed. "--read the app before you leave the house, Glinda." The witch grumbled to herself. If only she'd taken the moment she wouldn't be in the position of trying to find somewhere to sleep in the middle of London nearing the Witching hour. The unfortunate witch gave a shriek, nearly slipping on the icy street, grabbing onto a street lamp for stability.

"Oh fluff this!" Anywhere would have to do. Glinda hoisted the trunk up from the floor and hauled it to the nearest doorway. She was out of place in a dingy ale-house like this but it would have to door. "Please tell me you serve some kind of wine other than red or white." She implored the bartender.

MEGAN HILTY!

[stauncherhearted]

Every once in a while, Nancy came to work in a bar. Vampire clients got to be so incredibly draining, and it was getting harder and harder to work when her boyfriend was increasingly in the public eye. Sometimes a few normal humans were good for some quick cash.

Or at the very least, their wallets.

Nancy was sitting at the bar when the door blew open, bringing with it a bright light of- oh, blonde and pink. Naturally, she followed the other woman as she approached the bar, a few seats away from Nancy. Taking a sip of her gin, Nancy watched as the girl tried to order some sort of wine.

"If you do half-white and half-red it comes out near-enough to rose," she calls to the bartender, then gives the woman a small smile. Look at her, trying to help a stranger.

A stranger that she could tell, was magic.

Reynard the Fox | original character inspired by fables and folk stories

[smugfox]

NEW YEAR'S EVE FIREWORKS.

[Most people enjoy the displays and pretty colours on a dark night sky might appeal to Reynard as well. However, his hearing is excellent, his ears are sensitive. The smell of it all doesn't help either.

So it's not surprising that - for once - he's rather subdued, sitting on the sidewalk and watching the sky with suspicion as he leans back against the wall, hands protectively lifted to his ears.]


DRINK YOUR SORROWS AWAY. / CALL A TRUCE. / HE'S JUST AT A BAR, WHATEVER.

[Much more in his element, Reynard tends to be centre of attention in any bar he's in, right until the fights break out, which is usually when he slinks away. Being an instigator is a lot more fun than actually getting bruised.

Right now he's inviting everyone to another round, walking around and greeting some like long lost friends, although it's hard to tell if he even knows any of them. What does it matter?

He also doesn't have any money, but that hardly matters either.]

What will you be drinking then?


[ooc: Reynard has been in game before, so feel free to recognise him and whether or not there's pre-established CR, I am VERY, VERY happy to assume it! If you want to discuss things, PM the journal or hit me up on reineke]

happy new year jerk

[falsify]

[Eames is here to watch the fireworks, he's always found a weird kind of joy in the celebrations the mortals have. The ways they mark the passage of time even though most of them will never know what it really means to see change in their short lives.]

[So colour him surprised to see Reynard out and about-- he knows how acute the old fox's hearing is, he can't possibly enjoy this kind of thing. Eames changes course to walk towards him, crouching in front of him with a very amused look on his face.]

You know, most people's hearing gets worse with age.

Jason Schuyler | Anita Blake | Shapeshifter

[pomme_de_sang]

DRINK YOUR SORROWS AWAY

Karaoke was, apparently, a pretty common thing in English pubs. Or, at least, it seemed to be pretty popular in the pubs that Jason found himself in. And here, in the week before Christmas, this pub was doing a special Christmas hits and various Christmas songs karaoke.

But given the current song that was being sung? Jason had grabbed his phone and looked up the lyrics, sitting back against the bar with his eyebrows raised. "Wait. Seriously. THAT'S a Christmas song in this country?"

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
Got an idea? Give Jason a poke!

[baisant]

Jean-Claude was not in the habit of frequenting pubs as a rule, not for his own entertainment purposes. It had something to do with the fact that he couldn't actually appreciate a good drink, and so the entire experience was wasted on him. Still, he owns a club with a bar, and so like any good businessman, Jean-Claude has a habit of exploring his competition. However he is starting to regret his decision as far as this establishment is concerned. With no dancing, and Christmas karaoke, and the fact that Jean-Claude cannot drink to escape the effects of the latter either, there's really no reason to stick around.

Although he cannot help but notice that he is not the only one seated at the bar who seems to be questioning the night's entertainments. He turns to offer the other man an understanding smile, lifting his shoulders in something of a shrug as he does.

"So it would seem," he replies.

Pitch Black | Rise of the Guardians | Unseelie Fae

[closetshark]

Drinking/Truce

Pitch is having a drink, not because he's sad or having a bad time, but because dark moody weather is the best time to sit back with a glass of wine and watch the lights of the city pass by. He's a pale man in a black on black suit, though there's a golden tie-pin in the shape of a horse as a single spot of color on his outfit.

He gestures at the empty chair across from him with a faint smile when approached. "Please, sit. They have a very good selection here."

I'm assuming they've met already; lmk if this doesn't work!

[excrucior]

Sitting and people-watching has always been a favorite of Micheletto's - it told you everything you needed to know about a person without having to speak to them yourself. But in this case, he was the watched. And he didn't like it. He never liked being in a spotlight the way he was now.

He advances to the table almost like a startled cat, his muscles tensed and the hair on the back of his neck raised. He wouldn't call it fear, exactly... more like wariness. But Micheletto does sit when told, his blue eyes still locked on Pitch.

"What do you want?" He asks crisply, coolly, his expression more dour than usual.

Ramona A. Stone / 1. Outside / Witch

[anxietydescending]

BOXING DAY

Ramona thrives on crowds. Not in any literal way, of course -- as fascinating as the idea of emotional vampirism is, she's yet to actually meet one, and any kind of spell would be entirely too noticeable, too too too soon -- but in a metaphorical sense. The great presses of flesh, the thousands of bodies all rushing past, the million tiny dramas playing out before her, blind to all observation. A woman arguing with a clerk over just a few cents. A child, denied the dolly they covet, throwing a tantrum, and the parents' mortified reaction. Greed. Anger. Fear. She wanders through the crowds, a smile on her thin lips, as she works her way down her own eclectic shopping list. Art supplies, small electronics, magickal supplies, old magazines, used clothing. A little bit of everything.

"Could you pass me that, darling?" she asks of someone, at some point.

"Where do you keep your parchment?" she questions another, in another store.

"Is it authentic?" she says to a third.

And so on.

DRINK YOUR SORROWS AWAY

The bar is a dive, one of the ones that's just starting to get popular outside the immediate neighbourhood -- it's so authentic! The real London! -- much to the annoyance of the regulars. That makes for easy pickings, though, some have found. Lambs to the slaughter.

Maybe you're one of those regulars. Maybe you're a newcomer, visiting the place for the first time after reading about it in the free weekly paper. Maybe neither. But however you've come to be here, you've caught someone's eye tonight. Ramona approaches from the other end of the bar -- bony and thin, looking like chicken wire wrapped in skin, smelling of turpentine and alum and something sick-sweet, underneath the sting of cheap whiskey. She lays a scarred, rough (strong) hand on your arm and leans in with an intimacy that might just be intoxication.

"Has anyone ever told you that you could be a model?" she says, in a high, sharp, quavering voice.

[nightflowering]

"You'd be surprised what people tell me I could be." Lan's smile is mostly conveyed by the colours flickering and changing on the skin of her throat, but her amusement should easily come through in her tone.

allison argent | teen wolf ( human )

[industria]

ooc | i can match writing style, prose or backets!

иєw yєαя'ร єvє

[ allison's relearning how to be alone. instead of isolating the people she's left behind. europe is something of a second home to here, having divided her time between france and the states. london is somewhat new to her but she thinks that the hustle and bustle of this particular city suits her better than a small town in northern california.

she had initially wanted to just spend new year's eve in the quiet, but her father of all people suggested that they see the fireworks over big ben.

she has to admit as the clock strikes twelve that it is a beautiful sight standing on the bridge and watching sparkles fill the sky. the sight is so distracting and the crowd is so saturated that she seems to have lost her father in the mix. bumping into the person next to her, she still quietly apologizes, ] Oh, I'm sorry.

รтяαиdєd

[ but the new year's festivities still take allison through some of the delights london has to offer. if the holidays really are a time of peace between enemies, allison can't argue with that sentiment. in a thick knitted scarf, allison pulls her red plaid coat tighter around her body as she waits in the train station.

reports say that the crowd – and unforeseen circumstances – have caused a transportation backup. her phone is on its last stretch and she can't even listen to music now.

there's always a knife tucked into her boot. actually, there are two knives tucked into both black boots she wears tonight. it's dark underground and she doesn't want to let her guard down even after her evening. ]

a

[stauncherhearted]

[The opportunity is too good to pass up. Hundreds of people were in the streets, waiting for the clock to strike twelve. And where there were hundreds of distracted people looking up? There were pickpockets at work.

She didn't need to pick pockets anymore, not necessarily. But she knew she needed to keep her skills sharp.

Besides, she was saving up to buy Cooper a nice watch for his birthday, and if he won the election, she was going to be looking for a proper job for the first time in her life. And that meant she'd need some extra cash. That was more than enough justification- so tonight as those hundreds watched the fireworks, Nancy was working her way through the crowd with ease.

She hadn't gone for Allison's purse, actually. She'd been about to reach for the wallet of the man just left of her, when she felt the girl bump into her. Gloved hands go up to steady her.] Don't worry about it, love. It happens.

Scott McCall || Teen Wolf || Werewolf

[carewolf]

FIREWORKS

Well, when in London right?

They do fireworks in Beacon Hills; 4th of July, New Year, some kind of fae situation, but it's never been anything like this. For starters there's only ever one display to choose from in Beacon Hills, unless you have cool friends with a fake ID anyway, but London is something else.

He's so enthralled by the fireworks that he's kind of dead to the world around him and backs up to get a better view of the ones that've just gone up. Right into someone else. And their drink, by the feel of it.

"Oh my god--" he turns, makes some attempt to catch the cup like the drink is in any way salvageable, and kinda... Pats whoever it is. Some poor attempt to dry them off in the absence of any tissue. "I'm so sorry."

CALL A TRUCE (kinda)

Scott has always been a child of the "why can't we all just get along?" persuasion, always a little disappointed when getting along turns out to be unlikely at best. At this point, it's not much of a shock, though it takes a little getting used to in London where there's so many supernatural types just living here, hanging out, existing.

Can't afford to get home for the holidays, but he has assured everyone he'll skype over Christmas, but that's why he's in this bar with a bunch of other wolves. And it's nice — he likes this drink and he likes these people — right up until one of them looks up and hisses something about fucking vampires.

So, long story short? Here's one Scott, standing between these groups in an attempt to stop Tarantino's Westside Story from happening. A lot of, "guys, come on," and "there's no reason to fight," on his part.

CYOA

A

[stauncherhearted]

Crowds were prime pick pocketing opportunities. Forgoing an evening with Cooper in favor of her brothers, she was using the distraction of the fireworks to help the boys out. Of course as great as the distracted crowd was, it was also the distracted crowd that could cause trouble.

Like the cute American werewolf who ran into her and her flask.

if he can catch it, she'll be pretty impressed.

She feels his hands on her almost immediately trying to pay the gin dry over the fabric of her pea coat, and holds a hand out to still him. "It's okay," she promises him. "Don't worry about it- I already smell like gin, what's a bit more?" She offers a small sort of smile.

Lusamine || Pokemon || Witch (Daybreak)

[bellebete]

CHRISTMAS DAY

What are the holidays without a little corporate joy, right? The Aether Foundation makes a pretty huge deal about its philanthropic efforts-- 20% from this line to that charity, here's a lofty donation to this school, blah blah blah. For Christmas this year, they've bought out a large venue in the City and are hosting a fancy Christmas dinner; invitation open to all those in London without family or friends they can spend they day with for one reason or another.

For a fee of course, but all the night's profits are being donated to a prominent homelessness charity. And one only need cover the cost of entry, once you're through the door? Everything is free. From the food to the entertainment to the Aether Foundation goodie bags full of 'be good to yourself' style cosmetics and toiletries.

Lusamine herself is stylish as ever, and a gracious host. Gives a speech thanking everyone emphatically, exalting the virtues of friendship during the holidays and hoping tonight's donation really make a dent in London's homelessness epidemic. And during the evening she laughs easily, dances with friends, and makes herself available to anyone who looks uncomfortable or anxious.

Ever the picture of loveliness, that Lusamine.

STRANDED

She doesn't really do standing about on London streets, waiting. But here she is.

Traffic is backed up to hell — bad weather and holidays, what can you do? — which means her driver is delayed by god knows how long. The signal inside the restaurant she's just left is abysmal, or else she'd go back inside, but she can't rightly risk missing a call in this situation.

She paces back and forth over the square half-metre of pavement she's allocated herself, calling her driver every ten minutes for updates. Anyone nearby will hear her getting increasingly annoyed-- "are you sure you can't get here any faster?" "Don't you know any shortcuts?" "Why didn't you plan for this?" et cetera, et cetera.

or CYOA